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.

Longs Peak

The showpiece of Rocky Mountain National Park, and the ultimate challenge for hikers and climbers is Longs Peak, which claims a formidable 14,259 feet above sea level and gives Estes Park, and much of Colorado a magnificent natural monument. Wind River Ranch, where we stayed, lay in it's shadows and everyone gazed and talked about it as if it were a pagan god or some forbidden region to be respected, in fact it was an awesome and dangerous mountain with many would-be climbers meeting their fate attempting the summit, I can remember on more than one occasion where someone had fallen to their death, or someone needed to be rescued from the sheer cliff that was called "The Diamond". I however spent most of my time looking at the peak from a safe distance miles away.

There was more than one way to reach the summit and far less dangerous routes than scaling the cliff of the Diamond with ropes and sheer guts. Dad, Uncle Bob and some of the more experienced guests would make the annual attempt to reach the top of Longs Peak the easy way, there was a long trail of switchbacks leading to a field of boulders (coincidentally called "the Boulder Field") and to the base of the peak to a less treacherous cliff where there was a series of cables laid out to assist less experienced climbers to the summit. There was also a longer but strenuous trail along the back of the peak that you would reach through a pass called "The Keyhole", and while this was slightly safer, it took hours longer to reach the top. Reaching the top required leaving early in the morning and returning later in the evening exhausted and satisfied, but more often than not they would return without reaching the top claiming altitude sickness or bad weather, or just being plain tired. One of the regular guests that would lead Dad and Uncle Bob on these treks was a well respected doctor who had years of experience with Longs Peak, Dad would often talk about him and his hiking experiences with the doctor and Dad gleaned much of his Longs Peak expertise from him. With the doctors' leadership Dad was able to reach the summit of Longs Peak on a couple of occasions taking both the cables and the keyhole route. On one of these hikes, my cousin David and I stayed behind and became concerned when our dads didn't return after a couple of hours, not realizing it would take all day to complete the trip. We got a pair of binoculars and tried to find our dads on the cliff worried they were stuck, or we just wanted confirmation they were okay and tried to see them from the ranch. However we didn't see anybody on the mountain. Dad and Uncle Bob returned from reaching the summit one time a little disappointed and confused, they made the very strenuous and dangerous climb to the top, only to find that there was a bunch of people already there, no different than any other hike in the Park, there were old people who didn't seem fit enough to make the climb as well as young kids. Dad and Uncle Bob couldn't figure what they were doing wrong to feel so challenged and exhausted by the climb only to find mere tourists had easily accomplished the hike ahead of them. Later they surmised that most of them took more than one day to make the top and that they would camp overnight along the way. Both Dad and Uncle Bob deemed this as cheating.

It would be a few years before I was allowed to attempt Longs Peak, and I had to succeed at a number of other mountains before I was considered worthy to be allowed to try Longs. One of these mountains was Twin Sisters, a mountain directly behind Wind River Ranch, a simple 11,428 feet above sea level. Twin Sisters is actually 4 peaks, and as a kid I never understood why they called it twins when it was 4, it should've been quadruplet sisters. But on a later trip when I was older, during a casual conversation with Dad, he explained the meaning of "twin sisters" to my innocent and naive sensibilities: if you view the peaks from a certain vantage point the peaks resemble a set of two women's breasts... Oh... yeah, now I see it. It was like the explanation of "Teton" during our trip to Mt. Rushmore, and just as embarrassing. But from that time on that's what I see when I view Twin Sisters. But again, I digress. So the year I went on the trip with Dad by myself and shared a cabin with David was the year we all attempted Longs Peak, me, Dad, Uncle Bob and all my cousins. The hike started out as usual, long, boring and very uphill. Dad and Uncle Bob knew of a shortcut that the rangers take when they need to hike the mountain, that would be to cut through the switchbacks and follow the telephone poles up to the boulder field. While the shortcut did shorten the distance, the terrain was far more rough and the incline noticeably steeper, the hike was fast becoming unpleasant. I was the youngest in the group but not the biggest complainer, (although I did my share of complaining). Most of the harsh words came from the girl cousins, Gail and Sarane, who didn't plan on such an involved hike and wanted to get back to the comfortable cabin life. However we all had an goal and Uncle Bob pressed us on. We got to the Boulder Field, which was exactly like we expected, a vast field of boulders. For me and my size, navigating the boulders was more difficult and time consuming than for the rest, but having David and my Dad along made it worthwhile and I continued on trying to make the next milestone; the cables. Dad told me that once we reached the cable it would be an easy jaunt to the top, but we had to get to the cables first, and that was proving to be more difficult than expected for everyone. The boulder field was the remnant of an ancient glacial flow and left behind a huge pile of strewn rocks, at that altitude there was nothing green or living except for lichen and the occasional marmot, a large beaver-looking squirrel that would emit a loud squeak and disappear before you could get close to it. So some of us kids were distracted by the marmots and this prolonged us getting to the cable route. Dad encouraged me to make a hard push toward the cables and when we arrived everyone else had already been there for some time waiting for us. My cousin Gail was a teenager and preoccupied with getting back to a date she had made with one of the wranglers later that evening, This annoyed Dad immensely and he complained under his breath that our very important objective of reaching the top was being undermined by Gails love life. Uncle Bob was also not very enthusiastic about making the last leg to the top and despite Dad's arguing that it was only a few hundred yards to the top, Dad got voted down and everyone decided this was more than far enough to consider it a successful climb. I was only slightly disappointed but very tired and I knew that the distance I came up, was the same distance I needed to come down, Dad tried to convince me that I basically made it to the top, that we were only minutes away and that I could consider it "the top" if I wanted, but I always knew better, that this wasn't the summit and that I didn't really make it to the top - this time.

It wasn't until I was 15 and was in Estes Park with my Dad one Summer, we had decided before we got to Estes Park that we were going to make it to the top of Longs Peak this time, although Dad was always concerned about "acclimation" and warned me about the altitude and it's effects, I was determined to reach the summit, and I think Dad was also. Dad prepared me with buying me a pair of expensive hiking boots, just like the ones he got when he hiked Longs Peak the first time. Dad considered it was time to buy proper boots since my feet had seemed to stop growing and the investment wouldn't be wasted when I outgrew them. We made a few preparatory hikes and then one day started out early to make it to the top. At the ranger station at the base of the trail we found out that the cables had been removed and it was considered no longer a novice trail, that if we wanted to reach the summit we would have to take the Keyhole route. Dad went to the car and brought along a pair of cleats that you strap on to your boots for gripping ice, for some reason he thought they would be useful. Concerned about not being able to use the cable route we started off to the top. Now, the reason you need to start early is to beat the weather, I found out much later that more people die on Longs Peak from lightning than from falling, especially up at the boulder field above the timber line. This was something we were unaware of at the time, but we pressed on. We also could no longer cut off the switchbacks and take the shortcut through the trail like we did before, they were trying to re-grow where the telephone poles used to be and forbid hiking off the trail, fortunately my age, size and strength had matured and hiking the trail wasn't as strenuous as the last time, also the boulders in the Boulder Field had become smaller to me making them easier to manage. I was full of energy and in no time we reached the base of the mountain where the old cable route used to be.

Dad and I were watching some climbers descending the old cable route with ropes. As we sat there watching them Dad and I thought that it really didn't look all that difficult to climb up without the cables. Part of the reason the cables were there in the first place was to be able to cross a patch of glacier, which wasn't there anymore. So with a little discussion, Dad and I convinced ourselves we could climb up to the top and avoid the lengthy Keyhole route. And up we went. Silently we passed the climbers on their way down and they didn't discourage us from attempting this way up, so we thought it must have been okay to climb up. A little ways up one of us loosened some rocks and they came tumbling down toward the climbers, we yelled out a warning and the climbers seemed to overreact, panic and dive for cover. We could tell they were not pleased with us and I could guess they were cursing us under their breath. Dad thought this was a silly reaction and they looked funny running for cover like that, I started to get a little concerned and doubted our decision make it to the top this way, but continued to climb up. Along the way climbing the cliff, every so often, we would come across metal eyelets embedded in the rock, these were originally used to attache the old cables to the side of the cliff, and now climbers, like the ones we just kicked rocks on, would use them for climbing with ropes, so we used these eyelets as guides to the top. We didn't get far, but far enough so we couldn't get back when we realized we might have made a mistake by taking this route, the rock climb was quickly becoming more and more difficult and dangerous and it got to the point where we were unable to climb down without slipping and falling. Falling at this point also would've meant certain death down off of The Diamond, we were between a rock and a hard place and essentially we were trapped realizing climbing the cliff looked easier than it actually was. We considered calling out to the climbers for help, who were far in the distance, but we were too embarrassed now, considering how stupid we must have looked to them dropping rocks on their heads. So we both hung on there for a few moments and tried to decide how to get out of this predicament, it was a go up or stay situation and staying wasn't an option, (and it seemed going up wasn't much of an option either), so we guessed we just had to go up. Dad realized that he had those strap-on cleats for his boots, which seemed useless right now, but he took them out and told me to tie one of the straps to one of the eyelets just barely in reach above us. I was able to reach that high but Dad had difficulty stretching that far, so I tied the strap around the eyelet, and hoping my knot held, pulled myself up to a better position. Hanging on to the eyelet strap and to Dad, I awkwardly pulled him up to a better position and we both inched ourselves up to a safer point on the cliff. The worst part seemed over and it looked a little bit easier from that point on, but we really couldn't tell, but we did know one thing for sure, we couldn't go back down the same direction less we risked falling to our deaths, so Dad and I nervously continued up the old cable route, sans cables. Thankfully the rest of the climb was not as treacherous and became easier, but I also noticed that it was considerably longer to the top than I expected, not the few minutes and couple of hundred yards dad indicated to me the last time we attempted Longs, but the worst was over and gradually the incline became less steep, until finally, we reached the summit.

This was truly a momentous occasion, not only had I finally reached the top of Longs Peak, but I didn't die in the process. I too noticed the amount of people at the top, obviously they took a different way up, but I was a bit surprised at how many people there was at this remote and difficult place on the Earth. The summit really wasn't what I expected and from the base, the peak looks pointed with not much area at all, but in fact it was flat and rocky and covered a few acres and resembled the landscape of Mars in those NASA pictures. Dad and I didn't say much about what we just went through, but we did silently say a prayer and promised never to do anything like that again. And since we did work very hard getting up to the top we made the most of it and spent as much time exploring the summit before we made our way down. There was no question about it, we were taking the long and difficult Keyhole route back down and fortunately it was downhill. There wasn't really a trail and you had to scramble and climb over rocky terrain, following painted bulls eyes on the rocks marking the way to the Keyhole pass, and back to the Boulder Field. It was easier going on the way back but we were tired and clumsy, and to make matters worse the threat of lightening loomed before us. At the Keyhole there was built out of rock a shelter to stay in case of lightning, we took a quick look but was eager about getting back and clueless about the threat of lightening. On the way through the Boulder Field we could hear thunder in the distance, and felt slightly vulnerable, but chose not to think about it and continued down. Once at the treeline the trail re-appeared and the hiking got easier, I tended to hike faster than Dad, (which he always mentioned and warned me about overdoing it), so I put myself on auto-pilot and went straight down to the parking lot without hardly stopping to rest. About a half-hour later Dad appeared and we got back in the car and went back to town, successfully conquering Longs Peak.

To celebrate we had dinner at Pizza Hut, this was before I became a regular beer drinker so I rested on my laurels with a pitcher of Dr. Pepper and half a large pizza. I proudly told the waitress we just finished climbing Longs Peak, but she didn't seem impressed.

Freddy The Cowboy

As I told you before, we all went to Colorado and spent 10 days at a dude ranch, Wind River Ranch, high in the Rocky Mountains. Now what this meant for me was that I needed to be a rootin-tootin cowboy, and in order to play the part correctly I needed a proper cowboy persona complete with cowboy boots, leather vest, bandanna scarf, matching cowboy hat, and of course a holster and pistol. My weapon of choice was a fancy six-shooter with a authentic looking wooden handle, the bullets were actually those red paper rolls of caps that needed to be threaded into the gun and aligned with the hammer, and when fired correctly gave a satisfying bang! and followed by the distinct smell of gunpowder. To make my alter-ego complete, I somehow decided that Sean wasn't an acceptable cowboy name, (whoever heard of a real cowboy named Sean), they all had names like Billy, Butch, or Sundance, not a very un-cowboy name like Sean. So I thought a better name for myself would be Freddy. I actually remember where I got the name, it was from one of the older kids in my neighborhood named Freddy, who would ride a skateboard or his bike dangerously, I thought he was cool and so I thought it would make an intimidating cowboy name for myself. So from then on at the ranch I insisted on being called Freddy. Another one of Freddy's cowboy powers I deemed upon myself was that I had poison teeth. I guess Freddy's symbolic cowboy animal identity was the rattlesnake (an appropriate creature to emulate I thought) and if I were to be truly powerful and respected by all the grown-ups, poison teeth certainly should be able to fight of any vicious bad guy or Indian. So there I was at Wind River Ranch living by the code of the West and having all the cowboy accoutrement's at my disposal.

The ranch was situated on many acres of forest and meadow and had a few acres of horse corrals and places to ride and play. Surrounding parts the ranch and the cabins were many areas of tall grass and weeds which were great fun for us kids to play and hide in, my cousin David and I would spend a great part of the day playing cowboys and Indians, or more likely since we were both cowboys we played cowboys and cowboys, but the tall grass provided many opportunities for various games. Since I was only about 4 years old at the time the grass and weeds was a good foot taller than I was and it was easy for me to get lost and disoriented, but I quickly learned to navigate the weeds and became comfortable with it's tendency to swallow me up. One time my Mom and Dad were out looking for me among the many acres of woods, cabins and tall grass, they searched the ranch calling my name (Sean) but I wouldn't answer and preferred to stay hidden in the tall grass. My parents started to get a little concerned and frantic since there was a distinct possibility that I could've wandered off and gotten lost in the woods, and a real possibility of being attacked by the numerous wild animals reported around the ranch. My Aunt and Uncle and a few of the other guests assisted in the search and I vaguely remember being aware of this but still remained hidden in the tall grass. Another guest at the ranch who was familiar and amused with my taking the cowboy name Freddy suggested that my parents call out Freddy instead of Sean, and doing this convinced me to re-appear out of the weeds a mere few feet away. My parent and the rest of the search party were both amused and a wee-bit angry at me for scaring them, but from then on everyone knew my name was Freddy and took it seriously.

At the time I was way too young to ride a horse by myself but I took every opportunity to go on supervised horse rides in the corral with the many wranglers there to assist us dudes with the horses. It was one of the last days at the ranch and Mom and Dad had scheduled to let me have a horse ride around the corral. Riding a horse was very exciting and represented the ultimate in cowboy activity, so up on the horse I went while Dad held the reigns and Mom stood back with the camera. I was feeling very cowboy and confident sitting up in the saddle, decked out in my hat, boots and duds, and I thought it would be an appropriate time for me to take out my pistol and fire off a shot like they do in the movies. I pulled out my gun, pointed it in the air (very cowboy-like) and Bang! went a cap. This was lucky and unusual because normally the hammer of the gun misses the cap and you get an unsatisfying snap with no bang, but this time the hammer hit the cap perfectly and gave off a particularly loud bang. Well, needless to say this startled the horse and he reared back at the sudden sound, coming back down and stepping on my Dad's foot as he struggled to control the horse. Dad composed the horse and himself and then became agitated at me for shooting the gun in the first place. I thought it was a great idea at the time but I then immediately knew I did something wrong and began to panic and cry. The horse calmed down quickly, but now I was more concerned that the wranglers were going to be angry with me and take my gun away.

That was the beginning of the end for Freddy the Cowboy, now humiliated by acting impulsive and un-cowboy-like. I sadly went back to being Sean again, but kept the poison teeth for a few weeks.