In the mid-1970’s there was a gentleman who lived in Aspen’s West End near 8th and smuggler. He had a mint condition 1957 Chevy Bel Air in baby blue. I could never drive by it without slowing down to admire the car and I was not alone. Just about every car that passed it by with a man, or young man, at the wheel gave the car its due respect. It was a thing of beauty.

One summer afternoon I chose to actually stop and take a closer look at this thing of Beauty. Her interior was without flaw and the paint, although not original, was flawless. While admiring another man’s toy I was approached by its owner. To this day I cannot remember his name but I do remember him being a man of sculpted features and enough muscles to rest planet Earth on his shoulders. As he approached me, he had an ear-to-ear grin on his face. He shook my hand, good lord his hands were huge and his grip was bone crushing.

Apparently I had come at just the wrong time, for me at least.

The Chevy owner also owned a Willys Jeep from the 1940’s. It too was a work of art but did not possess the style and curb appeal of the Chevy. He was just headed out for a “jeep” ride up Aspen Mountain and asked if I wanted to earn an easy hundred bucks. Jeeping and cash were two things I could not get enough of. Aspen was still a small town back then and everyone knew everyone or someone who did so I figured I had nothing to lose. Up Aspen Mountain we headed.

For the most part the ride up was filled with small talk about the glory days of Aspen’s mining years and the many mines on these hillsides. The further we went the more I learned about what I had gotten myself into. We pulled up next to the trees on the ridge at the top of Tourtellotte Park near the lower end of the ski run called “Buckhorn.” My new employer grabbed a couple of shovels, a cable come-along and a bunch of rope. He had me grab some flashlights. At the time I figured we were headed into one of the mine shafts. I could not have been more wrong if I had tried.

A steep hike down to an old abandoned mine ensued. When we popped out of the trees at the mine, we were directly above the Country Day School on the valley floor below. We were about 200 yards below the ridge line above. What came next was the making of a nightmare. There sat, on some old rusty tracks, was a mining car. It looked as if it had not moved or been touched in eighty years. It was still filled to the rim with ore from the mine, now collapsed, behind it. My assignment was to empty the car, rock by rock if necessary. Meanwhile my “employer” headed back into the trees with his rope and cable-come-along. An hour or so later the car was emptied and hooked up to the “rigging” that was now in place.

My “employer” intended to extract the mine car from its home of eighty plus years to be sold to a willing buyer with the right amount of cash. For this I was to be paid a hundred bucks. Not such a good deal after all.
All this and all I kept asking myself was, “Why, on this day, did I stop to look at his Chevy?”
About 4 hours into the heist and the mine car was no more than a couple of feet from its original location. We determined that we had to move the car in the opposite direction before dragging it up the hill into the trees in order to avoid some large obstacles. Then disaster struck!

At some point one of the ropes, that had been stretched like and old rubber band, gave way. One end disappeared into the trees with a “whipping” sound trailing behind. The other end, still attached to the mine car disappeared over the edge of the tailing pile where we were standing. We could hear the car tumbling down the hill, taking out trees in its path and disassembling itself with every toss or turn. It seemed like the sound was never going to stop. I feared it would land on one of the buildings below.

My “employer” said very little as we packed up all of our gear and headed back to his Jeep. It was well after dark by the time we got to the vehicle, we had been on the mountain for over six hours now. I finally figured out why we had the flashlights. We never would have found our way back up the hill without them. The awkward silence was finally broken about half way down the mountain and it was suddenly filled with more expletives than I knew existed. Many were repeated numerous times for effect or to be sure I knew the importance of them. The cursing did not stop until we arrived back in front of his house.

He stormed out of the Jeep and into his house without another word. I had just wasted the better part of the day and had nothing to show for it. Nothing! I wanted to get even with him for not paying me for my time and the only thing I could think of would have been to scratch or otherwise mar the beautiful finish on the Chevy Bel Air but it was too beautiful a car and it did not get to pick who owned it. I went home knowing what I could have done but also knew my parents had taught me right from wrong.

Over the years our paths crossed numerous times and every time he acted like he did not know me. Oh well, life goes on and besides, it gave me a good story to tell years later.