The scene of the crime? An innocent place called Drifter’s Cookhouse, a great looking place surrounded by the most amazing umm… Flock? Gaggle? Swarm? Or… is it, as Wikipedia claims, a… charm? A ‘charm’ of hummingbirds? Whatever it is actually called, it was the most amazing bunch of hummingbirds I’ve ever seen.

The Cookhouse was rustic, decorated all around with autographed dollar bills stapled to the walls. It’s one of those places you walk into and know immediately is going to be good. I was served a mean Cookhouse buffalo burger by the owner and his young son.

We arrived at Drifters on opening day for the season. The owner was proud of his place, and after a long winter, seemed to really enjoy talking to us.

After a lunch, which included fresh chocolate chip cookies and home made raspberry ice cream, my darling Sleeping Beauty decided we should add a dollar to the wall.

Sometimes even the best, most well intentioned of ideas turn out so bad.

After signing the bill, the owner handed Sleeping Beauty a loaded staplegun, saying, “Put it up wherever you want.”

Somehow, instead of stapling our special bill to the wall, disaster struck as Fiona managed to shoot a staple deep into her fingers!

Hastily, I finished the job for her.

She played it cool until we got outside, then she lost it!

“Oh my God! That HURT! I tried to be cool about it in there, but I started sweating right away and everything! Great job, guys!” She turned her anger on us, “Real smart! Give Fiona the staplegun! OUCH!”

Fortunately she’s a trained medical professional. Using her extensive medical knowledge, she managed to staunch the considerable flow of blood from the tiny staple holes in her fingers.

After this debacle and repair job, we were back on our way. A few miles later, she calmed down and things were back to normal.

Bloodied but unbeaten, Team TT twisted through more great roads, climbing ever higher towards the 10,276 foot summit of Cameron Pass.

We made short work of the rest of the curves between us and Steamboat Springs, checked into the Rabbit Ears motel, and the usual post ride routine unwound. Toasted the Best Day Ever, smoked fine cigars, then sniffed out a fantastic brewpub by a raging river. The rest of the night is devoid of evidence except for this single photo.

I think this picture says it all. I’m not sure though, because around two AM, the night got a bit err… fuzzy. Fuzzy or not, it was the Best Night Ever, of that I am sure.

And better days, and nights were still ahead.

Part IV – HERE!

Author: frenchy