Our 25th anniversary -- the Doc Holliday part

After saying a reluctant farewell to Margie in front of the Aspen airport terminal -- which looks more like a large registration office at one of the older resorts -- she drove off and we picked up our car rental (another Saturn but smaller). We stowed the bag in the trunk, climbed inside and pointed the car down Route 82, heading north toward Glenwood Springs and I-70.

Traffic was light -- the 4 lanes were much appreciated by us and probably lots of other folks as well -- and about 20 minutes later arrived at the residential edge of Glenwood Springs. We turned onto 14th street and followed Google's directions to the trail head for Pioneer cemetery, the lasting resting place of John Henry "Doc" Holiday, dentist turned gambler and gunman. He had come to the town for its allegedly healing powers for people suffering from lung ailments, and Holliday suffered from one the worst: tuberculosis, or "consumption as it was then called. He died in a room in the Hotel Glenwood, penniless and was buried in (then) Linwood cemetery, quite possible in an unmarked grave. The cemetery became city property in 1939 but by then the exact location of his grave had been lost to time.

The climb up the moist trail to the cemetery gave out onto spectacular views of both the canyon containing Route 82 as well as the city of Glenwood Springs itself. We couldn't help but remark to ourselves what the view have looked like when Holliday's body was carted up the steep mountainside in 1887.

view of Glenwood Springs from the cemetery

After bidding adieu to Doc and all of our childhood memories of one of American's biggest western legends, we got back onto Route 82 through Glenwood Springs, a city of no small appeal to tourists: it sits not only at one of two entrances to the Aspen corridor -- the other is over Independence Pass and is closed for much of the winter -- but is still a favorite with people seeking thermal springs. Also it is located smack in the gorgeous and awesome Glenwood Canyon and not far from Hanging Lake (which were fortunate to visits several years back). Needless to say the city has certainly changed since Holliday slipped quietly into his last sleep and out onto the stage of western folklore.

But we had little time to hang around -- we had another appointment to keep and so quickly found our way to I-70 heading east toward Denver.

Our 25th anniversary in Colorado - the day after

Thursday, 7 August opened and closed with alternating weather patterns, the kind most Coloradans have come to expect with casual ease. Even amidst such meteorological uncertainty the four of us piled ourselves into the car and Stan drove us all into Snowmass village -- where we grabbed the one working chairlift -- which we were told was so old that Teddy Roosevelt used it to get to the top of San Juan Hill in Cuba before having it installed permanently in Colorado. Anyway it was a gorgeous trip halfway up the mountain with spectacular views.

Since there wasn't any snow the singular objective -- besides the beautiful scenery -- was the small but intimate Lynn Britt Cabin, tucked off to the side at the end of the chairlift station. There we sat overlooking the canyons below and Roaring Fork Canyon, Route 82, off in the far distance, and ate an incredibly delectable lunch -- Susie and Margie had pasta primavera, Stan had Elk and I had a Brat. The chef is German and at this time of the year is pretty much by himself in the kitchen, a space that was examined in some detail by Stan and Susie.

After a relaxing lunch it was back down the mountain -- and since we had forgotten to bring the mountain bikes or hiking shoes we figured we would just take the chairlift back down.

That evening we at fish, drank Kistler chardonnay and just talked the evening away. We couldn't have imagined a better way to spend a Thursday evening. Tomorrow we would have to leave but right then and there Friday was a world away. . .

What a fantastic and rewarding time in Colorado. Our minds put at ease, our appetites sated, our spirits renewed.

Our 25th anniversary in Colorado

On August 6, 1983, Susie and I were married at the home of Bob and Margie Berry in Roanoke, Virginia. The wedding was short but very sweet and Susie looked incredibly beautiful -- pretty much how she still looks today in fact but without the dramatically white dress.

Twenty-five years later that day found us at about 9,000 feet in Central Colorado, relaxing amidst the quiet of Mt. Sopris. The weather alternated between one thing and another. Anyway, we had little inclination to do much of anything except hang out with Stan and Margie.

We did go in to Aspen, or nearly so, to drop our rental car off -- a Saturn "Aura" whose brakes kept us on our our toes -- literally -- coming over Vail Pass the day before. The four of us then swung away from the uncertainties of AspenWorld and headed back north to Carbondale for the local Farmer's Market. It was our anniversary and we were fixing dinner that night: grilled pork tenderloin, green beans and mashed potatoes with a red pepper sauce folded in.

What a way to spend an anniversary, any anniversary, or any day for that matter. But that day was pretty special for the two of us and so were these days:

Wish you had been there -- in Colorado and in Virginia.

Our 25th anniversary -- the Basalt part

Late last Tuesday afternoon Susie and I found ourselves sliding our rented Saturn carefully off of Route 82 onto Emma road, just across the busy highway from the abandoned old livery and general store where "Emma" reportedly operated a brothel on the second floor, and pushing ever further up into the canyons heading for Mt. Sopris.

We stopped short of climbing Mt. Sopris -- at over 12,000 feet and no road it would have been a challenge to say the least -- and settled instead for Stan and Margie's home.

The trip was over. The journey was about to begin.

We hadn't seen Stan and Margie since last fall, before we went back to Paris in September and so we spent the rest of the evening sipping wine and catching up on all the news.

Stan and Margie fixed a grilled flank steak salad with roasted yams and Susie and I just slid off into the quiet dark of the night, soft music in the background, concerns about past and future dimmed in the peace and ease of the present.

Our 25th anniversary in Colorado - the going part

We returned last Saturday evening from our whirlwind trip to the wilds of Central Colorado where we spent our 25th wedding anniversary with our friends Stan and Margie. They live a few miles outside of a small town called Basalt, just off of Route 82 between Glenwood Springs and Aspen, and about 9,000 feet closer to heaven.

Now some of you might be familiar with Glenwood Springs -- besides being located in the stunningly beautiful Glenwood Canyon, off of I-70, it's known for its thermal baths and "vapors," and has been a point of retreat for folks suffering from lung ailments since the 19th century. In fact, John Henry Holliday, better known as "Doc" Holliday since he was a dentist before becoming a gambler and gunman -- spent his last days in Glenwood Springs. Suffering from advanced tuberculosis, known in his time as "consumption," Holliday died alone and virtually penniless in the Hotel Glenwood. He was reportedly buried in the Pioneer Cemetery (known at the time as Linwood Cemetery). Anyway, I'll have more to say of Doc Holliday later along with photos.

So, a week ago Monday Susie and I packed our bags, called a cab and headed for the Providence train station.

Now I remember coming into this station in the fall of 1987, shortly after it was built -- and the bathrooms haven't been cleaned since. Like so many other aspects of our infrastructure it is tired, worn and in sore need of repair.

Anyway, we took a very chilly Amtrak regional train down to Newark airport. Along the way had the privilege of listening to a woman -- apparently a therapist from the Metro Park area of New Jersey -- counseling her patients by mobile phone for nearly the entire trip. Except for the last half hour or so when she was yammering on about how she had recently visited a NYC jewelry store to check out used Rolex watches and was shocked at the watch she wanted cost $33,000, yada yada yada.

From the Newark airport station we hopped on the air train to the terminal and then caught a shuttle to our hotel in Elizabeth, NJ -- we had an early flight out of Newark on Tuesday so thought we would be well-rested and ready to go.

After we checked in to the Renaissance Marriott -- and "Renaissance" is not exactly the word I would use to define that place -- we headed downstairs to the restaurant for a sandwich. We walked into the dining room and were confronted by three banks of more than two dozen TVs! Several different channels going at once, although thank the gods there was no sound. Still it was bizarre and stupid. And the food was mediocre and grossly overpriced -- but hey Tony Soprano has to eat too, ya know.

A good night's rest and we were out early the next morning for our connecting flight to Atlanta -- and a nice bumpy ride it was too, thank you very much Delta.

While waiting for our connecting flight there was a young family of four, husband, wife, son, daughter and what appeared to be two grandparents sitting just a few feet from me. They were all waiting for a flight somewhere else other than Denver.

Anyway, I watched as the father pointedly, completely and utterly ignored his children. He was all decked out in a fishing ensemble, as was his son, and carrying a special backpack designed to tote fishing rods as well -- and I watched in amazement his apparent complete withdrawal from his family. When his 10-year-old son and 8-year-old daughter came up to him to hug close, he showed no warmth, not even a sign of acknowledging their presence until one of them asked him a question and he gave the tersest of answers. No affection, no love, nothing -- nor did he show the least interest in his wife or his/her parents. But they soon boarded their plane and were gone down the jetway.

Atlanta turbulence notwithstanding we had a relatively bump-free ride west and were soon in hot n' brown Denver hurtling off in a shuttle bus to Alamo rental.

About four hours later were were pulling into Stan and Margie's driveway. The weather was wonderful, the air -- what little there was of it -- was crisp, clean and full of promise.