Taylor Park. What else is there to say?
I head down to the store to gas up and meet two gentlemen.
The man on the left rides a Concours and stikes up a conversation. We talk and they are interested in my trip. They are retired Texas Rangers. The fellow on the left tells me that the other guy was his first partner years ago. He moved up out of Texas and loves it here in Gunnison. His buddy was visiting. The store seems full of very pretty girls having some kind of female drama. They seem to work at the resturant and store. The first guy dryly observes that he'd like a "swing like that in my back yard" as the girl who seems most upset walks past.
They said that they don't usually tell that they were rangers. "I let the cat out of the bag he laughs" when his old partner returns from the store. I say that I like cops if they aren't stopping me and they nod. We talk bikes and trips and ranger life. They see too much, lots of death and it sticks with them. Retired life is nice now. I say my goodbys and head north along the lake. It's gray and turning black as I turn left at the end of the lake. I'm heading to Crested Butte for the night, there is a bed there for me if I can find it.
Friends of my brother, Tim and Ann put me up for the night. Good people, easy to like. I met Tim a few years ago when he visited our camp in Taylor park. Crested Butte is a great town and we go out to dinner. Ride bikes to dinner and around town. Some of their friends drop in and find out I'm interested in history and indian history. They bring books to look at and I talk with them about going to Mesa Verde. Tim has great stories about other more remote ruins. I read Frank Waters Book of the Hopi years ago. It's the Hopi Genesis. I'll head south tomorrow with that as my southern most point, Mesa Verde.