Hays America

Notes from the Road (pt3)

Ok… i confess. While piecing together the second “HSoB: Notes from the Road” post, there was a nagging itch in the back of my buzz-cut cranium. Something was still missing. What was it? Well… the answer came roaring into awareness as i was bumping around West Colfax in Denver. I was there to celebrate T-Day with my aforementioned Texas comrade from the 2000s (the Bush Years) but also wanted to visit the new Casa Bonita as long as i was there. Anyway… i had some time to kill before my reservation, so i took a little detour, further west on i70 to “Lookout Mountain”, a peak overlooking the Coors brewery in Golden, and the final resting place of “Buffalo Bill”, a famous 19th-century Wild West entertainer whose comings and goings had him in good ol’ Hays America on occasion. 

So… paying homage to Bill, it hit me. When pressed, i declare Kanorado, half Kansas, half Colorado, my home base. And though the first “This Land” post dedicated to Kansas was given due attention, circumstances had me juggling too many priorities and restrictions to give Colorado a fair hearing at the time… more on that, later.

Anyway… let’s give it another go, shall we?

Golden Colorado
Buffalo Bill’s Grave
Spanish Peaks
Made from pure Rocky Mountain Spring Water… 😉

COLORADO…the other half of Rohlfie’s formative experience. As is typical in post-feminist-revolution fractured families, kids spend school months (work) with one parent, and summer months (play) with the other. And so, this was my childhood story. School in Kansas, “God’s Country” as Mother would put it, and summer nature explorations in Colorado, home of my father’s family. These two humans may have been mismatched from the jump, but, we aren’t here to talk about childhood trauma, so let’s just leave it there.

Colorado is a landlocked mountain state with distinct southwest flavor. In fact, the best green chili burritos in the world are served there (fight me). Sharing the Four Corners region with Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah, it is also bordered by Wyoming to the north, Nebraska to the northeast, Kansas to the east, and Oklahoma to the southeast. Colorado is noted for its mountains, forests, high plains, mesas, canyons, plateaus, rivers, and desert lands. It encompasses most of the Southern Rocky Mountains, as well as the northeastern portion of the Colorado Plateau and the western edge of the Great Plains.

Maroon Bells
Mesas near Grand Junction

The region was originally inhabited by Native Americans and their Paleo-Indian ancestors for at least 13,000 years and possibly much longer. The eastern edge of the Rocky Mountains was a major migration route for early peoples who spread throughout the Americas. More recently, the Pike’s Peak Gold Rush created an influx of pale-faced settlers traveling through Colorado via Santa Fe Trail, which connected established eastern states to Santa Fe and the Camino Real de Tierra Adentro southward. Others made their way overland west via Oregon Trail to the goldfields of California, or the Mormon settlements of the Salt Lake Valley, by way of the North Platte or Sweetwater Rivers, the easiest crossing of the Continental Divide between the Southern and Central Rocky Mountains. 

Alongside humans, wildlife found in the mountains of Colorado include deer, bear, squirrels, marmots, moose, pika, and red fox, though moose are not native to the state and the bear are fairly rare. The foothills include deer, squirrels, cottontail, coyote and mountain lion. The prairies are home to prairie dog, fox, badger, and jackrabbit. I have to admit, i have stories a-plenty for nearly every variation of Colorado’s landscape. Here’s a Grand Junction example. A somewhat gonzo road-trip tale, only slightly embellished, but mostly true (wink).

Within the urban sprawl of Denver, a place i have spent many a season, Littleton, Centennial, Northglen, Westminster, Thornton, Broomfield, Arvada, Aurora, and the Denver Tech Center (i wouldn’t know where to start). As well, i have stories for Colorado Springs, Pueblo, Steamboat Springs, Lyons, Estes Park, Dillon, Frisco, Breckenridge, Glenwood Springs, La Vita, Cuchara, Longmont, Loveland, Aspen, Woody Creek, and Boulder. For example, here’s another gonzo road-trip tale. Destination, Laramie Wyoming, but we started from the Keystone Ski Resort where my traveling companion and i were employed and living at the time. 

Finally, a shock to the system as my foggy impression of the Northern front range was of middle to lower middle-class living standards… mountaineers, if you will. To my surprise, in my attempt at selling a Rough and Ready camper trailer in Fort Collins, i found myself in a veritable paradise of a college town. It was a pleasant surprise, but since Colorado registration/tagging laws are different from those in Kansas, i was not in possession of the proper paperwork to sell, so therefore had to hightail it to Nebraska on the quick step. We sold the trailer there, but the HSoB tour had me pushing North for the summer leaving me in a time crunch. This, combined with the frustrating Fort Collins experience ended up unfairly influencing my mood at the moment of documentation.

So, yeah, Colorado, half of my home base. As i peck this, my sister and brother in law are pulling up steaks from their Georgia home and transplanting themselves back to Colorado. This fills me with gladness as now i have an excuse to spend more time in a place my father and his eventual life companion would call… “God’s Country”. They would not be wrong in saying that, but neither would my mother saying the same about Kansas… i agree with them all… Kanorado is God’s Country, and i’m proud to call it home. 

Cartman LOVEs those Sopapillas
The new Casa Bonita
Here we go………………

Now, as my attention has turned full speed to the book project, these blog posts will most likely be restricted to no more than one per month. It’s been a wild year of constant travel and posting, but now it’s, how did Jack Torrance put it… oh yeah… “All work and no play…” Just kidding, we’ll try to strike a balance, and we’ll make sure not to, as Clint Eastwood would put it, “let the old man in”, and hopefully, by the time we head back to Kanorado, we’ll have something to say about the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation” and a manuscript for my shot at the Great American Novel. 

Onward through the fog… Rohlfie

Notes from the Road (pt2)

And so… a lot has transpired since our whirlwind swing through the New England and the D.C. swamps. To be more explicit, we’ve wrapped the HSoB tour in a bow visiting all 48 mainland states. Admittedly, some got less attention than fairly warranted. Texas most egregiously. So, after taking care of health, dental, optical, and vehicular care in good ol’ Hays, America, we (Rocinante and i) made our way south when the Late October chill started infiltrating the great state of Kansas. 

1st stop… Tejas…

Since the time is neigh for diving head first into the book project, i couldn’t in good conscience leave the current snapshot of Texas stand unfinished … we’re searching for that “fibrillating heart of our divided nation”. And Texas in an important pole in the current energy disturbance. So, we HAD to spend more time here. And so we did. Starting with a stop in Red Rock, a rural berg roughly 30 miles from Austin. We have friends there, including one bass player who i assume wishes to remain nameless. He’s the one from whom i learned the expression, “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.” He was a literal comrade in arms as we stumbled through a giant swath of the 1980s in the same Rock-n-Roll platoon… we took no prisoners. As well, a brief detour to celebrate Thanksgiving with a Texas comrade from a different war, the 2000s… the Bush years. Another fellow soldier whom i’m assuming wishes to remain anonymous. From him, i learned that there are no problems in Civil Engineering that, “can’t be solved with a bullet.” He has effectively estranged from his home state, but i suspect he still harbors a deep connection to this storied “whole ‘nuther country”. One thing for certain, he has a keen Texas ear for good music.

Anyway… Texas… after escaping the late autumn chill in Kansas, cruising over the vast tabletop of the Texas prairie, listening to Crime and Punishment via audio book, deep in a reverie, my concentration started wafting in and out with disjointed strains of a song i once knew by heart but hadn’t heard in many years. The voice was that “high lonesome” distinctly Texas lilt, and as the miles rolled by, the music grew more intense and i couldn’t ignore it any longer. When the song started drowning out the book, i turned it (the audio book) off, and racked my memory for a door that could lead me into the song properly, but it didn’t appear. Finally, wishing to get my concentration back in order to track the Dostoevsky novel properly, i pulled over in one of those Texas prairie parking areas for a quick Google search. I HAD to get a bead on that song. And here it is… Lilah, by Don Henley. From a record released the year my first marriage was falling apart. The song evidently embedded itself in the hole where my soul had been before the divorce. Anyway… it was the endless Texas prairie that stirred the song from its resting place, and that impression will be with me for the rest of my days.   

Now, in Rocinante’s slipstream as we made our way South, an early November arctic blast ravaged the Eastern Midwest, and more, reaching all the way to Georgia, even Northern Florida. And since we have no interest in climates dipping into the 30s, we beat a burning path to Corpus Christi after sharing a few beers, reminiscences, and current doin’s with my old Rock-n-Roll war buddy.

After crossing the prairie, escaping the white knuckle traffic snarls of Austin, and finally spending a few weeks here in South Texas, i have a better impression of the Lone Star State and with that, ready to dive head first into the book project. 

For that purpose, back to the River of Grass… back to South Florida and the Miami-Dade Public Library Network. I’ve begun the process of world building and character development, and i know i have a lot to learn before screwing up enough courage to present a manuscript to publishers. I also know the chances of snagging a professional deal are slim to none. But i’ve read Stephen King’s comments “On Writing,” and from that, i know rejections come in bushel baskets. So dear loopers, please understand, i don’t do any of this out of an expectation for something more than, how did Papa Vonnegut put it? Oh yeah, renewing, “feeding, and growing my soul”. And by some lucky coincidence, this has been my retirement plan all along… #winning.

Onward through the fog… Rohlfie

Hot Springs or Busk (chapter VII): Rocinante’s Maiden Voyage

And so, our mongrel of the rueful countenance takes another step closer to his post-retirement vision quest (hot springs or busk). Unlike Don Quixote’s rusty armor, helmet, and spear, he dons camo shorts, Tevas, and Hawaiian shirts blending gloriously with the avocado floor of his newly outfitted camper van. He christened her “Rocinante,” a nod to the famous 17th century novel and a little inside joke to himself. Seemed fitting for a slightly unhinged adventure like this. Luckily he’s traveling with a couple equally bent family members, we’ll call them Dawnareeno and Crazy Carter.

The first stop on Rocinante’s maiden voyage was Colorado Springs, where some savvy outfitters promised to turn Rocinante’s insides into a rolling studio apartment. Ronnie threw caution to the wind and was not disappointed, the outfitters turned the van into a true vagabond sanctuary. While waiting for the workers to finish the job, Ronnie, Dawnareeno, and Crazy Carter took in a few of the local attractions, and while exploring, stumbled upon a vintage motorcycle shop… you know, the one with the cryptic “help wanted” sign in the window. It was practically tailor-made for a gearhead like Crazy Carter, and we all got a chuckle from the words on the sign: “Wanted… mechanic to work on vintage motorcycles. Prefer a retiree with their own tools and plenty of time on their hands.”

Right on time, Ronnie, Dawnareeno, Crazy Carter, and Rocinante tilted towards the plains, bound for their home town where mom still lives (call her Sassy Salgal). Visiting that tiny windswept Western Kansas town made these intrepid travelers feel nostalgic for their flaming youth. But if the wind didn’t shake the vans to pieces that night, well, that would be a minor miracle. It howled like a banshee on a bender, giving their rolling domiciles an unnerving sway that had them contemplating the merits of Dramamine pills.

One more overnight. This time somewhere near the Choctaw Nation, they boondocked in a nearly empty truck stop parking lot, nearly empty because the place had closed for the night in order to upgrade their IT setup. Dinner under the golden arches, then up bright and early for the final stretch to Savannah with its sweet tea, Spanish moss, and symphonies of croaking frogs like drunken choirs of mutant crickets. It was Mother Nature’s lullaby and that night our intrepid travelers slept the sleep of the dead. The frog chorus was as loud as those relentless Kansas winds, which is saying something. Savannah has a ghostly charm, and Ronnie’s travel companions, back in their element, served up a delicious bowl of eggs, grits, and salsa. Just the rib-sticking ticket for the long journey back to Hays America.

A stopping point on the return trip, Nashville, very nearly did him in. The traffic was a biblical swarm of 18-wheelers and urban assault vehicles piloted by rage-filled maniacs who seemed personally offended by the very existence of camper vans. Our hero sweated bullets, the beginnings of a stress ulcer gnawing away in his gut as he navigated potholes big enough to swallow Rocinante whole. Between the craters and the belligerent rat race, he was about ready to cash in his chips and take up residence in a roadside ditch.

But like all things, even Nashville’s particular circle of hell came to an end. St. Louis passed in a blur, then a welcomed ice cream break with his two boys and a special friend in Kansas City, and then… the long, lonely expanse of I-70. The wind returned for one last hurrah, a farewell slap to remind him who was really in charge out on the prairie. Ronnie gritted his teeth, visions of sugar-coated mood gummies and his home bed the only thing keeping him sane.

And then, just like that, there was Hays America again. Rocinante, despite the indignities suffered, pulled into the parking lot with a weary sigh. Ronnie, a little grayer, a little more wrinkled, and sporting a newfound respect for the sheer chaotic power of the American highway, stumbled out. He was home, and damn, if it didn’t feel good. He might not be the world’s greatest adventurer yet, but as he patted Rocinante’s battered side, he grinned. “We’ve only just begun,” he said. There are 50 states in the good ol’ USofA, and Ronnie with Rocinante plans to busk them all then relax in their natural hot springs along the way.

Onward… through the fog!