...China has kept looming above...Sihanook...like a great Cheshire Cat...grinning, vanishing, and reappearing. The United States...had been more like a big Saint Bernard dog...bell and cask of brandy...Sihanook...wondered...when and where it would show up, and...how long it would stay. His strongest critics accused him of operating a medieval state masquerading as a democracy. ...Cambodia had never pretended to be a democracy... ...a large body of youth...who graduated [were] unemployed... The students...were bound sooner or later either to turn to...an active political opposition. [They were] far too scared to meet with Americans, or with any Western strangers...for their activities were...scrutinized by the security police.
Tuesday is the 1st. I head to work down the bike trail in a windbreaker. An hour later, I pull into a shelter with picnic tables. It's next to a dog park along the trail. I stop here occasionally to take a swig from the water bottle or adjust something somewhere. This morning I stop to take off the windbreaker. This is the first time I've seen any homeless here. This morning, as dogs and their owners enjoy the enclosed park, a guy with shoes and no socks is in the shelter. He has a tray with tools from a tool box. He has a bike and a bike trailer. These trailers are made to carry children and attach to the back end of a bike. The one he has is missing the top. The metal frame still has the plastic sides, complete with a clear window on each side. Missing is the seat, and in it's place is a plywood board which he appears to be working on. Something yet again meant to carry people, converted to carry cargo. Eight hours later, and I'm out of work, across the street, and have just entered an old money neighborhood. It appears as if the fire smoke is gone from the sky. It's late afternoon, and long shadows from big trees cover the street. I roll through the serenity of this dream-like scene. Then...there she is. The young girl I saw on this street, was it last month, or July? She's playing with stones around the base of one of the big trees. "Does your house have bees?" she asks me. I love this kid. I tell her no and ask her if hers has bees. She says it has wasps but no bees. I wave goodbye before I'm on my way. Very soon, I'm on the trail. In no time, I'm climbing the hill past the waterpark. At the bottom of the hill's other side is a bench in the shade. A homeless guy with a thin face emerges in view, sitting there in a bright red ball cap. Next to him is a shopping cart. It has three huge full black trash bags piled one atop the other. I keep pace with a middle-aged guy before we part ways. I go straight. He crosses the bridge at golf course #1 to the other side of the river, after which he has no choice to turn back the direction from which we both came. (?) In no time, I'm rolling past the homeless camp. I watch three middle-aged folks, two guy and a woman, enter a camper. This is a precarious length of a bend, where I can't see very far behind me or ahead. I get onto the sandy shoulder, of the other lane along the river bank. Coming along from the other direction on his bike, in his lane and on the yellow line and in the other lane and back and forth, is the skinny guy with the shaggy grey hair and beard. This afternoon, he had two gold chains around his neck. They reach to his stomach.
Wednesday. I'm on the last street to the bike trail, on the way to work. At 8 AM I have a couple of stops to make before work. Where one camper is parked off and on next to a field, it's here this morning, as well as a second RV. The second one is detached from the vehicle which brought it here. Parked behind it is a small pickup. On the back, just above the spare tire, is a dirt bike. At the curb is a second dirt bike. And next to the bike is a short figure in a dirt bike suit and helmet, securing the gloves. Soon, I'm on the trail and rolling past the camp Walking toward me is the guy I passed on the trail yesterday, as I was on the way home. He was all the down, halfway along the connecting trail. He was at the edge of the park with the waterpark. He's now 30 - 45 minutes from there by bike, only he's pulling his shopping cart with the huge stuffed trash bags on top. Same red ball cap. After a stop for more diet tea mix, I'm at the gym, where a photographer is taking shots of a young woman working out on various machines. I assume it's publicity for the rec center. On my way home after work, I'm headed for my street. I'm on a street just to the south, passing the camper with the little trailer of junk behind it, and assorted junk on the roof. For the first time since early May, I spot someone outside. It's a figure stooped on the grass, doing something on the side of the trailer. A big orange tomcat lays in the sun next to him, raising and lowering its tail.
...a space that was created by somebody. ...cultural, commercial, private, civic and educational buildings... ...Downtown Denver: A Game of City and Empire Builders... "Through architecture...the history and culture of a place." - Washington Park Profile, 9/2020
..."creative placemaking," a raging movement in which they collaborate with artists to shape a neighborhood's image and attract investment. ...blames the RiNo Art District in part for the gentrification of Five Points, Curtis Park, Globeville and Elyria-Swansea. ...contrasts the murals of t he Chicano movement with...ephemeral pop art... "There are a ton of people [at mural painting festivals] but I don't see people from the community there That's probably because nobody's left. Everybody's gone. ...elders in the community... They don't know about RiNo. They avoid those areas entirely. A lot of communities can't afford a coffee there, let alone go there, look at murals and have something to eat. Meanwhile, their communities are completely being displaced and the gentrification is going on. How can you justify...this huge mural festival? ...we don't have those kinds of conversations. They're uncomfortable and money is always involved." ...don't just watch a YouTube video, work up a fast design in Illustrator without thinking about what it means, and barf it onto a wall. "They come in and say, 'We're going to remake this place. We're going to bring in our own vision and make our own community.'" - Westword, 9/17-23/2020
On Thursday, I decide to take my boss up on his offer to have a look at the one of my bikes, on which the shifter has stopped working. This means taking it to work, and this means taking it to work on the bus. I don't remember the last time I took the bus to work. Early December of 2018 was the last time. I took two buses with my bike to work some seventy or eighty blocks north, and several city blocks west for a year and three months. That was a short chapter in the story of my life in this business. April will be 30 years. It's along the way home when I encounter a familiar brand of person who I would meet travelling back and forth to Arvada. The bus home deposits me at a train station, a way I took home for half of 2015, before I returned to transit by bicycle, which is another one of those stories. I'm walking down the platform when a young woman says, "Excuse me!" She wants to know how to get where she's going. This is the beginning of a hopeless conversation between us. She is miserably lost. She first says she wants to go to the municipality of Aurora. I suggest she take a southbound train on this line, which splits off and goes northeast...to Aurora. Pretty far east, all the way to I-225. She stares at be with the blankest look I think I've ever seen. Then she says she wants to go to Lakewood. Aurora is one end of the metro area. Lakewood is the exact opposite end. Then she mentions she wants to get to Havana St., a major street, and Mississippi Avenue. I suggest she take a northbound train to a bus which goes straight down Mississippi, intersecting with Havana. Problem solved? No, she wants to go to Aurora by way of Colfax. By this time, a northbound train comes along, and we both get onboard. I suggest she take this train downtown to the pedestrian mall, take a mall shuttle for the short trip to Colfax, where she may catch a bus headed straight down Colfax. Another blank stare. She decides on Lakewood. Great. I'm after the same bus which I suggest she take. We both get out and I point at the bus stop where I'm headed, which goes down Mississippi Avenue. I realize that she thinks I'm pointing at the avenue beyond when I see her walking off that direction. The bus arrives. Fortunately, it says Lakewood on it. She comes running back. I let her board ahead of me,. before she gets out again. The rest of us get on. The driver tells one passenger, "Don't even think about getting on without a mask." The bus departs, and I last see her wandering the train station.
Yo Yo and Go Go
Friday. At the near end of the camp along the way to work, two guys stand next to a camper. One is hitting the other on the back. The one being hit says, "Yeah. right there." I'm down the trail and onto a connecting trail. The end of this trail runs along a creek with condominiums on one side, a high school on the other, and trees between these and the trail. From behind me comes a grey-haired guy racing up the hill. Before I see him, I hear him say "Yo yo!" He turns into the parking lot of a condo unit at the top of the hill. He makes a short loop in the lot before he rockets back down the trail. But not before shaking his head from side to side and letting out another "Yo yo!" Soon, I'm off the trail and slogging up another hill. I crest the hill and cross a street into a cul de sac. A couple are stopped on their bikes on the opposite curb. The guy appears to be younger than the grey-haired woman. Suddenly, the guy tells her, "Go1 Go!" She slowly begins on her way as he follows. I'm on my way home. I've just turned onto the trail along the river. I pass a couple who are on bikes, which never happens. Then I pull off to have a swig from my water bottle. The pair go past me. The guy tells me, "There's clean air behind you." The lady laughs. It takes me a full minute to remember, I'm carrying home, on my back and sticking out of the bag, a new furnace filter. Monday, Labor Day, is forecast to be 92 degrees F, and Tuesday will see a high of 32. With snow. The following afternoon, I decide to stop at the supermarket. The route there is the one with the intersection where I have slipped and gone down on my bike twice. Attempt it again, more slowly. It makes no difference. I go down for a third time. I still don't know what I am slipping on. I'm in and out of the supermarket. To get back to the trail, I must take part of a route from a store in a previous company for which I was employed. It takes me past a park and onto a section of trail which dips through an underpass. When I make it around the corner, I see four homeless on bikes blocking the way. A fifth guy sits on the grass on one side of the trail. On the other side is a woman with a shopping cart full of I know not what. I slowly approach...and they slowly make a hole.
Sunday. I'm out of the door around a quarter after 9 AM. If I'm going to make my final swimming reservation, I will have to take the train. I'm across my boulevard and only yards down the street. I'm rolling past the park closest to my home, the side with tennis courts. The courts grab my attention. For the past 13 years which I have been rolling past them, they have been empty, even during temperate weather. Today...every court is full of Caucasian couples dressed in white. I'm so surprised that I run over a fucking manhole cover before I know it. Yoga in this park was one thing, but this... It's the US Open in the hood. Supposedly, on my boulevard, a gang war is underway. SUR 13 graffiti adorns walls of anointed buildings. Maybe five blocks from there, men in white shorts and women in white pleated skirts are playing mixed doubles. It's almost as if this scene has been transported here from some other neighborhood. Speaking of other neighborhoods, it's the last weekend to swim at the waterpark. I thought, with this the only place open to swim until into July, the metro area would be beating down the gates to get in. They haven't...and you'll hear no complaints from me. Maybe. Maybe most residents are not yet back to work. The park is about twice as expensive as a regular public pool within the same municipality. But you get waterslides and an entire pool complex for kids with a kind of water-playground. Including a giant bucket of water which fills slowly before dumping on everyone in this particular pool. As well as a regular pool with diving board, single lap lane, and a slide which drops you into the deep end. And I've never felt more safe. I've never seen so many lifeguards, and they make a point of doing nothing but looking in the pool for anyone who isn't coming up. And at the bottom of the hill from the waterpark is a small petting zoo, with a kids train which rolls along the length of the extended park. And the park at the bottom of the hill runs the length of a creek (or what's left of it from the drought), where picnics are welcome as well as cooling off in the creek. Maybe families don't feel safe leaving home for the moment. I understand all these concerns. They are real concerns. I feel extremely fortunate to have had a summer of swimming. It's been some kind of living fantasy in the middle of a global pandemic, complete with pirate memes everywhere. And it's time once again to bid farewell for another year to the fine folks there. After I get out of the park, it feels as though it's over 100 degrees F. Tomorrow is Labor Day, and their last day of this year's swimming season here. Tuesday, the forecast is for a high of 32 degrees, and snow. I'm not making this up. Sunday evening, the sky is a dull pall of fire smoke. Can you have a forest fire and snow?
Labor Day. I get a call from the sister around 8 AM. (I'm never able to reach her by phone, she calls at her leisure.) Apparently, there is some kind of air quality warning, because of the fire smoke. The sky doesn't appear any more clouded with smoke than any other day this summer. I'm invited to her backyard for another socially distanced gathering. She wants to know if I want to postpone. I decline. I wonder if the waterpark will shut down due to smoke? I doubt it, but I'm glad I went swimming yesterday instead of today. So I'm out of the door around 11 AM, headed to her place. In front of one of my neighbor's carport doors are three people. A woman and a guy are sitting on what appears to be a plastic tarp. Standing is a young guy who I've seen at that spot before. I always assumed he lived there. If they aren't homeless, I don't know why they are sitting in front of their carport on Labor Day. Soon, I'm up the street and across an avenue, coming down a steep hill. I'm coming down a street with small bungalows. In one of these is one of the funniest things which I've ever seen. In a front window is an air conditioner, and perched atop is a long-haired black and white cat, oblivious to the world. I watch a squirrel run away as a young woman comes out of the front door. She looks at the squirrel as it disappears and raises her arms in frustration. "Is this what I got you for? So you can watch the squirrels eat my flowers?" I suspect that she's just answered her own question. The cat remains unmoved. At the bottom of the hill, at the corner, is another home. Hanging from the awning over the front porch is a banner. It has a picture of someone who surely is one of the owner's sons. It mentions his name and asks for justice for his death "by Denver police." I recognize him from a news story about his death. He was sitting in a stolen vehicle, outside of the funeral of a friend of his. The police tracked him down and surrounded the vehicle. When he attempted to drive off, they opened fire. Ad that was that. The Denver police will do that if they decide they're threatened by a vehicle.
Tuesday. It's 34 degrees F this morning. On Sunday I went swimming. This morning, I'm in my lined pants, winter coat, neck gator, balaclava, and gloves. I'm rolling past the tiny lot where the twin homeless campers were parked. I've been seeing the occasional homeless vehicle parked here. (On Saturday, when the temps will be temperate once again, I will see a couple of these here on the way home.) Today, a hatchback is parked here. The driver side door is open. A guy in a black leather jacket with fringe is asleep in the driver's seat. His left foot is on the pavement and his left arm hangs out at his side. Wednesday. I was given a personal check by the sister on Labor Day. It gives the spirit of the holiday new meaning. Yesterday, I hit the gym, jumped on a train across the street to the bank, and from the bank rode to work. Check and my remaining cash deposited. And I did it all in a rain/snow mix. And there's two more weeks of summer left. Today, the check cleared. I payed my urology laboratory bill by phone. Tomorrow, I have to report for jury duty. Meanwhile, out at the homeless RV camp, on my way home from work I can see traffic approaching behind me. Two homeless guys, one with a huge gas can, are walking in the street, approaching oncoming traffic. I cross the left lane onto the wide dirt shoulder next to the river. I watch in my mirror as two separate cars must move into the other lane to avoid this pair, who simply meander on their way. Friday. On the way to work, Again I'm headed past the tennis courts in the park. The sound of tennis balls pops off of rackets. I watch two separate elderly Caucasians each exit their parked vehicles, headed for the courts. One of them is in sandals with tennis shoes in hand. Eight hours later, I'm out the door from work, and I'm down one of the cross streets for the shopping center. I'm rolling past a small arts center when I notice a lawn sign, announcing an outdoor art festival the next afternoon. It's called Art On The Green 2020, and a search the next day at work reveals that it's normally scheduled for August. I make a note of it. The following day, I'm just onto the trail to work, not long after 7 AM. Approaching me is a middle-aged Caucasian cyclist with his spandex outfit and rear saddlebags. He passes me with a "Hi." At the rear of his bike, he flies a black and white US flag. I don't notice if it's a "resist" flag, or if it has a single blue line, identifying it as a "thin blue line" pro-police flag. Some eight hours later, again I'm out the door from work. The website mentions that they are giving free tickets to a limited number of people for specific two-hour periods. The tickets are all sold out, but if there's room, non-ticket-holders will be allowed in. I am a lucky non-ticket holder. The downtown Denver festivals and other outdoor fests, and every used book sale has been shut down this summer. Down here where I work, I don't just have a place to work out and had a place to swim the vast majority of the summer. I even had an outdoor festival to go to.
Sunday. I'm on a madcap crosstown ride to pick up some black and white photos from the black and white photo place. Ladies and gentlemen, the cold front has left the building, and the warm weather has returned. Along with the blue skies. At least for the coming week. I'm out in the early afternoon and at the shop in jig time. I run into a supermarket next door for some groceries. In an ongoing effort to drive down my cost of living, I decide to experiment with cheaper brands while keeping to my diet. As a result, I'm loaded down with a gallon and a half of milk, and odds and ends. I wind my way onto a bike trail to a Whole Foods, to eyeball their frozen yogurt. They have one brand, and it ain't low in carbs. Well, it's off toward my neighborhood. Part of perhaps the busiest bike and pedestrian trail is the corner where I enter it. Here, the trail runs on the sidewalk of a busy boulevard and turns west along another busy thoroughfare, turning northwest into downtown. I'm taking it a short way, past where it turns into the city. This is full of even more cyclists than the main trail I ride to and from work. I stop at a red light. Behind me, a runner stops. Ahead of us, across an intersection, other cyclists come to a halt. From behind us, I hear, "Excuse me, excuse me." This is the first time I can remember not hearing some version of 'On your left.' (I've passed more than one homeless who have chastised me for not saying this.) A couple of guys on ten speeds make their way around us and through the red light. The one in front says that the rest of bus are blocking everything. (WTF?) I wonder if this is their first ride through here? Soon, I'm headed past a supermarket chain which carries my cheese. I decide to stop in to examine their frozen yogurt. I lock my bike up at the bike rack, next to a guy talking to himself as he unlocks his own bike. He mentions that, in his opinion, he's been doing pretty good. He's been surviving on coffee, yogurt, and a third thing I can remember. Inside this supermarket, they have a reasonably priced product low in carbs. Then I'm off for home once again, down a route I took home when I was still working downtown earlier this year. Soon, I'm coming through the neighborhood across my boulevard. On one residential corner, a middle-aged Caucasian woman is trimming a hedge. Around from the end of the edge comes the husband. He's in a black T-shirt with the shape of the state of Texas on the front. Across the image are the words "Build the wall."
Monday. I'm out of my door and across the street, past a bus shelter where I used to catch the bus to work only a couple of years ago. On this morning, a guy is asleep on the benches. He's laying on his back and his arms are at his sides, as if someone put him down like this. He appears to be dressed in construction clothes. Scattered on the ground are copies of a religious tract in Spanish. In a short while, I'm rolling past the homeless RV camp. Little do I know, the scene here will be an entirely different and unexpected one 24 hours from now. This morning, there is a young guy coming toward me in my lane, of the bend in the road. He appears to have some kind of rollerblades on cowboy boots with silver tips. Coming back past here after work, off in the weeds by the river is a middle-aged woman in a neon yellow 2-piece swim suit. She's the last character I see before the following morning, when I am again approaching the entrance to this street. It's blocked off with yellow tape. A sing announcing the closure of the road is here, as ell as a couple of police cruisers from Denver Police, lights flashing. There's something goin' on. Whether it has anything to do with the homeless RV camp, only time will tell. I decide to take my chances with a side street. It goes up a steep hill to a highway. On one side is a sidewalk. On the opposite side is the light rail passenger train. I've never been this way. I short distance along, I suddenly recognize a building with a line of fake metal palm trees. I used to see them all the time from the train. The highway sidewalk takes me to another side street, which takes me to the other end of the street blocked off at one end. This end is also blocked off. I will have to wait and see what's cookin' when I come back this way after work. When I do, this end of the street is closed to "through traffic." I follow it to where the closure has been moved to the beginning of the RV camp. A single unmarked police car with lights flashing and an officer standing outside his vehicle are both in front of the yellow tape across the road. A couple of unwitting cars behind me must stop and turn around. The cops have been out here all day. The sun hangs low in a pall of fire smoke. Me wonders what shall be here at the morrow. When I make it back to my corner on my boulevard, a homeless camper with no front grill is parked and running at a curb. The guy inside appears to be looking at a map. From what I can see inside the camper, it's completely empty of any utilities, bed, sink, lavatory, stove, or anything. It looks inside like an empty van.
Wednesday. Off to work. It's closing in on 8 AM. I'm at a corner of a busy intersection, heading south and out of the larger neighborhood adjacent to my own. A guy in his thirties comes down the sidewalk. He asks me how far he is from a particular avenue. I tell him it's some 20 blocks away at least. He mentions another busy street. I tell him its miles and miles across town to the east. He thanks me and heads toward the first avenue he inquired about. It's not long before I am approaching the entrance to the road with the homeless RV camp. It's still closed off and police cruisers are still here. Lights are still flashing. They've been here all day yesterday, and all night last night. I watch a Parks and Rec pickup approach the street before it must turn around. I'm up on an alley, with back yards on one side and the park along the river descending the other side. Coming my way are a couple of homeless guys. One has a ladder on his shoulder. While I'm at work today, I dial up the internet and discover a local TV station story about the RV camp. There is hardly any into. The police are indeed "sweeping" the camp. Helicopter footage shows that almost all the tents and bicycles are gone. On my ride home, I take the trail on the opposite side of the road with the camp. From what I can see, almost everything is gone, daddy, gone. Shortly thereafter, I swing past the small lot where the twin RV campers once were. A minivan packed with stuff is parked with the side door open. A grizzled guy sits in a camp chair next to it. The following afternoon, the road is open. I cruise past where the camp was. Perched against a big wooden pole along the river side of the road are a set of golf clubs. A couple of laminated notices from the city are attached above the set of clubs. The notices announce the camp is in violation of safety ordinances. There's nothing left in camp but a couple of bicycles and scattered paper trash. A lone homeless guy sifts through it. Around the bend, past the small parking lot where twin campers stood, the guy's minivan is still there from yesterday. A small pickup truck is parked next to it. A couple of people converse with each other, standing between the two vehicles. Standing off to the side, arms at her side, is an emaciated woman. Her hair is in a bun and she wears a sleeveless lace dress. Her hair , dress, and shoes appear to be from the 1920s. Her skin has the brown pall of someone who lives outside. Her head is down as she stands motionless. She strikes me as a woman too young for the clothes she is wearing.
Saturday. Out on the bike trail, on the way to work. I'm not far past the ex-homeless RV park. I spot a neighborhood newspaper on the ground, one which I've never heard of. It's the Englewood Herald. I've just crossed the county line into Englewood, Colorado, a suburb of the greater Denver metro area. It's laying in the weeds next to a big beer can. I enjoy reading whatever local neighborhood papers I can find. When I pick it up, on the cover is a story about the homeless RV camp which was just cleaned out. It would be ironic if this paper was being read by a camp resident just displaced. I take it to work and have a look at the story. In this story, and another I find in a later online issue of the newspaper, are things I never would have known about the residents of this camp. A cursory internet search unearthed nothing except raw news helicopter footage, with no narration or reporting. My biggest question was how long had the camp been here? It turns out, it's been here at least since March. I've been riding the trail across the river from the camp since mid-May and I didn't notice anything since the middle of last month. I didn't glance across the river to the side with the camp until the middle of August. What follows is some insight into the camp, who cleaned it up, and one fireman's encounter with residents:
...many [homeless] have been shut off [from access to] everything from showers to power outlets. ...sleeping in their car beside the South Platte River, in a makeshift camp of tarp-draped RVs for the past couple of weeks. "We could take showers at the rec center but it's closed. So are the churches. We could freshen up at the library or McDonald's, but that is gone too. A stay-at-home order [for those who] don't have a home." [Many homeless shelter] volunteers are over 50 and at greater risk from the virus... - Englewood Herald, 3/30/2020
Englewood police continue to investigate a brazen daylight knife attack along a popular bike path that left Joe Hix, 32, dead on Aug. 25. Hix had been living in a sprawling homeless camp just inside Denver city limits beside the South Platte River... [Literally at the south end of the camp is a sign which reads "Welcome to Englewood," demarking the Englewood and Denver counties.] "Joe was...intelligent, meticulous... He had an incredible mind - he would tell you anything you wanted to know about computers..." Hix's social media profiles show a popular young man, who worked for years as a computer technician... About five years ago...Hix began racking up arrests for drug possession and multiple assaults...and could be prone to outbursts of anger. {A camp resident] said he believed Hix was suffering from untreated mental illness. "He was trying to be a good person." ...on Sept. 2, multiple officers from Denver's and Englewood's police departments, accompanied by social workers from All Health Network...began speaking to residents [about] outreach services. The camp, which includes dozens of tents and RVs, has swelled in recent months... Some residents of the camp...said they suspected...another sweep. ...said it was just a matter of time. "It's a game of musical homeless people." "We've been run out of everyplace else. It's hell." - Englewood Herald, 9/10/2020
...she scanned the landscape beside the South Platte River where her camp sat just hours before. [She looked for her] family photos, from before [she] wound up living on the streets. ...her mom...died in 2014. [She] was one of the numerous residents of a sprawling homeless camp...along East South Platte River Drive. [The street sign reads Platte River Drive East.] ...dozens of tents, RVs and campers [were] sandwiched into a narrow stretch of grass between the [road] and the barbed wire fence of a sewage treatment plant.. On the morning of Sept. 15, Englewood and Denver police blocked off the street at both ends of the camp, making way for an armada of trucks, trailers, and garbage trucks. Over the next several hours...Denver Fire...Denver Department of Public Health and Environment and [DOT] and Infrastructure, dismantled the camp. 'Losing Everything' "It's just inhumane. ...if white collar [lost] everything, maybe they wouldn't be doing this to us." 'Wonderful People' ...a captain with...Denver Fire...said..."These are wonderful people. You know what they did when we showed up this morning? They offered us breakfast." ...91 gallons of gasoline... ...25 trailers, 50 residents and dozens of tents.... "We've tried [providing Dumpsters] but the problem becomes...too difficult to empty [them.] People stop using [portable] toilets if the get too gross." ...the sweep was the culmination of...seeking to [provide residents] numbers of housing agencies...counseling and...government services before clearing the area. 'Half an hour to clear out' ...an older man...gave his name as Vegas, as he loaded a shopping cart with clothes. The camp had swollen in size since...March. "They let everyone stay so long that people began accumulating the necessities of life," Vegas said. "People started to enterprise...hauling scrap." [During the sweep, as he left] camp to speak to [reps from the city], he would return to find more of his belongings gone. - Englewood Herald, 9/18/2020
...two outreach workers with Mile High Behavioral Healthcare, a local nonprofit that specializes in working with the homeless...met with...homeless...camped out in RVs in an Aurora parking lot. ...the metro area is seeing a surge in homelessness, with encampments large and small...in unlikely places. "There's a fear...that...acknowledging...homelessness...and...providing services, that's somehow going to affect property values." ...of central Denver...recent sweeps of camps...pushed many individuals into other parts of the city... On the last Friday of August...Mile High Behavioral Healthcare [arrived at] a large encampment...on South Platte River Drive in Denver, right on the border with Englewood. Unlike the more controversial encampments...this spot on the Platte River wasn't located particularly close to homes or businesses. It had been allowed to operate mostly undisturbed, and had even set up its own bathroom and communal kitchen. [After the sweep] it's occupants spread out, some perhaps heading farther into the suburbs. [Such as mine.] "They just relocate. They don't go far, since there's really nowhere for them to go." - Westword, 9/24-30/2020
...a special appeal to the urban areas...bourgeois and intellectual elements who disapproved of the government, which had nothing but contempt for them... ...legal fronts...would come out in favor of national sovereignty, freedom and democracy, and peace... "A sound front policy is...decisive...for a successful revolution. Only [with strength may those classes of citizens be recruited who are] opposed to imperialism [while remaining] reformers and compromisers. [With those from such classes] the prestige of the revolution will increase...will win approval from neutralist countries..." - Shaplen
Further down the trail is a place where I turn onto a bridge over the river. I must pause as ten or fifteen cyclists come across in a line. On Monday I'm on the way home from work. Just up the street from the defunct homeless RV camp, a lone camper is parked along a residential street. A playground next to the river extends from one side of the road. A golf course begins along this stretch of trail. The sun is preparing to set and the camper has an external generator running. Homes are along the other side of the street. I wonder if they must listen to the generator all night? A pair of cats wander the grass in front of the camper. I wonder if they live there? Past the golf course and off the trail, up a long hill and across a busy avenue. I'm on a last street home, with a camper parked in the same spot since May. A second camper is parked on the other side of the street. The following morning, I'm on the way to work,, headed toward the exit off the trail, through parks surrounded by condos and businesses. From one balcony, I hear a woman screaming in what sounds like a rare domestic argument 'round these usually tranquil parts. "It's not my fucking fault!" she is screaming at the top of her lungs. Some seven hours later, I'm out the door of work and onto the horse trail, to the bike trail. I pass a dad on his bike, and I'm behind a mom on hers, who's behind their two kids on theirs. Mom, who's cute, is in a pink shirt with white letters on the back. It reads, "I don't care." Wednesday. I'm just on the bike trail to work. A woman walking her dogs is in a shirt with "I love Sundays" on the front. Soon, I'm headed past a playground where one camper is still parked. Just beyond is the small lot, formerly with the twin homeless RVs. This morning, a trio of vehicles occupy the space, two of them minivans. A guy I've seen here recently, is sitting in a camp chair next to one minivan. The side door is pen to reveal the interior is packed with clothes. After work, I'm coming back past here headed home. The guy is gone, along with the minivans. A pickup is still here. Another minivan is parked a few yards away. A homeless couple sits on the street. It isn't long before I am coming up the last street to my own. Coming down the street is a homeless camper which I recognize. It pulls up to a corner and parks.
Your Homeless Camper Is In The Driveway Of The Home I Pay A Mortgage On, and Three Middle-Aged Shirtless Guys
It will be there the next morning when I pass this way again. The camper is still in front of the home. A few minutes later, I reach the entrance to the trail. There's a portable commode on the corner of this, a golf course. Standing next to it is a young woman in plaid sweat pants and a hoodie. She holds a soda cup. Just beyond the golf course, the spot where the single camper was has been vacated for a spot a few yards along. Just past it is the lot with the homeless vehicles. The minivan is back, with the chair and the guy. At a playground on the other side of the trail is a parked scooter. Someone sleeps under a sleeping bag. On a wall a few yards along, another sleeping bag is draped. Some eight hours later, I'm coming home. I'm all the way back to where the camper was parked in front of a home. Now, it's parked in the driveway. The next morning is Friday. The camper is back in front of the home, as two cars now occupy the driveway. I don't know if the driver of the camper knows the occupants of the home, vise versa, or what. Soon, I'm past the small lot and over the bridge across the river. Along this side, a road parallels the trail, Platte River Drive. A young shirtless guy pedals a bike as he pulls along a shopping cart with his right hand. Items are in the cart. He glances behind him for traffic. On my way home from work, I'm coming back across this same bridge. At the other end is middle-aged shirtless guy #1, meandering along. Middle-aged shirtless guy #2 is examining a full trash can, in the little lot just beyond the bridge, the site of the new homeless parking. He has a bicycle with a trailer on the back. None of the homeless vehicles are here this afternoon. Through an underpass, I'm along the stretch where the camper with the generator no longer resides. Middle-aged shirtless guy #3 is ambling along the trail, lifting a cigarette to his lips. Shortly thereafter, I'm off the trail and headed up a long hill. I pass the street with the empty lot. The usual camper is back.
On Saturdays, I head out of the door a couple of hours earlier, as I work open to close for the short day. The sun rises on a gloomy morning. Across the street from my home is the old gas station. On the corner is a guy in a wheelchair. He has a mask on, under which trails a long white beard. He strums a guitar in his arms. Standing with a bicycle where all the panhandlers stand is a thin bald guy. He watches the wheelchair guy as he strums his guitar. Shortly thereafter, I'm on the trail. Along a wooded stretch across from the river from the former homeless RV camp is a cyclist in front of me. He's moving slowly along and bends his right leg in a strange direction as he pedals. I wonder if his seat is crooked? I know he's on his way to work at Walmart. He has on a Walmart vest. I can't think of where any Walmart is off this trail. At the top of the back of his vest, it's announced that his vest was made from six recycled plastic water bottles. It's reading a local weekly newspaper at work how I discover, the second of this year's biannual Body, Mind, Spirit Expo is being held three weeks late. It's at a different venue than it's usual one, and at a place where I've never been. On the way home from work, past the small lot with the homeless vehicles, a single Denver Police cruiser is parked. And there ain't no homeless vehicles around. From there I go through an underpass and make my way along a golf course. Parked at the end of this section of trail, past where i go through another underpass, is an ambulance with its lights on. Sunday. I'm almost never aboard the transit system for almost a couple of years now, having taken it along with my bike to work back then six days a week. I have leftover transit system coupons, good for a one way trip. I'm not sure I want to take this trip through the unknown, but this expo is a pilgrimage I make whenever I can motivate myself to do so. And I gotta use these friggin' coupons before they expire. One is already torn. And I never tear anything. I pick a corner up the street from my door, where I can catch one of two buses, either going up to a train station or another crosstown to another train station respectively. From either station I will catch a light rail train into downtown, where I will catch a commuter train to the expo. I'm on the train which goes out to the airport. Last time I was at the airport, there was no train out there. After a month with temperatures in the eighties F, sans the Tuesday after Labor Day with snow and a three-day climb back to warm temperatures, today is a gloomy grey sky. It's in the mid fifties. A cold breeze is wafting. I wait at a corner where an old church was recently torn down, and a new modest retail building was put up. It has remained empty since it's been finished. A year now?
The bus up my treacherous boulevard should be the most frequent. Traffic Division put out cones to turn both sides into a single lane on Sundays afternoons now, since a shooting just up the street. I spot a couple of buses going the opposite way, but nothing going my direction. A second passenger has arrived. The crosstown one beats the odds and arrives before the other. In jig time, I'm at the train, and the train whisks me to the infamous Union Station. I'm off the train and headed to a Whole Foods underneath a condominium on a downtown corner. I suddenly hear someone yelling. "Heeeeey! Heeeey! Heeeey!" I see a guy laying on the ground in the middle of a crosswalk. Did he get hit by a car? He looks homeless. A young guy is saying something to the guy picking himself up off the crosswalk. Young hip Caucasian urban residents are quietly observing the disturbance in the gloomy Sunday noon hour. The young guy throws a bottle at the guy in the crosswalk. I'm following a young homeless-looking guy to the Whole Foods who loudly whistles to one of them. Then he acts as though he wants to stay out of it. I'm in and out of the Whole Foods with the least expensive lunch I can find. At one end of the intersection, a guy is on the ground getting handcuffed by who appear to be a pair of transit system security officers. Is he a third guy, and not either one of the original two? "Fuck you!" he says to the officers. "We're cops," the female officer tells him. "Fuck you!" he repeats. I hop onto the commuter train where I down my lunch. We pass along part of the way I usually take out to this expo. First the downtown condos disappear. Then the dying neighborhoods, then the industrial yards are gone and we're in open pasture with a collection of hotels. One of these is hosting my expo. I'm out at my stop and on a bus for a short ride to the convention center. It's a fine visit to the expo. I get my fix of amulets, crystal nuggets, and spiritual clothing. A vendor does her best to suggest that several of her shirts are "perfect" for me. I find a Christmas gift for my doctor and I'm back out at the bus stop, where one comes along as soon as I arrive. I step on the front door and a passenger steps out the back door. From the grass outside, he appears as if he wants to ask the driver a question. The driver gets going and the passenger throws his soda cup at the bus. What is it today with throwing drinks through the air? Soon we are back at the train station. I exit the bus and walk past the open door. I hear the driver speaking to dispatch, saying something about Walmart. Did the passenger want the stop for a Walmart? Here we go with Walmart again. Back on the train, we pass a Walmart. Back downtown, at the corner where a guy was arrested, an ambulance is parked with its light on.
On the way home from work on Monday, I notice a trailer, pulled with a hitch, has been deposited behind the camper along a last street before my own. Two days later, it's gone. Tuesday morning. I'm across my boulevard and down my street on the way to work. Suddenly, a homeless camper pulls out of a side street. I'm in hot pursuit on my bike. It rounds a bend and disappears. Some nine hours later, I'm just off the trail. I'm making my way up a long hill. Coming down the hill is a cyclist on the wrong side of the street. As he approaches, he smiles at me, revealing missing teeth. He's in a sleeveless faded denim shirt, like something out of a movie from the early 1970s. Wednesday. Coming home from work, the homeless camper is back on the residential street, just up from the small lot now with the homeless vehicles. With the beginning of the Autumn, I'm chasing random homeless campers on my bike. The nights have ventured into the upper 40s F, with some cool breezes during the day. The warm spell is elusive. And another uncertain month comes to a close.
