It was a little chill outside, but it was no problem. It was just as cold back in Missouri, so my skin felt comfortable with it. The gas station wasn't all that far, for all it was at the other end of town from the motels where everyone was staying at. Cheap coffee, but better than the competition's, from what the FarmFam told me.
Coffee in hand, I began a leisurely stroll back to the motel, stopping to snap a picture of the sky as the sun was starting to peek over the horizon.
I think seeing things like that made me fall in love with Colorado, and FarmTown in particular warmed my heart with how kind people were, even to absolute strangers; wide open spaces, and a sky full of stars every night.
Returning to the motel room, I discovered Christina huddled in a ball under her covers, complaining of how freezing her poor tush was. I hadn't noticed it, myself. She said she couldn't find the control for the heater, and I made her feel like a right twit when I leaned around the corner from the heater where the electric control was and flipped it up. She then proceeded to toast her butt on it, between bouts of her morning hygiene ritual.
Being the geek I was, while waiting for her to finish getting ready so we could scrounge up some food, I logged into IRC, and FarmDad informed me of Jim's fatal mistake. And when Breda realized, she immediately wanted to know which room he was in.
Since we had spent the morning bouncing from one room to another, talking and laughing about this and that, some of us were just leaving our doors standing open to yell at folks as they walked by. So, of course, when Breda stormed past our room on her way to give Jim a... uhm... stern talking-to, shall we say, we naturally followed. NFO got curious and followed.
Jim's door was open, but he was nowhere to be seen. Must be in the bathroom. Christina, NFO, and I all crowded around the doorway as Breda took a seat around the corner and out of sight from the bathroom door, and we waited. Jim walked out, saw Breda, and knew his time had come. He was off to meet his maker, complete with a squeak of terror. I'd be scared too, should she have turned the DeathStare™ on me.
Various posts outlined his untimely, but well-deserved, demise.
Once we were done giggling at our own silly antics, we hoofed it across the street to the cafe for breakfast, meeting NFO and Gay Cynic there for breakfast. Christina and NFO talked about the military, both coming from that background, while Cynic and I threw out comments here and there where applicable. The food was good, and cheap to buy, and I thoroughly enjoyed the first good plate of huevos rancheros I'd eaten since I left Texas.
We were all supposed to meet up at the FarmHouse at 10 to go see the museum that Breda had read about, with a stuffed two-headed calf, so once breakfast was over, we made our way back to the motel and started piling into cars. I rode with NFO and Jimjim, and Cynic rode with Christina. Of course, before we went, we had to snap a picture of Alan modeling his outfit for the day...
We all met up at the house, drank several cups of coffee, then FarmGirl informed us that, before we entered the museum, our herd of misfits would have to disarm, with the library and museum being county property and all. It was close enough to walk to, so walk we did, with Christina taking her car so everyone could leave their sidearms in her trunk.
All weekend, our entire group open carried, because it was legal everywhere in Colorado, save for Denver, and not everyone can do that back home. It was greatly enjoyed, and according to several attendees, very liberating.
I wouldn't call it "junk in the trunk", but way cooler!
We examined the library and what it had to offer first, since we had the World's Most Dangerous Librarian with us. Back in the corner was an old card catalog, which Breda fairly squeeee'd over. There was also a note from the librarian, warning readers not to cross out words they found offensive.
On to the museum! Home of two-headed calves, badgers, taxidermy'd eagles, and a whole bunch of other cool stuff, too!
Neat stuff, really was.
We trooped back outside, everyone re-armed, and then we went parading down the street once more, this time in search of food-type stuff. The Nerds peeled off and weren't seen for a while, only to discover they escaped for a nap. I guess a train kept them up all night, but I heard no such commotion.
We had some delicious food at another little hole-in-the-wall diner-type eatery, and then traipsed back on over to the house. More coffee was consumed, lots more chatter was had, and then we piled into the cars to caravan out to where the horses were pastured. Jim, NFO, and FarmDad pulled away to go set up the range where we would be having fun later in the weekend.
Mizz Breda saddled up first, on Joan, a stubborn beastie who was quite insistent on not doing as she was told. So Breda rode around in circles for a bit before finally allowing that, yes, she could be reigned in and commanded, and amazingly enough, she would listen. While we watched, FarmGirl saddled up Rebel and went out to warm him up. Gay Cynic mounted Rebel, and more riding commenced.
For some unknown reason, Joan decided a lope was in order, and came across the pen at a brisk pace, with Breda balancing quite nicely. We cheered her for handling it well, and then swapped out spots with some of the other bloggers.
My turn came up, and I had to be assisted into the saddle (for I am a lard-ass with no muscle to speak of), and off I went, enjoying the slight rocking feeling of riding. As I came back around near the gate, I looked up and recognized a white Dodge.... Ambulance Driver and KatyBeth were here!
We promptly got the little cutie up in the saddle, as soon as we reassured her that no, the horse was not going to go fast. The most memorable quote of the weekend came from a precious seven-year-old, "I know that you're going to walk, but what's the horse going to do?"
After FarmGirl and KatyBeth did a couple of circuits, the Nerds took a turn. And apparently, Stingray got bored with an easy walk and quickly kicked Rebel, his mount, up into a full gallop, butt out of the saddle and leaning forward... on what we later learned was a very seat-cue oriented horse. As they approached the gate, instead of slowing when Stingray pulled back on the reigns, he kept barreling forward until his bounced his face off the gate... because Stingray was still standing up in the stirrups.
After that, we decided we'd go investigate the range and see what was taking everyone so long. Of course, as soon as we headed out, we saw their trucks approaching. They promptly turned around and followed us out, and there was much exclaiming over the awesomeness of the range that we would spend all weekend flinging lead down.
We could hardly wait for the next day to dawn and for the real fun to begin!
Note: The comment I made on my last post to NFO was meant only as a joke. I've been told some people were less-than-pleased with me saying that, so I deleted the comment, but in all seriousness, I wouldn't dream of being uncouth enough to ask that. It was meant as a joke and nothing more, and I apologize to those who were offended by it.