(c) 2001 L. Nollenberger |
A little farther up the trail, one of the older bristlecones diplayed the toughness of life on the slopes. I was facinated with the two-toned split wood that flowed from the base of its red bark trunk. Tired and hungry, I made my way back down the trail, concerned about the time it would take to cross the 300 miles of road between here and Vegas. |