NEWSLETTERS

August 2003
©2003 Terri Hendrix

"Indeed, not all who wander are lost." -- J.R.R. Tolkien

I'll be the first to admit, as I have many times, that I'm "geographically challenged." Where I'd be today without Yahoo maps, I have no idea -- though admittedly that isn't saying much because I usually have no idea where I am even when I actually have a Yahoo map telling me exactly where I need to be and how to get there. That said, in my line of work, they're often a Godsend. But one direction a Yahoo map can't give you is *up*, which might actually come in handy if you're planning a trip to a place like Gold Hill, Colorado. Then again, maybe it's a relief these maps aren't available in a 3-D format (what you'd need). For had I known how high I'd have to go to get there -- gulp! -- I might never would have discovered this beautiful little mining town. I'd have chickened out.

So there we were, at the tail-end of June, driving for what seemed like an eternity, twisting our way up, up, up and more up Sunshine Canyon Drive towards Gold Hill, (believed to have been the first permanent mining camp in the Colorado mountains) where we (me and Lloyd) were scheduled to perform the following evening. In the dark, I gripped my trusty Yahoo map in a white-knuckled embrace and winced as the paved road gave way to gravel. The road's edges, having never boasted a guard rail, cheerfully eroded into a "scenic" overlook. The Boulder city lights twinkled far below as our rental -- a four-cylinder Chevy Malibu I might add -- continued to huff and puff its way up the so-called "hill" until, at long last, at an ear-popping 8,232 feet above sea level and approximately 3,000 feet above Boulder (nose-bleeding level), we finally reached the town and turned onto Main
Street. Well, what we hoped was Main Street. There was no sign. Funny how common street names like Boardwalk, Broadway or Main often don't have signs, and if they do, they are seldom easy to read ... or find. I consider it yet one more obstacle for the geographically challenged to overcome. Fortunately, it wasn't long before we were greeted by a Gold Hill resident who pointed us towards our destination: the Bluebird Lodge. Finished in 1872, this three-story log structure originally opened as the Wentworth House and served as the premier hotel for the Denver area. In 1920, it became the Bluebird Lodge and turned into a private vacation spot for forward-thinking career women from the Chicago area. Humanitarian, Virginia Sherwood, a protégé of Jane Austin of Hull House, was the original creator of this popular woman's retreat.

Family owned and operated since 1962, the hotel and dining hall are still a thriving business. They provide mouth-watering food, lodging, musical performance, and a theatrical interactive production called "Murder Mystery Nights" for surviving (smile) guests.

As you probably guessed, yes, the place is rumored to be haunted. Andalthough I'm aghost at the sheer thought of it, who knows what's true or not, who really knows? I'm sure it's a thrilling environment for a night of spooky fun with friends. As a matter of fact, as luck would have it, on the night I stayed there, the place was pretty much ... vacant. Feeling wicked, I shouted "Redrum! Redrum! Redrum!" at the top of my lungs (which were bursting, by the way, courtesy of the high altitude). But as I creaked my way up the stairs and down the dark corridor to my room, mental flashes of that old Stephen King/Jack Nicholson classic quickly took the humor right out of me. The thing that really frightened me the most, though, was the hotel's toilet. Peering into the bottomless depths, I realized that if I fell into the bowl, I'd plummet all the way back to Boulder. Shuddering, I put a lid on my thoughts and gave them a flush for the night.

The next day, after a strenuous walk across the front porch (high altitude again), I unlaced my tennis shoes (size 10s swell in high altitude ... they needed to decompress), put on my happy face, and got out the Yahoo Map to KGNU, where we were scheduled to do a radio station interview. Leaving early (allowing more time to be lost), we fearlessly twisted our way back down Sunshine Canyon Drive, took a few wrong turns and practically landed in the lap of our destination. Shortly after our arrival, I proceeded to use their facilities enough to make the KGNU folks question my bladder capacity. You see, I'd been told by a local the night prior to "drink a ton of water" to accommodate for the altitude adjustment. It's just too bad there's no way to accommodate for chronic clumsiness, because wouldn't you know, right before we were due on air, I accidentally kicked my glass over and spilled water all over the control room floor (size 10s swell in high altitude ... causing clumsiness) (makes for a good excuse). Two dishrags and one roll of paper towels later, I was finally able to tune up my instruments and gather my thoughts. As Lloyd shook his head and looked down at the soaked carpet around my size-10s, I could practically hear his thoughts: "Redrum. Redrum. Redrum."

Fortunately, we pulled the radio show off without any other incidents. And although my voice cracked like an egg on our last song, no one called me a yoke. Instead, we did some liners for the station, said goodbye and, on ourway out, were kindly reminded to "drink a ton of water." On our way back up to God ... I mean, Gold Hill ... we gobbled "Almighty Burgers" and fries, chased 'em down with a ton of water and admired the scenery. I admit, by this time, I was getting used to Sunshine Canyon Drive and had been totally overcome by its breathtaking beauty; the Aspen trees twinkled in the sunlight while purple, orange, and red flowers sparkled across lush green fields. Upon arriving back at Gold Hill, we did a quick sound check and were soon eating again. I had: one appetizer, some fresh-baked bread, a salad, a bowl of peanut soup, some broiled smoked stuffed trout, more bread, a chocolate truffle, a cheese-and-fruit tray and, naturally, a ton of water. Ok, I'm exaggerating. I ate my share, but I tried to limit myself knowing that I still had to sing. But let me tell you, it was hard to turn down any portion of the six-course menu the folks at the Gold Hill Inn (www.goldhillinn.com ) provided. Despite my best efforts, by the time I got on stage, I felt about as stuffed as those poor smoked trout. But all things considered -- full stomach, full bladder, bursting lungs -- the show went really well. It 's always amazing to me how, regardless of what state we're in, our audience always seems to gravitate towards the same songs, like "Take Me Places," "Wallet," and -- particularly appropriate for a mountain town like Gold Hill -- "Eagles." We also had a nice post-show chat with the Bluebird's sound man, who's a fine musician as well. His pregnant wife was due any day, so by now, he's a father, too.

After a good night's rest (I kept my light on, in case of ghosts), I drank a ton of water and packed my bags for the next leg of my journey. Right before we left, the owner of the Bluebird hooked me up with an old Mollie O'Brien
CD. I shook his hand, thanked him for his generosity and the kindness he'd bestowed upon us, and climbed reluctantly back into our mountain-climbing Malibu. Then I popped my new CD into the player, unstapled the next Yahoo Map and waved good-bye as we slowly twisted our way back down, down, and down, Sunshine Canyon Drive.

Well, this one's a cliff hanger folks! In next month's newsletter, I'll tell you the rest of this adventure.
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