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Today is day 18 of our expedition. We lost Johnson last night to dysentery.
I warned him, dammit! I told him, "Don't drink the local microbrews!",
and now he's gone, brave fool. Now we're down to a skeleton crew of four
and we barely have rations enough for that, what with McCooly decimating
our granola supply the night he twisted his ankle on the Bear Lake trail.
God willing there's a Safeway on the other side of these hills. That's
another three days journey ahead of us. Four hours if we charter a helicopter
but the paleface at "Arts Tradin' Post and Olde Tyme tourist info" said
the only take cash or traveler's checks. Days like this I lay back and
dream of reaching the fabled promised land of Denver International Airport.
Till then we just huddle in our cabins and wait for death. — Col
Arthur B.
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