Skip to content Skip to sidebar Skip to footer

At the Bar with the Mafia; Incarcerated; Bath Day

We had drinkees and din-din the other night with the Fort Collins Spiritual Mafia. (They aren’t all teetotalers.)  While we were at our first venue (drinkees), we were seated in the bar area at high-top tables, and it was the “grab your own drinks or go thirsty” plan, servers or waitresses not being part of management’s resource planning. After a half hour or so, I noticed that the chair to my left, nominally occupied by My Lovely Bride, was empty. At first I thought she might be (a) in the loo; (b) dancing with that suave Italian-looking guy from another table; or (c) chatting with friends on the other side of our three pushed-together tables. After scanning the horizon and eliminating all three possibilities, I noted with shock that she was in an unexpected position, belly-up to the bar. I leapt up, ran over and said very quietly, “What the heck are you doing?” She looked back at me with deer-in-the-headlights innocence and replied, “I’m getting myself a glass of water.” I had to refresh her in Ty’s Bar Rule #3: If you are Ty’s date (ancient history) or wife (present day), you do not go to the bar and ask for a drink, be it wine, tequila, coffee, tea or water. That is Ty’s job (remember, he is a Southern Gentleman). (Fortunately, even though she is from Pennsylvania, she is a quick learner, and I don’t expect to have to repeat this lesson for many years to come.)

On Friday we had planned on departing Estes Park, CO, at 0800 to head to the RV dealership where we purchased The Coach for some repairs to the front passenger side slideout (henceforth known as “Slideout #1). Its (marginally-engineered) bearings and track assembly had degraded over the past two months to the point where we could not use it. Well, when we tried to retract our rear passenger side bedroom slideout (henceforth known as “Slideout #2”), lo, it would not retract. This provided an interesting problem: you cannot drive with a slideout in the “Out” position, for two reasons: (1) you would exceed the maximum legal width allowed on the highway, and (2) there is a transmission interlock that prevents you from putting the coach in gear. We were effectively anchored to our campsite. A call to the dealer whom we had been harassing (er, communicating with) for several weeks got a very nice and competent technician on the road in a truck within a few minutes. We were impressed, because their planned work schedule is very tight, and we were 50 miles away. Within a couple of hours, he had arrived, solved the problem (a faulty sensor), and we were on our way.

The Coach is now at the aforementioned dealership in Frederick, Colorado, population 8,679. (Denver is a suburb of Frederick, according to some locals I met). In any case, we arrived on Friday afternoon, signed the work order, and were shown to a spot inside the huge gated RV complex (with electric hookup, thank you very much, and an adjacent parking spot for our “toad” car) awaiting commencement of repairs Monday morning. We drove out in t-o-w-n to w-a-l-k the puppies Friday evening, returning about 9:00 PM. The service desk had mentioned that we had to be back by midnight when the yard gate was locked; it would not reopen until 0630 Saturday morning. “No problem; that’s an easy schedule to meet.” Well, it was easy until Saturday evening about 7:45 PM, when we decided to drive the car to a nearby (17 miles away) bookstore for a copy of “Windows 8 for Dummies”, knowing that we’d only be gone an hour or so. Imagine our shock when we turned the corner to find that we were LOCKED IN!  We were incarcerated until the yard reopened Monday morning, 36 hours hence. This was N.G. (not good).  Here is My Lovely Bride trying to pick the lock from the inside.



As we returned to our coach, we noticed a nearby coach with lights on and a car parked next to it. We knocked, and the owner arose from dinner and opened the door. We asked him if he knew that he was also locked in. “Yes”, he replied. I looked at him in surprise, and he said, “My wife and I both work here.” There was a pause of about five seconds while I pondered our dilemma. He didn’t offer any suggestions during this pregnant pause. Then I asked, “Do you have a key to the gate?” “Yes,” he replied. Another five second pause. “Would you mind opening the gate after you finish your dinner?” “Yes.” (At this point I wasn’t sure if he meant that (a) Yes, he would mind opening the gate, or (b) Yes, he would open the gate in spite of any reluctance he might have. (Was this guy from Maine?) I hoped for the best, and we returned to our coach (50 feet away) to await our jailer (or Good Samaritan?). About a half hour later, a horn blew, and we looked out our front window to see him sitting in his car, ready to drive the 50 yards to the gate.
The Good News was that we were able to escape our incarceration, and after a quick trip to the bookstore, parked our trusty toad outside the fenced area (hopefully not where the thugs from Seattle who robbed us in July could find it). Now I have a copy of Windows 8 for Dummies, and can (hopefully) navigate my way through the labyrinth that is my new computer’s (hellishly complex and user-unfriendly) operating system. Of note, I passed over the “Windows 8 for Senior Dummies” book, knowing that the attractive blonde register clerk would snicker at me if I chose that one… it’s bad enough being a member of ”The Dummies Club”… much, much worse to be branded a “Senior Dummy”. 


Sunday is bath day; I know, I normally bathe on Saturdays, but this was Dog Bath Day. Little Gretchen ran and hid under the table as soon as she saw the bottle of doggie shampoo. It was to no avail; I captured her and took her outside, gently bathed her, and then bundled her up in a towel to dry off and to keep warm. Here she is just prior to handoff to her Dog-Mom for Grooming Phase 2, blow-drying and combing.
It was a stressful process, but now Gretchen and Rudy are sweet-smelling and as beautiful as Westminster champions. Here is our little girl in her mom’s fleece after her ordeal.

1 Comment

  • Jennifer
    Posted August 29, 2013 at 2:14 am

    Ty, what are you trying to say about Pennsylvania? I'm from PA too.! At least we are not Red Ne..s
    like here in the South…

    Cute photo of Gretchen wrapped up…


Leave a Comment