Ouray on the Fourth of July

We went down to Ouray (pronounced "you're ray" more or less) on the Fourth of July for the parade, and it lived up to it's reputation. Ouray is a small town nestled in a box canyon with towering mountains on three sides. It's called the Switzerland of America and the comparison is not out of place. We got to see a Bactrian camel, the camel with two humps. Dromedary camels have only one, as we all know.

There were people on stilts, the boy scouts, political parties, businesses, anybody that could come up with the entrance fee. It was one of the few parades where you could just roll along the route with the assistance of gravity alone. There are few flat spots in Ouray.

A novel feature that separated it from any other parade I've ever seen; there were water cannons. This tractor pulled a 200 gallon water tank and the kid on the squirted the folks watching the parade. Not every float was armed with a water tank, but lots were. And the bystanders also came armed. Some with buckets of water to throw on those in the parade, some with tanks and hoses, some with water cannons. Full fledged water fights broke out amongst those on the floats and those in the crowd. Like I say, something new for me.

Both the Republican and Democratic parties had floats and carried candidate's signs. We made a few snide remarks amongst ourselves as the Republicans walked by. There was some good natured cheering by some, and some folks didn't cheer. The fellow above, as well as a few others, lustily booed as the Democrats strolled by while many others cheered. Cheer if you want, or don't cheer, but it's not okay to boo, asshole.

The parade ended and we went up the road to the zip line where Madeline and Dan were brave enough to take a ride. Below, she's decked out in helmet and harness ready to zip.

Check out how she did by clicking on the video below.

Tourist Season is in Full Swing

Over the July Fourth weekend, my sister Amy, brother-in-law Dan, and niece Madeline, came for a visit. We joined the hordes of other tourists and went out to do tourist things. On day one we visited the Black Canyon of the Gunnison.

Nancy and I had only visited the Black Canyon once, and that was years ago in late November so only the first viewpoint was open. It was also dark and cold. The other day, on the third of July, the entire canyon was visible in all it's glory, deep and dark with the green Gunnison River flowing nicely though the bottom of the canyon. The waters of the river cut through the uplift many centuries ago, exposing the geology of the rocks. You can see in the photo above, many igneous intrusions running through the darker foundation rock forming amazing patterns.

At this point in the canyon, the sign said you could put the Empire State Building in the bottom of the canyon and the top the structure would be...........where? Where would you guess? The answer is, halfway up the canyon wall. We were able to make out some people in the bottom of the canyon fishing, and they were tiny specks. It's not the deepest canyon, nor the narrowest, nor the craggiest, nor the twistiest nor the canyon with the steepest walls. But it's a fantastic combination of all; deep, dark, narrow, steep and winding and like no other canyon in the U.S.

I encourage you to click on Nancy's photos to enlarge them for the full effect.

Crested Butte Revisited

We took a Sunday drive on Friday and went to Crested Butte. It's been about 35 years since I lived there. I worked for my college buddy at his outfit, Hickock Construction, a vibrant firm of three people. It goes without saying that there have been lots of changes to the town, however Crested Butte has managed to retain some of the funkiness, well, a lot of it actually, that it had when I lived there. Back in the early 70's the town was in a state of transition. It had been a mining town and was populated by old-timers riding out their lives either on a pension or with struggling businesses, most of them with funny Slavic names. I'm sure Obrassler, Mihalic and Yanklovich weren't funny names to them, but they sounded funny to me. The newcomers in town were a bunch of construction types and some stoned out hippies trying to forge a way of new life in a small town. One was a fellow named Monte whom I had art classes with down the road in Gunnison. He was as mellow and stoned as guy could be and still function (barely function). I'd see him sitting on a bench on Elk Avenue occasionally and try to talk to him, but he just sat there with a dreamy look on his face. Monte was a great walker and regularly hoofed it several miles home from town. One day in the late fall he took a walk without telling anyone. They found his body in the spring halfway over Kebler Pass.

The town has fully transitioned from mining town to vacation resort, ski resort and all around groovy place. I didn't check the names in the phone book, but I imagine the Slavic names are few and in a definite minority. But, as I said the place has retained some of the old time charm. This is one of the buildings in town that was burned into my memory. It used to be a garage. Some old-timer used to hang his used licence plates on the outside every January when he got his new ones. They are still there, along with a few additions from volunteer licence plate collectors. Today the building is a nightly rental and one of these days I'm going to rent it for a weekend.

To give you some kind of idea what kind of town it used to be I'll leave you with this image and you can fill in the rest. When I was attending college, we used to go up the "the Butte" and take in a movie at the Princess Theatre. I guess it had 50 to 75 seats. It was small, to say the least. In the winter you would be watching a film and without warning, a guy would walk in front the screen, loaded down with firewood. He'd open the screeching door of the pot-bellied stove and in the darkness you could see the glow and the sparks from a healthy fire. He'd load up the stove, slam the door, and go back where he came from. The theatre would be infused with a smoky, piney scent for awhile, and the crackling and popping of the firewood would compete with the movie soundtrack.

Below, is a small sign in the Gothic General Store. About all they sell is t-shirts and some refreshments, nothing I'd consider general merchandise. Now, I don't ever remember buying gas this cheap, but I remember gas selling for around 30 cents a gallon. I reckon this sign is from the early 60's, perhaps the 50's. For reference, a couple of summers ago, gas was approaching $4.00 per gallon. (Click on the pictures to bigify em'.)

June 14, 1980, Manhattan, Montana

That's a young Doug and Nancy, 30 years ago in their back yard on their wedding day. I can't for the life of me remember what that is that Robyn is holding up in front of us. At least I had the incredible presence of mind to flash the peace sign over Nancy's head. We decided to get married in our back yard because neither one of us could remotely imagine a church wedding; neither one of had set foot in a church in years, and we haven't been to a church service since. Our hypocrisy meters would have topped out. And it was a good decision for us. It was cheap and fun, quick and totally without most of the trappings of religion. We decided to get married because we were already living together for a couple of years and now we owned a house together. It seemed like the logical thing to do.

That's my best man, Bill, on the left and my brother in law, Tony, on the right. Both visited us in Leran last summer. Just beside the beer can Bill is holding up is the front end of my old 1969 Dodge D-100 pickup. Bill, later on, got up on the roof and graced us all with a bright and shining full fmoon. I believe my other brother in law, Darrell paid him a couple of dollars for the performance, but Bill would have done it for free in any case.

Here we are sealing the deal with our witnesses, Bill and Susie, standing by as required by Montana law. On the marriage license, it was duly noted that I was a "White Man" and Nancy was a "White Woman". I'm not sure what would have happened if it had been otherwise.Here's my dad, Dwight, giving Nancy and I a hug, and as I remember bawling his eyes out, crying like a baby. He was rather an emotional man and he would burst into tears at moments like these. I remember stepping out the door, heading off to New York City in a 1962 VW Bug, on my way to Europe for the first time. Dad got up way before the crack of dawn to see me off, and he was crying buckets of tears as if I was shipping out to VietNam.

Here's the lovely couple toasting to wedded bliss. No rental tuxedo for me and no fancy wedding dress for Nancy as we were not going to go into debt on our marriage day. We could barely afford the keg, much less an expensive dress. However, please notice I'm wearing the beautiful paisley flowered tie that my sister had made for me. Nancy was wearing the lovely skirt that she herself had made for the occasion, and I remember that it had tiny holes in a pattern that she had spent many evenings hand embroidering the edges.

Here we are cutting the cake that Nancy's friend Betsey made for us. We bought a half a pig and barbecued the thing on the grill, we had a keg of beer on hand (darn near finished it), and friends brought salads, hot dishes, bottles of wine and whiskey. If you've been to a pot-luck wedding before or since, let me know. Nobody was really sober that afternoon. I think a good time was had by all (except for that cute, grumpy little girl). The rain held off and it was not too hot. A perfect day.
We shoved cake in each others faces as custom requires. That's my sister, Leslie, looking on.
Here are my siblings; from the left Peggy, Amy, myself and Leslie. Leslie's the oldest and Amy's the youngest and Peggy was in the middle just after me. The dog is Cisco with his ceremonial bandanna tied around his neck. We actually said our vows near Cisco's dog house, where nearby he had a large 5 gallon water bucket. Just as we were coming the the real serious, solemn part of our vows, where things are said barely above a whisper, Cisco chose that moment to go over to his water bucket, and behind me, all I could hear was "Glug, glug, slurp, slurp, glug, glug!!! The little fellow in the red pants harassing Cisco is my nephew, and Leslie's son, Andrew. I guess he's about 32 or so these days.

Happy 30th Anniversary, Nancy.

Times, They Are a Changin'

We had lunch at this wonderful little restaurant in Lake City. We met the entire staff, because strangely, the place was empty. The owner was an Italian, married to a Brazilian woman and he wisely spends his winters in the Southern Hemisphere about an hour from Rio de Janeiro. We didn't catch his name but he was a very friendly guy and he'd been an entrepreneur in Lake City for going on 25 years. His waitstaff and cooks were hired from abroad. Below, is a young lady from, of all places, Macedonia. She told us her name and it was a real mouthful. We stumbled over it a couple of times and eventually got it right, but now I can't remember it. It was nothing I'd ever heard before. Another young lady was also from Macedonia and they were both disappointed to be in Lake City and not Chicago or "Vegas". The owner, the Italian, told us he employs kids from all over the world, Slovenia, Slovakia, the Ukraine, China, Pakistan....anywhere and everywhere.

Our waiter was from the Czech Republic, and I didn't catch his name either. He was overjoyed when I ordered a Pilsner Urquel, from guess where? The Czech Republic. We learned that they are legal workers with permission from the U.S. government to work for around 90 days on the guest worker program. I'm sure they make minimum wage so we tried to tip nicely, and they all deserved it, for sure. The came out to practice their English and learn a little about us. They were really great kids and we enjoyed talking with them and learning about their experiences, and a little about the Czech Republic and Macedonia, birthplace of Alexander the Great.
We've run into this phenomenon before in Yellowstone Park. Many of the vendors in Yellowstone that needed lots of maids, bartenders, and waiters began using kids from Eastern Europe or Asia. After talking with a lot of the kids and the folks doing the hiring, we learned the employers began to prefer the Europeans over American kids, even with their lack of perfect English. Why? A common theme began to develop. The kids from Serbia, the Ukraine, Poland, Japan and elsewhere showed up on time, worked the entire season, were unfailingly polite, didn't complain, didn't use drugs, didn't show up drunk or hungover and were quick to learn. They were also willing to work far away from home in a small podunk town. Apparently, everything American kids were failing to do. It still galls me that the employers couldn't find quality kids to work in Yellowstone. Times have changed and it is a very sad commentary on our culture.

A Visit to Lake City, Colorado

We took a day off from construction work and made a day trip to Lake City, Colorado, just over a few hills from Montrose. Nancy and I went to college many years ago just down the road in Gunnison, where folks from Lake City go to get groceries, just 75 short miles away. Lake City is famous, or maybe infamous, because of Alferd Packer, the only convicted cannibal in the United States. It's quite a story and I trust you can google the subject and get all the information you want. But to make a long story short, (and this is from my memory) he and his mining buddies were trapped in the mountains above Lake City over a bad winter in the late 1800's. Alferd got hungry and 'he done killed and et the five fellas mentioned above.' Apparently, Alfred was first hailed as a hero before folks got suspicious. The rest, as they say is history. If my memory serves, the judge convicted Alferd with something like these words. "Alferd, there were seven Democrats in this here county, and you done ate four of em. I sentence you to hang until you're dead, dead, dead."I don't think there are that many Democrats residing in Hinsdale County today. Hinsdale County is the least populated county in Colorado and one of the least populated in the U.S. (Texas and Hawaii each have some pretty sparsely populated counties.) The population of Lake City, at least in the past, tended to be wealthy, middle aged Texans who spent only the summers in town. White, rich Texans are not known to be Democrats. Lake City is the county seat of Hinsdale County, mainly because there are no other settlements in Hinsdale County. The population of the county was around 790 in the 2000 census, and I reckon there's a few more living there today, at least in the summer. Well, you are probably asking yourself "What does Lake City look like on a goregeous day in summer?"

Well, it's beautiful, if somewhat quiet. This is the Hinsdale County Courthouse. I'm sure you can imagine the high level wheeling and dealing that goes on behind those handsome doors. Our visit took place on a Sunday, so it was quiet and peaceful on this particular day. But back in Mr. Packer's day there were probably large numbers of citizens carrying flaming torches and pistols, standing around this very courthouse, screaming for his hide.

Here's the city park. They don't allow dogs in the park so I couldn't take Fergus over there. But it seemed beautiful and tranquil from across the street.

This is one of the major buildings in town. It has a historical plaque affixed to it, as does the building pictured below.

I know your next question. No, you don't have to be a miner or a merchant to patronize this bank, but it doesn't hurt either.

We saw an individual ride by on a bicycle, so it's not quite the sleepy little town you probably imagined it to be.

Here's another picture of the Miners and Merchant's Bank Building. It was a Sunday, so there wasn't much going on. Most residents of Lake City probably went to the bank on Friday.

And here's the Hinsdale County sign on the only paved road into town. If you want to leave town on another road, you'd better have a four-wheel drive vehicle and it had better be summer because the only roads out of Lake City are high and rocky and generally covered with snow. We'll probably make another visit to Lake City and Hinsdale County very soon. We'd like to drive over Engineer Pass, some 12,000 feet high, sometime this summer after the snow is gone.