Got back to my lair (see above) late last night, and am now safely ensconced therein.
Of course, nothing ever runs to plan, and in this case it’s because Stupid Kim forgot his laptop power cord in Boise. But thanks to the ever-resourceful Mo K., it should be delivered to my sooper-seekrit mailing address sometime this afternoon, so proper blogging should recommence tomorrow. See y’all then.
Four, count ’em four snow storms between Boise and Denver.
Maybe tomorrow will be better, when we reach the parts of the country that are actually having spring, with flowers and grass and stuff.
And lo did Your Humble Narrator arrive with his squire, Mark C. unto the hostelry known as the House Of So-Called Friend Jay K. and his Wyffe, the lovely Mo (who is most surely a Witch).
And these fiends did ply Our Weary Travelers with much drinke, most especially the liqueuere called Morangie for Your Humble Narrator, and for his squire a hogshead of ale brewed locally.
There was Feasting and Merriment unto an hour so late that the cocks had long since crowed and gone back in for their Cockly Breakfast, of what I know not.
And there was no Bloggynge script inscribed, for which Your Humble Narrator begs fulsome pardonne.
With heads verily sore, and throats as the desert, did Our Weary Travelers resume their journey south, more or lesse, towards the city close to the mountains, in which it is said there lurk many dragons who would steal most foully Your Humble Narrator’s trusty Sword.
Yup, Boomershoot’s over, report to follow. In the meantime, three days on the road. Blog posts may be sparse…
Arrived in Orofino ID last night, checked into hotel. Went out to dinner, was reminded that “Orofino” and “fine dining” are antithetical concepts and should never be used in the same paragraph let alone sentence.
Tomorrow’s weather forecast is British, i.e. miserable, cold, rainy and muddy, but I’ll survive, by huddling in Reader&Friend Mark’s yooge Texas truck sucking down — fuck me, I forgot to pack both the gin and the Southern Comfort.
I’m getting too old for this foolishness, but maybe a boomer or two will cheer me up. That’s always worked in the past…
Arriving in Ye Olde Inne Boxxe:
Amsterdam would be Choice Nommer Een, and Madrid Numero Dos. Nothing against the Spaniardists, but both New Wife and I love Amsterdam.
In a heartbeat, baby.