I headed for the post office first thing in the morning having written eight cards the night before and had three more from back at the Kortes Dam. On my way there I ran into the cop who told me it was closed for Reagan’s funeral. Damn. Instead he invited me to the city hall, which I’d camped behind, to freshen up and have some coffee.
I took about an hour brushing my teeth and asking about the Basin ahead. I tried for some coffee but found sugar nowhere and discovered putting Kool-aid in its stead is not a good replacement. I settled for hot cocoa. The cop gave me a tip about following a creek once I cross over the guardian hills of the Basin so that I could have water at the ready and not have to haul it. I followed this advice much to my future dismay.
Again with the misdirection, I followed the creek where it split off from my intended road and it lead me north, as he’d said, but then disappeared. I found myself abandoning my trail to go overland, then recovering it later on at different points. I did this a few times. Trampling sage brush was getting very weary and I cursed the day I ever tried taking a short cut again.
I traveled like this, hunting down two tracks, for some time going over all sorts of creeks thankful only that the Basin is much flatter than the Seminoe Mountains of a few days ago. I could see the mountains I was heading for, that were still a day or two off by my figuring, but visible none-the-less. It was my compass for better or worse.
By mid-afternoon I found my way back on to the road I’d deserted for the creek that morning and followed it west happy again. That whole while serenity came over me with visions of Conan and D&D roleplaying games (one of which I thought was going on right then in Denver that I was meant to be at thinking that it was Saturday.) as the snow capped mountains lay to my sides and ahead; and the wind bristled my hair.
Late in the day I reached a cross road I’d expected and there it was for me to take another short cut. I was feeling good so I went for it. No more than half a mile in it disappeared on me. What’s with you Fancy Pants map? Here I was left to truly amble aimlessly, heading only for the mountain ahead and any two track I saw that lead me that way. I crossed through dried pits of cracked ground then into an endless field of strange twin mounds. I thought, perhaps, this was where they were hiding some nukes and that CIA men were eyeballing me from a bunker ready to sack me if I snuck a closer look. Still lost in this ICBM field the sun set and so did I.