Denverse Magazine, Fall 2024
[A] young cycling champion...was killed at age 17 by a driver...on the Diagonal Highway...between Boulder and Longmont [CO.] ...in the ER, dirt still stuck to his face, blood from his skull fractures... - Cycling West, late Summer 2024
Okay computer club members. Last week, my kickstand became loose enough that it began kissing the spokes on my rear rim. It did so again on my ride home after work on Halloween. On the 1st, I awake after a fine sleep. I'm out the door to the bike shop in the sporting goods supercenter. I can wait across the street for a bus to the train, which may only crawl its way into downtown. I elect to do the ride. I'm across my boulevard and headed toward a steep downhill street. The street is closed for some kind of work and I hop up onto the sidewalk. A Public Works guy tells me I will have to slow down, before he confesses he's joking. It comes across as odd. Along the way, I'm detoured off the trail at a busy avenue. I scout a route into downtown I don't recall, trying to pick the trail up past the detour. I'm rolling past the city water headquarters and other industrial lots before I spot familiar landmarks. Inside the supercenter, a tech has a look at my fancy, modern kickstand mounted next to the rear axle. A rivet has come loose inside the stand, and it can't be tightened due to its design. A new kickstand is fifteen bucks. It's as old fashioned a kickstand as there is, and gets mounted where they have been located on bike frames throughout the decades. The tech also tightens up my brakes, and I'm off to work. Again, I ask myself if I want to risk the train to my bus. I elect instead to simply ride to the train station to catch my bus to work. On Saturday, I decide I have enough time to ride to work. The overnights are frosty now. This morning, my upper body is comfortable in T-shirt, hoodie, and windbreaker. But even in lined pants, I wouldn't be uncomfortable had I put on long underwear. And without a second pair of socks, my toes are just beginning to feel the bite of the chill. When I leave work at 3:30 PM, it's at least 66 degrees F. I grab a bus to the train station, where I do the short ride home without a shirt. I snuck in one more afternoon.
Sunday. I get up and move my six clocks back an hour. The day is in the 50s F. I make a reservation for my bar and grill before I'm off to that stop before the gym. I do the entire ride, arriving at the neighborhood with the grill and my gym. I pause at a pedestrian crosswalk to remove my balaclava. I'm not going through the crosswalk. A homeless guy on the other side has pressed the button for the light to alert traffic that he's crossing. He never comes across. I move a short way down the sidewalk before I sneak across the street and to the grill. I'm some 15 minutes early for my reservation. I sit on the concrete just the other side of a fence where the outdoor patio is. It's in the mid 50s F and the outdoor bar is open. A patron is seated on a stool, his dog on a leash. He's telling another patron how his dog, "is only scared by really sharp loud noises. Shotguns. He likes to chase squirrels." I decide to move closer to the host so he knows where I am. I sit on a bench across from a senior woman on the bench opposite myself. She's telling someone that Tim Kane was on Saturday Night Live. "I didn't like the band though. They were silly. The music was weird." My table is ready. WE enter through the outdoor patio. The guy at the bar pulls his dog out of the way. After lunch and a visit to The Chocolate Therapist, I hit the gym. This gym has an annual used book sale. Today is the sale. I pick up a couple of books before my workout. The hot tub is broken again. After the gym I take the bus back to my neighborhood. I grab a few items from my neighborhood supermarket before I ride home. The lightest of rain begins to fall. I hit the Vietnamese place for dinner before walking home past the Vietnamese supermarket. Vietnamese shoppers are coming out of the door, past Not Guitar Bear. He's asking each one of us, "Gotadollar? Gotadollar? Gotadollar?"
...we, editors and readers alike, can actually influence the course of human history. [Those of us] concerned with the quality of life and the future of our species. can become a formidable constituency. ...eager minds anxious, if not determined, to advance science, peace, and intellectual prosperity in our world... - Bob Guccione, publisher OMNI Magazine, 10/1983
My life's been a mess ever since I started this magazine. ...I'm starring at a coffee table strewn with empty cans, paper towels, and two plates of half-finished pizza. ...fields of debris - with racks, envelopes...and all the other junk of my enterprise. Before winter arrives, I'll have to push all the cardboard away from the radiators.
from Ulysses is Alright with Me, by M. Ayo
The bus ramp deploys and we move...for a man in a wheelchair... He has puked all over himself and the bus driver...pretends not to notice the trail of vomit. I...ask if he's okay. The man waves us off...rushes... Without engaging the crosswalk light, almost gets hit by a car.
...the diners were everywhere. It was the 1990s. The 2000s. ...the changing population. The rising costs of everything... ...the rise...of...a hegemonic $7 latte... We were in diners from sundown to sunup... Needing to imagine and create a world that loved us better. ...too young for bars. ...too old for everything else. Some of us begged for change on street corners... I wonder where the unmoneyed young people find each other now. What kind of places they carve out to become themselves... This is...how to be cool spend money spend money spend money spend money no money? not welcome. I could not be the writer I am today had it not been for diners... - Denverse Magazine, Fall 2024
...a giant table...over a hundred people sat... ...they passed bread...talked - about their childhoods, their histories and their communities. "The table doesn't care what your resume is..." - Littleton Independent, week of 10/31/2024
The homeless population...taking the garden hose and leaving the water "running all the time." - Westword, 11/7-13/2024
...spotted the license plate...and called the police. The U-Haul truck was parked in front of an RV... ...he approached the RV and found his amp[lifier] rack...on the ground hidden under a blanket. Police...ordered the man inside to return the truck... ...the officers...could not prove the man had stolen it. ...recovered other pieces of his sound system, including two monitors, a mini scoop and speaker drivers, from three homeless encampments... - Denverse Magazine, Fall 2024
HAAT Force...Homeless Awareness and Action Task Force, is an Englewood-based nonprofit...sever weather shelter and provides resources... Movement 5280...focuses on...support for the Denver metro area's...unhoused youth... ...these groups are filling the critical gap...
"Suburban commercial...has been less viable... The housing need in the community is at a high level...affordability...income levels...densities..." ...two single-family homes would be raised to develop the...proposed 173-unit apartment complex in southeast Littleton... "Four, and five-story buildings are not compatible with...one and two-story buildings..." "There's potentially 250 (or) 300 people that could be living at this apartment complex. ...to provide more people housing in a very fast-growing metro area." "People who are working here are looking to live here. It's not that people who live here need to find jobs." - Littleton Independent, week of 11/21/2024
On Election Day, I get another late start. So late that I ride toward the train station with doubts that I will make the bus. As I approach the exit from the station, I see my bus pulling out. I turn down a residential street to race it to the stop where I used to wait for it. I'm yards away when I see it pass along. Looks as if it's time to grab lunch at my cafe across the busy avenue from this stop. There's a new local magazine. A new what? In 2024? It's kind of literary, kind of historical, with featured local artists. I think it's monthly. The editor of last month's premiere issue, which I found here at the cafe, mentioned in the mission statement that he wanted to begin a new magazine which didn't employ artificial intelligence. His editorial discussed the detrimental effects on writing students of no longer having to rely on the traditional organic human brain for things including my own computer which suggests which word I want to use next. His opinion isn't evident in the articles. It's not a collection of pieces which take a stand against software. They strike me as having the kind of insight to local experience, not of city events or news stories, but simply living here. The magazine has made it to its second issue. And here at the cafe, it has its own rack. It's been some time since I decided to collect and save issues of a magazine. After lunch, I head across the street to the stop. I notice a small few square feet which is fenced off for some kind of construction. There's still plenty of room for the bus to pull up. I just happen to notice the bus stop sign. It's closed again, this time through Friday. I should have plenty of time to ride to the next stop. It's closing in on noon when I try to call the transit system. Traffic isn't especially heavy. I can't get a signal. Then I see the bus coming. It's 15 minutes late. At work it's approaching closing time. It's been a busy month so far. I notice outside a blustery wind. And it's darker than it should be. I'm fine in my hoodie and windbreaker. Not long after I leave, I feel the first drop. A few minutes later, light white flakes are falling. An hour later, I'm approaching the street where I exit the trail. It's mountain snow a-blowin', tiny wet flakes. I'm on my corner. Throughout the year, I've seen the occasional pickup truck turn this corner, with an American flag mounted on a pole in the bed. I've also us flags displayed on days when I don't know which holiday it is. This early evening, a pickup with a pair of flags turns the corner. One is a US flag. The other is for one of the presidential candidates. Is the driver attempting to influence voters at this late hour? With a candidate's flag in English, and a neighborhood full of residents not all of whom speak English? I wonder where you purchase flag poles for the bed of a pickup truck? Not long after I get home, it begins piling up. The next morning, there's a few inches on the ground.
Was it last Friday? I rode home from work without a shirt. It began snowing Tuesday evening. Tiny flakes. It snowed all day yesterday. The ride home wasn't bad. I awake Thursday morning. There's not much more snow on the ground. It's still snowing tiny flakes. My computer tells me that soon there will be 3 inches. I can't believe it's the end of another week. Last night I awoke from a dream. About a house I lived in 30 years ago, which no longer exists. It was around 2 AM. After trying to get back to sleep for an hour, I debated getting up but instead I rolled over. The next time I awoke was 9 hours after I went to bed. I'm out the door toward work. Again, the streets aren't bad. It's wet snow. I don't run into any ice. I stop by the bank along the way, and then I hike uphill across the snow-covered sidewalk of a bridge over the interstate. I cross an exit ramp in front of a dump truck, and I run across an on ramp before my light changes. I make the train station for my bus to work. In the afternoon, the sun comes out. After we close I ride home over streets and a trail which is more clear. When it snows, my high gears freeze up and won't come out of gear. So I've learned to ride in snowfall without them. I'm on the trail and approaching a bridge. In the dark, I can see a tiny light right in the center of the trail, beneath an overpass. It turns out to be a young woman sitting on the concrete, having a smoke. Off the trail is covered in snow. I see the light of an oncoming cyclist in the other lane. I hear wet brakes squeal. She gets up and moves off the trail, quietly saying out loud, "My bad." I get to my corner. Guitar Bear hasn't been around. Not Guitar Bear is also absent from his perch in front of the entrance of the Vietnamese grocery. My computer alerts me that a couple more inches of snow is expected tomorrow.
Friday. At some point the snow did start up again. This morning, again I awake in the middle of the night. This time I don't get back to sleep. I believe I've had some five hours. I leave the house on a different bike. I just happened to put air in the tires of the one I ride to and from work. I reseal the Presta valve on the front tube. Even with the valve closed, I can hear air escaping. I decide to get another bike from downstairs to ride. My cautiousness will pay off when I get home from work. This tube will be completely flat. I don't trust the mo fo and will be taking it to the bike shop this weekend. Along with a bike I ride on the weekend, which needs a tune up. As for this morning, I get out on the street which ain't altogether bad. Though the snow appears to be falling heavier than yesterday. I head for the clinic down the street. It's time to make another appointment for a check-up with my PCP. Turns out, she's booked up until January. I enjoy referring to her as my "eminent" doctor, but this is ridiculous. I'm told to keep coming in each Monday...in case her schedule opens up. Trying to call for an appointment is, I think, perhaps the largest black hole in the universe. Back out on the street, I backtrack toward a route to the train station with my bus to work. Time has gotten away from me yet again. My stand-by bike uses brake fluid instead of cables to activate my brakes. The bike shop recommends a flush to clean out the lines. But the last time I had this bike in the shop, I just had them top off the fluid. I have no damned time for a flush. Perhaps if I get a refund this year. But the action on the shifter with this bike is nice and smooth. It's like "buttah." And this makes negotiating this uneven mess of precipitation that much easier. I make the bus with minutes to spare. Even in the snow, the buses on this route come early. It drops me off in front of work, where my boss sticks his head out of the door and yells for me to come over. He tells me he wants me to keep an eye on the snowfall. If it gets bad, he wants me to head home before closing time. It's fine right up to close. When I get home, he wants me to call him with a road report. I tell him the roads ain't bad at all. My ride was fine. He will call me tomorrow morning to let me know if he wants to open my store or not.
Saturday. Had a great sleep. My boss is as good as his word. He decides my store will be open. The snow has stopped. It feels humid and perhaps this kept the moisture from freezing. The name of the game this morning is slush. Another thing my boss told me yesterday. He was out on the interstate at 9 AM yesterday. He says it should have been like a parking lot. He was doing 65 MPH. No one was out on the street. I find the same circumstance this morning. On a busy avenue, the sidewalks are loaded with snow. I have no choice but to ride on the street if I want any chance of making my bus to work. There is so little traffic, I'm able to sneak across a highway intersection on a red light. Thanks to my tactical use of the lack of traffic, I get to the train station just in time to catch the bus. This driver takes a short break and he still leaves early. I put in fare for a senior discounted 3-hour transfer, so see if he thinks I'm 65 years old. He asks me to put in the full fare. I suppose I should be glad I don't appear this old. ...and he prints me out a senior discounted day pass, the same fare as a regular 3-hour transfer. At work, I discover that it's a good thing my boss didn't close the shop. We do a good business during the short hours of a Saturday. The sun came out and helped melt more snow. I ride all the way home. Both Guitar Bear and Not Guitar Bear are on my corner. Each occupies his own side of the Vietnamese grocery. GB has debris strewn along one side of the entrance. Leaning against his purple wagon is a massive effing keyboard. NGB is asking me as I pass him, "Canyouhelpmeoutwithadollar?" I walk in the door, put my bike away, and throw in a load of laundry. Then I take off the rim with flat from the bike I otherwise ride to work. I put it in a plastic trash bag and hook each end of a bungee cord to its own spoke. I throw it over my shoulder. I grab the bike I ride on weekends and I'm out the door to the bike shop. It's time for a tune up on this bike, and if I drop it off this afternoon, it's something I won't have to do tomorrow. I ride north toward downtown until I reach the bike trail. It's around 5 PM. The light of the day is waning. A short distance along from this point and most of the way to the sporting goods supercenter, there is a smattering of homeless up and down the trail. Many are simply standing and hanging out with each other. Between a couple of these small groups are four people who I don't believe are homeless. These four appear to simply be out for a walk. Around one bend are four people just standing on the trail. One guy asks me if I have change for a five.
At the bike shop, I'm in line behind people here to get their skis waxed. I have a tech look at my bike. I got it years ago from Walmart for $99. The tech mentions that he's glad he has a bike to work on. He says bikes are more fun than waxing skis. Turns out that the bike needs new cables, new bearings, new chain and cassette, and I don't know what else. $350-$400. Should be ready Wednesday. I hike to the train which comes in jig time. I'm sitting near a group of young, loud Caucasians. They don't want the train back to my boulevard. A couple get on with me before they realize this and exit the car. It's not far to my boulevard from here and the train does not slow down along the way. I'm off the train and across the street when a bus very soon comes to collect us. I choose a seat which is split into two. The half next to the aisle is raised up flat against the back. A handle is supposed to release it to come down, but the handle ain't working. I put my bag, with my helmet and bags from my bike frame inside, on the edge of the raised seat and sit in the other half. These are great connections this evening. Along the twenty blocks home we pick up a young homeless cross-eyed guy with his service dog. There's another young derelict guy sitting across from him. He asks him about his dog. I'm home again and I decide to grab a burger to go from the nice lady on the other side of the boulevard. In her small place is a middle-aged Caucasian guy who could have stepped off any college campus. Balding, glasses, white striped buttoned-down shirt and tie. He's slowly asking her questions about the menu. I order, get my meal, and head home after a crazy day. Sunday. I have an ambitious day. Workout and shopping for groceries and take them to work. That's a full day right there. I decide to take a second back up bike I bought used from a guy at work. It has gears of an older design which I have to figure out how to work each time I ride it. But for only $100, it's nice having another bike on hand. As soon as I get into my tiny parking lot, I use the brakes. The front ones are almost nonexistent. I wonder, just wonder, if I can steal back some time from my day I would otherwise lose, as I always appear to do, to swing back by the bike shop to get one brake tightened. And have them simply cut off the old sticky rubber handlebar grips which are coming apart. I'm ahead of the ball for once. I ride to my bar and grill only for a hot chocolate to go. The therapist isn't even open yet. The shops on this lazy street aren't like the big city. And I get to the gym and complete my work out before lunch. It's warmed up enough that I put on sandals and carry my snow boots on top of the gym bag on the back rack. I ride straight to the supermarket and straight to work., having grabbed a sandwich with the groceries. I drop off sodas and recyclable bowls before attempting to cross the busy avenue to the bus stop. After I lock the door, I watch my bus go past. I knew it would be close anyway.
I ride to the nearest train station. I've only just started my sandwich when the train arrives. Bike, bag, and boots all go aboard. I find a spot to put my bike and a seat for myself, and I finish the sandwich just before I disembark downtown. Along the way, a trio of homeless step aboard. One with his own bike sits across from me. He actually looks more like an executive and I wonder what he's doing with the other pair, who are going on about their favorite TV shows. When I get downtown, I do the short ride along a trail straight to the sporting goods supercenter. I ask if they can do a quick brake adjustment and ditch the old grips. I want to be home by 4 PM for a call on my land line from an old friend. They have me out with plenty of time and I'm on my way home down the trail. I turn off toward my boulevard, getting me closer to home in less time than simply following the trail. Down the sidewalk along a stretch of my boulevard, where I haven't been in some time, I hear the chain squeaking. It's also skipping. The chain and cassette probably need to be replaced. I run into a deathburger just up the street from home. ...my old deathburger, where I used come as soon as they opened early in the morning. Back when I caught the bus to work here, for a company which no longer exists. I grab a couple of sandwiches to go. Inside is a guy who orders a sandwich which he eats standing at the counter. Before he opens the door with his foot and leaves. He returns inside to throw away the last bite. Four or five local high school kids come in. They order, sit down and eat, and talk about "punk ass bitches." I collect my food and head home, riding past a home with four more local high schoolers gathered around a car in front of a home. It's not long before I'm home again, home again. What a weekend. On Monday, I get a very late start. Leaving the house without breakfast, I ride to my cafe on the boulevard with my bus to work. I grab some eggs and soup and ride to the nearest bus stop toward work which is not closed for construction. There's a concrete area for the stop beyond the sidewalk. I sit on the sidewalk as the stop is covered in snow. I watch teaching assistants with long hair in sport coats, balding professors in suits, and students on skateboards walk by. Some things never change.
Tuesday. I leave the house early as I am on a mission. One of the bags I take back and forth to work, the zipper has had it. Again I take the bus, this morning to get to the shopping center across the street from work. There's a sporting goods store inside. I can't believe I find a new bag, larger than the old one, for less than $20. I also use a "tech" case for a wallet. The zipper is out on that as well. For five bucks, I find a new one. And this morning, I have a cold. I'm in the fog of cold medicine. When I awake on Wednesday, I feel better. I don't take more cold medicine. I have an early teeth cleaning appointment a few blocks from home. I walk there along the way I usually ride to a corner where I cross my boulevard. It takes me behind the building with a Chinese restaurant, right next to my townhome complex. For the first time back behind here, I see a homeless guy's tiny dwelling. A blanket is thrown over his shopping cart, belongings, and himself. At the clinic, it turns out that I can pay my bill with my card right at the dentist. After my cleaning, I soon walk back the same way, past his staked claim. I change into my riding gear and head out my door once again this morning. I glance behind the restaurant and see him breaking down his camp. Along the way to work, I grab a roll of quarters from my bank. In case I look my age to some random bus driver. After work, I find yet another new way home. I shadow a main boulevard past several major avenues, snaking through stopped traffic across one. Sunday. What a day. Saturday I call the bike shop to find out how the overhaul is going. I'm told on the phone that I was sent an email asking if the shop had permission to proceed with the repair of some other part. I told this particular tech what I explained to the first tech, that my email won't let me access it, and they need to call or leave a voicemail. The tech on the phone is now up to speed. I tell her to proceed. The following evening, I got a call from the bike shop. My bike is ready...for me to drop in and pay a little over $350. But. It's got new brake cables, new shifter cables, a new hub (which means new bearings) and a new bottom bracket. And they cleaned the frame, which they always do. As for the bike which I use as a back-up, whenever my usual weekend bike is in the shop, I took the back-up into the bike shop to get the brakes tightened last weekend. The chain began skipping all over the place on the way home. This morning, I leave the house with it before I quickly discover that the chain is pulling just fine. It must have been a shifter issue. I will mention this to the tech at the shop today when I get there. She concurs, and asks if that bike has an older set of shifters, requiring the lever to be pulled instead of pushed. Indeed it does. No longer acting up, the back-up is one bike I won't have to worry about for now. I throw it back in the house and head across the street to the bus stop. I'm on a bus, then on a train, then at the north corner of downtown. I hike to a Whole Foods for a quick lunch. I inquire about a metaphysical wall calendar for 2025. They ain't in yet. I hike to the sporting goods supercenter. I drop the dough. I take the bike. The short ride back to the bridge to the train station is something else. The shifters are effing perfect. Back over the bridge and at the station, my transfer is good for another hour. I don't believe I have time to hit my usual gym as it closes in a couple of hours. And who knows when a train will be leaving here, due to delays from track maintenance. And who knows how long it will take to get there while it slows down to crawl along sections of track being worked on.
There's another gym I used to go to on the way to work, which I believe is open an hour later. I could look it up online...if I had a phone connected to the internet. Such is my life. Even my hard drive at home has alerted me, it will no longer do updates for Windows 10. I need Windows 11. And it still sends me notices asking me if I want to finish connecting 'all my devices.' A train pulls up which is headed the direction I'm going. It will get me out of the station now, though I will have to transfer to another line a few stops along. And who knows how long the layover will be for the connecting train. I jump aboard. I recall last weekend I boarded a train here back to my boulevard. A pair of women followed me on, only to ask themselves if this was the train they wanted. I take this train to the station closest to home, where the pair of single tracks going opposite directions split into multiple tracks following two different lines. I disembark and have a seat next to my bike on the concrete. I'm not here long. The schedule interruptions play out in front of me as I watch three trains, one after the other, come down the track along the line I just left. Then a train for the line I want comes along. Again, a pair of women follow me aboard and ask each other if this is the train they want. Even with a section where my train crawls along, it isn't long before I'm at my old gym. I go to lock up my bike and realize that I forgot my bike lock. Anybody want a bike which just had $350 worth of work? Fortunately for myself, the answer will be no. I park it at the rack as if it's secured. Inside, there's a new face behind the desk. He eyes me quizzically. I put my helmet into a bag a zip it up when I notice a small stack of forms. The gym wants updated contact information. I fill one out and take it to the desk. The guy eyes it quizzically. I workout in my bike shorts, which at least he doesn't tell me look like "underwear". Workout done, I had been thinking about doing the brief ride to work this afternoon. I left a big order behind yesterday, only so I could catch a bus home from there. I can knock it out and in the bag to the plant without my coworker having to deal with it. I pedal to work, but head across the street to a hardware store. It may have envelopes. I still pay my bills by mail and finally ran out of the big stash my mom kept. The bakery lets me stash my bike inside their place. The contract post office inside has my envelopes. It's 3:57 PM when I walk into work. I'm there for about an hour. I've missed the bus home and don't feel like waiting for the next. I consider getting dinner to go from the Italian restaurant next door. After taking the spring and summer and half the fall to open, they've been open for dinner for a week or two. Instead I head out. I ride the new route home I recently discovered. Traffic is light at 5 PM on a Sunday. The batteries have run out on my head lamp, as they like to do in the dark. In no time, I'm on a street just a couple blocks from my own. Before I turn toward a highway intersection, I stop into a Sprouts. I ask a guy pushing a dolly with boxes. Any metaphysical wall calendars for 2025? I'm told to ask a checker. I find the closing manager monitoring the U scan. She asks the only checker on shift. They ain't in yet. Ya know...there's never a metaphysical wall calendar around when you need one. I cross my boulevard a couple blocks from home, and am riding past the lady who cuts my hair. She's still open at 6 PM. I run in and she's got no one ahead of me. I grab a trim. Then I'm back home after a seven-and a half hour excursion.
Monday. I wake up too early and I get up and do dishes and chop vegetables. It's been a good couple of weeks since I've had any calls to come into work early. Last Friday was the first time this month I've worked open to close. This morning, the spell is broken. I get the call. I'm headed into work a couple of hours early. My coworker will ask me, when I do get to work, to come in three hours early tomorrow. When the spell breaks, it really breaks. This morning, I stop into the cafe across from a stop for my bus to work. I'm across from a booth, where a couple and another guy sit. The lone guy is talking about going to Vegas. The lady mentions being up in a helicopter, over the football stadium up the street from where I live. This was yesterday during a football game. She said it was "great". All three mention camping. She thinks camping is "great". She then mentions a friend telling her that the friend was going to rent a house, for this couple's 10th wedding anniversary. The friend didn't realize that the 10th anniversary had passed by then. "So the joke was, the house was rented for our 11th anniversary." Great. This week, the days at work are such that I'm staying an hour or more late at work to finish everything. Including today, when we stay open an hour later than the rest of the week, as well as Tuesday. Perhaps this is why I've been sleeping so well, I'm tired when I get home. Tuesday, I leave for work as soon as I get up. This way I have time to ride the entire way. I'm on the trail along the river, moving past a recycling yard. Approaching is a pedestrian in a sweat suit. It's a little chilly for just sweats. Overnight was 29 degrees F. At least his hood is on. And around his nose and mouth is what appears to be an American flag. An American flag scarf? In his arms are what I would guess are beverages in containers. Wherever he's going, he has a long walk to anywhere from here. At work, I stay more than an hour after we close. Again I'm across the street at a stop for my bus home. Last evening, I thought I recognized a Hispanic woman here at the stop. This evening, she's back. I ask her in Spanish if she's the same woman with the cat named Fatso. I met here at some point in the past four years. She is indeed. She quizzes me about the Italian restaurant next to where I work. The bus arrives to collect us. A couple of city blocks ahead, a guy step out with a stroller which has his kid in it. I notice a teddy bear on the floor of the bus and hand it to him when he's out the door. "You're the best!" he tells me. Nice to get a positive affirmation for once. I'm at the train, off the bus, down the road and at an intersection of the boulevard before my own. I cross in front of a bus headed back to my own boulevard. The stop is right here on the corner. ...and I hop on the bus for a ride home. Wednesday. Again I get the call. Can I come in 3 hours early? I'm at the intersection of a highway, with another cyclist. Overnight was 21 degrees F. This guy has not only no helmet, but his head is uncovered. He appears resigned to wait for the next green light. Traffic is turning in front of us on a green arrow, and the next light we'll have is red. I spot a break in the turning traffic and cross before it turns red. For my trouble, I get to work to discover that I have to work open to close tomorrow. On the way home from work, I detour off the trail to my neighborhood supermarket. I pick up mostly groceries for work. Today is payday. The following morning, I'm up early to haul them to work. I'm back at the train station, albeit three hours earlier than yesterday. Again, a guy slowly wanders. This one moves from the train platform to the far side of the ticket kiosks. I can see him reflected in the glass of an elevator for the parking garage. At the end of a ten-hour shift, a customer drops off less than a half hour before close. I take the bus to an avenue, where a connecting bus drops me back at the same supermarket as yesterday evening. This time I grab more diet sodas for home.
...the median monthly rent in Arapahoe County is $1,756...the annual income needed in $70,240. ...a household should not spend more than 30% of its income on housing costs.
Redefining affordable housing... ...at the Trails at Lehow apartment complex... Business center Fitness center Dog wash and dog run ...meant to serve...entry-level professionals...teachers, police officers, fire fighters, paramedics and nurses. ...programs on financial literacy, job preparation, income support, youth mentoring and health services.
...Small Business Saturday... Founded by American Express in 2011...has become a key date in the holiday shopping season. ..businesses have turned the day into a celebration with special deals and parties.. - Englewood City Magazine & Activity Guide, Winter 24
On Saturday afternoon, the high is 70 degrees F. I ride home in sandals, bike shorts, and no shirt. But wait, there's more. Sunday. I have not the time nor the money as yet to get my photo Christmas cards done. Instead, when I eventually get home, I get some cooking done...for the first time in a long time. I do dishes. If only I had time to clean the tub. But while I was out, ah. I get an early start for a change. When I stick my head outside, it's cold. I get into the lined pants, hoodie, windbreaker and balaclava. When I do step out to leave, it's much warmer. But I want to get going. In my bag are thinner pants. My computer claims that the high today will be 58 degrees F. I hit a gym which is closer than the one I've been frequenting. When I come out, it's 69 degrees F. I ride away in sandals, bike shorts, and no shirt. There's supposed to be snow Wednesday. I stop at a supermarket along the way, for a couple items for home. I put a shirt on. Inside, a customer tells me, "Nice shorts, man." It's a short ride to work, where I grab my shoes. I don't have time to eat across the street. My bus home is almost here. ...and then it's here. Out the window, I see dark clouds approaching. We pass the diner across the avenue from my old stop. It's open. I disembark at the station, not far from the diner. The temperature has dropped. Over my shorts I put long pants and I put on a windbreaker. I have a late lunch and ride toward home. I run into a Sprouts along the way, for dinner meat which I forgot at the last supermarket. I haven't had the time nor the money this pay period to get my photo Christmas cards made. And I want to get home as I have cooking to do. I'm finally weaning myself off of eating every meal out. Back on my corner, I stop into the Vietnamese grocery for a couple of vegetables. In the entire time this grocery has been open (less than five years?) I've never seen a line like this. I take my bike home and walk back here a couple of hours later, to find the line greatly shrunken. When I do, the temperature has dropped into the 40s F. This late afternoon into the evening, I get a lot done. I make dinner for the week and chop the vegetables, wash dishes. If I only had the time to clean by bathtub and oil the bike chain. As I get older, there ain't no extra time laying around anywhere. I will end up oiling the chain a couple of mornings later.
Monday. I get the call. Can I come into work an hour early? I will get to work and be asked to come in an hour early until Thanksgiving. I decide to take the bus and I head for the train. At the highway divided by the river, I swing around a pedestrian hobbling toward the intersection on this side. I squeeze between a light pole and the busy avenue while she takes the other side. WE both hit a red light. When the pedestrian makes their way to the intersection, I see it's a young woman. She pulls off her hood to reveal honey blond curls and a fresh face in the sunlight. But she has a pained expression on her face. She's in a short denim skirt over black hose, and I don't think she's dressed warm enough. This part of the avenue is what I refer to as the "bicycle superhighway". It's one of only three avenues in proximity of one another which provides a way across he highway. There are those pedestrians who use it to get to the other side. I don't know if she's homeless, so young. I wonder where she's headed. Across, through an underpass for the closer train line, and past a boulevard. I just came home this way yesterday afternoon. I turn a corner and spot a guy with a leaf blower on the sidewalk ahead. I turn down a side street and swing into an alley. It takes me right back toward the sidewalk I detoured off. I just have to swing around a fence. When I do, I immediately evade a runner. At the station, I coast past a woman on a bench. Her face has so many creases she appears as a European peasant. I'm purchasing a ticket from the kiosk when a guy comes out from the corner. He could be my age but still could pass for the lady's son. he goes and takes a seat next to her. He carries a shopping bag from which he pulls a sheaf of white papers. I hear someone yelling, "YEAH! YEEEEAAH!", as if they're in pain. A guy comes walking slowly along the bus route through a parking garage. He takes a seat at a bench on the train platform and continues to yell. An eastbound train comes along and he steps aboard.
Wednesday is the day before Thanksgiving. A light snow is blowing in. I'm at the bakery across from work. Their dining room is "closed" as they are using the tables and chair to stack their Thanksgiving takeout orders. I'm sitting in a corner with a couple of the last unused chairs. This morning, I awoke and stepped outside. The concrete struck me as slippery. If the roads and trail are like this, I may as well take the bus. I catch a bus just down my street to the train. We stop at my boulevard where a guy comes from the back of the bus. He's thanking the driver, and he walks all the way up and exits through the front door. I exit through the front door when my bike is on the front rack, which is almost all the time. But on days such as today, when I leave it home, I exit through the back door. ...cause that's what they like you to do. This guy doesn't appear to have a coat on, only a zippered nylon fleece jacket. Soon we're at the train. There's a schedule in lights which claims my next train won't be here for another half hour. I can take a train for the other line to the next stop, and catch a bus to my connecting bus to work. But the bus from that line may not come for another hour. This is why I leave for work two hours early. As my brain is putting the routes together with the schedules, I spy my train coming along. I jump on it, taking a seat with a young homeless guy behind and another in front of me. It stays put until a transit system security officer steps aboard. He speaks to the one behind me. "Gotta go bro. Driver wants you off." The guy in front of me, though he isn't being addressed, gets up along with the other one. I watch him through the window. He has a rollaway suitcase with the handle extended. He's struggling to carry it off the ground, because it's turned the wrong way to pull on the wheels. He also has no coat. The train whips me to my bus. I'm sitting in the bakery for an hour and a half before I decide to get up and head across the street to work. It also happens to be the time when my chair is required, upon which to stack to place takeout orders. I'm at work, toward the last hour, when I spot a pair of homeless guys in my parking lot. One has his own rollaway suitcase. He has a coat resting on top of the suitcase, and one end is dragging on the ground. He comes into our lot to meet up with the other. The next time I see them, they are both across the street at a bus stop. I don't look up again until I see only one of them there. The clock tells me that the bus has just gone by. Did one of them get on it. The other crosses the busy boulevard through traffic, back to our side of the street. He walks to the bus stop on this side just before a bus pulls up. I watch him step inside and look down the aisle. Is he looking for the other guy? He steps out and returns, again through traffic, to the stop across the street. I take another look after some time, and the pair are both there. A bus comes along and they both get on it.
Friday is the day after Thanksgiving. Busy day. I head out to the camera shop. I pick up some photos, and I use one of their computers to make my photo Christmas cards. In a few days, the proof will be done. I will need to swing by there and approve it so they can process the order. I don't have time to ride up to a bookstore for my metaphysical calendar. I must get a workout in. Sunday, the sister is taking me for a breakfast in nearby Golden. I rider to my old rec center which is closer. The senior guys are playing their usual game of racquetball. I finish my workout and I'm putting on my cycling gear as a couple of middle-aged guys are relaxing on the bench across from me. I listen to their back and forth. "The daughter is home with the boyfriend. So there's one less parking space." "Does he spend the night?" "Believe me, I'm not in favor of it. But the wife is. What can I do? She's 21." "Well, I'm going home to 'decorate the house'." "I'm doing mine tomorrow." I ride to the train, just across the street. It takes me to my station where I have a choice of two buses back to my boulevard. Tomorrow, it's back to work. When I do get home, I have time to put up my own outdoor lights. ...on my back gate. The infamous lights which stand alone, in the dark of the rest of my townhome complex. The following day after work, I return to the photo shop and approve the proof of my Christmas photo cards. I ride further up my old boulevard to a chain bookstore. I look throughout and fail to find a 2025 calendar, metaphysical or otherwise. And I decide to forgo stopping at the supermarket across the street on the way home. Tomorrow the sister and I are taking a day trip to a nearby town. I wonder if what I am looking for will be found there?
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