Last day, first post

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Captain’s Log, Day 9:Lord, bubby. Re-entry to reality. Paradise lost. My Brigadoon enchantment broken. 

Phil, Brad, and I departed Telluride at noon yesterday for the 1,500 mile expedition home in the RV. After driving all night (I slept), we disembarked the Winnebago at 7:15 am for diesel when a helpful gent informed Admiral Phil that wires were dragging the ground under the motorcycle trailer and the tail lights were out. Hence, a two hour stop over in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Groovy. I immediately began to hack from humidity induced throat congestion.


After deliberating with a little meth mouth mechanic, we crossed a bustling four lane to the friendly neighborhood Waffle House seeking breakfast and relief from 1,000,000% humidity. After seating ourselves in a sticky booth, we were immediately blown by flies which Brad attacked with a sale paper he scrounged up by the cash register. Gross.
“Tina” brought us bleachy water and hot coffee which slightly diverted my attention from the loud waitresses squawking at each other and flirting with the chubby old regulars on oxygen at the bar. 

As I nibbled my bacon I wondered about the life of the apparent anemic and atrophic hog who gave up his pork belly for the sake of the greasy, fly trodden menu and turned my attention and waning appetite to my perfectly scattered, covered, and smothered hash browns. I ate every bite of these embellished taters and sopped up my hormone laden egg yolks with margarine drenched wheat toast and dreamed of the refreshing, delicious Rocky Mountain water straight from the taps in fly-free, alternate universe Telluride. (This paragraph is two excellent run-on sentences. What would Ms Linda Wilson my 9th grade English teacher say?)


Back in the RV hurtling toward life and thanking God for everyone I love in that world. There’s a damn fly in here. 

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