Bill and I drive to a little Mexican restaurant for breakfast burritos...which are excellent. And, interestingly enough, the restaurant where we eat breakfast is owned by the same family as the place where I had lunch in Sterling the day before.
After breakfast, I grab my stuff, thank Bill for his hospitality and hit the road. I'm only 60 or 70 miles from Rocky Mountain National Park, so I should arrive there early. Unfortunately the smaller road covering the last thirty miles is under construction after washing out in the spring...I am delayed over two hours. Still it's a beautiful drive through the foothills and, then, up into the Rockies.
Now...thanks to my scheming half-relative, I am two days behind schedule. So...instead of arriving on a Wednesday (when it's usually easy to get a campsite), I'm arriving on a Friday (the worst day to try to get a campsite. Arriving at the Park entrance, my fears are confirmed. All of the campgrounds on the east side of the Park are full. My only option is a campground on the west side of the Park...a thirty mile scary drive up and over the Rockies to a site at an elevation of 8900 feet. The drive takes an hour and a half...but...I'm in luck...there are plenty of campsites available. I find one that's easy to back into and set up camp.
My campground is pretty desolate...no trees. And it's not particularly warm at 8900 feet either. I pour myself a Bourbon and relax at my picnic table...listening to satellite radio. For dinner, I cut up Trail bologna, salami and cheese...and have that with some crackers and a bottle of nice red wine.
The altitude is really kicking my tail...I'm tired and sleepy. So...as soon as the sun goes down, I'm tucked into bed with my furnace set to 65 degrees.
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