Rise Up
The next morning I was up at 5:30, which was technically “sleeping in” based on the Eastern Standard Time zone of my internal clock. Trying not to disturb the rest of the household, I quietly pulled on my gym shorts, grabbed my resistance bands, and tiptoed out back to do my morning workout.
Everything was faintly gray in the pre-dawn light, from the patio furniture to the wooden steps ascending the sloped backyard, to the rolling mountain peaks rising toward the deep purple sky. The patio cement was cold under my bare feet, and a slight breeze crawled through the tall grass and sparse foliage on the aspens. It felt like I was the first person to wake up in the world, and I had all of the great outdoors to myself.
Then my five-year-old pounded on the sliding glass door. “Dada!” she called, her voice muffled but still plenty loud as always. “What you doin’ out there?”
Shushing her, I opened the door and waved her outside. “You have to be quiet,” I rasped. “Everyone else is still sleeping.”
“No,” she insisted. “Sissy’s awake.” Sure enough, my older daughter was climbing the stairs, rubbing her eyes but already dressed.
I opened the door and waved her outside before she started calling for me as well. She staggered outside and stretched. “Where does that go?” She pointed to the fence at the top of the wooden steps.
“There’s a state park right behind the house,” I replied. “It has a bunch of trails and hills to climb.”
“Can we go for a hike?” my oldest asked. This is a kid who needs me to carry her around the grocery store because it’s “too much walking.”
Liz came to the door. “Ooh, are we going on a hike?”
I sighed. “I—um, yeah, I guess so.”
So I got actual clothes and shoes on, grabbed a water bottle, and joined the others outside. As the eastern sky took on a pinkish hue, we climbed the steps to the wire fence. I swung the gate open and ushered the family out onto a narrow dirt path. This path connected to a series of wider trails snaking through uneven scrubland, pockmarked with gopher and snake holes, and interrupted in the distance by a pair of rocky hills. It was strange and uninviting and wonderful.
“Let’s go,” I said, waving the gang after me. I set off toward the closest summit, a hunchbacked mound perhaps a hundred feet high. It would be the perfect place to view the surrounding area as the sun came up.
The girls were game, sticking close behind and staying on the path — a casual reminder that rattlesnakes were common around here took care of that (never mind that no reptile would come above ground in 45 degree weather). We saw a lone jackrabbit and a few adventurous birds on our trek up the hill, otherwise we were the only wildlife.
Once we reached the stony peak, we were rewarded with a gorgeous panorama: a pink and orange sunrise unfolding in the distant east, gilding the surrounding hillsides and the city of Boulder below. After plenty of admiring gazes and some fun selfies, we picked our way back down to the main trail and returned to our house.
Golden Shuffle
Liz’s mom was in the kitchen fixing breakfast, and her cousins were getting ready in the shared bathroom. Liz’s dad joined us a bit later in the kitchen, and soon we were all pitching in to get ready for our big day. The plan was to stroll around downtown Golden, grab some lunch, and then go to Red Rocks to catch Gramatik’s sound check. The girls wouldn’t be able to attend the actual concert, but they wanted to see Uncle Adam on stage — and maybe get a peek behind the scenes themselves.
At around eleven, we drove into town and got our bearings. There’s basically one main strip, with lots of cool shops, a few decent restaurants, and some interesting murals and sculptures along the way. Liz and I played tour guide, pointing out some of our favorite spots from our last visit before deciding where to have lunch.
We ducked into a deli to get some subs. They had just opened, but the line was already long, which we took as a good sign. After about fifteen minutes, we all placed our orders and grabbed our food as it was dished out. Once we all had our grub, we posted up at the tables outside. Even though the day started out chilly, it was sunny and 70 by noon, another day of perfect early fall weather. Everyone unfurled their sandwiches and popped open their bags of chips.
Once we were done, we cleaned up and decided to do some shopping. We wove in and out of stores, tasting samples and picking out souvenirs and swatting our children’s hands away from every piece of candy and toy they gravitated toward. We killed about an hour doing that, touring the best of the main drag. After that, we decided to stop at an ice cream shop for some dessert and figure out what we’d do next.
Now, since I’ve gone vegan, I don’t miss many of the foods I used to eat. I liked seafood, but I don’t need it anymore. If I never have another steak as long as I live, I’m good with that. And if you offered me ice cream on a typical day, I’d probably scrunch up my nose. But brother, the Funky Donkey ice cream at Golden Sweets is legit. It’s nothing more or less than peanut butter ice cream with fudge and brownies in it, but I could have crushed a half gallon of it. Stupid good.
As we lazed in the sun licking our cones, we debated whether we should kill some more time around town or head to Red Rocks early. Gramatik’s sound check was supposed to be after 3, so we had about two hours until then. Liz and I suggested hiking around the amphitheater in the meantime, and everyone was on board with the plan.
Dropping Names and Balls
We gave Adam a heads-up that we were heading over, but “no pressure, we’ll just hike until you’re ready.” He made it quite clear he was busy and that sound check wasn’t until 3, but for some reason, once we got there nobody wanted to take a hike. Instead everyone hemmed and hawed, some of us walking around the amphitheater aimlessly, others touring the crappy “museum,” and more than a few of us relentlessly texting Adam while the man was actively trying to set up for a major concert.
When 3PM mercifully rolled around, we were all gathered near the upper entrance to the amphitheater. The commoners were being cleared out of the arena prior to soundcheck, but we stood around with self-satisfied grins, knowing we would soon be the only ones in the seats, enjoying a sample of the upcoming concert.
Then the barricades came out. For some odd reason, they were placed in front of us. Silly security guards! Clearly you don’t know who we are. We shared looks of bemused disbelief.
“Um, we’re here for the soundcheck,” we condescendingly informed them, name-dropping Adam.
The nearest security guard, a young lady who was clearly just doing her job, said she couldn’t let us through unless she got word from her boss that we were on “the list.”
We turned away with many an eye roll and huddled up just out of earshot. We then spoke loudly enough so the guard we hear us anyway:
“What a jerk!”
“Can’t she just take our word—?”
“Obviously a couple old people and a family with little kids wouldn’t lie about—”
And so on. A few people pulled out their phones and frantically texted Adam.
I suggested maybe taking that hike until things got sorted out.
Liz’s dad just pointed to a nearby door. “Why don’t we just go down into the museum and come out that exit? Then we could just walk behind security and go down to the seats.”
A few of us chuckled and shook our heads, both at the simplicity and audacity of such a move. While the rest of us groused about the situation, my father-in-law simply headed back into the museum.
A minute later, we swaggered back toward the barricades, ready to put this security guard in her place. We showed her text messages from Adam, family pictures of us with him, screenshots of prior shows he had let us backstage for. This lady wasn’t budging.
Meanwhile, my youngest pointed past the barricades and shouted, “Hey! There’s Grampa!”
Sure enough, he had emerged from the door behind the barricade and was ambling toward the seats. None of the guards made a move to intercept him — who’s going to confront a 73-year-old man trying to sneak into the sound check for an EDM band?
We just laughed and shook our heads, kicking ourselves for not following his lead. A couple minutes later, he sent us a selfie, just him with the empty arena behind him. “Got a great seat!” he trolled.
Once the buzz of that vicarious victory wore off, we were back in our grumbling funk. It didn’t help that it started to drizzle off an on, driving us to take cover for a bit. Liz and I really wanted to get into the sound check because the girls wouldn’t be able to attend the actual show; this was their only chance to see Uncle Adam on stage. However, time was against us: we had to get back to the house by 5 because a sitter was coming to stay with the girls while the rest of us attended the concert.
Now I know you’re concerned, but don’t worry — we vetted this girl. We had friends from back home that had moved to Denver years ago, and we’ve stayed in touch. They hooked us up with a sitter they regularly used, and Liz had been texting this girl back and forth leading up to the trip. Our daughters knew the plan, so everything was set.
As the time crept closer for us to leave, we finally got “on the list.” We gave fake smiles to the security lady on our way by her, and she gave one right back to us.
It started to drizzle off and on, but we didn’t care; it was cool to watch Adam and his crew jam and adjust equipment underneath tarps. A double rainbow formed just above Creation Rock, one of the monoliths framing the arena. The girls had fun bounding up and down the rows of seats, appearing on the giant LED screens suspended from the stage. They would shout “Hey, Uncle Adam!” now and then, and he’d give them a wave between solos.
No sooner had we gotten there then we had to bail. We picked up pizza on the way back to the AirBnb so the girls and the sitter could have dinner; the rest of us planned to eat backstage at the killer buffet they always had. We made it back in time to get the girls bathed and ready for dinner, and Liz and I changed into our “cool” clothes for the show.
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