Itty Bitty Lakes

After leaving the cabin in the woods, I ventured on, heading westward towards Texas Creek and beyond. I passed Cotopaxi, a lovely little town on the Arkansas River. There, I spied a church, which have always been fine places for me to settle for a night. Due to the rugged landscapes here in Colorado, the smaller towns seem to have everything right in one place, since there isn’t a lot of non-rocky areas in some places. The church was right on the main drag, along with everything else. I saw a young man behind the church, at a house that looked to be connected to the church, and asked him about the possibility of sleeping behind the building. He told me that he was only dating the pastor’s daughter, and as such was not really authorized to grant permission to camp there, but that he would make a call to find out, which he did, and I was given permission to stay if I wanted to. He also told me that there was a campground called the Big Horn in a town called Coaldale, a few miles west, which might have some room. Then, he mentioned Itty Bitty Lakes.
I went to Coaldale. The Big Horn was full up. Packed. July 4th weekend full. Dammit.
So…I looked for Itty Bitty Lakes. The young man at the church, whose name was Tex, had told me that a lot of the rafting guides (rafting down the Arkansas River is big business here) stayed at Itty Bitty. He had been a bit vague about the situation there, but told me to mention his name.
When I arrived at Itty Bitty Lakes, which was just down the street from the Big Horn, I discovered a really rundown strip of small campsites, not really hidden behind a long wooden fence. It was late afternoon, and there was no one there, as far as human beings went. There was a llama, and a donkey, for some reason, behind a fence to the back of the site, and between the site and the river. There were a couple vacant looking spots, though, and I figured that I could make do with one of them. The occupied sites featured everything from tents to cars. A lot of cups, clothing and personal effects were strewn about. It seemed a little odd for a campsite full of strangers to leave so much stuff lying around. There was a restroom too, complete with sink and showers. There were all kinds of shampoo bottles with names on them and duffel bags lining the walls. Very odd, and I suddenly felt like I was intruding on something.
I saw that there was an office, located in an art gallery to the side and front of the campsites. Outside were several sculptures, including one of an ostrich on roller skates, little helmet perched on his little head, which is thrown back, joyously. A placard said, “Bob says come on in” on one side and ART on the other. I tried to go in, but it was locked and shuttered, basically. Closed for the weekend. I walked around a bit, investigating the little town of Coaldale. There was no church, and the community park/building center was derelict and too close to some rundown houses for my comfort. Let us just say that Coaldale, Colorado, is not the garden spot of the state. I headed back to Itty Bitty Lakes. I sat at a picnic table and waited for people to show up.
Eventually, near dark, several cars pulled in and a large bunch of younger people, in their twenties, dismounted the cars and walked in my direction, with purpose in their step. I thought I was going to get into some kind of confrontation, but as soon as they were within earshot, I threw out Tex’s name, and that he had sent me. They avowed that Tex didn’t live right there, but “downstairs”, a section of the site that I had not seen, down a hill and directly on the river’s edge, in a small row of cabins.
Once the small bond was established, it freed us up to talk a bit.
There were two young guys named Nick. One of them looked and sounded like he had just stepped out of a surfer or skater movie. The other was clean cut, talked about his church a little bit, and was interested in what I was doing with my walk, and with my blog accounts. I gave that Nick my card, and wrote my website URL on it. I sat on the side of a firepit, and waited for my phone to charge at one of the sites. I asked surfer Nick (sorry, Nick, if you’re reading this) if it might be possible to take a shower, and after a short time he came back and told me that I was welcome to shower, which I did, all the while hearing the campers outside laughing and singing to some radio broadcast.
After I was done showering, a lovely young lady named Mia approached me. She asked me if I was hungry, and if I wanted any food, I thanked her but told her I was okay, and that I had my own. She told me that they were really grateful that I had asked their permission for things, since it was their home. I had not realized the deal until I spoke to them personally, but this is what was going on: The campsite is owned by a man named Bob Parker, an artist. Bob rents the entire site to a rafting company called Arkansas River Tours (ART) which then sublets the campsites to the the guides that they hire. The young men and women come from different places. Some, like Mia and one of the Nicks, came from Charlotte, North Carolina. Others came from Colorado and nearby states. And it was their collective home. Outsiders were not accommodated, unless they were friends of the group who come to visit.
The acronym for the company was ART. I dont know if there is some kind of coincidence in that Bob Parker is an ARTist, and ran an ART gallery, but there it was. I never did meet Bob Parker, but that night, I chose a vacant spot at the entrance to put my air mattress and sleeping bag ( I left my tent behind at the cabin, no longer needing it, I thought) adjacent to a long tubular camper on wheels. Before I was set up and ready to go to sleep, Mia approached, on her way “downstairs,” where she lived next door to Tex. She told me again that it was very nice to meet me and handed me a plastic bag with something inside. She said it was something she wanted me to have, and I accepted it gladly. Inside was a nice peach and a couple of CLIF energy bars, healthy food for a change. There was also a handwritten note, which she had printed on a picture of a boy skipping stones on a lake. She had taken time to cut it from a magazine, I think. It said, “Jim, good luck with your cause and your travels!”
It was a scene that was very reminiscent of a group of camp counselors. They were young, healthy and kind to a stranger, trusting, and based on the sights that I had seen during the day, where I actually saw some of them doing their work on a surprisingly strong and dangerous river, making sure that their customers were safe and happy, very professional. Nice to see something like that, because in a world where there is so much darkness, these young folks were a ray of light.
And speaking of light…as the sun rose in the morning, and I was preparing to get out of there and back on the road, the door to the tubular camper next to my spot opened up, and a shirtless older man with a white beard stepped out, wild hair sticking out at odd angles. He looked at me, and asked me, “How is it that you stayed here last night?” When I answered , “Nick, Nick, and Mia invited me to stay while I’m walking across the country.” He said, “Oh, okay.” Then he wished me well. And that was that.
Just an itty bitty story from Itty Bitty Lakes, also known as LItty Bitty City, in Coaldale, Colorado.