Montrose

We pull into Montrose following a six hour drive over the mountains ("Are we there yet dad? Are we there yet dad? Are we there yet dad? Are we there yet dad?.. . . "). We cross Monarch Pass, or the highest point, in a mountain rain-storm and have sympathy for cyclists, poor souls. We stop off at the Coyote Cafe, where we have been before at Highway 24 & 285. Our waiter Jennifer tells me she is from Minnesota and her husband New Jersey. After 9/11 they drove to Colorado and have never considered leaving. The idea of London is fascinating to her, as is the kid's accents. In similar vain, I speak to a check-out gal at Targets who is in her granny years - she is going to London with a tour group this month "but we won't stay there too long 'cuz it is so expensive." Instead her group will head to Stoke-On-Trent to see the pottery (I was not aware it is a centre) and I recommend the V&A and Courdault Art Institute. I buy the kid a stack of comics at the gas-station thinking it will be a distraction and yes, you guessed it, they fight bloody hell for certain issues - Spider Man and Fantastic Four seem to be the favorites. So yes, a distraction.

I nap at the pool yesterday and Eitan places a cheetoh under my nose to see if I will wake. "Dad it was there for like 20 seconds" he giggles. And apparently a large crowd amused too.

Eitan jonses for a football so we go to Walmart at 9PM after visiting Stan and Silver for dinner. He practices his ball-control skills in the isle. He has been on-edge for his Manchester United DVDs which arrived chez Stanfill earlier.