There are few places that are more compelling to understand the glory of God than in the Rocky Mountains. From emerald green meadows and snow capped peaks to the rushing mountain streams that render liquid gold libations, for many, Colorado is the Promised Land. With sunny skies and 70 degree weather I was already looking forward to a break from the premature triple digit temps of the Sonoran Desert, it was only the first week of May after all. Last week marked my fourth week-long trip to the Centennial State (Durango, Colorado Springs & Denver x2) but this time I procured lodging in the heart of Denver 2 blocks from the 16th Street Mall. The mixed use corridor is a pedestrian only 1.25 mile stretch of sidewalk cafes and an eclectic mix of shopping with various kiosks, chess tables and musicians occupying space that was once the road. The lower downtown area of the mall is affectionately known as Lodo. Dozens of 19th century brick buildings and warehouses have been converted into lofts and brew pubs making Lodo the “new” place to go for a fun night on the town and my first stop of the week. That brings me to a startling observation. I imagined that I would witness a sea of Broncos bumper stickers in their home town but did not. In lieu of the blue and orange logos I was barraged with Obama proclamations on the backside of nearly every Volvo, Subaru and Prius in town. There were more “B.O.” decalcomaniacs than Terrible Towels at a Steelers game. I was in the land of his highness, so some might want you to believe, but I digress. So I stepped into a pub and while waiting for the hostess I began reading the signage touting their varieties of microbrew. Pale ale, wheat, lager…..Obama Brew, at that same instant the bubbly hostess asked if I’d like a table or a seat at the bar and all I could spit out was “I am in the wrong place” and quickly retreated out onto the streets of Lodo. Fortunately the next ale house seemed to be an Obama free zone and I enjoyed a dinner of bangers and mashers (Scottish sausage and mashed potatoes) with a superb wheat beer (or 2). The next afternoon I headed north through Boulder towards Estes Park. Last trip I spent a day in Boulder and really enjoyed the university town and the rabid sense of outdoor adventure the locals all seem to share. After all, Boulder is THE place that scores of professional cyclists, triathletes and Olympians live to train at high altitude. But there was no time to spare for previously trodden ground, on to Estes Park. At the end of the Foothills Hwy I turned left onto Ute Hwy and was soon passing through the small town of Lyons. At a town park next to the rural highway there were 15 or so cars parked and folks were in various stages of loading and unloading kayaks that were to be launched in the white water that paralleled the road. There seemed to be a few eateries in this hamlet that deserve attention so I’ll definitely spend more time on a future voyage but now, on to Estes Park. The asphalt gripped terra firma as the landscape soared into the sky. My trusty Dodge Avenger was daydreaming it had become a corvette, or maybe that was my wish, as the trail snaked upward through the mountains. Bend after beautiful bend eventually gave way to the valley known as Estes Park. Lake Estes straddles both sides of the roadway and the village is surrounded by majestic peaks blanketed in white. Across the lake I noticed a behemoth of a structure that lured me in as my first stop off. The Stanley Hotel was visited in the summer of 1975 by Stephen King while in Colorado for an extended stay. The hotel became his inspiration for The Shinning and the grandeur of its turn of the century appointments leaves no doubt about it. There is a tour of the palatial structure highlighting the specifics of where Mr. King found his influences for his spooky tome. I did hear a few strange sounds that I narrowed down to the creaky elevator shaft of the original lift, I’m sure that’s all it was, I think. Time was of the essence so I departed passing through the village and was soon at the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park where I stopped briefly, turned around and headed back to town. Note to self, next trip should be exclusively for exploring the park. At a roadside campground on the edge of Estes Park were 2 herds, elk and mule deer, making the place their own. One particular camper was sure to return from dinner in town or a hike in the park to discover that his tent had been invaded and now laid on the ground devoid of its former dome shape. The sight of grazing deer reminded me that it was time to forage for myself. The packed parking lot at Smokin’ Dave’s BBQ & Taphouse was enough of an indication that it should be worth a try. I have gone on record previously as a devote of Texas style BBQ and so reluctantly I ordered Dave’s Triple Smokin’ Platter with St. Louis ribs, Carolina pulled pork and a roasted half chicken. My platter of slow cooked animal flesh arrived with sides of red beans & rice, BBQ baked beans and a cornbread muffin. I rolled up my sleeves, cocked my elbows chest high and out to the sides to ward of predators and commenced to chow down. Rarely do I order ribs because I prefer my own dry rub recipe but Dave is truly a master of all styles of BBQ. The wet ribs were terrific, as was the mountain of pork and succulent yardbird. Delivered to the table in a Bud Light 6 pack carrier, all of the sauces were fabulous too. Carolina mustard, sweet, tangy and spicy toppings all went on different parts of the feast. The sides were also perfect and for someone that does not like cornbread, well lets just say that Dave’s is not your average dry, throat clogging muffin. It was so sweet and moist that I may have been converted (next time I’m in Estes I’ll eat cornbread again). Night had fallen and I begrudgingly drove back down the mountain to the city. The following afternoon I made a pilgrimage to Recreational Equipment Inc. a.k.a. REI. The flagship store in Denver is in a renovated huge old brick structure across the South Platte River from Lodo. The local area is packed with lofts and funky shops. Paths for runners and cyclist flow throughout Denver and seem to all converge at REI. My reason for making it a point to always visit the store when I’m in town is not so much for the shopping, although that is usually accomplished too, but for the porch that wraps along the side and behind the building. I grabbed an iced passion tea-lemonade at the Starbucks within and headed out back for the view. Citizens of the Mile High City were out en masse walking, jogging, cycling and kayaking and from my vantage point on the back porch the locals were living the good life in the great outdoors (downtown) free from smog and traffic. After rehydrating I pointed the Avenger west and headed back up the Rockies for a 90 minute drive to Breckenridge. Interstate 70 climbs and descends the steep grades while passing by ski resort after ski resort. Turning south from the highway and passing through the town of Frisco the small community of Breckenridge was a charming respite from the 70 mph pace of the interstate. Shops, restaurants and pubs line the streets. Should I eat at Bubba Gump’s or the Breckenridge Brewery? I decided to go with the ale house and was pleased once again. Their signature Brewhouse Burger, Tijuana Style, lured me in. The ½ pound patty was covered in pepper jack cheese, dripping with guacamole and pilled high with jalapeños. To go with the theme I selected their Agave Wheat beer and was treated to one of the best malted beverages I’ve ever tasted. After a great burger and a tasty brew I once again forced myself to head back down the mountain to the metropolis. After work on Friday, did I forget to mention that I was in Colorado on an official assignment, silly me, anyway I grabbed a late lunch at Wolfgang Puck’s in the airport. A spicy chicken pizza was perfectly baked in their wood fire pizza oven (at the airport for pete’s sake) and they had Breckenridge Brewery’s Agave Wheat on tap. Nirvana at the airport. I flew back on United and must say that carrier performed exceptionally on this trip. I fly frequently on Southwest, Delta, U.S. Airways and American but they don’t hold a candle to United. Professional flight attendants, a very clean and comfortable cabin with on-time flights, imagine that. Colorado is beautiful place to enjoy life to the fullest; no wonder John Denver had such an easy time penning all of those terrific lyrics. Don’t let a little Obama mania spoil you plans to vacation in paradise.
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