The search for the Bad Boys of Ouray, the three young bucks traveling together and causing havoc to gardens throughout the town, have yet to be seen this morning or last night. However, Dr. Loundren and his two-year old lab, Becky, were out for their morning walk. I wasn’t quite sure who was walking whom. Becky seemed to want to go one way and the good doctor had another agenda. When I turned down on 4th Avenue heading back to Main, it looked like the good doctor was losing.
Several biker groups were working their way through town yesterday, semi-big biker town, Ouray is. I’m not talking about your gang bikers, I’m talking about doctors and engineers using some of their extra bucks to buy a $40,000 Harley and leathers to give them that Bad Boy-living to ride, type appearance. They still stop at the Billy Goat Gruff Beer Garten and drink their pints of some beer no one can pronounce. That gives them away. The Rolex’s don’t help.
If they really were bikers, they’d be drinking Bud out of a can and collapsing the empty container on their foreheads-or their friend's forehead.
Maggie’s Kitchen ran out of Coke in both nozzles yesterday and the Diet Coke was broken. Anyone who bought a Coke and was standing there ready to fill up their cups was out of luck. They just needed to drink something else, no refunds. Now, some of those bikers might have asked for a refund; they didn’t get what they paid for, but in every life sometimes we come to a point where our Diet Coke or regular Coke lives take a change and we have to drink the orange Fanta-deal with it. We don’t want to drink the Fanta. Its been years since we’ve even had that Coast Guard orange drink and we thought we had matured over the years as well as we’ve taken on the battle of the waistline, high cholesterol, and just shear bulk, but now we have to deal with a curve ball of life. So, we push the bright orange button, just enough to put enough in the glass to take a sip. And there, to our surprise, is pleasure, like those orange ice cream bars we had as kids. Full of sugar and flavors of days long ago. So, we fill the glass, minimize the ice, and after lunch we go back and top it off again, just a little for the walk, you understand.
The owner of Maggies sent a runner, a young boy about fifteen, to get more soda syrup for the machine. It should be on line tomorrow; no word on the Diet Coke. That one might take longer. The quarter pound burger was every bit a half a pound. The French fries had that light sheen of oil on them, you know the kind, allowing the salt your heart needs to adhere to it when you take the lid off the salt container and pour it on.
Our travel team decided they liked the chicken sandwich there so much, we went back for dinner, finding myself arguing with my own brain about whether to get the grilled cheese or the hot dog that appeared to be the size of a small man’s femur. I went with the dog. Good choice. I asked for a Diet Coke, thinking maybe the lad made it back with the syrup or a new button and was politely directed to the table next to the dispenser where I found Coke products in twenty-four can cases. I helped myself. I never saw the boy they sent to get the syrup. That is what I call improvising.
It rained in the afternoon right after a hurricane wind storm stirred everything up. The temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees in about fifteen minutes.
We missed sushi night at the Cascade Deli last night, although I’ve never heard of sushi with roast beef. Oh, well-when in Rome.
There are things to buy here as well. T-shirts with quick, sharp sayings like a picture of a line of silhouetted backpackers and a caption Take a GPS, it is embarrassing when you have to eat your friends; tin signs you hang up somewhere in your house like the Ten Commandments for Cowboys, with a commandment which reads don't take another feller's stuff; coffee cups of every size and shape and animal. Nothing says office décor like a moose coffee cup.
We’ll see what day three brings. The day is starting with a clouds. Something guys like me from Arizona go out and light candles too. It could rain the rest of the week and I would be a happy camper. The rest of the town would cry and frankly, the grand lady we call Ouray would suffer, so no, I guess I don’t want it to rain, but maybe just threaten. You know, you don’t always have to shoot the suspect. Sometimes, just as long as he can see in your eyes that you would and could blow his head clean off, is all it takes for him to put down that 32 inch flat screen you caught him coming out of the window with.Somehow, tie that metaphor with the rain and you will get what I am trying to say.
Justice served. Now, my friends, its time for some more coffee and to see if Dr. Loundren is still being walked by Becky. I hope he gets home.
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