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Somehow I ended up serving as master of ceremonies of the final leg of the Triple Crown of Pack-Burro Racing on Sunday afternoon in Buena Vista. (The other legs are Fairplay and Leadville, both to the summit of 13,188-foot Mosquito Pass).
So far as I know, this is the only sport indigenous to Colorado, and so it may be a while before pack-burro racing gets added to the Olympics or even appears on television or in mass-circulation newspapers.
Commercial folklore holds that pack-burro racing was
invented by prospectors racing to the courthouse to stake
their claims. In fact, the entire sport was fabricated by
the Fairplay Chamber of Commerce in a 1949 effort to get
more tourists to visit for Gold Days.
While the truth may not seem as romantic as the legend, it should be kept in mind that hustling tourists is as ancient and honorable a montane enterprise as filing a mineral claims.
The sport's rules are fairly simple. Racer and burro (must be Equus asinus -- no horses, mules or hennies) run as a team. The racer can carry the burro, but the burro cannot carry the racer. The burro must carry a pack saddle and at least 33 pounds of specified prospecting equipment.
Contestants seemed to fudge some on that. Sean Herrin, a
Buena Vista chiropractor who helped organize the race, was
also a competitor, and his gold pan
looked like a
flimsy throwaway aluminum container that comes with a
store-bought pie.
Sean, I've got a real gold pan I can lend you,
I
offered. I use it when I'm changing oil, but I know it
works -- I got some black sand out of Foose's Creek in
1979.
He demurred. This is my racing pan.
I didn't have
time to see whether he was using a can-opener instead of a
pickaxe, or a tack hammer instead of a six-pound
sledge.
Anyway, I was preparing to introduce the burros and their racers, and realized that one -- perhaps Colorado's most famous pack-burro racer -- was missing: our state representative and this year a candidate for the state senate, Ken Chlouber of Leadville.
Where's Ken?
I asked.
San Diego,
replied Curtis Imrie, who ran against
Ken for the representative's job in 1994. Republican
National Convention.
Why does he have to go there?
I pointed down the
street. We have a big tent here.
I think he's a national committeeman,
Curtis
said. But imagine, being locked up for the better part
of a week with Republicans. And not just any
run-of-the-mill say-hi-on-Main-Street Republicans, but
Republicans specially selected for their outstanding
Republican characteristics. Remember that line about being
caught inside a loaf of Wonder Bread?
Now, I'm not nearly as partisan as Curtis, but that prospect did sound rather dismal. And so, after the Rev. Fred Dare completed the traditional pre-race blessing of the burros, I asked for a moment of silence to express our shared and non-partisan sympathy for Ken Chlouber. He could have been having a good time in Buena Vista with the rest of us, but instead, he put civic duty first. Four days, at least, closeted with GOP stalwarts -- obviously, we expect far too much of our public servants.
This raises a question, though. Suppose the Republicans wanted to make their convention interesting, even though all the important questions -- Bob Dole, Jack Kemp, Pat who? -- have already been settled. How could they turn it into something worth watching?
· Stop this waffling on the anti-abortion plank. Let's see an animated floor argument, punctuated with some NRA artillery, about whether women who miscarry should be charged with murder or merely manslaughter.
· Show clips from the 10 movies that Bob Dole
despises most that he hasn't seen. For instance, he
attacked Natural Born Killers
last year, inspiring
me to rent it, and I enjoyed it. Think how ratings would
soar if scenes from Striptease
were aired, followed
by a short talk from Bruce Willis about his Republican
family values.
· Execute a convict. The conventioneers support the death penalty, so why not a hanging or a firing squad, some live death before a national audience? Talk about a deterrent. Lethal injection, though far more popular, would be too static for good television, and gas chambers and electric chairs, while dramatic, require too much installation work for a one-time spectacle.
· Host a mass demonstration of gratitude from welfare recipients, now thrilled that their chains of bondage -- those awful monthly checks -- have been shattered.
· Announce that this will be the last GOP national convention, ever. The primaries determine the candidate, who determines everything else. Conventions are expensive and meaningless. Since downsizing and efficiency are good in the private sector, why not practice those virtues in the public sector?
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