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And everything was going so well...

I am prideful about my driving skills.  If you couldn't tell that from the last post made at the beginning of snow season, I will just admit this fact now.  About my driving skills - I am prideful. 

But if you saw my truck, you might not recognize it as the vehicle of a prideful driver.  At the moment, the gravel crack in my windshield, made by a mining equipment truck passing by me in the opposite lane on Dallas Divide, has turned from a brilliant little star into a large messy star with two long tails, or hug hungry arms, reaching for either side of my windshield.   It's time for new windshield. 

And my driver's side door?  Dented.  Punched in by a mad mule deer buck on the first day of hunting season.  The buck stood in the middle of Route 62, strutting his stuff in front of Ralph Lauren's place at Ten O'Clock in the evening, challenging me to a fight after what was already a hard day of fighting and dodging bullets.  I made the mistake of thinking hard at him as I slammed on the brakes and telekinetically willed my steering wheel stick straight and stiff as a board,  "Don't you dare make me hit you.  If you make me hit you, I am going to kill you."  I closed my eyes and braced for impact while he stepped out of the way and then tried to kill me through the door.  Lesson:  Never think at a mule deer buck in rut that you are going to kill him, because he will try to kill you first.

But never mind all of that.  I am still prideful about my driving skills. 

Or at least I was - until a few hours ago.  The spring melt has almost, literally almost opened our road to non-alternative vehicle traffic.  And being the intrepid, prideful driver that I am - I went out to where the plowed road ends to pick up my truck and bring it home. 

It was a bittersweet experience, being so able to easily ATV across the former snowdunes that have come to signify what winter is all about here on the mesa.  Solitude, independence, wilderness, rich, stark, frigid beauty and communion with coyotes who know I'm thinking "I love you.  Please eat our packrats and gophers.  Thank you."

"Winter is over."  I pouted as I made an observation of the minimal snowdunes to my roommate.  "I know."  He said, "I got used to this fact last week."

A moment later I was at my truck.  My truck!  My glorious truck!  How happy I was to strip off my mud covered rain pants, hop in, turn the key, and drive it toward home. 

And being able to drive it through even the tough sections - the sections where only an ATV with tracks had gone before - well, that was glorious, too.  All those donuts done in icey Michigan mall parking lots as a teenager have paid off - I can stay on the road in snow, and get myself through drifts, and mud, and water, and keep on going.

Or so I thought.  Until the middle my driveway. Four miles in through the un-wheel tracked remains of the snowdrifts,  Just before the property gate.  Just before home.

Yes.  I tried to drive through the biggest, baddest, meanest snow dune of them all - the one in the driveway.  The one that eats snowmobiles and ATVs for breakfast, lunch and dinner in the bigger snow seasons.

And now my truck is stuck there, fast,  for a least a few more days.  Or until the snowdune melts.

And everything was going so well.

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