We tried looking for teaching jobs on the western slope--Montrose, Grand Junction, Delta, Ridegway, and other districts in the area.  Basically, they just handed up the applications with disinterest.  Many school districts talk about teacher shortages, but they also claim budget shortages won't allow them to hire new teachers, anyway.  How do you figure that one out?  It's just the usual educational double talk that is going to be the subject of another book.  It's working title is, "Memoirs of a Bad Teacher," although it's been suggested that I called it "Teaching for Dummies."  Whatever.  After our job search was, as Diane put it, fruitless in Fruita, we just decided to take our time coming to Longmont.
    We spent a day in Montrose.  There were visited The Colorado Cat House, a shop with the best collection of cat giftware we've ever seen.  We had a long talk with the owners, who were happy to share some of their suppliers with us.  We also noticed not one, not two, but three Drive-In Movie Theatres in the Grand Junction/Montrose area.  Freddy could barely remember the last drive-in we attended to see "Lion King" for the second time.

    We also continued our search to have the generator fixed.  We found an Onan place in Grand Junction, but they were backed up for two weeks.  Our only real chance is to bring it back to Kevin in Loveland, which we will do.  If he wants too much for fix it, maybe we'll just look for a portable backup.  I don't know.

     I have no fear of hills with Rocinante, but she does have very low gears, so when I do have to drop to second or first, our speed is reduced to a crawl; we pass no one.  Even big heavy 24 wheelers pass us on mountain climbs.  It took us most of a day to drive through Grand Mesa, but it was a very pleasant ride, with beautiful countryside.  We had lunch by a lovely lake, Freddy tried some fishing, also fruitlessly, and Lady rolled around in the clover.
    While going over the endless mountains, Freddy uttered a phrase that we will remember for its subtlety.  He looked out the window at the unguarded shoulder of the road, and quietly said, "Daddy, please don't pull over here."
    Now and then, the transmission acted a little funny, shifting roughly.  That scared me a bit, especially when Diane said, "You know what I'd like to do?  I'd like to go back to Rocky Mountain National Park again."  Well, we had made it once, so I decided to give it a second try.
    On the way north, I remembered a promise we had made to Freddy when he was about ten years old.  We were on our first trip to Colorado, and had just stayed at Grand Lake, the beautiful town that first made Diane fall in love with Colorado.  Freddy had wanted to ride the Alpine Slide at Winter Park, but we had thought it would be too far out of our way.  "Next time we come out here, Freddy, I promise you can go on the Alpine Slide."  So, naturally, off we went to Winter Park.
    It's pretty cool there in the Summer.  The lifts are going to several places on the mountain.  There's Alpine Sliding, Mountain Biking, climbing, miniature golf, and all kinds of activities.  It's like Disneyland.  The trouble is, it costs about the same price as a day at Disneyland.  An all day ticket for everything is $47.00.  That would have been long enough to kill the animals in our camper without a working generator, so Freddy settled for a single ride on the Alpine Slide for $10.00.  He had a good long ride, though.  It took eleven minutes on the chairlift just to get to the top of the slide.

    It's amazing how much Colorado can change in just a month.  Actually, as I think about it, it's more like six weeks, but most of that snow, piled so high on the sides of the road in Alpine was gone.  The two foot deep range that Freddy had tried to slide on and I had walked on with my sandals was almost gone.  Only a few small patches of snow remained.  Back in loveland, we went to Boyd State Park, so Freddy could go fishing--all the snow that had melted in Alpine must have run down into the lake: the stream where Freddy had fished in the running water was now a pond, several feet deeper, water covering the trail on which he has walked--and the fish--they were gone.

    The show in Longmont was a disaster.  We had to pay $100 for our table, and another $75 for three nights' camping.  With the damned generator on its deathbed, we needed electricity to keep the animals alive.  All through the show, we kept hearing, "Jobs are scarce in this town," so guess what?  After we paid for the campground, we drove off with about $20 in our pockets.  Gidget was entered in this show, though, as a household pet because she still hasn't been registered in CFA.  She won eight rosettes: two fifth places, three fourths, two thirds, and a second.  Freddy is really happy about her; I think, though, that the other animals in our camper, two ribbonless dogs and two ribbonless cats, are getting pretty jealous over Gidge's star status.

    Speaking about the pets, you might be interested in another thing I've learned about Lady.  Actually, I suppose it could be true of all long-haired dogs.  You see, most of the time, when Lady is healthy, she deposits a firm stool, usually on the grass at a WalMart, then gets really happy, rolls over and over again in the clover, then gleefully runs back to the camper, her long hair blowing behind her as she takes happy, loping strides.  She's really quite beautiful to see in those gentle runs.
    Sometimes, though, it's different.  Sometimes Lady is not as healthy.  These times usually occur after she has gotten in the garbage can and eaten something that disagrees with her--left over tacos for instance, or grease from the French Fries.  On those times, her snack food is revealed in her stool, which comes out considerably less than firm.  Lady is usually aware of this and tries, usually in vain, to use the grass as bathroom tissue, but let's face facts: Charmin is designed by scientists to be a better cleaning wipe than grass.  Come on, if it wasn't, we'd all be cleaning our anal passages on the lawn, like the dogs do, right?
    Well, like the old joke about Star Trek Toilet Tissue, on times like these, Lady returns to the camper with a number of Clingons.  When she does, we know right away, especially in the camper.  Diane is then forced, like Captain Kirk, to circle her anus and look for Clingons.  They are then removed, by a few deft scissor snips, and lady smells like a lady again.
    The point is, when Diane does the snipping, it is a most undignified position for Lady to be in.  Have you ever watched the look on a dog's face when he or she or it is defecating?  They all seem to look back at us in embarrassment, as if they were begging for some privacy.  The look in Lady's eyes as Diane snips away the facal matter is just worse.  Look for yourself:

    After the show, on Monday, we went to a place in Denver, which we were told is a good place to order vending supplies.  Good place?  Hardly.  It is the greatest place for vendors we have ever seen.  We spend an entire day there and only saw about half the stores.  Here's how it works:  each store (and there are hundreds) display items from various wholesale houses--not the Chinese stuff--that's across the street.  This is all good, high end, merchandise.  In one day, we got more information and made more contacts than we had in six months over the Internet.  In addition to several orders of stock, we walked away with maybe 40 catalogues full of top-quality cat merchandise.
        We really had a terrific time there, ordered all kinds of stuff, and made plans to order more--from companies like Demdaco, Richard Kimble, Joan Baker, Quarry Critters, even Hallmark--the list is endless.  It was like a trade show that's open every day.  We will be back--often.  It sure makes our wholesalers at Webster, where they hawk Chinese imports from the backs of trucks to flea market vendors, look like exactly what it is.

    On Tuesday, we went back to Kevin's, to give him another go on the generator.  We had tried several other places, but nobody seemed able to squeeze us in.  Once we got close to Loveland, I figured it was best to try Kevin again.  He, too, had a backup of work, as well as some family difficulties, but nevertheless, he spent the better part of a day cleaning out the carburetor, and trying to adjust it, then charging us for onloy a single hour of work.  Good man.
    As we were leaving Loveland, we passed a store that sold business displays.  He had never seen a store like that, so we stopped and bought some stuff for the shop, getting a catalogue, and planning to order lots more.  Again, I thought, why do we find all the stores we need in Colorado instead of close to home?

    While we were at the Longmount show, I took a look at the front right tire.  That squeak was getting just too embarassing, as I said earlier.  The brake rotors have covers on them, like chainguards on a bicycle.  I tried to get in there, but could do nothing without jacking up the car.  But an odd thing happened:  The squeaking stopped!  How is such a think possible?
    Clearly, there is only one possible answer.  That squeaking in the tire must have been caused by a Gremlin, like the kind that affected fighter planes in World War II.  When I poked my face up against the inside of the wheel, I must have gotten to close to the damned Gremlin and he decided to attack somebody else's car.  Away he went.  Good riddens, too.

    So off we went, late Tuesday afternoon, east on route seventy, just as we had about six weeks before, with a tearful goodbye to our beloved Colorado.  The engine was purring; the transmission was working fine; the newly repaired generator was okay for the moment; the sun was shining.
    Beep. Beep. Beep!
    A little silver car passed us, beeping his horn.
    "Oh shit," I cried.  "What's wrong now?"
    "Did something fall off the back?" cried Freddy.
    "You better pull over," said Diane.
    Dammit, I thought.  What in Hell is wrong with this damned car now?
    I looked up at the silver car, disappearing in the distance.  He had a Florida license plate.
    "Diane," I said, realizing the truth.  "Nothing is wrong with the camper.  That guy is from Florida.  He was just saying, "Hello."
    A silence fell among us, broken only by the usual squeaks and groans of the camper.  This is the price you pay when you drive a beat up old Cousin Eddie Camper.  You think it's falling apart even when it isn't.
 
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN