When I was three-years old we took a family vacation to Colorado Springs. After a big pancake breakfast one day we drove to the top of Pikes Peak. My memories of that trip do not include any remarkable vistas: I only remember my father with a hose somewhere on the side of the Pikes Peak Highway, washing pancake vomit out of the rental car.
I was just out there for a few days last week. I didn't spend much time in the mountains (I wanted to see some of the flat part of the state where my great-grandmother homesteaded in the early 1900s). I did drive up Pikes Peak. I didn't puke this time. It made me miss my kids.
I took a lot of pictures, and here are just a few:
