July 17th – Friday
We woke up and everyone got busy but me. I was thinking we were going to be hanging out awhile at our spot, but soon Sid started driving. We were off, back onto the 70, through those gorgeous Rockies.
We stopped for some supplies and got back on the road. We were heading toward Rifle, hoping to check it out a bit more. Before reaching Rifle we pulled of the highway at Glenwood Springs. The downtown area there was just as cool as in Rifle, so we cruised.
I spied a sign pointing the way to Doc Holliday’s grave and we decided to go check it out. In case you don’t know about this interesting dentist turned outlaw cowboy, he had tuberculosis and supposedly traveled to Glenwood Springs seeking healing from the vapors of the hot spring. He ended up dying there and was buried in Glenwood Springs Pioneer Cemetery (the name has been different through its history). The cemetery is way up on a hilltop, overlooking the city. It’s somber up there, but also serene and beautiful. We enjoyed reading the info posted at Doc’s memorial site. On the memorial plaque there was a quote of Wyatt Earp’s reading: “Doc was a dentist not a lawman or an assassin, whom necessity had made a gambler; a gentleman whom disease had made a frontier vagabond; a philosopher whom life had made a caustic wit; a long lean ash-blond fellow nearly dead with consumption, and at the same time the most skillful gambler and the nerviest, speediest, deadliest man with a gun that I ever knew.” Wikipedia gives a great account of the best anyone can figure of this man’s life and death.
We left Glenwood Springs and cruised. I don’t know if there’s anything I enjoy more than a cruise through such amazingly gorgeous environs. It soothes me so. There’s nothing to be done, but sit, no pressing issues, so there’s freedom to let the mind wander, no details are offered to take anything away from the daydreams conjured by the wonder of the place.
We were searching for a campsite Sid had seen on the way out that was situated right on the Colorado River. We found it! And it was so nice and pretty.
Everyone went and fished while I cleaned the motorhome with some nice, new, environmentally-friendly cleaning products, aaaahhhh. Miss Aveline caught a fish! And then one by one each of the kids returned to the motorhome for some DVD viewing. Sid was a lone man on the river for a bit. But I needed to do the [barf] laundry at the campground’s laundromat, so the kids went to join him fishing as I sat with the wash reading my book. Sid had cautioned me to be careful because he felt the character of some of our fellow campers could be legitimately called into question. I have to admit that spooked me out a little. And further, I thought I’d keep an eye on the laundry since I’d had an unfortunate incident in high school, living in an apartment I did my laundry in the community laundry room, and my favorite bodysuit, along with a few other things were stolen from the dryer. I don’t mind sitting with the laundry going anyway, the white noise is soothing, I have the feeling of getting something done without having to do anything and it smells nice in there. What if I made a personal rule to always sit down and read while the laundry was going at home?! I’d bet the pioneer women would be gratified that I was savoring a convenience they’d never know . . . or else they’d think I was ridiculous for not using that time more productively!
Anyway, due to the presence of the “questionables” (certainly with all of our tattoos we were likewise classified in our neighbors’ minds!!) I was trying to be aware and alert as I read in the laundromat. Soon it was very dark outside, so I knew anyone outside could see me clearly through the open windows of the brightly lit laundry room, though I could not decipher them. I was being assaulted by a legion of mosquitoes, but was enjoying my book exceedingly. Then all of a sudden a giant hand reached through the open window behind me and fiercely grabbed my arm!!! I was literally stunned, I froze, I couldn’t think and I was repeating single syllables, like “I, I, I,” and “You, you, you.” It took me a long, long time to process the fact that my husband, (who has the equivalent of multiple PhDs in The Art of Pranking, Frightening and otherwise Troubling Folks, for those of you who don’t know him) was the body attached to the arm that grabbed me. You see, I’m not used to being the target of his shenanigans. When I finally regained my wits, my heartbeat returned to a tolerable rate, my breathing resumed, and light conversation ensued, I checked and found the laundry to be dry. My prankster genius and I walked back to the motorhome hand in hand, a brief alone stroll, as he had cautiously left the kids behind when he came to “check on” me. We chilled out for a while and then went to bed.
