Snowman Frank

I just wanted to share with everyone the sad story of a fine snowman named frank...

.... Libby and I drove up onto trail ridge rd just hours after it was declared open after it's three-day icy closure. We'd completed a fun, moose-full hike on the east inlet and wanted to get some snow into our day.

I parked on the side of trail ridge and began to take a photo of the mountains next to us when I found myself bombarded by a nasty snowball. The snowball was returned to it's giver, with even better magnitude and velocity (who knew physics would be so helpful!?)-
It was here, only a half-mile from the familiar Alpine Visitors Center, that a beautiful snowperson was born; Frank was the snowman's name, who stood only a foot tall off of the hood of my truck.
The ice pilgrim road smooth on the heated red paint- dead center on the hood. He took the strong winds, even a bug or two, that he encountered- and stood tall for just about a full half-mile.

Snowman Frank was tragically thrown from the moving vehicle upon a sharp turn into the parking lot of the visitors centre. .. A melting splat of slush was all that could be identified. His alien remains decorated the dark asphalt in the middle of the one-way lane that permitted any driver to access a parking spot, just a few feet from the end of the white line that would guide his own empty chariot to rest.

Libby and I morned the loss; Frank had certainly became part of our road trip! It was in sadness that a stronger, more aerodynamic Frank Jr. was engineered by myself.

Son of Frank, Frank Jr., was mounted on the passengers-side window-wiper of the same machine hat took the life of his predecessor
Frank Jr. had no eyes or arms, as the necessary materials were unavailable at the visitors' center- We drove east and deeper into the park.
Soon, Libby and I found ourselves caught behind a white pickup. The Louisiana plates and trio of cowboy hats should have warned us.
Frank Jr. appeared to have weakened by no measurement after a long few miles of the tall, windy road. Louisiana opened the back window of his truck, gave us a wave and raised his beer as if to offer a toast. He smiled- I believe it was meant for our guiding snowman.!
Frank got lots of weird looks on our way over the frozen alpine- some confused, but most were good !
After the cowboy had taken from the cooler just under the back window for the forth time, waving every time, we exited the hwy and parked amongst a crowd of other vehicles. Frank's three distinct body segments seemed to excite people, but that was all that he had..

By the time we re-entered the truck, our icy partner had acquired two stone eyes and arms of grass... He was complete!
It was fun to host such a journey; my passengers both seemed to be having a good time.
The point at which The son of frank was made complete would be the furthest point that we would reach on trail ridge road- we were headed back towards the west, and over the continental divide.

At approx. 49 mph, frank jr. broke his arm. His weak limb would not stand the intense resistance of the still air. At 62, the speed-demon would reach his maximum speed, and become a strong competitor for the fastest snowman on earth. Frank jr was holding strong- well past the Alpine Visitor Center.
His more recognizable figure, with eyes and arms, attracted more looks than ever. He was like a one-hit wonder and Im sure that he would have expressed his excitement if we'd given him a mouth.

Frank jr. had lived a prosperous life for both him and his missed father. It was not until switchback #4 that I noticed anything wrong..

It was a horrible feeling when I heard Frank's eyeball bouncing noisily up the windshield and over the top of the truck... Somehow Libby was able to find amusement in the incident (and did not hold it back at all! )
Number two simply dropped to the hood and sat at his miserable {feet?}...
His inevitable meltdown came slow, but still to fast. Our friend was dying. At switchback #1, a threatening hole appeared in the back of poor Franks' head. Sick Libby couldnt stop laughing when she noticed the brake lights of another white pick-up through franks' thin skull.

It would be a matter of minutes before we had a nice wet slush smearing up the window.
It was not too late... his two remaining segments were not all gone.

By instinct, my hand hit the small lever to the left of the stirring wheel to activate the windshield-wipers that would clear franks' head from the view. It was luck that had me catch myself- My actions would have launched Frank off of the mountain.
Libby and I, as the last living travelers of our van, spent a second morning over the small white blob that was frank Jr. The elk nearby seemed not to notice, though I know that they felt our sorrow.

... And so concludes the tail of our lost best friend, who lives just over an hour on earth.