NOTE: If you would prefer to listen, click here for an audio version of this blog post. When prompted, click the following: Photo 1 Video Photo 2
NOTE: Click here for Part 12: Where I worked – Mountain Bell on Zuni St. (cont’d.), supervisor – the “Gong”; click here for Part 14: Sunday morning – counting down to kickoff & fondly remembering old Mile High Stadium.
Since Joanna passed away, I’ve discovered that grief washes over me when I least expect it. One of those times occurred as I drove westbound from the airport on Friday afternoon of my recent Denver nostalgia tour. It took awhile for me to get past the busy-ness of the city . . . houses, other buildings of various shapes and sizes, and so forth, but then I hit that “sweet spot” where the majestic Rockies first came into view. It hit me suddenly, taking my breath away, and I unexpectedly burst into tears. It didn’t take much figuring for me to realize where those tears came from – they came from that place deep inside me that remembered how Joanna and I loved the view of the mountains from the backyards of our last two houses, the ones that were in the southwest area of Denver; or the many times that Joanna and I “got away” by taking a drive into the mountains, only minutes from home, and the peace that we felt every time we looked up as we drove amidst the Rockies; or our special trips to Central City, Glenwood Springs, Vail, Rocky Mountain National Park, and other points west. Yes, those tears came from where most of my tears originate these days – from missing the one with whom I shared my life, my life companion, Joanna. That’s really what this “nostalgia tour” is all about, you see: at the very heart of it are my memories of Joanna and our life together. Those 10 years in Denver make up a very special part of those memories. So my first view of the Rockies on this trip brought a flood of tears – and memories.
On Saturday afternoon, I headed west on Morrison Road, which is the road I had usually taken, when we lived in Denver, when we wanted to simply drive into the mountains. I drove into the mountains in the midst of this nostalgia tour, because (1) I simply wanted to experience the beauty of the Rockies and the feel of being in the midst of them; (2) I wanted to see the aspen trees; this was always the time of year that their leaves are turning to a bright gold hue; and (3) it was hot in Denver, and I wanted to feel the crisp, cool mountain air that I would surely experience as I gained altitude – to feel that “Rocky Mountain high” that John Denver sang about. Fall was always my favorite time in Denver; I loved the cool, crisp air that was prevalent this time of year. So I had been disappointed to find Denver’s weather unseasonably warm.
I can’t say that all of my wishes were realized. I drove about 12 miles west, rising about 1,000 feet above the mile-high altitude of Denver. I enjoyed experiencing the majestic beauty of the Rockies again, if for only a short time. Of course, I had the same ache in my heart that I had throughout this trip – remembering the times Joanna and I had driven this route, and wishing she were by my side again. Nothing is the same without her, nothing is as joyful and enjoyable without her. She will always be a part of me, and I of her.
I had hoped to see a full grove of aspen trees but never did. The ones I saw, clusters here and there, were beautiful, but not in the fullness that I had hoped.
I did park and get out of the car for a few minutes, and experienced a small taste of mountain air, but it still didn’t have that crisp, cool “bite” for which I had hoped. I recorded a short video, in which I panned around the mountains. Even on this short drive, I passed through two or three small resort towns. I stopped briefly in Evergreen and took a picture along the main street through town.
It was a nice drive, though, bringing back memories, a reminder of how very much Joanna and I loved this area, how much we enjoyed every time we drove out this way, whether just for the sake of the drive, or on our way to Central City – a resort town that we loved to visit, or driving up north to Estes Park, home of Rocky Mountain National Park. I didn’t have time for that drive this time, but seeing the Rockies up close brought back memories of the numerous times we drove up Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. It ascends to over 12,000 feet, and you’re driving on the edge of a cliff the entire way. Every time we reached the top, I discovered that my fingernails were embedded in the steering wheel . . . driving on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a deep canyon, will do that to you. Good memories!
How Joanna and I loved living in Colorado!