Yesterday at the Sand Dunes, Wonderful Guy climbed to the top of the first ridge. I did not. While I am feeling much, much better (I am hardly discolored with bruising from my procedure at all! And not achey, only itchy now, which we all know and realize is the true sign of healing!), I was still punked after the first few climbing-over-the-first-dunes efforts. So anyway. He continued, and I basked in the view.
Which was just fine in it's own right.
Really not the Sahara...
While he was trekking, up and up and up, he happened upon another fellow who struck up a conversation about fitness and effort and altitude and breathing, all that sort of thing...as flatlanders are wont to do...in between gasps. He was from Georgia, on vacation, showing his kids the sights of America on his way to Yellowstone. Lucky, lucky kids. Said he came across Kansas ‘now those wheat fields…they were something’, where upon Wonderful Guy commented his view would be appreciated by his wife as she (me) was from Greensburg, and appreciated the beauty of those fields of golden waves of grain (not his exact words) (Wonderful Guy doesn't wax poetic that way). Well. This Georgian? He was there, in Greensburg, the day before!
We are off to Mesa Verde today. Going to climb among the ancients and hopefully not get rained out this time.
One more thing. We think we are in the exact same room as the last time we stayed here.
Not poetic, but Wonderful Guy can gets artsy!