Just Around The Bend Episode VII Colorado Where Rivers Run Wild

JUST AROUND THE BEND

Episode VII


ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK:



























We’ll it’s hard to say they couldn’t have stayed on
the trail. However if they were going to climb up
this steep cliff they would have at least had to
gotten off and tugged the reins. I’ve heard
horses liked to do what they were asked, but lets
get real about this.



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It was getting rough when we came to a plateau
and stopped for a rest. Arlene took a few protein
bars out of her knapsack. We drank water and
visited.

More, hikers came along. This time instead of
coming up the trail, like us they were going down.




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This was a semi social meeting. They were
actually back country campers and hikers who
had been a mile or two above us, when they had
a run in with a black bear.




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They had chased it away from their camp, but
during the night it returned. In the morning they
thought the bear was too annoying and persistent
to fool around. They packed up and headed
down stream to where we met them.

We’re not bear people. For that matter we’re not
any kind of wild animal people. So it didn’t take
long for us to pack up our rod and backpack and
start back down the trail. We moved pretty fast
given the steep and rough terrain. Even though
the campers were long gone ahead of us.
This day was to nice to be run off by a bear that
might be several miles away. We stopped and
while Arlene kept a look out I tried my luck at fly
fishing The Big Thompson.




























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Not even a bite. I tried casting for about 15
minutes with lots of luck, never catching the fly
on the other side of the stream nor snapping it
off behind me. We started down again.


















































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We stopped one more time, along side a
meadow, where the brook babbled along and we
could rest a bit.


























Arlene took to taking a few shots with her
camera and just like we’d learned she grouped the
flowers together.




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We took one last photo of The Big Thompson
before it ran out along the Moraine Park on its
way down the mountain slopes to the reservoirs
and the millions of people waiting to quench
their thirst.













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Bierstadt Lake:

We have returned to the Rocky Mountain Park
several times. This time it was in the middle of
an awful drought. But, before we could
experience how it was ravaging the Park we had
to contend with some other issues.

Any time you reach 6,000 feet in elevation
there's a chance that you could suffer from
altitude sickness. One dear lady we knew boy
friend was touched by it and while she took in all
the lakes, shuttles, lectures, and hikes he stayed in
their hotel room in Estes Park. We should hope
that would never happen to us.

It’s a debilitating feeling, and when Arlene came
down with it we were way over 6,000 feet. Her
headached, and she had no energy. When
climbing up steps she would lose her breath.
That never happened to her. Headaches, even
with her funny eyes, never caused her to miss a
hike or lecture. This did.
Arlene laid low for two days before she began to
recover. Probably to show how stubborn she
was after a Ranger told her it could last for two
weeks.

While she suffered I bought a ‘McGarrity’ book
and settled down to read it; and otherwise be
attentive to her. McGarrity is a New Mexico


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detective author which I’ve enjoyed over
Hillerman’s Indian stories.

Arlene, was also struggling over the dryness and
low humidity in the southwest. I was also, but
hadn’t developed the severe irritation she had.
We’d gotten some help in Gunnison, from our
favorite doctor, Doctor Klaw. That’s right, how
could we resist someone with that name. He had
advised us to use a saline nasal spray to keep our
sinuses wet. It worked.
We listened to an Agriculture Report this
morning describing the drought. It came from
the other half of Colorado, the parched plains
and desert.

“It’s dry out here in the West, we’ve had so little
rain that the cattle just stand and stare at the dry
water holes. The corn only grows 3 feet tall and
has forgotten what color it should be, more
lemon than lime. The snakes won’t cross the
road because it’s so hot they might fry.”
“Walk across a grassy slope and brake the ends
off the blades. The ranchers have long since sold
their cattle. If the fires didn’t get them the
drought would. Up in the high Rockies the lakes
are feeble, some with inches of water others are
mud holes. “




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“The only thing that moved yesterday, Labor
Day, was the wind, day after day, week after
week, 20 miles per hour across the parched land.”

As visitors we are insulated from the drought. It
has a different effect on us. The blades of grass
are breaking under our feet, and day after day the
sky is pale blue and cloudless. The crickets are
chirping, and there are thousands of
grasshoppers. They are annoying, but nothing is
so bad as the flies. They are everywhere, in the
RV, the Nova, around the lakes, and all the trails.
Although most campers would be lost without
their campfires. Some how, and for some reason
it’s the law of the camper to have those things,
where they smoke and fuel the great stories of
the outback and forests. It’s close to heresy, not
to have them, yet they’re forbidden in the
drought areas.

Upon recovery from her altitude sickness we
headed for Bear Lake and the shuttle that took us
toward Bierstadt Lake at 9,300 feet. Arlene was
so brave.
Shuttles had been updated since our last visit.
Instead of school buses, they were more like city
buses. We enjoyed the ride, they were much
more comfortable, and often driven by propane.




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At the lake we anticipated seeing one of the most
famous of all western views. Bierstadt, a
Californian, yet a leader of the Hudson Valley
artist group. He had painted the beautiful lake
and the high magnificent mountains covered with
glacier snow and the summer’s southern sun
pouring down upon it.

For us we saw something a little different. The
trees and the mountains were there, but the long
summer drought had taken it’s toll. The snow
was gone, and the lake was empty. Dried up with
only a scant amount of water. Basically, a mud
hole.
























Hopefully, the drought will break and the winter
will replace the moisture in the Mountains with
rain and snow. Here in Colorado, as well as
across the southwest.

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We sat breathing deeply, trying to adjust to the
difference we saw and the imagination cought in
our minds.

The Rangers, (Here is one Ranger, historian, in
his 1920’s uniform.) had assured us that the trail
down to Bear Lake, 3 or 4 miles was mostly flat
and always downhill. That encouraged us to try
it. Although, going down hill is usually
surprisingly hard on both your feet, legs, and
knees. It’s also a good time to have a walking
stick as a third leg for balance.























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It was a nice hike, rough with too many boulders,
and stones, but we took our time, and met
several other hikers along the way.


































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Elk Manners:
We arrived in the afternoon, before the weekend
onslaught of those dreadful campers. We were
settled down in a short time overlooking the
meadow.

Down below was a familiar sight. The Big
Thompson curling through the flat Moraine
Plain. Usually we could see a few Elk. We

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looked for a couple, but they had held up in a
small thicket on the far side and were just staying
put.

Our first objective was to find a couple of long
lost cousins, the Nordlands, who we met years
ago at Yellowstone Park. They were working
there and had been very good to us. Although
they were supposed to be working here in the
park we couldn’t find any trace of them. To bad
we would have liked to see them.
There was an Elk lecture in the evening and we
didn’t want to miss it. It started with the
question about harems and the rut. Every time
we’ve been here we hear the Elk bugling in the
meadow, but mostly they are cows, and a few
younger bulls, with felt on their antlers.

Here is a young bull with about the usual number
of points on it’s antlers. With luck he will grow a
lot larger, and maybe someday become the lead.
It’s getting later in the summer, early fall and
their interest is picking up, both male and female.










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The Ranger said that during the rut the major
bull might collect 40-50 females.

This prime bull generally mates with 90% of his
harem and produces 36 – 45 calves. That’s hard
to believe that they would have a 90% success
rate. Wouldn’t the meadow and Park be totally
over run with Elk? Of course it would, so maybe
we should go a little light on the Rangers
enthusiasm.
The calves may weight 25 lbs or so when born,
but grow quickly.







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The big guys like this one, at leisure, may weight
7,000 – 8,000 pounds before the fall and rutting
season begins.




























Once they get to work they may lose a lot of
weight, over 100 pounds, and of course be worn
out. They evidently have some messages to send
to the female, as do the females, who let them
know it’s time. In all the bull’s, ‘now’s-the-time’
takes so little time; under a minute, that the poor
female might not even know what happened.
After the rut the two separate. The worn out
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season. You could say they were savvy to the
sequence and gave it all they had.

Here however and in most of our National Parks
they are protected. In Yellowstone thousands of
the Elk gather to feed during the winter outside
of Jackson Hole. They are protected, and in the
spring head back to their high green pastures.
This was a good lecture. We returned to our
camper and to our surprise the meadow was
filled with Elk. Cows as many as 40-50 and two
bulls. One with a large antler rack and a huge
barrel body. We’d been told they spend the
summer grazing and gaining weight in view of
what was ahead for them.

The larger bull was dark gray, his coat course the
outer hair hollow and long while the under coat
lays a fleece of whitish brown fur. It’s Suppose to
be very soft and protective in the winter.
The two of them confronted each other and
pranced around a bit. They touched antlers, head
to head, disengaged and the smaller one slowly
moved away. Away from the herd and away from
the creek toward the trees.

We climbed into bed and listened for hours to
the herd in the meadow. They surely were
getting ready for this year’s mating season.



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The Park:

Many times now we’ve visited this Park. Entering
from each side the East and West.

Fewer people enter or visit the Western side, which
is too bad as they miss another part of the park, a
quieter side, and of course the beginning of the most
famous of all rivers in the Southwest. The Colorado
River.

The Eastern side of the park isn’t that easy to access,
because it’s altitude is so high. To get there you
have to drive up from the plains along the Big
Thompson River. Although we’ve seen it’s not such
a ravenous stream, it has over the years bored a deep
and steep valley from Estes Park down to Boulder
and out into the plains. This valley is so steep that
even the road signs that warn you to take to higher
ground if flooding are no satisfaction or comfort. In
a flash flood everything in the valley would be
washed out, all vehicles, and the few cabins.
This is a special place. The Rocky Mountain
National Park is one of the grand parks in the
United States. Unlike the Yellowstone, with its wild
animals and geysers, or the Grand Canyon with its
vistas. It’s a park where we could get out and see it.
To get away from the crowds and to walk and hike
some of the famous Colorado Rivers which support
our Great Plains and Southwest.



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CHAPTER 9

NORTHERN POETRY:

Fort Badger and The Flaming Gorge:
Northern Colorado, along the Wyoming border
is a lot like the Utah border. There are few roads,
and fewer people. The largest population of
Colorado is on the Eastern front edge along the
Rockies, half way across the state’s desert and
plains from Kansas and Nebraska.

For that reason, when we left the Bonneville Salt
Flats heading east across Utah through the
Dinosaur National Memorial we went up into
Wyoming and across Interstate 80 towards
Cheyenne, before going back to the Rocky
Mountain National Park for Labor Day.

Along the way we took a quick detour to Fort
Badger and then on to the Flaming Gorge
National Recreation Area.

Fort Badger, an old reconstructed US Army fort
built to protect our citizens as they moved west
was a watering hole and safe haven for many who
th
followed these trails across the country in the 19
century.

That was cool enough, but there were several
other things that caught our attention as we
toured the Fort. A tall four sided sign post was




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in the middle of the fort. On each side was the
inscription of one of these famous trails.



























It was no surprise to find The Mormon Trail on
one side. After all just down the road was Utah.
On each of the other side’s was The Oregon
Trail and The California Trail.
What was surprising was the last side. The Pony
Express Trail. We for some reason, though that
the Pony Express, in it’s very short life, 5-10
years, ran from St Louis across the Southwest.
Seeing it posted here in Wyoming meant it had to






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cross the most rugged of the Rockies to get to
California.
Everyone in Fort Badger was preparing for their
annual rendezvous. Based upon the 1840’ and
1850’s experiences.




























Back then frontiersmen, ranchers, and tribesmen
rendezvoused for a week or more to trade and
sell goods.
This Labor Day there would be hundreds of
‘vendors’ gathering. Indians are setting up
Teepees. The Calvary will pitch tents and
Ranchers will have lean-tos. There would be




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dancing, and celebrations all week end. It sounds
like a lot of fun.
We also met a widowed lady who worked for the
Forest Service. It’s interesting to us to hear
different stories retirees have as they pass
through this time of their lives.

She, a GS-4 government employee, (That’s as low
as you can get on the government service totem
pole.) liked traveling around and working for a
couple months in different locations. The
attraction wasn’t what she was paid, as she had a
pension and social security to support her life
style. It had been a good summer for her and she
was looking forward to leaving in the middle of
September for her family reunion on Martha’s
Vineyard.

Our detour, route 414, took us away from Fort
Badger toward the Flaming Gorge and the Green
River.

The Green River crosses this corner of Colorado
and created this gorge, before being damned.

We’ve written a lot about the Green River. It’s a
major contributor to the Colorado when they
merge in Utah in the Canyonlands. The Green
originates in Wyoming at Gannett Peak, the
highest mountain in the state.




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The Flaming Gorge is a series of canyons, mesas,
and buttes that were probably carved over three
epochs, the Mesolithic, Jurassic, and Paleolithic.
It’s known for the brilliant colors, green, cream
yellow, mustard, and flaming red; and separated
strata it displays on the side of the hills



























We stopped long enough to have a quick picnic
at the dam and then as the thunder storm that
had been threatening us all day started flashing
lightning we moved on toward Rawlings, and the
Flying J gas station.








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Flying J:
Arriving at the Flying J and the gas station was
like hitting the jackpot. Gas at $1.25 a gallon was
amazing when we had been paying $1.50.

We filled up and settled down for the night to
rest and watch the sky for 100 miles light up with
lightning so strong it ripped across the skies in
torrents of blue and white sheets.
We’ve stayed at Flying J’s many times and learned
just what to do when spending the night. The
trucks, all diesels, never turn off their engines.
That makes it pretty hard to sleep near them. But
sometimes there’s no choice.

In this case there were a hundred trucks behind
the station all ‘Dieseling’. We found a spot near
the end of this long line, two spaces. We backed
in, taking two tries, being sure not to be blocked.
Settling down we went inside for dinner. Arlene
despite the waitresses warning ordered a larger-
than-the-plate, chicken fried steak. Yes she did
and ate all of it. She loved it. She said “It melted
in my mouth” .

The rain and storm continued all night, drowning
the dieseling sound from the trucks and allowing
us to sleep soundly. The next morning we
couldn’t see out our windows. A trucker, had
moved in beside us leaving an inch between us.
We couldn’t even
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crawl out the window. Oh! My! I guess we’ll find
a place to park with the other cars.
Rawlins to Laramie:

We made a couple more stops across Wyoming,
at Sinclair and Laramie, the University, before
Cheyenne.
Sinclair should be a special place for Richard.
The company is a gas producer and refiner. It
use to have gas stations all over the country, but
has cut back to mostly the west. There company
symbol is a dinosaur called ‘Dino’ and Richard
has wanted a hat with Dino on it for years.

Here in the town of Sinclair where everyone lives
and works for the company he was sure he’d get
a hat and maybe even a miniature dinosaur.
It was a sad experience, as he approached the
gate at the visitors-sign-in. The lady there told
him that there were no such things, and besides
only employees had the hats. Further, there were
no visitors allowed at the plant.

We moved on.
At Laramie we stopped for lunch and a visit at
the University of Wyoming. It was a lovely day,
the lawns were green and the summer flowers
vibrant. The school building were sandy tan with
a western motif.



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We visited the Business School, and got the
impression that the University focused on
Science and Engineering.
Arlene loved her cowboy baseball hat that she
had misplaced. She wanted another. It’s a
Wyoming symbol, the one with the Bucking
Bronco and rider flying high in the sky. She
found it at the book store and bought two.

It had been a quick trip across the top of Route
180 Wyoming . We were soon in Cheyenne, and
Arlene found, of all things an annual Poetry and
Cowboy Symposium.
Cowboy Symposium:

For years we’ve wanted to go to the great poetry
symposium in Elko, Nevada. It’s a small town
and the event so popular that reservations were
made years in advance. The towns motels and
hotels are always sold out. So we’ve never been
there. Now seemed to be our chance to go to
one.

We searched around Cheyenne, and in an old
neighborhood in a small home we found the
organizer. What a strange place to sell tickets,
but she was very friendly and was glad to see us.
It seemed like a backroom operation. In her
living room, on her recliner was the star of the
show; a John Wayne impersonator. Later he


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would glad hand and talk ‘Pilgrim’ to us. It was
pretty neat, we had done our business in the
dining room, and met this character, at least 6’ 7”
tall with an indentified swagger.

Enthused by our good fortune we found an RV
park outside of town, for the next two nights.

Early the next morning we were off to the
symposium. Today’s program was held at the
Wyoming Hereford Ranch.
























We’ve been on the eastern side of the Rocky’s for
a while. This land is like the Plains, with long
vistas, rougher, less accommodating for
cultivation than Kansas or Nebraska. The hills
roll along for miles. It is cattle country.




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A guess as to the cattle production for this land
would be around 250-300 acres per pair. That’s
just a guess, but in Nevada, that feeble desert is
said to support a cow and calf, a pair on 600
acres.
Every time we stop and talk to local people we
get a sense of how long it takes to acclimate to
the area. In Florida it’s so hot and humid that we
were told it would take 3 years to become use to

it. Here, we’re told that it takes Easterners 3
years to lose their ‘Philadelphia’ manners, and
that the west was won with a horse and a hand
shake.

Welcome to the Wyoming Hereford Ranch. A
huge ranch with 20 farm buildings clustered
together and a spread over 25,000 acres.



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These were the people that settled the western
lands, bought from the railroad. Their relatives
brought in the famously strong Hereford cattle.
These are the red and white, stocky, full beef
cattle that could stand up to the rugged winters.

Over the years the ranch size has shrunk a bit. It
was originally bought from the Union Pacific for
a $1.00 an acre, and paid for over 10 years.
That’s $0.10 an acre per year. The railroad later
sold out to the Harriman’s of New York. The
original size of the ranch was 250,000 acres. Ten
times larger than it is today.

Our symposium was held in the Sales Barn,
where live stock was auctioned. The floor was
covered with straw, straw bundles were stacked
several high around the edge, and a stage. The
straw bundles were staggered so we could climb
up several and sit with our back against the wall.
That was a relief.

Everyone was dressed in western style. Women
and men with pointed cowboy boots, pressed
blue jeans, (Levis) starched long sleeve shirts and
summer straw cowboy hats. They all looked nice
and clean.
On the other hand there were ‘Dudes’, with our
Merrill hiking boots, wrinkled Bermuda shorts,
and pull over short sleeves. We had our stained
sun hats, cowboy like with wide brims. The straw


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bit at our legs all day, and we had the sniffles
from our allergies. Otherwise we were welcomed
and really enjoyed ourselves.
Each day was focused on different stories or
poetry. Today was home spun stories of families,
their heritage, with some poetry. Whole families
would participate, each telling a different part of
their history.

One lady read some poetry about her old tractor.
How it worked through the fields, dragged
stumps and logs across the shallow creek and
after each winter started again with a little loving
help.
A favorite story teller told us about his 40,000
acre ranch. It had both good and bad years from
the 1860’s. There was the great blizzard in the
winter of 1949. A white out for 5 days. He flew
around in his piper cub to check out the live
stock. Today, snow removal is a lot better, and
most roads are open.
His ranch like most of them is incorporated. As
the years passed some ranchers were more
desperate and unfortunate, and sold to others.
His family was able to expand their ranch.

He presented a time line from 1840 to 1950, that
was really helpful to our understanding of life on
the plains. There were the Indians, Trappers,
Pioneers, Cattlemen, Homesteaders, (both

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farmers and sheep herders), the Railroads, and
the fearsome winters and summer droughts.
There was the ‘gossip’. He had stories about
interesting characters around the area.

Butch Cassidy was a butcher, who grew up down
at Rock Springs.
Tom Horn killed several folks around Cheyenne.
Several presenters talked about him, but the
‘gossip’ said his uncle swore that Tom Horn was
never lynched. That the hanging was fixed, and a
hoax that never happened.

A relative of one fellow, told the story about the
last Indian uprising. Years ago he was returning
from an inspection of his ranch when he saw
several Indians over at ‘Stud Horse Flat’. This
meant trouble and they perused him all the way
to ‘6 mile hill’ where he fortunately met up with
the sheriff. They turned the tables on them and
were able to return them to their reservation.
All the stories were interesting. One old man had
an off color story about a rancher that had a
favorite cow that he milked and shared with a
relative.

Every day he would walk down to the cow’s
pasture and milk it. Upon returning he would
separate the milk from the cream. One night his
relative came for dinner, and really enjoyed the
good cream. There after he returned again and
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again for dinner and the cream. He claimed there
was something special about it.
One afternoon he arrived in time to go down to
the pasture. It was a long way back to the ranch
and after a while the rancher set the milk pale
down to rest. Oh, Yea, it wasn’t hard to guess.
His dog pissed in the bucket.

This old coot was 93 years old and he thought
that was pretty funny.
This was near the end of the day. When families
look into their histories they often find every
kind of strange things. These presenters held no
cards close to their vest. Pointing out law
breakers, criminals, and ladies of the night in
their families history. Every kind of folks and
their experiences.

It was a lot of fun, we enjoyed it.
We didn’t rush off in the morning. On the way
back into Colorado we stopped outside of Fort
Collins.











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CHAPTER 10

EASTERN FRONT:

We’ve called this chapter the Eastern Front,
because it is the Eastern Front Edge of the
Rocky Mountains. Colorado is strangely divided
into at least three areas. There’s the plains where
there’s little population and less agriculture, the
Mountains where most tourist and we have
traveled around, and the Eastern Front, along the
Great Fault between the mountains and the
plains.

The latter is where 70% of the population of the
state resides and growing. The community
developers are moving east out into the plains
like a wave from each of the larger cities.
We have written often about the Eastern Front in
several previous books and will try not to repeat
ourselves .

We left Cheyenne in the morning heading back
into Colorado toward Ft. Collins, stopping at the
Budweiser Brewery.











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EASTERN FRONT:

We drink very little. But the combination of a
free beer, a tour and a visit with the Clysdales was
just enough for us not to stop.
We tried a test beer with less CO2 called
Killgary. Arlene liked it because it was creamy.
Her favorite is creamy, Guinness’s stout.

There were rows of these huge horses in their
stable. When your close to them they get larger,
much, much larger.
They are the biggest horses. Here’s a picture we
took of them much later pulling a stage coach.
They look to dark to us. Suppose they could
have been painted?


























We’ve also seen a number of large horses. Roy
Rodger’s trigger wasn’t as big as the Palomino

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work horses we once saw in Kentucky. They
were awesome, but not quite as big as these.
A friend has a large Belgium work horse. He was
even larger than our friend who weighed over
300 pounds. Ed, our friend, said he thought his
horse listened to him because he believed Ed was
larger. We’re not sure about that, even after
watching him push his horse aside in the stable.

The Clysdales were a real treat to see.
South of Ft. Collins we encountered the growth
of communities and the major problem that faces
the State.

Prairie Construction:
Out across the plains where these southern state
developers are building thousands of homes at a
time. We’ve mentioned the California, Arizona
and Florida builders that create new cities, of
thousands of residential homes, with little
industry and lots of political savvy to drain the
last few drops from the lakes and streams, and
the underground aquifers.

The developers write contracts with the ranchers
for their Colorado water, under the ‘first-come-
first-serve’ laws of the State. The ranchers can’t
compete with their agriculture, or cattle raising
against the builders.



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It however, doesn’t look like a win situation for
anyone except the developers, who usually build
and leave. The losers are the poor individuals,
home owners, who have bought into a future of
little water, with no remedy to solve it.

The ranchers also lose, as their water rights are
lost and their ground underneath them is stripped
of it’s water in a climate that is warming at a fast
rate.

Among the rivers and streams we’ve traveled
along, swam, hiked and paddled and otherwise
driven is the South Platte River.
The author James Michener who has written
about the Great American story. One where he
contributes and defines the American Character,
like the 18 century Frenchman Lexis De
Tocqueville. His pioneering American novel
about the development of the west, is along the
South Platte River.

He describes how the river was used to irrigate
the plains and grow sugar beets there main crop.

We have traveled the South Platte outside of
Boulder into the desert and watched as the river
with so little water creeps along often it’s braided.
Braided rivers are a clear sign of too little water.
Possibly because it’s all been used.




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Boulder to Denver:
In Boulder, the Flat Irons outside of the I.M. Pei
Center for Atmospheric Research rise several
hundred feet straight up, marking the Great Fault
along the Eastern Front.. These tall stones are a
rusty iron color. In front of them is the Center.

Designed as a tribute to Mesa Verde’s cliff
dwellings. It blends beautifully with the Flat
Irons behind it.

































When visiting Sally Daly we went to the Coors
Brewery in Golden Colorado. The town was


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named after the golden light on the fault, not the
beer. Yet we did enjoy ourselves and drank their
free beer. We never knew if it affected Sally like
it did us. She was driving and we did survive.

Probably the most interesting visit along the
Eastern Front was at the Colorado School of
Mining. We visited the Earthquake Center and
tried our hand at creating a seismic register on
one of their machines, by jumping up and down
in the vestibule. It didn’t register, but it should
have, all three of us jumped together. That’s
about equal to a small tremor.

The Center monitors seismic machines all over
the world, and within 30 minutes can tell if a
earthquake has occurred. Or maybe any
disturbance like an atomic blast. We were
assured that these machines were in china, Korea,
Iran, Russia, and other locations including Alaska
and of all places Virginia Tech. in Blacksburg,
Virginia.

Imagine the kind of information these machines
th
must provide, and that was back in the 20
century.
These were interesting places we visited and have
written about. There were however several
places along the Eastern Front, outside of
Denver that we’ve always wanted to visit.



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The first is somewhere in the mountains around
Denver. Actually we think it is a mountain, or at
least inside one.
During the 1960’s I worked on a very early
Command and Control computer system for the
Air Force. (The third of it’s kind.) Today those
systems are called Management Information
systems, and are the earliest and foundation for
all Artificial Intelligence, Internet, and Cloud
Computing.

General Curtis LeMay was the loony tunes head
of the Air Force at the time. He had this first
system developed in this mountain ‘bunker’ not
in the Pentagon.
It like the one I worked on was known as a ‘Real
Time’ system responding with data from
anywhere in the world in 15 minutes. That was
‘Real Time’. Just think how we’d feel today if we
had to wait 5 seconds for a response.

Well we’d like to have known where it was, but
never have found out.

Also outside of Denver is another place we have
tried over and over to find. It’s not as adrenalin
popping as the Defense Mountain, but maybe far
more important in the history and lives of human
beings.

This is the Seed Repository. It is said to have
ancestral seeds for as many plants as we might be
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able to name. Back hundreds of years and
generations.
Imagine an ear of corn, our favorite being ‘Salt
and Pepper’. Every kernel filled with sugary
sweet flavor, and packed together almost a foot
long. That’s today’s ear of corn. Possibly,
genetically modified with assistance from
Monsanto.

Compare that incredible ear with one we’d
probably call Indian corn. A much smaller ear
with colored kernels that are sprinkled about the
ear. Not in a tight column like today’s. The
flavor of corn is tough, not full and sweet like
now.
Or maybe, a tomato. What we do to buy a
heritage tomato like a Black Prince, or other
funny shaped ones that tastes so good, rich,
acidic and juicy.

Instead we search the grocery isles for tomatoes
of different sizes, olive to fist size. All gorgeous
red as if they had actually just ripened and were
picked from the garden. All tasting like
cardboard.

So it goes both ways, the good and bad. But,
what if we couldn’t recreate these plants and their
fruit, or seeds.? What a predicament that would
be.


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Wouldn’t it be great to visit the seed repository?
If only we could find it? Well, it turns out to be
in Ft. Collins, near the University. Next time we
visit it will be high on our list.

Colorado Springs:

It’s not too much further south before we come
upon the Air Force Academy outside of
Colorado Springs. This architecturally austere
school must represent the Air Force’s image as a
lifting, weightless, lightning fast organization. It’s
campus defined by buildings on stilts.
Ugly, doesn’t really describe it. Nor if you
wanted your child to attend. A lovely campus
environment it isn’t. We saw no airplanes, and
no air field. This isn’t a technical training
campus, its seems to focus on an educational
objective to support flight, and it’s many facets.

We suspect only the generals fly in for a visit in
their authorized two-seater jets.

“Off we go into the wild blue yonder

Climbing high into the sun”.


Wasn’t the first thing that came to mind as we
visited.

We were so put off by the architecture and
coldness of the place that we couldn’t bring
ourselves to take one picture. Yes, we could it’s
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inside their chapel. Could it possibly be up-
lifting?



























Our last stop along the Eastern Front is where
we began so many years ago, Lathrop State Park.
It was our introduction to Colorado.

It didn’t occur to us as we passed from Kansas
into Colorado that we were really here. We could

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see the mountains far off on the horizon, but
thought that must be Colorado way up ahead.
After hours of driving across the plains, with the
beautiful white crested Rockies ahead of us we
arrived. Lathrop State Park is still in the desert,
but along the edge. We could see the weather, on
it’s way to us from a far.

Storms usually arrived at a certain time of day in
Florida. So we could gage them and get ready.
Here one was coming, and it had announced
itself with the dark skies, long before.
We responded by unpacking and repacking as
quickly as possible ahead of it. Unpacking
everything from the Mercury Van making room
for us to sleep, and repacking it on the picnic
table, covering it with our tarps. We did it, and
became pretty good at it as we drove across the
United States on our way to Alaska. That first
awesome summer.

We climbed the rocky hills, viewed the snow
covered twin peaks and carefully watched out for
coyotes, cougars, and snakes.

This is the Eastern Front of Colorado. Where
there are so many interesting things to see and
do. We’ve had some good times here, but must
say we prefer the quieter, natural areas more.




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CHAPTER 11

ARKANSAS RIVER:

Cottonwood Pass:
We will eventually leave Colorado along the
Arkansas River Valley and out onto the Great
Plains. The Arkansas River is best known for
what few know it for. Surprisingly, it was the
boundary of the greatest deal in the history of the
Continental United States.

The Arkansas River was the southern boundary of the
Louisiana Purchase. South of it belonged to the French.
North was the 2/3 addition to the United States.

We were in our ‘One Mile’ camp on the Taylor
River and ready to move on, over the Continental
Divide through Leadville to Avon and meet the
Colorado River at State Bridge.

After taking the round trip through Tin Cup and
around to Gunnison we realized that the longest
trip toward Leadville would be south through
Gunnison, east along US 50 to Salida and north
on Rt 24 to Leadville.

From Leadville it would be easy to meet up with
the Colorado again.

The Tin Cup trip was inspiring to us. We
realized that we could make it over the dusty
back roads and high Continental Divide passes
that surrounded us. These were really short cuts.
We would only need to persevere.


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In this case the comparison was as easy as the
decision. The short cut was about 50 miles from
camp up over the Cottonwood Pass and down
the opposite side to Buena Vista.

The choice we made was the short cut, at 10-15
miles per hour. We’d have to keep our eye out
for deep ruts, pot holes, and possible washouts.
Even if we couldn’t get through and had to turn
around it would be quite an adventure.

We were up early after having a pleasant evening
visiting with the host and another couple that had
traveled all over North America, from Nova
Scotia to New Mexico.

In an hour we set off up the Taylor River. At
sunrise we occasionally glimpsed the sun’s orange
reflection against the valley hillside and it’s flash
on the river.

There were no mountain goats on the cliff as we
approached the Taylor dam. Around the
reservoir the second trail after Tin Cup was the
Cottonwood Pass. It looked promising, as the
Forest Service had probably graded it. We took
the turn and started up. Cottonwood Pass was
only 6,000 feet higher, 12,128 feet, through the
tall slender spruce and forest.






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