I've put in a lot of road time commuting interstate to work, and it's a relief to look back over what might even be a million miles and feel that I've put the least possible carbon load on our sweet planet along the way. I mean, how efficient can you get, stuffing four humans and all their climbing gear into a modest box on 12-inch wheels from San Francisco to Pinedale, Wyoming and back? Actually, the funniest moment came on the 30 miles of dirt road out beyond Pinedale, heading for the Cirque of the Towers. See, it's always raining when you walk out of there, or why would you leave? So after marinating our polypro for a week, things had definitely upgraded to pungent as we started splashing through puddles coming out of Big Sandy Opening. The worst stretch of the road comes after it has widened and smoothed out into the sage dotted lowlands, where it happens to hit a stretch of clay. Rain on clay = pure slime, and I hardly needed the steering to get light for a clue, since there were so many big-dude pickup trucks with local plates already in the ditch. Feathering the gas and holding my breath I had already cleared most of the slick patch when a guy whose Volvo was in the ditch jumped out in front of me. I got around him too, cuz even on foot his traction was minimal, but there he was in the rearview mirror shaking his fist at me. I'm as much of a good Samaritan as the next guy, but it just seemed to me that getting my car stuck next to his was not going to help anybody, so I drove on out of the clay patch and then we all walked back and pushed his Volvo out so he could get home to Boulder.

Which brings me to the Prius. Even better mileage, but the lowest clearance of the lot. I'm amazed at how fine-tuned my sensibilities had become for the ruts, potholes, and boulders on all those wild-west dirt roads. Because the Prius couldn't have shaved more than an inch off of it, yet on the Buttermilk Road and all its cousins, I've been bashing my floor pan and bruising the heels of everyone riding shotgun. The worst of it is I'm starting to feel, well, careful. But then, Mountain Man image aside, I guess I just have to make my peace with caution. It must have had something to do with getting me to the point of celebrating 50 years of climbing, to say nothing of all the mileage along the way — which is the really dangerous part.

Must run to pick up my daughter Kyra. Yes, in the car.

Cheers,
Doug