When we landed at Denver International Airport after flying from Paris, via Chicago, jetlag was weighing on my eyelids, trying to remind me that it was 4:00AM Paris time rather than 8:00PM MDT, which was the time showing on my phone’s lock screen after turning off airplane mode. We’d had a feeling that this rapid time zone switch would try to snaggle our plans for the next day, but were we going to let it? No siree, thank you very much, but more on that in a little bit.
As the flight attendants strolled the aisles of our international flight, offering complimentary alcohol and sugary drinks, we said, “Just water, please,” because when you’re jumping time zones like a pioneering, turbo cricket, not to mention, going to a place that is located at a higher altitude than you’re used to, staying hydrated is your best asset for success.
On the hotel shuttle from Denver International to the Staybridge Suites, the shuttle driver decided it was trivia time. Our shuttle mates, a family of six, were game to partake, their flight to Milwaukee delayed until the morning.
“What’s the coldest letter in the alphabet and why?” said the shuttle driver.
I could not care less, I thought.
The Milwaukee-bound family, a mother and father and four daughters, seemed like geniuses as they threw out guess after guess from the seats in front of and behind us. Compared to us with our mushy brains fixed only on the concept of sleep just within our grasp, they were, at least.
“Nope…nope…nope…” said the driver, responding to one guess after the next, after the next.
Eventually, after the Milwaukee crew was all guessed out, he said, “You give up?”
Yes. Milwaukee agreed.
“The answer is B… because it’s always surrounded by AC.”
Ok. That’s pretty good, actually, I thought. Maybe I’ll even remember it.
We checked into the airport hotel and crashed after the minimum level of settling in. Showers could wait until the morning. Laundry too. We’d accomplished our goal. We’d stayed awake until roughly 5:00AM Paris time to get on Colorado time and make sure we’d be able to stay up even later the next night. The bed was the most comfortable airport hotel bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping in.
After a leisurely breakfast at the complimentary buffet the next morning, laundry, showers, and some strategic repacking, we picked up our rental car and hit the road, bound for our first stop of the day, Denver’s Washington Park neighborhood, known to locals simply as “Wash Park”.
Since we had ambitious plans for later that evening (ambitious only when framed by the aforementioned time zone swap), the plan for the day was to take it easy, do some exploring, and squeeze in a nap somewhere along the way.
As we strolled past a pretty garden along the north end of Grassmere Lake Loop in Wash Park, we learned to steer clear of the squirrels, these being larger and more aggressive than those we were accustomed to. These are mountain squirrels, I thought. Put the word mountain in front of anything and it instantly becomes more, more impressive, more intimidating, more majestic; don’t you think?
I spotted two googly eyes looking up at us from just under the surface of the lake and took a picture for Gemini to tell me what it was. Carp. He has eyes, I thought, Paris still so fresh on my mind.
After our stroll, we stopped by a stationary store on South Gaylord Street so I could stock up on some cards for a few fall birthdays and then continued up the block for some lunch at Wash Park Social. We sat out on the front terrace, trying to keep “café culture” alive in our hearts for as long as we could, wishing it was more of a thing in the US, like it is in Paris.
We ordered a strawberry salad with grilled chicken and an appetizer called The Trio to share. Soon, our food was brought to our table and I marveled at the vibrant, colorful display of The Trio- hummus, pepita muhammara, and almond green ricotta with fresh baked bread. Mountain beautiful, not to mention mountain delicious too.
Our bellies full and our next hotel check-in time approaching, we headed back on the road, this time north towards Boulder. As we got out of the area of Colorado that I think looks like Kansas (though I’ve only ever flown over Kansas, so who am I to judge), the scenery started to become more exciting.
The mountains grew as we drove north and so did my excitement for what was to come later that evening.
We settled in at our next hotel and squeezed in that nap that was on the agenda. I slept about half as much as I’d hoped to, but you get what you get, right? We packed up our rain jackets and water bottles then hit up our hotel’s complimentary happy hour social for some light bites before the evening’s main event.
We’d been to Red Rocks Amphitheatre once before, two years ago, just to see the place. This time, we were going to get to see it in action.
We took the short hike from the Lower North Lot to the venue entrance slowly, taking in the incredible scenery, surrounded by ancient sandstone monoliths, each of them sculpted by the elements over time. We stopped every few stretches of stairs to catch our breath and swig some water. If there is one thing to remember about acclimating to a high altitude, it is that you need to stay hydrated. You’re going to need that extra oxygen; I promise.
I continued up beyond the level of our row to snag some pictures while the dregs of daylight were still available before meeting Mike back down at our seats, passing by the merch line that stretched halfway down the stairs of the venue on my way, sweating in my excess layers.
“I’m so excited!!!” I said, settling into my designated spot on the long concrete bench, shedding my sweater, “Bleachers at Red Rocks!!! Can you take my picture?”
Have you ever had something influence your happiness so much that you feel like it found you just when you needed it most? I’m talking right place, right time kind of serendipity. That’s what the band Bleachers is for me.
I’m a writer. It’s more of a hobby at this point, than anything else I guess, but hey, it’s what “I do” and that means something to me. Writing can be a lonely pursuit sometimes, unfortunately. Writers tend to spend a lot of time in their heads, guided by creative pathways of their own making. Sometimes the pathways are lit by full daylight. Sometimes, by fading dusk. Sometimes only the streetlights are on. And that’s when you’re lucky.
There was a time, years ago, while I was working on a novel, when I’d written myself into a corner yet again and those streetlights went out and a dense, unnavigable dark was what I could see ahead of me.
Music was a guide to the circuit breaker, a flashlight beam in the dark.
Bleachers found me after I’d canceled my Amazon Music Unlimited subscription, instead choosing to go with the sub included with my Prime account. How it worked was I’d plug Vampire Weekend song titles into the search bar and get one or two, followed by suggestions for other songs and bands that were totally new to me. Guess who popped up? It starts with the coldest letter in the alphabet.
It started with Dream of Mickey Mantle, a homing beacon, if I may. I followed it blindly, a spark that set me on a path that would lead me to feeling enlightened in more ways than one. Monumental changes in my physical and mental wellbeing, re-sculpting of my perception of success, and clarity for what my writing voice and style would become.
Now that we’ve gotten that little personal history out of the way, we’ve got a show to reminisce about! A truly incredible one, at that.
As the opener, American Football, was nearing the end of their set, it started to rain. We knew there was a good chance it would, but fear not! We came prepared. We weren’t gonna let a little water get in the way of a good time. We zipped up our rain jackets and pulled our hoods up.
While we waited as the crew turned the stage over, Mike took my picture in my rain gear and we decided that I looked like a big, happy, slug lady and as a slug lady, what I choose to “cling” to from that description most is happy, right? Not slug. Definitely not slug…
Jack Antonoff and the boys took the stage to Frank Sinatra’s My Way and I could feel my smile testing the limits of my face. On a normal day, my smile is bigger than most out there. My friend once described it as seeing every tooth in Beth’s head. From the roar of the crowd, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one experiencing a sense of sheer joy.
Live music is one of my “whys“, I think. When I’m at a live show for a band that I love, I get a major sense of this is why I exist, to be here and to experience this. There are other “whys”, of course, but since we’re talking about music, I just thought I’d mention it.
The boys opened with Sideways from their latest album, Everyone for Ten Minutes, jumping into The Van next, followed by one of our favorites, the high energy Modern Girls. The crowd knew all the words, older stuff, newer stuff, it didn’t matter.
At one point, Jack reminded the audience that he was from New Jersey, which is unnecessary since his music evokes the home state that we share in so many songs, one of the reasons why Bleachers resonated so strongly with me in the first place, I think. He called out to the audience.
Jack: Who came from really, really far away to be here tonight?
Most of the audience: Woooo!
Jack: Who came from around the corner?
Rest of the audience: Woooo!
Red Rocks Amphitheatre draws crowds from across the world to Morrison, CO, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It makes for an incredible concert-going experience. Pretty much everyone in the crowd is a massive fan and it gives a pulse to being in the audience like no other venue I have experienced before.
Boulders, sky, rain, music, and joy. Pure bliss; I’m telling you.
Jack tested out an acoustic version of one of the band’s first hits, I Wanna Get Better, transforming what is usually an energetic, pop rock jam into a confessional folk ballad that did perhaps a better job at highlighting the song’s themes of grief and recognizing when you’ve gone a bit off the rails and need help outside yourself to get back on track. He told the audience he wanted to perform it as he’d written it. There is plenty of space in the world for both versions, in my opinion.
Ricky Antonoff, Jack’s dad, joined the band onstage to perform one of my absolute favorites, How Dare You Want More. I love this one for its insane energy, guitar/saxophone duel, drum beat, sax solo, and the sense of community it evokes. I particularly love the second chorus on this one.
The boys went on to play the song that started it all, the first song Jack ever wrote for Bleachers, Rollercoaster, a full on crowd pleaser at every Bleachers show we’ve ever been to, following it with Tiny Moves, Don’t Take the Money, and I Wanna Get Better– as recorded.
The show ended with the song from one of my favorite music videos ever, Stop Making this Hurt. The video for this song was shot at the Bendix Diner on Route 17 in Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey and features all the members of the band as well as Jack’s sister, Rachel Antonoff.
As a Jersey girl who divided my non-school hours, growing up, between the shore, goofing around at my friends’ houses, my sister’s soccer games, various diner booths, and concerts, the video felt all kinds of nostalgic for me (and maybe got me craving some fries with gravy too, just a little bit).
The altitude cut the regular Bleachers concert outro short, the only possible negative of the night. By the time the lights came on and most of the crowd had filtered out, I turned to Mike and said, “I don’t want to leave.”
We took our time heading back to the car, taking the stairs out of the venue slowly, soaking up every last possible second of the experience and location that we could of our night in the foothills of the Rockies with the band that starts with the coldest letter in the alphabet, experiencing pure joy in the rain and the sound, under the open sky.
It was 6:30AM Paris time, but we were powered by our lingering excitement, not wanting to come down from that high.
The day after the show, we did a little exploring on Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall. We stopped for some lunch at Pizza Alberico and ordered a panini and a pizza to share. I opted to pair the Grand Teton Brewing Amber Ale with my meal and it was malty and delicious. Fall fans, rejoice!
We strolled the pedestrian street and set our sights on Boulder Bookstore where I bought myself a little souvenir which I’ve since started into.
We headed to Chautauqua Park next for a walk at the foothills of The Flatirons and take in the scenery. We even met this soul-staring bear outside the General Store.
“What’s the brewery called again?” I said as we got back in the car.
“Upslope Brewing,” said Mike.
I plugged it into Google Maps and we were on our way.
We ordered a flight to share (to start) and grabbed a table outside to enjoy the view of the mountains, because, you know, café culture and all that. That, and mountains, of course. We really enjoyed all the different brews we tried at Upslope. My particular favorite was their Spruce Tip IPA which tasted like a forest, if that makes sense.
On our last day in Colorado, we got an early start and drove up to Estes Park with an 8:00-10:00AM timed-entry reservation for Bear Lake Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. Because of a nor’easter set to hit back home, we’d moved up our flight by one day, so we were pretty short on time, but there was still one last must-see of mine before we headed home. We set Dream Lake in our sights, and, though a little cloudier than on our last visit, it was no less impressive.
We stocked up on some souvenirs in Estes Park for a couple kiddos we know before heading back towards the airport, through the part of Colorado that looks like Kansas, the mountains shrinking in the rearview mirrors of our rental car.
Until next time, we thought, before heading back home.
