Cartographic traces of Lake, Colorado


Maybe like me you’re wondering how a landmark falls off the face of the earth, in particular Google Earth, assuming as we do that web crowdsourcing is archival, not perishable. A stagecoach watering hole in Kansas Territory, formerly Arapaho, was Hedinger’s Lake, between present day Limon and Hugo. Like the history of Colorado’s water, Lake became Lake Station, later a railway siding, today a creek.


First some back-story: 1750. When gold looked to become the carrot to drive white man’s Manifest Destiny, the Indian Territories of what would become Colorado were labeled simply the Gold Region.


Back in 1815, the West was still La Louisiane, and place names were native, French and Spanish. Taos was one of the oldest Spanish settlements, site of the First American Revolution, against the Spaniards, and another revolt when the US invaded. Camp de Baroney sits on the Arkansas River, eventually resettled as El Pueblo. And there’s La Fourche Republicaine, a fork of la Rivoire Missouri, soon to lead a prominent migration trail west.


By 1848, St. Vrain’s Fort and Grante Ft., Bent’s Fort, were already protecting Anglo trading interests. (Note by the way, Old Park and New Park, eventually to be become the “North” to South Park.)


By 1864, the Cheyenne and Arapaho found themselves bordered on the west by the “Military Department of Utah” and ceding their lands to the Kansas Territory. (On this map we can see Montana City, the original Denver City. Denver eventually overtook Auroria and the metropolis. Mineral Springs became Manitou and Colorado Springs at the foot of Pikes Peak.)

Note the curiously singular representation of a “Kansas Lake” depicted at the tip of the south fork of the Republican River, whose waters will originate in the later to be named Lincoln County, at whose heart will lie Lake, Colorado.

The Rocky Mountain region lost many lakes by the mid 1800s when beaver were hunted to near extinction and with them the beaver dams. Note just West of “Kansas Lake” lies Beaver Creek.


With the gold rush, settler trails crisscrossed the West, for wagon trains, stagecoach and mail carriers. Lake was a stage at the convergence of the Butterfield Overland Dispatch and Republican Fork Trails, where they crossed the Big Sandy Creek to join the Smoky Hill South and North Roads (after similarly named rivers which were starting points in Kansas) or the spartan Starvation Trail to Denver. Today’s I-70 follows Smoky Hill North.


Was Hedinger’s Lake the water which travelers sought at the end of the South Republican Fork Trail?


This 1868 Union Pacific map predicted the stops heading eastward from Denver to be Parkhurst, Beaver, which later became Deer Trail, and Coon Creek, which became Kit Carson, opposite Sand Creek.


By 1870, Kansas was a state and the Kansas Union Pacific RR reached Denver. (Beyond the mountains: North Park, Middle Park and South Park.)


By 1873, leaving for Denver from Fort Wallace, there were stops at Kit Carson, Aroyo, Lake, Agate (pronounced “A-Gate”) and Deer Trail. (Note: still no Colorado Springs.)


A map circa 1880s, shows Hugo, Lake, River Bend, Godfrey, Agate, Deer Trail, and Byers, named for the founder of the Rocky Mountain News, formerly Bijou.


When the Chicago Kansas and Nebraska Railroad sought a direct route to Colorado Springs, it decided to intersect the Kansas Pacific at a new stop called Limon and that was the end of Lake. At Limon the westbound trains performed what was called the “Limon Shuffle” where passenger and freight cars were separated depending on which were going to Denver and which to Colorado Springs.


Lake Station remained a stop for the Union Pacific, and on this map which accompanied the 1910 census, it’s gone, in favor of a late addition, Bagdad.

As trains no longer needed to take on water, and could reach their destinations more quickly, many stops were eliminated. This 1925 train Union Pacific train schedule lists only Cheyenne Wells, Kit Carson, Hugo and Limon before reaching Denver.


Lake is still marked on railroad maps, though there’s not even an access road to reach it.


On other maps it’s just Lake Creek, spanned by an impassable decaying bridge. It’s now a wetlands area that provides a bird sanctuary.


For the USGS, Lake still serves as namesake for the topographical map of the Lake Quadrangle.

To be continued…

Americans upset by viral Single Ladies video don’t know their ass from TandA

Americans upset by viral Single Ladies video don’t know their ass from TandA

Screengrab from Yak Films World of Dance videoYou thought ours was an oversexed culture obsessed with youth, but the recent furor over a viral video shows Americans don’t know their ass from their T & A.

Obviously everyone is aghast about too-young dancers gyrating to Beyonce’s SINGLE LADIES, but I think it says something hilarious about our ineptitude with sexuality. Like the mess of clueless philistines weighing in, I too am inexpert at what titillates about 7-year-olds, and it’s not going to stop me either.

Can we agree the Beyonce hit is lewd? I’m guessing her video was unremarkable, I recall the SNL spoof was camp, but what are Beyonce’s lyrics except deliberately crass? You expect a performance of “Single Ladies” to transcend its theme? You’re going to be offended regardless who is lip-syncing it.

Putting aside whether your daughter belongs onstage participating, where have you been? This is dance. Call it Vulgar Nouveaux or Burlesque Outré, it dates to Madonna’s mother’s virginity. This is dance, all you Kansans, onstage and on screen. Flashdance had nothing on Broadway, American Gigolo hid the sex behind clothes. Beside the point. Young dancers aspiring to tomorrow’s auditions want to learn what their role models are teaching. Children today love Spongebob, but they’re watching South Park and Family Guy too. The only uncomfortable party in the room is you.

I recently attended an elementary school talent show that included some dance-schooled troopers. Some of their precocious moves were admittedly out of place and some even off-putting, but it didn’t stop parents from appreciating the talent and obvious dedicated effort. Our little tarts didn’t come close, by the way, to the spirited Single Ladies performance, clearly well choreographed, taught, and executed.

Was outraged America also so unsophisticated to notice that the now infamous video was a multiple camera production? This wasn’t a family recording leaked by an indignant relative. It was a World of Dance competition where no one watching showed any shock at the performance. While I confess I’m still offended by the Jon-Benet pageant aesthetic, these costumes and the next Britney backup dancers did not surprise.

What entertained me most were the comments threading from the now multiple postings of the video. The original post accumulated over two million views and had to be removed for reasons that are self-explanatory apparently. On account of poorly-spelled death threats, I imagine. Eventually you’ll find observations defending the performance, but for the overwhelming part, everyone wants to weigh their indignation against the next, accuse the dancers’ parents of child abuse and round up a posse to chase the pedophiles they’re sure are lurking.

What I find endearing about their best Sunday earnestness is that these commenters wouldn’t know a stripper’s pole from where they get their haircut. Even as internet porn is so pervasive, and we worry it has saturated our psyche, it turns out the prurient pretenders– as hypocritical we know, as Republican congressmen– know as much about erotica as a prudes.

Even more entertaining is a certain tenor to their comments, part of a trend I’m horrified to recognize has been overtaking blogdom. It began I suppose when the personal computer extended the internet outside the lab. Emails used to abide a scientist’s protocol, then with the world-wide-web came spam. Blogs began with people who had something to say, and when comments deregulated to chat rooms, in came the freaks.

There’s a common tone to compulsive opinion-givers, I recognize it too often as I offer my own. It pervades the blogosphere now almost to have rendered discussion threads unreadable. It’s a tone of tone-deafness, in vocabulary, grammar and attitude. Related to a person not knowing what they’re talking about, the tell-tale ingredient is that they don’t care about the subject either. It’s a characteristic recognized in forced conversations and poor sales pitches, not always obvious when we’re regurgitating differences of opinion or ideology.

If I didn’t always before recognize the ignorance in the insincerity, this Tea Party tinctured pile-on has given me the scent.

The too-cursory indignation Middle America is showing about these 7-year-old dancers strikes a feeble, unfunny note. It’s the puritanical call for women of all ages to reduce themselves behind burqas, coming from voices self-loathing and unworldly.

Gay, married, or in the military: pick 2

Gay, married, or in the military: pick 2

top of wedding cakeI admit to feeling less supportive than I ought to for gays pushing for their right to wed — in the midst of every American’s crumbling civil rights — while our country decimates foreign human rights and lives. Couldn’t gay marriage activists at least share the spotlight with peace, out of consideration for the suffering of others, proportionately? How about: Make Love (Marital), Not War. Now gay rights are being made a wedge issue with the dubious right to aspire to be a soldier. Is now the time for us to urge the military to leave no gay behind?

I object as always to the presumption of a professional soldier’s moral validity.

To be fair, it may be that the gays-in-the-military meme is being pressed upon the gay activists. These days, military enlistment has lost a great deal of its appeal. Who can the Army pretend wants to join but can’t? Who else but a demographic that’s been historically denied? I can’t say for certain that gay rights activists haven’t been rallying at recruiting offices, but reporters always seem to find someone to complain they’re being discriminated against. No doubt the war-monger message-shapers can always track down one lone homosexual or two who want to play soldier.

With today’s economy, I’m sure there are not a few gay men and women who will decry the unfairness of being denied the military career path. Being gay doesn’t mean you’re a born hairdresser or a saint. Belonging to a victimized minority doesn’t automatically imbue you with empathy or a higher social conscience to preclude wanting to be a soldier. Gays can hate and kill with the best of grunts I’m sure.

The purpose of circulating this meme, that gays want the right to serve their country in uniform, doesn’t mean the Department of Defense intends to consider granting the right. This is not about enhancing gaydom. This is about putting some spin on the department’s recruiting problems. Who says no one wants to enlist? Gays do! This pseudo-rights campaign is meant to push straight boys into military service while they think it’s their exclusive right. Not only that, the campaign theme serves to reinforce that the military will be your sanctuary from gays. And if any lurk in the barrack, at least they are prohibited from showing it. In everyday civilian life, gays were much more bearable before they held parades to shove it in your face.

American media has come to delight in gayness writ Big Gay Al. But South Park is the only showcase for gay characters who aren’t the stereotypical decorator or fashion nerd. The gay home makeover does not cease to be a novelty, but I’d say the focus group is still out on construction contractor bears, gay bar trolls, and United Court female impersonators.

Without saying gays not welcome, the move to reexamine Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is really just spiffing up the old brand. Army of One, still gay-free.

What was the announcement today? That after years of criticism for the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy, the military has decided to put the question to further study. That is to say, to begin a year-long inquiry into the matter. The Army is still gay-free, in all certainty will remain so, now with a year’s warranty.

I have this message for my gay compatriots in activism. If this issue is being forced on you, and you abhor as I, the loaded nature of the media soundbite, the implication that people want to be in the military, it seems to me you have have a unique opportunity to make this message your own. Do you want to be in the business of soldiering? Tell them why.

Tell them why you want to go to war. Borrow a page from the testosterone-heavy war lovers. War crime, playing god, abuse of authority, yours for the taking.

Decry the stereotypes of gays as effete fops. Gays can kill, gays can have blood lust. Gays can shoot at women and children, maybe even with greater enthusiasm. I’ll bet gays could absolutely massacre women. And girls. With relish. If the Army is going to peddle stereotypes, answer in kind.

No telling what gays can do to boys. They can give boys equal time, the menace today’s soldiers reserve for girls. No one’s children will be safe. A gay-straight platoon will wreak havoc on all enemy’s progeny.

Imagine an inter-squad rivalry between the straights and the gays, who can out-debauch whom. Clearly an enhancement on America’s war of terror.

Mountain bikers in Garden of the Gods

Mountain bikers in Garden of the Gods

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO- Some bastards don’t give a shit about ecology, they’ll enjoy nature as they ruin it for everybody else. These mountain bikers were despoiling a completely off-limits terrain on Sunday, and fortunately we had cameras handy.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
Mountain bikes are allowed only on the bike trail system around the South Parking Lot, in the SE corner of Garden of the Gods. And there, bikes are to follow special rules, including never to go off the trail. When we encountered these five, they were descending the rock formations completely off-trail, well NW of the Palmer Trail.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
To be fair, we were straying from the trail ourselves, even from the permissible “social” trails which require added diligence to avoid stepping on plants and loose soil. We encountered these mountain bikers riding directly on the rocks.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
They moved in this order: Mr. Black, Mr. Blue, Mr. Grey, Mr. Orange, and Ms. White.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
The attitude was congenial, probably due to the surprise of the encounter, and their being preoccupied with negotiating the descent. But we were very deliberate about snapping incriminating evidence.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
Immediately after they passed us and disappeared over the ridge, they stopped in a concealed low area just before the Siamese Twins rocks. They looked concerned that we might have gone to seek the park authorities.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
Busted.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
Seeing that we’d caught up with them, as opposed to having gone the other direction, the bikers may have surmised that we didn’t pose an immediate risk. They resumed their ride along the rocks to the Siamese Twin Trail, and down to the Springs Canyon Trailhead.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
From the Spring Canyon parking lot, they could most inconspicuously join the paved traffic on Garden Drive.

Garden of the Gods mountain bikers
The question of course arises about what to do with these pictures. Deliver copies to the park administrators? Post them here? Search online for other pics with which to ID these mountain bikers from their attire and bikes? All three.

Life as a ten year old boy at the podium

COLORADO SPRINGS- The voice of Bart Simpson spoke at Colorado College last night. What began as a the memoir My Life as a Ten Year Old Boy, and debuted at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival four years ago as a “one woman play” reached CC’s Armstrong Hall looking like 52 card pickup with that too many index cards. There might once have been a day when Simpsons fans raved like Trekkies, but the show’s longevity has lapped this generation. It didn’t help that Nancy Cartwright dissed South Park and Family Guy as uninteresting.

I don’t think The Simpsons has lost any of its vitality, but its audience has certainly evolved an appetite for alternately focused irreverence. I’d think too, a tip celebrities shouldn’t ignore from their publicists is to refrain from telling their fans that the stars themselves don’t watch television. We know you are too busy, all of us ought to have better things to do. Would Fox pay you $80,000/hour if more viewers wised up to whose resources and energy are really being consumed by the half-hour financial exchange?

My best question for “Bart” Cartwright might have been how Fox, network of illest repute, manages Matt Groening’s subversive message.

Cartwright’s only questions came from middle school children because the college students had begun pulling out, pretty embarrassed for voice-of-Bart’s unselfconscious star tripping. The lecturer was prepared to detail the minutia of Simpsons lore, and to say she enjoyed the plots which carried a social message, but was unprepared to explain any, and even lacked for a favorite episode.

No one was unsurprised or unimpressed with the breadth of Cartwright’s animation voice experience. She’d worked from My Little Pony to Pound Puppies to Kim Possible, and had been the uncredited gurgle of Maggie Simpson, among others. But those in the audience who left early, whom I came so close to envying, missed the absolute highlight of the evening, when practically as an afterthought, Cartwright revealed that her most challenging character was Chuckie Finster of the Rugrats. A hushed swoon enveloped the crowd at the mere mention. There was Cartwright’s real impact in the waning Simpsons era. Today’s Simpsons viewers only recognize Ralph Wiggum’s voice as they bump him off in the Simpsons video game.

The Obama Mission Impossible caper

South Park this week lent its usual on-the-spot spot-on insight to the Obama victory. The South Park plot suggested Tuesday’s triumph was the result of McCain colluding with Obama to seize the White House, solely to access a presidential escape tunnel which runs under the Smithsonian, putting them within grasp of the HOPE Diamond (get it?). An Obama-McCain Oceans-08 Mission Impossible heist might be stretching it, particularly with Palin cast as the technical mastermind, but would it be entirely a fiction?

Did you hear McCain campaign director Steve Schmidt recently answering critics of his strategy? Schmidt described John McCain as “the only Republican who could have mounted a campaign that would come anywhere close.” Was that Schmidt’s directive? To come close? Was the nominee his to choose?

It’s been revealed that Schmidt himself chose Sarah Palin as the VP pick. A good choice? Not? It makes me wonder about the objective of the McCain bid. To put up a good show, or to be a contender? As unthinkable as Palin was as a potential national figure, her draw as center of attention was undeniable.

The McCain/Palin ticket sure looks to have been a setup. Was it but a straw-man against whom an African American couldn’t lose? Both McCain and Palin, in their own ways, seemed epically comic caricatures of awful. They played the bad-guy opponent for the majority of wrestling fans to cheer against. There are of course always legions of WWWF fans who back the bad ass. They follow the underdog’s career as the heavy, maybe hoping someday he’ll be picked for a stint of glory. Even if wrestling is fixed, you can hope to influence the fixing with your cheers.

Tuesday night also reminded me of watching the loser of the 2004 presidential election, dutifully giving his concession speech attended by his multi-millionaire wife. Remember the Heinz heiress who would be First Lady?

The Producers Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder knew where the money was made on Broadway, from widow pensioner investors with dreams of stage glory. Maybe political party apparatchiks know it too. You can defray a bunch of your expenses if you can draw the lonely heiresses into the ring. They’ve got the billions/millions, with the wardrobes to match. Where would they find comparable spotlights to highlight those baubles? Make them queen of the ball, with the chance to be First Lady Win or not, they’ll get their money’s worth of attention.

Does America have a two-party system, or a single corporate party? Well then, are the Republican and Democratic parties a single political machine or not? Ergo, wrestling match aside, do the match promoters care whether the democracy torch bearer is Red or Blue or black?

The much we already know must color the election result.

What did you make of the orchestration we saw in Grant Park? A celebration of historic proportion was laid out in Chicago. In Arizona, the GOP assembled their booing chorus of hangers on. En toto, Obama’s CHANGE movement was executed without a single hitch. The train came into the station like clockwork, like an MI08 final scene. Concession and acceptance speech delivered like a College Football game. No overtime please, climax within the prime time alloted.

Warnings about how “power never yields without demand” appeared to be so much crying wolf. So, did we witness a shift of power, or simply the inauguration of a more palatable figurehead? If there’s a Lion King remake to re-stage for Broadway, maybe Steve Schmidt should be tapped for the job.

Counterpoint duets in American musicals

A now Christmas classic has breathed new life into Frank Loesser’s “Baby it’s cold outside / I really must go.” After burning out the household listening to all available recordings, I yearned for other counterpoint duets. Neither Broadway, nor the internet was very forthcoming, hence this post.

For a duet with a similar whimsical wolf vs. mouse dynamic, there’s “Small Talk” from Frank Loesser’s Pajama Game. (Preferred duo Doris Day and John Raitt).

“An old fashion wedding” from the 1966 revival of Irving Berlin’s Annie Get Your Gun. (Ethel Merman and Bruce Yarnell).

“I wonder why / You’re just in love” from Irving Berlin’s 1950 musical Call Me Madam. (Ethel Merman and Russel Nype or Donald O’Connor).

Irving Berlin’s earlier “Pack up your sins and go to the Devil” features syncopation on both parts.

There’s the “Will I Ever Tell You” counterpoint to “Lida Rose” in Meredith Wilson’s The Music Man. And the combo of “Goodnight my someone” with “Seventy-six trombones” (Shirley Jones and Robert Preston).

There’s the infamous “Tonight Quintet” from West Side Story. (Best remake: South Park).

The 1959 musical Little Mary Sunshine lampoons counterpoint with three parts: Playing Croquet, Swinging, and How Do You Do?

Stephen Soundheim repeated the feat in A Little Night Music with “Now,” “Later” and “Soon.”

Less romantic counterpoint could include “All for the best” from Godspell. Can you think of any other?

(The best pairing for “Baby it’s cold outside”? Physical performance: Esther Williams and Ricardo Montalban, best repartee: Margaret Whiting and Johnny Mercer, best contemporary match: Zooey Deschanel and Leon Redbone.)

Is Otis misshapen by BGH or steroids?

Hermaphrodite bull OTIS of Back to the Barnyard
I’m not sure that’s an udder fastened like a diaphragm over the groin of computer animation’s favorite self-effacing alpha bull. While some may speculate that Back to the Barnyard is trying to normalize hermaphrodites in macho garb, a rugged outdoor transvestite perhaps like Eddie Izzard’s mannish executive transvestite. I rather think those are fat man boobs channeled from the King of Queens which come of human absorption of BGH, Bovine Growth Hormone, used for dairy cows, and I guess, our man cow Otis.

Not really. I think the rubber contraption is actually capping what would otherwise be prominent on a barnyard bull. And thus it is front and center, pink, thrust forward, often conspicuous by being just outside the frame, and what is it? A nubbly flesh colored bit of nothing. Otis, despite his gruff voice, is a eunuch, front and center, like Family Guy, Homer, Fred Flintstone and all of the South Park parents. Emasculated fathers, fatherhood figures without authority, least of all ownership, and with nothing on the fake masculine stereotypes of Hollywood and armed services commercials.