Howdy from Tourist Country

Colorado is a tourist destination. I know that surprises you enormously, but sometimes those of us who live here forget the close proximity of attractions that many others travel a long way to see.

A couple of weeks ago, for the first time in the 21 years I’ve lived here, I went to the top of Pikes Peak. If it weren’t for friends visiting from Georgia, I would have missed the bluest sky ever, a herd of bighorn sheep, and of course the home made donuts at the top. Pikes Peak was just one of many options within reasonable driving distance that I gave my guests for sight-seeing. Others included the Royal Gorge, the King Tut exhibit at the Denver Art Museum (DAM), and a hot springs near Winter Park.

I haven’t seen any of those other attractions either, and probably won’t unless more friends visit from the east.

I say the east because visitors from the west are generally less impressed with what Colorado has to offer. After all, California has better weather and beaches. The mountains in Washington and Oregon seem bigger (even though they really aren’t) because they rise from sea level. Also, those mountains are arguably more interesting because as volcanoes, they could blow at any time.

It’s the visitors from parts east that seem to enjoy Colorado the most. Families from Michigan, Illinois, and Nebraska plan their entire summer vacation around the chance to see a little scenery, touch some snow in July, and cool off at high altitudes. Iowans a little less so – let’s just say that you had better not be in a hurry if you get behind a car from Iowa in the mountains. At that speed, by the time they get to where they’re going, they’ll just have to turn around and go home.

Visitors from further east are really surprised by what they find here. One of my professors from graduate school heaped praise upon Denver by saying, “I was surprised to see such a bustling little city out there!” His impression was formed on the train from Concourse A to Concourse B while changing planes at Denver International Airport.

Easterners may insult us out of ignorance, but some westerners are pure snobs. While I personally like the Midwest and occasionally fantasize about moving back some day, Californians who think Colorado is part of that region are just asking for a pointy cowboy boot in the behind. And don’t even get me started about being described dismissively as “the great flyover.” Hey if that’s all this is to you, don’t visit. Just fly on over to the stinking cesspools of “civilization” and good luck trying to cool off there.

It’s the folks from the central and eastern time zones that seem to most appreciate being out here.

As one companion from Virginia watched a tumbleweed roll in front of the car near Boulder, he said he didn’t realize there actually were such things. Snapping a picture through the window, he explained that he thought they were just props used in movie westerns.

Years ago a friend visited Denver from New York City. He repeatedly declined offers to go to the mountains, but very much enjoyed what he called his visit to “the country.” I don’t think he left the city limits the entire time. It was enough for the Manhattanite to see green grass and trees through the Starbucks window.

Some friends’ relatives visiting from New Jersey bragged about catching bunches of trout in Estes Park. Turns out they literally stuck their rented lines into a crowded barrel of non-native rainbows. Hey, at least they had a good time and left some of their Jersey dollars here.

My favorite story is about taking a European to Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. He didn’t realize we would actually drive into and up on top of the mountains. He was just expecting to drive around them, admiring from afar.

Yes, I’m poking fun at people who actually enrich my state by visiting. In fact, when I see Colorado through their eyes, I’m reminded of how great it is to live here. After all, when I lived in the east, where did I go for vacations? You guessed it.

Of course that was before I discovered how much I like San Diego.

Oblivious to Nature? Stay Inside!

Though there’s still plenty of heat left this year, mornings are cooler and the days are getting shorter. Some local schools are already in session. It’s occurring to people that summer is winding down.

This morning as I took my weekly 5:00 a.m. hike out at Cherry Creek State Park, there seemed to be more joggers and cyclists than usual. Surprisingly, out on the water in addition to the rowing club, speed boats with water-skiers and even jet skis were starting to pollute the otherwise peaceful morning quiet with their noise.

By 6:00 I heard booming announcements from a loudspeaker near the marina. Much as I wanted to continue my communion with the prairie grass, cottonwoods, and pelicans, I decided to hightail it back to the car before the race or marathon or whatever it was came my way.

I understand that I have to share the park. Situated smack in the middle of the metro area, CCSP is the most used state park in Colorado. Considering the miles of surrounding urban concrete, it’s remarkable that just 20 minutes away from my house (when traffic is light), I can be in the middle of a forest observing deer (today I saw a youngster with spots), or watching the breeze blow the rushes from side to side as all awareness of the city slips away.

Until about 9:00. Even when it’s too cold to water-ski, the shooting range is open. I’m not even sure where it is, but I definitely hear the “pop” and “boom” of individuals using that part of the park to exercise their second amendment rights.

A little later, a high-pitched whir can be heard. It’s the model airplane people, using their area to buzz and dip their miniature flying craft like prehistoric dragonflies.

Down the road a stretch, dogs joyously run, leash-free.

I guess it’s great that so many can use the park for such varying activities. If I finish hiking and meditating before 7:00 a.m., I can pretend I have the whole place, more or less to myself, and good for all those other people for using their state park the rest of the day.

I do have a question, however. Why do so many joggers and cyclists have headphones on? Why on earth would they listen to iPods when the distinctive sound of meadowlarks echo across the plains? Wouldn’t they be safer if they could hear me driving up behind them as they take up two thirds of the road?

Today I observed a couple run right by a startled deer. These people paid no more attention than they would to a squirrel in the yard.

I was raised to appreciate the sighting of a deer. All through my childhood, if one of us pointed out the car window and said, “Deer!” all conversation would stop. A couple of us would whisper, “Where? Where?” and everyone would look as long as the timid creature could be seen.

Now if one of us had to pee, good luck getting that car stopped, but I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, people wearing headphones out in the woods.

Here’s a thought. If you’re oblivious to nature, just stay inside so it’s less crowded for the rest of us.

What I Didn’t Tell Them

Is it impressive or is it sad that I recently summed up the past 25 years of my life in two paragraphs?

It was one of those wonderful Facebook moments where you suddenly find people with whom you long ago lost contact.

Though "virtual," the reunions were wonderful. I really enjoyed reading what my friends had been up to since 1986.

Of course I was expected to provide the same information. What aspects of a person’s life do others want to hear about? Personal? Professional? Marriage and children (or lack thereof)? Mutual friends and acquaintances? Perhaps I was over thinking it, but I decided to challenge myself as a writer and convey the most important things that have happened to me in as succinct a way as possible. With a sense of satisfaction, I summed up my career, family, and health in two medium sized paragraphs.

Then I got discouraged. You mean I can say everything important about my career, family, and health in just two medium sized paragraphs? I must be the most boring person in the world.

I’m sure my friends realized that what I told them was merely an outline. Many more interesting things have happened to me than that.

So I’d like to share with you a sampling of what I did NOT include in the two paragraph nutshell about my past quarter century. Since 1986, I:

• Replaced all of my LPs with CDs
• Cohabitated briefly with an artist
• Wrecked two cars (neither was my fault)
• Lived in four different regions of the country
• Wrote for a couple of local weeklies (all defunct now, of course)
• Sold my car and did public transit for a few years
• Remodeled my kitchen
• Lived with a total of four cats
• Pledged to my local public radio station, boycotted said station, then pledged again
• Complained about the new airport
• Developed an allergy to bananas
• Remodeled my bathroom
• Got laid off from three jobs
• Joined and dropped out of a queer square dancing club
• Replaced the VCR with a DVR
• Put all of my CDs on an iPod
• Remodeled everything but the kitchen and bathroom
• Bought a hybrid car
• Visited Wyoming several times
• Said every summer, without fail, "I really should spend more time in the mountains"
• Got irritated when the local public radio announcers mispronounced "Chez Artiste," one of the local movie theatres
• Thought seriously about moving to California
• Joined a gym
• Got on Facebook 
• Made this list

Well. Hmm. Maybe I’ll just stick to those two paragraphs. They were more interesting.

Disgusting Byproduct Helpful Supplement

I hate cottage cheese. It’s made of curds.

One friend insists that he loves it on a bed of lettuce with some pepper. I question his ability to enjoy food. The only thing more tasteless than cottage cheese is lettuce.

Basically a waste byproduct of milk, cottage cheese has lately become a prominent feature in my meals.

When I complain, something I rarely do, I am bombarded with suggestions from more experienced culinary savants. I've tried combining it with pineapple, mandarin oranges, strawberries, blueberries, and spices (such as pepper or basil). I’ve had it for breakfast and lunch, as a dip and a dressing. But it's still this lumpy curdy stuff.

Those little curds rub against your teeth, fill your mouth with the taste of disgusting milk-byproduct, and slide grudgingly down your throat.

But if you can choke it down, this milk byproduct has its advantages. It's filling, provides protein, and contains little in the way of fat or carbs.

If only it provided gastronomic pleasure.

Cheese is usually such a good thing. I like to go to Whole Foods and grab little scraps of exotic chesses for a dollar or two, take them home, and sample them on crackers. I love nothing more than a grilled cheese sandwich or a cheese burger. Extra cheese on pizza is a good thing. But I can't imagine putting cottage cheese on any of that.

You may be wondering why this is an issue for me.

For the past few weeks, I've been making different choices about how I eat in order to lose some excess poundage. Since joining the health club last fall, I have only gained weight, to the point at which my shirts are getting tight.

To give my new choices structure, I have enrolled in Weight Watchers (trademark R). I am not doing the "D" word. The "D" word is too extreme for me. People often end up gaining their weight back when the "D" is over. “D”ers often seem to hate their bodies and are frequently of the opinion that if they just lose a little more, they'll look perfect and their lives will suddenly turn awesome. I am not doing that. I am simply changing elements of my lifestyle to accommodate more healthy eating habits.

Tomato, tomahto - also frequently eaten with cottage cheese.

Unfortunately, I hate to be hungry, and I've learned that a good way to eat and be full without adding to the poundage seems to involve cottage cheese. It’s also convenient: I can easily take it to the office. And I'm allergic to so many other things that alternatives are somewhat limited.

Fries for lunch are no longer an option, at least on a daily basis. And chips are out completely until I learn to eat just a few instead of devouring the whole bag in one sitting. I'm not talking about one of those little lunch sacks either - I'm talking about the big, family sized bag.

Yogurt is good but not as filling. Raw vegetables only go so far with me. Too much fruit, well, trust me, I have to limit my intake.

Wow. I'm so grouchy, you'd think I was "D"ing. Truly, I'm usually not hungry as long as I supplement my eating with (ugh) cottage cheese.

I wonder if you can deep-fry it.

Coming Out of the Closet in a Most Surprising Place

Notable events in Indiana history:

• In 8000 BCE humans first came to Indiana.
• The first European, Rene-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle arrived in 1679.
• Indiana became state in 1816.
• In 1909 the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was founded.
• In July 1954, a record temperature of 116 degrees (F) was recorded.
• In July 1980, 30 years ago this month, I told someone, for the very first time, that I was gay.

I was 17 years old. There was no discernable gay community in Scottsbluff, Nebraska at the time and there was certainly no internet to help me connect to the rest of the world. What I did have were my dad’s psychology books and an ability to find every word written about homosexuality in the public library – not all of it, of course, encouraging, or for that matter, accurate.

Most gay people come out of the closet when they move to the big city or go to college. I traveled a thousand miles to come out in the rather conservative state of Indiana.

It was not my intention to come out that week. Between my junior and senior years in high school, I boarded a bus with bunches of kids from western Nebraska for the first ever Presbyterian Church Youth Triennium, a huge convention of young people from all over the world. Bible study, youth ministry, the cold war, evangelism, and social issues were among the topics addressed. New music was presented, concerts were performed, and friendships made. For many, it was an eye-opening time of discovery and a turning point in our lives.

My primary memory of the week, however, was sneaking into the workshop on the church and homosexuality. The card in my hand said I was supposed to go to something else. I didn’t know if I’d get away with it. But the room was packed full of people who didn’t have the right card, and the workshop leaders weren’t turning people away.

The presentation was rather radical. In 1980, LGBT issues weren’t as thoroughly discussed in churches as they are now. The workshop leaders talked about scripture, community, and the fact that gay and lesbian Christians did exist. Above all, we were assured that no LGBT person was alone. There were lots of us out there.

At the end of the workshop, I hung around until everyone else had gone. I approached one of the facilitators and said, very maturely, that I thought the workshop was excellent and thanked him very much.

He smiled and waited.

“That’s all,” I thought, backing away.

He smiled more and said very gently that if I wanted to talk, he was available the rest of the week.

The next day, I met him in a quiet area on the University of Indiana campus and poured my heart out. I guess I was pretty typical. Every session at that workshop had a boy or girl like me hanging behind, dying to talk. But what may have been typical for that wonderful man was a lifetime opportunity for me.

It was in that loving, accepting, Christian context that I first declared my sexual orientation. There was no judgment or condemnation. The Bible wasn’t used as a weapon to shame me into conformity. No one told me I was going to hell. In fact, I was told repeatedly that, paraphrasing scripture, love passes all understanding and casts out all fear.

Love was – is – what it’s all about. I’ve never doubted for a minute that God loves me. Angry as I’d always be with fundamentalist Christians who forget that love is the primary commandment of Christ, I never stopped believing that God’s love overcomes every kind of hate and fear. I’ve always believed, preached, and taught that if we love each other with integrity and justice, we are doing God’s will.

Coming out at the church convention in 1980 was such a good experience, that when I got home, I came out to everyone. While it took my parents a few years to come to terms with it, most everyone else I cared about, including my brother and sisters, accepted it and accepted me in the wholeness of the person I was.

In 1989, at the Presbyterian Youth Triennium, this time at Purdue University in Indiana, the workshop on homosexuality and the church was held again. As the workshop leader, I patiently waited for those kids who were hanging back to come and talk to me if they wished.

Secret Life 30 Years Ago Comes Back to Haunt Me

An unfortunate scandal was uncovered during my otherwise successful venture into the Midwest last month. A nostalgic picture of my old college dorm in Lincoln, Nebraska, innocently posted on Facebook, sparked conversations online and off between people who "knew me when" and those who only know me now. A secret from my past was uncovered which I would have preferred stay hidden forever.

I think I should be excused for some youthful indiscretions. After all, everyone experiments in college, don't they?

There I was, my first week on campus, free of the constraints of home and parents for the first time, eager to fit in, hormones running wild, and all these attractive young men trying to recruit me. Though it was basically against my values; though members of my family would ridicule me; though I knew it would only lead to trouble, I couldn't help myself.

I joined a fraternity.

In my defense, I didn't last long. The guys who worked so hard to recruit me lost interest after I joined, and I just couldn't believe the ridiculous ceremonial tradition and other B.S. I had to put up with. So I quit.

The second frat was a little better.

I know what you're thinking - didn't I learn my lesson the first time?

Let's face it, I knew I didn't belong in the Greek system; I just wanted to be around the guys.

The second frat was nicer - that is, the guys were nicer. The atmosphere was more easy going and there was a high level of acceptance of the considerable number of us who were gay. I made some good friends there, some of whom I even see on Facebook now.

But it was still a frat. The silly ceremonies and overly close living conditions were just too much for me.

Six of us shared a filthy bathroom. We had rice for dinner every night (I didn’t start eating rice again for 10 years). Dozens of us shared a phone and had to pick out our own calls home from the long-distance bill. This was in the days before everyone had their own cell phone.

I will say the parties were fun. It was during one of these when I first made out with a girl – pretty much the only time, actually. We didn’t get very far because my gay roommate walked in on us. Like I say, everyone experiments in college.

Most objectionable to me, however, the solemn pledging and the ceremonies and the robes and the candles struck me as, well, idolatrous. If I was going to put all that effort into sanctified chanting and solemn tradition, I'd rather do it in church where it might mean something. See, in addition to being a lustful, out-of-the-closet gay college student, I was, like now, a rather committed Christian. The progressiveness of my views and my liberal theology didn’t stop me from feeling guilty about participating in the veneration of a godless fraternal society. The secrecy was cult-like. I didn’t care if the others found friendship and brotherhood this way, but it really wasn’t for me. I was much more interested in the gay bars on “O” Street Saturday night, and First Plymouth Congregational United Church of Christ on Sunday morning.

As soon as I could, I went back to the dorm with my own room and variety of bad food which included chilli frito, chicken a la king, and hardly any rice.

My frat brothers were very understanding when I moved out. I actually appreciated them more for that.

So, my secret is out. I feel kind of relieved. No more lies. No more deception. And no more housing-neutral language when I describe my college experience.

I wonder if that girl I made out with is on Facebook. I should look her up.

Postblog from Home: Final Thoughts on the Excellent Adventure

My goal was to spontaneously travel to someplace different, by car. I almost succeeded. The spontaneity fell by the wayside early in the trip. Hopefully planning ahead isn’t such a terrible character trait after all.

My selection of destinations may seem a little odd: a tour exploring the haunts and homes of Abraham Lincoln seems like the trip a couple of elderly geography teachers might take. Hodgensville, Kentucky, Springfield, Illinois, and of course Lincoln, Nebraska are not “hot” destinations for the typical single gay man. But can you see me on a gay cruise in the Caribbean with all those shirtless posers? I might enjoy watching, but I’d be too self-conscious to talk to anyone.

I certainly didn’t mind traveling alone, but I would have enjoyed a companion who would also nerd out about the park ranger presentation at a national historic site.

Why can’t a tour company offer a gay bus tour of presidential museums and libraries? Now that’s something I could get into, and there would be something to talk about with the other gay nerds.

The good news is that I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and as should happen after a trip away, I’ve returned with a renewed appreciation of my home. In fact, driving into Colorado at dusk was breath taking with the sun setting behind the mountains, and the air dry enough to crack the windows open and smell the fresh cut hay along the South Platte River. It was the perfect way to end a trip in which every state was beautiful in its own way.

Be sure to check out my pictures on Facebook. While not National Geographic worthy, they’ll give you a taste of what I saw.

Meanwhile, I’m starting to think about where I should go on my next excellent adventure.