Whatever you do in life, make sure you never, ever, travel to the Tetons and Yellowstone at 85 in the grips of Type A Flu. On Day two, leaving Elko, when the throat starts to tingle, turn that car around and go home. Rest. Return another day. Do not go forth and take photos of the Tetons, waterfalls, moose, elk, gorgeous mountain scenes and leave a treasured $4000 lens along a side road somewhere never to be found. Do not continue to Yellowstone and the adorable black bear family, the wolves weaving paths on the hillside as they travel to bring back nourishment to their kits, and of course, if you must drop your phone in a pit toilet, make sure it’s one with a full content of paper seat covers that have so filled the pit as to make retrieval possible (Hold my feet John, I’m heading down!). Empty the two full containers of Purell on the wall into your open palms and phone. All will be well. Take photos afterwards with shaking hands, of Golden Eagles, distant Mountain Goats, Grizzlies, Long-horned sheep, and Mountain Bluebirds. Lie abed in a gorgeous vacation rental for two days, after a trip to the hospital assures you and your companion that you merely have Type A Flu, not Covid. Prepare for the trip home, leaving no gear behind, and make sure you arrive in time to VOTE. Democracy is on ON THE LINE.
Feeling a little better this morning, 15 days after a decision to travel forth with a tickle in my throat.
I once thought I was invincible at 85.
No longer,
