A 1966 trip to the GOLD camp of Cripple Creek Colorado that has never been forgotten...
Cripple Creek Remembered
Cripple Creek Jewel of the Rockies Lay at the base of highway 67 in what looked like an earthen bowl. We rounded the peak just above the town and pulled over to view her from a distance. Mining holes lay scattered over the surrounding hills indicating the tremendous mining activity in the late 1800s…
Cripple Creek was deserted as we entered the little town from Bennett Avenue. We noticed immediately that there was no vehicles or people in sight.
Bennett Avenue is a very unusual street with a rise in its surface which makes one lane higher than the other. We were in for an adventure. Brick buildings lined both sides of Bennett Avenue with some rising as much as 6 and 7 stories high. All were boarded up with old news papers. I paused to read one of the papers covering a window and was amazed to read that Babe Ruth had hit a homer and a double to defeat the Detroit Tigers. The year was 1928.
We walked the length of Bennett Avenue on both sides then we strolled down Myers where the madams operated their brothels.
Afternoon came and I stretched out on a wooden bench in front of the old fire house to take a nap. I woke to see an elderly gentleman on horse back fully dressed in cowboy attire staring at me. “Are you lost young man…?” He asked. I told him that we were just vacationing and wanted to see Cripple Creek. “Not much here any more…I was born here back in 88, she’s all I know.” I watched as he gazed around the town and mountains. I felt sad for the old man. “Gonna rain soon…you can find Turquoise on the streets after the dust is knocked down.” He smiled and rode off. I watched as a real cowboy fade from view.
I have wondered many times if he was just a dream. I am still not sure. Afternoon showers came and was gone in minutes. We took the old mans advise and strolled up and down several streets looking for turquoise. He was right.
On a bookcase in my office I have a small jar full of tiny blue chips…chips that take me back to one of the greatest adventures of my life…
Fifty two years have passed and I am old now like the cowboy I once met on the streets of Cripple Creek. I hope someday to see her again.
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Reviewed by 000 000
2/11/2009
You tell stories like I heard as a child from my elders. I miss them...and their stories. I wanted to be able to be "The story-teller" when I grew up. Authors den is my audience as there are no children around to listen anymore. Keep telling your stories as I love to read them!
Hey...you hope someday to see her again? The cowboy is a man...or are you referring to the Rockies?
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