Letter Home (2 of  7)
9-6-93
Colorado

The magic of the full moon falls
Madly into my arms as the breath
Of the night weaves it's spell through
The very fibers of my wanderlust soul

Well, here I am on Labor Day weekend at a trailer park in Golden, Colorado.  The reasons I chose to stay in Golden for a week is because, number one: It is ten minutes outside of Denver and I have to pick out some items like floor & counter tiles, fireplace, etcetras for my new home.  The trailer park where I am staying is a five star park which means it has great facilities (bathrooms) and not only has water and electricity hookups, but also a cable TV hookup.  The number two reason is because at the Civic Center Park in Denver this weekend they are expecting 350,000 people to attend an outdoor festival which they call "A Taste of Colorado."  Here I wanted to mingle with other Coloradians and become at one with redneck.

Yesterday (Saturday) Labor Day weekend with a beautiful 85 degree sunny sky to greet me, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my shorts and shirt and ran down to the facilities to do the three S's (sing in the shower and shave.)  Realizing I do a poor immitation of Willy Nelson, I decided to forgo the singing part but did manage to hum a few bars of "On the road again" as I gargled, just to keep in practice in case a last minute Karaoke party is planned for the afternoon.

Off I go to meet the Denver townsfolk and be festive with one and all.  On arrival at the outdoor park which surrounds the civic center consisting of a beautiful gold capped building resembling the White House with a gold lame' yamakuh, we immediately stumbled into a stand selling nine tickets for five dollars which were used to purchase food from dozens of stands set up throughout the park.  As if a bolt of assparagus spears struck me from the sky, I realized why they called this festival "A Taste of Colorado," this was an outdoor food fest!

Having not yet even eaten breakfast I was obliged to purchase 36 tickets, and while gaurding them with my life, mingled my way past booth after booth of every kind of culinary delight immaginable, always retaining my jovial attitude wile filling my face.  I began to realize something peculiar about the people here though.  A great many of the Coloradians resembed Californians in attitude and appearance.  I'm sure I saw the lead singer of "Guns and Noses," a young man with long blonde hair to his belt, shirtless, baring a body which appeared to have been fasting for all of his 19 years in preperation for this event, covered with tatoos from armpit to armpit with a small gold nose ring embedded in his right nostril.  Some of the people have proven to me that the altitude is probably not the only reason they call Denver the "Mile High City."  I thought I had missed bicycling down Venice beach boulevard and now felt right at home.

With my belly fully engorged and belt becoming taught, I took a stick and rolled myself back to the car, much as you would an inner tube.  I was off to a cat show in the park and then home.  Yes, back home to my beautiful trailer perched on the hill at my five star resort.  I am perched high overlooking the Golden city bus station next door which fills the air with the melodic sounds of people chitter chattering, car doors endlessly slamming and the refreshing screech of air brakes in need of repair non-stop, all day and all night long.

Engulfed here in the sights and sounds of Denver I realize how much this trip has already taught me.  IT has put my priorities in order, taught me not to believe everything I read and helped me to find out what in my life is really iimportant to me.  When you ask yourself what is really important to you in your life you might say a big job with bigger bucks, happy family, fast house, big car, WRONGO!

Some nights I do nothing buread, then mesmerized by the party atmosphere of the tent trailer, I doze off only to be awoken outta nowhere at about 3:52 a.m., just as I am getting my REM sleep (REM means 'really exciting memories' I think,) I have a calling.  I have to sleepily hobble out of bed, crawling on top of the cats and make amends with a power far greater than mortal man.  Yeah!  That's right, you guessed it.  I have a rendezvous with the Porta-Potty.  Now a Porta-Potty is something I couldn't live without.

Then take cooking for example.  I am actually learning basic survival skills on a three burner propane stove with no instant on!  I actually have to turn on the gas, whip out a zippo at exactly the precise time and ... flick!  Now this sounds to you I'm sure like no big deal.  But just the other day I didn't flick fast enough and POP!  The gas ignited with a scary bang!  I hopped back in surprise!

I've also learned not to believe everything I read and I sure don't believe the dates things took place in the history books are accurate.  I believe either Mr. Funk or Mr. Wagnuld (I think it's mister) mixed up all the dates and are having a big laugh on us all.  Are they really trying to tell us that our ancestors rode horse and wagons across the desert plains for days on end, never stopping at a Denny's or a Jack in The Box and when they wwent to prepare a meal at night they did not have bottled propane?  I think not!  I'm sure the propane must have been piped in from somewhere and the logs were of cement.  I think they only wanted to ffol us into believing that they were toughter than we are.  We are not wimps!  Tell me, just how did they light the fire?  Did they rub two sticks together?  No?  They had matches?  Oh, I get it, they had matches but no Zippo!  Yeah, right.

Are they really trying to tell us that our tough, rugged, macho ancestors (chaps are macho?) sat around the campfire at night eating their pizza with only two toppings I'm sure, probably wild boar and buffalo feet (I'm sure anchovies weren't invented yet right Mr. Funk) and didn't have a lighter or propane to cook it with?

I'll tell you one thing Mr. or Mrs. Funk and you can tell Wagnuld, we're on to you so the big joke is over.  Stop mess'n with our heads cause the laugh is on you!  You see, with your help I now know what is really important in my life and the most important things in my life are; a Porta-Potty, a Zippo, pizza (with anchovies,) and gas!  And you can take that to the bank!  For we are not wimps!

Till then,  Allen