My cabin is on the right, behind
the large garage
My front yard at sunrise
My "driveway."
The thermal pool at Chico Hot Springs
It's a long 20 feet from the changing
room to the 104F pool.
See below
Were havin’ a heat
wave, a tropical heat wave…well, actually that was yesterday when the thermo
hit a balmy 42F. At the moment it’s snowing. The many faces of M. Nature are
apparent in the mountain west.
A local tried to
convince me there is a county ordinance forbidding the temperature to rise
above freezing between Thanksgiving and March, but in defiance of local law the
temperature two days ago roared north of the freezing mark like a NASCAR driver
released from yellow. Quite a change from the minus 14F when I arrived 2 weeks ago…
But the wind…and the accompanying
chill, compensates measurably. Interstate 90 between Bozeman and Livingston
navigates a pass that is infamous for toppling 18-wheelers. In high season one
per week is normally blown over and the trick is to not be passing one when it heads south
while traveling east.
To fill the hours between
0001 and 2359, I am at the moment immersed in several fascinating tomes on
the Manhattan Project. History (for me, at least) has a way of filling time…..
Spending considerable
time at the hot spring in the presence of bodies in various states of
(sometimes extreme) undress, it appears that I am the only soul in Montana, and
perhaps the planet, who doesn’t have a “tat.” From octogenarians to near
infants (one can only hope they are the stick-on temporary variety), it seems
that tattoos are the craze of the moment.
I likewise resisted
the recent fashion of self-puncture, which I note has fallen from favor,
perhaps in response to assorted infections and considerable pain that resulted
from many piercings. It seems that much of mankind (personkind?) will travel to
bizarre and absurd lengths that they might assert their individuality. To me it
signals something quite different, something akin to being several limes short of a
margarita.
For those with
offspring who kvetch over waiting for the school bus on windy days, I noticed a
curious sign “SCHOOL ACCESS” (see above) attached to a wooden fence along the road to town.
I thought no more until several days ago a yellow caravan discharged 2 who
looked to be of Kindergarten variety and they navigated an opening in the fence, crossed a pasture
and commenced up a VERY steep hill. There was no house in sight…
Just finished a 5k in 12F weather. Not bad for a geezer…
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