Richard Flynn :: no comment

My flight from Los Angeles to Denver was delayed by more than ninety minutes and so when Elizabeth found me at the baggage carousel it was too late for us to do any of the activities she’d planned for us in Denver that afternoon. We went quickly to the family with whom she’d arranged for me to stay and then to the Fraternas’ house at the edge of the Auraria university campus in the centre of Denver.

The Fraternas’ house in Denver is within the parish building of a parish whose church is used both in the Latin rite (‘St Elizabeth of Hungary’s parish’) and the Byzantine rite (‘Sts Cyril and Methodius’ parish’)—one priest confusingly celebrates in both rites. Add to that the fact that the parish centre is called the ‘St Francis Centre’ (or rather, ‘Center’), and suddenly you’re faced with a place under the patronage of four separate saints. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind.

I understand that the present accommodation is too small for their growing Denver community, and so they are all hoping and praying that they will be allowed to move into a larger place in the not-too-distant future. At dinner on that first night I am introduced to the members of the community who were there at the time (five, including Elizabeth, plus one postulant ‘Ami’) and they tell me, in all seriousness, that Elizabeth’s favourite place of all around Denver is the local Walmart. Sadly, though, we never got to go there.

South to Colorado Springs: the Garden of the gods and the Manitou Cave Dwellings

The following day I am set the task of ‘fixing the printer’ on Elizabeth’s computer, which I complete by deleting and re-installing the Windows-shared printer driver on her OS X machine. Problem solved for now, at least. She and I then set out south to Colorado Springs and beyond, with the principal intention of visiting the Garden of the gods, a large rock formation in the Rockies. We arrive at the park and realize that it’d be better to eat sooner rather than later so as to avoid grumpiness, and we head back down to Manitou Springs.

After lunch the chilly wind and ominous clouds show no sign of letting up, and Elizabeth is feeling cold. On the way back up the hill we stop at a Walgreens where Elizabeth bought her later-infamous ten-dollar green hoodie and I bought lip-balm (the air at that altitude is very dry) and leather-conditioner for my tired-looking boots. Evidently as we left Manitou Springs we didn’t take the exit we were expecting and so didn’t end up back at the Garden of the gods, but rather at the entrance to something called the Manitou Cave Dwellings. We were relieved of $10 each at the entrance and then poked around for a while. It was interesting enough to look around the cave dwellings, carved in to the rock-face, but we both felt that the entrance fee was disproportionately high. Add to that the fact that the passage around the attached museum led us carefully through the inordinately large gift-shop, and we couldn’t help but feel that someone was out to fleece us.

Rain was falling on the mountains in the middle-distance as we drove to the Garden of the gods proper. Because of the troubling weather we were leery of roaming too far from the car, but we were able to make a good circuit within the garden, accompanied by several large groups of tourists without falling victim to the rain.

On the way back to Denver Elizabeth announced, ‘Now would be a good time for a cup of tea.’ So, as we passed through Colorado Springs we saw (only) one likely-looking place, which turned out to be a Mexican diner complete with fluorescent lighting and brightly-coloured tiles on the walls. The only ‘tea’ they had was ‘iced’. I use the term under advisement since what came out of that urn was not particularly cold, but it wasn’t hot, either. So, yes. Elizabeth and I sat there drinking luke-warm tea.

North to Camp St Malo and the Rocky Mountain National Park

The following morning I got to experience some ‘real life’ that I wouldn’t otherwise see on this trip. Elizabeth needed curtains for her bedroom, so we went to explore Bed, Bath, and Beyond in search of those. Then to a religious supplies store for crucifixes for Elizabeth to take to the communities she was going to visit in Colombia and Ecuador. Then to Office Depot for some stationery as well as to investigate filing cabinets. Denver really has got everything you need. That is, if you need curtains, crucifixes, and filing cabinets. There are probably some other things available there too, but I can’t confirm this for certain.

After lunch we set out north with Libby, the Ami discerning with the Denver community. We were headed to Camp St Malo, which is a retreat centre run by the male equivalent of the Fraternas, the Sodalits (that is, the Sodalitium Christianae Vitae). The retreat centre proved to be very comfortable, and the night we stayed there there were very few people—those who had come for a large congress were leaving just as we arrived and apart from a few hangers-on, and the resident community, we had the place to ourselves.

One of the big claims to fame for Camp St Malo is the fact that the late Pope stayed there for a few hours while he was preparing for World Youth Day in Denver in 1993. None of us was assigned the room the Pope used, though. While there he did set out on a trail into the woodland which borders the Rocky Mountain National Park. The trail has since been declared to go all the way to a waterfall within the Park (the Pope didn’t get that far) and now, sure enough, bears the name ‘The JPII trail’. Elizabeth couldn’t go all the way to the trailhead either, since about half-way along we had to turn around to be back in time for dinner at the retreat centre.

The following morning we set out to go to the National Park proper, driving to Bear Lake with the intention of walking one of the many designated trails from there. We settled on the idea of going to Emerald Lake, and set out: the route would lead us past Bear Lake, Nymph Lake, and Dream Lake before eventually arriving at Emerald Lake. All along the way we were greeted with spectacular scenery—what I always imagined to be ‘quintessentially Rockies’.

It was when we had arrived at Dream Lake, however, that I was stepping forward towards the lake and I felt my left foot slip from under me. I had been aware that I was standing on a protruding tree-root, but I seem to have shifted my weight unevenly or something as I moved off it because my foot suddenly snapped sideways. Stars appeared in my field of view and I felt both faint and nauseous from the waves of pain. As the nausea began to pass, and with it the dizziness, I wanted to be able to sit down on the mossy ledge which was about four feet behind me so that I could catch my breath, because surely everything was just temporary. It was at that point that I realized that I simply could not move: I was rooted to the spot and simply could not lift my legs.

Somehow I did manage to stumble backwards and sat down somewhat awkwardly. However, the pain did not subside as I had hoped it would. Instead we were left with the realization that (a) we couldn’t continue up the hill to Emerald Lake, and (b) we had to go back the four miles (or so) we had come to get back to the car. Elizabeth had the bright idea that I should use my tripod as a walking stick, and after a little while we set off down, me walking sideways since I could not rotate my left ankle up or down.

When we got back to St Malo I was able to get my shoe and sock off, and was greeted by an ankle the size of an orange. It evidently wasn’t broken but that was only minor consolation given the pain. Libby, who had stayed behind to continue studying for her Registered Nurse qualification, got me ice and found some ibuprofen to help with the swelling. I had had some paracetamol¹ in my bag which I’d taken at Dream Lake, and that had certainly helped me come down to the car.

It was fortunate that the following day I would start my 30-hour journey by train to Sacramento, since it meant that I could spend most of the time with my leg propped up, not having to worry about moving about. We had a stop of several hours at Salt Lake City, when I wanted to go and find an extension cable (the placement of the power socket on the train meant I couldn’t plug my computer in) and a bottle of water. It was then that I realized how stiff my ankle was, as I limped along the platform onto a tram (which took us past the big Mormon temple and tabernacle), off the tram, along the street, around the shop, back along the street, onto the tram, and back along the platform to climb back up into the train. With my left leg stuck out at an angle of at least 45º as I walked it struck me that I was doing more than a passable imitation of House. I just needed to work (more) on my misanthropy, guitar-/piano-playing, and easy ability to steal Wilson’s food.

I sprained my ankle on 20th August. Now, more than six weeks later,² I am still wearing a supporting strap around my ankle every day. The ankle is obviously still weak and so I have stumbled in Seattle, Vancouver, and Toronto, each time causing a certain degree of pain. Even when I don’t stumble, I can’t stay on my feet or walk for too long since the pain will just set in anyway. I try not to let it affect me too much now, but I have got to factor in considerations for my ankle when planning my days: in short, my whole trip has been affected by some degree simply because I stood slightly badly on a tree-root.