Lookout! Mountain!

Lookout Mountain.
That's where I spent Saturday morning.
The twisty trek was dense with cyclists.
The power bar spandex types.
Having once been a professional cyclist myself (thank you yes), I gave them the space they deserved.

At the top of the mountain lied Buffalo Bill's grave.
Not far from the Buffalo Bill Museum & Gift Shoppe.
Museum and gift shop?
Didn't Buffalo Bill murder a bunch of innocent people?
I'm pretty sure he killed the Brady Bunch during that old time train robbery dream sequence.
What's next, the Richard Speck Hall of Fame?
Thank you, thank you very much!
You're thinking of Jesse James.  William "Buffalo Bill" Cody was a decorated soldier, world renown for his skills as a bison hunter, and later as a showman.  He is a respected figure in American history and was never considered an outlaw or a murderer.
Oh.
I guess I'll buy some gift shop crap then.


The gift shop's false comforts and touristy tchotchkes made me feel like I was really seeing America again.  I bought a boot magnet for the fridge, some Annie Oakley postcards, a sheriff badge with my fiancé's name on it, and a fake brothel token.  Now that's Colorado!

Nonsense aside, Lookout Mountain proved mighty and wonderful and breathtaking and refreshingly not Chicago.