Into the Land of the Mighty Columbine

Purple and Gold Forever!

After two hours the plane starts to descend through the turbulence of thunderstorms over the Rockies. Out the window I see the familiar landscape of the High Plains outside the Denver Airport---the new airport, as I still think of it.

During the flight I'd purchased on-board wi-fi and used my laptop to book a hotel room near the airport. The slowness of the connection meant it took almost twenty minutes to go through all the screens to make the reservation, but the wheels of the Internet kept grinding until I finally got the confirmation for the Comfort Suites on Tower Road.

As we landed, the captain announced that the temperature in Denver that afternoon was ninety-two degrees.

Having no checked bags, I headed straight for the shuttle area outside the automatic glass doors. Even with the low humidity in Colorado, ninety-two degrees is not very comfortable. Yet I would take it over the eighty degree temperatures in Portland.

Outside the orchestration of all the vehicles---taxis, as well as minibuses for the various hotels, parking lots, and rental car agencies---is quite a thing to behold.  I took a seat and waited for my shuttle.

After forty minutes of waiting for the Comfort Suites bus, which didn't show up, I got out my smartphone and looked for nearby hotels, figuring I would just hitch a ride on one of the other shuttles. The one for the nearby La Quinta arrived a few minutes later, so I got on it and took a seat. It dropped me off about a half mile from my hotel.

With my light carry-ons slung over my shoulder like a vagabond, I spent twenty minutes sauntering south along a rural undeveloped section of Tower Road, past wildflowers and curb cuts in the pavement awaiting a future round of hotel and restaurant development. I was happy to get the exercise.

Republic of Texas (1836-1846)

To the west was visible the entire line of the Front Range. One could easily see Pikes Peak to the south and Longs Peak to the north, as well as Mt. Evans just to the west on the other side of Denver. In my mind I compared the Rockies to my recent experience in the Cascades.

It's funny how regional rivalries work. The Oregonians I know seem to hate Colorado, but most Coloradoans think highly of Oregon. Oregonians seem to hold Texas in high esteem, but Texans barely even know where Oregon is on a map. Likewise true Coloradoans hate Texas, but Texans seem to love Colorado.

As I told my French friend Jean, who lived many years in Austin, my pet theory is that the Texas fascination with Colorado is deep-rooted in the history of the two states. Among other things, Colorado is the lost high county of the Republic of Texas. Texas doesn't have any mountains like the Rockies now, but they wish they did.

In my hotel room, it felt weird to have so little baggage. I plopped down on the bed and took out my smartphone.

"In Denverino," I texted to Red. I knew she would read it using my Texas accent.