Summer of 1975

The fun and games started out innocently enough in the Menscher’s driveway down on Meadows Drive.   Mark, Steve and I were busy crash testing the Corgi toy cars on the cement and gravel in their driveway.  I am not sure whose idea it was but one of us brilliantly came up with using firecrackers and gasoline for the next round of tests.  That was when things went horribly wrong.

We made a few small puddles of gasoline and put the cars in the middle.  All we had were a few “Lady Fingers” so the gas was intended to make the demolition more spectacular.  As anyone with common sense, which we seriously lacked that day, would know a lit firecracker would soon go out when tossed into a pool of gas.  After repeated attempts with the firecrackers we decided matches would work much better.  With matches in hand we tossed our first lit one into the pool.  With a flash as the vaporized gases went first, followed by some serious flames off the surface of the pool, the cars quickly turned to plies of melted plastic and metal.

As we watched the carnage ensue none of us noticed fast enough that the trail of gas that led back to the gas can was quickly igniting along its path.  In my rush to move the can the flames arrived at the same second as my hand and I was now on fire.  My grasp of the can was poor at best and with the ensuing heat I dropped the can and took a few steps back.  Unfortunately, it did not land on its base and it fell over spilling out the rest of its contents onto the driveway.  Equally as unfortunate was the fact that the spill went directly to the base of the garage door.  In a matter seconds the entire front of the garage was now ablaze.  This multi-million dollar house was headed for oblivion as the three of us tried to throw rocks and dirt at the flames to no avail.

I am not sure how long it took, seemed like hours, before the Aspen Volunteer Fire Department arrived on scene.  In reality it could not have been too long as the flames never penetrated into the garage or the rest of the house.  Jinx Caparella was the first volunteer on scene and with a couple bursts from his fire extinguisher the flames were gone.  Moments later the rest of the crew arrived in two fire trucks with their sirens blaring, and a couple of local police cars and a number of personal cars belonging to the rest of the responders.  It quickly turned into circus with the three of us in the center ring.  Being one of quick wit and willing to stretch the truth I proceeded to tell them what had happened but not entirely factual.

I explained how we were trying to open the metal G.I.  gas can and I was using a big rock to pound on the screw top when all of the sudden a spark from the rock ignited the gas fumes as they escaped from the can.  The minor explosion caused me to drop the can and the flames followed the spilling gas to the front of the garage.  They bought it!  In hind sight I am not sure why they believed my story as there were no big rocks anywhere near us to verify my claim.  Whether they believed me or not we lived in a small town where everyone kind of watched out for one another and my story would put an end to the whole event nicely.  Insurance paid for the damage and life in Aspen went on as usual.

Late 1960’s

Was there ever something you said as a child that you spent the rest of your life trying to forget, or worse; live down while your friends and family refused to let it go?  Well this story is about one of those moments in time that should never have happened.

In the 1960’s travel across Colorado was a slow process.  The roads throughout the state still had sections that were gravel or poorly paved.  The interstate system was still inching its way to the Midwest having begun on both coasts.  Colorado was one of the last states to have its interstate run from border to border culminating with the completion of the Glenwood Canyon corridor in the early 1980’s.

My grandmother lived in Grand Junction at the time and trips to see her were frequent and usually took four or more hours to drive there (takes just 2 hours today).   With four very busy kids in the car my parents would stop along the way for us to “burn off some energy” and for refreshments.  One of our favorite stops was in Silt at the Dairy Queen.  At the time, Silt and the surrounding area was a large Alfalfa growing region.  Along highway US 6 and the Rio Grande Railroad tracks stood a large processing plant for the locally grown alfalfa.  In fact, Silt did not have the most pleasant aroma during the harvesting seasons back then. 

The Dairy Queen was on the east end of town and provided plenty of space to run around.  It was also a great place to watch the trains pass by and the kids often begged my father to stay long enough to see one go by.  This left a lot of time to sit around and visit which we were all pretty good at, talking that is.  The sitting around part was monumentally more difficult.

On this fateful day the conversations ranged from the smell of the alfalfa to the paving of the interstate that was inching its way through the western Colorado.  I am not sure how things went so horribly wrong but at last count my parents and sisters were in a conversation about our horses.  The next thing I knew they were talking about the asphalt the road crews were putting down for the highway.  I innocently enough inquired about what I thought I had just heard them talking about, “what part of the horse do they make asphalt out of?”  After the initial laughter had abated I was informed that I had participated in parts of two different conversations, but the damage was done. 

Ever since then, any time I am in a conversation with my family members and get confused about what is being discussed one of them will utter, “what part of the horse do they make the asphalt out of?” followed by another round of laughter.

Will I ever live that down?  Probably not!