Distancing himself from Blanding and the State of Utah, Sherman sought refuge and a meal in Cortez, Colorado and spent the night in a bed, not bobbing in a boat. In the morning, the stomachs of both carnivores were filled. Sherman had bacon and the Wagoneer slurped down 21 gallons of gazo-lean. Off towards Telluride they headed, returning serene memories of a magnificent box canyon that used to host a Bluegrass festival a decade prior. Sherman remembers watching 4-wheelers climbing out of there, eastbound, to get to Ouray. It was now his turn. Finding the track that used to guide mining mules out of the valley, the pair hung on a bench blown off the side of a cliff. Sherm liked the no guard rail, single-lane escape. At the plateau, about the same height of Wolf Creek Pass, the Jeep died. No air! Using the slope, the vehicle was coasted backwards until he could spin it around and dropped for miles until the engine started. Now he was off to the White Mountains and another dead end where the trail ended at a 2,000′ cliff. DAMN again. The road included a 55° rock incline that pointed the windshield to the heavens. Sherman drove with his head out the window just like a dog. Taking human highways over to Turquoise Lake, he had enough of the gas chariots and decided to walk around the reservoir. From where he parked, it looked like a 5-mile hike. He did not see the rifle barrel shape of the lake hidden by the trees. Sherman left at 7PM and returned completely beat at 2 in the morning. Not 1 to give up at that age, he circumnavigated the 15-mile perimeter distance nearly all in the dark. Crawling in the back of the Wagoneer, he thought about the last 4 days of his life and was very glad that he was born into an era where metal and chemicals can transport your silly carcass into some pretty interesting places rather quickly. He fell asleep instantly and left the next day for Denver. This world has a lot to see so get off your ass and go check it out now.