We awaken, we coffee, we internet, we roll.
It turns out 7-11s do exist outside of Bangkok, and we choose one at the edge of Salida to tank up before heading out into the wilds. John mans the pump while the girls read maps inside.
Mom glances in the rear view mirror and suddenly gets all a-twitter. "JANEL," she insists in a rushed whisper. "LOOK AT THAT."
I look around frantically. A critter? A bandito? ¿Qué?
"That was NOT there yesterday! WOW!! Just come outside and look!!!!"
I quickly clamber out in search of spectacle.
Not long passes before Mom begins to sheepishly get the giggles.
The unpredictability of Colorado's weather is often astounding. Massive snowfall can occur overnight without any warning, creating stunning snowscapes for visitors to ogle and enjoy.
Rushing rivers may form, bounding their way destructively through city parking lots. It truly is a sight to behold.
John moonlights as a gas station attendant and learns proper squeegee protocol in the process.
On recommendation, we have plotted a route through Cripple Creek on our way into Kansas. This leads us to curvaceous adventure on an infinity of hills rolling through the extraordinarily picturesque Colorado countryside.
The scandalous curves get to the innocent young mind (and stomach) of the sweet lad in the backseat, so we pause for fresh air in a few choice spots.
This one has llamas.
Eventually we wind our way to Cripple Creek, a collection of casinos that have taken up residence in a cutesy middle-of-nowhere small town.
John takes a chill pill, plus some of the Indonesian ginger candies someone thoughtfully purchased from Mekong Market in preparation.
Meanwhile, Mom and I feel the irrepressible itch to hear some obnoxious sound effects in exchange for hard-earned dollars.
We feel inexplicably drawn to these penny slots. Our pupils dilate, our jaws slacken, and we feed the beasts a few lucky bucks. Before even aligning our gambling chakras, a few buttons are prematurely jabbed.
A sharply-dressed, mustachioed manager jolts me free of my revenue reverie. "Pardon, mademoiselle, I mean not to disturb. Could I perchance bother you for a peek at your personal identification?"
In the flurry of gambling glee, I have left it in the car. I slightly protest but he gets real serious, real fast, so I scoot on back and grab it. Upon my return, mom has switched machines to the "John Wayne" box across the way. It seems like a good call to me, so I slide in front of some greek-god themed glowing screen.
Mine emits very catchy musical clips in exchange for money. Once it even gives me a series of increasingly tense interludes along with "eight free spins." It is an experience worth approximately seven-and-a-fourth Nillers.
Mom, however, is angered by her lack of luck, and goes so far as to attempt to rob an old brass man.
John is feeling more in sorts, and we get a move on. The mile markers zip by; the seventies hits pop predictably along. And yet... there is a strange, palpable, almost meaty essence flowing through the air vents. I sense it and begin scanning.
YES. A slipshod wooden sign on the left side of the road reads "JERKY." I give a hoot and Mom swerves wildly. Our saliva glands begin calisthenics in anticipation.
CLOSED?!
no
WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
Curse you Grandpa Joe, you deceptive jerky bastard. May your venison rot.
We zoom to Colby, KS, the last 45 minutes fueled by impatient bladders. At a Flying J, I locate a few packs of Stubb's Jerky, which has no added MSG - it will suffice for now. We munch a snacky lunch in the car under the gray skies of Kansas.
Ninety minutes of cornfields later brings us to Norton, KS, our destination for today. It is a burgeoning rural-tropolis (ruropolis?) of Kansanians, brimming over with local culture and down-home vibes. A thorough drive-through of the mean streets reveals not only multiple food stores but also the promising "Attitudes" bar and grill, complete with several friendly-looking Nortonians straight chilling out front.
However, a peek at Yelp offers the aptly-named Town & Country Restaurant down the road as a potential four-star possibility. We decide to investigate.
The parking lot is packed. The sign proclaims it Meatball Tuesday.
This photo is misleading - the rest of the place is bubbling with folks and food. Menu additions are scrawled on the dry-erase board.
Mom contemplates the menu, which is actually pretty extensive. We petition the waitress for recommendations, and she explains that it is actually fried chicken Tuesday. John's mind is quickly made up, I opt for the steak tips with mushrooms and onions, and Mom selects a pair o' pork chops.
We do the salad bar and discuss the benefits and detriments of sweet tea.
John, massive fried chicken breast and leg, taters n' gravy, and a pile o' land o' lakes.
Absolutely everything is declared delicious - it is exactly what we want. The onions in my dish are particularly savory, and are likely soaked in delicious delicious butter.
Back at the hotel, Mom gets the America's Got Talent jitters, so we tune in to see what Howie's up to.
Kansas has other ideas.
This guy really, really, really likes talking about up-to-the-second weather developments.
After a bit of debate on likelihood of irony, we decide we do really like Ronith.
Did Linda have her new COACH sunglasses on when she spotted the rushing water about to crash through the parking lot?
ReplyDeleteGrandpa Joe really missed out. I was about to hop in the car and head to Divide CO to get some. Cool place . . . too bad he chose to be closed.