Rain began steadily hitting the windshield as we pulled away from Keith and Christel's home in Montrose. On the road again, but this time we were heading towards a place we are both familiar with. Moab. Moab is a comforting place- it is one of those places that feels like home to me, even though I have only made a few short visits there. We took a southern route into Moab, one that neither of us had taken before. Soon we pulled away from the mountains and the sage brush surrounded us. The rain was making a deep fog from in a canyon just off the highway, so, naturally, we pulled over to take photos. The smell of the damp sage brush was so wonderful and safe feeling. It made me think of the times I longed to visit Moab. To escape the commitments of school and head west to see my friends. I would listen to a mix CD Amanda made for my first trip to Moab, what was her third trip, over and over. It was the only thing that would make my feet stand still and stay in Springfield for the remaining weeks of what I felt was prison at times.
The land slowly morphed more and more into the land of the red, the land of the warm desert, the land with dumpster diving and adventure around every corner, with great towers and vibrant natural color in every direction. This is where we are. This is where we are going. I could not help but let my mind slip into memories. Amanda and I were returning to the place that was becoming more and more a place of magic, in my mind.
We got to a small town called LaSal, population 15. It is not even an hour outside of the place we were headed. Amanda felt it was an appropriate time for a routine tire check, before rolling into town. The tires on my side were as solid as the day they were made, this was not the case for one of the tires on Amanda's side. It turns out there was a reason for the seemingly routine check. We had a flat - and we changed it (meaning Amanda changed it and I watched to make sure she did a good job).
And so it was, we limped into Moab with a spare tire on the rear and a pride in our hearts. What a better town to limp into?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Stacy, this one's for you.
 |
| From Video for Stacy |
"I LOVE YOU, STACY!" - Amanda
"I love you, Stacy, but I am not going to drink water upside down to prove my love. We are beyond that." - Chelsea
Amanda's Explanation: Keith dared me to try drinking water upside-down, which I refused heartily. Then he drank red wine over a white pillow while standing on his head. So, of course, I had to try it--the easy way though, with water, and hanging from my legs.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
