"To engage an unknown experience with bravery, we need to have a specific relationship established within ourselves. The relationship is one that includes self-love, feeling safe being yourself, trusting yourself, and self-security."
"...we make the choice to...what we need to do to feel the feeling - its energy - instead of stuffing it down or acting it out. The practice of self-love allows us to respond instead of react." - Colorado Parent, 7/2020
The City of Denver worried a group of protesters was forming an autonomous zone on Wednesday. ...like Seattle... Dozens of protesters set up tents and a food station that they said was intended to serve those experiencing in the south end of Civic Center Park. They planned to stay the night as part of an "occupy" protest. ...Denver Park Rangers and Police began a dialogue this afternoon... ...after midnight...more tents had appeared. Police say they used mace and batons... The city said...to prevent the park from being taken over. ...posts on the Afro Liberation's Instagram story [police say calls] the site a Denver Autonomous Zone... - 9NEWS, 7/3/2020
…"a store's windows...broken to prevent, a protestor's facial bones from being broken or eye being permanently damaged...is more than a fair trade. If a building must be graffitied to prevent the suppression of free speech, that is a fair trade. The threat to physical safety and free speech outweighs the threat to property." - Life On Capitol Hill, 7/2020
...I express my deep appreciation...for the...way you've...weather the storm... ...big challenges [such as] the race and social injustice protests in downtown Denver... Local business owners are our friends and neighbors... Regarding the protests, as an elected official, I...ask, "How can I share this power with my constituents?" ...bring...accountability back to our government.. ...a deep dive into policies... ...a proposed charter change amendment that would give the city council approval of the mayor's cabinet members... Every day of the protests, I've engaged with constituents and the Denver Police Department... I've also spoken with the press...
"If it's not a (public) school, it will not hold as much value to the community. Before it closed, everyone's kids from the...neighborhood went to that school. ...we won't know who is supporting the community and its students."
"Schools serve as a center for activity and energy of a neighborhood." ...options to serve the community [include] closing the gap on the demand for early childhood education[, also a neighborhood] only blocks away...is a childcare desert. "To take a public asset out of the community seems risky." - Washington Park Profile, 7/2020
I ran for council the first time because I felt like my peer group wasn't represented. I thought we needed a thirtysomething to bring that voice of what an hourly worker is experiencing - that view of what Summit County is. - Colorado Summit, Summer/Fall 2020
Saturday is the 4th. I expected to get less than enough sleep, being surrounded by neighbors on all sides launching fireworks. I didn't expect never to get to sleep. A little after 12:30 AM, they have been going for 3 1/2 hours. I go out to see what the aftermath of a fireworks orgy looks like. The house next to my townhome complex usually has it's small front yard full of pickup trucks. There is a small space between the trucks where I see some three guys in caps sitting in lawn chairs. They have some kind of spotlight they sit next to. By 2 AM, the last of the stragglers have stopped. I realize I didn't check the mail. I go back out in my parking lot. The trio is still out there. The extended collection of residents who live in this house have always appeared to be Latino. In the past, I saw some of them wearing the purple shirts of the workers who clean up the downtown pedestrian mall. This evening, I hear English. Either these are visitors or Caucasian poachers. It's another odd summer in the Rockies. Overnights are 50s-60s F. Days feel like 100. It's cool out with a full moon. In the morning, I'm leaving to pick up some photos across town and then go swimming. All this in spite of the fact that I haven't slept since I woke up yesterday morning. Around 9:30 AM it's 92 degrees F but it feels like 100. I turn toward the neighbor's place to have a look at how much leftover firework debris all the noise produced. Last night sounded as if mortars and machine guns were going off. There's much less evidence of the war movie soundtrack noise than I would have expected. When I am coming back through the neighborhood across the boulevard, I will see multiple sites of home fireworks shows from the previous evening. This morning, there is a young Caucasian guy sitting in silence, on the front step which is hidden behind a yard full of pickup trucks. It's standing room only. When I return late in the afternoon, an inflatable swimming pool will be positioned in an available spot between the home and one of the trucks. I will spot a different Caucasian guy, who appears as if he's the Marlboro Man in a short-sleeved stylish buttoned down shirt, leaning on one of the trucks. The pickup with a suspension almost twice the height of the others has lettered facing out on its rear window, "Dirty Hands, Clean Money." The owner forgot, "Non-stop Fireworks."
Oh, it's nice to have a working back rim, along with brakes. Last week (or was it two?) during my first workout after seven weeks, I believe I stressed m right knee. It's a bit weak pedaling as it first was climbing stairs, and I will notice it getting in and out of the pool. I'm across town once again. I grab my photos, and then I have the task of finding my way south to the waterpark. I must negotiate my way around an interstate, and find the safest route across busy avenues and away from busy boulevards. I swear, some of these streets I've been over before. Too many companies I've worked for, too many far flung locations, too many odd hours of the day and night. I hardly feel as though it's the least bit unusual to be without sleep. I pass a church where I vaguely remember a bazaar. I think I was in a 7-Eleven just recently, which I cruise past. I'm rolling along an apartment complex. One guy is carrying a box as he tells another resident, "I'm moving. I'm so over this place." This summer, I've seen neighborhoods with US flags draped from roof overhangs. Around a corner, across the last avenue and down a residential street. I'm making my way past crowded bungalows. On the west side is a home with a flagpole. It has, below its own US flag, blue and white "Trump America" flag. Directly across the street is another bungalow. On its flagpole is a single Colorado rainbow flag. It's in front of this home where a pickup with a huge suspension is parked.
At long last, after an hour and 37 minute ride from the only camera store in the metro area which processes black and white film, I arrive at the avenue with the waterpark. I left one extra large water bottle home, and only have my canteen, which I empty before the final push to my destination. I sit under a tree and wave visitors ahead of me in line. When the park opens I join the line. I step out of line to snap a photo of a growing thunderstorm. It's something of a tradition to attempt to swim and make it home before a suspected downpour. Unless it's so hot, you prefer to take a rain shower...such as today. I rejoin the line a second time. A mom behind me doesn't like this. She asks me if I am with the people ahead of me. I reply, "Sure." She then asks her son if I'm his dad. I don't know what she's worried about. We all have reservations and will get inside. Otherwise, it's nice to be here on a day when I'm not necessarily rushing to swim and get home. One kid joins me in line at my favorite slide into the deep end of the regular pool. It's called the "drop slide." He's small and enjoys doing cannonballs down the slide. There's a curvy woman in a tiny bright red bikini. Among the families swimming in the shallow end, a guy in a black T-shirt stands up and talks to a younger woman. He's talking about the activity schedule at some summer physical fitness program, about budgeting a household. I never see him move from his spot. I uncharacteristically spend the majority of the allotted two-hour reservation here before heading home. The storm didn't move in until now. It appears as if the visitors on the final time slot are the ones who will be cheated out of any sun today. 'Tis a typical summer day on the bike trail. Everyone and their grandmother is out riding in packs. It must be hot indeed. The river along the trail home is almost bone dry, more so that I ever remember seeing it.
On Monday, I'm at work when the general manager comes in. I mention my sleepless night on the 4th. He tells me he's never seen so many home fireworks displays. His own family spent $500. When I get home, in the mail is a notice from services rendered by the urologist. The notice comes before the bill, letting me know how much the bill will be. Rather than the estimate my insurance company gave me, around $1,200, the notice informs me that my part of the bill will be $1.45. That's one dollar and forty-five cents. There's a message on the voicemail of my landline. It's from one of the four guys soaking my bike with the rec center in ground sprinkler system. He apologized, but said he noticed me looking at him. (As he looked at me, and I looked at him...) He said he was surprised I "didn't jump up" and say something. That must be because, instead of jumping up, I make a phone call. Still, I'm impressed that he called. On Tuesday, the owner came into my store. This Thursday, my store is expanding hours. I will be moving to an afternoon shift. Wednesday. I'm on the way home after work and hungry. I detour to a supermarket off a highway between work and home. I've been here once in a while, since I've gone back to work at our location south of Denver. There's always one homeless guy hanging around outside. I grab some hot wings and take the short ride to a park. The park is along the way from the supermarket to one entrance for the bike trail home. There's one collection of metal picnic tables under a metal roof. A couple of women are seated at one table. From their discussion, one goes on about her living situation. The other could perhaps be her case worker, as the other has a laptop. After the first leaves, the other remains to speak on the phone. The park also has another set of metal picnic tables, these partially covered and enclosed by brick on a couple of sides. This is where the homeless in this park hang out, or hide. I see one asleep in a hammock which is attached and hung up. Another, with long grey hair, is spinning some kind of string like a lasso. As I much my wings, I watch a mom walk in the park with her two daughters. One is a toddler, who lags behind because her heel has come out of her shoe, until Mom fixes it. I watch as this trio of separate classes all simultaneously occupy the same municipal green space.
Thursday. In my ever-changing schedule, I have today off. I will end up being gone all day. This morning, I'm headed for a workout and a swim at the waterpark, followed by a stop at the particular supermarket with my low fat cheese. From there, I will head home to drop off the perishable items, swimsuit, and towel, and douse my perspiring head with the hose from the kitchen sink before I head back down the street to the bank followed by some more groceries I need from a less expansive supermarket. A long day, but I believe a fruitful one. I won't have to do all this stuff on Sunday, when I will have cooking to do for the coming week. I'm out on the trail as it's closing in on 10:30 AM. I'm rolling past a woman sitting on a gravel patch, in the shade of a trash can. She's dressed as any other suburban grandma might be; Capris, tank top, and ball cap all in pastel colors. Her bicycle lay on the gravel next to her. A stolen shopping cart is parked next to the trash can. The cart is piled as high as it can be. As I roll past her, she looks up at me. She's missing her two front upper teeth. I arrive at the rec center just in time to realize that, I remembered almost everything. I forgot a second water bottle on this week of record temperatures (and evenings remaining in the 60s F.), but that bottle will end up coming in handy along my second supermarket journey. The important thing I forgot are the sneakers, because I ain't supposed to workout in sandals at any gym. Fortunately for me, no one mentions anything to be about it. Nice guys that they are.
I get to the waterpark a little after noon, and a good hour before my "reservation." I decide to sit under a shady tree in the huge park right next door, and I write this. I've been riding through this park, most recently for two solid months, until three years ago for almost a couple of years. This is the first time I've stopped to sit under one if its trees. A creek enters one end and flows through its considerable length. Families may picnic, play in the creek, sunbathe, throw the frisbee. Last week I saw one guy shoveling sand into a dam (?). A mom arrives with her young son as a young girl they appear to know approaches them. The kids begin chasing each other. "Can't catch me!" "Can too!" "No too!" Inside the waterpark, I head for the men's locker room. It smells like Clorox, just cleaned. I notice a door I never have before. There's a janitorial closet between the men's and women's locker room. Unfortunately, each side has a separate door. I notice that both doors are open, and it becomes obvious that one may see through all the way to the other locker room. great design. I notify a park employee. After a fine swim, I complete the aforementioned trip for the rest of the afternoon. When I have groceries in hand, including dinner, I briefly stop to eat at a bus shelter in front of the store. A guy comes down the sidewalk. When he passes me, he says, "Jeez! The heat!" I can't remember if he says it's outrageous, abominable, or abhorrent. Then he tells me to have a great day. No wonder he's hot. He's in long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He carries a backpack and a full cloth bag. he spends a few minutes pacing in and out of the bus shelter, looking as if for a bus, swinging his arms. Then he crosses the avenue.
"In an effort to reclaim our spaces, our communities, and our history, I have made it my duty to work to regain the essence of Denver Colorado's historically black neighborhood." ...the "Five Points" that was...the "Harlem of the West"...long before two artists coined the RiNo name... Today, Five Points has become "perhaps the model of gentrification across the nation." - Westword, 7/9-15/2020
...with a disgruntled Muslim element on the right and...Communist underground on the left, there remained...poles of attraction... "...there was really no idea of where the country should go after independence...a struggle for spoils rather than...new directions and goals. The [political] parties simply became little oligarchies..." [Some in the Army] would have done away with all parties [for] at least a quasi-permanent Army rule... ...despite Suharto's...constant disavowal of...a military dictatorship...military men...were still intent on carefully consolidating their own positions. If, after the Vietnam War was finally ended, there would be a "third force" in Asia, and if, as many hoped, such a force would be...nonaligned and essentially Socialist...Indonesia would...be...more important than...Vietnam, where events were likely to be indecisive for some time to come. ...specific projects that could generate self-help and improve employment...the more would be the position of the modernists - the economic experts and those looking...to...more meaning than mystique... [Singapore Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew] said that the [Vietnam] war was being fought 'to decide that Vietnam shall not be repeated."...in Southeast Asia... The war...enabled Singapore and other nations [make money selling goods and services to South Vietnam.] ...President Johnson [called him] a...brilliant political leader...of new Asia. - Shaplen
Friday. I'm on the way to work, just off the trail, and climbing a hill through a sleepy residential neighborhood. Open space and horse trail lay just beyond back yards. I'm pedaling past a couple of women in a driveway. Both strike me as around 40 years of age. One is telling the other about her basement. It's full of her husband's filing cabinets. Could he be a lawyer? I don't stick around to find out. I have a hill to climb. Today, another employee who works at this store has been called back to work. She is the mother of the wife, of the cousin of the guy I worked with at our downtown store. The guy who had misadventures I would hear about, sometimes directly from him, sometimes from his side of a phone conversation with furniture outlets and phone companies and city agencies. The guy who lives with his cousin and cousin's wife, who admitted to petty crimes and to plans to "hustle" in the park downtown during his furlough. The guy who has alluded to gang connections and had his homeless friends stick their heads in the store to say hi. His cousin's wife's mom works the morning shift, and I now come in at noon, shortly before when I see her this morning. I ask her how the cousin of her son-in-law is doing. She laments his drinking and complains that he's living "the unemployment life." I ask her if the morning schedule works for her. She replies that it's fine as she isn't "on an ankle monitor now." I wasn't aware she had any criminal convictions. I mention that she forgot to turn on the electric "open" sign. She laughs and replies that she "must have been high" before letting me know that she's just kidding. It sounds as if she expects me to know that one of her sons was incarcerated when she announces that she has "some good news." He's been released to a halfway house. He originally had a six-year sentence, for what she doesn't say. Though she mentions that he will soon begin his anger-management classes. After work, I'm pulling into my townhome parking lot. A guy who I don't recognize is shuffling toward the back of the complex. He wears no shoes or socks, but he strikes me as a resident. I go inside, change, and come back out to water the flowers. I can hear this guy arguing with a female resident toward the back of the complex. I hear him say something about her making noise. Is he kidding? He has nothing to say about the fireworks overnight on the 4th? On Saturday, I'm making my way down the trail again to work. I'm rolling past a dog park as a guy comes along from the parking lot for the park. He's on his Bluetooth, talking to someone about the stupidity of those who refuse to wear masks, "as a matter or rights." When I get to work, I decide to run over to Trader Joe's to grab a couple or oranges for my iced tea. When I'm in there, it doesn't occur to me that every other shopper has white hair. As I come out, I hear an employee at the door telling a young woman, "There's ten more minutes for the senior shopping hour." I then see a line of people, all six feet apart, beginning to form. No one stopped me from joining the senor shoppers...do I look that old?
Sunday. I woke up shortly after 1 AM. I don't know how cool it is outside, but as I don't have central air conditioning, it's hot inside. I get up and get some iced tea. I rinse down my head with cold water and attempt to wash the perspiration out of my eyes. I turn on a fan until 2 AM and then go back to sleep. I awake some four hours later with a full night's sleep. No, this will not be another July 5th. Around noon, I head out for the short ride to the supermarket, for a handful of items. I'm just across the street. On the corner is a red stolen shopping cart. Yards away, a guy is pushing an identical shopping cart down the street. In the cart is a flat screen TV. I turn down the street to the supermarket. The short ride is a vision of the occasional vehicle with a smashed front end, of flags displayed outside of homes, and of curbs filled with parked trucks and cars. Somebody has come to pay a visit to someone around here, on this sleepy and hot Sunday smack in the middle of the summer. It's a family kind of neighborhood. The streets are for hot shots racers. I watch a young kid on his little BMX bike come out from hiding, behind a huge pickup, just in time to spot another huge pickup coming down the street. I pass the third identical shopping cart before I pass a car with a red heart balloon tied to the driver side mirror. Music comes from inside the home where the vehicle is parked. A birthday party? Then, looking through the window behind the driver, I can see the opposite window appears as if someone put their fist through it. The rest of the entire window is shattered.
Tuesday. I ride most of the way home with just a few rain drops falling. Toward the end of the trail, the drops begin slowly picking up. I park under a tree and decide to put my poncho on. I approach the trailhead as the drops pick up quickly. The drops turn into a downpour. Just before the trailhead, two middle-aged guys and a kid come from an intersecting branch of the trail. One guy is running and the other two are on bikes. The guy on the bike is telling the kid to "Hurry. Go. Go. Go" I cross the busy thoroughfare from the trail to the street. I turn up a long hill as the downpour turns into waves of rain. Water floods the gutter on my side of the street. Toward the top of the hill, the rain lets up. I turn up a residential street. On the ground in a spent yellow shotgun shell. The following morning, I come into work. I mention to my coworker that I got caught in the rain the day before. Her jaw drops. "It rained yesterday?" she asks. A few hours later, a salesman pulls up in a big van. He's going into each store in the shopping center. He comes inside to say he's from Kentucky. He has no mask on. He demonstrates an all purpose cleaning solution. It cleans a spot on the floor pretty well. It must have something such as Xylol as an active ingredient. In art school, we cleaned our serigraph screens with Xylol, which came in metal gallon cans, and is toxic. I decline his offer to purchase a collection of his cleaning solution bottles. I'm living these days on $25 per week. He's off to the next store.
Saturday. Perhaps beginning last week, I've seen what appears to be individuals panning for gold in the Platte River. The river has been visibly low all month. This morning, as I cross a bridge over the river, I spot an angler in waders down below. This morning, everyone and their grandmother is out on the trail. Runners and cyclists must sneak around one end of a homeless tent sticking out on the trail. Further along, they must do the same with a snake crossing the trail. Am I comparing the homeless to snakes? Yes. (Just kidding.) On the way home in the afternoon, I'm stopped at the trailhead exit on the way home, just across a bridge over the river. A young homeless guy on a bike is coming down a dirt path off the trail, along this side of the river. He nonchalantly says, "I'm sorry sir, this is private property. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. So...go kick rocks." He laughs. He's homeless...and uninterested in, to quote Woody Allen, planet Earth. I'm across the bridge, and across the highway, and around the corner and halfway up a hill. Coming down a street (which I take the opposite direction on the way to work) is a middle-aged homeless guy. He's dressed all in black, is on a black bike, and tows an attached black dolly. His long hair is up in several homeless man buns.
Sunday. The heat keeps me up and I get a half a night's sleep. In the early afternoon, I decide to get lunch at a deathburger just down the street. I lock up my bike just before a young guy and his friend show up on their own bikes. This guy speaks with a voice which suggests he occupies a unique place on the mental health spectrum. He comes in behind me. An employee asks him to put on a mask. He asks for one. They have them for sale for a dollar. After he orders, he goes to the window and knocks on it. His friend, who is outside, takes this as his cue to come inside. His friend goes into the men's room. The kiosks are shut down. On one kiosk, the text is displayed upside down. I order and take a seat. There are chairs in the lobby which are not up on the tables. Even though I get my food in a to go bag, there are no sign sat the entrance or inside informing customers that the dining room is closed. I'm eating in a booth next to a window. I'm taking a look at the guy's bike parked outside. It has extra-long handlebars, and it appears he must have taken his seat inside with him, as it's not on his bike. Though I don't see him with it. Only one of his grips has a brake lever, and I don't see any brake cables anywhere on his bike. I can see his rear brakes are unclamped, as when the rear rim needs to be removed. He's ordered and has his food and his mask, and he sits a couple of booths behind me. I'm almost done with my meal before an employee comes out to tell me that the dining room is in fact not open. As I collect my last bit of food, the employee tells the same thing to the guy behind me. He informs the employee that he's waiting for his friend. It's an odd fake lunch, with a guy who has an odd voice. Back home, I sit down and feel as if I will pass out from lack of sleep. The following morning, I will awake as if out of a mental fog. Later on this afternoon, I get dinner at the new Mexican place across the street. It's where the old Mexican place was. I like the new menu. The waitress sounds as if she's bilingual. I inquire about using English. She prefers Spanish. I ask about the previous establishment here, where I've been eating for the past 13 years. She attempts to pronounce "Google" in English, suggesting they moved. Downtown this afternoon, in the park between the state capitol and the legislature, was the 6th annual Back the Blue rally. It was in an outdoor theatre at one end of the park. I heard about it on the radio yesterday. I would later hear on the radio that it was started six years ago in response to the impression by some, that former Attorney General Eric Holder decided he disliked the police. I would later see some footage of the rally taken from a phone and posted online. I think I've sorted out the various mutations of the US flag I've seen carried by various marchers. The black and white US flag with the single blue stripe is "pro-police." The all black and white US flag represents "resistance," against the current president and his policies, I think. As for all the standard US flags I've seen displayed outside all the homes I ride past to and from work, I will see this week one of those flags at a home with a yard sign. The sign is a list of what the residents' support, from science to human rights. I will also see a US flag outside the home, along with a young couple who appear to be hipsters.
Monday, I'm off to the gym before work. I'm off the bike trail and on a tiny median, waiting for the light to cross a highway. I've pressed the button when another cyclist comes onto the same tiny median. She asks me to push the button. I tell her I already did, and she appears not to hear me. We cross at the light. She reaches the next corner and crosses the intersection on a red light. I conclude that she never pushes the button for the crosswalk herself. I'm sure she's avoiding any unnecessary contact during this pandemic. Tuesday. Out on the trail to work. Just past what I used to refer to as golf course #2, I come out from an underpass and past a VFW hall. There appears to be two RV campers parked here, one behind the other. Behind these is a car packed with clothes. between the last camper and the car, attached to a hitch on the camper, is a flatbed trailer. It's full of black plastic full garbage bags. I'm convinced that these are occupied by homeless. Later on, I'm out of work and rolling through a residential neighborhood just across the boulevard. I will take a route home off of much of the trail this late afternoon, and again, all along the way I will see flag after US flag displayed outside of homes. From big flags to tiny ones. On this street within sight of my store, I stop in front of one home with a big US flag hanging vertically from the gutter. It's in front of the porch, and behind it sits a woman in a chair. All I can see of her are her legs behind this flag. Before I can pull out my camera, a cool breeze blows the flag up. It was a beautiful ride to work this morning, as the 60 degree overnight low made its way toward the heat of the day. As I make my way through the ritzy neighborhood, on a short trip along the horse trail, I exit this trail and turn up a street toward a couple of city blocks of middle-class homes. It's a dreamy, cool and breezy early evening ride under broken clouds. It's one of those rides home when you can feel the summer and summers past in the air. The end of a summer day, when it's cooled off, when you have someone you love in your arms. The kind of late afternoon you soak up. I pass more than one beautiful young mom in her driveway. I pass one home, not the first I've seen with a flagpole in the yard. This one has a US flag above a yellow Don't Tread On Me flag. A guy with a long black beard takes his small daughter into his pickup truck. Several tires sit in the bed. Further down the street I suddenly smell French bread. I reach a crosstown street which takes me through a small neighborhood park. Just beyond, I enter a short trail on the to rejoin the main one home. I comment out loud that I can't believe no one is in my way at this part of my ride. Usually at this spot, there's a confluence of bicycle and pedestrian traffic. I've spoken too soon. From the trail hidden behind some trees emerges a grey-bearded guy leading a line of some four or so other riders, all on ten speeds. I first hear his voice, "Right turn!" I then make a left in front of them as he tells one of the others simply, "Signal." Another cyclist signals with his arm for a right turn. Dream over, I'm awake again. Right after they pass me, I'm through a short tunnel when I hear more voices.. At the other end is a homeless couple. They're off the trail, on the grass, sitting with their bikes. I hook back up with the trail, and soon I roll past the campers again.
Wednesday. I'm just on the trail. Ahead, I spot a cyclist who made a U-turn and is parked in the oncoming lane. When I pass him, he's stopped on his bike, having a smoke. He's a middle-aged guy with no helmet, looks like he hasn't shaved in some days, and is dressed all in black. A few yards down, I look across the river and watch a guy on the opposite bank. He's halfway down the slope from the road toward the water, and he's walking his bike along this incline through trees and weeds. His skin is as brown from the sun as his hoodie and shorts. This week, I received in the mail both two statements and one bill, all from the specialist i saw last month. My total bill will not be $1.45, as a previous single statement suggested. Hey, I never know what my health insurance company is going to do. The specialist and the lab want a total of two grand. I pay the specialist with my savings. The other twelve hundred I don't have. After a call I make on Monday to the lab, I find out that they will knock off 25% if I pay on time. This I could do with the help of my next paycheck, which I was going to bank anyway. Which also means I had other plans for the money. Such as save it. I may also be able to borrow the rest. Otherwise, the lab does have payment plans. When I get to the gym on Wednesday, I'm told by the employee behind the desk that I have four visits left on my membership card. This is the same employee who used the words "sprinkle the bike" in reference to a test of the rec center in ground sprinkler system. I ask her how much to refill the card. She tells me that the rec center is waiting for the governor to decide whether or not he wants to again shut down most businesses in the state. I haven't seen or heard anything about this, online or from anyone else. After work, I'm crossing the last bridge over the river, along the trail home after work. I'm at one end behind a poor guy on a bike. In one arm, he's attempting to hold either a cooler or an ottoman.
Our summer season might be shorter than what lower-elevation cycling meccas...but as with many aspects of high-country living, what matters is quality...of hours spent in the saddle. ...swooping layout as well as the mesmerizing aspen forest through which it swoops...
...August 18, 2019...summit of 14,265-foot Quandry Peak...a quartet of local eighth graders led by some of their fathers...are talking about throwing back flips off cornices. "We should skin this and ski this winter." ..two mountain bikers come bouncing down...at 12,900 feet, barely holding on. "Yeah, we ran out of nice trail!" "I don't think anyone actually likes hiking up. But that's why you do it, right? To say you did it?"
"We're absolutely a white-collar company in a blue-collar world." ...you can go from shopping for luxury furniture to eating a grass-fed burger via an open doorway. The array of services under one roof would be rare in Manhattan... - Colorado Summit, Summer/Fall 2020
...530 acres of paradise...it was the lure of this land that captured their imagination. ...the richness of the landscape and wildlife exudes a powerful spiritual connection and brings a healing solace to the soul. One could not ask for a more compelling environment... "...the guest house - about 2,200 square feet..." - Vail Valley Magazine, Summer 2020
...during the global pandemic. Many people are experiencing vivid dreams; powerful old emotions resurfacing for healing; odd physical sensations...
Many Americans choose to travel in recreational vehicles (RVs)... "It's about getting our of that social norm of always knowing what the next day is going to be like... ....a little bit of the unknown, the unexpected." Cleaning out portable toilets and taking showers at truck stops can be challenging... "The world actually isn't a scary place at all." "Maybe that means working less and living more frugally, so you see a rise in minimalism..." - natural awakenings, 6/2020
Friday. On the trail to and from this week, I've so far seen a couple of different men outside the pair of campers parked in front of the VFW. One is a skinny guy. Yesterday, on the way home, a Caucasian woman who looked like any housewife was outside the door of one of one of the campers. This morning, the skinny guy is at the back of the flatbed. The trailer is not full of trash bags. It has a big black plastic tarp over its contents. The tarp is up now, and the skinny guy is unloading a moped. The rest of the flatbed appears to have assorted furniture and items such a sink. Down the trail, onto the next and all the way to this trail's end, I exit next to a corral, where a horse lives. This morning, three kids are petting the horse from the other side of a fence. behind them is a young woman in a shirt with "instructor" on the back. In the late afternoon. After work, I head across the boulevard and down the street to a horse trail. It runs behind some large residential homes. The back yards make these houses reminiscent of large manors. As I roll along the trail, I spot the grey-haired lord of one such manor at a patio table. Is he reading a book? I'm soon along the first trail, cruising through one of a series of parks. Families are out late in the afternoon. Sitting not far off the trail, under a tree, is a woman who may be forty. She's in bare feet, a tube top and overall shorts. She has sunglasses and has her hair up. She could be a housewife but sits alone. And as I approach, she looks directly at me. She's not smiling., she's sending me a serious signal. Her body is poised. She's clearly in command of her corner of this park. Who is this woman some may refer to as a cougar? I don't recall the last time I saw a woman sending out such a clear signal. I look away and back again, and I give her a smile. She's looking right at me with her whole body. Does she live in one of the homes just across the creek along the bike trail? I imagine stopping and strolling over. Sitting next to her. as she places her arm around mine. I take off her sunglasses. I undo her hair which she shakes free. This makes me smile. I give her a kiss. But, you don't want to hear about any of my imaginary musings. I have just turned off one trail onto another. Down a gravel path comes a young teenaged girl on her bike. She sports orange racing rims. We both are fighting a mild headwind, but at least it's a cool one. I give her a few bike lengths between us as I shadow her up the trail. She spends a lot of time off her seat as she cranks her pedals. She must not have any gears but she's cranking it up every hill which comes along. Occasionally, she moves off the concrete and on again. We swing past the pair of homeless campers. The car parked behind them has a smashed front corner. There is yet a different guy here. He's sitting in a wheelchair working on the moped the skinny guy took down this morning. I follow the girl through another underpass. She moves to the center of the trail as a pair of neon Lycra-clad cyclists attempt to pass her. We approach the point where I disembark the trail. She continues north toward downtown. I wonder how far she's going.
Saturday is one of the busiest mornings I can remember on this trail. Lines of cyclists all in a row. A line of teenaged girls, another line of middle-aged cyclists. Just before I enter the trail, I turn down a block with a stretch next to an open patch of field. Parked here is yet another broken down RV. I found a third place the homeless are living out of campers. Sunday. I have another date with the waterpark. But first, the budget this fortnight permits me one breakfast at the place along the way to the supermarket. I read in a neighborhood newspaper that a couple of other municipalities have opened pools this month. My waterpark's last day this season is the 8th of next month. Perhaps I can swim elsewhere after that. From there, it's off to hook up with the bike trail. I'm coming down a street to the side of the river opposite the trail. I turn toward an intersection from which i will cross a bridge to the other bank, and enter the trail. I notice on this side of the river, a fourth location of yet another homeless camper. Just under the bridge, I'm along side the twin homeless campers, flatbed full of appliances under the black plastic tarp, and car filled with clothes. Two completely different guys are out back behind the campers. One is in shorts, has no shirt, and has a pair of black earbuds around his neck. He's heavyset and pale, in his thirties. The other guy is on a bike. Out on the trail are more multiple cyclists riding in a line. The sky doesn't look threatening, and it appears I will have a fair swim. When I get to the waterpark, I discover I paid for a swim yesterday by mistake. They let me swim today anyway, nice guys that they are. It poured yesterday. There are always good-looking moms here. One comes in the water with her two young teenaged kids. She has dark brown eyes and freckles. It begins to drizzle, but no matter. Everyone is having fun. I head out after an hour and a half, and I wait a bit for a small shower to cease. When it lets up, I exit the parking lot into the park, where picnic goers have all crowded under a big tent. I'm on the way home when I realize that I can stop into a super Target along the way for the odd vegetable item. I also realize that this being the same trail home from work, I can do this on any trip home. I detour for some mushrooms before I roll over to a Chilis in this shopping center. It's open. I decide I have enough in my budget for the old crispers salad plate. This must be the first Chilis I've been into in a year. I have a chance to read a book I always bring along but never open. It's just like not so old times. Then it's time to head home.
[The] Senior Aquatics Facility Supervisor [for the municipality where I workout and swim] said the...waterpark opened June 19 at a capacity of 150 people in a session [but] jumped to 250 by July. - Denver Herald, 7/23/2020
Monday. I'm coming down the last hill before I turn onto the trail. Struggling up this hill is a battered old Toyota hatchback. Tied to the rack on its roof appears to be a thin mattress. Halfway to the top, it slowly turns into the entrance for the park on this side of the river, and meanders its way along the drive. This has homeless written all over it. Down a long stretch of trail, the river is on one side and industrial plants across the street. Out on this particular trail, the elderly sit on benches and homeless sit in the grass. This morning, three colorfully dressed seniors all share a bench cut out of a big log. Just past them, a middle-aged guy sits cross-legged on the grass, having a smoke. I'm down this trail, onto the connecting trail and off again, onto the horse trail and into the last residential neighborhood before I get to work. In front of his home is a lanky guy with shaggy gray hair. I suspect he sees me come this way to work, as he's the first person I can remember who has ever waved at me. Some seven hours later, I'm on the way home past the twin campers. The flatbed appears to have been emptied and turned into a tent. The woman I refer to as the mom is outside. On the side of the trail, opposite the lot with the campers, is a playground. Cyclists, moms and kids hang out there while the camper people do their own thing. Just before I pass the campers, on the same trail home along the same stretch. Coming down the road next to the trail is a homeless couple on bicycles. The guy is shirtless and pulling a metal wagon. Inside the wagon is what appears to be a carpet steamer.
Wednesday. Regardless of what I was told by a woman behind the desk at the rec center, the Governor has not shut down the state. I was dubious. I'm just out of work, along the short trip on the horse trail. I turn down the short, yards-long exit for the horse trail. Entering the trail is a couple waling their dog. The guy is middle-aged. He looks like a homeowner-type. He stops in front of me and complains that I didn't go the other way around him, before he says something about they both are taking up the entire entrance to the trail. We are stopped next to a home made backyard Black Yard Matters sign. I can think of many reasons he's having a bad day; furloughed from work due to the virus, can't make mortgage bills, utility bills, insurance bills. He strikes me as someone who prefers to be in control. I hear him tell the lady he can't do his "job effectively." They continue on their way, she holding the dog leash and he speaking and gesturing. I've been working down here on a regular basis, from April 2015 to August 2017, and again since early May of this year. I don't remember meeting anyone like him around these parts, and I must say he's not representative of the residents here. I make it past the couple and their dog and turn up the street, rather than head toward the bike trail. I'm going to pick up a weekly newspaper and some chicken wings for dinner. With both in hand, I make my way back to the bike trail. I approach the bridge, across which I will reconnect with the trail. At this end of the bridge is a skinny homeless guy trying to start a moped...which is not supposed to be on the bike and pedestrian trail. Across the bridge and up ahead, I decide to stop and eat at the plaza next to the playground, and across from the parking lot with the twin homeless campers. There are a couple of new vehicles in the same lot, both packed with stuff. One has it's doors open. A middle-aged woman hands a banana to a different homeless guy who rides up on his own moped. Behind the campers, on the ground is a guy working on a bicycle. Another woman is with him. Over with the banana woman, yet another guy is walking along with a cane. I sit and eat, and watch this scene as cyclist after cyclist goes past on the trail. I wonder what the guy on the entrance to the horse trail would think of the camper guys? A young woman behind me is with a dog on the small plaza. I finish eating and I roll over to ask her if she has any idea who the campers people are. She has no idea. She comes here to train dogs. I think it's interesting that young women who train dogs, cyclists, and moms at the playground all coexists here with these characters out of some kind of short story. "Maybe because of the Corona virus," the young woman suggests as a reason for the camper guys being here. I'm not sure I follow her, but this afternoon, this is the least of my problems on my effort to make my way home. Again this early evening, lines of cyclists are out riding in formation. Shortly after, I'm off the trail at last. Down the street and around the corner, two homeless guys on bikes appear to be headed the direction of the campers.
Thursday morning. The camper on the way to the trailhead, on a residential street along an empty field on the way to work, is gone this morning. Just on the trail, a homeless guy on a bike comes from the direction of the campers. Down the trail past the lot with the campers, the two vehicles with the banana lady and the guy with the cane are gone. A newer VW Bug is now behind the campers. Some kind of pad is on top of the Bug. An older woman slowly comes along the trail, past this site. She has an odd gait, with both her knees turned inward. After work, in the early evening, I'm coming back past the campers. One of them is gone. So is the VW Bug. Another vehicle, and a pickup truck hauling a horse trailer have replaced it. A driver sits in the pickup, his arm out the window, the engine running. He appears to be bored from waiting for something. The hood is up on the engine of the remaining camper, and someone is under it, working on the engine. Back up the trail, where I passed one homeless cyclist this morning, a couple of homeless guys on bikes roll past toward the camper. Friday is the last day of the month. I'm on the way to work. Again, in the morning, the single camper parked along the street next to the empty field is gone. Shortly thereafter, I'm out on the trail and cruising past the parking lot with the twin campers. This morning, campers, flatbed, vehicles stuffed with...stuff, and all other traces appear to be gone. On the way home after work, I'm rolling past the parking lot of the former twin campers. A small pile of junk is neatly piled into a corner of a parking space. This junk includes the front suspension of a vehicle. Off under a tree next o the trail is a popular spot for individual homeless. A guy sits there this late afternoon with a dog on a leash. Next to the trash pile is the vehicle of the banana woman and the guy with a cane. It's in a different parking space this afternoon. The driver's side door is open. All the space inside this vehicle is still filled, with the exception of the driver's seat. A middle-aged woman is asleep on the seat, reclining upon whatever is piled upon the passenger seat. Down the trail, a young guy carries a bedroll toward the lot. And this month drives away like a sleepy homeless caravan; flatbed, mopeds, bananas and all.
