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My old friend Jake Wolcott called from Vail, eager to involve me in a new business opportunity.
The other day I read a story about why people visit
Colorado,
he explained. After living in Vail, I
thought the only reason people came to Colorado was to
slide down snow piles in subzero weather and to do $50
lunches before they shop for $400 designer sunglasses. But
it turns out that the world-class destination-resort
experience ranks rather low.
I'd missed that story, so I pressed for details about the leading causes of Colorado tourism.
What brings more people than anything else is
'visiting friends and relatives' -- freeloading and
mooching. But we can make big money if we go after the No.
2 item.
That was touring Colorado,
he said. They just
want to wander around the state and see things. So we will
promote the Wolcott & Quillen Genuine Authentic
Colorado Mountain Tours.
Even though I was on the phone, I slid my hand back to
cover my wallet, the way I do whenever someone has a
business proposition for me. This was your idea,
I
probed. Just why do you want me involved?
The only authentic way to tour the high country is in
a beater,
he said. And your old pickup is a Colorado
classic -- gets 80 miles to the quart of re-refined oil,
backfires like a gatling gun on every downgrade, needs a
pint of ether and a jump from an arc-welder to start on a
cold morning, mega-cracks in the windshield.
It pained me to interrupt him with the sad truth. But
after I entered the Ugly Pickup
contest at the
county fair last summer, and didn't even place -- the
winner, a 1938 National, was missing an entire door, among
other things -- I was so heartbroken that I actually
indulged in some repairs. Even a new windshield, after I
almost ran into a D-9 Caterpillar that I didn't see.
That's going to hurt business,
he lamented,
but we'll manage anyway.
Where will we go?
Our main winter excursion option will be the saloon
tour. Start in Pueblo at the Senate Lounge. Then the Vic in
Salida. The Gold Pan in Breckenridge. The Midland in
Basalt. Maybe Reno's in Redcliff and the San Juan in
Silverton. We'll hit all the places with cheap beer or good
Mexican food.
In the spring, we can offer mud-running. Wimps float
white-water rivers, but we'll provide some real axle-deep
gut-churning slip-sliding thrills, like racing the
California Zephyr from the Trough Road along Gore Canyon.
Come summer, we can roll 'em off that first tight
switchback on Ophir Pass if we don't bounce off Engineer
Pass.
Well, those things were fun once upon a time, but I'll be 38 come Saturday, I have a wife and two kids, and just when I started to protest, he added the kicker.
We should provide all the customary and vital
supplies for our clients -- three or four cases of tall
boys, a box of Marsh-Wheeling stogies, quart-sized
stainless-steel Thermos of road coffee, an ought-six on the
gun rack and some fencing pliers in the glove box just in
case anybody or anything gets in our way.
Wait,
I interjected. Haven't you ever heard of
the laws about driving while impaired? And to tour the
mountains the traditional way, measuring distances by
six-packs -- people are too safety- and health-conscious
these days to do that at all, let alone pay good money to
do it.
But all of us natives know that life's supreme
pleasure is to jump in an old pickup with a friend, toss
some beer in, and head into the mountains. Crank up a
George Thorogood tape blasting some 12-bar blues, and stop
just for coffee refills, green chile, and to relieve
yourself at the top of every pass.
You're right,
I conceded. But in Vail of all
places, you should know that Colorado got overrun by
mountain-bike yuppies who don't understand, and they've
outlawed the old ways. Authentic or not, we could never
make a business out of it.
Damn,
he complained. You know, Colorado can be
a great place if you can hit the road and listen to black
people's music, eat brown people's food, and get your hands
on some white people's money. But I guess I've struck out
again.
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