I showed you the peak, and I told you about the seven hundred miles. But there was one more story, and maybe a moral coming out of it too.

It was bitter cold the day after Thanksgiving in Nevada, with a temperature hovering around freezing and a slicing wind that wouldn’t quit.

But even so, we got aboard a pedal car sitting upon a pair of true railroad rails, and pushed it four miles with our legs.

The first half of the trip was sincerely miserable. But as we passed the ill-marked halfway point, warmth happened from the inside.

I need to both move and overcome like that more.

On the way back we got on board the tattered train and it dragged us back to the station. I got the very best seat in the house, and someone took a picture of me sitting there contemplating the sunset out the window.

The sun was coming out a little between mountain and cloud and I was looking at the way it hit the swinging ropes of power line, arc after arc and miles and miles out into the valley of the searchlight.

I only saw the pic for a second, but I liked it much more than I like most pics of myself.

Also. It’s always tough to stay current with the spill on a road trip like that. I forced myself to do it, but then I fell apart when I got home. So that’s the moral. Maybe I give myself the days off properly, when it comes to the average breed of road trip.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the cat.