With no posts since Friday, we have a lot of catching up to do. And since running diaries are all the rage in the world of online publishing these days, let’s give it a shot…
Friday 7 PM: Fresh off a long hike, we decided to head over to the famous Woody Creek Tavern for a late dinner. I knew of the Tavern as the favorite watering hole of the late, great author Hunter S. Thompson; Lauren knew of it from the “Forty Dollars A Day” episode Rachel Ray filmed in Aspen. Same planet, different worlds, I guess.
Anyhoo, in our hasty preparation, we neglected to pick up any cash. It dawned on us as we were approaching the Tavern, which is roughly 15 miles from any modern convenience, an ATM included. Of course, as we’re walking up to the entrance, what’s the first thing we see, but a large sign reading, “No Credit Cards.” At this point, the hostess had already approached us, and what unfolded next was one of the stranger conversations you’ll ever be privy to. Here’s my attempt at a reenactment:
Lady: There’s about a 15 minute wait. Can I get your name?
Lauren: It’s Tony. I’m so sorry. I see that you don’t take credit cards. Is there an ATM inside?
Lady: Don’t worry honey, we’ll take care of you.
Lauren: Uhhhh…what do you mean.
Lady: You came all the way down here to eat, didn’t you? You can just mail us the money tomorrow.
Lauren: Uhhhh…OK.
Now, where we grew up, you’d have to surrender your first born before you walk out of a restaurant with nothing more than a verbal IOU. Naturally, this left Lauren and I a bit wary throughout the meal, as images of emptying and scrubbing half eaten platters of fish tacos danced in our heads. But they were true to their word, and although they offered us the opportunity to pay them at a later date, we opted for a much more secure method of payment: an out of state New Jersey check from a guy named Tony. I’m sure that made them feel much better.
Saturday 8 AM: Rising Lauren from a peaceful slumber is far from an easy endeavor when only a day at the beach awaits; change that to a high-altitude hike on tired legs, and you’re fighting a losing battle. Nonetheless, arise she did (after much cajoling), and armed with her fancy new shoes and assorted outdoor gear, we set out with an agenda that could only be described as ambitious.
8:30 AM: Before we could hit the trails, we wanted to stop by the Aspen Farmer’s Market. Located in the shadow of Ajax Mountain, the market occupies two full city streets every Saturday morning. Lauren and I were among the first on the scene, so we had our run of the place for a while. There were tons of fruit, veggies, flowers, useless trinkets; pretty standard really. I tried to tempt Lauren with a couple pounds of elk meat, but she wasn’t biting. To be honest, I don’t think she was able to fully enjoy the experience, as she has been a little on edge whenever we’re downtown recently, what with the recent bear attack and all.
9:15 AM: Eighteen miles up Independence Pass, or roughly 11,500 feet higher than where you likely sit as you read this, we parked the Pathfinder and set off on the first of three hikes we hoped to knock off before noon. This was Lauren’s first trek with any real ascent, as Linkins Lake is located 1.2 miles and 600 vertical feet above the trailhead. Couple that with a lung-busting lack of oxygen, and you’ve got yourself one cranky Fares. As always, however, Lauren pulled it together, and we were soon rewarded with another amazing photo-op. To top it all off, unlike our hike from a couple of days ago, we could walk right up to the lake and admire the clarity of the mountain run-off. Good times. 
10:15 AM: Our next stop, at a paltry 10,000 feet, is a staple of the Aspen tourist routine, the Independence Ghost Town. Founded on July 4, 1882, a handful of gold-hungry prospectors apparently thought it was a good idea to build a town at the top of a mountain pass. Turns out, they were wrong. I mean, who could have guessed the winters would be unbearably harsh at 10,000 feet?
A couple of miserable years and devastating avalanches later, the pictures below are all that remains of Independence, Colorado. As I perused the ruins, I was left with the thought that had my lovely wife been one of the town’s founders, there would be no ghost town left behind, as she would have steadfastly insisted that everything be moved to their new town, regardless of the cost.
11:00: Hiked the Braille Trail. The first of it’s kind, it is designed to give blind people an opportunity to enjoy an authentic Colorado hike. Of course, it begs the question, how the hell did they drive up the pass in the first place?
12:30 PM: Our frivolous pursuits complete, we headed back downtown for some serious business: the Ducky Derby. Once a year, the good people of Aspen get together to race rubber ducks down the Roaring Fork River. Sounds silly, until you realize the person who “adopted” the winning duckie earns a cool 15K. Of course, in Aspen, that’ll only get you through the weekend.
2 PM-6PM: Drove to Glenwood Springs to buy a couch, chair, and other assorted furnishings. Glenwood Springs is a “city” in the same way that Screech is a “celebrity.” Not to rehash a tire old inbred joke, but there are an awful lot of suspicious overbites running around that town, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we got all our furniture, and we managed to do it all on the cheap. Oh, and we decided against the sleeper sofa, so if you were planning to come stay with us, I hope you like the comfort and support only an air mattress can provide. Or you can always stay at the Jerome for $1,500 a night. That air mattress ain’t so bad now, is it?
7 PM: Lauren and I stopped in Basalt on our way back to Aspen. Basically, if you don’t have a trust fund or get hooked up with employee housing, like we did, you live in Basalt. It’s a super-cool little town, built right along the river. Think Lambertville, only with fewer fat people. Long story short, we ate dinner right on the river, and had the added joy of listening to the girl at the table next to us discuss the personal lives of Aspen residents Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell in frightening detail.
Sunday
8 AM: While Lauren dozed, I snuck out and tried once again to summit Red Mountain. I made it 1,600 vertical feet this time, about 600 short of the summit, before reaching my predetermined turn around time. This left me in a gigantic field of Aspen trees and wildflowers, which, let me tell you, is not a bad place to be. By the time I got down and back to the house, my girl was up and ready for breakfast.
11 AM: Went to the Wienerstube, also one of Rachel Ray’s choices. The food was excellent; on par with Scojos, sacrilegious as that may be.
12 PM -5 PM: Back to Glenwood Springs. You know, people say my wife must posses infinite patience to teach special education, but to be fair, until you’ve gone grocery shopping with Lauren, you have no idea what patience really it is. Her movement through the store is a study in meticulousness; nothing is left to chance. Even a decision as seemingly innocuous as which paper towels to buy requires prolonged, detailed analysis. If it’s not price, it’s quantity. If it’s not quantity, it’s quality. At one point, she insisted I start arbitrarily spilling things so we could test absorption rates. OK, I made that last part up, but it was definitely within the realm of possibility.
6 PM: We stopped by Wal-Mart so I could buy a $50 mountain bike. What could go wrong?
8 PM: While Lauren and I were riding our bikes downtown for some Ben & Jerry’s, my $50 bike broke. Go figure. Lauren had to take the bus home, get our car, and come rescue me. I'll chalk this up as my most foolish purchase since that ham radio I bought when I was twelve.
Some weekend, huh? We pretty much filled every minute, which you’re kinda’ sorta’ forced to do when you don’t have a working television around to distract you from reality.
To top it all of, the weekend ended on a very happy note. When my wife came back downtown to pick me up, she ran into a familiar foe. And this time, she was ready...
