|Platoro, Colorado. The bands of light at right are windshield reflections.|
Mile after pothole'd mile crept by. I would stop now and then and check the river. Still roily.
Eventually we reached the resort hamlet of Platoro (plata plus oro — weren't those early miners clever?) which always makes me think of what the Alaskan bush might look like (having never visited Alaska) — dense forest, a straggle of modest frame and log buildings, thick willows along the river.
The old lodge, currently bearing the name Sky Line Lodge, is classic, but right now its owners cannot decide whether it is a grocery store or a fly shop and so fall between two stools. (It and I make an unflattering appearance in Ed Engle's memoir Seasonal: A Life Outside. That's what happens when you hang around writers.) A UPS driver was making a delivery, and the shelves of his van were empty. Platoro is the end of the line.
|The inlet to Platoro Reservoir, managed by BuRec for flood control, etc. It's quite low right now.|
|Rain clouds build above Platoro Reservoir.|
(to be continued)