Day Thirty-One: Durango (Rest Day)

The morning was silent, not an alarm clock in sight (sound?). Instead, we woke to the sound of two boisterous deer just outside Jenna’s bedroom window, munching on grass and giving the neighbor-kids hell as they walked near them on the sidewalk. We took our time in the morning, soaking in every minute of uninterrupted relaxation. Geri served us red velvet muffins and breakfast burritos, plus endless cups of much-needed coffee. She broke out her son’s old guitar for Slater to get his fix, and drew us detailed maps of the town and every sight to see within walking distance. We showered and renewed ourselves with clean clothes while putting the rest in the laundry, then started our walk downtown to see the city.

Main Street is the main attraction, with its quirky boutiques and healthy bakeries for locals and tourists alike. We strolled up and down time and time again, stopping at Magpies every other hour for a snack, a smoothie, an espresso shake—anything Tom offered us. Tom Mulligan is yet another marvelous human being, just like the rest of the family. He has a passion for the newsstand, for magazines and cooking, and he is an amazing host. Let’s just say our bellies were never empty on Tom’s account; he made us nearly every item on the menu (for freeeeeee) and made sure that we had time to enjoy magazine after magazine, telling us especially about his favorites—the science journals.

After our fair share of time spent downtown, we met back up with Geri for another afternoon of exploration. She picked us up on our walk home after we picked up bags full of medications for Slater’s ever-worsening allergies, and we drove fifteen miles to Baker’s Bridge, a famous and scenic bridge over the Animus River. There we sat for over an hour on the rocks below the bridge, pondering the beauties of Durango and towns along our route, and sharing deep talks from A-Z. As we were about to leave, we spotted five or six teens running toward the bridge: “They’re gonna jump!” Geri screamed. Jenna and her brother, Matt, have done this countless times, she told us, but never when the river was this high—and this fast. The first to jump was a lifeguard, a long-haired girl dressed in her red one-piece. She had it in the bag, jumping effortlessly into the water without further adieu, then swam swiftly to the rocks on the riverbank, where Geri waited anxiously to greet the successful jumpers. Following the lifeguard were three boys and one other girl, all of whom were not about to be shown up by a young woman not over 5’2 or 5’3. Jump after jump went surprisingly as planned, and Geri’s blood pressure lowered as we left the bridge, relieved that there were no complications.

She took us back toward town, stopping of course for food at a bomb Mexican restaurant called Zia. It is a small, local version of Chipotle, and it makes Chipotle look quite weak, to be honest. We scarfed down burritos and chips, then headed home and shared our favorite songs, Vimeo videos, and went to bed shortly thereafter, but not before Slater got his third bloody nose of the day (this is turning into a commonality).