My Spiritual Home

Greetings from Fort Collins, Colorado, where Bethany and I are spending an unforgettable 4th of July weekend with our dear friends Tina and Troy. Since my first visit in 1993, Fort Funk, (as a few of the locals refer to it) and nearby Rocky Mountain National Park, has become my spiritual home away from home. It’s where Troy lives, it’s where my brother Blake and his family live. It’s where our family has camped and explored many times over the years. 

After all of these visits to the area, I can confirm that my soul lives in Northern Colorado. It lives on the trails criss-crossing Rocky Mountain National Park. It lives along the banks of the Poudre and Big Thompson rivers. It lives on the Trail Ridge Road, at Horsetooth Reservoir, at The Exchange, in Old Town, and at the Mishawaka Amphitheatre. My soul LIVES in Northern Colorado. This weekend has confirmed it.

Our three-day spiritual odyssey of a weekend began south of Fort. Collins, at Denver’s Coors Field last Friday night. The Cardinals were in town to take on the Rockies before a full-capacity crowd that included a large contingent of Redbirds fans. Our vaccinated foursome was looking forward to seeing baseball in person for the first time in over a year and a half. Our enthusiasm could not even be tempered by the traffic snarl that crawled in the direction of the stadium.

By the time we found our seats, 27 rows above the field behind the visitors’ dugout, the Cardinals were already leading 2-0. We lamented missing a Yadier Molina homerun, but were glad to only have missed the first inning. Upon closer inspection of the scoreboard, however, we realized that the game was actually wrapping up the third inning. Denver traffic ain’t no joke, y’all.

It proved to be a game that had even more action at the conclusion than at the beginning. The Cardinals scored six runs in the tenth inning, including a Harrison Bader grand slam, to win the game 9-3. The thousands of St. Louis fan in attendance rejoiced at the Redbirds’ good fortune while tens of thousands of Rockies fans inexplicably remained in their seats, long after the final out was recorded.

As we gathered our jackets and began to head towards the exit, a local fan questioned why we were leaving. He was shocked to learn that we had no idea that it was Fireworks Night at the ballpark. He assumed that the reason we didn’t show up until the fourth inning was because we were really there for the Fireworks after the game. We had absolutely no clue that an already fantastic night was about to become an astonishing one.

After moving the fans seated in the outfield bleachers to the grassy outfield, the Colorado Rockies baseball club put on the most spectacular fireworks display I’ve ever seen (with one exception I will describe in a moment.) The fireworks exploded directly above our heads and the outfield terrace area of the stadium, and the barrage continued longer than almost any municipal display I’ve ever seen. The grand finale was so overwhelmingly beautiful that a few of us were left with tears in our eyes afterwards.

“No wonder there were 47,000 fans in attendance for a game between two teams with losing records,” I said to my friend Troy. The positive energy that had radiated throughout the stadium from the moment we arrived that night was palpable. The people in those seats had been missing baseball, public gatherings, and massive fireworks displays for a year and a half, just like we had been. All of us shared the feeling that we were right where we wanted to be, right where we belonged, surrounded by thousands of other people who felt like maybe life was returning to normal—finally.

Those good Colorado vibes were felt again the next night at the famous Mishawaka Amphitheater in the Poudre River Canyon. It was at a Funk concert by a band called The Burroughs that I officially established my status as a spiritual resident of Northern Colorado. 

Dressed in my 70s-era, red and white, western disco leisure suit with a butterfly collar, white leather belt, and white boots to match, “The Colonel” made his debut at The Mish.

I looked damn good, if I do say so myself. Several attractive ladies smiled at my bold fashion choice, and many of their boyfriends or husbands went out of their way to compliment my attire. “That’s the finest outfit I’ve ever seen here, man.” (And that’s saying something.)

“Thank you very much,” I replied, a la Elvis, followed by a funky kung-fu leg-kick in my white boots. Random people posed with me for pictures, and I’m pretty sure I could have held my own against the wardrobe of the funky lead singer of the band.

 

As the sun went down in the canyon, the Funk climbed on up. By the end of the concert, my alter-ego, Colonel Cletus T. Funk, had boogied and laughed and kung-fu kicked his way into Mish lore, and you can bet that he will be making more appearances there in the future.

As I mentioned, I have seen only one other fireworks display more awe-inspiring than the one at the Rockies game. I wrote a column about that experience two years ago, after seeing the entire Denver skyline turn into an hours-long fireworks display while Blues Traveler performed at Red Rocks on the 4th of July. That was the most soul-affirming musical experience of my life, one that was so powerful that Troy and I brought our soulmates along this year to enjoy it with us. (The show will start a few hours from now.) It’s hard to imagine that it could match the experience I had there two years ago, but I know it will. Colorado exceeds my expectations every time I’m here.

Don’t be surprised if you find that someday Bethany and Travis “The Colonel” Naughton make Colorado not only our spiritual home, but our physical home, too.