To the top!

I spent the last week’ish traveling around the high country of Colorado getting a taste of what the Rocky Mountains are really all about.  I can now report that the flavor offered by this part of the country is worthy of only the best critique from the most elite of critics.  After spending a weekend watching the Dewey dog for the J squareds, I took off in my c-RV with the plan to get to the top of some 14ers, and to also do my best not to keep any sort of schedule.  I was overwhelmingly successful.

I capped off my week in true Rocky Mountain High Style.  I stumbled upon a music festival in the bustling river rat town of Buena Vista.  The first night of music was free so I went to check it out.  While there, I learned that they were still looking for volunteers to help out with the rest of the weekend’s events.  I signed up to help for an evening, and promised to return the next night ready to go.  After climbing to the top of Mt. Yale and then taking a river bath to clean up, I was ready for a night in town.  I rolled into S. Main, a bizarre and seemingly out of place upscale housing development where the festival was happening, and immediately reported to Sue the volunteer coordinator. 

She looked at me and said, “O.K. you are going to be checking peoples’ bags at the gate.”

I tried to keep a straight face as I pondered her intentions for enlisting me as the “bag checker.”  Did she think I would be strict or did she put me there hoping I would let things slide by?  I continued to go back and forth with the answer to this question as I was at my post investigating all sorts of hand carried hippy satchels.  I definitely saw some items that probably weren’t supposed to be allowed in.  Because my training consisted of Sue handing me a printed list of items not permitted inside the festival grounds and telling me to “just look in peoples bags for weird stuff,” I decided to deal with the suspected contraband by making sure that the jubilant music fans knew they needed to at least try and keep their  “prohibited items” out of site. Not wanting to be lax with customer service I also insisted that they enjoy the show. Perhaps needless to say, people had a great time Friday night. I confiscated nothing.

 I should report, however, the job of a bag checker isn’t all gravy. I had one surprise when, after informing a guy I had to check his bag, he immediately responded with, “Sure man, I have some torches in there.”

Torches? What!?  Sue’s printed list of prohibited items didn’t include torches...Shit!  I leaned into the lady at the ticket counter next to me and asked if she knew if we allowed torches in.  She stared back at me blankly.  Apparently, it was up to my own discretion. The torch guy sold me on a story that he had juggled his torches at the venue before. Also, I witnessed his girlfriend slide by the paid security guards with an entire gallon of white gasoline, which means I wouldn’t be completely at fault if something awful happened.  I may have let the torches in, but the real cops let the fuel slide through.
 

I gave him the go ahead. “Alright man, have a good time. Enjoy the show.” Later on he was spotted sloppily juggling his torches near the porta-potties and was promptly shut down by proper authorities. As he was being escorted past me I resisted the urge to ask “who let white gas get through the gates?” No one was harmed by the torches.

Saturday, I debated on whether or not to climb another mountain, or spend the day taking advantage of my recently well-earned free festival pass by lounging in the green grass listening to a smorgasbord of live jams. I didn’t want my diligent work from the previous night to go to waste, so I opted for the green grass and some face melting jams. After a late breakfast of coffee and dehydrated milk and granola at my roadside squatters camp 15 miles outside town, I rallied and made it in time to catch the second half of an expectedly smooth Elephant Revival set. Bonnie Paine’s voice flooded over everyone in the audience and made the crowd forget they were outside being burnt to a crisp by the high altitude mid-day sun.  The band finished their set and left the stage to unanswered chants for an encore.  The tourists from Texas who sat next to me immediately got out of their lawn chairs and b-lined to the merchandise tent to scoop up as many CD’s and t-shirts they could get their hands on.  They thought the tunes were “Gol Darn Good!” 

Post Elephant Revival, the crowd thinned out and accepted an invitation by concert organizers to go cool off in the Arkansas River with the local kayaking talent.  I joined in on the exodus and took off to meander on the shores of the river and scramble around on some boulders on the surrounding hills.   I spent the majority of my afternoon lying down on top of a giant boulder watching the clouds roll in over the Collegiate Peaks as the sounds from the afternoon acts drifted through the air. It was hard to imagine things would be getting any better.  

As the sun gently lowered behind the Sawatch mountains, the temperature started to cool and the crowd started to stumble back to the South Main lawn from the Arkansas River.  It was clear that the majority of the attendees took full advantage of the afternoon break to hydrate with delicious Colorado buds and brews.  Kyle Hollingsworth quickly reeled everyone back in from their afternoon siestas.  Soon, with the help of Keller Williams the pair picked everyone up onto their feet, boogying down courtesy of a well-played cover of “Staying Alive.”  There were few in the crowd who were able to keep their butts on the grass during the funky cover.  Kyle Hollingsworth wrapped up his set, and blankets, mats, and chairs got put away or pushed to the back to make room for the headlining act of Keller Williams.  There was a rush at the beer tent and some quick trips to the porta-potties before Keller came on stage and proceeded to melt everyone’s face off. 

He spit out a cover of “Rehab” by the recently deceased Amy Winehouse.  A cover which most of the audience really grooved on and appreciated as a great way to pay respects.  Some in attendance, however, felt that it was too soon and refused to dance. Fools.  About halfway through the set, “Shake Down Street” was interrupted by an irate local policeman coming on stage. With spit flying out of his mouth, which surely showered the first couple of rows, he warned the audience that they better “Settle down! Or the place will be shut down.”  As one can imagine, the crowd which had been drinking and baking in the sun all day, was less than obedient.  It sparked an immediate reaction.  People started cheering and cheersing, and the night continued with the crowd ready to really party. Keller was able to kind of mellow things out. He calmed the crowd away from riot mode and brought everyone back into more of a “Floatin on the Freshies” mentality.  It was definitely one of, if not the best Keller Williams show I have ever seen.  The guy is amazing.  Not only does he play every instrument, but he also has ridiculous lyrics that often don’t have any repeating phrases.  He can sing a novel length story as he plays six different instruments.  Impressive indeed. 

Post Keller show, I wandered out of the gates to where it looked like people were hanging out.  I met some folks who were sitting on the sidewalk and asked them what was going on.  They told me that they were waiting for the bus and that I could join them.  No other details about the bus were needed.  I said O.K. and hopped on a bus full of an eclectic party crowd.  Some were certainly in better shape than others.  It looked like a few passengers were probably going to miss the one stop the bus made and spend the night either in the aisle or face down on one of the seats inside the bus.  After a 20 min ride we pulled into our festival campground destination and those who were able, exited the bus.  The festivities continued nearly till dawn. In the morning people groggily climbed out of their tents and started packing up.  For many, another successful festival weekend was completed. For some, a completely full and over flowing porta-potty caused some major morning distress. 

Later in the day I rode along with new friends to the Great Sand Dunes National Park, and wandered around on the tallest dunes in N. America.  You know you have met good people when, before leaving town a pit stop is made at the 7-11.  Not a pit stop for slurpies or Little Debbie Snack Cakes, but a pit stop for water bottle “whore baths” in the parking lot.  My kind of people.  Additionally, I have now met a person who carries and uses an Iphone, but in the car still uses and stores a massive collection of CDs. You don’t see CD’s very often these days, and it is especially rare to see them in the possession of an Iphone user. 

We may have overestimated our current fitness level when we set out to hike 750ft up to the top of the tallest dune. Effects of the previous night’s celebration inspired us to scale back our plans a little bit.  Instead we managed to do some serious aimless wondering around on heaps of sand.  During our visit, the sand teamed up with the wind to cover every exposed piece of flesh and completely fill every vulnerable orifice with grainy deposits.  If anyone is looking to purchase some pearls I know some people.

After getting our fill of sand, or rather getting filled with sand, we made our way back towards Buena Vista.  We parted ways and as they headed for their homes, I too made my way back up Cottonwood pass to my current squatters spot. I slept great that night.

In other news:

        - It seems that the dumpster diving in Laramie has drastically changed.  During the days I was in the Laramie game, you could count on getting some previously hot and ready pizzas at nearly any time of day.  Now, that is not the case.  During a recent visit I actually struck out, that’s three misses in a row at the Little Caesars dumpster.  This is an unimaginable result.  In the past, it was assumed that if you went diving you would come out with at least 5 pizza pies.  Now, there are absolutely no guarantees.  What was once a lush bin of pepperoni and cheese is now a picked through Serengeti of half eaten crusts and empty crazy bread bags

For your viewing pleasure: (click any to enlarge)

An old cabin Mt. Elbert in back left and Mt. Massive back right.

A look ahead to the summit of Mt Massive. That 60+ yr. old dude you can see on the summit in this picture greeted me when I got to the top and said "You don't have to wait for me to spark up brother." Oh Colorado.

Approach to Mt Massive.

A view of Mt. Elbert the tallest in Colorado and Rocky Mtns. at 14,433ft

My daily breakfast treat. Granola with powdered milk. I didn't eat it as powder. I added water to make it milk or something that is at least the same color as milk. I can't say the same for the flavor.

Near the summit of Mt. Yale.

Sometimes when I have to drink out of this thing I really hate the stupid smiley face. At times I feel as though it is mocking me. This day, however, I felt like we were really sharing a moment.

Say what you will about marmots, but man they find the sweetest spots to set up camp.

A view from the top of Mt. Massive, which is the best named of all the mountains. The summit is at 14,421 ft and is second highest in the Rockies.