Greg drove, as usual, which was fine with me -- fine until we started climbing into the La Plata Mountains that surround the ruins. There is no guard rail and no shoulder -- it looks like about 12" of road separates your tires from an 8000 foot drop. Going up was bad enough but the trip down (trying to beat the sunset, no less) was gut-wrenching. It's not that I lack trust in Greg as a driver, it was just terrifying to me. He said that the worst part was having everyone pass him while he tried to go slowly to accommodate me. If you ever visit Mesa Verde, check the asphalt at the base of the mountain for a set of lip prints -- those would be mine.
Our room is at the far end of the hotel and one floor down from the restaurant where we have breakfast every morning (and it is a long hotel). Tuesday morning, Mom and Greg went ahead of me and I followed a few minutes later. I kept repeating to myself to take the elevator UP, take the elevator UP since I was having trouble remembering that the restaurant was above us. We had breakfast and they went back to the room while I checked out the gift shop. I then headed back to the elevator, still repeating my mantra, went up one floor, and started down the long hallway to our room. I was wishing I had a place to stop and rest my knee so I was only looking at the room numbers and counting the doors to our room. Once I got there, I could not get my key to work so I knocked on the door. I was not prepared to see the man who answered the door (he was not prepared to see me, either).
[This post has been a little late because Greg had a paper to write for (grad) school. Sorry if we kept you waiting.]
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