Playing in God’s Great Sandbox
The Great Sand Dunes of Colorado reveal why childhood should never leave a person
Day 18: July 10, 1988 Mesa Verde National Park to Nathrop, Colorado
The morning air was cold, but the sun, brilliant.
The Mom wanted an early start. With no time for an official shower, I headed down, with soap and a towel, in a pair of shorts. Wally Chapstick — the nom de guerre — my street name, if you will, of your O! so humble narrator, likes not a shirt to wear. Why deprive the world of a sexy hairy chest?
(My wife, Mary Jane, six years later, would call me her Teddy Bear Man).
Under the nearest water spigot, I dunked my head underneath, running the Ivory soap over my short hair.
The water — freezing.
The water cascaded over my head, dripping down my body. Would any woman — or man — watching find this sexy or disgusting? I don’t know. But that “open air shower” stripped all sleep from my soul.
We were ready for a new adventure on the last leg of our Westward Excursion
Huge gray cotton balls floated upon the currents, and then, seemingly, torn apart by the mountain peaks. The rain arrived in starts and stops. We headed east on Route 160 and then shot north towards Colorado Springs and the famous Pike’s Peak.
The mountains closed around the narrow two-lane highway with slopes densely furnished with towering Douglas firs shaped like arrows with fine feathers.
We passed through Durango, famous for the railroad. Most of the towns were relatively small but clean and beautiful — all nestled in fertile valleys. We kept on Route 160, through Pagosa Springs. At Wolf Creek Pass, we crossed The Continental Divide in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. Water on the east of the Rockies flowed to the east to the Arkansas River — and the Mississippi. Water on the west flowed west, towards Colorado.
The elevation was a dizzying 10,850 feet
Dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon. Heavy rain followed; however, just before the rain, we had stopped and glanced at the garden of Eden Lake Valley. The scene was indeed heavenly — lush green with a winding stream through the valley.
A police officer arrived. He advised The Mom not to park where she was, especially with her car door wide-open. Wasn’t this a pull-over area?
Ten miles from Dell Norte, we stopped for lunch — and what else? Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Pringles, and lemonade.
What happened to the Little Debbie Snack Cakes?
At a Kmart in Alamosa in the San Luis Valley, we bought film and things. Noelle felt dizzy and sick, probably due to the altitude. David remained with her while I braved Kmart with The Mom.
I attempted to ward off the dreaded Kmart disease by taking a deep breath. I stayed away from the clothes department and those awful “blue light” specials.
For some unknown reason, *Kmart has a terrible effect on my psyche.
*As a sidebar from 2022, in school, classmates and bullies used to serenade me with the “Bobos Song” — cheap, non-brand sneakers sold at places like Kmart:
“Bobos! They make your feet feel fine! Bobos! They cost a dolla’ ninety nine! Bobos!”
The “Bobo Song” ended when The Mom capitulated to my tears by buying the cheapest canvas Nike sneaker she could find. It had the bright red “Swoosh” — and that symbol was all that mattered in that Black Hole of Middle School.
But I walked those hallways like a demigod. In fact, this kid, Joe, the loudest tenor in the “Bobo Song” — said, “Walter — great sneakers, man!”
Why does it take a compliment about apparel from a complete asshole to make one feel good about one’s self? “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”
I wore those same sneakers even in high school and tried out for the basketball team with the rubber sole coming apart. It made a flapping sound as I ran the court. I didn’t make the team, despite being a great shot and quick, but Nike didn’t rescue me. I received no message from the gods. And my soul deteriorated with my soles.
When I had my own job, a year later, I bought myself sneakers. It felt great to be in control and self-reliant.
For some reason, I just accepted a Facebook request from this “Joe” last week. What fools be these mortals!
We crossed the Rio Grande River at two in the afternoon
The Great Sand Dunes Monument was our next destination. We arrived at the front gate half an hour later.
The Dunes were massive. Nothing like the dunes at the beach — not even on Cape Cod. Did a heavenly dump truck pour trillions of yards of fine sand in the middle of this barren valley between two mountain ranges?
The sky threaten to rain — but the rain remained at bay, for now. We explored a large shallow stream called the Médano Creek (Spanish for ‘sand dune’) that ran along the base of the dunes. With shoes off, we crossed the very shallow water — it was cold, but a refreshing cold. The water tickled my toes and dampened my rolled-up jeans.
With the rain and the clouds, the sand was not hot, but densely gray and closely packed together like wet snow.
We walked high up the dunes — jumped and rolled and played like children in a giant sandbox
The Blood of Christ Mountains — Sangre de Cristo — formed one barrier, reaching elevations well to 12,000 feet. The mountains kept the sand from moving — a natural boundary.
Some of the dunes towered 700 feet — of just sand. But one never sees the same Great Sand Dunes twice — the dunes are shape shifters.
If I enjoyed this as much as a young adult, I wonder what they mean to children who visit.
Childhood should never leave a person. It’s only hidden. We can still have the responsibilities of adulthood — hovering over everyone, but these times — man, it is good for the human soul to let loose and get crazy and have fun.
Vacations are made for that — a retreat from the pressures of the world.
I took pictures. Dave and I carried on like juveniles. The Mom then called. It was time to leave God’s Sandbox.
We still had some miles to go before she could sleep. Did we any promises to keep, however?
Sand covered me — inside and out and in every crevice, but I will not mention my butt and anus. That would be rude and crude.
It started to rain again.
The Mom took a shortcut* across an open range
— everything was fine except the road was bumpy and unpaved and full of nasty rocks. Was this an actual shortcut or short kill cut?
Once we found the salvation of a paved road, I fell asleep — something I almost never do in the van. I remember waking up to the sound of The Mom and Dave discussing campgrounds.
We headed north towards Buena Vista — one hundred miles or so from Colorado Springs and Pike’s Peak — tomorrow’s destination.
We entered Browns Park Campground along Chalk Creek. The rocks in the stream entertained me for awhile until I was summoned for dinner.
The Mom prepared stew and corn. We also had leftover Native American bread we had brought at Brashes. Noelle refused to eat the bread because she said: “it didn’t taste right.”
Before bed, I took a much-needed shower. Meanwhile, David read Dune, and The Mom and Noelle played cards. Afterwards, I wrote in my journal. And some doggerel lines of poetry to a *woman unnamed. This woman, back then, could have been many — as almost every woman was a woman, it seemed, was one who I so wanted to give love.
“She dances like a vision long into the night — Refracting light like a prism under a moon so bright — Tear away your veil — Let the evening breeze touch your concealed beauty — Seize the moment, while the moment lasts — For underneath whispering pines — I wander, lost in the eternity of your eyes.”
Okay — I will not overtake Lord Byron overnight, but give me time. Time and more talent. And experience.
We then played Trivia Pursuit while The Mom made hot chocolate. I opened a cold beer. Oh! how that cold beer felt good!
2022 *Learning such shortcuts on unpaved roads in hostile terrain was internalized in my own ramblings with friends and family, resulting in almost near-death experiences. Such funny and near-tragic experiences can be found here and here.
More adventures coming! Look for these stories on The Masterpiece:
Day 14: Never the Same Sunset Twice at The Grand Canyon
Day 15: The Mom Saves Her Son From a Horrible Death on Bright Angel Trail
Day 16: Just the Gods Hurling Javelins of Lightning Above Mesa Verde
Day 17: My Dream Fort Was Once an Active Metropolis 800 years ago
