Ward, CO

Dawn and I passed the town of 200, on a Saturday drive to nowhere in particular, wondering how we missed it. On the way out, we realized the only sign pointing into the town, off of Route 72, was one for the post office.

The locals prefer it that way.

We turned right, downhill, around a few sharp bends, and were both immediately concerned. I mentioned to dawn, as we passed an older woman in overalls and clearly bra-less, that it was good we were blaring banjo music. "Perhaps, we'll be accepted."

We both grew increasingly spooked, driving down the narrow road through town, as there were abandoned cars, trucks, mining equipment and backhoes, lining the street's side. Most were from the fifties or earlier.

Dawn's theory . . . we were both convinced we'd driven into the kind of horror movie that takes place during the daytime and is scarier than hell itself . . . was that the cars were left where their owners had met their bloody peril, sixty, twenty, two years ago.

My theory was that there was a tow-truck driving eccentric in town who ran out of space in his own front yard, and it being a small, bizarro town, folks let him park whatever, wherever.

Brian set us straight.

Brian could be forty, could be sixty. His teeth were corn yellow, his eyes like two pinholes, and his hair was long and stringy, eggplant colored and grey at the roots. He was a bit frightening, like everything there, and downright a nice guy, fairly intellectual, and full of fun facts about Weird . . . i mean Ward.

We started talking to him, still a bit terrified, when dawn asked if we'd parked in his space. (Ironically, in this town of 200 or so, there's no available parking because every spot's filled with a rusting antique.) He said yes, and that it was no big deal.

I asked him about the cars. "What's the story with Ward?"

"Basically," Brian told us, "the cars are there to make it look ugly."

I'd like to point it out, as i always do, that i was right. There was a local tow-truck driver that would pick up vehicles and drag them into town: but, the town was more than tolerant. They encourage it. Down to the mayor.

The Boulder police once came to town from twenty-some miles away and offered to tow the vehicles clear. The mayor, according to Brian, told them, "You take your fucking tow-trucks and get the hell out of town!"

Brian's lived there nine years, so he could only tell us so much. It took him a year and a half before locals started looking him in the eye. He's accepted now. One of the locals who was carrying a samurai sword on his shoulders and a pistol on his hip, and wouldn't make eye contact nine years ago, was the first one to his aide when he fell off a ladder in May and broke his ankle in two places (hence, the boot).

We talked ankle injuries and assistave devices for a bit.

We were standing, as we talked, in front of the firehouse, which i assumed from it's decrepitude was no longer in use. It is. The funny thing about it is, they have no water supply. They drive down the road to fill up the trucks. The other funny thing is, Brian lives next door, literally, and he and his wife have an eight-foot well in the middle of the laundry room.

Another local, PJ, told us that the water in Ward has been rated number 2 in the world for purity.

The firemen, after dousing a blaze, (again, per Brian . . . who was super nice and very much good for his word) line up in front of the ol' firehouse and light up a joint, pass around beers, and take congrats from the community.

Ward!

Dawn and i both agreed later that we, hearing that, wondered what would happen if there were subsequent emergencies.

Most folks in Ward work at a local retreat, Gold Lake, where Brian encouraged us to visit and partake of the kayaks, lakeside hot pools, clothing optional swimming . . . and where 200+ democrats will vacate next weekend. He told us to do what we like, and if anyone asks, we know him.

We drove out of town to the nearby mountain top lake and got out to take pictures. Moving water ran through the middle of the placid lake and a few fish jumped while we were there. A man on the shore was pulling the skin off the six trout he'd caught earlier, the way the park ranger had showed him. Brainard Lake

We took a short hike, to a higher lake, after reading a warning and refreshing ourselves about what to do if a mountain lion approaches/attacks.