Rocky Mountain Low

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After ten hours of I-80 sights (not many), smells (not much besides diesel), and sounds (trucker horns), we were in Denver.  We had driven over 600 miles since departing Des Moines at 7am that morning.  We were hungry, tired, and let’s be honest, a little low on conversation material.

First thing in the mornin' driving to Denver.

First thing in the mornin’ driving to Denver.

 

In Denver, we had made a reservation to stay in an Airbnb room just off I-70.  Our host, who we’ll refer to as Messy Jessie to protect her identity, had been “cleaning” out her garage all day and the remnants were scattered around the house.  We had a bed to sleep in—but not much else. It appeared as if Messy Jessie was finally trying to tackle some of those lifelong hoarding tendencies that had dogged her for years.  We tried to be supportive, but after chatting for a very long five minutes, we needed some air.

We did what all visitors should do in Denver: we went to REI.

Then we got a bigass wood fire pizza from our new best friend, Scott, at a nearby restaurant.

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A little retail therapy, beer, and za was just what we needed.  We slept soundly at Messy Jessie’s and hit the road early again the next morning for Arches National Park in Utah.

It was a new dawn, a new day, and we were feelin’ fine.

 

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