Author: Steve

Interesting diversion in Florida. We were almost to Panama City Beach, and
driving highways instead of freeways. Driving a fast highway with cross
streets. We didn’t actually see the crash, we were the third to roll up
after it happened. A pickup truck pulled out in front of a minivan. The
truck got flipped around and ended up in the median. The lady in the
minivan got beat up by the airbag. We stayed and comforted the wounded
until police and paramedics arrived. Thanks to seat belts and airbags, it
was messy, but it wasn’t very bloody. Property damage but not much personal
damage. Did I explain why we’re here? It’s a Colorado audit. I’m a Colorado CPA.
We’re in Florida. The nonprofit organization is a Colorado Corporation.
They also have some activity in Florida. They work in both Colorado and
Florida. They tend to spend more time in Florida than in Colorado in the
winter. Go figure. It’s February. Busy season. We wouldn’t take a
vacation and go to Florida in February, but a trip to Florida in the line of
duty? Fine with us. A week in Florida. A warm week.

We didn’t plan our route. We put the destination in the GPS navigator on
the computer. From there, we followed the force. It picked a route we’d
never driven before. All the way east into Illinois before we turned south
to get to Florida. We trusted it to get us through Saint Louis. Difficult
highway changes, but it worked flawlessly. It guided us through Illinois to
Western Kentucky and on to Tennessee. South through Nashville required a
few turns as well. It worked. Western Illinois looked a lot like Louisiana. Flat and wet. Looking
through the forest along the road, the trees are all in standing water.
Water where water isn’t supposed to be. There are crossings for the smaller
rivers, but we can’t see them. We can’t tell where the rivers begin and
end. It all looks the same. Until we get to the big rivers. The big rivers are really big. Wide and flat like a lake. I have to wonder
how they get any flow at all. We have an elevation of three hundred feet
here. We’re still seven hundred miles from the Gulf. A one foot drop every
two miles? That’s a lake. That’s the everglades! How do you have a river
that doesn’t drop? Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee. Flat Stanley crossed the Missouri
River, the Mississippi, the Ohio, the Tennessee, and the Cumberland, all in
one day. Big rivers. We particularly like the Cumberland River. When Judy
and I were first married and we lived in Tennessee, we were close to the
Cumberland River. It is such a winding river. It didn’t matter which
direction we drove, we always ended up crossing the Cumberland. We did the slow crawl through Illinois. Illinois has a speed limit of
sixty-five on the freeways, but they make an exception for trucks and
motorhomes. Fifty-five. Being comfortable with seventy-five on the open
roads, fifty-five feels like a crawl. But the trucks were all being careful
with the speed limit, so they must take it seriously in Illinois. We picked
a truck to follow and drove slow all the way through. Next day, Alabama and Florida.

We left Colorado in a light snow. Drove through Kansas. Big raptor day.
Big raptors. We’re not very good at identifying hawks from the freeway.
Here is how our raptor-from-the-freeway identification process goes: “I see a red-tailed hawk.”
“That one over there is not a red tail.”
“Look at that one. I can’t tell whether it’s a red tail or not.” That’s pretty much it. Western Kansas has a lot in common with Eastern Colorado. Wide open. Flat.
The eastern half of Kansas is rolling hills and forests. Next day,
Missouri. Missouri, more of the same. We’re in Missouri. We’re in the
south. We were in the west. We drove straight east for two days, and now
we’re in the south. Go figure. Tomorrow we’ll turn right and drive for two days. Then, I guess, we’ll be
in the really really south.

The commute. Thirteen miles along the front-range from Dakota Ridge in
Golden to highway 285. A dive to the west, through the foothills. A
winding canyon road. It opens up at Indian Hills and Tiny Town and goes
faster. Thirteen miles to Conifer. The road gets smaller after that. Two
lanes most of the time. Through Shaffer crossing to Pine junction. Dark
evergreens. Firs. Spruce. Bare aspens. Snowy white marshmallow meadows.
A decrepit mountain cemetery visible from the road. Deer creek. A view of
the inner ranges. An enticing glimpse up a side canyon. On to the top of
Crow Hill and the long winding 7% grade down for two miles that ends with a
hard right right into the town of Bailey. Bailey Colorado. All five blocks
of it. Thirty-nine miles altogether. Altogether, not a bad commute at all.
And every afternoon, on the drive home, I get to look at the other side of
it. It’s a new client in Bailey. A domestic violence residential facility in
the mountains. Got a nice surprise when we showed up. Cyndi Rodgers. She
used to be the bookkeeper at the Mountain Resource Center in Conifer until
she had to resign to get Leukemia treatment. Cyndi is the bookkeeper for
the Bailey Client now. She’s back in business. She just passed her
five-year cancer anniversary. Go Cyndi! Perfect Colorado winter weather. It snowed before we got here. A week of
blue skies and fifty degrees. Time to move on.

Did I tell you about my career as a smoke jumper? It was brief. I had a
plan. It made sense. I always wanted to be a forest ranger. After high
school, I would join the army paratroopers. I would learn to jump, then
when I got out I could join the forest service and be a smoke jumper. I was
going to be a smoke jumper. I forgot. Years later, after I was out of the Army, after I was an
accountant, working in Denver, on a job in Montana, I drove past the smoke
jumper school at Missoula and it struck me. I was going to be a smoke
jumper! But I forgot! I came back from overseas, got married, got out of
the army and went on with my life. A life that didn’t include
smoke-jumping.