From the Denver to the Grave (and from the snow to the rock)

OK, a lot has happened, so I'll get right to the business. Firstly, we wrapped up our Denver business with some good times with good friends. We spent some wonderful time with Mike (the drummer) and his lady-friend, Bethany. (We'd only just met Bethany at the show, and she brought us Valentines and gifts-- awesome!!) And we also spent some good time with one of my old friends from Missouri, Jessie Lang, and her husband, Kurt. (I realize she now has his last name, but she's pretty permanently a Lang to me.) I hadn't seen her in several years, and it was so much fun to see how little the years of separation had actually separated us.

Next, the graveyard shift. We headed west, and just outside of Denver is a very tempting sign for Buffalo Bill's Grave. I've always wanted to go up there, and I've always driven past it. But this is road-trippery, so we wandered on up. Apparently, I knew nothing about Buffalo Bill, because I was pretty sure he was an outlaw or something cool, but the little bits we picked up about him in the gift shop conveyed that he was more of an all-star indian-killer who worked for the man. I was feeling unimpressed, and, anyways, his grave was a side-show, complete with a gift shop much more peopled than the actual grave. Among the gift shop business, we read a book mark about Doc Holliday, who, thanks to Val Kilmer, impresses us way more. While reading the book mark summary of Doc's life and death, I imagined that Doc's grave wouldn't be a show, but a quiet place on a hill, peaceful and alone.

As we wandered further west, I began processing a little more of that single paragraph about Doc. It had also mentioned that he died in Glenwood Springs but nothing of the burial site. We were about to go right through Glenwood, so we decided to stop in and ask around. We ended up in a used gear shop, and I asked the bike shop guy the awkward question, "So, what do you know about Doc Holliday?" Much to my surprise, the guy went into an amazingly insightful lecture summarizing all of Doc's interactions with the town, culminating in the directions to his grave, a couple minutes away. Ten minutes of snowy trail later, we were up on a quiet, desolate, snow-covered hill above town, looking at Doc's grave, among other couple-hundred year-old graves in the old cemetary. It was perfect. We left him some sunflowers that Chelsea had gotten as a Valentine's gift.

Next stop, Chelsea's uncle, Mike, on a mesa near Hotchkiss, CO, and his friend, Jim, who lives right by the Powderhorn Ski Resort. They both live in lovely homes, and I loved getting to meet them, and their fun friends, all of whom are vibrant and funny and warm. During this time, we spent two days at Powderhorn (with me boarding and Chelsea skiing), and one of those days, Mike and Jim and their friends, Paula, Jane, and Stan, got to come out with us. They are all super expert on the snow, but were still awesomely patient and encouraging with us. We both got a lot better in that one day, and Paula even dragged me onto my first blacks, where she encouraged me while I butt-bumped my way down moguls. This sounds unpleasant, but it was actually great, because I started to try some new and scary things, instead of just being pretty comfy on blues.

Finally, we made our way over to Montrose, CO, where we are now, to see my friends, Keith and Christel. They are climbers, and among other fun things, they have a fun horizontal rope ladder in their family room. So I've spent much of the weekend in what I call the monkey-house, reclining and swinging and tangling myself in the ladder. I think I might be part lemur, now that I realize that the most comfy seat in the house for me is squatted up there in the monkey-house. Our other events included gorgeous rock climbing in nearby Escalante Canyon, several hours in some hot springs in Ouray, and various stupid human tricks and challenges around the house. Now, Keith is about to head out for work on Monday, and Chelsea and I are about to move on west.