385

A lazy Sunday is the inspiration for my first post on this blog.  And the subject is Highway 385, which is evidence that you don't always need to go far to find your road.  It always surprises me how, after living in this area for 30 years,  I can still discover new things and find places where I've never been before.

Our first stop (my wife was my companion on this short excursion) was Strawberry Hill picnic ground.  I had been there several times before, but even repeat visits to familiar spots can provide fresh experiences.  It was Fathers Day, and we encountered a young father with his wife and two daughters who were having a great time dangling their fishing line in the small lake, anticipating the "bite."  There were smiles all around.  It's good to know that some fathers still think it's ok to take their daughters fishing.  Something tells me that's not as common as it used to be.  

On the other side were two young boys with their box of worms and fishing poles that were too big for them, but having great success just the same.  I noticed there was no father with them.  But mom was there, laughing along with them and sharing their pure joy each time they landed another 5-inch trophy.  The fish may have been small, but they put up a good fight.  

Continuing down the road, we came to the Sugar Shack.  This place has been there for years, but I only discovered it earlier this Spring on the advice of friends.  The sign says "Best Burgers in the Hills," so I asked the owner who happened to be there if that was true.  He replied "...in the WORLD."  I admire his confidence, and must admit it was a pretty damn good burger.   As we drove by this time, I noticed a similar mix of visitors that I had seen the first time...motorcycle riders ranging from dirt bikers dressed in their racing uniforms to leather-clad V-Twin owners.  From retired folks with their big coaches to dad, mom, little Billy and little Suzie in the family truckster.  And, of course, the "locals" who looked at them all with part amusement and part disdain.

A little further down the road we came to a long abandoned rock shop. The main building was in total disrepair, and out back was an old barn filled with interesting looking debris...and the smell of a dead animal, although I didn't investigate to make sure it actually was a dead animal and not a decomposing human body.  It was a perfect opportunity to trespass and do some unauthorized exploring.  But I didn't go in. I had an uneasy feeling that I shouldn't be messing around there.  Now if it was 1985 and I was a Goonie I would have just charged right in.  Because Goonies never say die!

Now the rain started coming down...getting heavier as we travelled further south to Hill City, where we enjoyed some great food and a cold beer at the Bumpin' Buffalo.  And I do mean COLD beer!  If every bar or restaurant would serve their beer this cold the world would be a better place.  Highly recommend this establishment!  Try it.  Just don't be hanging around on Main Street during the Wild West performance.  You might get shot. If you haven't heard about that deal yet, check the local papers.

One more thing before I close.  If I could live in a forest and choose the name of the street where I live, I think it would be something like this........

 

No. Let me rephrase that. It would be exactly like this.