Southwest Blitzkrieg

8/7 (redux)

My first night in Denver, I spent poking around the downtown, seeing what there was to do. While the downtown looked pretty nifty

I'm starting to get the impression that a lot of downtown areas in American cities look pretty goddamn similar. Also, for some reason this one would occasionally remind me of Inception.

BWAAAAAAAAA

Wandered around for a bit waiting for my hostel to open up for check ins. I had originally planned to avoid paying for housing during this period, but after a few days in the Southwest, it became worth it for the shower privilege alone. Shopping on price brought me to the Denver International Youth Hostel, off of Colfax and Washington. Being cheap for a hostel, the place had...character, but no worse than some apartments I've had.

I don't think that's the "80's intentionally exposed brick" architectural statement, I think it's more the "legally speaking, this building has been abandoned since the 80's" architectural statement

Being in a new city with no plans or connections, I did what is rapidly becoming the usual: found a low-key bar with a good happy hour and made new friends. Amongst these (no pictures, so you'll have to use your imagination) were Andi and Cynthia, the middle aged, marriage averse couple from Atlanta who introduced the bar to pickle shots, (Jamesons with a dill pickle juice chaser, not as bad as it sounds) and Ross, the sensitive grad student. Andi is a federal judge, and gave us all his business card ("get out of jail free card, only good in Atlanta") and Ross caught flack for not wanting to go see his girlfriend after drinking ("it's a show of respect"). So, that was pretty entertaining. Explored Denver's light rail system a bit after that, and went to bed.

shiiiiiinnnyyy

Drink: pickle shots!

Bed: the stained matress of the Denver International Hostel (always a sign of a high-class joint if the only other person checked in is a Brit who's lived there for a year)

City: Diggity-Denver

8/8

So Denver has a a pretty neat strip called the 16th st. mall, a long strip of (you guessed it) 16th street closed to traffic, with free buses running every 5 minutes or so. Here's some pictures!

...okay, I lied. Apparently I didn't bother to document that bit, but it's cool. One of the coolest bits is a bookstore called the Tatterd Cover (props to Ms. Sarah for turning me on to that one);

 Multi-floored, wood paneled, allows you to read books without buying them first=super awesome.

Also, they do things like this.

The strip culminates in the Commons Park, right along the Platte River, which is a really great place to eat your food stamps lunch and read a used Pratchett book

also, the path there has things like this once in a while

Denver: generally quite pleasant, occasionally over run with undead reindeer

In an attempt to stop paying money for shelter, I spent the evening in Longmont thanks to the wonderful hospitality of Andrew and Alicia, married friends of my sister who live in the state. I spent the evening watching those two herd and corral their weapons-grade cute children of 3 and five, who are both obsessed with Batman (hooray) and assaulting my ass with plastic swords (somewhat less hooray). 

Drink: Familial affection

Bed: a 3/4 size recreation of a futon pull-out

City: Longmont. 

8/9 

Woke up just extremely, implausibly, sadistically early (8:30), and went back to Denver to wait for my bus. Luckily, I found this place

I'm starting to see a pattern in the establishments I feel comfortable in

That is the Leela European Cafe on 15th and Champa, the kind of coffee house that has middle aged men drinking bottles of Pabst at 9 in the morning. Also, free wi-fi. So, I spent some quality time there watching (aptly enough) Futurama episodes until I could board my bus for Amarillo Texas. Why Amarillo, you ask? Because it's one night's ride from Denver, and I've never been to Texas. Also, it's in a Johnny Cash song.

Drink: European Coffee. Which is a lot like regular coffee, it turns out

Bed: Greyhound, my one true home

City: The Road

8/10

So the Amarillo Greyhound station is...provincial, lets just say. My phone was dead, so I didn't manage to get much beyond these;

Pictured: Texas

I know this may not come through in a still photo, but that light pole is still swaying from when that bus nailed it on a wide turn and didn't even look back

Anyway, the station itself honestly looked like the bombed out remains of an abandoned warehouse; the walls were crumbled to the point where you could actually see the rebar in more than one spot, there was plastic construction sheeting hung everywhere, the floor was noticeably missing in spots- the Mcdonalds Kiosk approach taken by the good people of St. George represented a more fully realized attempt at the Bus Station ideal. The upshot of this for me was that no, they didn't have any lockers in Amarillo, neither in the station nor apparently in the town, so instead of humping my big-ass ruck sac all over 100-degree small town Texas for 18 hours, I just signed up for the next bus to Durango, where I was headed anyway to see my sister. They had one leaving in an hour, which suited me just fine. What didn't suit me quite as fine was the fact, unmentioned to me until I was getting off the bus in Albuquerque, that there's a lay-over in Albuquerque on that particular route.

A 20-hour layover.

From 5 pm until 1 pm.

Sooooooo, yeah. Okay, fine. Bring it, Albuquerque. Cunning plan: explore the nightlife in happenin' Albuquerque until it died down, crash at the Greyhound station, get on a bus. Sorted. Since the station is actually right on the edge of the downtown strip, I figured this wouldn't be to hard.

This also added to my optimism

So, walked around a little, got a feel for the area, started chatting with a couple folk lounging outside a tattoo parlor who pointed me towards the Launchpad, a local bar with a half-price happy hour and a metal show tonight. Liking all parts of that equation, I headed over that way and acquainted myself with the natives: Casey, the developmentally disabled young woman who was in nursing school and wanted to go to her first loud show, Joe, the 35 year old army vet turned private eye, Ed, the local dirty old man, and Roman, the huge, hairy metal head with the heart of gold. Spent the early evening with this group, thoroughly enjoying myself. 

The show itself was also quite good; the line up was Thrones, Torches and Big Business, who were all new to me. Thrones was one guy on an electric standup bass, which was pretty cool, if a little tedious- his whole set was like the slow parts of a Rasputina album. Torches was good, if nothing super special. Big Business, however, really earned their headlining status; those kids fucking thrashed. Turns out that they're two-thirds of the Melvins, which was no surprise at all after having my face melted off. The drummer was specifically savage, to the point that some of their songs ended up being 5 minutes of the drummer trying to murder the room with sound while the guitar and bass just tried to keep up.

Pictured: Albuquerque being fucking metal

That was, however, that last good thing that ever happened in Albuquerque. I should have known this was coming when the cabs started assembling around one in the morning, but it didn't seem quite as ominous then. The minute the bars closed (2 it turns out), there is a mass exodus from the downtown strip, with a speed and efficiency to rival the fall of Saigon.

Albuquerque, 2:01 am.

Disappointing as this was, I had still had an unexpectedly pleasant night, and had a warm, welcoming Greyhound station waiting to take me into it's loving arms. 

Well, that was the plan, anyway. Turns out that Albuquerque is the only place ever in the history of man to close it's Greyhound station at night. Also, and this is likely more common, Albuquerque hostels don't answer their phones at 2am. Luckily, I had a plan B: Denny's. It was a couple mile's walk, but it's not like I had anything else to do with my time, so I hoofed it down the road, thinking I'd abuse their bottomless coffee privileges for a few hours until the station opened back up. However, in the next development of what I now consider an orchestrated plot against me by the state of New Mexico, the Denny's was "closed for maintenance", leaving me standing in an Albuquerque strip mall at three in the morning, hungry, under caffeinated and relatively uncertain as to what to do with my time. Last ditch option, I decided to go hang out at the local 7-11, where I could at least drink cheap coffee in the parking lot and consider the decisions I had made in life that brought me to this point.

I'm sure you've already figured out where this is going.

Albuqueeeeeerrrrrquuuueeeeeee!

Yes, New Mexico: The Land of Enchantment Until 2am and Then Go Fuck Yourself. I ended up killing that last few hours chatting with a couple of Irishmen and a couple of lesbians I found loitering in the middle Central st. who were also trying to figure out what to do in Albuquerque, until the station opened back up at 5 and I could go sleep on some metal benches.

Drink: Roman and Coke (it's made with Old Crow)

Bed: Greyhound Inn

City: Albuquerque. Fucking Albuquerque.

Currently ensconced at my sister's house in Durango CO, which is not without it's dangers

Oh, family

But is still a marked improvement.