Winter 1988

It was the winter of 1988, probably early February to be more exact.  Julie and I had been dating for about six months and it was her second trip to Aspen.  We were living in Long Beach, California, at the time and driving to Aspen took about 17 hours.  I was young and foolish at the time so, the idea of leaving on a Friday afternoon, driving through the night to get there by the following morning was “no big deal.”  We would end up leaving Sunday afternoon with plans on arriving back in Long Beach in time for work on Monday.

Unlike so many others, our weekend plans did not including skiing, we were going for our family’s favorite past-time, snowmobiling!  By the time we got to Aspen my parents already had the snowmobiles ready to go.  We changed into our winter clothes and headed off to the parking area for Little Annie’s road on the back side of Aspen Mountain.  Our plans were to go up Midnight Mine Road to the top of Aspen Mountain and then head back across Richmond Hill to the base of Taylor Pass.  I had been back in that area many times before and knew the route well.  This would be Julie’s first time on a snowmobile.

Driving through the night requires a lot of coffee and I figured once we got on top of the ridge I would go on ahead and “take care of business; you know, see a man about a horse.”  And so it began, I headed off to the east without realizing Julie was right behind me.  Once I saw her I just figured I would go faster and get ahead of her. 

30 miles per hour, then 40, 50, 60 and eventually 70 and I still could not shake her.  “What was she doing?”  She had never driven one of these contraptions before.  Did she not fear death?  In exasperation I came to a stop.  When I walked up to her the expression on her face was priceless, the look of terror mixed in with relief.  She did not realize what I was trying to accomplish and all she knew was that she (being a city girl) would keep up with me no matter what.  She had something to prove and she did just that. 

In looking back at it, I was pretty impressed that she could drive a snowmobile that well and that fast on her first time out.

1967 – 1968

Martin John Bishop, brother of Albert Bishop, started out in the building working as a mechanic for Natalie Gignoux and her Little Percent Taxi Company.  Later he took on extra work when time and space permitted.  Eventually “Martin John” ran his own shop renting the building from Natalie.  It was located behind the Concept 600 Building on Spring Street and Rio Grande Place.  Norbert Anthes was a mechanic working for Martin as well as a number of others including Mike “The Hunkie” Toth.  My aunt and uncle, Shirley and Nelson Jr. Smith lived, in the two houses just to the east of the garage and I would often go hang out with Norbert and the other mechanics when my family was visiting next door. 

Norbert had not been in the valley long at this point and yet he was already welliked and respected in the community and was considered a close family friend.  Norbert was always known for his generosity, and I was often a recipient of it over the years.  Sometime around 1967 Norbert offered me a job at the garage.  I suppose deep down it was a favor to me but it also got me out from under his feet while working on the vehicles.

My job was to clean up the rags, sweep the floors and even put the tools away.  Norbert always paid me at the end of each work day and the money was usually gone before I got home that afternoon.  A pocket full of change is no match for a little boy who walked past The Peppermint Tree candy store, The Hobby Shop and Walt Matthew’s Drugs (now Carl’s Pharmacy) on his way home.

Norbert always made sure I had plenty to do and even took the time to teach me a thing or two.  By the age of eight I was pretty good at changing spark plugs and oil filters on pretty much anything that came through the doors.  I was also very accomplished at greasing the shocks, U-Joints and hubs, being mindful not to over grease them and blow out the seals.   Many Friday afternoons were spent visiting in the parking lot as the mechanics and friends alike enjoyed their beers.  I even got rides home on Fridays as my dad always had a keg of Coors on tap in his garage, and Norbert new that if he gave me a ride home a fresh beer would be waiting upon his arrival.

Sometime in late 1967 some rags and gas next to the furnace caught on fire and a blaze ensued.  The building was not destroyed but most of the exposed insulation as well as many of the tool boxes along the walls were heavily damaged.  Very few of Norbert’s tools survived the fire undamaged.  Within a few weeks most of the damage was repaired, tools were replaced and it was business as usual.  As for me, Norbert added to my days’ wages by sending home a burned wrench or socket every day for my growing set of tools.  Over time I ended up with a large collection of tools many of which are still in use today.

Norbert knew how to take care of his friends.  He was always willing to lend a hand and never expected anything in return.  I remember a few years ago running into him at Cap’s Auto.  He asked me about snowmobiling while I was in town and I mentioned that unfortunately one of them had been damaged and was un-usable.  The next morning my friends and I were headed out for coffee when I noticed the snowmobile had been fixed.  Norbert never said a word about it.  Sadly, Norbert passed away a few years back.  Aspen will never be the same without him.

1968 – 1979

We usually put in at the Hollywood Campground, later known as Aspen Park, and now the location of the Wildwood School or down at Alice Scudder’s cabin off Warren Creek Lane.  To get to the river’s edge usually took a 5-mile ride on our bicycles up Highway 82 with our “oversized” truck tubes balanced on the handlebars or over our shoulders.  If a car were to hit us we would have bounced off like a giant super ball.  Although the journey was only about 5 miles back to town, it often took the better part of a day to complete.

Regardless of where we put in, the only real exciting part of the journey was just down past the Smith Ranch Bridge where the river takes a small bend to the right and then a small “rapids” as you past the old Pat B. Heman gravel pit on Stillwater Road.  Often we would stop at the Smith Ranch Bridge to visit with Don Sheeley and his Kayak classes before continuing on our journey.

We would usually end our tubing adventure at Crystal Lake, where the Aspen Club is now.  Although we did at times go for the next set of rapids and pull out at the Anderson Stables just before the bridge at the east end of town where Highway 82 crossed the river.  Below that point there were too many obstacles to safely continue on.

Crystal Lake provided hours of relaxing fun.  We floated around playing games and collecting pollywogs, water snakes and frogs.   

We enjoyed the lazy trips down the river where the only danger we faced was from the long brass valve stems on the tubes.  May father always had an ample supply of these large tubes from his earthmoving business.  Most were made available after they had been patched numerous times and were deemed no longer reliable for his purposes.  There were some tubing adventures where the tubes lost their air long before their needed usefulness.  Luckily, they were large enough to share with others.  The boys reluctantly shared with another boy but the girls were always willing.

Now days that stretch of river is off-limits for tubing as it has been deemed a public land and then too fragile for public access.  In the spring I often remember these adventures as that was the best time of the year to make the journey, except for the ice flows and 33 degree water temperature.  If you could make this journey today the route would be different with all the oxbows along the river’s path revealing its historic journeys over time.

The end of the day presented one of our biggest challenges, getting our bicycles back!  Back then just about every car that drove by was being driven by someone one of us knew and they were always willing to give us a lift.  Leaving the tubes behind, we all piled into the car and headed back out of town.

Circa 1960 – Present

Every summer in Aspen as a child included a good bit of swimming.  With few exceptions, back then private homes did not include pools in their back yards so we all needed a public place for swimming.  For the kids of Aspen we relied on public pools or private pools that offered memberships or summer passes.  Over the years, public swimming was made available in a number of different locations.

In the mid to late 1960’s, while not operating as a hotel, swimming was available for a small cost at the Hotel Jerome pool.  This was a great place to meet up with friends and spend the day.  The use of this pool went on for years and finally came to an end when the hotel was purchased and work began to restore it.  At first the pool was turned into a private club requiring membership and later it was closed all together.  Eventually the pool was torn out to make room for a large addition to the hotel that now occupies the back half of the property.

As changes at the Hotel Jerome were taking place, a local business man, Lenny Thomas, was busy building “The Center.”  It was a combination of retail spaces and a public pool located on the land at Galena Street and Durant Avenue, across from the North of Nell Building and what would be later known as, Ruby Park.  “The Center” included a much larger pool with additional amenities like locker rooms, slides and a wading pool.  “The Center” soon became the place for families and individuals alike to spend their warm summer days.  The pool was closed during the winter months.

Lenny Thomas was involved in a number of local business and projects including “The Center” and The Aspen Motor Speedway.  He was one of the earliest residents of Red Mountain, living in the red brick house just above the entrance to Pitkin Green Road.  “The Center” remained in business for years until it was finally sold off and redeveloped in the late 1970’s.

Aspen’s next pool was courtesy of James E. Moore.  James E. Moore owned a large parcel of land on the outskirts of town as you headed up Maroon Creek Road towards the Maroon Bells.  In the 1970’s the school district purchased a portion of the land for the High School and later on, the addition of the Middle School.  James Moore donated land directly across Maroon Creek Road from the High School to be used for the new pool as well as for other athletic purposes like baseball and football.  The pool was also used for swimming and diving lessons, water safety for the summer sailing classes and even SCUBA classes.

The new pool was built by the city on the donated land and is still in use to this day.  Later, additional facilities were added including the new ice arena.  Had it not been for the generosity of the Moore family there is no telling what the locals would have been able to use during the summers when it came to learning how to swim or dive unless they were willing to join the Aspen Club, east of town. 

Unfortunately, during this same period of time, access to the best swimming and “tubing” spots on the Roaring Fork River were being closed off by the property owners along the banks of the river.  Over the years the Moore’s continued to make available more land for public uses, unfortunately the city did not return the favor when they tried to sell off part of their land for development purposes.

Circa 1976

I am not sure who’s idea it was but I know we had talked about this particular trip for weeks that summer.  Lincoln Lake is located near the top of Independence Pass just above the last major switchback.  From the parking lot it is a short, one-mile, nearly vertical hike.

It was a beautiful summer day and by all accounts the perfect day for camping.  Ham Tharp, Robert Thuillier and I loaded up our packs and headed up the pass in my Jeep.  We gave little regard for what we took as we knew the hike was short and besides, we needed all of that stuff.

After setting up camp we set out to explore the lake and the small valley it was tucked into.  We were alone but could hear all the traffic on the highway across the valley.  The lake was formed by a glacier and the rocks around it are as big as houses; so, hiking around it was fun but challenging.

As evening set in we settled down for dinner and some beers we had liberated from my dad’s “Man Fridge” back home.   At the same time the clouds began to darken and the wind started picking up.  Before long we were in the middle of a full-fledged storm complete with lightning.  For us this made our location more dangerous as the valley we were in is largely composed of Iron Ore rocks. 

In no time we sought the refuge of our small tent to get out of the rain.  Outside the tent we could see the lightning and what we think was “St. Elmo’s fire” rolling around in the valley.  At one point during a lull in the storm our tent lit up and expanded like an over-filled balloon.  We took a direct St. Elmo’s Fire (static electricity) hit and lived to tell about it.

The storm lasted most of the night and any living thing in the valley sought refuge where ever they could.  This included the small space between the tent and it’s rain fly.  In the middle of the night I felt an animal laying up against me with only the thin nylon tent walls separating us.  I am not sure what type of critter it was, maybe a large rabbit, fox or even something more dangerous.  All I knew was that I was not about to go find out.

By morning the storm had cleared and the critters were gone.  As we all exited the tent we looked like a bunch of hedgehogs.  The static electricity had energized every hair we had.  After a good laugh and a hearty breakfast we packed up and headed home.

When we got home we learned that we had survived one of the valley’s worst storms in decades.  We had failed to let our parents know where we were going and at one point they almost sent out a search party to find us.  For us this was just another summer adventure.  Camping at 11,000 feet always provides an extra element of excitement.  Today, Lincoln Lake is a popular camping place for locals and visitors alike.  For me, it is one of my favorite places on earth.