(Yes, city mouse, I heard your loud - albeit squeaky - guffaw, “Traffic! That isn’t traffic!“, and I realize that, compared to larger cities, Missoula has no traffic. However, this is my monologue, so I beg your indulgence, knowing you protest because you are slightly jealous.)
That’s when I take the long - and very scenic - route, turning left up Blue Mountain Road, winding hither & yon until I’ve crossed a one-lane bridge & meandered to the rural end of South Avenue, which takes me almost straight home.
(If I get distracted & miss the critical turn-off, this becomes the even longer & equally scenic back way to the airport.)
My first enlightenment to this alternate way home was this summer, on a balmy day when my husband revved up his obsessively gleaming Honda and took me on a short motorcycle jaunt. We made a big loop up Reserve Street to Mullan Road, heading back toward the highway through meadows & pine forests sporting wildflowers. Suddenly, I clued in that we’d skipped the highway and were almost home & I wondered aloud, “How did we get here?”.
To which my husband replied, “What? I can’t hear you!”
So, if the weather’s warm & you want to find this red bridge when you’re next in Missoula, you can borrow my helmet.
EWWW! That is NICE! I love the "reflection"!
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