Saga of the Tent

(Subtitle: “The Singing Nurse Goes Tent-shopping”)

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This will serve as a “prequel” to a recent post,

Tincup Adventure.

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Beware……don’t peer too closely at the photo below…… that’s me up there singing in a duet at the graduation program for our practical nursing class. Yes, the authentic truth is that deep inside I wanted to be a singer. Naturally, it follows then that I decided to become an LPN (so I could sing at the graduation service), followed by a lengthy term as a farm homemaker and mother---not to mention, a custodian of clutter---and now, at long last, a blogger. As for my musical career, I croon with the radio in the milkhouse ……and sing alto or soprano in our on-again/off-again church choir which is rarely larger than a sextet.

Possibly it was on the drive home from this very exhilarating graduation ceremony that Husband and I hatched the plan to travel to Colorado before my hospital employment started the following week. Be sure I tell you about that job sometime……I worked in the “float pool”…….a dry place, actually……but never dull.

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Ok, so we decided to go to Colorado; Husband must have mentioned that fact to his dad while milking cows the next day. Father-in-law immediately---with all good intentions---suggested we stay with some old friends of his, Ralph and Edna, or some such names---in the Denver, Colorado, area. My in-laws did not believe in staying in hotels or motels; that was the most colossal waste of money they could imagine. To them, taking a vacation meant you drive, drive, drive, to some acquaintance’s house, and then spend most of the trip sitting in the back yard, drinking beer and playing cards, ignoring beautiful scenery that exists just over the horizon. Sorry, at that point in my life I could not go for that sort of thing, and I expressed that in no uncertain terms to my husband.

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Thus, Husband---poor guy---was forced to break the news to his dad that we would be utilizing hotels and motels on our trip. Before long, my in-laws were informing us that they had a tent we could use. Really? How thoughtful of them, though I was a bit mystified, as I had never seen a tent at their place, even for the kids to use in the backyard. (My in-laws still had several younger sons at home.) Next thing I know, Husband called me to come over and see “the tent”, which apparently had been set up just for me to look at before we took it along on the trip. We were planning to leave the next morning, by the way.

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At that time, Husband and I lived in a farmhouse a mile away from his parents’ farm, so I put down my suitcase-packing and drove over to see “the tent”. First thing that struck me was how BIG it was…….it was full-heighth and must have measured a good 12 X 8 feet. Good Lord, we didn’t need anything THAT big. Husband and his parents and twelve-year-old twin brothers were standing expectantly around “the tent”. Husband had his arms crossed and a blank expression on his face. The twins were grinning. I walked around “the tent”, which apparently had been languishing in some damp corner of the basement for quite some time. There were mildew stains on it and a big raggedy, gaping hole on the back side. Everyone just stood there in silence. For pity's sake……was I going to have to be the bad guy and say, “NO….sorry…..this just will not do!”? I didn’t want to hurt my in-laws’ feelings, but for crying out loud, we couldn’t take that ridiculous excuse for a tent along on our trip. Finally, I sidled up to my cross-armed husband and whispered, “No, no, we can’t use it.” Of course, he agreed, but was having a difficult time exerting his own will over his parents’. We were still fairly young, remember, plus he had to work with his dad everyday. Finally, he was able to shake his head and tell them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

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We decided I would run to Waterloo to buy a tent. (Husband stayed at the farm to milk cows…..in case you're not aware of it, cows must be milked every morning and evening---day in and day out---come heck or high water......or tent shopping. Any dairyman worth his salt has to be very dedicated to his cows.). I decided to stop at K-mart first (no Walmarts or Targets around back then) to look at tents, and also buy sleeping bags and other supplies. It was VERY windy that evening. I pulled into a parking slot next to an apparently unoccupied car---a rather beat-up one (Oh, Lord, why didn’t you just prompt me to choose a different spot?). I opened the door of our Cordoba---a long, very heavy door---and a gust of wind caught it, causing it to bump against the adjacent car. Oh, my Lord……suddenly a most unpleasant face surrounded by scraggly hair rose up from the front seat, wearing the most awful glare I have ever seen. I hardly blamed the guy for being angry, of course, but seriously, my door had hardly hurt his car at all; his car fell into the junkpile category in the first place. Not that that makes any difference, of course. I was most definitely at fault for not having a firm hold on my car door when I opened it. But, it was nearing dusk and I was a young woman alone, so there was no way I was going to hang around and attempt to apologize to the irate stranger, so into the K-mart store I dashed.

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After my cart was filled with sleeping bags and other necessary paraphernalia for the trip, I kept watching out the store window, waiting for that other car to hurry up and exit the parking lot. I’m a chicken at heart and didn’t want to encounter that scary guy again. Finally, the car drove away and I checked out and rolled the cart out to my car. Yup, wouldn’t you know it---and, yes, I deserved it---the guy had left me a gift. There was a dent in my driver’s side door. He must have given the Cordoba a swift kick before he left. Perhaps it was a harbinger of things to come on the trip……a foreshadowing of the damage the car would receive from a rock along a road above Tincup, Colorado.

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By the way, I did find a tent to buy that evening……at Sears. We only ever took it on one trip…….to Colorado in that summer of 1980. That tent provided many years of use here at home, though; at some point every summer we’d put it up in the backyard for the kids to play in for a few days.

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Tincup Adventure

Got a coin? Drop it into the slot of this blogocular-to-the-past......adjust the focus and zero in on the summer of 1980.

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Yup.....that's me you're seeing through the lens.......at just-turned-22-years-old, sitting on top of the world along Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park in beautiful Colorado.......specifically, at the Forest Canyon Overlook. Hunh?......speak up.......what's that you're saying......what was an Iowa farm girl doing in Colorado? She was on vacation during the week between her graduation from practical nursing school and the start of a hospital job. Look closely, you'll see she's clutching a DeKalb seed corn cap......so as not to get homesick or forget her roots.....apparently.

Certainly, this memory must be from another life......a life before children, before cell phones, before VCR's, CD's, DVD's, before the internet, before extra pounds, before a houseful and lifeful of the accumulation of many years of marriage and kids. Honestly, I can't even recall what it was like to be the person sitting in that photo......I don't know where she disappeared to; maybe she tumbled over the mountain's edge after the photo was snapped.

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In the summer of 1980, my husband and I had been married for two years, and as stated, I had just finished a one-year practical nursing course at a local technical school. The decision to drive to Colorado for a few days was done on a last-minute basis. We took our own accomodations along---a tent---the acquisition of which turned out to be rather complicated. The details of that will remain bubbling in the stewpot to serve up later in another blogpost.

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Suffice it to say, we left home early one morning in late June and drove as far as Fort Morgan, Colorado, where we pitched our tent after dark in a crowded campground. After a pitiful few hours of poor sleep, we packed up and headed for Rocky Mountain National Park and a cruise along breath-taking Trail Ridge Road, spending the next night at another crowded campground near Winter Park. The following day's route took us to Leadville, and then Aspen via Independence Pass, and then on to Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. Yes, we were making some pretty fast tracks, trying to take in as much as we could in a short time.

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From the Gunnison area, our plan was to motor east on U.S. 50 to The Royal Gorge and then Colorado Springs. While Husband steered our sickly-green Chrysler Cordoba, I perused maps and travel brochures for interesting places to stop. As we prepared to leave Gunnison that evening, I pointed out a little town called "Tincup".......the name seemed fascinating for some reason. I suggested we take an alternate route through Tincup and from there take a mountain road over Cumberland Pass and loop southward back to Highway 50. Whatever possessed me to come up with that idea, I have no clue. Perhaps the trickster was at work once again.

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It was almost dark when we found a nice little roadside campground northeast of Almont, across the road from the rushing Taylor River. No amenities, of course......the campground's water supply was a cold mountain stream bubbling gaily along amidst towering pine trees.

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The next morning---a Sunday---we left around 5 a.m., journeying past the Taylor Reservoir on the way to Tincup, thinking that later in the morning we could get some breakfast in Salida. Yeah, right.....what a plan......our naive, flat-lander sensibilities at work.

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Tincup turned out to be a tiny, sleepy mountain resort town; most of the residences looked like cabins. The photo below shows the sign which greeted us: This is God's country. Please don't drive through it like Hell. But---heck---there was a church in the background, meaning this surely must be a decent place. We also noticed the miniscule "Tincup Store" with its "CLOSED" placard hanging on the door.

Well.....bye-bye, Tincup......we were just passing through.......heading toward our pleasant, scenic Sunday morning drive through the mountains. Had it even registered in my head that the road I had chosen to traverse from Tincup was not paved? No, the little colorless squiggly line on the map held no sway over my poor judgement that morning.

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We began our ascent, not worrying a bit. The Cordoba---though rather low-riding, which would be its downfall---had lots of horsepower for surging up the progressively steeper mountain road switchbacks. Tall pine trees on either side stood with branches quivering in silent laughter, probably......knowing what lay in store for us. Husband and I were happily oblivious to the possible risks of this route, knowing we would soon reach the top of the mountain road which would surely offer a stupendous view of snowy Colorado peaks. Finally, we neared the point of reaching what appeared to be the top, from whence the road would surely curve around to the other side of the mountain. I was expectantly awaiting the stunning view from there. Ha......my vision was focused too far ahead to even notice what lay right in front of us.

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In retrospect......from a second or two after the incident, until now, almost twenty-nine years later......I am quite sure that out of the corner of my eye I did catch a glimpse of The Rock right before we hit it, or it hit us, or whatever the heck happened. It wasn't even very big, just a nondescript, gravelly rock, maybe 4 or 5 inches in diameter. It didn't appear capable of inflicting the extensive damage that it ended up doing. Evidently, it was simply not in the cards for us to travel to the other side of the mountain......perhaps something worse awaited over there. Anyway, one second things were fine---our car's engine humming along, its strength carrying us steadily along---the next second, a dull clunking sound and then an immediate, sickening clattering and vibration throughout the whole car.

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Husband braked and quickly turned the ignition off......"SON-OF-A-B____!" (That's his voice, not mine. He emits such exclamations only on very choice, specialized occasions.) We clambered out of the car and were met by the painful sight of a river of oil streaming from underneath the car. Several wounds had been inflicted, the most serious being a gaping hole in the oil pan.

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Our only recourse was to start walking back down the mountain to Tincup. Instead of following each curvy switchback in the road, we slipped and slid down the steep, pine-needle-blanketed slopes in between. At one point, we emerged on the road just as a Jeep carrying a man and a woman rounded a bend; they stopped when they saw us. The man rolled down his window and said, "Hey, you shouldn't be hiking on these slopes! There are abandoned mine shafts all over this mountain. You could fall into one!" And, then, "Do you need help?" We explained our predicament, and the couple kindly offered to turn around and drive us back into Tincup. I even remember the guy's name......Michael Carman.......he was the director of the Pioneer Museum in Colorado Springs.

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Once back in Tincup, we drove around trying to figure out what to do. Michael Carman stopped the Jeep in front of the Tincup Store, which, not surprisingly, was still closed at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning. I don't recall for sure, but there must have been a notice posted on the door for anyone having an emergency outside of the store's operating hours. It must have given directions to the store owner's house, for next we drove to a house and knocked on the door. A tall, poker-faced, coffee-cup-clutching fellow answered our summons. Husband and I sheepishly related what had happened to our car. The man---the summer operator of the Tincup Store---was Joe Pinkerton, hailing from Texas at other seasons of the year. He was older, but not that old......I would say perhaps in his late fifties......which seemed much older to the 22-year-old me back then than it does to me now, of course.

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Joe's first utterance to us was a muttering about people who attempt to drive in the mountains without an appropriate vehicle. I could easily understand his annoyance with us, and surely he was not too thrilled about being bothered early on a Sunday morning. But---not to worry---by the next breath Joe was offering to use his rubber-bumpered 4WD pickup to push our car back down the mountain road to Tincup. The Carmans took their leave then; Husband and I hopped in with Joe for the trek back up to our stricken car. Once there, the guys prepared the car for a long roll downhill, making adjustments to prevent more damage to the car. Honestly, I can't recall which vehicle I rode in on the way down......it might have been with Joe. Husband had his hands full with managing the car with no power steering or braking on that steep downhill journey.

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Finally we coasted safely back into Tincup, Joe's pickup nudging the car gently into an empty lot adjacent to the store. There Joe and Husband did a more in-depth assessment of the car's injuries. Hole in oil pan, hole in exhaust pipe, small hole in transmission housing. Joe laid out the options........the nearest tow truck was 40 miles away in Gunnison and they would charge a big price to tow on Sunday, IF they would even do it. We didn't have alot of money with us, just enough travelers checks and cash to get by, and no credit cards. Joe then said he had "a few" tools that Husband would be welcome to use should he wish to attempt removing the oil pan by himself. If he could get it off, Joe knew a welder who lived near the Taylor Reservoir who might be able to repair it sufficiently enough to get us home. Then Joe opened the doors to the lean-to area behind his store......his tools were in there......absolutely every kind of tool a car mechanic could possibly want. Husband gaped in amazement and then said that, yes, he would work on the car himself. Joe said the oil pan would have to be off by 4 p.m. in order to fit into the welder's schedule.

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So, this was the scene for the next several hours.......Husband sprawled under the car, surrounded by idyllic, snow-dappled Colorado mountain peaks, a sight sadly unappreciated by us at that point.

The only way to get the oil pan off was to jack up the engine from below, so that was a challenge. Every so often, a few older guys would wander over to take a look at how things were progressing, shaking their heads pessimistically. I did what I could to help, which wasn't much more than handing tools to Husband, fixing him peanut butter sandwichs with bread I bought at the Tincup Store (yes, Joe sold tin cups in there, too), and keeping the Thermos filled with drinking water. The sun beat down and I was well-burnt by day's end. Husband ended up covered in grease and oil.

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Around mid-morning, I noticed cars pulling up to the church down the road, so I walked over there and attended the Sunday morning service, too. Most of the church-attendees were from campgrounds in the vicinity. Lots of families with young kids. I don't recall anything specific about the sermon, but one of the Bible readings seemed to fit the situation Husband and I were in, though I don't recall the reference anymore. (Yeah, like everything needed to be about us, right.) There were wildfires in the mountains north of Tincup and I recall that being mentioned in the prayers.

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After much frustrating trial and error, Husband was finally successful in finally removing the oil pan.....at 3:30 he and Joe headed down the road to the welding shop. I didn't go along......I recall walking across the road and sitting by a rushing river, maybe reading a book. Once the guys got back, then Husband's new challenge was to reinstall the oil pan. Also, he temporarily repaired the exhaust pipe by fitting another piece of pipe around it. The transmission housing hole was small and apparently not much of an issue, except that we had to keep checking the fluid level on the trip home.

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By 7 p.m., the car was sufficiently fit for driving again. Since Gunnison was an hour away, Joe kindly said we were welcome to pitch our tent behind the store if we wanted to. Husband and I were filthy, exhausted, and starving, however, and decided to take our chances with driving to Gunnison to try and find a motel room. We ended up getting the last room at the first motel we stopped at. I was never so happy to see a bed in all my life.

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Despite the patching of the exhaust pipe hole, our car ran very loud. At the Royal Gorge the next day, we felt most conspicuous as we rumbled across the tourist-filled bridge over the deep gorge. At Colorado Springs, in lieu of driving up Pike's Peak, we rode the train to the summit of Mt. Manitou, elevation 9440 feet. We also stopped at the Air Force Academy to see the unique chapel which looks like fighter jets lined up standing on end.

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The temps were over 100 degrees as we crossed Kansas on our way back home to Iowa. We couldn't run the air conditioning, and the floor of the car became too hot for bare feet to tolerate.

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We arrived home safely. The welded repair on the oil pan was so strong that it didn't need to be redone. We've never forgotten our encounter with The Rock on the mountain road above Tincup, and the kindness of the people who came to our aid, along with the fortuitous supply of tools in Joe Pinkerton's shed. We felt very blessed and loaded with a great story to tell family and friends back home.

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I'll leave you with this scene from near Tincup:

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Oh, yeah......by the way.......where were you in late June of 1980?

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Trip to Colorado

(2/25/08: Sad news.....I think my camera has given up the ghost. But, let's move one to infinitely better news.....My son is engaged! A late summer wedding is being planned!)

Back in the summer of 2005, the above-mentioned son was on an electrical engineering internship out in Colorado. Dairy families don't do much travelling, but this opportunity to visit someone in Colorado was too tempting, so my older daughter and younger son and I made plans for a trip west.

That summer, here at home, we were starting a building project on our house, as you can see in the above photo. This was the phase it was at around the time of our trip, with the basement foundation blocks having just been set in place. You can see there is a trench surrounding the cement block walls. To reach the door to the main level of our house, we had to walk carefully across a plank over the trench.

Three days before we were to depart for Colorado, my younger son got up in the morning and told me about a dream he had just had. In the dream, he had fallen in our new basement area and injured his knee and had to wear a knee brace. I said, "Well, just be careful today, then, so that doesn't happen."

At some point during the day, I was sorting through a stack of magazines to get rid of, and found an ATV sales booklet with some nice, glossy photos of ATV's, and I set it aside to give to Husband's young nephew, Brett, the next time he came here. It turned out that Brett's family did stop in for a short visit that evening. They wanted to see how the house project was coming along. As they were getting into their vehicle to leave, I suddenly remembered about the ATV magazine, and I ran back to the house to get it, stepping carefully on the plank leading to the door.

Who knows how a person's memory can suddenly revert to complete forgetfulness......I grabbed the magazine off the kitchen counter and ran back out the door......evidently forgetting completely about the plank and the trench. Straight down I fell, into the trench, hitting my left knee on the way down on an edge of sidewalk cement jutting out over the trench.

Oh, man, it hurt! I stood there for a bit, grimacing and trying not to cry. Finally, I sidled my way around the foundation until I found a place to climb out. It was right at that moment that I remembered my son's dream.......the "Be Careful" message had been for ME!!

I could walk, but the knee really hurt, and it was already stiffening. I brushed the dirt off the ATV magazine, walked slowly over and gave it to Brett. They hadn't seen me fall, so I waited until after they drove away, then I told Husband about my fall......and always I feel so stupid when that happens......I imagine he'll think I'm making it up. I showed him my knee......(and you know we all have been guilty of saying this to someone)......instinctively, the first thing he said was, "What did you do that for??!" "@#$%#%^&" was what I felt like replying with, but I didn't!

That night, I iced the knee before trying to get into bed. It was impossible to find a pain-free position, and through my head were racing thoughts like, "What am I going to do about the trip?" I was so looking forward to seeing my son and spending time in the beauty of the mountains. All of our reservations for hotels and a trail ride had been made, and tickets had been purchased for a Rockies baseball game in Denver on July 4. We simply had to go.

The next day I phoned my daughter for her opinion on my injury.......she is a coach and has taken athletic training classes. I told her I hit the knee straight on.....there had been no twisting or side hit, so I believed there was no injury to the ACL. She said, too, it probably was not an ACL or MCL injury, thank goodness. I also talked to my pastor's wife at the time, for she also had athletic training experience. She told me that as long as my knee did not feel like it was going to give out as I walked, then it probably was not a ligament injury. So I had two opinions I trusted......there was no time to go to the doctor for it was a weekend.

My gait was ridiculous; I couldn't bend my knee at all. I felt like Chester from the old "Gunsmoke" TV show! The day before the trip, I bought a velcro knee wrap to wear, and decided that I would go to Colorado, bum knee and all. I could still take my turn at driving, for my right leg was fine. What I would have to forego on the trip would be the hiking and the trail-ride we had reservations for.

We left early in the morning on June 30, and arrived in Boulder, Colorado in late afternoon. The next day we were allowed to take a tour at the site of my son's internship, shown in the photo below:

We rode an elevator up inside a wind turbine tower and stood on top of the nacell, which is the box-like thing the blades are attached to. It was quite a dizzying place to be........it was a relief to finally get back down to the ground!These are the only two photos that would load onto this post. (The others wouldn't upload.....just a gray box was there.???)

The photo below shows the site where the various models of wind turbines are set up and studied. A steady supply of strong wind blows down from the mountains through that canyon in the distance, which is why the Wind Technology Center was built here, several miles south of Boulder, on the way to Golden. The mountains look so unreal! Way in the distance (you can hardly see them) are the high peaks of the Rocky Mountain National Park area, where we would be headed the next day.

That evening, while everyone else hiked on the Flatirons west of Boulder, I drove up a mountainside and enjoyed some spectacular views of Boulder and the surrounding area to the east. The next morning, we left Boulder and headed north and west toward Estes Park. It was 85 degrees when we left Boulder.......by the time we reached the Alpine Visitors' Center way up in Rocky Mountain National Park, it was 35 degrees!

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Trail Ridge Road takes drivers through the park, winding back and forth, higher and higher. We stopped wherever there was an overlook, to absorb the gorgeous scenery and feel the crisp mountain air. Sweaters and long pants were dug out of the trunk, and soon we were stopping at snow fields to take photos. At the Visitor's Center, I hobbled in and browsed in the gift shop, while the others climbed a long stairway trail up above the Center. A silver ring with a black diamond heart caught my eye, so I bought it, and wear it everytime I dress up, to remind me of this wonderful memory of being in the mountains!

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We drove back down Trail Ridge Road the way we came up, and found the road to Bear Lake. We walked the trail around this lovely upland lake, enjoying the various snowy mountain peaks which framed the lake from a distance.....Longs Peak and Hallett Peak being two of them.

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That night, we stayed at the Wildwood Inn resort near Estes Park......not far from the tumbling, rushing Fall River. Several weeks before, by a serendipitous online blessing, I had found this one night available at this resort.....usually they book their cabins a full week at a time. We enjoyed dinner that evening in the back room of a tiny Italian restaurant in Estes Park.

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The next day's schedule included the trail-ride. Everyone (except me) saddled up at the "Cowpoke Corner Corral", a few miles outside of Estes Park. When I went into the office to register, the owner laughed when she saw we were from Iowa. She said the horses are from Iowa, too, and are taken back to Manchester every year for the winter!! Pretty cool, we thought!

The tenderfeet horseriders in the above photo enjoyed a memorable afternoon of trail-riding. They had a great time! While they ambled along the wooded and scenic trails, I drove back to Estes Park and browsed in the tourist shops. I bought t-shirts for everyone and several colorful quartzite rocks which now reside on our fireplace mantle. As I was making my way through the crowds along the street, I felt a change in my sore knee.......like it had reached a turning point, and from then on it started feeling better and I could walk more normally! I sometimes wonder if the knee injury was meant to happen for some reason......it seems I was not supposed to hike or ride a horse on this trip!! Maybe the knee injury spared me from some worse injury.....who knows.

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In a happy, tired state, we left Estes Park and drove back to Boulder that evening. The next day, we ventured into Denver and spent time at the Zoo and were in attendance that evening for a Colorado Rockies baseball game. That was on the Fourth of July, and following the game the fans in the stadium were treated to a fantastic fireworks display! Unfortunately, my photo of the fireworks atop the big neon ROCKIES sign would not upload.

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The next day we left early from Boulder and headed back to Iowa, arriving safely at home late in the evening. It had been a whirlwind trip, blessed with traveling mercies and amazing scenery, providing for marvelous memories of Colorado! I just love the mountains!!! (You know......I don't know why we don't go to the Colorado high country more often, considering it takes only one day of driving to get there!)

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Any of you been to the Rocky Mountains? What is your favorite memory there?