This weekend, as promised, we drove into the mountains. The weather was perfect, and we took advantage of the situation to do a scenic loop from Vail to Leadville to Copper Mountain. It was gorgeous, the perfect reminder of how beautiful the Rockies are, how beautiful this state is, how lucky we are to live here (full set here).
Oh, and it turns out that our AC is only half broken. As in, it doesn't work on the driver's side, but it does work on the passenger side. Good news/bad news? I don't know. We still need to have our mechanic look at it, I suppose. In the meantime this explains why we kept saying to each other that we thought something was up with the AC, and the other would never agree.
The dog had fun too. But then, she usually does.
They say when you're from Colorado the mountains are in your blood. What I want to know is, what about when you're not from Colorado? How long does it take for them to get into your blood? Because I'm starting to think the Rockies are there in mine.
Really, a two-hour loop at 10,000 feet is all it takes to get rid of a minor case of the grumps.
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