Our 25th Anniversary -- the Rachel part

After we left Doc Holliday and Glenwood Springs we hopped onto -- well drove onto -- I-70 heading east toward Denver. Cruising along the very brown and very turgid Colorado River on the lower level of the highway -- the westbound lanes are cantilevered overhead in the tight canyon -- we occasionally caught sight of kayakers/rafters seeking their own corner of adventure.

Driving up the dramatic Vail Pass and over the continental divided, after about two hours we reached our next turnoff: Route 40 heading north from Empire toward the fastnesses of Berthoud Pass. We were on our way to visit our niece Rachel -- her of Maine fame and Calvin College fortune -- who had been spending much of her summer working at the YMCA camp about 10 miles north of Winter Park.

As soon as we left Empire we begin our climb, until we were wending through one switchback after another, and eventually reached the summit of Berthoud Pass, at over 11,000 feet. Naturally what must go up, must go down, and so we did, winding downward in an ever-increasing series of widening spirals.

Cruising through the ski resort of Winter Park and before long saw the sign for Snow Mountain Ranch, the YMCA camp. Although we began our search for Rachel in the wrong building, fortunately it happened to be one in which her roommate was working and she kindly led us to Rachel's primary hangout for work as assistant coordinator of activities, the registration building. Check out the short video of our lunchtime chat:

After sitting and chatting on the porch of the only dining game in town, the three of us strolled down the main street -- really ranch road of course -- while Rachel pointed out the primary buildings of the camp/ranch.

We had a grand time -- Rachel is always fun to be around -- and after saying our goodbyes, hoping we might see each other sometime this year, Susie and I returned to the car, pointed it back south toward Berthoud Pass and started off, once more for Denver. And one more piece of the travel plan before returning to the Eastern portion of the US.

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.