Trout Haven

Fishing is one of those Summer activities especially popular in the Rocky Mountains, and is encouraged upon young boys by their fathers. I have to admit that there is something attractive about fishing, some sort of primal , hunter instinct that compels men and boys to capture, kill and eat wildlife, and being in the mountains only goes to bring out theses feelings. There is a primal and instinctual feeling about fishing which I displayed once driving in the car with Dad on our way to a fishing adventure. I was quite young and excited about going fishing and I was convinced that I would have good luck if when driving by the river along the way I could summon all the fish to be caught if I yelled out the window of our moving car, at the top of my lungs, "Pooparoodum Fish!" over and over again. This call had an American Indian quality and significance, and for years to come was the the symbolic phrase for fishing.

Dad gave me a fishing rod early on and I remember only using it on very few occasions. The first was somewhere on the trip when we needed to stop in some small remote town and do laundry. Of course the logical roles were taken in that mom did the laundry in the Laundromat while Dad and I went fishing at a nearby lake. As luck would have it there was a bait and tackle store right next to the Laundromat and a perfect fishing lake a few yards away. So off mom went to do her chores as all good women folk should do, while Dad and I attempted to provide game for the tribe. We needed a few necessities for the rod which included bait, hooks, sinkers and floats, which we proceeded to pick up, as well as a bit of advice from the man running the tackle shop. The bait we used was a jar of those pink salmon eggs which resembled red caviar, in fact it was so much like caviar that Dad suggested I could eat it. This was really not too unusual because I recall snacking on these fish eggs with David and Uncle Bob on a few other occasions and remarking on the similarity to caviar, in fact it tasted pretty good and Dad always commented that it was a suitable and cost-effective substitute for caviar if the need ever raised. So upon opening the jar of bait I had to sample a few of the eggs and enjoying the freshness of the new jar. As bait, I'm not too sure how effective the little fish eggs were, impaling a few on the hook simple popped them which resulted in the loose membrane hanging off the hook, which then came off in the water almost immediately. But the fish eggs seemed to be a popular and effective bait so I trusted Dad and the advice of the bait & tackle shop that this would attract fish to my hook.

We also had to tie the hooks, weights and floats onto the line which, even to this day is a frustrating and tedious task always resulting in a tangled mess which inevitably needs to be cut completely off with the scissors from the Swiss Army Knife and started completely over. But we finally get the hooks and everything straightened out and the long awaited moment arrived when you get to cast the line into the water where eager trout wait (with baited breath) to be pulled out. As expected the first couple of casts were awkward and result in potential snagging of oneself by the hook in the eye, but Dad and I quickly got the hang of it and we cast the line way out into the water. The first thing we noticed was that the float was way too small and didn't provide enough buoyancy to stay afloat, and simply sank in the water. This was a little disappointing because it only meant another delay to catching a fish, so Dad sent me back into the bait & tackle shop to upgrade the float to bigger one. The floats themselves were those red and white balls with a little button on top that pushed a hook fastener on either end to attach the line, so it was really easy to switch the float off the line, and I was able to exchange the float for the next bigger size.
I returned to the lake and we attached the new bigger float, only to find out that it too was not enough to keep the hook and weight afloat. So again I returned to the bait & tackle store for a bigger float. This time the upgrade to a bigger float required an additional cost, which meant I had to return to Dad at the lake and ask for more money. I didn't have a specific amount to tell Dad and this only annoyed him but he sent me back with some change to cover the amount, which I think it did, and I came back with the bigger float. Again, it wasn't big enough and while I was disappointed, Dad seemed amused and once again I was sent back to the bait & tackle shop for the next bigger float. This must have happened more than a few times, me going back and forth to exchange the floats and having to struggle with negotiating the extra cost between my dad and the bait & tackle man, because finally the shop guy had enough dealing with me and asked that I just bring the whole fishing rod and he could determine which combination of float and weight would be the best. So I convinced Dad to come with me and bring the rod with us, which revealed for one, the lead weight we were using was way too big, and in addition of changing the weight, we needed one of the big expensive floats. I began to wonder what the point of the other floats were if they didn't actually float, and they shouldn't be sold in the first place. But anyway, after some discussion with the bait & tackle guy we went back to the lake confident we had the proper fishing gear. Indeed, the float stayed on top of the water, but Dads opinion about the size of the float was that it was overwhelming and only scared the fish away. In any event, I stood there patiently and waited for a nibble... which never came.

This experience at the lake with the huge floater and the bait & tackle shop was a source of conversation for Dad to be repeated for years to come as a lesson about how not to fish, and how the guy at the bait & tackle shop was an idiot, but I never got an acceptable explanation about the proper way, only that the bait & tackle man was leading us astray. I now think it was a classic case of miscommunication. But, there is one was for a truly guaranteed way to catch a fish, and that was "Trout Haven". Trout Haven was a trout farm in the town of Estes Park and consisted of a big concrete tank in the ground filled with dozens of rainbow trout. No licence, pole or fishing experienced required. They would give you a bamboo stick with a line and baited hook on it, (the bait was a piece of cheese I remember and wondered if we should forgo the fish eggs and use cheese from now on), and all you would do was dip the hook into the water and less than a minute later a trout would take the hook and you would pull the line up to a guy waiting with a net to get the fish. The guy would then take out a little club and expertly whack the fish on the head to knock it out, The guy would then take it to a little table and sink in the back and clean it for you right before your eyes. Cleaning the fish was somewhat brutal and done without emotion as they cut the belly open and pulled the guts out. I remember the guy cleaning my fish found the still beating heart of the fish and showed it to me on the end of his finger, I asked if the fish was still alive and he assured me it wasn't. The guts were washed down the sink and I noticed that it just washed out into the tank where the other trout were and I had just fished. The trout became excited at the gut water dumping into the tank and there was a mini feeding frenzy going on. This was fishing for tourists at it's best and it took no longer 10 minutes from renting the pole to receiving a completely cleaned fish wrapped in newspaper, ready to be taken home and cooked. For us the logical next step was for me to give it to the Wind River Ranch chef with special instructions to have it ready for breakfast the next day. Not only was this one of the few times I was allowed in the Wind River Ranch kitchen and met the chef, it was also my firs experience with eating fried trout for breakfast, which for us became the normal way to have trout.

Trout Haven became a short-lived tradition however, we returned one of the following years to find out not only did Trout Haven have limited hours of operation, but there was a big ominous sign at the gate telling everyone the price for the experience was $25 per fish. Now realize at the time, given the rate of inflation for 1969, by today's standards this seemed to be about $100 per fish. Dad wasn't the only one outraged by the price because word quickly spread around the ranch about the exorbitant price charged at Trout Haven and could only be explained as an arrogant attempt to rip people off and disappoint children. Dad, as always, took it as a personal insult and was angry that another good thing that he enjoyed went away because of greed and apathy. I have to admit though that Dad did have a knack for making establishments he liked go out of business. Possibly it was because Dad was attracted to the quirky and unusual places, which tended to scare off normal folks, and despite the "good idea" and critical acclaim, they tended to struggle as a business. But as a rule it was a safe bet that if Dad liked the store or restaurant, it was doomed to failure. Needless to say it was obvious Trout Haven was in trouble and disappeared from the list of attractions and tourist activities in Estes Park.

But Trout Haven was a valuable experience, it gave me the confidence and experience to go out there and fish "for real" in a natural lake or stream. And on one occasion I finally got to experience some fishing success. Armed with the appropriate tackle, and now knowing that cheese is a far better bait for Rainbow Trout, I cast my line into the water and patiently waited for that tell-tale nibble on the line. At this point Dad had left me on my own devices to fend for myself, which is the way it should be. The whole point of fishing is two-fold, to go out with other guys to socialize, in this case I was out with Dad, Uncle Bob and David, and also to be left alone. So I was determined to do this all by myself. David was the first to catch a fish, which didn't surprise me since he was older and had more experience. This prompted Dad to encourage me further, to not let David and Uncle Bob get the only fish! I recall the wait wasn't very long and I finally felt the unmistakable tug on the line. It was different than the feeling of getting the line caught in the rocks or catching a stick, it was a vibrating tug with a definite "live" personality that only meant I had caught a fish. Dad and Uncle Bob coached me and I anxiously reeled it in, careful not to tug too hard or let it go. I remember seeing the fish right before I pulled it out of the water and was thrilled at the fact that this wasn't another false alarm, that I had actually caught one. I pulled the fish out and it wiggled furiously on the hook and I struggled to get hold of it as it was both wiggly and slippery. I got a handle on the fish, (it wasn't very big but enough to make a substantial breakfast) and with the help of Dad pulled the hook out of it's mouth. Getting the hook out was more difficult than expected and required force and injury to the fish, which at this point I was still trying to be both forceful and gentle. After I got the hook out I remembered from Trout Haven that you had to bash the trout on the head to knock him out, which I tried to do by holding it by the lower end and smashing it's head against a rock. This attempt was awkward and ineffective, only torturing the poor fish and causing Dad and Uncle Bob to laugh. With the help of Dad we got the fish under control and proceeded to clean it with my pocket knife, a process that was only a little gross and not as difficult as I thought. I made it a point to find the still beating heart and hold it at the end of my finger like the guy at Trout Haven and both David and I thought this was really neato. The next day at Wind River Ranch I proudly ate breakfast caught and provided by me.

The Girl - part 2.

To the blog readers: You might want to scroll down and read "The Girl - part 1." first (Thursday Sept 11, 2008) to keep with the continuity of the story, Sorry to be confusing.

So, off we went the next day, just like any other day on the trip. We packed up the car as usual, filled the ice chests and prepared for the drive to the next destination. All that morning getting ready to leave I was trying to see if the girl I saw at the pool was still around, hoping to catch a passing glance or make one final attempt to get noticed by her before we all departed. However, it wasn't unusual for most families like them to leave the motel at the crack of dawn, way before any of us got up. As a rule we all tended to get going a little later than the normal human being, which might explain why it took us weeks longer than everyone else to drive to Colorado and back. So I was disappointed, but not surprised to find that the girl and her family had already left for the day.

I guess the drive that day was uneventful and I assume I thought about the girl more than once, but even I knew enough not to dwell on a fantasy and quickly forgot about the day before at the pool, dismissing the experience as "passing ships in the night". Besides, there are plenty of other girls out there, one is eventually going to notice me someday, I hoped. In fact, there were going to be other encounters that would be disappointing, or missed opportunities. Only in hindsight do I realize now how stupid I was, that there were golden opportunities for me to make friends, but for some reason or another I was reluctant or scared, or encouraged in the wrong way, or not encouraged at all. This was something that I learned much later in life which deprived me of a valuable element of childhood. Dad was able to show me the entire contiguous Western United States by car, but was unable to show me how to make friends.

At Wind River Ranch, every year brought a new group of guests and potentially new friends to make. Fortunately, David was part of the ranch experience and was my best friend during these times, David was also far more comfortable and adept at socializing than me and when other kids were present at the ranch, I was able to blend in, in the shadow of David. One year two brothers, about the ages of David and I were staying at the ranch. At first I was a little uncomfortable but quickly warmed up to the situation, and the four of us hung out together most of the time. But even then, in this group situation, age and maturity tends to separate friends and the older boys would sometimes become bored with the younger ones, resulting in slightly rude behavior, and valuable lessons about life. This however didn't phase me because us younger boys found ways to cope with being ignored, being cool in our own way, and after a short time we all forgot the difference and were all hanging out together again. This was how actual cowboys dealt with life, and this was how I dealt with it also. When the two brothers had to depart the ranch before us, David and I were both disappointed and sad for quite awhile, not knowing how to occupy our time for the remainder of the stay.

And every once in awhile, girls our own age would come to stay at Wind River, but unfortunately I was clueless about how to handle these situations. I always had a tendency to be attracted to the wrong girl, (maybe like the girl at the motel pool) but I tended to have tastes that were completely out of my league. Like the time this slightly older, very pretty girl with long, straight black hair, came to stay at Wind River. Even then I knew I had a snowballs chance in hell to make friends with her since she was older, more popular, flirting with the wranglers and ranch hands and probably didn't know I even existed. But regardless, I was attracted to her and I thought it would've been nice for her to at least say "hello" to me. At the same time, there was this other girl staying at the ranch, about my age, and not quite as attractive as the dark haired girl. This plainer, more appropriate and friendlier to me girl was forced on me as a companion, and in true stupid boy form, I was rude and rejected her friendship. This didn't seem to phase her though as she continued to hang out with me and we passed the time doing the usual ranch activities together. I like to think now that she grew up to be a gorgeous hot mama, while the other dark haired girl gained 80 pounds and has a 2 pack a day habit. God only knows.

But the most memorable, and biggest lost opportunity was the time the noisy European family with the little girl came to Wind River Ranch. The situation at the ranch required all the guests to interact with each other, eat meals in the common dining room, and do some of the ranch activities together, it was a golden opportunity to make friends. So, this large extended family, who I guess were foreign since they acted very different than us typical American guests, descended on the ranch the same time we were there. One of the men of the family wore what looked like a military coat with a medal, I wasn't sure at the time but I thought they were Russian, but in any case, they tended to be noisy at dinner, drinking and whooping it up more than the other guests, and being somewhat disruptive in general. My family tended to talk under their breath amongst themselves about how rude and noisy they were, and how inappropriate it was for them to be having such a good time. I think someone (one of the other guests) complained and they were told to keep it down, which only offended the Russian family and succeeded to separate us all even further.

But, to her credit, I think my mom liked this family, and wanted to make friends with them, even when one of the men, coming back to the cabin drunk, shined a flashlight in our room to see if anyone was home (mom was trying to get my baby sister to sleep) But mom succumbed to peer pressure and was compelled to reject them as everyone else did.

So, getting back to my point, there was this little girl in this family. Her mom was very pretty I remember and both her parents spoiled her rotten, so she tended to be unfriendly. But I think she was just shy and as uncomfortable as I was, or maybe there was a cultural difference that led to these misunderstandings. My mom was encouraging me to make friends with her, saying she was "cute", which she probably was but I didn't see it at the time, and I think attempts were made by mom to get us together. However, discouragement from our family coupled with the rift established between them and the rest of us guests made that very difficult to make friendly advances, and had mom been more confident we probably would've made friend and shown all the other uptight guests how totally un-Christian everyone was being. I myself had already made all my ranch plans with David and the rest of the cousins and really had no time or interest to pursue a friendship with the little girl. So during the stay this poor little girl had to do the cowboy activities by herself.

One day the little girls mom took her horseback riding in the corral. Already the wranglers were making fun of her and she was obviously uncomfortable around horses, and somehow during the ride the little girl fell off the horse and sprained her ankle. Now from what I heard from the wranglers, she was being a sissy (even for a girl) and made a big deal out of nothing. This only led to more ridicule and rejection from the ranch. From then on the little girl was carried piggy-back by her mom or dad everywhere they went. I have to admit that the girl was being a whiner. So for days afterward the little girl was carried everywhere and became insufferable and a source of morbid amusement to the rest of the guests. To every ones relief the Russian family left and the ranch was back to normal. But to this day it is a huge regret I didn't make friends with the little girl, because if I had, things would have been different, and she would have been running around the ranch instead of being carried.


Always hindsight is 20/20, and during these trips I had plenty of time to think about nothing, and only many years later do I reach a conclusion. But in the case with the girl I briefly saw at the motel pool, nothing could have been plainer.

We reached our next destination, probably another Holiday Inn or something similar, it was hot and I looked forward to jumping in the pool as usual, and as usual there was already a crowd of kids playing at the pool. I got to the pool and I couldn't believe it! There she was again, the girl from the day before! By sheer coincidence our families were traveling the same itinerary and staying at the same motel again. I can't remember if we were coming or going but I wonder if I thought she might be going to Wind River Ranch the same as we were. I was stunned. I remember she was wearing a different bathing suit this time, which made little difference about the way I felt about her, all I knew was that possibly, divine intervention brought us back together again, I was given another chance, somebody was trying to tell me something! So I did the most logical thing I could think of... Nothing.

Wind River Ranch

I thought this might be a good time to talk about Wind River Ranch. Going to the dude ranch was the primary reason we took these trips in the first place and it became the Summer destination for my family for over 10 years.

Wind River was situated smack in the middle of the Rocky Mountains and for me it was about as "cowboy" as one could get, complete with log cabins, horses and wagons and plenty of forest, mountains and meadows to roam around in. The ranch was owned by an old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson. Both of them were extremely nice and always made a point to treat us well, Mr. Hutchinson was an old cowboy type who made all the speeches at dinner while Mrs Hutchinson was one of those old lady cowgirls who wore a lot of big silver and turquoise Indian jewelry. The Hutchinsons kept the ranch running smoothly and more like a resort than a ranch, and nobody ever complained to them to my knowledge. When we arrived for the first time I had no idea what to expect (being only 4 years old and all) but I came to believe this is how all genuine cowboys lived and decided from that point on that I was to become a cowboy (Freddy) when I grew up. So, Wind River became the perfect training ground for the next few years.

Mom, Dad and I got our own log cabin, I remember that the first year we got the cabin furthest away at the very end, so we had to make a hike through spooky woods at night to get to the it. My aunt and Uncle and the cousins got their own cabins which was split up between the adults and kids which meant the kids got to hang out in private cabins, however I don't really remember spending much time in the cabins since there was so many other more interesting things to do. My grandmother, Gammy, got a room in the fancier area of the ranch, in the library or den section with a fireplace and with all the other old ladies who expected special service and were allowed to bring their little dogs to the ranch. Our cabin was very rustic and made of real logs, I remember it being comfortable and not any different from any of the motels we stayed in, other than it being made of logs. We even had maid service every day which was bonus perk for cowboys I thought, all-in-all the cowboy lifestyle seemed pretty cushy.

Which then brings up the meal situation, which was conducted in a big dining room at regular times with all the other guests. Three times a day the meals were announced by someone ringing a big swinging bell on a rope outside, a fancy version of the chuck wagon triangle bell telling everyone to "come an' get it!" All the guests were expected to arrive in a timely manner and be served by young college guys in white waiter outfits. The first year, we were served by a young man named Eric, who I thought was really cool because he was funny and could wiggle his ears, I also thought he was cool because he was also a lifeguard at the swimming pool (another cowboy benefit at the ranch) and he attempted to teach me to swim, which took me a few more years to eventually pick up. Eric was our regular waiter at meal times the first year at the ranch and I was disappointed when we returned the following year and he wasn't there. He did however come to visit one day and we found out he became a fire fighter, which made him even cooler.

The whole family, aunts, uncles, cousins and all sat at a big table together, with all the other guests at their own family tables. Every day the menu changed and the food seemed to be gourmet, or at least it was presented that way. Being a young kid I didn't know or care about the difference and was happy just to get spaghetti and meat balls or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but we were obliged to eat whatever was served us with very little choice other than salad dressing or beverage, which of course was dictated by the grown ups. The only special orders that were allowed was if you caught a fish at "Trout Haven", the kitchen would custom cook the fish for you, usually for breakfast. At first, a whole trout for breakfast seemed odd and out of place, not the usual breakfast fare, but I was convinced by everybody that this was normal, and even a preferred cowboy breakfast. Being explained to me in this way I enthusiastically accepted fried trout for breakfast and it became one of the expected traditions of the ranch.

Every year that we stayed at the ranch happened to fall on my birthday, so every year from the time I was 4 to about 10 I had a "cowboy" birthday. Mrs. Hutchinson during lunch would come out with a birthday cake adorned with sparklers and personally present it to me to blow out the candles. For birthday presents I always got a spiffy new cowboy outfit complete with guns and holsters, and later when I outgrew the cowboy persona, most of the presents tended to be touristy novelty gifts from Estes Park and the "Ripley's Believe It Or Not" magic store. I remember one year getting a magic trick finger guillotine that I amazed everyone with, or the "Magic Rocks" that when I brought home I decided to grow them in a drinking glass, which my 1 year old sister proceeded to drink, sending her to the hospital poison ward for a week. The other dangerous gift I got was something called "Itchy-Coo", a fierce itching powder when applied to the body gave a painful scratchy rendition of the sensation after you get your hair cut, only this stuff was mean and painful and couldn't be showered off or laundered out of the sheets and pillows. After my cousins and I played a trick or two on unsuspecting victims, getting the stuff all over ourselves in the process, the vicious Itchy-Coo was burned in the fireplace voluntarily.

Anyway, meal-time, especially dinner was a time for everyone at the ranch to meet and socialize, there was this den area before you got to the dining room with a fireplace couches and a grand piano, and lots of socializing went on there. One of the regular guests, Mrs. Bowie, could always be found on her favorite couch knitting a sweater by the fireplace. This den area was usually the first place to visit when we would arrive at the ranch and sign the guest book. There was usually a fire going, even in the middle of Summer since the climate high in the Rocky Mountains tended to be cooler. The den area always has a familiar smell and comfortable atmosphere. Every once in a while the ranch would hire a guitar player for the "young people" in the den area. The guitar player was a hippie looking guy and he didn't clip off the extra length of guitar strings, leaving a signature tangled mess at the end of his guitar. He played mostly the contemporary folksy favorites like "Leaving on a Jet Plane", "If you Could Read My Mind". (a girl favorite) and "Abraham, Martin and John". This was an attempt to relate and cater to the teenagers at the ranch who might've been bored with the cowboy activities. Also, for the benefit of young and old alike the ranch had BINGO twice a week in the dining room, where the guests could do some mild gambling. This was conducted by one of the more popular and outgoing waiters at the ranch, or by Mr. Hutchinson himself. I was allowed to participate at BINGO, but never won.

Another function of meal time was for the wrangler guy to come around and sign you up for the various horse rides during the week. There were different type horse rides you could take and this was one of the few a-la-carte features of the Ranch, which meant we needed to ask Gammy permission to take horse rides since she paid for them. This never seemed to be a problem though and everyone was encouraged to take at least one ride. There was the "breakfast ride", this was the most family friendly of rides and it included a hour ride to a regular location where the cowboys had a campfire going where they would cook eggs and sausage for the guests. The older, weather-beaten cowboy would drive ahead in a pickup truck and have everything ready for us city-folk, where we would sit on rocks and eat breakfast off paper plates under the majestic Rocky Mountains. Then there was the "lunch ride", which was similar to the breakfast ride except it was later in the day and we went to a different location, actually close to the ranch where other non-horse riding guests could join us for burgers after the ride. Then there was the "dinner ride" which I was never able to go on because I think it involved steak and beer, which probably made it not kid friendly and expensive. But there were other rides you could take that didn't involve food, but just horse riding and these were offered at numerous times during the stay. These included anything from just a ride around the corral, for the little kids or those terrified of horses, to all day rides into the national park for the heartier folk.

The wranglers in charge of the horses and rides tended to be young, studly and popular guys, although one year the wrangler was a girl, and I remember she kept giving me a horse I didn't get along with. This particular horse was very uncooperative and I was frustrated trying to control her. I would request another horse but this wrangler insisted I take this horse every ride, which tended to discourage me from horses. But on one of these rides the wrangler girl was determined I get used to this particular horse and tame it, I had eventually had enough of the damn horse and I got angry, wielding a riding crop I threatened the horse (without hitting it) and suddenly the horse respected me and cooperated. The wrangler girl was pleased and I was no longer reluctant to ride that horse anymore.

But usually the wranglers were macho guys and played up the alpha-male role, even my cousin, Gail, fell under their spell and dated one of them, even beyond the 10 day stay at the ranch. The wranglers were defiantly cool to hang around and it was cool for us to befriend the wranglers when we were not riding horses. Much of the time David and I hung out in the rec room, a large open space with a pool table, shuffleboard, a piano and soda pop machine. This is where all the cool guys would spend quality time doing guy stuff (even though girls were often involved) and the rec room was place to be a real cowboy. The rec room was also a very convenient place to send the kids right before dinner, which also happened to be "Happy Hour" for the grown ups. Happy hour took place in a mysterious building at the ranch where kids seldom went, and I recall it was the only building that had a TV. I also recall the wranglers cabin had a TV where David and I caught one of the wranglers watching "Adam-12" which to me seemed very un-cowboy-like. But the rec room was often used as a safe refuge for the kids while the adults disappeared for an hour or so before the dinner bell rang. Outside the rec room there were cowboy activities, like a Horse Shoe playing area, and this fake practice horse, which was a metal barrel welded on a big spring embedded in the ground. One could practice rodeo "bucking bronco" without getting on a real horse, kind of like a low-tech mechanical bull, and many hours were spent rocking back and forth on this horse. The wranglers seldom paid much attention to us kids hanging out in the rec room, often they were busy working and we were encouraged to not pester them too much, but all of the wranglers during the years had a positive impact in my cowboy upbringing.

One of the last functions the ranch offered, but was always be expected, and everyone was obliged to participate in, was square dancing. This took place on a Saturday evening, and to my knowledge the only official function in the rec room. This was defiantly my least favorite activity but I was forced to dance with all the different folk. This was also the one activity that involved the other neighboring ranches and people living in the area were invited to Wind River for the evening. The whole Ranch was there to square dance, even the wranglers, who dressed up in their finest "duds" and there was a lot of "cowboy" goings on. Every year there also seemed to be one little red haired girl in a light blue dress who attended, she was about my age and I always got paired with her. I was naturally shy and uncomfortable being with her and I now sense she was the same about me, and David made it a point to tease me about it. But I awkwardly endured this temporary date for the evening, and the beauty about square dancing is that you eventually get to dance with other partners and the relationship with the red haired girl quickly dissolved. Kids were also not expected participate too much and I was compelled to dance only a few dances, which always ended in the "Hokey Pokey" where everyone, young and old, got in a big circle and "shook it all about".

The last day at the ranch was always a sad day, which started with breakfast, and the dining room always seemed a little empty that day. It was somewhat stressful packing and Dad seemed to be at his worst behavior, being an unpleasant transition. Before we left the entire family would pose for a picture on the old fashioned wagon outside the dining room and Gammy would then be driven to the airport by one of the ranch-hands. Uncle Bob was always more efficient than Dad making the departure but stayed to see us off. We all said goodbye to each other, knowing, and hoping that we would return next year.

The Girl - part 1.

I can't really think of any friends I've made on the trips, in fact I can safely say that I never met and maintained a relationship with any other kid I met along the way or at Wind River Ranch, there was no time for that, and the brief friendships I did make with other visitors at the ranch were brief and soon forgotten. I was never the most social individual and making friends was always awkward and difficult. Dad was never much help either being just as socially inept and uncomfortable as I was about strange people, so being friendly with passing ships in the night was never practiced on the trips.

A lot of the times we would spend time swimming at the motel pool with other kids and families, and like I think I mentioned before, my family and I never pursued and cultivated a friendship with any of the other people visiting the motels, it seemed pointless and the brief time spent at the motel never gave anybody a chance to get past the initial suspicion. In turn nobody ever approached us for friendship as well. This was probably a good thing too because I guess it was generally thought that it wasn't normal to be overly friendly, it was best to be polite and distant. On the few occasions someone did approach us for friendship, there was a desperate and dangerous quality about that person and we felt it necessary to passive-aggressively retreat. Like with the kid who called himself "Konk". The kid Konk was still young but a little older than me and I remember him wearing one of those yacht captain hats like the Skipper on Gilligans Island. He was very talkative and outgoing and insisted I play with him, making up games like tag or throwing rocks into the empty field. I was careful and sure to stay close to Mom and Dad while he was around. Dad was amused by Konk, and Konk explained his name: that when he was bad or wouldn't shut up, his dad would konk him on the head, I guess this happened so often that the nickname stuck. Well Konk hung out with us and was resistant about going back to his own parents (I wonder why?) and he kept the conversation going the entire time he was around, and getting a little bit annoying in the process. His parents, who I remember never emerged from their motel room, finally sensed he was starting to fray on my parents nerves and sternly called him back into the room, Konk sadly and reluctantly went back to his parents and we never saw him again.

That didn't mean I never wanted to make friends, actually the trips were often very lonely. Except for the few times I took a friend on the trip like Ted or Oliver, or the ten days spent at Wind River Ranch with David and the rest of the cousins, I generally spent most of the time by myself, swimming in to motel pools or daydreaming for hours in the car or on the occasional swingset at a motel. I would often wish I could make friends, or even just one friend would've been nice. Even better, would be if I was able to meet a girlfriend on the trip.

We stopped for the day at a motel, and I think it was a Holiday Inn, or one of the "premium" motels we occasionally stay at, and of course it had a good swimming pool with a slide and diving board. There were a bunch of other kids already at the pool and I shyly got up my courage to join the group and participate in the fun. There were a few separate families hanging out and everyone seemed to know each other and getting along in the games and sliding down the slide and it was difficult to distinguish the siblings and parents from one another. I just quietly tried to blend in. And... there she was... the cutest girl I've ever seen in the whole world, swimming and having fun with the rest of the kids. I tried not to stare or let on that I thought she was the prettiest girl I've ever seen, because obvious looking was rude and creepy, but I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She was about my age, was wearing a 2 piece bathing suit and had a thin silver necklace. She probably already knew herself she was pretty and was confident with the other kids, but not bitchy or mean to anyone. She liked to dive off the diving board, and I liked watching her, but she seldom went down the slide, probably thinking it was immature. I played it cool and pretended I didn't notice her as I confidently climbed the slide ladder and powerfully slid down the slide making an impressive splash in the pool. I would even sometimes go crazy and show off by going down the slide head first, indicating my superior experience, humor and fearlessness. As hard as I tried, I don't think I ever got her attention, or anyone elses attention for that matter. So as much as I wanted to go up to her and say something suave and alluring, something like, "hello" or something like that, I didn't dare, I was too afraid.

Everyone around the pool, including the girl, eventually got done with swimming and the pool activities and went back to their rooms to dry off, change and get ready for settling in for the night. I continued to lurk about making sure I wasn't too obvious, and actually relieved to have the pool to myself for awhile. The girl disappeared with her family for awhile, but I certainly didn't forget about her, I was acutely aware which room she was in, or in this case rooms, since her family seemed to be normal and didn't cram 2 adults and 3 kids in a single room to save money, so it looked like the girl and her brother(s) and sister(s) had a room to themselves, and I kept an eye out from a safe distance. But a little while later the girl came out again, this time not in a bathing suit but in shorts and a t-shirt, and this didn't make any difference in her beauty, she was still really cute and even more sophisticated. I dried myself off and again casually hung around pretending not to care about any of the other kids, especially the girl. The other kids played together like they all knew one another and pretty much ignored me, since I was giving off the "leave me alone, I'm too cool for you" vibe, which probably translated into just "unfriendly". But in reality what I really wanted was for one of them to notice me, especially the girl, but any of the kids making a friendly invitation would do. I tried to project positive energy while not making eye contact, but my reverse psychology wasn't working and nobody invited me to play.

It started to get late for kids, and dinner time forced all families together to disappear to a nearby Denny's or similar restaurant. I felt somewhat defeated, knowing I would never see her again, but at a loss as to what I would've done had I actually met and talked with the girl. Instead I sat on the swingset, alone, and daydreamed that she was sitting there with me.

Uncle Bob

Like I mentioned before, the whole point of these trips every year was for an annual family reunion at Wind River Ranch just outside of Estes Park, at least that's how these trips started. A large contingent of my family on Dad's side would congregate for ten days at the dude ranch and we would all do cowboy and Rocky Mountain activities together. For me it was always a lot of fun and I always particularly looked forward to spending time hanging out with my cousin, David, who for the most part was my best friend. But the patriarch, and de facto leader of our extended family while staying at the ranch was Uncle Bob.

Even though Uncle Bob commanded respect, and compared to Dad was infinitely more "strict", I remember him actually being very nice and gentle, not scary or unreasonable about spoiling our fun like Dad would sometimes claim. Uncle Bob was the only person who could veto Dad's shenanigans without argument, effectively resolving a tedious situation. Us kids began to recognize that while my Dad's decisions could be way more fun, Uncle Bob's decisions to counter the fun were probably for a reason, and all of us kept our mouths shut about it. For instance: like when the miniature golf game was dragging on without any foreseeable end in sight because us younger players didn't have the skill or patience to time the ball correctly through the windmill obstacle, Uncle Bob had the authority to change the rules up a bit, allowing for a temporary stoppage of the windmill and making it easier for all of us. This rule breaking was not necessarily without it's advantages, narrowing the handicap between kids and adults and giving everybody a satisfying final score.

Uncle Bob had a rare and practical sense of humor, with results that would last for years to come. One early year at Wind River Ranch, it was decided that David and I were to get proper hair cuts, fitting to young cowboys. Uncle Bob claimed to have superior hair cutting ability for boys and owned the electric clippers to prove it. David and I sat on the porch of one of the cabins and Uncle Bob proceeded to shave both our heads clean and smooth as cue balls. This was done without the prior consent or knowledge of my Aunt or my Mom, and when we revealed ourselves, pretty much everyone was both amused and shocked, and a mildly embarrassed for us boys who had to parade this indignity to the entire ranch, the rest of the cousins were also probably having a good laugh at our expense, as well as Dad and Uncle Bob who probably conspired over beers to do this and mostly likely thought this was the funniest thing to happen at Wind River ranch in years. I wouldn't be surprised if Dad suggested Mohawks for both of us (mind you this was way before the time Mohawks were mainstream and common for anybody to sport, let alone kids) I suspect what really happened was that Uncle Bob fully intended to give us regular "butch" haircuts, but his skill level and expectations got away from him and one thing led to another, a little even-ing out here, a tad more off the top... and eventually he just said "the hell with it" and took the easy way out and shaved us clean... done. Lucky for me and David we were both in the same boat with our conspicuous new look, easing the self consciousness, and also, we were cowboys and were able hide our mean looking bald heads under our cowboy hats.

Speaking of cue balls, Uncle Bob was the person who taught me to play pool. For me he was the expert at pool, he owned a real pool table at his house (unlike the dinky 1/2 size Sears pool table we had) so I reckoned he had plenty of practice and I was always eager to take his pool playing advice. Wind River Ranch had this great rec room, complete with a piano, soda machine, shuffleboard, and of course a pool table. I distinctly remember Uncle Bob instructing me the proper way to hold the cue, aim the tip of the cue at the white ball and properly hit one of the color balls to sink it into a pocket. At the time I was too small for the table and I also had this annoying habit of purposely just missing the cue ball right before I attempted to strike it. After a few minutes of me awkwardly hitting balls around without any success, most everyone else would lose patience and forbid me to play, Uncle Bob on the other hand would get out the "Granny stick", that special cue with the bridge on the end for long, across the table shots, and let me have a chance to at least sink one ball into a pocket with it's assistance. This would eventually satisfy my pool playing curiosity and I would eventually get bored and let the adults and bigger kids play without my interference. Over the years when I finally got big enough to see over the table and maneuver the cue without the "granny stick" I remembered the tips and trick Uncle Bob showed me and David and instilled the foundation for my pool playing instincts.

But one day Uncle Bob showed his control during one of our family picnic hikes into the park. It was the first year we went to Wind River Ranch without David, who was involved in a Boy Scout Jamboree that Summer and couldn't make it to Estes Park. I was terribly disappointed and found myself at a loss most of the time, hanging out with the girl cousins or making feeble attempts at making friends with other guests at the ranch. In any event I ended up doing pretty much nothing, and out of desperation I even tried taking up embroidery which the girl cousins were into, and thinking back I'm glad to say I was completely bored with this sissy activity. So on this particular hike I amused myself by collecting bits of wildlife and nature, such as poisonous mushrooms, rare wildflowers, frogs and snakes (if I could catch them), and I took along an ice bucket with me to catch and keep all my live specimens. The whole family found a nice spot next to the rushing river with plenty of rocks to sit on and opportunity to watch nature in action. The river was rushing fast but not particularly dangerous and I only needed to be mildly aware of the risks to stay out of trouble.

Toward the end of the picnic activity I was busy collecting live specimens and needed to fill my bucket with fresh river water. I had to lean down on a sloping rock and dip the bucket into the river to get the water, not realizing that when I put the bucket into the river, the current grabbed hold of the bucket and pulled me off balance, and into the river. The current was strong and whirling and quickly swept me to the other side of the river bank where I was hopelessly separated from the rest of the family, all the time I kept a tight grip on the bucket. This was immediately noticed by everybody and they all urged me to stay on the other side until something was figured out, but I took it upon myself to walk downstream and look for a suitable place to cross back over.

Only a few yards down did I notice an old fallen tree spanning the river, the log was sturdy and adequately crossing the river, it also had old worn branch stubs sticking out the entire length of the log giving it the appearance of a spiky pole, which made it both easy to grab, but somewhat dangerous in that one slip could impale a leg or other tender parts of the body. But regardless of this I attempted to cross back using this natural bridge against the protest and desperate warnings of Dad and Uncle Bob urging me to not do so, and all the time holding the bucket.

As Dad and Uncle Bob looked on helplessly I slowly creeped across the log maneuvering carefully around the spiky branches so not to stab myself in the crotch or something. Uncle Bob I remember had an exasperated look and Dad was merely annoyed. I made it exactly halfway across when I inevitably slipped and fell back into the river. I fell on the upstream side of the log which made the current push me underneath the log as I hung on, still holding the bucket. Dad came rushing to save me first and awkwardly crossed the log and tried to pull me up. The current dragging me under the log only made it more difficult and frustrating for him and he then attempted to push me under the log and try to gram me up from the other side, but doing this only made Dad fall in the water himself which prompted Uncle Bob to come to the rescue.

It was obvious Uncle Bob had no intention of getting himself wet, and was more than ticked off at me and Dad for requiring him to risk his neck to save us, but Uncle Bob quickly managed to control the situation, allowing Dad to gain control of his own predicament. The first thing Uncle Bob did was to rip the damn bucket out of my hand and fling it as far away as possible, which then allowed both him and dad to pull me up and literally drag me to shore. Dad was complaining that it was all my fault he fell in the water and that Bob only complicated the situation, Uncle Bob kept his mouth shut and suggested I stay out of the water from now on.

My Aunt and Grandmother were severely pissed-off at me at this point and Gammy proceeded to yell uncontrollably for a few minutes about my lack of judgement and ability to ruin a otherwise good picnic. After I was yelled at my Aunt and cousins explained that Gammy was upset because she loved me and was worried I was going to get hurt, but I knew better and believed she was just mad, and it was going to be a long time before she got over it.

Later, after we got to the cars, Uncle Bob approached me and admitted with some humor that cousin Bobby had stupidly fallen into the rivers on a number of occasions and needed to be saved several times, that maybe what had happened to me was just a youthful and expected rite of passage. I got the sense that he wasn't as angry at me as he led my Aunt or Gammy to think.

Caves

I don't remember if it was before or after we visited our first cave on the trip, but I recall the time Dad read me a story about, Jim White, who discovered Carlsbad Cavern. It was a book we found at the library and Dad read the story to me in chapters over a couple of weeks, I remember the book became due in the middle of reading it and we had to renew it, I was suspicious of this whole "renew" business and didn't understand the concept of borrowing books and I became concerned that the library wouldn't want us to keep the book beyond the time agreed upon on the little card stuck in the inside cover. But, we got to keep the book for another week and Dad read me the whole story about how Jim White found and explored the strange and forbidding cave that had bats flying out every night that made the all locals superstitious and fearful. I was fascinated by the story and the pictures of stalactites and stalagmites that adorned the cave, and I wanted to someday see this Carlsbad Cavern for myself.

The first cave we ever visited was with Mom and Dad on one of the early years on the trip, I don't remember the name of the cavern but I think I visited it again when I went on the trip with Dad in 2000 and shot the video, that would be Grand Canyon Cavern. But the first time I remember taking an elevator way down underground and emerging into a chamber that eventually led us through narrow passageways and a large cavern. The tour guide led the group on a maintained walkway and the trail was not difficult with only a few narrow passages. The cave was well lit and comfortable, however there were none of the stalagmites and stalactites I had heard of being in caves and had seen in pictures. I was looking forward to seeing these stalactites and 'mites, but in fact the cave was kind of plain and didn't really have any interesting rock formations. However, the thing that most interested me, and I remember most clearly was the dead bobcat. Apparently the bobcat had fallen down the cave and died about 100 years ago and was found mummified, this was one of the main attractions in the cave and was displayed behind a roped-off area next to the path for all the tourists to see. For me this was defiantly the most interesting item in the cave and during the rest of the tour, when I was getting bored, I wanted to go back and visit the dead bobcat again for a better look. Years later when I visited the Grand Canyon Cavern with Dad the tour took us by a dead bobcat, and this is what sparked my memory again about the first cave, realizing this was either the same cave, or every roadside cave attraction had to have a dead bobcat section included on the tour.

The tour continued and the ending event was to take us into a vast chamber and gather the group for a picture (to be sold later when we returned to the surface). But before they took the picture the tour guide demonstrated what it was like to be in total darkness by turning off the lights in the cave. Yes, it was very dark down there and I don't think anybody would be able to find their way around in that much darkness. And before they turned the lights back on there was a flash of the picture being taken, resulting in a photograph of a bunch of disoriented tourists nervously smiling in the depths of a cavern. We returned to the top the same way we came down and a few minutes later got to look at the picture of our group in the cave. They were selling prints for what Dad thought was an exorbitant price, and it really wasn't a good picture of us anyway, so of course we passed on buying the picture. We always passed on buying the picture.

Another cave we visited in later years was "The Ice Cave". This cave was a little less formal than the other cave and the infrastructure was more primitive. There was no elevator leading us down into the depths of the Earth, merely a door in the side of a mountain in the middle of the desert. We took a short hike on a trail through a volcanic field of lava rock, it was barren and hot and they included some mannequins of Indians posed in authentic situations along the trail. Apparently the Native Americans used the Ice Cave to store meat and other food like a refrigerator back before the white man came and took the cave over as a tourist attraction. We came to the door to the cave, which was nothing special, and the tour guide gave a little talk before we entered the cave, announcing that we needed to enter and exit the cave quickly as to not keep the door open to long and eventually thaw out the cave (like a refrigerator). So we entered the cave and it was indeed cold, especially in contrast to the outside which was about 100 degrees. The atmosphere was dark and wet and we didn't see much ice at first needing to walk through some terrain first. The cave itself was volcanic and the ice was leftover from ice-age glaciers and survived buried deep within the mountain, it was kind of ugly actually. When we got to the ice, there wasn't much there but it was amazing that it lasted this long. The ice was dirty and embedded in the walls of the cave and there remained evidence of the Indians digging out sections to store food. Again, the tour guide turned off the lights (this seems to be a theme with cave tours) but instead of taking a picture he brought out an ultra-violet light to illuminate the ice, which brought out bright, vibrant and psychedelic colors in the ice formations, this was my favorite part of the tour. The guide then went on to show us what the light does to his eyeglasses, giving them the same groovy colors as the ice, and apparently is a phenomenon particular to the Ice Cave. On the way back to the door leading outside, someone asked a question why there wasn't any icicles, the guide went on to explain, and indicating with his flashlight toward the ceiling of the cave, that there used to be one icicle but it fell off because of the constant opening and closing of the door, This made me think that the Ice Cave was melting.

Finally one year, I was able to visit Carlsbad Cavern. I was on the trip just myself and Dad and we had planned from the beginning to visit the cavern, I was excited and looking forward to connecting the actual cave with all the stories and pictures I read about over the years.

I realized that we weren't going to be able to see the bats flying out of the cave, being that it happens too late in the day and we needed to push on after seeing the cavern, but I had convinced myself that the gift shop was going to sell souvenirs of real stuffed bats or a real bat encased in plastic for a paperweight. In the past I had always collected souvenirs of real animal parts or preserved specimens, like the baby octopus in the jar of formaldehyde I got in Big Sur and kept for many years, or the various rabbit pelts, raccoon tails, I even had a coyote paw for some time. One item I always wanted but we never bought, (because of the price) was the mounted head of a Jackalope, which was a hare with antlers, a creature that adorned many touristy gift shops and was the subject of hundreds of postcards. For many years I was convinced these creatures were real, which Dad continued to encourage this belief (like Santa Clause) and he often would engage us by having us keep out eyes open for a jackalope on hikes. But days before we arrived at Carlsbad Cavern I would remind Dad that I especially wanted to get a "stuffed bat" and we were to set aside funds for this item. I now suspect Dad was only humoring me and was aware that no such item existed in the Cavern gift shop, and indeed there was nothing in the gift shop coming close to a stuffed bat, even the fake bats were hard to find.

Carlsbad Cavern was a National Park and the attraction was very big, highly organized and crowded with visitors. You could take a guided tour if you wanted (for an extra cost) or you could take a self-guided tour that wandered through the various sights in the cavern. We of course opted for the self-guided tour that allowed us to see things at our own pace and not have to deal with other people so much. You start at the top entrance where Jim White and earlier explorers entered the cave via a barrel and pulley, which has since been modified to allow tourists to easily hike down a trail of switchbacks, which eventually led to the main cavern rooms. This cave was more of what I imagined a cave to be like, with lots of stalactites and stalagmites, the cave was lit in various fashions to best display the different formations. The cave was huge and there was lots to see with park signs directing visitors to the various scenes and formations. One area Dad pointed out that I remember was "the bottomless pit", and he told of how when he visited the cavern years ago the tour guide tossed a rock down the pit and you couldn't hear it hit the bottom, suggesting that it was falling forever so deep that there was essentially no bottom to the pit. This time we were forbidden to throw anything down the pit to test this, given that people would probably throw anything down, rocks, garbage, children... and eventually fill the pit up with debris. We meandered through the cavern and although the space was enormous we still had to navigate through and around crowds of people. One of Dad's tricks was to find a guided tour and follow at a nonchalant earshot distance, getting the benefit of the tour without having to pay, and allowing us to abandon the tour when it got boring. We found a guided tour and pretended to not pay attention but followed at a safe distance for awhile, gaining valuable information along the way. This time there was no dead bobcat on display.

We saw about as much as our patience could take and decided to get a treat at the famous snack bar in the cave before taking the elevator back up. The snack bar was of course expensive and limited but we got a token beverage and made our way to the top where we were met by the visitor center and forced to exit through the gift shop. Again, I searched for the stuffed bat paperweight to no avail and left the gift shop empty-handed. Dad contemplated staying for the "bat show" but it would be many hours before it would happen, and then we found out that there was a chance the bats could give a disappointing showing, so Dad decided to not stay after all. We continued on our trip, the Carlsbad Cavern experience fulfilled.

Falling Stars

One of the earliest memories I have of the trips happened the first year, with Dad, Mom and myself. We stopped at a motel in Cedar City, Utah and it was a warm clear Summers night. The motel I remember was very nice, all wood, inside and out, and was more of a cabin style motel that you could take walks around. The motel also had a swing set, and that was always a main attraction for me since I've always liked to get pushed on the swing and daydream. Dad mostly always was the person to push me on the swing and as far as I was concerned I could stay being pushed for hours. I'm sure Dad was glad when the time came that I was able to swing myself because if there was a swing set available I would insist to get a push for however long Dad was willing to put up with it.

This night in Cedar City, Dad and I took a walk around the motel grounds, it was dark and there was lots of insect sounds all around us, when we eventually made our way to the swing set, and I of course asked to be pushed on the swing. So like I said it was dark and Cedar City at the time was the middle of nowheres, so the stars in the sky were brilliant and bright, and Dad was showing me the stars. All of a sudden a shooting star went past, I had never seen one before and probably missed it all together, but Dad got very excited and tried to point it out to me during that fleeting moment. Dad began to explain to me about "falling stars", and all I could think of was the actual stars we were looking at falling from the sky, remember I was only about 4 years old and the concept of astronomy wasn't all that clear yet to me. So after a little while another falling star went by, (I'm sure this time I missed it) but Dad stopped the swing and pointed my whole body in the direction of the falling star, like I was going to somehow catch it moments after it had passed. By now the swinging was coming to an end and Dad and I sat on one of the 2 person swings and tried to catch a glimpse of another falling star. Many falling stars did come by and Dad would always perk up when he saw one, I always attempted to see it but never could quite get my reflexes to react and actually see one. Dad was calling this a "meteor shower", which seemed kind of funny since showers were always wet, and included sprays of liquid, not the occasional and elusive dot that I never saw. I however was being polite and every time Dad pointed out another falling star I would agree that I saw it too. At one point I thought I did see a falling star, it was about the size of a golf ball and it landed in the bushes right in front of us, and I noticed how slow and floaty these falling stars actually were, it also made a noise like a cricket.

Dad and I stayed out by the swing set for hours, looking up at the sky and the stars, talking about the universe.

The Big Thompson River Flood

The most exciting storm by far was the great Estes Park flood in 1976. We followed what seemed to be the same storm all the way into Colorado and into our ultimate destination, Estes Park. The storms always became most severe in the afternoon and into the evening, clearing to blue skies in the morning leaving the impression that the bad weather was over, but it always returned in the afternoon and with the same ferocity as the night before. In Estes Park things seemed normal as it always has been and we went about the traditional routine of miniature golf, go carts and eating in the usual plain cuisine tourist restaurants.

Dad wanted to stay in a cabin down in the Big Thompson river canyon, The Chief, which had a Indian head for a sign logo and was a set of cabins we had stayed before the year I went on the trip with my friend Oliver. The cabins offered not much more than a bed and a place next to the river to fish and look at, but this year was an Olympic Games year and we had been following some of the events, participating in a McDonalds contest where we could win free food if the American athlete won a medal, so it was vitally important to keep track of the events. The cabins Dad planned to stay at had electricity and lights, and that was about it for technology. Mom just about had a fit and was refusing to stay in a desolate cabin with no TV while the rest of us went hiking and go carting. So my Dad graciously agreed to have us stay in a more modern motel a few miles up and much closer to town. Note: We checked into the Mountain 8 Inn for the first time that year, and Dad has stayed in that same motel consecutively ever since. Things were relatively happier now that we had visibly upgraded accommodations and television to pass the times of boredom.

That night it rained harder than I’ve ever seen it rain in Estes Park in my whole life. It was actually quite exciting and fun, and we watched the downpour from the balcony. Then a bolt of lightening hit the swimming pool, maybe 50 yards away from us. It was so close I can remember noticing that lightening looked solid, like a tree trunk, but blindingly bright. The immediate thunder practically knocked us on our butts, and even Dad was a bit taken back, we all went into the room and watched the rain from the window while the Olympics played on TV. It rained all night and Ted in the middle of the night got up, went to the window and started having a conversation, waking everybody up, and then he went back to sleep. We mentioned it to him the next day and he denies remembering any of it happening.

The next day was no different than what we had come to expect, the skies were blue and the sun was shining. Dad, Ted and I, had planned to hike Longs Peak that day and things seemed ideal to go out and spend time in the Rocky Mountains. We knew it rained a lot last night and it wasn’t surprising to expect there to be a bit of a mess in town the next day, evidence of flooding and water damage was not surprising and we generally ignored it as typical as we bought some supplies at the market and went into the park for our hike. Generally you are supposed to start very early in the morning to hike Longs Peak so you can make it up and back and beat the lightening that usually occurs in the afternoon (more people die from lightening on high peaks than from falling) But we didn’t intend to make it to the summit and the late start was irrelevant. We hiked up the trail through the forested part and got up above the timber line where there was a vast field of boulders leading to the peak. By this time the clouds began to roll in and the weather was looking gloomier, Dad thinking he was vastly familiar with the terrain decided to take a shortcut and bypassing the defined trail across the boulder field, which is fine if you can see ahead of you and where you want to go. But the clouds moved in fast and we found ourselves in dense fog. Quickly we became disoriented and concerned about which direction to move to, that and the fact that the danger of lightening was a real threat we agreed it was best to make our way back down. Even id someone moved a few feet ahead of you, you could lose sight of them through the fog, and without a defined trail we relied on dead reckoning to make our down. When we finally reached a trail we were still confused about which direction was back down, or leading up to the summit. We all agreed to a direction which happily turned out to be correct and we descended below the cloud cover and the fog gradually cleared so we could see far enough ahead of us to be confident again. But as we got below the cloud we entered into the rain, and the rest of the 4 mile decent to the trail parking lot was through constant and fairly heavy rain. Of course we were unprepared for rain and only wore our hiking clothes and a light jacket appropriate for typical summer weather, so the hike down was somewhat miserable, cold and very wet. Thankfully we were going down hill which at least made the hiking easier and let us think about other things to distract us from the cold rain. So silently and steadily we made our way down the mountain to the car.

By the time we got back to the motel we were freezing and even the hot shower had little effect on the chill for a long time, it was not a good hike. And when we returned, my mom was slightly panicked with the news about the town that we had ignored on our way to the mountain. Apparently it had rained something like 14 inches in 2 hours last night, the town was severely flooded and very damaged. The dam leading down the canyon with the cabin we were supposed to stay in had broken and severely flooded the canyon. We realized that we would've been staying in an area hit worst by the floods and mudslides,but changed at the last minute at my mom’s insistence. We found out that many people are dead and missing… no exaggeration. Across the highway from the motel we were watching National Guard helicopters landing for rescue missions, and later bringing bodies of victims to be transported to other locations. Mom was very upset and wanted to go home, but it looked like access out of Estes Park was limited for a day or two and we had to stay for a day or two.

All telephone communications were cut off and food and water was being rationed, It was all very exciting. We went across the way to a little restaurant, and Mom wanted to get something comforting from the bar, and we met this guy who was helping in the rescue efforts, he drove a blazer, (which we now call a SUV), but at that time only people with a reason to drive a blazer drove one. He was part of the CB radio organization in town and was helping with communication efforts as well. My mom got into a conversation with him and I guess he was generally a nice guy, kind of a tough truck driving macho man, and he offered to relay a message to our families, via CB radio down to Boulder, saying we were okay. Dad began to talk with him and was tempted to help out in the rescue efforts down in the canyon. The guy seemed a little reluctant taking Dad and explained that rescuers generally came equipped with their own rescue gear, like ropes, shovels and appropriate clothing, so this effectively discouraged Dad and he was forced to watch the excitement from the sidelines.

When we finally contacted Ted’s family a few days later, they were more confused by the message that got sent to them, knowing we were in a flood but not the extent of the disaster, but assuming we were okay. The call they received was vague and short of information and only concerned and panicked them further, but they were all relieved we were okay.

Cats

We were in a town called Quincy, and we were getting ready to leave in the morning when this nice orange cat come up to us. I started playing with the cat and it was paying a lot of attention to us. Dad saw this and took a liking to the cat and named it "Quincy", after the town we were in. The cat didn't go away so Dad thought it would be a good idea if we took the cat with us. Now the cat probably belonged to someone and thinking back probably would've hated being in the car, but Dad really tried to convince Mom to let him take the cat, using me as an excuse since I fell in love with it. Mom pointed out we were in my Grandmothers car and that we had already made enough mess without having a live animal. Mom then treated Dad like a little kid who brought home a stray puppy, she simply said "no".

But this set the stage for future cat events, and we were to find out that Dad basically gets his way one way or another. A little history: My whole life I've known Dad I've never known him to ever hold a job. He must have made money somehow, or else how could we have spent entire Summers on the road living out of Motels and visiting roadside attractions? But Dad never, as long as I've been around, had a real job, except for the job at UCLA in the Neurological Research Lab taking care of the test animals. From what I have been told this is one of those labs where they would plug electrodes into animals brains to see what would happen, I'm always reminded of those anti-vivisection picture of the cat or the monkey with all the wires sticking out of their brains with their expression a mixture of pain and bewilderment. Well, my Dad worked in one of these scientific labs as a technician, taking care of the test animals, mostly cats. For many years afterward Dad still carried his UCLA identification card and often used it to get discounts, or impress people at cocktail parties, even though the expiration date was 1962. On more than one occasion when asked what he did for a living Dad would answer he was in "neurological research", even more than 30 years after the fact. Once when I was in school, I think the 3rd grade, we were asked to tell what our dad's did for a living, Everyone else had answers like; "president of a big oil company", "a doctor", "Center for the LA Lakers"... but when they got to me I was stumped, and the only thing I could think of was "scientist". I think this amused the teacher and she mentioned it to my Mom later, but I was truly at a loss at what my dad "did". From then on I was told that "...he is in investments.", and that became my answer for years to come.

But getting back to the story, Dad worked in this research lab where they basically tortured cats for scientific purposes, and I think that while Dad found this fascinating and necessary toward the progress of science, he might've felt some sense of wrong and truly felt sorry for the animals. I was told he was fired from that job for letting the cat out of their cages to experience a little freedom, Dad was upset and frustrated when telling how the doctors didn't like the way he treated the cats with compassion. Before leaving that job Dad was able to take one of the cats home and it lived at my grandparents house for many years, the cat's name was Psycho and he was never very friendly to me.

So Dad always had an affinity for stray or needed cats, especially on the trips and it became another tradition to find and take a kitten along in the car for the journey. The first cat I can recall getting was a gray Russian Blue cat we named Jerky. I forgot exactly where Jerky came from, probably a free kitten given away in front of a grocery store, but Dad picked up this cat somewhere and brought him along on the trip with us. The first thing we needed to take care of was the cat box situation, this was solved by lining a cardboard box bottom with a plastic garbage bag filled with kitty litter, and placing it on the floor of the back seat behind Dad, and opposite the ice chests. For the most part this worked well since cats pretty much know from the very beginning that the box is the place to go, and emptying the box of cat poo was fairly simple by just stopping by the side of the road and dumping the unwanted litter out and replacing it with clean Johnny Cat. However, after a while the smell did become a permanent passenger in the car and spillage was unavoidable, we all began to learn how much a person could get used to if having to live with it in a confined space over a long period of time. Adding to the mess and odor was the food and water situation for the cat, especially the water dish (an empty cat food can) that would always spill and mix with the dry food and stray kitty litter. Us kids learned to avoid that section of the car all together and ignored the chaos until it became too disgusting, or Dad ordered one of us to deal with it. Except for the occasional times where the cat would get underneath the brake or accelerator pedals, making it difficult for Dad to drive safely, the cat did quickly become accustomed with driving in the car and Jerky's habits conformed to ours in no time.

But, there was also the problem of having pets in the motels, which at the time most motels forbid any kind of pets, and for good reason. All of us then had to get used to the fact of hiding the cat from the management (as well as occasionally sneaking one of us in) and us kids became very stealthy at including the cat in our motel activities. On a few occasions the management did catch us with the cat and became angry, either threatening to kick us out or charge us additional for the potential mess. Dad would always somehow talk his way out of it or agree to keep the cat in the car overnight, but nobody ever liked it. Jerky did however become part of our family and when he was brought home Mom was initially not happy and reluctant to accept Jerky, in fact Jerky was to become one of the favorite cats of all time and even Mom became extremely fond of Jerky and he was one of the favorite cats. This was great, but also started a dangerous precedence, since now bringing the cat home from the trip was proved successful, Dad had to find a cat on every trip since.

Jerky was probably the only successful cat story I can recall on the trips. There were a few trip I didn't attend that my sisters went on and they relayed stories of getting a kitten, that after a few days was not able to withstand the heat and stress of traveling, and died in the car. I assume this was sad and traumatic for my sisters, and a great disappointment for Dad, but after a few days of mourning they would inevitably come across more free kittens and have another companion for the road.

The year Ted and the family was on the trip, Dad showed up again with a black kitten. Us kids were delighted but Mom was furious. The cat had diarrhea and immediately made a few messes either in the car of in the motel room, so we named him "Spot". Ted thought this name was appropriate and funny and even Mom had a chuckle, but Spot wasn't happy, or happy to be around. The car was already crowded and full of all kinds of different smells, and the cat only added to the stress and unhealthy factor to our group, and from then on Mom began to make plans. One day well into the trip, Dad took all of us kids on some event for a couple of hours and left mom with the cat in the motel room, when we returned Spot was mysteriously missing and Mom appeared both angry and unconcerned. Dad immediately had a fit and accused Mom of foul play, demanding an explanation, Mom only responded with cool and calculated denial. The rest of us kids suspected many things but mostly kept quiet.

Having a cat was always Dad's thing, an unexplained need for a mascot. Dad often recalls the time he was traveling in his '55 Thunderbird and picked up an alligator lizard somewhere down South. He kept the live alligator on the dashboard of the car as he drove along and I guess it kept him company or something. He then tells that he was racing to catch a ferry, and cut it so close that he actually jumped the ramp onto the ferry before it left. Well, this angered the ferry captain so much that he stuck his head into Dad's window and yelled obscenities into his face. This apparently got a reaction out of the alligator who reared up and hissed at the captain (like a cat) This so amused the ferry captain seeing this strange creature hiss at him that he forgot about being angry at Dad and let him pass through without trouble. So having a pet seems to be essential to Dad on the trips, and since we couldn't get alligator lizards anymore, cats were the next best thing.

Motels - part 4. Teepee's & Waterbeds

So as long as I'm talking about motels I should probably mention some of the more memorable ones, memorable in a unique and often strange sort of way. It was not unlike Dad to every so often treat us to a novelty motel or maybe one with something extra to offer. At first the big treat was to get a room with a "Magic Fingers" vibrating bed. This was always an exciting treat, at least at first, but after a while the novelty wore off and it ceased to be a benefit anymore. Dad however always took advantage of the vibrating bed, especially after a long drive, I assumed it was comforting and relaxing to stagnant and sore muscles. I now think the intention for the "Magic Fingers" was probably something more "adult" in nature rather than for tired truckers and other travelers, but these were far more innocent times for us and the thought that the vibrating beds were somehow abused for carnal pleasure never occurred to us, it was just an extra perk much like the coffee machines in the room or free fly swatters.

There were also little minor details about some motels that make them stick out in my mind, like the pool with the peace sign painted on the bottom. Don't ask me why I remember this but it always remains in my memory, probably because we had an especially fun squirt gun fight in that pool. Dad would get us a set of squirt guns to horse around with in the pools and this was especially fun on hot days and worked well to blow off pent-up steam from being in the car for hours. The ongoing goal was to find quality squirt guns that shot long and powerful streams. Dad had found for himself this strange little squirt gun toy device that was a little red plastic barrel with a periscope type squirter coming from the top. Not only did it have a hefty squirt that could give a slight sting if shot directly in the eye, but it had the most water holding capacity which gave Dad the advantage while the rest of us were reloading. The water gun fights could get rambunctious but never lasted very long and resulted in serious injury. Another game I remember playing in the peace sign pool was where Dad would throw a nickle in the deep end when we weren't looking and we were challenged to dive in and find it. This was a more mature game and went far to strengthen my swimming skills and breath holding ability. Having the painted peace sign bottom of the pool just made the task more challenging and fun.

Speaking of water, one particular motel that was an unusual and a once in a lifetime experience was when Dad treated us to the water bed motel. Now, this wasn't a sleazy dump in a bad part of town, it was a regular looking motel, like an Imperial 400 or Best Western, but instead they had water beds in the rooms. This actually wasn't too unusual, remember this was the '70's and water beds were all the rage, but if you couldn't afford one, or just wanted to try it out, you could find them at these water bed motels and test drive one. At first we got a single room like we usually do, and someone had to volunteer to sleep on the floor, usually this was Dad. But we got to the room (without sneaking someone in) and it was a lot nicer than usual but had only one big water bed. Dad and Mom had a private discussion and they decided to get another adjoining room for themselves, and my sister and I would have this room for ourselves. This was out of the ordinary but we didn't have a problem with it thinking that there just wasn't enough water bed to go around for everybody. So they got the other room and he and Mom immediately went to "take a nap" and gave strict instructions for us to not disturb them and stay in the room. Now, this was also unusual and my sister and I were too young and naive to catch the drift, but again we didn't have a problem with it and were excited to spend a few hours playing on the water bed and watch color TV. The jumping on the water bed turned out to be not as fun as you would think and both my sister and I quickly got bored. The TV watching was also not very compelling and we were limited to watching nature shows or "Wide Wide World of Sports", so the TV became more peripheral noise than entertainment and I was motivated to find other means of keeping busy. I decided to snoop through some of Mom and Dad's things and I came across Dad's collection of vitamins. Dad was always big into vitamins and has a separate supplement for every vitamin and mineral A to Z. So I went and took one or two from each container (there were quite a few) and made a game out of the little pills. I was especially fascinated with the clear amber capsules for vitamin E and the smelly fish oil or garlic capsules. I wanted to know what was inside them so I got a fork and poked a hole in one of them, making an oily mess and leaving me with a deflated gel pill. I didn't stop there and went on experimenting by getting a bathroom drinking glass and mixing the vitamins all together by mashing them up and using the liquid from the gel capsules as a binder. This process took me more than a few minutes and resulted in a pasty goo that smelled like vitamin E, garlic and alfalfa. I actually took a taste of the concoction, and fortunately it was disgusting otherwise I might've thought it was healthy and consumed the whole thing. I decided then that I better clean up and dispose of the evidence less Dad find out I stole his vitamins for fun and games. I cleaned up as best I could but did leave tell-tale signs of what I was up to. When Mom and Dad returned they weren't in the best of moods for some reason, Dad was only mildly annoyed that I was into his vitamins but to my surprise mostly ignored my mischief. Both Mom and Dad were more quiet than usual and there was tension in the atmosphere for the rest of the evening. That night, for me and my sister, sleeping on the water bed proved to be more anti climatic than anything and I recall having a restless night. The next morning we checked out as usual and continued on our way, the curiosity about water beds had been fulfilled.

One of the more novel motels we stayed at was the "Teepee" or sometimes called "Wigwam" motel. Apart from their appearance and kitchy architecture, there wasn't anything particularly unusual about them and they were actually quite nice and comfortable. The outside of course looked like a stucco teepee with a TV antenna sticking out of the top, but the inside was round and wood paneled with all the modern conveniences like a bathroom and TV. The neighborhood this Motel was in wasn't much to speak of, catering to truckers and travelers, but it was pleasant in it's ordinary-ness. For some reason the thing I remember most about the Teepee motel was getting a late start leaving in the morning and I was allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons like Scooby Doo and The Groovy Goulies. And even though the Teepee motel was slightly more expensive that a regular Motel, (paying for the historic privilege I guess) Dad found the extra cost worth it and made it a point to return to the Teepee motel when ever we were in the area.

Motels - part 3. Dumps

Most of the time the motels we stayed at were fairly nice, at worst just ordinary, but nothing too frightening or dangerous. However, there were a few instances and experiences worth noting and were the cause for many memorable nights, some truly a cause for concern, and a few that were only manufactured by our attitude, imagination or bad moods, which in hindsight make the experience not as miserable as we thought.

At the forefront of dumpy places to stay is the Astoria Hotel, in Astoria, Oregon. This hotel became the litmus test to compare every dank and dreary hotel and motel we were to ever stay at and has been the cause for tense conversation ever since. Not only was the hotel itself old, dark and cold, but the weather in this coastal Oregon town was gray, bleak and wet. It is ironic however that I now live in this area of the country and have come to like and accept this weather, as well as come to love the town of Astoria. But at this time we came into town and Dad insisted on staying at this old and historic hotel thinking it would be a good experience, like in the old days before there were motels like we were used to, Mom and I just thought Dad was being cheap. The major flaw in this hotel that was the main gripe was it didn't have bathrooms in the room, but communal bathrooms down the hall. I guess this is the way it was normally like back in the day, and Mom and I failed to see the unique fun in this and Mom complained bitterly about this inconvenience. I didn't really like it myself but accepted this and let Mom do all the complaining. Dad only got annoyed and thought it was unreasonable to complain stating that this is what it was like in every hotel, even the fancy expensive ones, only a few years ago and Mom and I needed to suck it up and enjoy it. The hotel like I said was old and a bit musty, the carpets were hard and thread-bare and the color scheme for the entire hotel was a muted gray with splashes of faded color in the carpets and wall paper. It also had an old elevator that had one of those metal gates that needed to be manually closed before the elevator would work. The elevator was small, slow and creaky and it made me a tiny bit nervous, but Dad pointed out that it was an Otis elevator, and if I haven't mentioned it before, Dad is proudly descended from Elisha Otis - the guy responsible for the elevator and it's namesake, and the reason Dad is named Otis. So Dad never failed to mention whenever we were riding in an Otis elevator and demanded respect for the privilege. But this particular elevator seemed to be an original vintage Otis complete with Victorian era technology, and it failed to impress me or Mom. The other inconvenience was that the hotel had a lobby and desk clerk, which meant that the anonymous status we usually enjoyed didn't exist at this hotel, and we were under the constant scrutiny of the manager, which for some reason made me and Mom uncomfortable. Dad suggested that we do what everyone did in the old days and hang out in the lobby and read magazines on the old couches among the elderly tenants, this was received coolly by me and Mom and promptly ignored.

Mom was in a bad mood the entire stay, which put everyone in a bad mood. Dad vainly tried to smooth things over by justifying the historic value of the hotel and that we were being spoiled and ungrateful, (which now I see his point) and we probably needlessly turned it into a bad situation. The next morning there seemed to be a rush to get out and Dad was visibly irritated and disappointed by our lack of enthusiasm. From that time on Dad still tries to expound on the virtues of the Astoria Hotel, and other hotels like it, and becomes slightly belligerent and sarcastic when mentioning it, expressing pity about our lack of open mindedness.

But that is not to say that we didn't have genuine bad experiences in motels, sometimes unknowingly checking into a shady establishment frequented by unsavory truckers, criminals and prostitutes. Usually you could spot one of these motels a mile away, but sometimes we either didn't see the usual signs, or didn't have much of a choice. At one motel I remember that it superficially liked okay, but on further examination realized that it was converted from a hospital, possibly a mental hospital, noticing oblique details like curtain rods around the beds and strange plug outlets that accommodated sadistic instruments. Then there was the time there was a faint but unpleasant odor in the room, which was discovered to a decomposing animal head under the bed, only to be found the next morning during one of Dad's "idiot checks" Even Dad was disturbed by this discovery. And every so often, and without any explanation we would check into a motel and get a distinct suspicious and unwelcome feeling, encountering unfriendly and often mean managers that seemed they would've rather that we didn't check in. Maybe they sensed Dad being "different", or they didn't like kids, but whatever the case we learned to avoid and keep quiet in these situations, knowing it would soon be over and the next motel would certainly be better. Fortunately these cases were the exception and not the rule.

This is also not to say that we didn't have bad experiences at good motels. Even Holiday Inn's had the potential of unpleasant danger. At one of the traditional stops during the trip, that being San Diego, California, Dad would make special concessions and stay at premium motels in order to celebrate the start of the trip of set the tone. At this time we checked into a "round" Holiday Inn, which was a building with cylindrical architecture resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa (without the leaning) There were a few of these type of round Holiday Inns around California and we happened to have one of these in our own neighborhood back home in Los Angeles. Dad would sometimes take us kids and stay the night in this Holiday Inn, literally 2 miles from our house, just for kicks and a chance to pretend we were on the trip during the regular time of the year. So in San Diego Dad was enthusiastic to stay in this Holiday Inn since it fulfilled a tradition. Well, during this stay, and sometime during the late night, someone knocked loudly on the door to the room next to ours, demanding to be let in. Fortunately the doors had peep holes and Mom and Dad were able to witness what was about to go on. It seemed that a large angry man had left a gun under the mattress in the room next door and was desperate to be let in to retrieve it, at 3:00 in the morning. The more the person in the room hesitated and argued against it, the more angry and unreasonable the guy with the lost gun got. After about 10 minutes, probably when the guy realized someone might've called the police, he took off abruptly. Needless to say this concerned Dad and Mom and we checked out of that Holiday Inn and checked into a far safer Motel 6 in "Motel Village" just outside San Diego and with convenient access to the zoo and other family attractions. The round Holiday Inns never seemed the same after that.