Last week Edward Snowden got some interesting company in the world of highly publicized airport strandings. Grandma and Grandpa Woodstock’s plight caught people’s attention, albeit in a much different way than Snowden. Here’s the breakdown:
Rosy Esparza was apparently concerned that she wasn’t properly fastened into her seat before her ride began on a Six Flags roller coaster Friday. That ride led to her tragic death when she fell out of her seat on the Texas Giant, which reaches a height of 153 feet. The Arlington, Texas Six Flags announced on Saturday that the ride will remain closed until the end of an investigation into the death, which they are conducting themselves.
This tragedy is now added to the list of other deadly roller coaster accidents in the United States, including:
2011, Ride of Steel, Darien Lake, New York: Sgt. James Hackemer, 29, came back from the Gulf War as a double amputee. When asked employees of Darien Lake for a list of rides that would be safe for him, the Ride of Steel was included in that list. He bounced out of the restraints to his death toward the end of the ride.
1930, Big Dipper, Krug Park, Nebraska: A loose bolt on this ride caused four cars to plummet to the ground, killing four people.
2011, Python Pit, Go Bananas, Illinois: A three year old boy fell out of the little roller coaster to his death.
2004, Ride of Steel, Six Flags, Massachusetts: After being ejected mid-ride, a 55-year-old man died after sustaining serious injuries.
2002, Rainbow Ride, Six Flags, Colorado: After unfastening his seat belt, a man fell to his death.
I can probably be kicked out of Colorado for admitting this, but I’m just not that into bikes. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been lugging my vintage, fixed-gear cruiser around for over 21 years. Even though I rarely ride it these days because I live in hilly Boulder, I’m devoted to it. But mountain biking and road cycling plain freak me out, and in this state, that’s like saying you hate snow.
So, when my friend S. urged me to join her on an 18-mile bike ride down Aspen’s Rio Grande Trail to the former mining town of Basalt, I was dubious. I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 7. I have terrible balance. What about getting back up valley? Still, there was the allure of flying down a riverside path in the high Rockies on a summer’s day. I caved.
The Rio Grande Trail is a part of the former Denver-Rio Grande Railroad bed. It starts at Aspen’s Herron Park, just off Main Street on the east end of town, and runs the length of the Roaring Fork Valley, all the way down to Glenwood Springs, 41 miles away. The trail, especially the Aspen-to-Basalt leg, is enormously popular with cyclists, walkers, and runners and, in winter, cross-country skiers.
Last week, I met up with S. in Aspen. It was a bluebird day, one that begged for a picnic or al fresco lunch. Our plan of action, after picking up two titanium, single-gear cruisers, was to ride down to the nearby community of Woody Creek (home of the late Hunter S. Thompson), and hit the Woody Creek Tavern (bar of the late Hunter S. Thompson) for lunch. Their famous hamburgers and a margarita on the patio are an Aspen summer staple. Alternatively, if you want some truly excellent breakfast pastries or picnic bread, take a slight detour over to Louis’ Swiss Bakery in the Aspen Business Center.
The first mile of the Rio Grande Trail runs alongside the Roaring Fork River. This time of year, the vegetation is lush: wildflowers are in full bloom, and the aspens and pines provide ample shade. You’ll cross a wooden bridge or two, and after about five minutes, the pedestrians disperse, and can really start moving (do watch out for other bikers, stay in your lane and always wear a helmet).
After about 15 minutes, we arrived at the Tavern, which is essentially a roadhouse/bar/tribute to all that’s weird (there’s a reason Thompson was a regular). The burgers really are all that, if nothing fancy, and the Mexican dishes also win raves.
Post-lunch, we hopped back on our bikes and rode to Basalt, which has become an alluring little hamlet in its own right. Don’t expect much in the way of excitement, but it’s a cute, quiet place to kick back for a few days, and enjoy the many outdoor activities the Roaring Fork Valley has to offer.
The ride from Woody Creek to Basalt changes from sub-alpine terrain to open valley and ranchland. Horses and cattle graze ipeacefully, and the rust-red hematite cliffs so indicative of this region loom to the right. Below us, on our left, was the river. The path remained smooth and the light was so bright it almost hurt. I started to remember why I’d been hauling my old cruiser around with me all these years. Being on a bike was exhilarating, especially in a place so geographically blessed. I certainly didn’t care that I wasn’t hammering it on half-track.
When we reached Basalt, S. and I pulled into a nondescript business park. We’d decided to cap off our ride with a visit to the the four-month old Woody Creek Distillers (they’re killing it with their whiskeys and vodka made with Colorado-grown ingredients, including Polish Stobrawa potatoes farmed up-valley on co-owner Pat Scanlan’s family farm.
The gorgeous, state-of-the-art distillery houses a gleaming, copper-and-stainless steel German still, which can be viewed from the tasting room. Distillery manager David Matthews walked us through a whiskey tasting, which made me long for an accompanying wedge of bandage-wrapped farmstead goat cheddar from Basalt’s own Avalanche Cheese Company (pick some up at Whole Foods just north of Basalt, off of Highway 82, along with some famous Palisade peaches, grown just over the mountains on the Western Slope).
Back in Boulder, I paid a visit to my dusty cruiser, which has been languishing in the basement for nearly a year now. I’m going back up to Aspen in September to see the fall foliage; my newly-tuned up bike will be making the trip with me. Thanks, S.
The details
If you’re not bringing your own bike, the best place for rentals in the Aspen/Snowmass area is Four Mountain Sports (various locations). Note that many Aspen hotels, like the The Little Nell (which will comp rentals September through the first snow), have bike rentals for guests. The easiest way to return to Aspen is to catch the Roaring Fork Transit Authority (RFTA) bus from Basalt.
Michigan’s Upper Peninsula is lined with beaches along Lake Superior to the north and Lake Michigan to the south. The Keweenaw Peninsula in the greater U.P. is also lined with Lake Superior beaches to the east and west. Views from each side vary, but are beautiful across the board. I spent the afternoon at a small beach on Lake Superior called Betsy Beach. Aside from a kayaking pair, we had the sandstone beach to ourselves and I did what anyone with a camera in the summer on a beautiful beach would do: took photos of pretty flowers. Enjoy.
The campers next to us were singing cheerily about crucifixion. About The Crucifixion, I gathered. Something about a large cross they’d erected on their campsite with a live dwarf-like man affixed to it gave me this impression. When a few friends invited me to go camping recently, I jumped at the opportunity to do something I’d never really do. “You? Camping?” my sister said when I announced my weekend plans. Her reaction was as if I’d said I was changing my name to Cletus and moving to Appalachia.
When the campers next to our site broke out the drum kit and plugged in the electric guitars for a Christian rock concert, I knew that my sister (and most people) were right. Camping isn’t for me. But I did have access to a car. And what does one do with a car in Westchester County? According to a set of food-loving friends, the answer is to visit the Blue Hill at Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture.Whenever I leave New York City I usually end up flying over an ocean or two. I rarely explore what’s just outside the city. But here I was driving up to Blue Hill, a restaurant that recently won the James Beard Award for restaurant of the year. Sadly, I wouldn’t be eating there but just exploring the complex, a vast farm.
The parking lot was full and families and paramours were gawking at chickens and pigs and strolling through the herb garden. I have to admit: I wasn’t exactly sure why people would come here. Besides eating at one of the most lauded restaurants in the country, what’s the appeal?
I watched lazy pigs sleep, curious but shy turkeys gobble. I snatched small tomatoes from the vine and popped them in my mouth. They were some of the best tasting tomatoes I’d ever had. I went to the café and ate a tuna fish sandwich and it was superlative in its freshness and deliciousness. I was starting to see the appeal of this place.
But it wasn’t until I randomly encountered Farmer Jack (that’s how he introduced himself) that my answer was revealed. We began talking about what he does there at the farm and how they farm in a way that makes it all totally self sustainable and that they’re goal is to have zero “inputs,” as he called it; nothing from the outside that they bring in. “We don’t even want to use any fossil fuels,” he said.
And then without me having to ask, he said: “The reason why people should visit this complex is not just to eat at one of the best restaurant’s in the country but to see how real produce is grown and taken care of. We’re so detached from it. And we end up buying the 99-cent head of broccoli and have no idea why that’s bad and what it does (and doesn’t do) to our environment and food systems. Coming here,” he added, “you can reconnect with how your food is grown.”
It all made sense. He was preaching to the converted. If people didn’t leave here feeling different about produce or feeling like they got something out if it, I know of a good campsite they could spend the weekend at.