Chapter 5
Chapter Five, Colorado-schmolerado.
9:00 a.m.
“ No hangover today, Hooray!” These were the words that graced my road-trip diary on the morning of day four. Four words that said so little, yet so much. The best kind of morning, in my opinion, is the one where you have had a colossal session the previous night, and from where you wake up unaffected by the chemicals coursing through your system. It is like a freebee, not in the traditional sense where there are strings attached, such as “buy one, don’t pay interest until 2030, see terms and conditions, anybody need not apply as we are screwing you over you gullible bastards!” No, this is in the fucking great sense where you have gotten one over on the world and feel bloody brilliant!
The first order of business was to gather the troops and sort ourselves out. As previously mentioned, we had taken residence in the house of a complete stranger, not only that, the actual owners of the house were not present. Our breakfast consisted on some boiled pasta filled with cheese, from the freezer. We all sat around discussing our plans for the day and eating, with some drinking also occurring, although not of the alcoholic nature.
9:30 a.m.
It was at this point in time I realised that plant-pot smashing man was still here, lying on a sofa, drooling and muttering. I crept passed him with Mr. Pink, on a specific mission, to piss off Mr. C. Mr. Pink really wanted to sneak into his room and surprise him, so I couldn’t say no. Unfortunately, Mr. C was already in the world of the living and scuppered our plans.
10:00 a.m.
Later on, Mr. T and myself were chatting over our crappy frozen pasta, and I brought up the topic about using other people’s bathrooms. I speculated that Mr. C was “taking a big smelly shite” in the bathroom of the poor girl who’s parents owned the mansion, to which Mr. T replied that he would never do that, and that he would save such a parcel for the upcoming library visit. This was all well and good, except for the fact that Mr. C was taking so long, and I now really needed to relieve myself. I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and visited the downstairs bathroom, the one of which we found the previous night, had no lock. I sat for nigh on ten minutes doing my business and holding the door handle firmly in the closed position. When I had finished, I am ashamed to say, The smell of a healthy night on the tiles permeated the room. Before I exited the facility, the smell had galloped to the adjacent room and proceeded to lay siege to the kitchen, I was powerless to stop it.
10:30 a.m.
Once we were all finally sorted out, fed and watered and all of that, we made our way to the van, or as it was now being called (by me,) The Bitch. We all piled into The Bitch and made a move. At this point in the journey we began to hear some unfortunate noises coming from our vehicle, every time we turned the wheel, a horrid, grinding sound offended our ears. However, at this particular moment, we had no idea what it was.
The morning was taken up by the obligatory library trip, we all stormed the building, searching out the Internet ready consoles, ready to fight for our emails. As it happened, there was a lot less fighting and a lot more queuing. After a fair bit of queuing from me Mr. T strolled in and went on the computer next to mine, immediately checking his mail, ignoring the sign, which declared the computer a non-Internet unit. If it were not so funny it probably would have pissed me off. In hindsight, we spent far too much time in libraries, on computers, and in libraries waiting for Mr. C to finish on the computers. We could have perhaps spent this wasted time more productively, sight seeing or writing, but alas, we are children of the nineties.
12:30 p.m.
By lunchtime Mr. C had concluded his surfing, or terrorizing children in the chatrooms, as I suspected on more than one occasion. We met up in the lobby and then proceeded to a point just outside the building, where we waited until Miss A and her friends arrived. What began as a boring day in toilets and libraries, blossomed into a fantastic tour of Boulder. This city was a haven for middle-aged hippies and soul-seeking new agers. Every street corner had an esoteric bookstore or a hip organic juice bar. Every pillar in the high street was plastered with posters advertising some forthcoming artistic event. Every shop window was colaged with small colourful pieces of paper, advertising therapies of some kind or other. As we marched down the road we spotted a piano sat in the middle of the pedestrianised area, complete with player, hammering away at the ivories, and completing the almost surreal scene. As the Pianist concluded her piece, I suppressed the urge to scream “play it again sam!” Or something equally nauseating. The serenity of the situation was surprising, and considering the bustling going on around us, it was remarkably carefree.
2:40 p.m.
We spent a rewarding two hours wandering the centre of Boulder, stopping to peek in shop windows here, a spot of modern art admiring there, until we had our fill. We made our way back to our vehicles with instructions to follow the car in front. After fifteen minutes of following, the two vehicles pulled over at an idyllic scene. All around us, we were surrounded by the permanence of the Rocky Mountains. No longer were they something for us just to admire from afar, wondering how cold it was at the top. Now we were inside the mountain range. The place where we decided to rest our weary feet was a stream running down the mountain side, rushing over stones, smoothed by the millenia of water coursing over them. What better way to experience the beauty of nature but spark one up? We sat enjoying a smoke and a drink for a good while, taking in nature and the sheer faces and the deep oranges of the mountains.
5:00 p.m.
By the evening we had grown weary, and our hostess with the mostess (the mostess food!) again didn’t fail to provide. We enjoyed a meal of varying levels, from stir fry to rice to generic cola. We ate like kings and talked of the day, while in our minds planning our next great adventure.
8:00 p.m.
After we had eaten heartily we made our way to the local playing field, running track and mini sports stadium. Thinking that the occasion may warrant a football, Mr. Pink provided, and we ran around like excited children until our smoke filled lungs caught up with us, and we realised that we were, in fact, 5000 feet above sea level and becoming quite exhausted. With our physical health in mind, we sat down and sparked one up, and one by one were thoroughly entertained.
12:00 a.m.
We played cards outside the house of Miss A until we got bored, at which point we were shown down to our bedroom, a large basement with a computer and various games systems, which suited us just fine. Our stay at the house was our most luxurious night since beginning our journey, and the first night I had not slept in one of the seats of The Bitch.
9:00 a.m.
“ No hangover today, Hooray!” These were the words that graced my road-trip diary on the morning of day four. Four words that said so little, yet so much. The best kind of morning, in my opinion, is the one where you have had a colossal session the previous night, and from where you wake up unaffected by the chemicals coursing through your system. It is like a freebee, not in the traditional sense where there are strings attached, such as “buy one, don’t pay interest until 2030, see terms and conditions, anybody need not apply as we are screwing you over you gullible bastards!” No, this is in the fucking great sense where you have gotten one over on the world and feel bloody brilliant!
The first order of business was to gather the troops and sort ourselves out. As previously mentioned, we had taken residence in the house of a complete stranger, not only that, the actual owners of the house were not present. Our breakfast consisted on some boiled pasta filled with cheese, from the freezer. We all sat around discussing our plans for the day and eating, with some drinking also occurring, although not of the alcoholic nature.
9:30 a.m.
It was at this point in time I realised that plant-pot smashing man was still here, lying on a sofa, drooling and muttering. I crept passed him with Mr. Pink, on a specific mission, to piss off Mr. C. Mr. Pink really wanted to sneak into his room and surprise him, so I couldn’t say no. Unfortunately, Mr. C was already in the world of the living and scuppered our plans.
10:00 a.m.
Later on, Mr. T and myself were chatting over our crappy frozen pasta, and I brought up the topic about using other people’s bathrooms. I speculated that Mr. C was “taking a big smelly shite” in the bathroom of the poor girl who’s parents owned the mansion, to which Mr. T replied that he would never do that, and that he would save such a parcel for the upcoming library visit. This was all well and good, except for the fact that Mr. C was taking so long, and I now really needed to relieve myself. I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and visited the downstairs bathroom, the one of which we found the previous night, had no lock. I sat for nigh on ten minutes doing my business and holding the door handle firmly in the closed position. When I had finished, I am ashamed to say, The smell of a healthy night on the tiles permeated the room. Before I exited the facility, the smell had galloped to the adjacent room and proceeded to lay siege to the kitchen, I was powerless to stop it.
10:30 a.m.
Once we were all finally sorted out, fed and watered and all of that, we made our way to the van, or as it was now being called (by me,) The Bitch. We all piled into The Bitch and made a move. At this point in the journey we began to hear some unfortunate noises coming from our vehicle, every time we turned the wheel, a horrid, grinding sound offended our ears. However, at this particular moment, we had no idea what it was.
The morning was taken up by the obligatory library trip, we all stormed the building, searching out the Internet ready consoles, ready to fight for our emails. As it happened, there was a lot less fighting and a lot more queuing. After a fair bit of queuing from me Mr. T strolled in and went on the computer next to mine, immediately checking his mail, ignoring the sign, which declared the computer a non-Internet unit. If it were not so funny it probably would have pissed me off. In hindsight, we spent far too much time in libraries, on computers, and in libraries waiting for Mr. C to finish on the computers. We could have perhaps spent this wasted time more productively, sight seeing or writing, but alas, we are children of the nineties.
12:30 p.m.
By lunchtime Mr. C had concluded his surfing, or terrorizing children in the chatrooms, as I suspected on more than one occasion. We met up in the lobby and then proceeded to a point just outside the building, where we waited until Miss A and her friends arrived. What began as a boring day in toilets and libraries, blossomed into a fantastic tour of Boulder. This city was a haven for middle-aged hippies and soul-seeking new agers. Every street corner had an esoteric bookstore or a hip organic juice bar. Every pillar in the high street was plastered with posters advertising some forthcoming artistic event. Every shop window was colaged with small colourful pieces of paper, advertising therapies of some kind or other. As we marched down the road we spotted a piano sat in the middle of the pedestrianised area, complete with player, hammering away at the ivories, and completing the almost surreal scene. As the Pianist concluded her piece, I suppressed the urge to scream “play it again sam!” Or something equally nauseating. The serenity of the situation was surprising, and considering the bustling going on around us, it was remarkably carefree.
2:40 p.m.
We spent a rewarding two hours wandering the centre of Boulder, stopping to peek in shop windows here, a spot of modern art admiring there, until we had our fill. We made our way back to our vehicles with instructions to follow the car in front. After fifteen minutes of following, the two vehicles pulled over at an idyllic scene. All around us, we were surrounded by the permanence of the Rocky Mountains. No longer were they something for us just to admire from afar, wondering how cold it was at the top. Now we were inside the mountain range. The place where we decided to rest our weary feet was a stream running down the mountain side, rushing over stones, smoothed by the millenia of water coursing over them. What better way to experience the beauty of nature but spark one up? We sat enjoying a smoke and a drink for a good while, taking in nature and the sheer faces and the deep oranges of the mountains.
5:00 p.m.
By the evening we had grown weary, and our hostess with the mostess (the mostess food!) again didn’t fail to provide. We enjoyed a meal of varying levels, from stir fry to rice to generic cola. We ate like kings and talked of the day, while in our minds planning our next great adventure.
8:00 p.m.
After we had eaten heartily we made our way to the local playing field, running track and mini sports stadium. Thinking that the occasion may warrant a football, Mr. Pink provided, and we ran around like excited children until our smoke filled lungs caught up with us, and we realised that we were, in fact, 5000 feet above sea level and becoming quite exhausted. With our physical health in mind, we sat down and sparked one up, and one by one were thoroughly entertained.
12:00 a.m.
We played cards outside the house of Miss A until we got bored, at which point we were shown down to our bedroom, a large basement with a computer and various games systems, which suited us just fine. Our stay at the house was our most luxurious night since beginning our journey, and the first night I had not slept in one of the seats of The Bitch.
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