The first day of summer. My bags packed and a new Jeep ready for a cross-country drive. I had six weeks to roam America from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I saved most of my Army paychecks the past two years for this adventure. It had finally arrived. I signed my exit papers at Fort Bragg and never looked back.
My plan was no plan. If I saw something interesting, I would stop and explore. The country seemed new to me; like I had never noticed the blue sky, corn fields and small towns with quaint eateries & welcoming residents. The Blue Ridge Parkway led me to the plains of Iowa and Nebraska. I started to crave the mountains again- which meant only one destination...Colorado.
Entering Durango, I rolled down my window. I heard the Durango-Silverton train blow its whistle, as the tourists settled in their seats. The train ride that brings you closest to what Heaven must look like. That's what the hotel manager told me, as I was registering for a room.
A ticket in my hand, I boarded the train and found a seat by a window. I prepared my camera as the train began to move. The town of Durango quickly disappeared. The train passed by waterfalls & mountains covered with blue spruce trees. The land seemed untouched, except by God's hand. And then, it appeared. I lowered my camera and rubbed my eyes to insure the view was real. A cabin in the distance, surrounded by open fields on three sides and mountains on the fourth.
I would not make it to the Pacific Ocean on this journey. Someday. For now, I was home.
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