meant to say “figuratively,” just hold your American Quarter
Horses. Prior to moving to Denver I was an East Coaster.
First a New Englander, and eventually a transplant into New
York City attempting to mask my accent by learning to say
soda instead of “Soder.” Secretly thinking Elton John was a
better piano player than Billy Joel, but never daring to say
it out loud; because you never admit that on the Island of
Manhattan. Singing New York State of Mind, a little too loudly,
with a reverence usually held for Ave Maria; believing the sun
rose and set on Stephen Sondheim and the neon lights of
Broadway. I had a pretty lopsided view of life outside of New
York. Oh yeah, and now that I live west of the Mississippi I
know that Anti-goglin means lopsided. See, I am adaptable.
In my defense, there was not much Internet at the time and
most of our phones were tethered to the walls, so information
was not quite as easy to come by as it is today. People
were still getting used to a band called the Foo Fighters
courtesy of Nirvana’s little know drummer, soon to be Mega
Star Dave Grohl. George Lucas had not yet begun to destroy
the original Star Wars trilogy by introducing the world to Jar
Jar Binks and 911 was just a number you dialed to report an
emergency not a National Day of mourning.
The first time I landed at Denver International Airport I
thought someone had played a trick on me. From my window
seat, all I could see were amber waves of Grain. Where were
the Purple Mountains Majesty I thought almost out loud?
Perhaps the Jack and Coke, my personal Ativan-substitute
at the time, had taken its toll. But as it turned out, my seat
www.thunderroadscolorado.com
March 2016
Thunder Roads Magazine® Colorado 11