Perfect Pickin'

It was a perfect day to pick.   Grabbing my picker, gloves and bag, I hopped on my bike and rode about 25 yards down Shady Lane before my front brake cable broke.  Reasoning that the back cable was still functioning perfectly, I could see no reason not to proceed--slowly.  I had a specific destination in mind which I reached in about 10 minutes. 

Nobody in beautiful Estes Park, aka God's Country, would steal my bike, but I locked it just the same.  Across the street, right where this expedition was set to begin, a local merchant greeted me.  "Thanks for picking up the trash.  I saw you yesterday.  When you finish, you can come back here and help me with these branches," she suggested.  "Ha ha," I laughed.  "That's a good one.  That's all I need.  When I finish pickin' every stray ciggy butt, Coke can, (I mention them only because they are the most tossed soft drinks in the area) paper towel, vodka bottle and cardboard box, I'll be right back to help you pick up the tree limbs.  NOT!"  I didn't really say that, but I did laugh.

Today there was quite an assortment of paperboard beer can boxes:  Busch, Budweiser and Bud Light.  I don't exactly get why you would toss these boxes out the window as you drive along the highway.  I mean, what are you going to do with the full cans that were in the box?  It's only about a mile from Safeway to this location, so I think it's fairly certain one could not consume 24 cans in that distance.  But what do I know about drinking beer?

As I walked along enjoying communing with nature, the usual culprits emerged:  a PowerAde bottle, lots of styrofoam, a wash cloth, an empty Frito bag, a Meadow Gold chocolate milk carton, a Seagrams Peach Flavored vodka bottle.  But today, I was in for something new--a Goldschlager alcohol bottle.  (Please inform me if you know what exact type of alcohol Goldschlager brews--those Germans--whew!)  Since the Food and Drug Administration has trained us all to read labels, I read on the Goldschlager bottle that it contained "real gold flakes."  Good to know.

In no time at all, I had to head back.  Enjoyable as it is, one cannot pick trash without considering the time.  I crossed the highway and picked in the opposite direction.  By now I was lugging  my full-to-the-brim garbage bag and a huge cardboard box that wouldn't fit.  Back at my bike I was approached by a happy camper who had news for me:  "It's tick season."  I've been well aware of this fact for weeks, but thanked him just the same.  "I was up on Deer Mountain yesterday, and there were at least a hundred of 'em."  Now unless he had run across a deceased deer, I found this quite interesting, for I have never, ever in 39 years seen a tick unless it was on the nose of a deer or the back of my kids' neck.  Anyway, thanks for reminding me about the ticks, mister.  All the way home I was sure something was crawling up my leg or across my shoulder.

Always,
Winter