Day 28: Eagle And The Surrounding Spaces, CO

Today did not start well, because the imbeciles at Lloyds bloody Bank decided to send me a text at three o'clock in the morning to tell me that my debit card expires shortly.  I know this, Mr Lloyd, because it's got "EXPIRES END 09/17" written on it.  And you know that I'm in USAnia at the moment, because:

1. I told you, and
2. You've sent me a couple of texts to tell me said debit card has been used in an ATM.  In USAnia.

Idiots.

What to do with my copious free time today, eh?  Let us visit the summit of the Guanella Pass, as not visited in 2011 because it was only fully-paved in 2015.  Crawl through the roadworks on I-70 and up through Frisco and Breckenridge (where I bough my bass-player-inna-stoner-rock-band sunglasses) and up the Hoosier Pass.  Pause for phag and photos.

I think this is Mount Lincoln.  He's gone grey.

"BONG" says the ASBO, even more insistently than usual, "BONG, you have a squishy tyre".  I twiddle the buttons.  Left front at 23 psi.  Should be 33.  Arse.  Nurse the thing down to Fairplay and add more air in the faintly ridiculous hope that it was just some kind of aberration and press on to the top of the Guanella.

Guanella Pass

Junior Pocket Microscope (model 3a) will shew an altitude of 11,669 feet.  A perfect spot for wrestling with jacks and wheels.

By which time the thing is going "BONG" again.  Only thing to do is bung the spare on.  This takes quite a long time, because everything does at that altitude if you are a worthless slob.  Emily does not know about things like tire (sic) repair places, but Sarah...  Sarah does.  They are all in Denver.  I do not want to go to Denver today because it is in the wrong direction.  Bugger.

Crawl down the north side of the pass to Georgetown

Georgetown.  Very picturesque and utterly devoid of tire (sic) repair outfits

and get onto I-70 westbound.  The spare says "50 mph max".  Thus I am forced to do about 75 miles with the hazard lights on, including traversing the Eisenhower Tunnel and Vail Pass, to get back here.  Find the address of a tire (sic) repair place which apparently closes at six.  "No", says the Nice Lady, "we close at five and it is now ten past.  We are open again at eight."

So that's my plans for tomorrow morning - leisurely breakfast, redistribute Teetering Piles of Crap™ around The Luggage and take a scenic route back to Denver - scuppered.  I just hope they actually can fix it, as it is 150 miles from here to there and the prospect of doing that at 50 mph is too horrible to contemplate...

The ASBO pretending it's done nothing wrong, Dillon Lake