A fast drive home from Rawlins. Two-hundred fifty miles in four hours.
Fast for a motorhome. We drove straight home with good reason. Had to get
there in time to leave for a fishing trip.
We got Rags the cat back before we left West Yellowstone. He was quiet.
Subdued almost. Maybe he wore his voice box out. He didn't cry in the car
at all. We took him to the motorhome. He got to see his house and his dog.
He stayed happy. And quiet.
While we were at Pebble Creek Campground in Yellowstone, we ran into an
interesting lady. A person we didn't know, ran the battery down in her van
and needed a jump. It didn't take long for the conversation to turn to
birding. She is a birder. She is a world birder. She expects to be in the
Guinness Book of World Records soon. She intends to see birds representing
every family in the taxonomical classification for all the birds in the
entire world. She has been working on this project for years. She is at
195. She thinks in another year, with a trip to Uganda, a trip to
Madagascar, and another to South America, she'll have the entire 215
families. Meanwhile, she was stopping at Yellowstone to do some volunteer
work with wolves before moving on.
We got back to Louisville at noon. Had a three-hour layover, then Ken,
Brian and I headed out to the Frying Pan, over on the Western Slope, to fish
for a couple days. Another guy trip. No cats invited.
