Fort Collins

July 23. Saturday night we camped in Fort Collins. We had called literally every campground in the book and – amazingly – got the last two camping spots available in any campground from Cheyenne, Wyoming through Estes Park, Colorado. I'll give you a minute to find your atlas so you can really appreciate that. As you read the numbered list below, keep in mind that we were grateful to have any place to stop.

Fort Collins is a very unique town. On the one hand, it is the quintessential western cowboy town, filled with silos and feed stores and tack (horse gear) shops and pickup trucks. But it's also a college town, and the downtown college area is as much a college town as any. To use a fairly common reference point, it's even more Ithaca than Ithaca is. The town that I think I would most closely compare it to is Burlington, Vermont, for anyone who's been there. There also seems to be a lot of super-sketchy people and potential gang activity.

Interesting things happening at our campground and around Fort Collins:

1. Our campground SMELLS. Terribly. It smells almost exactly like a sweaty horse blanket, which isn't an offensive smell if you are actually on a horse, but it is when your whole world smells like that and immerses you in it and you can't escape it and there's not a horse in sight.

2. The entire campground is backwards. You drive in on the left side of the street and it goes from there. The owner is European so maybe that's it.

3. When driving into Fort Collins for dinner at a college town brewpub, we drove for probably 12 miles. The last three or so miles we were behind a pickup truck. At one point, when he needed to turn, he got over a lane and slowed down. And gave us the angriest angry bird you have ever seen, in a complete rage. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever been flipped off by a road rager who was I was simply following.
        *Ed. note – Numerous witnesses attest to the fact that the author's driving was fine.

4. Gabe discovered that there was something wrong with the electrical outlet at the campground by finding our plug beginning to melt and acquiring a severe 2nd degree burn on his finger. The campground owner's response to learning of this was to try to sell us some ointment from the camp store.

I'm turribly sorry. This distgustingness is the only photo we have from our night in Fort Collins.

5. Finally, the site we had was set up so poorly that our sewer hose (commonly referred to as the poopchute) couldn't reach the sewer. So we thought it would be easier to just go to the dump station. The owner wanted $20 to use it (when you had already paid for the campground), and had a padlock on the drain cover. It's an outrage! It's a scandal!

But at least we are headed to Rocky Mountain National Park.