Tabatha Deans

CARRIED AWAY AT PRIDEFEST
It was time again for the annual Pridefest, a weekend-long festival that celebrates diversity—specifically gay, lesbian, bi-sexual and transgender pride. My neighborhood, and all of downtown, is transformed into one big party, with streets being closed, tents erected, and everything/everyone being covered in rainbow flags, clothes, bikes, and even dogs. I stopped by the $1.35 scoop Chinese restaurant and got an order to go, then plopped myself down in the shade at Civic Center Park in front of the vodka stage, to watch the excitement.
The vodka stage resembles an S&M club, as scantily clad dancers, this year in leather harnesses, gyrate and grind upon each other and the instruments. The music is loud and makes you want to move, resulting in a dancing crowd. There were all manner of costumes on display, some favorites being assless chaps, rainbow jock straps, pink furry boots and a few Superheros. I finished my cheap Chinese fare and joined the crowd, bouncing to the music and working up a sweat. Suddenly, a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, turned around, grabbed my hand and started dancing with me.
“Oh, pretty lady. Let me dance with you.” There was something adorable about the way he said pretty lady. So I kept dancing with him. He had lost his people, and like many of the festival-goers was more than a little high and well on his way to being drunk. But dancing in the heat and sweating seemed to keep everyone from getting too drunk and passing out. We danced until the festival started to close down, his name was Ramsey and had no idea where his boyfriend and their friends were. We followed the crowd out the gate, and it turns out he didn’t live too far from me. We walked to the liquor store a block away from my house, bought some wine and sat on my porch while he continued calling his friends. They weren’t answering the phone, and I was concerned they’d ditched him. He was such a sweet boy, and I must admit the “pretty lady” thing was flattering.
So we drank wine and chatted with each other and others passing by, and maybe we had a mutual harassment going on with the people on the patio at Hamburger Mary’s. I drank too much wine of course, but sitting on the porch, with my new friend, really made me feel like home. Like a scene out of the storybook of my life, it was really a picture-perfect afternoon.

June 19, 2012 Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A BIG DAM HILL
For part two of my Bike ‘n’ Hike story, I rode the D line to the Mineral station, then mounted my bike for what Google said was about an 8 mile ride to Chatfield State Park. Tim and the family were meeting me there later in the afternoon, but I left several hours early, unsure of how long it would take me to find my way there. The trails were not at all clearly marked, and after two false starts and turning back, I finally went into 7-11 to use their restroom and ask directions. I had been on the right trail the first time, so I started out again. It was hot and the trail was very busy with bikers, walkers, and kids wandering with fishing poles and buckets of bait.
It was an incredible ride once I got into the actual park, where the path was lined with great big old cottonwood trees that cast shade along the path. I was feeling pretty good about the time I was making, and although my legs were a little tired it wasn’t unbearable. The signs within the park were not any better, and I found myself doubling back until I ran into a group of bikers who were stopped on a bridge, snapping a photo. I offered to take one of all three of them, and asked directions to the lake. They were serious bikers, wearing helmets, water bottles mounted to their bikes and clad in Spandex. They directed me to follow them for a while, then they went one way and pointed for me to take the other trail.
“You have a big hill ahead, but then you’re there,” the woman yelled as they sped away.
I’m no longer afraid of hills since I’ve discovered the beauty of gearing down. I thought nothing of it as I wend through the trees, thoughts of jumping in the cool lake after my hot, sweaty ride. Then I came around the corner and saw the “big hill.”
It wasn’t a hill. It was a dam. The dam. The big dam that was holding back an entire lake. And the road began at the lower left side of the dam, and ran steeply across the dam, stopping at the top right side of the dam.
It was the biggest dam hill I’ve ever seen. And I was determined to ride up it. My brilliant plan of course was to gain as much speed as I could before hitting the bottom of the hill, which I did, but it didn’t get me very far because the incline of the hill was immediate. I didn’t start feeling real pain until I was about halfway up the dam, then I was impressed that although I was sure my legs were going to snap and an aneurism was certain, but my lungs felt pretty good. Score one for not smoking.
I geared all the way down to the lowest of the lowest gears, and although my feet were spinning the pedals wildly, I was barely going fast enough to keep from tipping over. A couple of cars passed me, and I realized I was that person. That person whom I have passed on many occasion and wondered
“Why the hell would somebody want to bicycle up a mountainside?”
Yup, that was me. But I made it. Mostly. The last 20 yards I simply could not conquer, but I do not regret it, because I made it farther than I ever thought I would. Once I got to the top I could see the whole park, including the lake. Not far down the other side was the marina, where I coasted to and plopped down on a picnic table, devoured my tuna sandwich and sucked down all my water, then called Tim and told him he would have to come find me, because I could not go another yard further.
After the lake we went back to his house, where he fed me guacamole and quesadillas, before dropping me off at the light rail station. It was indeed a wonderful day.

June 19, 2012 Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

A PIGEON APOCALYPSE
The pigeons have got to go. They’ve waged war on my building, and apparently have been breaking into all of the apartments on my floor. The neighbor girls are freaked out, having both had a pigeon trapped inside their apartments. They continue to stalk me from the rooftop above, and after trying everything imaginable to reunite them with their egg, it became obvious that they were not at all interested in the egg, they merely want to get into my apartment and eat my Pop-Tarts.
My new friend Mr. R was kind enough to build me some screens to put in my windows, which do a great job of keeping the pigeons out, but they continue to stare at me with their beady little evil eyes. They have not figured out how to get through the screens, but not for lack of trying. I returned home yesterday to find that they had somehow knocked the stick out of the outside of the window, which was propping up the window. That had to take some doing on their part, but at least they didn’t get through the screens.
Giving up on all hope of raising the egg to maturity, I planned to take it for a bike ride with me and find it a new home at Cherry Creek State Park. I’m writing a Bike ‘n’ Hike story, and after an early morning appointment at the health clinic I was going to take the H line to within a few miles of the lake. I left my house at 5:30 a.m. with my backpack full for the day’s adventure. It was time for my annual standing in line at the health clinic, which begins at 6 a.m. And ends around 9. I’m not allowed to use the public health clinic without an annual interview, and appointments are taken on a first come first served basis.
By the time I was halfway to the clinic I pulled over to take my jacket off. I stopped in the shade of the Denver Post building, and leaned my bike against the wall as I took off my jacket and stuffed it into my pack. I felt something brush down my back, and something wet his my calf. I twisted around to look, and sure enough, a pigeon had pooped on me, and it was running down my leg, and had spattered upon my shorts. I looked up for the offending bird, and saw him. Sitting on the ledge. Staring at me. Mocking me. Punishing me for getting screens and thwarting the efforts of pigeons everywhere. I cursed him, and I’m sure he laughed.
I delivered the egg to the lake later that afternoon, and nestled it down at the base of a tree, surrounded by feathers, grass and twigs. I’ll have no way of knowing if it ever actually hatches, and I know there’s a good chance an animal will come along and devour it. But my conscience is clear—its gone back to nature. And hopefully the avian gods will love me once again.

June 19, 2012 Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized | Leave a comment