The heat had taken both of us beyond coherent thought, and me, in my four o’clock nadir, to extreme unhelpfulness. There did not seem to be anywhere to stay in the tiny town of Walsenburg, or to eat, or to do anything other than stagger back to the air-conditioned car and head, at my suggestion, to the motel we’d passed on the way in, rejected because to stay there would mean driving somewhere to eat when we preferred, once stopped, not to have to get in the car again.
We compromised, the room stirred memories of Australian trips – invariably good – and from the petrol station across the road we bought a selection of crisps, nuts, chocolates and beer which we ate while sat outside the front, watching the comings and goings of other guests, listening to the thunder in the mountains, and having a surprisingly enjoyable evening.
[In the morning there was more enjoyment, written about here ]
Monday location: a foreign motel room