On Saturday, we packed our gear into the car and headed towards Glenwood Springs, a mountain town three hours away, where we would camp for the night with Kayden's fellow Cub Scouts.
One of the greatest things about Colorado is that the journey is just as beautiful as the destination.
We arrived in Glenwood Springs just before 11:00 a.m., with me on the verge of death since the air conditioner in Keene's car doesn't work.
Our first stop was to the...
Where we met up with the other families for a guided tour.
A ranger explained the process of gathering fish eggs, putting them in baskets with shock absorbers, where they cook into real fish. (I may have not been fully paying attention.)
First they look like tapioca:
Then they turn into enormous, bug-eyed sperm:
Then they sometimes accidentally turn into a two-headed fish:
But usually not:
...and finally, they end up as my two-headed dinner:
After the tour, we got to go outside and feed the big fish.
Next stop was Two Rivers Park for lunch and rock-skipping at the Colorado River:
I didn't see the second river of "Two Rivers," so I Googled it and discovered there is supposedly (I say this with suspicion) another river nearby that we missed called Roaring Fork River. I wish I could have seen that. Is it like an army of roaring forks, or just one big fork?
At this park, there is a memorial to commemorate fourteen firefighters who died while fighting fire on Storm King Mountain in 1994.
...And a chipmunk that eats potato chips.
After lunch, we headed to Glenwood Springs Cemetery.
(Look! A lizard!)
We hiked to the top (good thing this cemetery is now defunct...I can't imagine a funeral procession successfully climbing this path), we found the grave of John Henry Holliday, better known as Doc Holliday, the cowboy/dentist pal of Wyatt Earp. Just after moving to Glenwood Springs, Holliday croaked of his long-standing tuberculosis.
To honor his gambling nature, someone left playing cards. Supposedly, when he realized he would soon die, in his bed and not in a saloon, he spoke his last words: "I'll be damned. This is funny."
When I saw this gravestone, I didn't know who it was, but with a name like Kid Curry, I figured he/she had to be special. And he was! Sort of. You know Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? Well, he wasn't that kid. But he was in their gang. From VisitGlenwood.com, "Harvey Logan, alias 'Kid Curry' was also buried in Linwood after committing suicide following a train robbery in 1904 near Parachute."
I like this plot because it takes the guesswork out of where to step. I really don't like the idea of stepping over dead bodies.
"Funk is my middle name."
After traipsing around the fairly well-maintained and occasional ornate headstones, we headed farther up the mountain to the Potter's Field. I'm fascinated by the idea of a final resting place for all of the "unwanted" or uncared for people of the world.
While Doc Holliday's gravestone is in the main portion of the cemetery, he was actually buried in an unmarked grave in Potter's Field.
Finally (finally!), we went to the campsite, where we set up the tent and explored the area.
Keene watched hummingbirds:
While Kayden got stung on the neck. Yowch. That is no way to have a good time.
After dinner, volleyball, and general merriment, it was time to sleep on the cold, hard, bug-infested ground.
Bright and early, we packed it back up and headed home to Denver.
But not before stopping for our Starbucks fix. You can take the Starbucks out of the camper (or wait long enough and it will take itself out), but you can't take the camper out of Starbucks.
I often say Kayden is exactly like me. This is one of those times. Here we are: same tired eyes, same irritated expression directed at Keene who kept snapping our picture before we had even fully awakened.