52
R. Linda:
I be back from the Rocky Mountains. Yes, the land of red soil, high craggy rocks, roaring waters and the flood plain trust babies who live with the trailer trash. Yes, views of high mountains, and even closer views of your trailer park neighbours from your floor-to-ceiling multi-million dollar windows as the hail hits you on a sunny spring day, making you jump back for dear life because it is the size of giant golf balls. There is that drive through the passes where the weather is pristine perfect and then suddenly without any warning -- you find yourself stuck in 8 inches of snow without a shovel. It is the place to live if you like to hike or ski and little else. Hippydom personified, and non-authentic Mexican food! Yessiree Bobbie, hot springs dot the waters, the sidewalks roll up at 4 p.m. and there is no coffee to be found anywhere.
I went through coffee withdrawal, I shook, I got bleary-eyed, I was ready to kill something. I was served herbal tea and more herbal tea. It did nothing for me nerves. I would wander aimlessly alongside the Roaring Fork River and a few times I thought about drowning meself for want of the black stuff. I realised I was in deep shite. Even the air was thin, I was that high up in the Rockies I was hyperventilating! Life was not good.
There was one redeeming factor in all this pain, or so I mistakenly thought: One Chris Weasilman, blond Adonis of the Aspen ski set, perpetual college student, master of university degrees you don't do anything with, and holiday-happy man. Yes, me purpose in Glenwood Springs, Colorado was twofold. One was me invitation to Mr. Weasil's third graduation in as many years. Two was to get the goods on cowboy historical figure Doc Holiday for a Sunday filler for me newspaper. Little did I know I was staying with Doc Holiday in the disguise of, yes you guessed it, one Chris Weasilman.
Me adventures were many, but once graduation was over (more on that in another letter), I set out to do me story and try to enjoy the rest of me stay. What I needed to do first (according to Weasil), was to see a marble quarry in the high Rockies. No, I didn't need to see it, but somehow, kicking and protesting I found meself in Mr. W's teal-coloured Blazer speeding along the back roads towards Leadville (famous for Doc Holiday's living there at one time - but I wouldn't know because we didn't stop there for me to investigate), and the marble quarry, was famous for having the purest of white marble anywhere in the world. And THAT was located in of all places Marble, Colorado and Bob's your uncle!
Did I want to see pure white marble rock? Not really, but I was given no choice as we zoomed along. I will admit I was consumed with conversation, as Mr. W and his girl, one Mathilda mesmerised me with stories of Doc and his travels around Colorado. Nice diversion, or was it a devious ploy to scare the living daylights out of me? You be the judge.
I didn't notice the road turned to dirt and we had begun to climb until I realised I couldn't breathe. We were some 40,000 feet up and going higher! The road was one car wide and it hugged the cliff face with a sheer drop on the other. Lucky me I was on the cliff side and couldn't see the drop. But I could see treetops and I knew, yes I knew this was not good. Nope, noppers, no how, in the words of Mr. W -- was this good.
I be one that does not like heights to begin with. Put me on a Ferris wheel and I freeze. Through me teeth I will hiss at you to "GET ME OFF THIS THING NOW!" So, this was not good.
I closed me eyes, I was handed a paper bag to breathe into, and hyperventilation was upon me. I was dizzy and me two companions chatted on like nothing was going on in the back seat. I ventured one look out the sheer drop side and feinted to the floor of the car. Still onward and upward Mr. W drove. I finally came to and noticed from me position on the floor, that Mr. W had the insane habit of looking at Mathilda as he drove. Mathilda was on the passenger side and Mr. Weasil was not looking straight ahead, he was driving with ONE FREAKING HAND on the steering column and when I took all this in, I passed out again!
Call me a wimp, I don't care, but if you were in that car you'd have been a basket case, to say the least. What with no oxygen, a moron at the wheel, and a chatty girl talking nonsense, no coffee for days, well I ask you.
The car lurched ever upward and finally, I heard tyres on gravel and knew we'd reached the top. I sighed and settled meself further still on the floor, hoping they'd forget I was there. Suddenly, sunlight came in with a blast of cold air as the door opened and I felt meself being hauled up and out into 2 feet of the coldest snow I'd ever encountered.
We were all dressed for summer. I mean we had on shorts with sandals. It was cold as a witch's teat and there we stood. I looked around and gulped. The air, what air? I was gulping the non-existent air because I couldn't freaking breathe! It was so thin, me head felt like it was nothing more than a balloon ready to lift off. There was no one there, nothing but snow, a raging and angry-looking river below with sharp rocks and the sheerest of drops all the way down the mountain. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I stood there with a stupid, petrified smile on me panic-stricken face. We were going to die of frostbite and lack of oxygen I was certain. What started out as a beautiful spring day, suddenly turned into the middle of winter!
Mr. Weasilman pointed out the footpath to the quarry. It was one person wide and hugged the cliff face with YES a sheer drop on the other side into the raging river with those sharp pointed rocks below. I looked at the deep snow that slanted to the precipice, I looked at me companions and shook me head no, and I said, "Not in this lifetime."
That didn't stop them. Off they went into the deep icy snow, shorts and sandals, slipping and sliding and almost falling off the rocky crevice below. I stood there gripped with fear in me heart. Mr. W suddenly slipped and was hanging over the edge. I was too shocked to yell out and too far away and frozen to move. Mathilda, meanwhile, was hugging the edge of the cliff face inching her way towards the dangling Weasil. I was feeling quite unwell from lack of oxygen and forced meself to watch this horrible scene. If they both went over the edge, there was no way I'd be driving meself back DOWN. Oh no, I couldn't do it. I knew I'd freeze right where I was. Finally, Mr. W groped his way up the rocks and pulled himself onto the path with almost superhuman strength. Then it dawned on me, that the idiot had done this before. I sighed relieved, but me heart was in me throat. He waved and smiled at me and had the nerve to gesture I come and join them. AS IF! I was beside meself.
He yelled to me, "We'll get you a nice piece of marble to take home."
I yelled back, "Don't bother, come on back I don't want a piece of marble and I can't take it on the plane anyway."
They waved at me and laughed and off they ventured the rest of the way and disappeared into the mine opening. I was sitting there for what seemed an eternity worried about their trek back over that slanted ice-encrusted precipice. Maybe I should have been worrying about a mine collapse, but that thank God did not enter me oxygen-deprived brain. Finally, they reappeared walking with two large pieces of marble over their heads like piemen. I was thinking, don't be stupid you need your balance, drop the marble and put your arms down. I yelled at them I didn't need marble that size, and I'd rather they didn't risk it all for a piece of white marble, that I be not in the least interested in possessing.
They were all smiles as they lay the samples at me feet and ooh and ahh over their choices. I was ready to leave not a minute too soon because it was getting colder. As we got back to the parking lot what do I spy, but a shite load of white marble lying on the side of the lot. They risked their lives for nothing to begin with, and here it was right next to the freaking car!
So blinded with anger was I, I slammed into the backseat and as the engine roared to life and Mr. W did a slick one-handed turn of the steering column, it suddenly impacted me stalled brain we were about to go straight down that bloody narrow dirt road. I asked Weasil if his brakes were good, and he informed me he wasn't using brakes, he was using gears to get us down. I said, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph man, use your brakes!"
"I need brake shoes, so I can't do that. Piece of cakie don't worry yer in goodly hands," replied he.
I was crossing meself, saying Hail Marys because I was sure we were going to die. I sat on the side where we hugged the cliff, covering me eyes because I could not look. I listened to the gears grinding, the wheels slipping and through me eyelashes, there was Weasil chatting up his lady with one hand on the wheel, his eyes on her and we were precariously close to the edge. Now I was in near panic mode, I had regained some air in me poor deprived lungs and Mathilda was snapping pictures of the sheer drop, and telling me how long a rollover it would be if we slipped off the edge (thank you very much for that Mathilda!), and how dangerous a drive this must be in winter. Begorrah me, I don't care about winter, this be now and it is bloody dangerous and I don't want to hear otherwise. Just get me to the bottom. We made it obviously. But I swore never, ever again, would I allow Weasil to weasel me into some side trip that would have me heart racing and me blood pumping to the extreme.
To make me feel better, they decided to stop at a scenic waterfall. It was beautiful. Only they took off to hike to the top. I declined to go up because of me height issue. I was standing below feeling better and enjoying the relaxing view, when I noticed movement 300 feet above me. There they were hugging the side of a huge boulder inching around it to step over a wide crevice to another boulder. No ropes, no nothing but a sheer drop below. I covered me eyes with me hands. I tell you I could not watch. That damn Weasil does things to tempt fate and scare the living bejesus out of me, I swear on purpose!
I be glad to be home, I cannot tell you. I don't want to know what he's doing. My nerves couldn't take it.
I will say on the way home from those two "fun" trips, Mr. W pointed to a mountain where there was an American flag three-quarters of the way up its side. He said in so many words, that was where Doc Holiday was buried. I pointed and said, "What way up there?"
"Yuppers," Weasil said. Mathilda had him change direction because she didn't know that and she must go see. I had enough of heights for one day, but not being the driver I was given no choice, and we roared off towards another fecking mountain!
We walked up a trail that started out as a slight incline, and I be thinking, this isn't bad. But by 30 feet we were going straight up. I couldn't breathe for the exertion and altitude. Then we got up a way and there was a sign saying DOC HOLIDAY'S GRAVE ----> so, we went in that direction and my God, I find we are in a graveyard on the side of a freaking mountain! I was amazed how they got dead people up there, and more amazed anyone would want to be buried up there in the first place. There was a sign telling how horse-drawn hearses would struggle up the mountain with their load of dead weight (literally!) and I was impressed, but I thought I still had to go back down and I'll be able to see the entire Rocky Mountain range because going up I was concentrating on the path and going down, well . . .
We were looking for the grave site. Weasil decided we should keep going UP. I spied another Doc Holiday thataway sign and saved meself from going any higher. We got to the end of the path and there were no more signs. We looked around stumped. The stupid blond boy and his girlfriend were standing around looking for it. The very blond Mr. Weasil said, "Well, he's got to be here somewhere." And, the blond Mathilda says, "There are no more signs." Mr. W answered, "He must be under the flaggie." You fecking guessed it, we were standing under the damn flag.
Right in front of us was a gated grave and there it was! Who's your huckleberry now I wanted to ask them? Anyway, the gravestone has the deadman's hand on it and a six-gun. Cool. For this, we hiked up a mountain. I won't bore you any further. Just suffice it to say the descending was not me cup of tea, I'd say coffee but there wasn't any.
Glad to have me feet on Boston's flat ground.
(I posted a picture of Doc's grave so if you go venturing to look for it, I'll save you the trouble.)
The Marble quarry drop-off where Weasil and Mathilda almost bought the big one
Here's me pic of Doc Holiday's high resting place
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I be back from the Rocky Mountains. Yes, the land of red soil, high craggy rocks, roaring waters and the flood plain trust babies who live with the trailer trash. Yes, views of high mountains, and even closer views of your trailer park neighbours from your floor-to-ceiling multi-million dollar windows as the hail hits you on a sunny spring day, making you jump back for dear life because it is the size of giant golf balls. There is that drive through the passes where the weather is pristine perfect and then suddenly without any warning -- you find yourself stuck in 8 inches of snow without a shovel. It is the place to live if you like to hike or ski and little else. Hippydom personified, and non-authentic Mexican food! Yessiree Bobbie, hot springs dot the waters, the sidewalks roll up at 4 p.m. and there is no coffee to be found anywhere.
I went through coffee withdrawal, I shook, I got bleary-eyed, I was ready to kill something. I was served herbal tea and more herbal tea. It did nothing for me nerves. I would wander aimlessly alongside the Roaring Fork River and a few times I thought about drowning meself for want of the black stuff. I realised I was in deep shite. Even the air was thin, I was that high up in the Rockies I was hyperventilating! Life was not good.
There was one redeeming factor in all this pain, or so I mistakenly thought: One Chris Weasilman, blond Adonis of the Aspen ski set, perpetual college student, master of university degrees you don't do anything with, and holiday-happy man. Yes, me purpose in Glenwood Springs, Colorado was twofold. One was me invitation to Mr. Weasil's third graduation in as many years. Two was to get the goods on cowboy historical figure Doc Holiday for a Sunday filler for me newspaper. Little did I know I was staying with Doc Holiday in the disguise of, yes you guessed it, one Chris Weasilman.
Me adventures were many, but once graduation was over (more on that in another letter), I set out to do me story and try to enjoy the rest of me stay. What I needed to do first (according to Weasil), was to see a marble quarry in the high Rockies. No, I didn't need to see it, but somehow, kicking and protesting I found meself in Mr. W's teal-coloured Blazer speeding along the back roads towards Leadville (famous for Doc Holiday's living there at one time - but I wouldn't know because we didn't stop there for me to investigate), and the marble quarry, was famous for having the purest of white marble anywhere in the world. And THAT was located in of all places Marble, Colorado and Bob's your uncle!
Did I want to see pure white marble rock? Not really, but I was given no choice as we zoomed along. I will admit I was consumed with conversation, as Mr. W and his girl, one Mathilda mesmerised me with stories of Doc and his travels around Colorado. Nice diversion, or was it a devious ploy to scare the living daylights out of me? You be the judge.
I didn't notice the road turned to dirt and we had begun to climb until I realised I couldn't breathe. We were some 40,000 feet up and going higher! The road was one car wide and it hugged the cliff face with a sheer drop on the other. Lucky me I was on the cliff side and couldn't see the drop. But I could see treetops and I knew, yes I knew this was not good. Nope, noppers, no how, in the words of Mr. W -- was this good.
I be one that does not like heights to begin with. Put me on a Ferris wheel and I freeze. Through me teeth I will hiss at you to "GET ME OFF THIS THING NOW!" So, this was not good.
I closed me eyes, I was handed a paper bag to breathe into, and hyperventilation was upon me. I was dizzy and me two companions chatted on like nothing was going on in the back seat. I ventured one look out the sheer drop side and feinted to the floor of the car. Still onward and upward Mr. W drove. I finally came to and noticed from me position on the floor, that Mr. W had the insane habit of looking at Mathilda as he drove. Mathilda was on the passenger side and Mr. Weasil was not looking straight ahead, he was driving with ONE FREAKING HAND on the steering column and when I took all this in, I passed out again!
Call me a wimp, I don't care, but if you were in that car you'd have been a basket case, to say the least. What with no oxygen, a moron at the wheel, and a chatty girl talking nonsense, no coffee for days, well I ask you.
The car lurched ever upward and finally, I heard tyres on gravel and knew we'd reached the top. I sighed and settled meself further still on the floor, hoping they'd forget I was there. Suddenly, sunlight came in with a blast of cold air as the door opened and I felt meself being hauled up and out into 2 feet of the coldest snow I'd ever encountered.
We were all dressed for summer. I mean we had on shorts with sandals. It was cold as a witch's teat and there we stood. I looked around and gulped. The air, what air? I was gulping the non-existent air because I couldn't freaking breathe! It was so thin, me head felt like it was nothing more than a balloon ready to lift off. There was no one there, nothing but snow, a raging and angry-looking river below with sharp rocks and the sheerest of drops all the way down the mountain. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I stood there with a stupid, petrified smile on me panic-stricken face. We were going to die of frostbite and lack of oxygen I was certain. What started out as a beautiful spring day, suddenly turned into the middle of winter!
Mr. Weasilman pointed out the footpath to the quarry. It was one person wide and hugged the cliff face with YES a sheer drop on the other side into the raging river with those sharp pointed rocks below. I looked at the deep snow that slanted to the precipice, I looked at me companions and shook me head no, and I said, "Not in this lifetime."
That didn't stop them. Off they went into the deep icy snow, shorts and sandals, slipping and sliding and almost falling off the rocky crevice below. I stood there gripped with fear in me heart. Mr. W suddenly slipped and was hanging over the edge. I was too shocked to yell out and too far away and frozen to move. Mathilda, meanwhile, was hugging the edge of the cliff face inching her way towards the dangling Weasil. I was feeling quite unwell from lack of oxygen and forced meself to watch this horrible scene. If they both went over the edge, there was no way I'd be driving meself back DOWN. Oh no, I couldn't do it. I knew I'd freeze right where I was. Finally, Mr. W groped his way up the rocks and pulled himself onto the path with almost superhuman strength. Then it dawned on me, that the idiot had done this before. I sighed relieved, but me heart was in me throat. He waved and smiled at me and had the nerve to gesture I come and join them. AS IF! I was beside meself.
He yelled to me, "We'll get you a nice piece of marble to take home."
I yelled back, "Don't bother, come on back I don't want a piece of marble and I can't take it on the plane anyway."
They waved at me and laughed and off they ventured the rest of the way and disappeared into the mine opening. I was sitting there for what seemed an eternity worried about their trek back over that slanted ice-encrusted precipice. Maybe I should have been worrying about a mine collapse, but that thank God did not enter me oxygen-deprived brain. Finally, they reappeared walking with two large pieces of marble over their heads like piemen. I was thinking, don't be stupid you need your balance, drop the marble and put your arms down. I yelled at them I didn't need marble that size, and I'd rather they didn't risk it all for a piece of white marble, that I be not in the least interested in possessing.
They were all smiles as they lay the samples at me feet and ooh and ahh over their choices. I was ready to leave not a minute too soon because it was getting colder. As we got back to the parking lot what do I spy, but a shite load of white marble lying on the side of the lot. They risked their lives for nothing to begin with, and here it was right next to the freaking car!
So blinded with anger was I, I slammed into the backseat and as the engine roared to life and Mr. W did a slick one-handed turn of the steering column, it suddenly impacted me stalled brain we were about to go straight down that bloody narrow dirt road. I asked Weasil if his brakes were good, and he informed me he wasn't using brakes, he was using gears to get us down. I said, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph man, use your brakes!"
"I need brake shoes, so I can't do that. Piece of cakie don't worry yer in goodly hands," replied he.
I was crossing meself, saying Hail Marys because I was sure we were going to die. I sat on the side where we hugged the cliff, covering me eyes because I could not look. I listened to the gears grinding, the wheels slipping and through me eyelashes, there was Weasil chatting up his lady with one hand on the wheel, his eyes on her and we were precariously close to the edge. Now I was in near panic mode, I had regained some air in me poor deprived lungs and Mathilda was snapping pictures of the sheer drop, and telling me how long a rollover it would be if we slipped off the edge (thank you very much for that Mathilda!), and how dangerous a drive this must be in winter. Begorrah me, I don't care about winter, this be now and it is bloody dangerous and I don't want to hear otherwise. Just get me to the bottom. We made it obviously. But I swore never, ever again, would I allow Weasil to weasel me into some side trip that would have me heart racing and me blood pumping to the extreme.
To make me feel better, they decided to stop at a scenic waterfall. It was beautiful. Only they took off to hike to the top. I declined to go up because of me height issue. I was standing below feeling better and enjoying the relaxing view, when I noticed movement 300 feet above me. There they were hugging the side of a huge boulder inching around it to step over a wide crevice to another boulder. No ropes, no nothing but a sheer drop below. I covered me eyes with me hands. I tell you I could not watch. That damn Weasil does things to tempt fate and scare the living bejesus out of me, I swear on purpose!
I be glad to be home, I cannot tell you. I don't want to know what he's doing. My nerves couldn't take it.
I will say on the way home from those two "fun" trips, Mr. W pointed to a mountain where there was an American flag three-quarters of the way up its side. He said in so many words, that was where Doc Holiday was buried. I pointed and said, "What way up there?"
"Yuppers," Weasil said. Mathilda had him change direction because she didn't know that and she must go see. I had enough of heights for one day, but not being the driver I was given no choice, and we roared off towards another fecking mountain!
We walked up a trail that started out as a slight incline, and I be thinking, this isn't bad. But by 30 feet we were going straight up. I couldn't breathe for the exertion and altitude. Then we got up a way and there was a sign saying DOC HOLIDAY'S GRAVE ----> so, we went in that direction and my God, I find we are in a graveyard on the side of a freaking mountain! I was amazed how they got dead people up there, and more amazed anyone would want to be buried up there in the first place. There was a sign telling how horse-drawn hearses would struggle up the mountain with their load of dead weight (literally!) and I was impressed, but I thought I still had to go back down and I'll be able to see the entire Rocky Mountain range because going up I was concentrating on the path and going down, well . . .
We were looking for the grave site. Weasil decided we should keep going UP. I spied another Doc Holiday thataway sign and saved meself from going any higher. We got to the end of the path and there were no more signs. We looked around stumped. The stupid blond boy and his girlfriend were standing around looking for it. The very blond Mr. Weasil said, "Well, he's got to be here somewhere." And, the blond Mathilda says, "There are no more signs." Mr. W answered, "He must be under the flaggie." You fecking guessed it, we were standing under the damn flag.
Right in front of us was a gated grave and there it was! Who's your huckleberry now I wanted to ask them? Anyway, the gravestone has the deadman's hand on it and a six-gun. Cool. For this, we hiked up a mountain. I won't bore you any further. Just suffice it to say the descending was not me cup of tea, I'd say coffee but there wasn't any.
Glad to have me feet on Boston's flat ground.
(I posted a picture of Doc's grave so if you go venturing to look for it, I'll save you the trouble.)
The Marble quarry drop-off where Weasil and Mathilda almost bought the big one
 |
| Copyright 2004 Irish Memories |
Here's me pic of Doc Holiday's high resting place
 |
| Copyright 2004 Irish Memories |
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
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