AAAAAAiiiiiiieeeeeeeee! EEETs Heem! Heem! Make it go away!
Look. We did the back roads in Colorado trying to find out parcel of the Hartsel Ranch.
We drove a 1973 Caprice. One thing I know for certain: we'd never try going back were we came from.
I looked up Tunnel #5 & 6 on Hwy 6 out of Golden Colorado. No way does the topo-map do justice to my favorit haunt.
I'm exceedingly reluctant to concede that it was impossible to Y or W turn the Saab on Bear Camp Road. Nevertheless, and that notwithstanding, I believe I've already said that once getting on one of those "roads" there's no looking back whatsoever.
As far as the latter part of your post: that little thing should've been going off in his head like bonkers; I think that only goes off with son's in the car (not wives and baby daughters). Do we know who was driving? Suppose he woke up after a hard night of lines, and heard, "Dear, you got us stuck, again. I told you 'bout that. How many time? Did I tell you not to do that? I told you 'bout that."
I don't know. He spent nine days in the car with 'em. That is a HERO in my book. YOU spend NINER days in the car with wife, and two babies: and that's not a hero?
Growel. Grind. Grind. Grind. "Dear, what's that blood leaking out of the corner your mouth?" "Nothing. Believe me, dear, its REALLY nothing." "Well, I believe that you should have that looked at. When we get back to town, I'm going to have you see Doc Johanson. Frieda said he's really the cat's pajamas. Really. I thinkin I'm going to have her set you up an appointment with Margaret who knows the receiptionist really well."
I actually believe that therapy is working. I can FEEL it working...