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Leaving Colorado

Tue, 17 Sep 2002
written by Teresa

Guernsey Lake State Park, WY We fell asleep last night bathed in moonlight and woke this morning to a zebra sky of bright blue and pink. We're on the shores of another lake in one of Wyoming's state parks known as Guernsey.

This takes me off on a brief tangent. Years ago, my sister Solanna entered a competition in which the prize was free travel to and accommodation in the Channel Island along with entry to their half marathon. The finishing touch required for the entry was a slogan capturing the spirit of the island along with a touch of "Chariots of Fire" thrown in for good measure. Her submission of "Greenery, scenery and sun make me want to run, run, run." got her to Guernsey and into the race. Make of it what you will.

Associations like this are prone to slipping into my mind at the drop of a hat and are likely to be recorded. Any mention of tangents or red herrings should give advanced warning thus allowing you to skip ahead a paragraph or two.

Anyway, back to the story. We finally left Colorado on Sunday afternoon having almost given up any hope of escaping this side of Christmas. The stream of appointments and unexpected follow-ups had us postponing our departure but we finally broke free in a wild dash for the state line pursued only by the bikes on the back of the camper.

Before we left, we saw our first snow of the year. We spent a night at Frisco where the heavens opened and continued the unusual rainfall that the state has been having. Luckily we made it into a promising looking brewpub for dinner and watched the surrounding mountains disappear behind the descending clouds. An hour later as the storm moved on, the hills that had been mellowed by sunshine as we came into town were covered in snow with their sharp lines and gradients accentuated.

Our last day in Colorado saw us visiting a Fromagerie. I understand that the true significance of this may need some explanation for non-American readers. In The States, people from Wisconsin are known as "Cheese Heads". This name comes from the widespread occurrence of black and white cows in the state and the predilection of its population for turning the milk into curds. You might think that this would be something that the good people of Wisconsin would keep a low profile about, given that it's bordering on the country yokel theme. But no, instead they take it as a matter of pride and sit through games of their beloved Green Bay Packers (American football team) with foam replicas of cheese wedges on their heads and their cans of beer held in smaller but nevertheless fetching pieces of plastic cheddar. While Sterling does not watch or follow football, he is a true Wisconsinite and has both the required badges of office. He also has a considerable interest in cheese and so the mere mention of a fromagerie sent him into paroxysms of pleasure. The front of the shop looks unassuming enough and it is not until you go through the doors into the sacristy that the true scale of the enterprise hits you. It's a little like the initial pictures of the Borg ship. As the camera pans out and the sheer size dawns, so it was with this. Rows and rows, shelves and shelves, isles and isles of refrigerated warehouse full of cheese. Yellow cheese, white cheese, goat cheese, sheep cheese, French, English, Greek and Italian cheese, cheese that squeaks, blueberry cheese, apricot cheese but no Haloumi. They claimed to have had some but were out. My quest for Haloumi in this country continues. Meanwhile Sterling opens our little fridge and looks lovingly at the numerous varieties that cried out to be bought.

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