Non Photo-Blue

So, Wednesday the 17th. We slept soundly in Genesse Park, but awoke to flashlights at five in the morning. Sheriff. Right- like I had said, there was no camping in the park. Well, he took our ids, and checked them out. While we waited to hear back from the station to hear back that we weren't wanted for murder or armed robbery ( I was curious myself), the Sheriff asked why I was going to California.
"Going to grad school- an MFA in fiction."
"Ah," he said. He was tall, blonde, and looked about 21. Soft spoken. After a minute, he continued, "Write any good books?"
"Not yet," I said.
Finally the radio answered, we were cleared, and our younger Sheriff didn't give us a ticket. "I understand how it is, guys. Sorry. There's a truck stop up the road."

Colorado has rather pleasant authority people.

So we headed northwise, towards Rocky Mountain NP. We got detoured, and a little lost on some of the smaller mountain roads. We asked a woman, walking her large dogs at the break of dawn for directions.

"Y'all scared of mountain roads?" Happy that we weren't, she continued with a weird smile. "Well, then! Y'all can take 'Oh my God' road, and watch the sunrise. It's beautiful. But you know, a little...rough."

"Oh my God" road. How could we resist?

Well it took a bit to find it, but once we were on, it was worth the name. A dirt road, barely big enough for the car, curving precariously around blind edges and sheer drops, offered spectacular views of the approaching sun from all the different angles we faced. Finally, as we reached the highpoint, the road evened out, and we passed through an abandoned mining town. Gold mines. Great to see a sign that read "Jim's Gold mill" hanging, rusted, over a broken, busted out booth, gating some rigging machines. Of course, weathered, looking as if they were part of the Mad Max movie set.

After that, we drove through another town. I stopped, as it was already eightish, and I hadn't slept enough from being woken by our Sheriff Jr., and needed coffee desperately. So here's a trolley car turned into a cafe. It says, Espresso, in the window. Espresso! I ran in, unable to find the correct entrance, as it was a trolley car, and I didn't realize I had to go around the back. Off to a weird start. Out back there's table's and such. Then I walked in, and knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore: The walls were covered with anti-bush pictures and jokey cartoons, some Japanese bells were playing softly, there was a piano, everyone inside had a beard, and were in the middle of a discussion about their "project." There was a seventy plus year-old-man reading a Wired magazine article about computer hacking. There was a mountain behind us! And mills! Where the hell was I?

It turns out to be a leftover hippy community from the seventies, that maintained it's "alternative" community. Very alternative. Think Williamsburg squared in alternativeness.

Woody, a blue eyed, bearded, nice guy explained it to me.
"Yeah, I was just driving through," I said.
"Uh-oh," he laughed, intimating that that's how people get pulled in to Nederlands. That's where I was. Nederlands. Getting it's name, rumor has it, by the orignal mountian men who thought it looked liked the Netherlands, but couldn't pronounce it correctly. My question: how the hell did those mountain men know what the Netherlands looked like?



I can't continue now, I have only 15 minutes at this internet Kiosk, and I don't want to rush this, because it was on of my favorite days, so, to be continued...

P.S. I'm writing this now from Moab, UT, where I'll be for a few days. Sorry for the internet delay, it's rough to keep up, but I'll continue once I get to CA. Plus, I'll have lots of pics.