Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column fearing that our sanity crawled forevermore into a lonely cave up on Loveland Pass. You laugh, perhaps even call us crazy, but we have seen him up there, smoking a pipe with a blanket wrapped about his swarthy face, playing a few licks on his rickety guitar.”Heresy!” you cry. “Lies, lies and more lies!”Listen, and you shall understand.Two days ago we ventured up to Loveland Pass, guided by some unseen force to our sanity’s den. We found him there wrapped in an old Navajo blanket, reds and blues and whites spread across his brooding frame.”Welcome,” our sanity said upon our arrival, puffing a thin line of smoke from his pipe. “Enter and be comfortable.”
We took a glance behind us, at the sprawling Ten Mile Range, then stepped into the den. “It is cold in here, Sanity,” we said, inching over toward the fire, whereupon he released such an uproarious chuckle into the flames that a drop of terror sweated down our brow.”Tell me, what has brought you to my cave?” he said once the embers were settled. We looked into our sanity’s feverish eyes.”We’ve been having bad dreams,” we said, “crazy dreams of distant lands far, far from Summit, where the faint trace of camel trains can still be seen in the sands, where the smell of dried meats and rich spices rise from bazaars we cannot see, where the occasional hermit strolls out from his occasional oasis and offers us fruits and spirits, only for the bounty to disappear when nearing our lips, our tongues left thirsty, our pallets aflame. There is no snow. There are no ski bums … Sanity, it’s been terrible.””I see,” he said.
“Can you do anything for us?” we pleaded.Sanity cast a dubious glance at the fire and then, after awhile, said, “I have seen the land of which you speak, where dry sands burn the hot sky, where camel trains trek the only life source from the coast to the interior.””Yes?””Yes, my son.” “And what does it mean?””Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?””Nothing at all.””So, I’m crazy?””You are crazy.””Is there hope for me?””No,” he finished, and he handed us back our skis. “You are lost to a life of powder, to a world of white. Throw your ambitions into the fire, son, and leave my presence. Good-bye.”And so, as we said to begin … good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that fears our sanity has crawled forevermore into a lonely cave up on Loveland Pass …
Support Local Journalism
Support Local Journalism
As a Summit Daily News reader, you make our work possible.
Your donation will be used exclusively to support quality, local journalism.
If you don't follow the rules, your comment may be deleted.
User Legend: Moderator Trusted User