When I was going to high school I really wanted to go to the Air Force Academy and become a jet pilot. As was the case at other times in my life, I didn't pursue that goal hard enough. I many times relied on things just happening, just coming to me. In addition, I had little hel
p from my family. That does not mean that I was neglected, but my mother was an immigrant, barely able to speak a few words of English and my sister and brother-in-law were inexperienced and occupied with their own lives. I never made my wishes known strongly enough, nor did I ask for their help in this matter. I didn't really know how the system for getting into one of the military academies worked. I only knew that one had to be appointed by a congressman or senator and I didn't know any. That you could contact one of them never entered my mind and that they would then administer tests to select their appointee(s) was unknown to me. Why these questions never came up during guidance counseling, where the guidance counselor suggested schools to apply to for attendance after high school, isn't quite clear to me. Looking back now it seems to me that I lost interest in going to college at this point.
So, Bill Tracy
of my graduating class went to the Air Force Academy and I didn't. I don't know how many from other high schools in our state went to the Air Force Academy that year, Bill Tracy certainly deserved it. He was smart and a star athlete. As it turned out, I chose another route to enter the Air Force, had a good career, but I always envied those who did go to the Academy. My wish would be that one of my grandchildren could go there. However, the rigors of the Academy or of military life in general are not everybody's cup of tea. By the way, I heard that Bill Tracy graduated from the Academy but quit the Air Force after his commitment was up to go on to other endeavors.
So much for the background to our visit to the US Air F
orce Academy. Visitors can't really see much, especially in the summer when most of the cadets are gone. There is a visitor center from which one can walk to the chapel and a terrace that overlooks the cadet area. But that's about it. The whole layout, the location at the edge of the Rockies, though, is fantastic. The weather was outstanding and I couldn't get enough of the scenery.
But, we had other goals as well. We drove to the Cog Rail depot on the side of the mountains and bought tickets to ride the Cog Rail up to Pike's Peak. At the depot it was sweltering hot, but somehow we got the idea that at 14,110 feet the temperature might be something else, especially since we saw people carrying sweaters, sweatshirts, and jackets. My friend made a quick trip back to the RV (that's the nice thing about a camper, you have all your belongings with you at all times) to get some sweatshirts for us. That was a good move as we found out later.
The ride up the
mountain was not as exciting as I had thought. First, we sat opposite (pairs of seats faced each other) a corpulent lady and her equally corpulent grandson (it apparently is a family trait). What was worse, the lady had a slight leg impairment and walked with a cane. That is lamentable, but it was bothersome to have to ask her to remove her foot which she had propped up on my friend's seat before we came in. She readily yielded, but lo and behold, she did the same thing when we resumed our seats on the way down. As it turned out, she and her adolescent grandson were pretty nice, my friend's conversation with them made the long trip, especially down the mountain, go faster. I abstained from the conversation as much as possible.
Somewhere I had read a sign saying "Pike's Peak or Bust." If given that choice ag
ain, I would take the "Bust." I don't think that taking the Cog Rail up to the top is worth the $63 it cost, although the nice young lady tour guide who pointed out various worthwhile sights along the way was well-versed, charming, and pretty. We had driven up Pike's Peak many years ago with a car and three small children and as I have it in my memory, it was more enjoyable. The benches on the train were hard, small, and you had to work at not sliding into your vis-a-vis, unless you were facing uphill, in which case you had the opposite problem.
The peak of Pike's Peak was partially snow covered, partially muddy, very cold, very windy, very overrun with people, and not worth a visit. The cafeteria had run out of all food except some popcorn, including the highly praised (down in the valley) doughnuts which are baked up there, two of which we were supposed to get for free. Sure, you can get a magnificent view from up there, but at the expense of about four hours worth of inconvenience. The sweatshirts came in handy, our seat mate bought one for her grandson in the souvenir shop at the peak because they hadn't gotten the word that it's near freezing up there. (The lady had stayed in the train and rested her foot on our seat, so she didn't need to buy a sweatshirt).
We had one more item to complete when we hit the valley again - a "chuck wagon dinner" at the "Flying W Ranch." The "Flying W Ranch" may have been a ranch at one time, it is on the outskirts of Colorado Springs, consists of a reproduction Western town with gift shops and clothing stores where one can get Western wear from boots to hats and most items in between. Periodically throughout the evening there were performances by Indian dancers.
The main reason fo
r going there is their nightly "chuck wagon dinner," which is a Western version of a dinner and a show. When the weather permits the dinner is held outdoors at a large area covered with about 100 wooden picnic tables that seat 10 to 12 people each. Facing the dining area is a small stage where the show takes place. After we found our preassigned seats we wondered how the feeding of all the people that streamed in would take place. I was somewhat relieved when the stream of people coming in started to diminish when a little over half the tables were occupied.
We soon found out how we all would get served: When the time to start serving arrived (announced by the ringing of a triangle) we were called up by groups of tables which all had numbers, ushered into a barn-like structure where there were many short serving lines, and received our metal trays and tin cups which, as we walked through, were filled by "wranglers," as the serving personnel was called. The food consisted of roast beef and gravy (unless one opted for a steak, which cost extra and had to be ordered upon entering the ranch), baked beans, corn bread, apple sauce, and a piece of fruit cake. In the tin cup we got coffee, tea, or juice. The whole thing was supposed to be an authentic meal as the cowboys on the range would get, except that we found out later that the cowboys seldom had roast beef or steak out on the range because of lack of refrigeration in those days. Mostly what they ate were baked beans which they called "whistle berries" and biscuits. It was fun and the food was not bad. Amazingly, all 600+ (as we were told later) people had food after a little over 20 minutes due to the many serving lines and the many wranglers that were serving.
After about an hour from the ringing of the triangle, the wranglers came arou
nd and collected the trays and cutlery (the cups we could keep for refills). The clearing of the tables was as swift as the serving had been and the show began. It was about an hour of Western music, mostly cowboy songs with some gospel and instrumental pieces interspersed. Five musicians who played, sang, and joked presented a thoroughly enjoyable show. They claimed to be the oldest band of this type other than Roy Rogers' "Sons of the Pioneers." The clear, balmy night with the rising of a full moon made for a romantic evening which more than made up for the disappointment of Pike's Peak.
With that many people exiting all at once I had expected a massive traffic jam, but was pleasantly surprised how quickly we got out on the road. This time our navigator came in real handy because finding our way back to our campground in the dark would have been a nightmare. So ended day 19.
p from my family. That does not mean that I was neglected, but my mother was an immigrant, barely able to speak a few words of English and my sister and brother-in-law were inexperienced and occupied with their own lives. I never made my wishes known strongly enough, nor did I ask for their help in this matter. I didn't really know how the system for getting into one of the military academies worked. I only knew that one had to be appointed by a congressman or senator and I didn't know any. That you could contact one of them never entered my mind and that they would then administer tests to select their appointee(s) was unknown to me. Why these questions never came up during guidance counseling, where the guidance counselor suggested schools to apply to for attendance after high school, isn't quite clear to me. Looking back now it seems to me that I lost interest in going to college at this point.So, Bill Tracy
of my graduating class went to the Air Force Academy and I didn't. I don't know how many from other high schools in our state went to the Air Force Academy that year, Bill Tracy certainly deserved it. He was smart and a star athlete. As it turned out, I chose another route to enter the Air Force, had a good career, but I always envied those who did go to the Academy. My wish would be that one of my grandchildren could go there. However, the rigors of the Academy or of military life in general are not everybody's cup of tea. By the way, I heard that Bill Tracy graduated from the Academy but quit the Air Force after his commitment was up to go on to other endeavors.So much for the background to our visit to the US Air F
orce Academy. Visitors can't really see much, especially in the summer when most of the cadets are gone. There is a visitor center from which one can walk to the chapel and a terrace that overlooks the cadet area. But that's about it. The whole layout, the location at the edge of the Rockies, though, is fantastic. The weather was outstanding and I couldn't get enough of the scenery.But, we had other goals as well. We drove to the Cog Rail depot on the side of the mountains and bought tickets to ride the Cog Rail up to Pike's Peak. At the depot it was sweltering hot, but somehow we got the idea that at 14,110 feet the temperature might be something else, especially since we saw people carrying sweaters, sweatshirts, and jackets. My friend made a quick trip back to the RV (that's the nice thing about a camper, you have all your belongings with you at all times) to get some sweatshirts for us. That was a good move as we found out later.
The ride up the
mountain was not as exciting as I had thought. First, we sat opposite (pairs of seats faced each other) a corpulent lady and her equally corpulent grandson (it apparently is a family trait). What was worse, the lady had a slight leg impairment and walked with a cane. That is lamentable, but it was bothersome to have to ask her to remove her foot which she had propped up on my friend's seat before we came in. She readily yielded, but lo and behold, she did the same thing when we resumed our seats on the way down. As it turned out, she and her adolescent grandson were pretty nice, my friend's conversation with them made the long trip, especially down the mountain, go faster. I abstained from the conversation as much as possible.Somewhere I had read a sign saying "Pike's Peak or Bust." If given that choice ag
ain, I would take the "Bust." I don't think that taking the Cog Rail up to the top is worth the $63 it cost, although the nice young lady tour guide who pointed out various worthwhile sights along the way was well-versed, charming, and pretty. We had driven up Pike's Peak many years ago with a car and three small children and as I have it in my memory, it was more enjoyable. The benches on the train were hard, small, and you had to work at not sliding into your vis-a-vis, unless you were facing uphill, in which case you had the opposite problem.The peak of Pike's Peak was partially snow covered, partially muddy, very cold, very windy, very overrun with people, and not worth a visit. The cafeteria had run out of all food except some popcorn, including the highly praised (down in the valley) doughnuts which are baked up there, two of which we were supposed to get for free. Sure, you can get a magnificent view from up there, but at the expense of about four hours worth of inconvenience. The sweatshirts came in handy, our seat mate bought one for her grandson in the souvenir shop at the peak because they hadn't gotten the word that it's near freezing up there. (The lady had stayed in the train and rested her foot on our seat, so she didn't need to buy a sweatshirt).
We had one more item to complete when we hit the valley again - a "chuck wagon dinner" at the "Flying W Ranch." The "Flying W Ranch" may have been a ranch at one time, it is on the outskirts of Colorado Springs, consists of a reproduction Western town with gift shops and clothing stores where one can get Western wear from boots to hats and most items in between. Periodically throughout the evening there were performances by Indian dancers.
The main reason fo
r going there is their nightly "chuck wagon dinner," which is a Western version of a dinner and a show. When the weather permits the dinner is held outdoors at a large area covered with about 100 wooden picnic tables that seat 10 to 12 people each. Facing the dining area is a small stage where the show takes place. After we found our preassigned seats we wondered how the feeding of all the people that streamed in would take place. I was somewhat relieved when the stream of people coming in started to diminish when a little over half the tables were occupied.We soon found out how we all would get served: When the time to start serving arrived (announced by the ringing of a triangle) we were called up by groups of tables which all had numbers, ushered into a barn-like structure where there were many short serving lines, and received our metal trays and tin cups which, as we walked through, were filled by "wranglers," as the serving personnel was called. The food consisted of roast beef and gravy (unless one opted for a steak, which cost extra and had to be ordered upon entering the ranch), baked beans, corn bread, apple sauce, and a piece of fruit cake. In the tin cup we got coffee, tea, or juice. The whole thing was supposed to be an authentic meal as the cowboys on the range would get, except that we found out later that the cowboys seldom had roast beef or steak out on the range because of lack of refrigeration in those days. Mostly what they ate were baked beans which they called "whistle berries" and biscuits. It was fun and the food was not bad. Amazingly, all 600+ (as we were told later) people had food after a little over 20 minutes due to the many serving lines and the many wranglers that were serving.
After about an hour from the ringing of the triangle, the wranglers came arou
nd and collected the trays and cutlery (the cups we could keep for refills). The clearing of the tables was as swift as the serving had been and the show began. It was about an hour of Western music, mostly cowboy songs with some gospel and instrumental pieces interspersed. Five musicians who played, sang, and joked presented a thoroughly enjoyable show. They claimed to be the oldest band of this type other than Roy Rogers' "Sons of the Pioneers." The clear, balmy night with the rising of a full moon made for a romantic evening which more than made up for the disappointment of Pike's Peak.With that many people exiting all at once I had expected a massive traffic jam, but was pleasantly surprised how quickly we got out on the road. This time our navigator came in real handy because finding our way back to our campground in the dark would have been a nightmare. So ended day 19.
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