This travel day started out really lovely. We knew it was gonna be a scorcher, so we wanted to find a place inside. This cool coffee shop looked like it could meet all our needs for the day. We had some catch-up to do with blogs, writing to Rudy, sending emails, and eating. We were truly grateful to find such a nice stop here in the sweet town of Pueblo, CO.
Literally, from the moment we approached the shop, we felt welcomed and genuinely well received. The man behind the counter immediately smiled a huge grin and said, “You look great today!” I returned with an equally enthusiastic, “Thanks! I like your hat!” And, just like that we were off and running into a comfortable conversation. Our new friend’s name was Morgan, and he was also a musician. We exchanged music stories and advice, and really enjoyed talking. Over the next couple hours, Jared listened to Morgan’s music while he worked, and I got refill after refill of coffee. I was through with a day’s work in four minutes. Hahahaha!
Actually, I kept nice and busy and found some lovely sentiments around the place to remind me of beautiful things and commonalities.
I’ve never really been a “take a picture of my food to post for the tens of people who may give a crap on my FB page” kind of person, so this was out of character for me. However, when we’re traveling and are treated so well and have anything really worthy of documentation and mention, I’ll be the first to snap and post…especially if it’s my job as your “Friendly Neighborhood Bloggist” to let you know this stuff in case YOU travel to these places! We were nearing the lunch hour and thought we’d go somewhere new to change up our environment, see more of the town, and free up a corner table. I casually got up and asked, “So, who serves the best salads around town?” Without missing a beat, they both said, “We do.” Now either they were desperate for company and/or business (which was not the case, as they had a steady customer stream the entire time we were there), or they truthfully had the best salads. Morgan said, “I don’t even eat salad. But I will eat these.” Sold. I ordered the “Blue Cheese/Strawberry” and Jared got the “Apple Chicky” Both were unreal and took FOREVER to eat, due to the size. I only got a picture of mine. Jared’s was near finished by the time I got around to taking a pic!
We also made sure to get a picture of us with our new friend.
So, remember when I spoke of us needing luck on this day? “Why?”, you may be asking. Please don’t let me lull you into a false sense of security like we were in after our morning of great food, conversation, and work. We had such happy warm fuzzies that when we left the coffeeshop we damn near whistled down the road, the 102 degree temp barely phasing us. Our state of blissful ignorance was about to be radically altered.
You can imagine our sheer shock and horror as a man pulled up to us at the last stop light before we got on the freeway and shouted, “Your trailer doors are open and your stuff is falling out all down the street you just came from! I tried several times to get your attention!”
Talk about buzz kill. Our stomachs sank as we could only imagine the carnage we were about to see. Jared jumped out and closed and locked the swinging trailer doors, then got back in, silent. As we flipped around and had to stop at a red light our emotions were all over the place. We replayed the morning’s events and retraced our steps to determine where we went wrong. There has never been a red light in the history of traffic control that has taken so long. I watched my husband physically become someone else. As I read his thoughts, betrayed entirely by his furrowed brow and smokey eyes, I quickly said out loud. “Don’t do it! It’s not worth it!!” I knew he wanted to run that red light, putting us in danger of an accident atop whatever loss we were about to discover. “It will all be ok, honey, It’s all just stuff.”
The light FINALLY went green and we took off, passing the street we had come down originally because we weren’t quite certain of which one it was, being totally unfamiliar with the area. I looked down the road. My heart sank. CD’s everywhere. My cable bag, being rifled through by a passerby. Rudy’s mattress in the middle of the road, driven over several times by unaware motorists. Packing blankets, our gig carpet, several small items discarded from my bag. What else, we couldn’t tell. We had to get there. A ONE WAY STREET prevented us from a direct route and so we had to go up ANOTHER street. I was certain that when we got back to our things, it would all be broken, stolen, or lost forever. But, in some strange turn of events, when we got there and I jumped out, yelling at the person going through my bag, “Hey!!! That’s my bag! It fell out of our trailer!” I shouted in a frantic panic. “I was just trying to find some ID to get ahold of you.” She had grabbed some of the little things and placed them BACK in my bag. I had no time to get sentimental. I blurted out a quick, “Thank you so much!”, then joined Jared in the middle of the street who was making mad dashes between oncoming traffic to grab all of the sprawling mass of CD’s and koozies and songbooks. “It’s not worth you getting hit!!” I screamed at him between cars. By this time, I had found the empty tote and was helping Jared load it, all while waving traffic around the mess, my heart beating fast and focused.
By the time we got everything out of the road, we were sweating and out of breath. We checked the trailer to see what else may have been discarded. My pedalboard, approximately fifteen hundred dollars worth of stuff, was leaning precariously against the door like it was waiting to be dared to jump. So glad it was a scaredy-cat and didn’t give in to peer pressure. All told, we got all our stuff back, except (maybe) one recording microphone, and we’re still unsure about that until we go through all our gear when we get a chance. We scanned the area several times for remnants and felt ok leaving town…after triple checking the lock on the trailer doors, naturally.
(Jared here: It also occurred to us that the doors had likely been open since we left the rest area that morning, on the thirty-minute drive to the coffee shop, and the entire time we were in there. That said, we’re lucky and damn grateful that the loss wasn’t WAY worse.)
It doesn’t matter whose “fault” it was. There was no blame placed, as it could have been either one of us at any given time. Plus, it did absolutely NO GOOD to point fingers when what was needed was immediate action and, ultimately we learned an almost catastrophic lesson with little to no casualties. We are a team. We succeed as one, fail as one, make mistakes as one, and recover as one. By the time we were settled into a rhythm of the highway and far enough away to laugh about it (carefully), we did.
(Jared here again: In the spirit of not pointing fingers and the oneness of our team, I’m sorry I forgot to lock the trailer door.)
This next section of the blog may need a slight ***TRIGGER WARNING***
We needed dinner and we were in the middle of Paxton, Nebraska where the options were slim. When we saw the description for a restaurant on our path that boasted “Nebraska’s Most Famous Watering Hole”, we naturally wanted to check it out. Please keep in mind that as the observer and writer, I do NOT condone this or think it’s sporty. But, also please remember that this was all done in quite a different time and I’m almost certain that a place like this could probably not exist nowadays. When the menu read, “Big Game” they meant as the DECOR, not the food (not that that makes it any better, really) … and they meant from all over the world and killed/displayed by one guy, the founder and owner (deceased in 1996) Rosser “Ole” Herstedt, an avid athlete and hunter from the time he was a little boy to just a few years before he stopped hunting in the late 70’s. We got a few pictures out of sheer fascination, shock, and a bit for posterity. I’m actually glad Rudy wasn’t with us. He may have gotten a bit sad. After a bit, I even wanted to leave due to the overwhelming amount of dead animals around me.
(Please don’t offer stances or arguments. I don’t want to fight. That’s not what this post is for or about. I have hunter friends and I have Vegan friends. I’m merely reporting on something we saw.)
I don’t think we saw a placard on any of the animals that followed 1971. That is not to say there weren’t ANY. Just the bulk seemed to be done between 1933-1971 or so.
These pictures are just a sampling of what was there. There were literally hundreds of taxidermied animals surrounding us. It’s a fascinating story, representing a part of history that I, for one, feel grateful to not have been a part of. But, nonetheless, it is part of this country. Not sure we’ll go back anytime, but we did feel like we were completely stepping back in time when we went in there, and I’m at least glad we were able to visit with the extremely kind and friendly staff and have an experience as unique as the Jalapeño Cream Ale that we tried while we were there.
So glad no one was hurt and that your losses were minimal. Traveling can be fascinating, magical, scary and so very memorable. Safe and happy trails. Looking forward to seeing you again here at home. ♀️