Rocky Mountain High

There was a time when it would have been inconceivable for my college buddy Plotts and me to be in a state that had just legalized marijuana use without being in, well, a state of marijuana use.  But such days are, apparently, behind us, which is proven by the fact that I was in Colorado visiting Plotts the day after Governor Hickenlooper declared their voter-approved legalization to be part of the State Constitution and consumed nothing stronger than sugar-free lemonade and some good barbecue.  (And if Colorado weren't enough, I was also in Seattle this week, following the voters' approval of Initiative 502, - and limited my use of mood-altering chemicals to wine and an ibuprofen)  My point here is that college was a long time ago.

Still, it was great to see Plotts as well as a couple of my cousins in Denver, one of whom made me a sign:

 

She gave it to me along with a couple of Sharpies so that people can autograph it.  Isn't it a cool memento?

Wednesday morning I left Denver for points north*, going through Golden first (before you ask:  no tours were available, plus noon is a bit early for me to start drinking beer when I have a 500+ mile drive ahead of me).  Plotts said that Golden is a cute town and he was right.  Then, as contrast, I drove through Rocky Flats which appears to consist solely of the Rocky Flats Closure Project (a federal environmental remediation project), a roadhouse called Rocky Flats Lounge (its appearance was not nearly as classy as the Interlude Lounge), and three windmills that were not turning.

So I pressed on.  Through Boulder, Lyons, and Roosevelt National Forest until, finally, Estes Park - which has an elevation (7,522) that is larger than its population (5,858).  The point of Estes Park, of course, is that it is the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park.  And even if that's your only reason for existence, that would be good enough.  But Estes Park is also home to the Stanley Hotel, one of those beautiful early 20th Century railroad hotels.  The Stanley is also famous because it is A) haunted and B) was the site of Stephen King's The Shining.  I didn't stop in.  (I know that if Mitch had been with me, I would have had the nerve to walk in like I owned the place.  I'll have to start channelling her.)

Also while in Estes Park, although not at the Stanley, I saw three moose wandering along a driveway at some condos.  No one seemed concerned.  I guess the moose were there first, after all.

Driving down from Estes Park to Loveland is gorgeous, but which unfortunately for you, dedicated reader, was a bit too harrowing for me to stop and photograph.  Luckily, others are braver.  Here's a picture I found online which gives you a sense of the Big Thompson River, which runs along Highway 34 all the way down the mountains and is incredibly beautiful.  The river's beauty (and good fishing) have apparently overcome the fear people have of its annoying tendency to flood because there are homes built right up against the water.  Or maybe it's because it's called the Big Thompson, which has got to be the best name of a river that I've ever heard.


This photo of River Spruce is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Once you get past Loveland, there's very little between you and Omaha.  I know, that's a prejudiced statement - people going to Chicago might say "there's very little between you and Chicago" which of course would just be wrong.  And it isn't true - there were a bunch of things that if I had started earlier in the day I would have stopped to see, not the least of which were the wide variety of Buffalo Bill attractions in North Platte and an original Pony Express station in Gothenburg.  However, I didn't feel like staying over in order to see them during the day, so I drove the eight and a half hours back to Base Camp (a.k.a. my brother's basement) in the dark, fortified by bad coffee and satellite radio.

*I had considered looking up Hunter S. Thompson's homestead, Woody Creek, but it was several hours west on the other side of the Rockies so I decided against it.