Our Big Night Out - Part 2

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Here is today's view of the sun setting. It appeared as though the sun had nested like a platinum egg inside the lower clouds and was lighting them from within. Just an hour before, the clouds had been unleashing small opaque hail upon us. Just the night before, the clouds had left us a half inch of snow before morning which the new sun soon dappled into a vibrant pinto print of white on the brown soil. We are not done with winter's last little pouts.
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So back to our big night out:
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With the goat path now a super-highway, we were soon crossing the bridge to civilization in record time. The setting sun began to break through the overcast skies as we rumbled over the cattle guard and through the gate to motor up the long drive to the host ranch. No less than eight dogs surged forward to bark, inspect and greet us as we pulled in behind a cattle trailer. One dog shouted guttural warnings from inside the house; a less than friendly and predictable hound that the hosts considerately decided to shut inside. That was good since I have had my fill of Kujo critters and stitches.

Slim met us on the flagstone patio and escorted us up the exterior stairs of a separate two story building. I made a mental note that the stairs were not always at constant and predictable heights, a situation which could be disastrous for those with abilities impaired as the evening wore on.
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We found ourselves in a delightfully dedicated bar room and soon at home with 'da boys' which included our hosts Clay (behind the bar) and his young ranch hand Tyrell (who was prepping food and readying the grill down at ground level when I took these photos).

The rustic bar in the left corner was a recent addition and very nicely done; a combo of new and weathered wood and branches, rope and old horse shoes. Its front panels were decorated with burn-ins from area ranch brands and two well-executed word-burned sketches.

It took all of about 5 minutes before we were comfortable and settled in like this was a second home with nonstop laughter and teasing being the order of the night. I can't imagine a more pleasant way to spend an evening anywhere.

Slim slipped away long enough to prep and grill his famous canyon potatoes after a boisterous competition over who could better peel a potato with his pocket knife. Mark and I restrained giggles at some of the very small surviving spuds. But this is a ritual, you see, part of the entertainment and it doesn't matter if you start with five pounds and end up with two, that's simply not the point at all. The point seemed to be that we were going to hang out like kids without a care in the world, far away from feed and fuel prices and just have fun for the evening. Count us in!

Pure devil as always, Slim took advantage of my concern that he had thrown the steaks on with the potatoes that half hour earlier. He knows we are staunch 'medium rare' fans. "Yep, I threw them on, heck, had to be an hour ago! What ya don't eat, I plan on making some fine bridles with so no big deal."

With a clockless instinct that defies logic some time well into our bar reverie, Slim stood up and announced "Well, it's time to eat!" and led the grateful stampede down the ill-proportioned steps to the main house. We milled around the kitchen until each of us was outfitted with a full plate and found a seat at the big table. Tyrell had cooked up bacon to a crisp and diced it into a big pot of French-cut green beans and let it all simmer long and hard, DEE-licious! Then he fried up mushrooms in butter to top over the steaks. Slim brought in his famous grilled canyon potatoes - ultra thin slices done up with bacon, jalapeno dices, spices and butter, wrapped in double aluminum and set to grill away until soft and browned - heavenly tasty. He returned with a big platter of his own rib-eye steaks and pointed out which Mark and I would like for doneness. Spot on - juicy, tender and so tasty. The only background noise was old Kujo who had been sequestered to a back bedroom before we came down to eat. The banter and laughter continued on through dinner and saw us back up in the bar in due time.
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Slim spinning a classic cowboy yarn
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Mark and Clay interspersed the evening's philosophizing with a game of pool, mostly drawn out by Clay forgetting that it was his turn to shoot between his bartending duties and subjects of conversation that especially sparked his interest. Yep, we solved a lot of the world's problems that night.

I wish I had taken photos of this ranch for you (Mark is ordering a larger memory card for the new camera as I type). The main house is a 100 year old adobe structure with immense, dark hewed beams running here and there atop thick interior support walls. It is even on the grid and has the semblance of genuine limitless running water! I was enjoying every moment of this and even felt compelled to use the porcelain throne ... if only 'just because'. It is simply a gorgeous and comfortable place to call home.

We so regretted how soon time had passed and finally got grown-up enough to head home and let these cowboys get their beauty rest. I stopped by the kitchen to retrieve my left-overs and dishes. I had forgotten about ol' Kujo. He hadn't. What a charming pup, a short-haired muscular and fawn-spotted biting machine; reminding me of some odd and accursed mating of a dingo, a ridgeback and a hyena. And he was now giving me (who was too far in to run) 'the look' and the talk. I thought back briefly to the hound who had ripped up my face twenty years ago. No, that wasn't something I wanted to deal with again. The cowboys were up in the bar, Mark was pulling the truck around. Well, it's just you and me, Kujo, huh? Lovely.

As he closed in on me with menace and malice in mind, I decided to do my best Miss Romper Room personae. "WELL! Aren't you SUCH a GOOD boy?!" He paused, as such dogs often do, to mentally crunch this strange and unexpected input. I wasted no time and turned, my only concern being that he might be a butt-biter as I stooped to grab the leftovers from the fridge. So far, so good - buttocks still intact as I straightened up and spun around towards the door. "Well, yes, oh, you ARE such SUCH a GOOD boy!" I tried to ignore the ample salivation from curled lips revealing serious fangs and took heart in the twitching of his eyebrows from right to left as he crunched this strange input once more. I managed to slip out the latching screen door before he decided that he had been duped. And, honestly, that's all I cared about at that point. I nipped out to Mark's waiting truck to a background of maddened barking and lunging at the screen door. Ya-hoooo! Kind of put a satisfying closing edge on the evening!

As always after our rare social outings, we nattered enthusiastically, playing back all the highlights of the evening as we drove along in the dark. The canyons were now black velvet dark except for what a toe-nail moon offered through the occasional break in the mesa walls. Even the goat path turns and miles were now ticking by without effort. At this late hour, we had the roads to ourselves. Well, not quite. From what seemed like 50 feet away and emerging out of solid rock, headlights suddenly split the darkness just ahead of us on this largely one lane road!

The beacon lights of this new intruder stopped in their advance and we decided to creep around the corner of this rock-curtained hairpin to investigate. The alternative was backing down the narrow road behind us to a wide part which may not have even existed within the last quarter mile. Tall lights staring through the dust blinded us as we made the turn. Oh great, it was a water tanker, one of the bigger gas field vehicles! Wisely, he had stopped at one of the only spots big enough to allow both of us to squeeze by, but barely. Both trucks had to carefully inch into the wider space abdicated by the other.

But it worked out as it most normally does out here and soon we were back on our last miles to home with only a coyote pursuing a cottontail charging out just 15' in front of us. We got home to the frantic fawning of Brou and Daisy and simply had to sit and chat for another hour before the joy of the evening would let us sleep.
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