Arriving in Boulder, we checked in at the renowned Chautauqua Cottages. An adult Boy Scout camp is one way to describe the accommodations. Old, rickety, and chock full of character. The people there are so friendly, the grounds so lush and beautiful, whom cares about the miniature bathroom and pull-out sofa beds? We stowed our bags, made friends with three ladies from Omaha (for 30 minutes), and proceeded to the office to ask for another blankie or two. On the way, Charlie paused in front of a structure labeled Community House.
1. “Come on up and blend in,” said Rick. For the next two hours, we sat on the porch with the Development (sales) staff, ate their appetizers, drank their beverages and regaled them with tales of glory and excitement. So far, we had seen our room and this porch. No progress but we take life as it comes, and particularly with free food. (We had crashed their open house and they loved us for it. We brought color, warmth and charm.)
During this time, we met attractive Rosanna from the local radio station, Sally Ann from Illinois, a fellow author, who is struggling with her carpenter hubby and two challenging girls to make it in Boulder. For the entire time, Charlie and I were treated as VIP’s. Was it our conservative attire or our executive demeanor? Perhaps being good ole boys paid off. We did let Rosanna know that our interviews were to be off the record. Hush-hush.
Finally, off to the Pearl Street Mall. By now it was 6:30, a perfect 75 degrees, and the Mall, I must say, is enchanting. Highly recommended. Spend more than a day and enjoy dining, shopping, people watching and barhopping. American culture can be fun. We evaluated several restaurants and made our choice. It was a busy Sunday, but Japango had our bar seats and offered the exotic cuisine that Charlie insists on.
2. At the bar, we took seats next to a stunningly beautiful woman (with a muscular, mean looking dude next to her). “Careful, Charlie,” I said. Turned out they were happy to meet two personable fellows to brighten their evening. They were in town for a week, then back to Kentucky. We soon learned their story and their possession of a condo just outside Boulder, costing them only $550k. They visited here every month! We dragged their “How We Met” (she from Poland, he from Louisville) story out of them. It was hilarious how they corrected each other about the specifics of their first romantic encounter. It was a hot one! Married two years and still starry-eyed. When they left, the big dude patted me on the back, “Nice to meet you, bro.”
Our seats were at the corner, two attractive 50-year-olds entered and sat at the opposite end of the bar. We wrapped up our Yakitori wraps, Charlie picked up his beer, and off we went to introduce ourselves.
3. The Prison Ladies: Our new friends were Lucy and Lily, just back from the La Vista Correctional Facility in Pueblo. I tapped Lily on the shoulder, she glanced up, saw Charlie’s big mug and spun around with excitement. Lucy followed with a big smile. Delighted to see us? Yes, they were! The backwards ballcap dude on the next stool had been chatting with them. He gave me a dirty look.
Dressed in chic, silky garments, they regaled us with tales of their non-profit volunteer work to bring incarcerated women a healing experience. Dance therapy. And they wanted contributions.
“How would we pay,” I asked. Lucy found her humongous purse, handed each of us a card and gave me a hug. Everything helps, she said. She played a short video of a recent class, she leading twenty khaki-clad, incarcerated women dancing to hip-hop music. I do intend to help her out, seems like a worthy cause. Two young ladies happy to have met such upstanding gentlemen!
A very fine start to our trip, to be sure. Bringing joy and laughter to humanity, one soul at a time. It is a mountain of work, but we will continue the climb.
Monday
Our first night in the room was uneventful. Next morning, Charlie made coffee and we chatted on the porch with the three Omaha visitors for a good hour. Gabby women, looking for excitement. We agreed to remain friendly. Off for our first hike, an easy one on the east side of the property, with great views of the Flatirons. Exercise accomplished; we were off to find more trouble.
Back to the Mall. Today was another perfect weather day, we toured the full four blocks of “The Rodeo Drive of outdoor apparel.” We did find many desirable items, but who wants to walk around with a bag full of shoes and parkas? A nice lady from the local Chamber of Commerce interviewed us with the promise of free coffee to be picked up elsewhere. We noticed several ragamuffin types, but only at the easternmost end, nearest the big city park. The Mall gets an A+ for cleanliness and upkeep. The buildings are old, but in pristine condition.
4. For lunch, we picked an outdoor café, informal seating on benches under red umbrellas. Our waitress Anna we presumed was a student, as 90% of the food service folks are in Boulder. But no, she was a 21-year-old struggling to save money for college. Charlie and I spent a good ten minutes interviewing and cheering her on. Anna was the most adorable woman we met on this trip! I mentioned that modeling might be a career to investigate. “I’m shy,” she admitted.
“Do what you love,” Charlie advised her, sagely.
We hopped back in the limo and our GPS took us to a parking lot on the U of Colorado campus. Extremely modern, impressive buildings, towering over the many grassy quads. The Leeds School of Business was full of glass-walled lounges with students studying, the College of Music resonated with classical ditties, once again, packed with kids. The student center was huge and well populated at one in the afternoon. We were a bit taken aback at the dress code, or lack thereof. Males were normal kids, jeans, T-shirts, tennis shoes. Typical female attire was shockingly tight booty shorts/cut-offs, paired with a revealingly tight top and high heel sneakers. This was the norm. We did our best not to point and stare. 33,000 students at the U of C. Worth a side trip.
Around the corner was Naropa University, home of Mindful Compassion Training and Psychedelic-Assisted Therapies! Naropa was founded in 1974 by Tibetan Buddhist teacher Chögyam Trungpa. The students here are reserved in demeanor and attire. i.e.: NO shorts nor t-tops. We sat in their small courtyard and chatted. No one came over. Perhaps Lily (who graduated from Naropa) and Lucy were partaking of the devil weed Sunday night (see above), thus responsible for their over-the-top friendliness.
Back to the room for a short nap, then off for dinner. We had asked for recommendations from our first night friends. They started naming fancy restaurants. No, we explained. We want a rowdy place with a long bar. We’ll eat at the bar.
“I see,” Rick said. “Try Salt or Rooted.” Both of which were packed, reservations required. Rosetta Hall was our choice, a multi kitchen dinery with 10 specialty choices and a central bar (and a few tables in back) to sit, eat and chat with our neighbors. It was great!
Tuesday
We got up as the sun’s rays peeked into our mini-room, hoping to score our free coffee at the Mall. No luck. It’s past time to go, to leave Boulder. We’re on the way to Aspen over Independence Pass. We had hoped to meet our friend Leigh, whom we had met at the 5th Avenue Grille in Frisco last year. No luck, as she was busy hiking the last two legs of the Colorado Trail, a 486-mile trek running from Denver to Durango. Our 168-mile trip takes well over three hours, what with the twisty, narrow-laned mountain road with sheer drop-offs and a couple of single lane stoplights. And the 15 mile downhill, using the gearbox to keep the brakes from overheating. It's a torturous drive and I love it. Charlie was a model passenger, flinching only twice.
5. We stopped at the Circle K in Leadville for a break, and refreshments. I’m waiting in line behind five locals, who take several minutes each to buy a box of Ring Dings and a pack of generic smokes. The counter lady chats with each one. This is a Forever Line. From a far corner I hear loud talking and laughter. Someone is causing trouble, and I’m missing the commotion. Ten minutes later, I pay up and scurry over to see what new friends Charlie has made in the coffee machine area. “Bill, meet Carlos and Milton. We’re talking politics.” Oh boy.
Two old men, both with ball caps, obviously locals sitting at their table, Charlie hovering above. All three smiling and laughing. The right winger had been 30 years a miner, a mile underground, manning the pneumatic drills. His companion was friendly, but a tad reticent. I stepped right in to learn these guys which way to orient their political proclivity. It was a scene, loud voices (but no yelling) and more laughter, which none of us will ever forget. Good, wholesome conversation.
We arrived in Aspen late, and our room at the Aspen Hotel was ready. A pleasant surprise. Two queen beds, a kitchenette, a big-screen, and a reasonably modern bathroom. Charlie called it “gargantuan!” We immediately took off for lunch, this time at the Aspen Mall. September is the low season. Parking is available, the mall and streets are sparsely populated, the stores are welcoming and it’s a great time to be in town.
6. We stuck our heads inside the Hotel Jerome ($350 a night and up). Big convention going on, the place was a beehive of activity. Taking our Boulder friend Rick’s advice, we tucked in our traveling shirts and “blended in.” The first buffet was guarded by a mean old lady who wasn’t buying our pleasantries. Never deterred, we edged cautiously into a packed convention ballroom. It was all male, but everyone was preppy and had ribbon card IDs. The buffet table looked scrumptious; my hand was edging towards the plate stack (authentic China).
Busted. An attractive young lady knew how to handle wealthy interlopers. It was not until being politely escorted toward the lobby did we notice the bulge in her pocket. Ah, well. No free lunch today.
Our midday repast was under another set of red umbrellas. We made friends with the table next to us, they took our pic. Next, we walked every block of the downtown retail area. Went in several men’s clothing stores. Went in several art galleries, and a sculpture gallery. Aspen art is cutting edge and expensive. And “Very unique,” as Charlie might say.
7. In the Ralph Lauren store, we spent thirty minutes, half of which talking and joking with Jeffery, an older salesman about (politics). We had to keep our voices low because it was one-sided; making fun of a certain well-known ex-pres which is not nice but sometimes a famous person deserves meanness. Everyone in the store was staring at us as we whispered an aspersion, then whooped with raucous laughter. We did not buy a thing. But we did make Jeff's day, equivalent to a sale and healthier for his soul.
8. So Help Me Charlie. Late that afternoon, we have an appointment, we are cutting it close and Charlie becomes upset with the limo driver (me). “We’ll stop for gas now so in the AM we can get out of here,” I say. Mr. back-seat driver berates me. I yell at him to shut up. Who cares if we spend a dollar a gallon extra in Aspen? Who cares if we are three minutes late? It’s a vacation. Quit nagging.
We make it to Bruce and Frankie’s house at the top of the mountain at 6:01 pm, they are on their deck waving us up. “Perfect timing,” I mention to Charlie. He has accepted my apology for yelling and promised, in return, to “Be the Best He Can Be,” as Russell Wilson often exhorts his flagging teammates.
With a view of Aspen Mountain and Buttermilk, we sit on the sumptuous deck and discuss our lives over cheese and crackers. I must say, the evening was off to a pleasant start, what with the perfect weather and the gracious hosts. I feel comfortable and launch into a story, Charlie fills in when I pause (assists me politely without taking over), and at the end everyone laughs. Normally, I would take a bow and make my exit swiftly. Bruce is a good host, he wants to know how we met, etc. Normally, I would casually mention our first encounter at a certain gay bar in San Diego. But, I’m not the consummate jokester tonight. These are conservative folks, wealthy Aspenians, and neighbors of Charlie back in Richmond. I’ll be humble, just “be myself,” as my friend Amy has taught me.
To my astonishment, Charlie takes over and introduces me as a heroic figure, with an illustrious Naval career, a distinguished award for architectural design, and now an acclaimed author. I avert my eyes downward, become embarrassed and oddly enough, continue to maintain silence. Was I worthy of their respect? I was unsure of my approval. Did they like me? Charlie had entrusted me to make a good impression, it was obvious I was being judged and if I had been acting like an obnoxious jackass, it would impugn my friend, possibly even damage his superlative reputation back in old Virginny.
Charlie read me the short text from Frankie, later that day.
“Your friend Bill is so handsome and smart. When he is next in Richmond, we want to have him over and throw a big dinner party.”
For evening chow in Aspen we chose Duemani because our first choice, White House Tavern across the street, was completely booked and no bar seats open. The food was fine (salad for me, crispy octopus for C), It was a quiet evening except for the old guy telling me his entire life story while waiting in line for the single unisex toilet, and then letting his sister cut in front of me. This after I had listened so politely and attentively. She came up behind us, glanced at me and stepped into the john. “Well!” I said, plaintively, as the door slammed in my face. She was from Arizona, the family was having a reunion, so I recognized her from the ten-minute rundown of her brother’s recent life. Whew. These rich people!
Wednesday
Sandra (pronounced Sondra) at Hotel Aspen was in charge of the breakfast bar. Such a great lady, raised two kids by herself, making a living in the impossibly expensive resort city of Aspen. A citizen who had immigrated from central Mexico years ago. We ran into her again at the Grateful Deli on the way out. She loved us because we loved her.
Bruce had recommended an easy hike for us, the Sunnyside Trail. We accidently missed the trailhead because Charles was zipping his lip for a change. We wheeled into the parking lot, anxious to get walking. My BMW took up two places, and just for spite, I refused his exhortations to move it. “A motorcycle could easily fit in either of those spaces,” I explained. We went for a two mile, 1,000 feet vertical walk, taking many photos. Back to the room for a quick shower and change of clothes. Then to pick up sandwiches at the Deli. Next destination, Denver Airport. We had gas.
Circle K redux. As you may remember, we had made friends in Leadville, we enjoyed the interaction, and on our way back, stopped in again to say hello, but the table was empty. As an alternate, we drove up to the National Mining Hall of Fame and Museum (“Smithsonian of the Rockies”), spent a too short thirty minutes. A huuge storm was approaching and we needed to get back across the 12,000-foot Pass before it hit. Charlie needed to be at the airport by fiveish, and the Denver traffic is always a mess.
A full four hours later, I dropped Charlie off. We hugged it out, Charlie adding a fist bump.
9. Before leaving Aspen, we had picked up sandwiches at the Deli, and Charlie had asked approval of his favorite snack, Boulder Canyon Classic Sea Salt Kettle Style Potato Chips. At 8,000 feet, every sealed food package is bulging with air pressure because it likely came from near sea level. Charlie gave a short guffaw when his bag exploded at 10,000 feet on the way up to Independence Pass, sending sea salt and chip detritus onto every surface of my expensive, recently detailed BMW.
Excellent trip. Can’t wait for the next one.
You can find documentation of two of my Virginia trips in the menu to the top right. Do not expect the same detail. This is a Special Edition. 
