“Anything that gets your blood racing is probably worth doing.”
― Hunter S. Thompson
My first night of leaving what I knew, to explore what I don’t. Soul searching. “So you wanted an adventure”, he says…heading south with no direction.
Listening to a band called Hippie Sabotage and writing from the crumbling bathtub of his place, where I’m sleeping for the night. Finally warm.
Left the mountains at noon in a rush of hugs and free coffee from barista friends in high places. Car packed with every material item collected throughout the roller coaster 20’s. Check engine light went on as I passed over Cameron at 10,000 ft.
Hit a small rogue curb in Poudre Canyon shortly after and blew out right front tire. Hobbled to the shoulder. Selfishly contemplated karmic woes while peeing among the sage and stone. Listened to the rushing river and howling winds, and watched my options roll before my buzzing ego.
Gathered up my sweet dog, my small satchel purse, and a warm hat, and started walking. Forgot to remember socks. Wilderness survival 101. Stuck out a
thumb that accompanied my shy smile and thought, “What would Sissy Hankshaw do?”
A few “no’s”, and it started to precipitate that spring snow and rain that Colorado is thirsty for. I kept walking, holding Ryker’s leash close. This is mildly funny. Of course I’d end up here. Finally, one “yes”.
Tom, old and salty, picked us up in his brand new gigantic truck, filled with heat and soft leather. An Electrical engineer working out of the coal plant in Northern Colorado. He dropped us off at the general store that had the starkness and humble beauty of all cabin rental campgrounds. Met a women with a leg brace and a big smile named Debbie. Scotty followed; a toothless man with an ironic hipster beanie rolled above his ears and a grey pony tail peeking out from under it. He knew my dog wasn’t named after the prison, and Ryker respected him for this. They sniffed each other out on the hardwood floor while Scotty told me of his Native American roots and his love of Star Trek.
also told me that he always fell in love with “Jill’s”.
The first thing Debbie did was set me down on a wobbly chair and offer me a beer. While we waited for the tow truck, she told me that her prayers were being answered by a young gal who “could run the cabins behind her boutique shop”. She’s recently rolled her truck swerving to miss hitting a deer (apparently you’re supposed to accelerate in that close situation, but she didn’t have the heart). The truck rolled into the river and every window broke. She said she felt that her ears were covered by angels because she didn’t hear a thing. Like watching a silent movie unfold. Her head missed a boulder by inches, and she is living to serve God and the good people that love to camp in the Rockies.
Bless this world.
“Let us live for the beauty of our own reality.”
― Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues