|Gothenburg, our Pony Implode Station.We limped to North Platte for a tire and wheel.|
Renee was in despair. I cleared away the splintered wood and sharp sheet metal and bolted on the spare. We agreed to limp into the Gothenburg Pony Express station for a fresh horse and as Renee started the engine, I suggested we try the blinker. I was beside myself with joy. She works, they work. A miracle. Not minutes before, Renee was ready to abandon ship. With blinkers and running lights, Wandah, wounded as she was, could thrash on into the notoriously vicious head and cross winds and the bowels of Wyoming. With renewed Hope I could look forward to parking Wandah in the shadow of Ned’s Redwoods as we resurrected a new hillside hideaway. We could, with a new wheel and spare, press on to the soothing sounds of Clear Creek and the magnificent Big Horns in our backyard.