Pikes Peak – Life In A Word

Local Flavor

On a trip to Philadelphia last weekend to visit family, I was reminded the city is well known for its cheesesteaks (among other things). You’ll find several restaurants claiming to offer “the best” in the downtown area. But my niece – a resident of the city for ten years now – was careful to point out which establishments cater to tourists versus those preferred by the locals. It’s advice someone like me wouldn’t know off the top of my head. At least I knew to call the sandwich a “Philly” instead of a “Philadelphia”.

Sure, no matter where you live it’s referred to as a “Philly Cheesesteak”. But what about the city itself? Calling Philadelphia “Philly” is a privilege reserved for its residents… or so I thought until I asked my niece. “Oh, heck no“, she said. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re a local or not – you always call it ‘Philly’. Call it ‘Philadelphia’ and it’s pretty obvious you’re not from around here.”

Huh. And here I thought city nicknames were reserved for those who actually lived there. Maybe this is Philly’s way of sharing “brotherly love” beyond its downtown streets.

I find it interesting how locals come up with jargon for the places in which they live. It’s a semi-secret language that can only be learned by spending enough time there. When we lived in Colorado Springs the city was never referred to by its full name, but instead by just “The Springs”. (A visitor might wonder why you weren’t referring to adjacent Manitou Springs instead.) Pikes Peak, the mountain forming the majestic backdrop of The Springs, was always just “The Peak”. Garden of the Gods and its famous sandstone rock formations was always just “The Garden”. And so on.

Maybe all of this name-shortening is a nod to the more relaxed world we live in today. Corporations could be said to use jargon as well. Remember when it was “Federal Express” instead of “FedEx”? “McDonald’s” instead of “Mickey-D’s?” Kentucky Fried Chicken instead of “KFC”? Even “Subway” was once known as “Pete’s Super Submarines”. Credit American Express – they might’ve been the original shortener of names. “Amex” has been used since the company’s founding in 1850.

Cities may have their nicknames but I also think I’ve heard a few imposters. Seriously, does anyone refer to San Francisco as “Frisco” when the more common option seems to be “San Fran”? Chicago will always be “The Windy City” to me; not “Chi-Town”. Dallas is too short a word to mess with so you’ll only get “Big D” from the locals on occasion. And more recently I’ve heard “Cali” and “So-Cal” out west but I couldn’t tell you if that’s what the locals go with.

Washington D.C. is “D.C.” whether you live there or not. St. Petersburg just sounds better as “St. Pete”. Oklahoma City is “OKC” just like New York City is “NYC”. I never grew up in Los Angeles but I did grow up in LA… maybe like you grew up in KC, Indy, or Cincy. Where does all of this jargon end? Right here… right now… at the end of this blog post where, now that I think about it, you’re welcome to call me “Dave” instead of “David”.

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LEGO Neuschwanstein Castle – Update #9 (read about the start of this project in Fit for a (Fairy Tale) King

Do you recall how we added the “Palas” (living quarters) to the castle the last time around? Apparently King Ludwig needed two of these structures. Bags 17 and 18 (of 23 bags of pieces) finished off one Palas and began another – the latter building at the far west end of the castle complex. All of a sudden we’re entering the home stretch of this entire project. Next week’s LEGOs will complete the castle itself, while the following week’s will give it a final flourish of landscape elements.

The “Palas” is the very tall element on the left

As you can see above, Palas #1 has been completed and installed. For the record, “completed” was much easier than “installed”. When you build an element like the Palas separately from the overall model, it’s a delicate process to bring the two together. You have to position the structure just right before you snap it down in amongst the rest of the castle. Easy to illustrate in the instruction manual; not-so-easy to do in reality. My first attempt was a mini-disaster, loosening several pieces from the castle base. My second attempt – mercifully – came together with a satisfying series of LEGO clicks.

Here’s a look at the “Western Palas”, still under construction and destined for the askew foundation you see on the far left of the larger model. Palas #2 includes a two-story balcony for views of the surrounding Alps (the big opening on the top floors of the structure), and a whole lot of living space underneath that was never ever completed. The Western allocates two floors to a “grand throne room”, also never completed. I find it sad, for all of the details of this wondrous castle, Ludwig never sat on his throne, let alone in a throne room from which he would’ve/should’ve performed his royal duties.

Running build time: 9:32

Total leftover pieces: 59 (!)

Accompanying movie soundtrack: Titanic (1997). It wasn’t my plan to go with the epic of the sinking ship, not today nor in any chapter of this build. But the music from Field of Dreams – a favorite movie of mine – just didn’t deliver the goods. Like Chariots of Fire, all you get with Field of Dreams is its theme song followed by random bits of music. Don’t save it to your listening library. But its composer James Horner scored Titanic as well, and for this one the Academy Award was well deserved. Subtract Céline Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” – the song just overlaps the ending credits. The real magic of this soundtrack is in the haunting instrumentals and wordless vocals. The theme song starts with the wailing tin whistle and morphs into the utterly lonely vocals, brought to you by the incomparable voice of Norwegian soprano Sissel. It echoes the despair and futility of it all – literally – which is exactly what Horner intended. Listen to it here.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

It’s Raining DONUTS!

Pikes Peak, the majestic 14,000′ mountain nestled in the Colorado Rockies west of Colorado Springs, is getting a major makeover. Okay, maybe not the mountain itself. Her nine-mile Cog Railway reopens in 2021 with new train cars and tracks to carry visitors to the summit. Her Manitou Incline, the one-mile ladder-like hiking trail up her eastern flank, has been improved for safer climbing. Finally, her Summit House visitor center is being replaced – sixty years after the original – with a state-of-the-art glass jewel.

“America’s Mountain” in the Colorado Rockies

Local folks like me only have one concern with all this Pikes Peak activity: the donuts. What’re they gonna do about the donuts?

You can drive, hike, or take the Cog Railway to the top of Pikes Peak, but you’ll always stop in at the visitor center once you get there. It’s the only thing you’ll find on the tiny summit beside the stunning views of the world below. Maybe you’ll purchase a supremely tacky, overpriced souvenir while you’re there. Maybe you’ll need a bathroom break. Whatever you do, you will buy a donut. Pikes Peak’s “World Famous” treats are sort of a reward for making it to 14,000 feet. Okay, so they’re not Krispy Kreme but they’re not terrible either. Just eat them at altitude. Once you begin your trek down the mountain they collapse into a mushy mess and they’re awful.

When I first realized the Summit House was getting demolished instead of remodeled my thoughts went straight to the donut machine. What are they gonna do with the donut machine? The “Belshaw Mark VI Donut Robot” delivered its final batch last week before someone pulled its plug. The Mark VI is a mechanical marvel. It can produce 700 donuts an hour (the summertime demand for Pikes Peak). The Mark VI endlessly dispenses the raw dough, four rings in a row, and creates donuts through a conveyer system of automated frying, rotating, and dispensing. Leave it on for twenty-four hours and it’ll pile up 17,000 of the little buggers.

Meanwhile, the new visitor center is getting a new donut machine. Maybe it’s the latest model of Belshaw’s Donut Robot and makes 1,000 donuts an hour. Maybe the donuts taste more like Krispy Kreme. Whatever it can do, this machine is a beast. It’s so big they had to use a crane to lift it into the building before they even closed up the walls.

If I’m the old Mark VI Donut Robot I’m not happy about being replaced, not at all. I mean, c’mon! I faithfully produced thousands of donuts day in and day out for decades! I’m not yesterday’s news just yet! Why not let me keep my job instead of giving all the love to a newer model? No siree Bob, I’m not gonna take it. I need to make some sort of statement. Y’know, demonstrate the extent of my discontent.

OH MAN, can’t you just picture it? Standing down on the streets of Colorado Springs one morning you suddenly hear this massive BAH-BOOM from the direction of Pikes Peak. Sidewalks start shaking and people start pointing. You look up to the mountain and there’s a freaking volcano blowing its top. A huge column of fire rises to the heavens. The sky is instantly air-brushed with white smoke. There’s ash raining down in every direction. Except, wait, it’s not ash… it’s…. it’s…. it’s donuts.

The rain of donuts, of course, is the Mark VI Donut Robot run amok. In its desperate attempt not to be overlooked it starts making donuts like crazy. Four at a time, plop-plop-plop-plop, fry, rotate, dispense. Faster and faster and faster, until its conveyor builds up a big head of steam and starts to break apart. Then the whole thing just blows up. Boom.

Down and further down come the donuts. Rolling by the hundreds along the hiking trails. Bobbing down the rivers and creeks like mini inner tubes. Ricocheting off the pine trees as they come back to earth until they just go poof! in a cloud of powdered-sugar smithereens. Decorating the rocks and trees with a cream-filling look of snow. Piling up in the low spots like generous helpings of oversized Cheerios. Clogging up the cog railway so the only way the train gets to the summit is for the riders to get off the train and start eating.

The Mark VI may have imploded but man what a way to get noticed, right?

Truth be told, there’s an aftermarket for Belshaw’s Mark VI Donut Robot. Do the Google search if you don’t believe me. A used one runs $15,899 plus $600 for shipping, and don’t look now; they take credit cards and toss in a limited warranty! Just think what you could do with 700 donuts an hour. All you have to do is click the “Buy It Now” button on the website. But one more thing before you do. Ask the seller if their Mark VI has given them attitude lately. Like it used to be on a majestic mountaintop or something wacky like that.

Note: This post would not even be a whisper of a thought were it not for Robert McCloskey and his wonderful children’s book, Homer Price. In Homer’s short story “The Doughnuts”, a restaurant donut machine goes bonkers and starts dispensing hundreds upon hundreds. How the town resolves this donut deluge makes for a great story. Thanks, Robert.

Some content sourced from the KKTV 11 News story, “Final Batch of Pikes Peak Donuts…”, and the Thrillist.com article, “You Can Only Get These Incredible Donuts at the Top of a Mountain in Colorado”.

Climb Ev’ry Mountain

St. Brigid’s Cathedral dominates the quaint urban landscape of Kildare Town in central Ireland. The centuries-old stone church beckons the short walk up the hill from the village square, for a tour around Brigid’s domain. And while you’re on the grounds, you’ll be tempted to climb the adjacent tower for a bird’s eye view of the surrounding county. I assure you; the vistas are breathtaking.

A bird’s eye view from my own locale would be just as breathtaking right about now. In the last ten days, I’ve ventured beyond my driveway once, for a mundane grocery shop at the local market. For all I know, nearby Colorado Springs has been erased from the map. For all I know, all my neighbors in the surrounding county traveled to a tropical island where they’re making merry, while I’m left to keep an eye on things back here at home. Who nominated me for that job?

No kidding, the view from the tower at St. Brigid’s is spectacular. Not only do you see all of Kildare Town below, but you’ll be mesmerized by the lush green acreage of the adjacent Irish National Stud (and its countless roaming thoroughbred horses). When my wife and I visited several years ago, targeting Kildare Town to see the cathedral of her namesake saint, I figured light a few candles and say a few prayers; not climb a ten-story tower. I have a mild fear of heights so you can imagine my trepidation. And here’s the kicker: there’s no code-sanctioned, easy-to-navigate stairwell within the tower. Instead, you hand over a couple of Euros for the privilege of climbing a dozen ladders to the top. I almost called it quits after the first few rungs.

My longing to “rise above it all” today is not just inspired by the pandemic, nor even my acrophobia-be-damned adventure up the tower at St. Brigid’s. I also think about nearby Pikes Peak, the highest of the Rocky Mountains in this part of Colorado. “America’s Mountain” tops out at 14,115 feet, and I’ve hiked to the summit several times (the trail begins at 6,000 feet). You begin the journey on a series of easy switch-backing trails, which then give way to a remarkably gentle incline through a forest of Ponderosa pines. For several miles under the treetops, you have no orientation to suggest you’re even climbing a majestic mountain. But once you hit the tree line, everything upwards is a moonscape: rocks and dirt and scrub brush all the way up to the summit. The view is stunning; as if you’re looking down from space. You can see clear to Wyoming to the north and Kansas to the east.

I could use a mountain (or a ladder-filled tower) on my property right about now, just to connect with the world around me. Oh sure, rural living means the stay-at-home rules are a minor inconvenience, but it’d sure be nice to confirm someone else is out there. The local news shows human interest stories every night on TV, but c’mon, how many of us trust the media these days?

Here’s my very favorite climb-ev’ry-mountain memory. I grew up in a narrow canyon on the outskirts of Los Angeles; so narrow in fact, some stretches could only accommodate a single row of houses on one side of a winding two-lane road. Biking with the cars was taking your life in your own hands, as was scaling the canyon trails into the domains of rattlesnakes and other wildlife.

Lucky for me, a steeply rising network of paved residential streets branched off the canyon floor less than a mile south of our house. On foot, those streets became a kid’s adventure up and out of the isolation. I’d stock a daypack with cheese sandwiches, Pop-Tarts, and anything else I could pilfer from the pantry. Some days I’d go it alone; others I’d drag my brother with me. Up, up, up we’d climb, rising breathless until we could peer almost straight back down to the canyon floor below. The final stretch of the topmost street – with houses perched precariously along on its edges – afforded a view of Los Angeles and the nearby Pacific Ocean like none I’ve seen to this day. There I’d sit, munching snacks, wondering what all I was missing down there in the big city.

Today it’s the same feeling, only different. What am I missing out there in the big city? Is Wyoming still to the north and Kansas to the east? Are cadets still at the Air Force Academy, anticipating this weekend’s socially-distanced graduation ceremony? Have the majestic red rocks of Garden of the Gods finally crumbled? Truthfully, I can’t answer any of these questions, not while I’m stay-at-home. But at least I can see the summit of Pikes Peak from here. At least I’m confident St. Brigid’s Cathedral still stands in Kildare Town (Notre Dame in Paris, maybe not so much). And at least I can revisit fond memories, the kind I never thought I’d yearn for again. On that note, think I’ll make a cheese sandwich.