Towards Durango

A few weeks ago I left Oakland, in a truck, with a sleeping bag, some bikes, some clothes, a bit of food, some high heeled shoes, some beer and a husband and Jacquie Phelan.

And no kids.



We drove for a few days into the desert. Towards the Mojave. And stopped during the night when we got tired. And slept on the roof of the truck. Well, Morgan and I slept on the roof. Jacquie slept on the ground. With her banjo.

In the mornings we woke just before the sun rose. And boiled some water. And made coffee and ate berry pie for breakfast. And were serenaded by a banjo.



And then we drove some more. Through the desert into Arizona, where we stopped. In Flagstaff. To see Joe. Who so graciously allowed us to stay at his house for a few days. While we rode some trails. And drank some beer. And had coffee with Cosmic Ray.

And the shaman held Morgan's hand.



On the third day we rode. And I tried to keep up with Jacquie Phelan and Joe Murray and Morgan on their single speeds. But half way through the ride, I gave up, and drank a few beers while we rested. And slowed down a bit. And ran with my bike on my back a few times on the way down. Because the boulders were so big.



On the fourth day, we rode through the fields while thunder and lightning chased us. And we hid in the Aspens. And dodged the deer. And the turkeys.

And Jacquie Phelan mooned me.



On the fifth day, we left Flagstaff and drove some more.



Through the desert. And into New Mexico. By mistake. But we'll blame that on Joe, because we were following him. We made our way into Colorado towards Durango. Where we dropped Jacquie off at her friend's house and bid adieu to Joe. And Morgan and I made our way to a house in the woods.