It was a quiet drive southbound through the sleepy and tranquil Wyoming countryside. Not much was going on aside from a few cows grazing here and there and the wind dancing through the endless golden fields of hay. We were chugging along, mindlessly making our way to Colorado, when out of no where, the horizon was suddenly invaded by force the likes of which we had never seen. A particularly rocky chain of mountains sprung up from the Earth in much the same way short people don't. We were still hundreds of miles away from them, but still, they commanded a certain amount of respect. A person can drive alongside any one of the Appalachian mountains and think, "Hey, maybe I'll take Grams on a walk up this hill sometime." With the Rocky Mountains, the thought is something more along the lines of, "I need a nap just looking at that thing."
As we crossed the state line, we could start to make out snow from last winter lingering on the top of some of the tallest peaks, and while the car's thermostat still read 75 degrees, it could be assumed that we were in for a chilly night. We stopped for one last meal at Panera, before making our way to Rocky Mountain National Park. After an awesome drive through the mountains at sunset, we arrived late enough at the park to sneak in for free. All the campsites were closed though, so we camped out in the car for the sixth straight night, something the shuttle bus driving found incredibly amusing the following morning.
The park ranger recommended making our way out to Sky Lake, a 10 mile hike involving the scaling of a waterfall.
We opted to maintain a blisteringly fast pace, leaving the elderly and men with children scrapped to their backs in our dust. Our presumably record setting time left us questioning the rockiness of the Rocky Mountains, and then we reached the waterfall climb, which quelled any and all doubts that we had.
After reaching the lake at the top of the falls and enjoying the view, we realized that we still had not reached the Sky Lake. Apparently, 11,000 feet is not close enough to the sky to earn the moniker of Sky Lake. The path to the true lake of the sky cut along a cliffside, and in my opinion, was poorly marked, leaving me no choice but to lead us along a path 50 feet higher and far more treacherous than the ranger approved way. Nevertheless, we reached the top and enjoyed some delicious sandwiches as positive reinforcement.
With the knowledge that the campsites we already filled, we decided that sleeping in the car would be far more comfortable if we descended about 4,000 feet, so we set off toward Denver. When we hit the outskirts of the city and saw what seemed to be about a day's worth of traffic, we decided to go on a man date and see what turned out to be a delightful rom-com, Crazy Stupid Love. Afterwards, we were deliriously tired, so we searched our surroundings for a secluded parking lot in which to sleep. We thought we were successful.
The officer who was tapping on our window two hours later did not agree.
Our initial resentment toward "the man" for making us pay for a hotel room quickly faded after we both showered and slept in a bed for the first time in six days. The next morning, Dan expertly cut my hair, and we both made ourselves presentable with another shower and a shave. We arrived in Denver shortly after and met Dan's father, Peter Hagen, who welcomed with open arms into the nicest hotel we will see on this trip. After dropping off our things, we set out to explore Denver for a bit. Dr. Pete took us to his stomping grounds, the Denver Convention Center, so he could pick up his bling, signifying how important he was there. We then grabbed a bite to eat at a local brewery, after which Lord Hagen took his leave, as we stayed behind to watch some football.
We were befriended by a traveling medical supply salesman named Bryan during the games, and after he got a few drinks in him, and us for that matter, we set off on some lively discussions on everything from politics to green technology to him partying with Bob Dylan and describing him as a "dick." He then proceeded to lay down some game and was able to get a beautiful, young local named Ginger to come join us. We passed the time drinking, chatting, making fun of Ginger's Denver Broncos, who were losing spectacularly at the time, and watching Bryan's failed attempts at Ginger to take him Tilted Kilts, the Irish equivalent of Hooters. Some time later, the world renowned Peter Hagen rejoined us, and we said our goodbyes to our new friends and went and dined at an Indian restaurant, which did not sit well with Dan that night, to say the least.
We awoke the next morning, got our swell on at the classy hotel's classy gym, lunched at Panera, went on a mile high run through the city, jacuzzi-ed to wash it all down, and finally met with the often imitated Dr. Hagen and his convention cohorts for a memorable dinner at a vodka bar. I don't remember what i ate, but I certainly remember at least four shots of vodka chased, as those Russians do, with pickles. One tipsy walk home later, we slept warmly a mile high.
The following day we gymed again, lunched at a nice Irish pub for half-price with his majesty Peter Hagen's convention coupons, and then set off to Red Rocks, a natural-formed amphitheater made of, you guessed it, red rock. It was gorgeous, and we can only assume how amazing it must be to see a show there and hear the natural acoustics created by the rocks. Every genre of music has been represented at this theatre through countless famous acts - the Beatles, Diana Ross, Jimmy Buffet, Daft Punk, New Found Glory, Slightly Stoopid, The Beastie Boys and too many more to name. For all you dead heads out there, Grateful Dead is the venue's most prolific group, so kudos.
After stopping to do our laundry and to give Appa a well-deserved bath, we headed out to dinner with the man of steel, Peter Hagen, and his convention cronies, at a South American/Asian fusion restaurant. There was considerably less vodka, but margaritas and wine filled the void; that is, for Dan at least, because while Dan can order drinks without being carded, I, an idiot for left his license back at the hotel, cannot. In addition to denying me my drink, the waitress cancelled my order and instead brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a juice box to wash it down. Bon appétit.
Dinner wore out our elders, so we parted ways for Dan and I had a big night ahead of us. By pure chance, I picked up a copy of the Onion the previous day while wandering the streets of Denver, and upon leafing through it, I discovered something magical. A local bar had a promo that offered free drinks if your name was on their calendar of October, and as it happened, Daniel and Sean fell on the same day - our last day in Denver.
There may be a god after all.
A night of free Coors has since made me realize that being as cold as the Rockies does not directly correlate with tastiness.
We reluctantly arose early the next morning, packed the car for three with me placed precariously in the back seat, and set out for Aspen for a guide to trekking across Colorado courtesy of Scoutmaster Hagen. Our first stop was the Garden of the Gods, so named because the land's original owner's intent was the use the painteresque collection of red rocks and colorful plant life as a beer garden, that would be "fit for the Gods."
We continued onward and upward into the Rockies, making our way to Independence Pass, a 12,000 foot high route carving through the top of the mountains. It may have been the lack of available oxygen, but the view at the top is literally breathtaking. When we finally regained our ability to breath, the air was so crisp and refreshing, and there was beauty in every direction, from the old snow from last season lingering on the peaks to the lone trees daring to survive a ways above the main tree line.
When we were adequately frostbitten, as Dan and I had dressed for the 50 degree weather in Denver as opposed to the 30 degree weather up near outer space, we made our descent into Aspen, a lowly 9,000 feet above sea level. Sneaky Pete took us on a tour of the gorgeous campus were he used to work during his summers. The tapestry of colors as the trees turn for autumn only added to the natural beauty of the area. After the tour, we headed into town, found a place to stay, grabbed some dinner, and headed to a pool bar for an epic battle of the cues which ended in a three-way stalemate. The tie was broken, however, later that evening, when I dominated the two of them in the game of Egyptian ratscrew.
The good Reverend Hagen had a flight to catch the following afternoon, so we awoke early with the intention of leaving quickly.
Disaster.
Appa could bring herself to start for us. Our faithful friend for so long was ailing, and all signs pointed to the battery. Luckily, we received a jump and were able to put off the problem, as all great procrastinators do. We made the return journey through the mountains amidst the first snowfall of the season and arrived at Denver International Airport, sad to say goodbye to the irreplaceable Peter Hagen. As he walked into the airport, our minds drifted to a photo montage of all the memories we had made together, presumably set to Vitamin C's Graduation Song.
In all seriousness, a big thank you to the hopefully immortal Mr. Hagen. He would have you all believe that we were doing him a favor by lugging him along with us on our trip, when, in reality, we were lucky to have spent this time with him. Thanks again.
This entirely too long of a post has been brought to you by Aspen trees, classy hotels and red rocks everywhere.
I really hope the peanut butter jelly and juice box was true. Too funny! That could only happen to mr sean cogan.
ReplyDeletePerhaps its garden of the gods?