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| "Clyde" (1982) |
After a mid-morning nap, I packed up the meager possessions into my carry-ons and checked out just in time to catch the shuttle back to DIA. The driver dropped us off by the same door where I'd boarded the day before. I went inside and walked immediately towards the Ground Transportation area, where I bought a ticket on the 1:35 shuttle. The woman at the counter gave me directions to find the right traffic island.
That gave me two hours to kill. I went upstairs in the airport, on the second floor overlooking the chaotic main area of the terminal. I took a seat at the Pour La France, at a table by the railing, where I ordered lunch and an iced tea. I purchased a day's worth of airport Wi-Fi to keep working. The waitress refilled my iced tea glass once, and by the time it was empty the second time, it was almost a quarter past one.
I went down the escalator carrying my bags. They seemed so weirdly light. I kept thinking I didn't have everything. I kept having to remind myself that there were no other bags.
Following the directions I'd been given, I went outside to stand beside the sign for the shuttle. The bus came within five minutes. While the driver helped other passengers load their bags into the back, I went on to the shuttle and took a seat in the back.
About half the seats filled up. I had the whole back row to myself. A woman in the row ahead of me kept a long phone conversation going the whole time we drove out of the airport and onto E-470, the toll road that now allows a short cut from the airport up to I-25. Once she was done talking, all was mostly silent, and I took a short nap.
I amused myself watching Youtube videos on my cell-phone. By the time I'd watched several of them, we were already passing Berthoud and Loveland, and on our way to Fort Collins. Traffic slowed as we passed a man stranded with a large motor boat along the side of the road. The name of the boat was "Amnesia."
A few minutes later the driver pulled off the Harmony Road exit and then into the transit center there by the interchange. There we changed onto a smaller van for in-town drop off. The driver asked me where I was going.
"The Hilton," I told him.
There were two other passengers in the shuttle, both Chinese. The driver drove into town on Harmony, then turned up Timberline to Drake, then took Drake to Shields. He looped around through the CSU campus to drop the two Chinese people off at the Academic Village. Then he drove two blocks to the Hilton, where he dropped me off under the portico.
I went inside and checked in. "Looks like you've already paid for your room," said the woman at the reception. While she punched up things on the computer, I looked over the personal items for sale next to the desk, making a note of things I needed. Except for contact lens solution, I had gone "commando on toiletries," as I told Red.
The woman gave me a pair of key cards. I took the elevator up to the third floor and found my room---a king-size bed with a view overlooking Prospect Road back towards campus. One could have paid extra for a mountain view, but the one I had was fine by me.
I spent the next couple hours in my room working on my laptop while sitting on the bed, trying to cram in as much activity as possible before the end of the work day. It would make it easier for Monday. I had to buy wi-fi again for the second time that day.
"Hilton, where everything costs extra," I said to myself.
At 4:30 I went downstairs and left the front entrance of the hotel with the intention of finding some food. A downpour from a thunderstorm drove me back inside almost immediately. I went to the hotel bar and ordered a hamburger and fries. The television set on the wall of the bar was showing a soccer game. As I ate my burger, I remembered watching the Oregon-Auburn national championship football game there a couple years back.
On the way back upstairs I stopped back at the reception and bought tiny travel sizes of toothpaste and mouth wash. It came to seven bucks. I paid with cash at the reception.
Upstairs in my room I took a shower and then napped a little more.
About seven o'clock, I rousted myself, put on my black jeans and grey button shirt, both bought at REI before I went up to Spokane. I made a quick cup of coffee and drank it with cream. Then I left my room and walked down the hall to the stairs, taking them down to the first floor, where I exited the side entrance through sliding glass doors.
Outside the rumbling of thunder and dark clouds filled the sky. But I could tell the storm was moving away to the East by now. I'd dodged the heaviest downpour earlier that afternoon. The clouds above me didn't look like they would rain on me.
I walked north from the hotel through CSU, up past the Eddy Building and the Morgan Library, and then cut westward on the sidewalks that cross the big grassy fields in the central part of campus. There were a smattering of students playing volleyball by the fitness center, but mostly I had the entire place to myself.
I came up to the stoplight at Shields and waited for the light to cross the traffic there. From there I walked west along Elizabeth. The sun was just about to set over the mountains, in a patch of clear golden skies to the west.
I passed a loud bar where people were sitting out front drinking on the enclosed patio, and then several restaurants and fast food places that catered to students.
After five minutes walk, I came to the intersection of City Park Avenue. I crossed it and half a block later, I came up to another lively restaurant with a patio where people were drinking. I went inside the restaurant and looked around. I asked the waitress for directions. She told me to go across the parking lot to the Club House, which I did.
I made eye contact with the woman at the table there.
"Matt Trump!" she said, calling out my name with great enthusiasm. She leaned over and I gave her a hug.
"Dee," I said, "So great to see you!"
She didn't ask for money. She knew I had already paid. It had become a joke of sorts on Facebook.
The small table at which she was sitting had blank name tags and sharpies of various color. I took a black pen and wrote my name on one of the name tags. Then I peeled off the sticker and stuck it onto the breast of my shirt.
Such is the customary thing to do, at one's high school reunion.
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