Saturday, July 30th, 2011

I dawdle over my blog posts while Celete visits with JoAn downstairs and Jim curses quietly in his office. He relies on internet service that seems to have the same reliability as a regularly-shelled World War I telegraph line. Meanwhile the Vanderhoofs return with the cabin key and Deborah injures herself on a heavy piece of furniture. It's a painful bruise and Jim and Robin agree she should see the M.D. It's a somber time; Deborah's already loaded up with several obligations, including us, and I feel self-conscious about adding to the burden. But it turns out O.K., and Deborah and Jim see us out, and we drive to Boulder to pick up supplies for the cabin.

Boulder is a smaller Portland of the Rockies– an attractive little town with a strong tang of sanctimony. We eat at a stiff, dark restaurant called Mateo– purportedly French, where the waiters have to keep one hand behind their backs while they pour your water. I have an expensive burger which they serve with fries ("frites") in a sawed-off paper bag. The drinks, too, are expensive and I'm not surprised to see the prices listed as whole numbers, no decimals, no cents column– an affectation of hip restaurants that is wearing really thin.

The burger is excellent– and the waiters are almost too eager, but friendly enough– and we're fortified for our trip to the Liquor Mart, a building the size of a Safeway stocked with nothing but beer, wine and liquor. I'm strangely underwhelmed; the depth of inventory is impressive but the breadth isn't much better than many of the neighborhood liquor stores in Portland.

McGuckin Hardware, however, is a different matter. The typical customer is dazed and freshly distracted each time they pass a new aisle. The building is at least as large as a typical Walmart and completely stocked with hardware, tools and related items. We go there for a vinyl repair kit, a coffee carafe for the cabin, and my Holy Grail for this trip: a puffy cap that will make me look like James Sikking in Outland. We score on all three.

The cliffs over the South St. Vrain River are purple and a rich red as we make our way to the cabin. By the time we turn onto the Ski Road it is quite dark; so when the white Toyota shows its trunk to us it is a surprise. Celeste climbs out and I see a headlamp bobbing out of the trees to the left. It's a young guy with his hand up in a gesture of assurance. He says they'll move right away and Celeste is apologetic but negative. They are in the clearing across from the cabin. I see few huddled shapes of luggage, a fire, a guitar case. While the guy's friend waits for him to turn the car around Celeste relents. "I mean, they took their guitar out and everything," she says. I say it's okay with me and she climbs out again. The guy is surprised and very pleased; they promise to be quiet and douse their fire. Later Celeste brings out some marshmallows the Vanderhoofs left and I ask them if they'd been in the creek yet. "It's not warm," I warn them. They laugh in a way that makes it clear that they knew this.