You will learn the art of breathing in high altitude with a minimum of lung strain. You will hone the technique of hippie dodging as you wander the streets of Boulder and Estes Park. You will find new strengths as you climb mountainous terrain and scale lands many thousands of feet above sea level. You will become…a true disciple of the upper regions and its teachers: fog, rain, lightning storms, Giardia, ski bums (and their predecessors, hippies, aka dharma bums), and the ever-present face of immense rocky mountains.
These are the facts, and they are undisputed. But first the prologue to this Rocky Mountain high…
Leaving the flatlands was, like most travel encounters, gradual and unheralded. From St. Louis, we made our way through the vast plains of Kansas, stopping in Junction City to “hang” with Noel, my militaristic younger brother (who is stationed at nearby Fort Riley). As he might well describe it, the most boring state in the world is, for most intents, an accurate description of Kansas. Flat, dry, and filled with an abundance of emptiness. If the United States is a kitchen, Kansas is the veneer countertop.
The visit with my brother included shooting a scene for my upcoming untitled feature film, and a visit to the quaint town of Manhattan, where we ate lunch at Radina’s Cafe, a friendly establishment with fantastic sandwiches and an excellent assortment of pastries and coffee-type drinks. Noel has since shipped off to Louisiana for a month of training, so this was a particularly good visit for him to have.
We continued on 70 West into the lowlands of Colorado. This was the worst of the drive thus far, with outside temperatures exceeding 100 degrees. Without AC, the incoming air seemed superheated and our technique for physiological deception was thusly perfected: close windows until sufficiently sweaty, then open for a burst of cool air (by comparison). Repeat. This was our mantra, and it served us until the evening air became bearable.
The scenic route into Denver was worth the extra mileage, and though we hit some traffic, we eventually reunited with the other car and ate at an authentic Italian restaurant with a server who insisted on calling us “boys” (and I suppose we are, at that) and seemed to have difficulty with silverware.
The trip into Vail, Colorado proved a strain for both our vehicles, but not at great expense. We arrived in Vail around midnight and found our friend Lauren’s apartment, where we were graciously given steerage. A welcome relief from the rigours of the road…
Next: A little piece of Colorado