July 18

July 18 We occupy a motel room like the Native Americans used a bison, using every part of it, letting nothing go to waste. First of all, there are two swims to be had, evening and morning, essential exercise for patient young’uns doing hard time in the back seat every day. Then, of course, there are the nine devices that can be charged from the various outlets in this precious oasis of civilization -- walkie talkies, two cameras, three iPods, one computer, two cell phones. There’s an ice chest to be filled from the motel ice maker, and mindless entertainments to be appreciated (Man vs. Wild was on!). Last of all, six or eight showers taken in a twelve-hour stay. I’d say we used our $67.99 pretty thoroughly. Now off to the wilds of Colorado Springs 400+ miles away.

On through enormous distances and flatnesses of Kansas, but couldn't pass by the whirligigs and junk sculptures of MT in Mullinville, KS! Pulled over despite time pressure when we saw the line-up of street-sign windmills and bedspring political figures on the roadway and made it to MT’s stew-dee-oh. It was lunchtime, and the only thing to be found under extensive garages was an untold collection (number it in rhousands, ten-thousands, or greater) of coffee mugs, an arc welder, and hundreds of artistic creations hard to imagine made of junk and scrap metal and vision. We wandered around, feeling like creeping neighbors in someone else's attic, then on our way out to get in the car met MT on the way in. He must be 70 or so, and as his brother later told us, he qualifies as eccentric rather than nuts only because he's got money to burn. An artist all his life, that’s what MT tells us, and we believe him. He takes H & E under his wing right away and has them sketch something out on 1/8” iron (Elizabeth drew a bear, Henry a gnome), then fires up his welding torch and burns their art permanent. I bet they’ll have that all their days! Who’d have thunk that such a stop would grab us off our mission to sleep in a taller and cooler state? Very glad to have obeyed the commands of the goddess Serendipity! Only downside -- now we're toting a bunch of unexpected metal. Where to stash unwieldy artwork?

Many, many miles into sagebrush plains, occasional corn, soybeans, grain. Hard to imagine living out here, though we found a NH native right in the thick of it. Mr. Bouchard (was that his name?) is an artist in a sleepy town just before the big turn westward toward Colorado Springs. He’d painted a view of the Old Man of the Mountains way out here in this flat town of, what, a couple hundred people? Sad to talk with him about the demise of that old man, but good to reminisce about out East where Mr. Bouchard hasn’t been in ages. Hope that painting sells before the whole cliff falls. Clare may or may not have left her keys there, so many miles eastward as we write. Wish we knew. . .

First break today from the white and blue skies we've seen for ages -- horizon to south turned dark, purple even, joining the blue skyline at a slant. Torrential rain somewhere out there. When you can see the whole sky around you you’re reminded that even a violent storm isn’t the whole of the world. We rode on in sunshine, keeping track of the thunderbolt flashes that loomed in the distance. Would we miss it? Would we outrun it? Dark skies rather a welcome alternative to the steady heat and glare of the past few days. A race to the mountains against the rains. We saw Pike's Peak blip up on the horizon from what must have been 80 miles away, almost imaginary in the distance, then reeled it in on an impossibly long line until it was real. Camped in the shadow of Cheyenne Mountain and knew we were in a very different place -- cool night up high and slept soundly. No real traveling for the next few days -- really the first layover. Everyone very ready for that, and for seeing good friends in Denver : ) - Dan