Читать книгу Eternal Echoes - Randall E. Secrest - Страница 4

At a young age did you ever have any specific dreams? Where dreams a function of the mental process? Were dreams of a glorious future considered? Were dreams of attending college ever contemplated? Could we imagine ourselves ‘becoming’? While meandering through high school, thoughts of further education was never a goal, in fact unlike others, was never really considered. For some, the thought of attending the hallowed halls of college was ruled out by the simple fact my parents could not afford those seemingly unnecessary expenses. At such a young age, participating in sports, finding a job as a senior, buying a car and chasing a few pretty girls were the highlights of the thought process.

Undeniably, sports were a wonderful experience and being a star player was intriguing. Not that what could be accomplished was truly a motivation, but the shear excitement of being a member of a team experience was a bonding experience and exhilarating. Football was always an animalistic pleasure, grunting and groaning, striving for a winning record, grueling, yet an exercise in manliness.

The concept of eleven players, of various sizes, advancing the pigskin down the field in order to score a touchdown… or conversely, an equal number becoming one mighty force to defend against that very same scoring drive… indeed a rough and tumble endeavor, yet a forever remembrance. And amusingly, when the film reruns of younger years are recalled, the awkward stances and inept hand offs and even running the wrong direction on the field are hilarious.

In addition, basketball was far different, formally played on an indoor court. Fortunately some teams are a great deal more successful playing basketball, and during a high school year we remained undefeated, 23 wins, 0 losses. As you can see, a team of five starters and seven substitutes can excel, and success predestined the team to the State Championships in the state capitol, Denver, Colorado.

Actually if any sports program is an integral part of attending high school, playing at the state basketball playoffs or state finals in any sport is an annual goal. Unfortunately, even though a successful team accomplishes a state scoring record, 130-60 against a rival, Trinidad, playing and winning against much larger State ranked teams is an insurmountable challenge, realistically impossible to actually win. Nevertheless, the basketball coach, Duane Lewis, referred to as, “Sim,” was a superb, always well-attired coach and will always be remembered as a fine man, a thoughtful counselor and a dear friend.

In fact within the “el alarado,” the 1975 Yearbook, the Journalism II staff dedicated the publication to “Sim.” As a coach his teams” records of 104-53 in basketball and two-time league champions in golf speak for themselves. As a guidance counselor, teacher and athletic director, he proved himself a valuable asset to our high school.

In addition, baseball and track were challenging and a great deal of fun, although also full of interesting stories. Baseball can turn out to be impossible if a player’s eyesight is not good enough to field, much less to hit a fast or curve ball. And track, when ‘on your mark,’ ‘get set,’ ‘go’ is shouted and the starting gun sounds to start the 100 yard dash, the runners dig out of the starting blocks, all is well. All is well is dandy, until momentum coming out of the blocks caused the racer to stagger and come very near falling. Well as for self-image, this proverbial ‘stumbling run’ is beyond embarrassing. Besides, in this case, winning the race was impossible.

Actually all sports are truly enjoyed, although in smaller schools, tennis and swimming are sometimes not offered, other sports need to meet a participants needs.

Most people become interested in sports in junior high. At the time, football can be a favorite, and due to understanding the game, becoming a quarterback makes sense. Early in football season, as the starting quarterback, all seemed to be unfolding and the future looked promising. Unfortunately success in football and probably all other sports most likely will experience a major setback when a player in the eighth grade is challenged.

Early in the day, awaiting the start of Social Studies class, which the football Coach Holland taught, another student, Paul, created an argument. Coach came in to start the class and realized he needed to separate the combatants. After he broke up the fight he sent the hooligans to Principal Beckley’s office. On the way to the office, the realization the fight was not going to improve the shining hour, soaked in.

After listening to the stories about the dispute, Beckley ordered a three-day suspension from school for both participants as punishment. Imagine the phone call to Mother, to briefly explain the circumstance, ‘the suspension’, and could she please come to the high school?

So much for being a starting quarterback that year. Sorrowfully, sports paid the price and never again were starting positions obtained, any potential developing standing was destroyed and a career in sports declined from that point forward.

Also teasing, in general, by upper classmen intensified. Being hairless and in a lower class was pounded into younger students without end. Once again another student was coerced by upper classmen to start a fight.

On a particular day at basketball practice unwarranted harassment had to come to an end. As a result, defense ruled the day, after all winning has power and with one powerful punch the disagreement was over. There were two hits, and the second hit was ‘hitting the floor.’ From that point forward, upper classmen coined a new nickname, Mohammed, as in Ali.

Other interesting circumstances happed during junior year. Abilities in drafting classes from prior years should encourage and motivate the student towards a possible career path. A petition to the high school to allow classes in the morning and a bus ride to a technical drafting school in the afternoon made perfect sense. The idea of drafting school did seem logical. And the request made perfect sense due to talent.

Amazingly, only seniors were permitted to be involved at the technical school, the request was denied. Also, since the school had, at the time of the request, only accepted approximately half the allowed class in the drafting department, the decision was unbelievable and somewhat depressing. And yet another potential avenue was denied.

The next summer, between junior and senior years, was carefree, nothing to be concerned about. Life was casual, no pressure. The southern Colorado Mountains are spectacular, enticing and forever whispering their song. For example, the unusual fishing opportunity on Wolf Creek Pass came right out of a movie. Spending a day climbing over massive boulders to reach the ultimate mountain fishing hole is not only a challenge, but also well worth the effort.

Since at the time I did not fly fish the result was to have great patience, waiting for a beautiful streaking trout to notice the worm on the hook and strike. In high mountain streams the rainbow trout are small but terrific fighters, not a lengthy catch but still a thrill to catch. Finally, they are superb, cooked in nothing but a black frying pan with a little butter, rosemary and lemon.

The only true decision during the summer months became finding a reasonable job. However job hunting was not foremost on the list. Alamosa, Colorado is only thirty-five miles from the Great Sand Dunes National Park.

Regularly our family, with a picnic lunch and perhaps a tent, driving thirty-five miles northward on I-17 through the sleepy small town of Mosca and east to the ten square miles of the National Monument became a regular occurrence in the summer.

Envision the largest alpine valley in the world embraced on the west and east with fourteen-plus thousand foot mountain ranges, the massive, picturesque and mysterious Rocky Mountains. Also consider ten square miles of white sand, a God-given playground, existing in a more unlikely area. So since it is a playground, people from all over the world enjoy passing through.

And as for the dunes - the wind predominately blows from the southwest to the northeast, which continually brings the beautiful white sand to the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. On an airplane ride flying over the valley please look at the ‘unusual formation of sand.’ The difference between the massive mountain ranges and a seemingly rather small patch of sand is baffling. Also not to be believed, I confess, people honestly ride their bicycles to the dunes from all over the country!

On the journey east towards the towering mountains with the dunes at the base, the challenge is to carefully mentally mark the highest and closest dune to camp so, upon arrival, at a picnic spot or camping spot a group can head towards the chosen summit.

The souls who choose to stay in camp can begin sorting out the food, making a fire, thinking about what’s for dinner. Honestly all this preparation is a lot of fun and if it is done casually in no time the sand castle’ers will return exhausted and ready for a late lunch.

Along the way to the dunes another rather strange part of the Park reveals itself. During the spring and early summer a stream comes out of the mighty mountains and playfully runs between the picnic- camp grounds and the endless dunes.

The stream obviously comes from a snow bank, thus is extremely cold, although very refreshing, however while watching the stream it appears to undulate? Between a craggy range of mountains and an unexplainable snow white field of dunes and the stream seems to have waves? What is up with that?

A somewhat observant answer might be, the stream gathers sand and as the weight increases the stream slows, finally the sand falls and the stream increases speed only to gather sand once again and to slow and drop the next gathering. This phenomenon happens in short order and probably this is the reason the water appears to flow as if there are waves. And curiously the waves are in semi-circles, much like the pools formed at Havasupai Falls, halfway to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

Since the great mountains are directly east of the dunes, there is a mountain trail, which leads up into these peaceful, majestic friends. With a comfortable hike, the Continental Divide is reached in a mountain valley.

If you choose, a long earned and deserved look out over the endless grass plains of North America is enjoyed. What an incredible sight, miles and miles of waving grasses as far as the eye can see. Meditate for a time; perhaps Black Elk’s Native American camp will materialize out on the incredible magic of the plains… The in sync native ‘way’ was one of peaceful existence with each other and other tribes and definitely with nature.

Climbing to the top of the magical dunes and climbing the equally impressive mountain trails, looking out over the once buffalo covered Great Plains, playing in the cool stream and building temporary dams to redirect the water was a meaningful and cherished childhood.

Camping out in the foothills towards the mountains, and then hiking onto the dunes at full moon… God is everything, God is everywhere. All this magic, and in person, perhaps only a child can appreciate such mystery and such joy.

One thing I failed to mention, climbing the dunes is a challenge and a gas, the sand is fluid like water. And seemingly going straight up is not only an effort, but also the preverbal two steps forward and one back is true. Due to the moving sand, after two steps forward the hiker is in a fight to overcome the sand and will slide one step backward.

Two forward and one back is a quest while climbing this ancient monument. And it is an effort to reach the chosen top, but the view, looking out over the San Luis Valley to the San Juan mountain range and back to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains… it is well worth the climb.

Also, along the journey, the idea of dragging an inner tube up the dunes, climbing inside and spinning at incredible speed down the sand, was unbelievable, absolutely the cat’s meow. No problem, being inside the tube with legs stretched outside, on either side, would provide brakes, right? The first rotation was exhilarating, but legs used as brakes propel the tube up into the air and in about three revolutions the tube is at breakneck speed, the speedometer is bouncing, stomach is beyond upset, oh my gosh!!! HELP!!! The only solution, BAIL OUT!

In any case, the tube rolls to the bottom, while the supposedly fearless captain lies motionless, as still as possible, trying to allow equilibrium to calm down, or maybe allowing the earth to slow down just a bit. Truly, it was hilarious! Although, during ejection, make sure to watch out for the air valve or it might due damage to your bare leg…

And finally, if this is not enough excitement, just another fifty miles north, a few miles off I-17, the Hooper Swimming Pool materializes. And as the saying goes, “I’ve never had to much fun.” A simple pool surrounded with changing rooms and a snack bar, built over a natural hot springs is truly a unique place.

Playing games and relaxing is ‘par for the course,’ and the pool even has inner tubes and a low diving board. However, ‘warning,’ if a friend suggests a game requiring time floating and wrestling while inside a tube, particularly if you are a male, wear a t-shirt to protect your chest… otherwise it might be days before your ‘nips,’ feels good, but if all else fails, have fun!!!

And if the formal pool is not satisfactory, an additional drive with a little increase in elevation will produce another less formal hot springs experience, sans bathing suit at Valley View Hot Springs. Mmmm, a fuzzy belly button, where parts are parts is the beautiful attire of the gathering. Ok, with all these soulful experiences, what can possibly be the next adventure…

Speaking of adventures, on the way to Durango, in the winter, stop at Wolf Creek Ski Area. Certainly the ski lifts have graduated from Palma lifts, a disc to straddle, to chair lifts, which lift the skiers off the ground.

However, many moons ago, as a young man the then final lift, which took skiers to the Continental Divide, sometimes was an extremely difficult lift to remain on. Even with stacked wooden shoring to heighten the ski path, just before going up a steep incline to the Divide, a lightweight skier was lifted off the ground and had a devil of a time keeping the tips of the skis in the two tracks.

Also, one thing about Lift #3, if you need assistance the operator will stop the apparatus in order provide an explanation as to how the lift operates. And as luck would have it, the previously mentioned skier was well pressed to stay on the lift when the lift was temporarily stopped. There is forever, another adventure to practice telling.

Wolf Creek happens to have an impressive amount of snow each ski season, upwards to 800 inches. Sometimes driving over the pass can be treacherous, in fact, skiers are likely to ski on almost 200 inches of snow as the base, so once the season begins never is there ‘just below the surface’ obstacles.

As a result, skiing through the trees, out in the powder, is a gutsy way to stir up the adrenaline, try your best, do not die, and eventually return to the log cabin lodge. If for some reason a skier has a chill, an

enormous, warm, pot bellied stove and something to eat and drink is the perfect cure. Oh, but please beware of low-lying branches while skiing through the pines, or you will require braces, if not worse.

Speaking of Durango, there are fantastically unique original narrow gauge trains, complete with coal car and billowing black smoke from the smoke stack pulling passenger cars, headed north to Silverton and on to Ouray.

The narrow gauge is a relic of the mining trade of the 1880’s thru 1930’s; the train is world famous since it is one of the few narrow gauge railroads left in existence. Of course Silverton and Ouray are comfortable old mining towns in the Rockies and a great place to have lunch and maybe stay.

If the spirit moves, properly prepared, and adventure calls, tell the train crew to stop halfway to Silverton at the Needleton Stop. After about a twelve-mile hike to the east into the mountains a pseudo open glade with old mines all around will be your heart-stopping destination.

This area is called Chicago Basin and massive mountains surround. Just to name a few, Windom Peak, Needle Ridge, Snowdon Peak, Glacier Point, Twin Thumb, Mt. Eolus, Sunlight Peak, Jupiter Mountain, Peak Eleven and Peak Twelve. Many of the mountain summits are above fourteen thousand feet in height, if the heart suggests it, four, yes four, Peaks can be accomplished in one day.

Hiking through Weminuche Wilderness in the Uncompahgre National Forrest is an indescribable experience and actually only the beginning in this wide-open land of mountains.

One other fascination is the open mine shafts with tailings ponds located around the Basin. With a flashlight and an overdose of bravery, a venturesome soul can go underground into the mineshafts. We did not bring a canary so going deep was unwise for many reasons.

Also, a description of huts maintained by the Suisse Alpine Club in Switzerland, at the base of many inexpressible climbs, will be discussed later.

Back to the east side of the valley we travel. All along the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, from Mt. Blanca in the south, to the mountains surrounding Crestone, the possibilities are endless. To mention a few just outside Crestone, Crestone Peak, Crestone Needle, Shadow Mountain, Mt. Bryant, South Maroon Peak, Kit Carson Peak, Challenge Point, Mt. Cleveland and Humboldt Peak.

Climbing either in the summer months or in a completely different fluffy period during the winter months, the mountains forever call, always challenge the wild at heart to ‘come up to the top,’ if you dare. Only one suggestion, always bring the correct equipment because the mountain man can be merciless… but the views are serene and peaceful. In addition, many ‘across the board’ people will be met along the way. As always, good luck, may the sun never blind you and may the wind be forever at your back.

And finally, at a young age and living in the country, a massive cottonwood tree became a second home. Scrounging in old barns, old lumber piles, just about any location, boards of whatever thickness and width with a reasonable length were found and a three-story tree house was built. With relatively thin, short boards as a stepping ladder into the upper reaches of the tree a three-sided fort became a secret place to hang out.

Interestingly enough, to enter the fort it was necessary to reach out to the side and partially pull up in order to unlock the up-swinging entry door. Each story was gained by crawling through an opening in the corner of the ceiling to appear on the floor of the next level. And finally, above the third floor existed a flat observation deck, a place where the commandos could plot out their next mission, and also a keen place to spend the night.

Thinking about what the monstrosity looked like hanging way up in the tree, kind of unique but a little scary made me wonder. Fortunately the last visit was a relief; someone had taken the treasured fort down. It was a sad moment, but nevertheless necessary.

At the time most buddies, including Steve, were younger in age but still good friends. Steve’s dad had a motorcycle and drank too much, however they had a great maple tree, which we built a nice tree house in its widespread branches.

This tree fort was so much nicer, much more accommodating and comfortable. Being architectural minded and having access to 4”x 4” lumber from my Dad’s workplace, the size of the fort was doubled. The heavier lumber formed an extension truss.

And since a neighborhood was being built not far away, supplies were readily available (in the middle of the night)? This was not kosher, yet it provided great necessities such as boards, plywood for the sides as well as a pitched roof, Celotex insulation, shingles, windows and carpet. Once again, honesty was not a strong part of the formula, however…

Anyway, we had a trap door with an upside down orange ‘warning’ cone as a simulated restroom. We managed a large cooler box against the tree in a secluded corner. This tree house also had a difficult entrance requiring the adventurous night crawler to pull out to unlock the padlock and then shimmy into the fort.

If adventure is your thing, particularly at this age, the William’s fort was a great place to spend time dreaming, hanging out. Many nights were spent talking about the next exploration, sports, girls and the future, “what are you doing this summer?” What a summer’s eve!

Running the rails, shooting a duck on the reclamation pond and waiting for it to float into shore, climbing up inside the elevator in an old manufacturing plant to capture pigeons… As a matter of fact in the plant there was a metal frame for a one-man helicopter, just think of the different possibilities!

And a dangerous afternoon on the property we started a D-7 Caterpillar bulldozer. Imagine a bunch of kids driving over everything imaginable. A serious problem developed; how in the world do we turn it off? Finally someone decided to put dirt in the diesel fuel tank? No one knew if this choked the life out of the machine or if someone actually pulled the correct lever or turned the right knob, who knows, the bulldozer stopped. All present, left post-haste for cover, a friend’s home. We developed great friends and had many laughs and a whole lot of fun. Those were the days.

Honestly, it is without a doubt easy to recognize the great state of Colorado. She is marvelous and adventurous, intriguing and has a ‘never-a-dull-moment’ landscape and untold excitement to offer. From Aspen to Boulder, Vail to Breckenridge, Steamboat Springs and Glenwood Springs, Durango to Mesa Verde. Central southern Colorado, surely if an adventurer does not live within it’s borders, time should be spent becoming familiar with some of the spectacular scenes Colorado offers.

Another interesting story includes a Great Grandfather, Eugene Secrest, an industrious frontiersman, known as Papa. Papa was a tall healthy man with tremendous spirit. His curious spirit took him to many different locations.

While wandering through the San Juan Mountains, on the west side of the valley, perhaps herding cattle, he found an abandoned copper mine high in the mountains. During the early days the mine was successful and truthfully, no one knew what the many colored stones coming out of the mine were. They simply threw copious amounts of gorgeous turquoise ore into the tailings ponds.

Much to his surprise, when Papa came across the mine and discovered the incredible amounts of turquoise lying around, he and his brother decided to file a claim and renamed the old copper mine the Villa Grove Turquoise Mine.

Not only did they gather the turquoise from the tailings pond, which was relatively easy, they proceeded to mine the old fashioned way. Much like the former copper miners, they mined out of a shaft and produced large amounts of turquoise.

Consider the time spent at high elevation, living in one-room log cabins. Yes, it was hard work, but the stories told of good times made it all worthwhile. Think about living just below tree line in the Rocky Mountains, living a spartan miners’ lifestyle, incredible times of struggle, trying to stay alive. Finally, the tremendous enrichment, both have probably forever been forgotten, maybe even lost.

Finally, for whatever reason, the decision to sell the mine came to pass and everyone thought the profit would be similar to the ‘luck of the Irish.’ Imagine the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy in Papa’s mind. To his dismay, he found out when his brother originally filed the claim both names were not placed on the deed. Weren’t they supposed to be? No one can determine why, but unfortunately his brother placed only his own name on the deed. As a result, sadly Papa received absolutely nothing from the sale of the mine. Should we wonder if they ever spoke to each other again?

To bring this story to somewhat current times, my family, upon occasion would wander into the high forests of the San Juan Mountains and visit the place of the Villa Grove turquoise stone. It was always an exciting adventure to kick around in the mining camp, see the rugged cabins, just to explore and imagine what it was like to live and work at the mine.

By this means, various chunks of raw turquoise still exist. In fact a fairly large, four-inch, chunk was pulled out of a water wheel set-up on a diverted portion of the stream. What could have the water wheel been used for? Maybe it was used to grind floor or to cut wood or create electricity?

And the reason the chunk exists, is because a child’s hand was small enough to pass through a small opening in the side of the wheel. Imagine a pre-teenager investigating the wheel with wonder, trying to figure out the purpose of the old weathered wooden water wheel. Then imagine the delight on the face of that youngster as he showed everyone the gorgeous bluish nugget he had just found.

Another unique story about Papa, certainly during his travels he did many interesting things. He and Great Grandmother Comer had five children, Kenneth, Emily, Wayne, Keith and Clyde. Uncle Clyde is the last living. During Papa’s many adventures he came across six ruby arrowheads. He thoughtfully gave each of his children an arrowhead and also gave Grandmother Comer an arrowhead as well. A beautiful ring was made, complete with a silver leaf covering half of the arrow end of the point. The design was well conceived and remarkably striking.

No one was ever told exactly where the spear points came from, however… In those days people were known to take a t-shaped tool and search across Native American Indian graveyards. By pushing the tool down they wished to find a horizontal grave marker below. And even though, back then, it was frowned upon, actually illegal in the present, they would dig up the grave.

In one of these excavations apparently the ceremonial points were found, and so… As written, Papa was an interesting frontiersman, explorer, miner and father and it is told had a mischievous sense of humor.

As a child, these adventures could have been read in a comic book or been told by the Hardy Boys in an adventure novel, yet to have taken part in and heard of these old west adventures, what a sensational story, they are Wild West fairy tales to celebrate and always cherish.

Surprisingly, the concept of searching for a job comes to mind and somehow it has been discovered, to earn a good living, a business in the San Luis Valley requires the worker to become a farmer who raises barley for the Coors Brewery or else pours drinks for thirsty patrons in a bar. Quite naturally, it was youthful thinking.

One fine day, wandering into a small, filling station and having the good fortune to meet the owner, it was the first opportunity to have an actual hourly paying job. Ben was a big boned man, rather slow but certainly honest and ran a steady gas station. Also the station included a shop next-door, which unexpectedly fixed radiators. In memory, the radiator shop had an air driven lift to attach the pressurized leaking radiator to, which allowed the radiator to be dipped into a water basin. With air pressure in the radiator the mechanic was able to locate and soldier the leak.

Surprisingly, we also repaired semi-tractor radiators. If the station owner did not charge the customer for the repair, the amount might not be enough. Which did happen, and the station owner was terribly disappointed, but managed to recover the loss. In thinking about it, what a simple way to enhance a filing station, repair radiators as well!!

Another benefit of the job was the opportunity to meet a Hispanic co-worker. Sam definitely knew how to fix radiators and drove a beautiful car and had a ‘snortin’ Norton motorcycle. He was a good friend and even invited buddies to his friend’s evening gatherings.

Interestingly enough, Sam liked to drink occasionally and as a result walking might be tough, but once the wheels on the Norton began to turn; he somehow always made it home.

Although, the job provided experience and was a way to earn a fair living, it was important. It was important because the salary made it possible to buy an inexpensive used car, a ‘67’ Chevrolet Malibu two-speed automatic. Also the greatest benefit of the job was to get reduced gasoline prices.

And, sadly, the thought of re-applying to drafting school was no longer considered. Thoughts had changed, aspirations were different and becoming a draftsman, maybe even an architect, was no longer a dream. Admittedly, becoming an architect would have been a correct direction, which leaves a fond memory and, honestly, sadness…

But most surprising, with a driver’s license and a car, freedom reigned and with delight, Friday and Saturday evening became learning experiences, a completely free and fun time.

Living in a small southern Colorado town of Alamosa… a small southern Colorado town… Alamosa… And like most small towns there really was not to many things to do.

In the summer a young person, usually a young man, could head to the baseball diamonds to play Little League at the Alamosa Baseball Diamond. The learning curve was embarrassing. Running to catch a fly ball, only to slip in the mud as the other fielder managed to catch the ball. Life goes on.

And in the wintertime, when the river was frozen, ice-skating or playing hockey was the pastime. Please don’t lift the puck. And as we grew older a friend had a six-wheeled buggy, which spun donuts on the ice.

In warm months, for the fisherman, the river was a mysterious and wonderful fishing hole. Other fishermen know the patience required to catch a meandering river fish. Bushwhacking through the willows, trying not to snag the fishing pole on the weeds, to the riverside and sitting for hours to catch a few fish, that’s what it was about.

Also for those with bow and arrow, walking through the water and ‘herding’ suckers and catfish into a river side-cut, allowed a fairly good shot. Be careful; do not puncture the wading boots, otherwise nasty blisters appear.

And there is a large city park. Cole Park had a dirt drive around the grass and a zoo at the northern end. Out in the middle of the grass there is a WWII heavy-artillery gun emplacement, which can be dreamed on. And the south end of the park, by the City Library, is a narrow gauge train, which back then could be climbed on, including a coal car and a passenger car.

Imagine the adventures young people had in the Park and at these memorials. Great make-believe invasions and train robberies were drawn up and acted out. Many conquests and a few deaths occurred. What fun!

Rows of old narrow gauge cattle cars are found outside of town on abandoned tracks, and as commandos, the idea to blow them up was a form of youthful entertainment. Black Cat firecrackers and some matches was all the demolition team needed.

Actually the best fun was climbing on top of the cars and running from car to car. The interesting part was jumping from one car to the next, not falling and breaking a leg or worse.

And for the heck of it, a ‘sneaked out the window’ 12-gauge shotgun went along for the ride. When necessary, they might have to shoot a harmless duck? Again…

The mighty Rio Grande River (stream) passed through the valley which caused Main Street to end abruptly at the western riverbank, so therefore a turn around existed at the east end of Main. In some ways we thought we were in the fifties, we would be cool and repeatedly ‘drag Main.’

So if you had a stylish car, you were a Big Daddy. Admittedly, sometimes finding girls to talk with, maybe try to kiss, was on the back of one’s mind. And occasionally 3.2% beers from friends who attended the small Adams State College might appear and other times we might notice girls from other San Luis Valley towns like Manassas, a tiny Mormon town just to the south. Talking with them might end up being the temptation for the night. To clarify, Colorado no longer has 3.2% beer, the current beer is higher in alcohol percentage and also, no longer can an 18-year-old legally drink. Now, you must be 21 years old to imbibe.

If beers were involved or not, and girls were agreeable, being careful was always important. Particularly if the girls were older and planning something not necessarily above board, there might be trouble. One night a couple of girls took us out to their home and the result, there was a non-agreed or forced exchange of money from our pocket to the boyfriend’s pocket. Luckily we survived and were no worse for the wear.

During this time, a good friend John, whose Father owned a Skelly gas station, was my partner in crime. John lived outside town towards the ranch and always had the latest cruiser. John’s first car was a two door sporty Javelin with stripes on the outside and stripes inside on the upholstery and ceiling.

Supposedly Mother needed the car, conveniently, not long before he was old enough to drive. Thus, when John turned sixteen, he was given his Mother’s trick wheels, what a convenient arrangement, obviously with no complaints.

For a time John had the nicest car in town, but one famous night in Trinidad, Colorado, while the Alamosa Maroons basketball team was setting the state scoring record, someone crashed into him and totaled his beautiful car. No one was issued a ticket even though John might have had a beer or two.

A few days later the conversation was about the record and about the car. Sorry to say, while observing the mangled wreck, if you did not know what type of car it was, there was no guessing. It was beyond recognition, regrettably a depressing sight. It was a miracle nothing happened to him or the other driver in the crash.

Next chapter, not long afterwards his Dad, ‘daddy war bucks,’ blessed him with a lovely bronze Gran Torino, which included stripes. No one seriously knows if they had a Father-Son conversation regarding the first wrecked car, but the new car was a great upgrade.

Nevertheless this car was an immense improvement over the first car. Obviously still a two door, though a great deal stronger and crash resistant. And, if you consider setting in the rear seat, the doors were longer, thus climbing in was easier. The music system was higher grade, the overall look and the feel for two high school youngsters was far better.

During this period a ‘67’ Malibu was of interest. It was not believable, just to have wheels was a true joy, the idea of a first car… After custom painting the Malibu, a lighter green color with even lighter spider web panels on the hood and deck panel, the car had a nice appearance and was a pleasure to drive.

Although there was style, the transmission was a two speed automatic and amusingly the car had a good feel and required the normal five quarts of oil, but would run on only three quarts. Put five quarts in and two would burn up? While working at the station/radiator shop an attempt to fix the problem simply filed the radiator shop with black smoke. Somewhat perplexing, but what was, was…

Not long after, the Malibu was traded for a dream car, a ‘67’ Chevrolet Chevelle. The same auto painters suggested an upgrade. This monster had a seriously custom 427 cubic cm. engine, which replaced the 396 cubic cm. inch stock engine. Also a part of this little rocket was an Edilbrock 850 high-rise carburetor, a Hurst shifter, 411 gears in the rear end, 15-50 Mickey Thompson tires on the rear, baby moon rims, etc.

The Chevelle also was custom-painted, fortunately the car had a black vinyl top which was helpful during the pre-paint sanding. The Chevelle was painted gorgeous silver-flake and had a low profile hood scoop. Gold, into red, into blue flames immerged from the front of the car up and over the scoop and down the sides. Not only was it a beauty it outran every other car except a spiffy newer Corvette. The Chevelle could only do approximately 130 miles per hour in the quarter mile.

And given the size of the rear tires, which were consequently outside the wheel wells, an attempt to raise the rear portion of the car by adding steel spacers under the rear springs, almost caused a nasty crash. After placing the lifters below the rear springs to raise the back end and going for a test drive, the temptation to show off was irresistible.

Leaving the stoplight on Main Street and spinning the rear tires produced an uncontrollable car. The hot rod veered across opposing traffic lanes, fortunately no other cars were oncoming. Obviously the spacers were definitely not the solution, so much for the proposed fix?

As I mentioned, John was definitely blessed in many ways. After his freshman year in college he returned to Alamosa and we planned a road trip to Denver. We stayed at a college friend’s home in Wheat Ridge, west of Denver.

On Thursday night we went out to chase girls and have a beer. Irresponsibly, trouble happened, the next morning downtown City Jail was an unpleasant result. The wheels of law turned quickly and the derelict was sentenced to work for the City for one day. Getting out and doing the time was acceptable.

The hours passed and surprisingly John never bailed me out? During the day a trustee sweeping the floor outside the cell was called over. Adamantly the advice was not to spill the beans. Thirty to ninety days in jail is the punishment. But if not released today, the weekend will be spent in jail? Don’t do it! Don’t tell anyone, but during the court appearance, a less than true, name was given. Still the same, don’t admit it!

Sitting on the top bunk and remorsefully peering out watching the cars passing in downtown, get comfortable. Dinner arrived, as did sadness. Remarkably an Officer came to the cell and apologized for overlooking the release order. However, you must return Monday to serve your time. Absolutely, thank you so much.

What a relief! Is ‘difficulty,’ my middle name? There was no way to contact John’s unknown friend who lived out by Golden and with no transportation? The mind thinks rapidly during times of trouble. Hitch hiking west was a start. Finally a telephone number was found and they came to Colfax Avenue to the rescue.

Of course, we intended to drive back to Alamosa the following day, but do to circumstances, plans changed. Punishment was dusting records, surprisingly seeing the amount of records, wow! The sentence was served Monday in the Judicial Building. Early release was generously granted. Finally we were able to drive south to the Valley.

One evening we cruised up and down Main and a particular car was out of place. All the cars on Main Street were parallel parked on both sides, but one car, one car was almost three feet off the curb and sticking out into traffic. Most likely someone would not notice this poor park job and crash into the unsuspecting car. Many people were cruising up and down Main Street that night and finally a couple of lovely girls from Manassas, or somewhere, decided to share our ride.

With great long doors the back seat in the Gran Torino was readily available, with two in the front seat and two in the rear seat, God was shining down. Cruising Main and getting to know one another was enjoyable, when, of all possibilities, someone, as mentioned before, ran into the incorrectly parked car. And yes indeed, John’s second wonderful car was totaled and somehow, for whatever reason, he was not pleased. The lovely girls left as soon as possible, can’t blame them.

During the extended police report, with his or her permission, it was necessary to walk across Main to a vacant lot, where no one could observe, to use the restroom. John was beside himself and didn’t know what to do. Of all things, he knew, just after beginning a beautiful conversation with two gorgeous girls, this was a terrible time to have an accident. Looking back on this mistake? What could conceivably happen next?

The third time around, on the vehicle roller coaster, the solution definitely was not as luxurious. This time, John’s parents were not as forgiving or generous. And yes, John’s parents did give him another car, somewhat newer, yet, as mentioned, not a sporty car to cruise in.

It happened to be a black and white Chevrolet pickup truck… just about the bottom of the barrel, anything but a sleek, James Bond ‘007’ man’s car. Then again, at least it was transportation, although it did leave a lot to be desired.