Essay by Sue Price
Salida – October 2004 – Colorado Central Magazine
IT ALL STARTED with the Outside Magazine article, published in August. I’m sure you know the one – yes, the one that half of you are bemoaning because it might attract (too many) people (like me) to the area and the other half (Realtors) are thrilled over because it might attract (many!) people (like me) to the area. Anyway, my husband, Larry, and I were sweating out another 90ยบ/90% humidity day in suburban Atlanta, Georgia (after a hour-plus commute complete with at least three near death-by-vehicle experiences) when the magazine arrived.
“20 Dream Towns,” the headline screamed. In the mood for a little dreaming, Larry began browsing — Alaska, Idaho, Pennsylvania, California… Wait – there it was… Salida, Colorado. Stop the presses. This is it.
Actually it didn’t start with that article. But it was the catalyst. Larry, a Colorado native (born and raised in Colorado Springs), has been displaced from the Mother Land for more than 20 years. Seeing Salida so beautifully displayed opened a door in the dreaming part of his soul. Immediately and decisively, our quest for the West began.
For the next month, we spent countless hours doing Internet research. We talked to (too many) Realtors – perhaps pitting some against others. (We’re sorry about that). We asked for and received packets and packets of information on subdivisions and land and the dream took on a life of its own.
In late August, we flew from Atlanta to Colorado Springs, rented a car and drove to Salida. Truly, Colorado Springs is a pretty place, but it just grew more and more beautiful the closer we got to Salida. As we rounded curves (watching for falling rocks, of course) new and awe-inspiring sights were revealed. We said “Oh my…” a lot. We gushed, “Look at that!” even more. We actually felt our hearts and souls expand. Breathing easier and smiling wider, we let out little giddy moans of pleasure watching fly fisherman in the river beside the road. We were happy – and we weren’t even there yet. At the “Now this is Colorado” sign, we stopped and took a picture.
First stop in Salida was McDonald’s – a restroom break, if you must know. We then wandered over to the Chamber of Commerce and checked out the hot springs pool and the little town park where a black lab frolicked with its owner. Ahh… we sighed.
We met with a Realtor, who spent the next five hours patiently and tirelessly driving us around. He quickly noted that anytime Mt. Shavano was out of view, we lost all interest. “I see you are enamored with the view,” he deduced. Oh, yes. After this, he showed us only lots with views that made me twirl like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. Indeed we were a little too obviously taken, hurting our chances later for real negotiation. Could we really make anyone believe we’d “walk” if they didn’t come down on the price by 15 percent? Not hardly. Oh well. Our Realtor’s casual conversation about life in Salida had as much to do with sealing the deal as did Mt. Shavano’s magnetic presence. It was actually sweetly painful to hear of his skiing, hiking, biking and golfing adventures. Sweet because our desire for these same things was so high; painful because our current lifestyle so lacked these elements.
After our real estate search, we relaxed at the hot springs. In a little rock-edged pool, we plunked our happily weary bodies down. Ow! One edge was like a pasta pot and we were the fettuccine. The other was mountain-river cold and we were the spoiled tourists. Too hot! Too cold! Anyway, we moved around a lot and ended up with some “aww….” time, justifying that $8 cover charge. We also drove through Buena Vista, which had “cute” written all over it.
After checking in to the (charming!) Gazebo Bed and Breakfast, we followed everyone’s recommendation to dine at Laughing Ladies. First, they asked if we’d like a table inside or outside. Thinking the only outside tables were the two out on the front sidewalk, we quickly chose inside and wondered, ‘if that is their idea of outside dining, what is their idea of gourmet food?'(We didn’t find out about the patio until the next day) But the moment our food was served… We believed. Oh my. So good. I had the pork chop – Larry had the salmon. Wonderful!
After dinner we went to Wal-Mart and bought a John Denver CD, because we HAD to hear “Rocky Mountain High” while admiring the mountains. Yes, we know. It’s as corny as visitors to Georgia HAVING to hear Charlie Daniels’ “The Devil Went Down To Georgia,” but humor us, please. We’ve lived without mountain views for a veeeeeerrrry long time. It does its damage.
FROM THERE WE WENT TO Bongo Billy’s to listen to some live blues. When paying our $6 tab, Larry inadvertently left a $10 and two ones on the counter. Moments later, the bartender showed up beside our table, with $5 in his hand. “I think you gave me too much,” he said. We smiled at each other. Honesty lives!
The next morning we awoke to blue watercolor skies, cool temps and a soothing tranquil stillness. Ambling around downtown, we watched classic cars arrive for the show that day and dreamed aloud about joining community clubs so we could serve hot dogs at such events. Back at the Gazebo, we enjoyed breakfast with three other couples from all over the country. They told of rafting adventures and were similarly charmed with the town.
We then visited Temple Baptist Church, where the congregation greeted us like long-lost friends. Warm, friendly, curious, they shook our hands, asked questions, and all but put us in charge of the Wednesday night potluck. We found the music and the preaching as satisfying as any church ten times its size in the “city.”
That afternoon we drove up to the top of Salida Mountain and stayed for a very long time soaking up the panoramic view – reluctant to leave. Ever. Later, we met with our Realtor again and signed on the dotted line, hoping we’d actually find the money to pay for it when we got back to Reality-land. Details…
Then we had to leave.
It will be several years before we actually pull up stakes and leave the south in our rearview mirror. In the meantime, we’ll dream, we’ll shamelessly belt out John Denver tunes and we’ll trust y’all to treasure this town like it deserves.
Sue Price, a staff writer for Atlanta Parent Magazine, lives in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia. She can be contacted at sprice@atlantaparent.com.