High Adventure-A day with the Rainbow Children

Oliver Jones

High Adventure

A Day with the Rainbow Children

There is always something weird happening in Nederland. Especially on a nice day, when the village folk of this small mountain town crawl out from the woodwork and begin to roam. It was on one of these nice days I met Ox and Freddy. At first glance they appeared to be nothing more than the average dirty locals, but something about them intrigued me enough to want to learn more. I crossed a barren, silty parking lot and sat down next to them. I asked if they knew any good lookout spots in town I could take pictures from within walking distance. There were none. “But we were just about to go back to our casa in the woods, theres plenty to see there.” The larger, more intimidating homeless person said, nodding towards a shitty black nissan. Hmm, very intriguing I thought to myself. What kind of pad do theses mountain men have in the still snow sprinkled woods of Northern Ned? I agreed to hitch a ride and thus introductions were made. “The names Ox, and this here is Freddy.” Freddy smiled a disgusting toothless grin, yet no less heart warming than that of a Southern Preacher. Ox stood a solid six two and appeared exceptionally healthy for a vagrant. On the other hand, it was painfully obvious Freddy was malnourished and dying. We walked over to the sagging Nissan, I knew it was going to be an interesting day when I could smell the car before I could read the license plate. We all clambered in, Freddy decided to sit in the back with me, which I found odd. To make room he pushed the mountain of trash and trinkets over a bit, resulting in an avalanche of empty gallon jugs, cheap whisky bottles, and vienna sausage cans to collapse onto my lap. “Gotta wait for the Capt’n.” Ox yelled over the snarling engine. We didn’t have to wait very long. A man with a raggedy gray beard in biker attire came sprinting out of the convenience store. My very first thought was, oh fuck I am involved in an armed robbery. No less in a town who undoubtedly takes justice into their own hands with pitchforks and heavy chains. The man dove into the passenger seat and immediately introduced himself. “I’m Capt’n Coon, damn glad to meet ya!” So after that my new friends and I headed up US 72, old peak to peak highway to god knows where. Captain Coon poured himself an admiral nelson’s and coffee and began telling me his life story. I couldn’t help notice it was 9:30 in the morning, but I didn’t say anything. Turns out Captain Coon is short for Captain Coonass. A Louisiana native and unlicensed tugboat operator. A year ago he quit the swamp life, as enticing as it was and sold all of his belongings for an almost brand new Harley. Ever since he’s been ‘livin’ the life’. He couldn’t quite remember how he ran into Ox and Freddy, but thats not important anyway. What is important, he said is that “we’re all Rainbow Children now”. Ox verified with a grin and a nod. Freddy was busy reminiscing on an old acid trip via flashback so he didn’t have much to say. About a half hour later we arrived at the Rainbow Children encampment. I crawled out of the car and observed my surroundings, I felt oddly out of place wearing my boots. The majority of the dirt worshippers didn’t have shoes on. They all skipped around, swan dancing over the sporadic patches of Colorado snow. The ‘casa’ reminded me of a refugee camp, with tarp shelters strung up from tree to tree. Captain Coon’s shelter was the shittiest of them all, it wasn’t much more than a swiss cheese tarp and a bag of coals for a pillow. Ox had been trying to ‘manifest some grass’ since before I knew him. It turns out Captain Coon is an avid pot smoker and had the supply to get high in his bag of coals. Ox, Freddy and a few other revolutionist left over from the summer of love began to toke on one of those pipes that kind of looks like a faucet. But in this case it looked more like a rusty faucet. I passed the piece to the Captain and watched him suck the bowl through and swallow the ash. “Bowls kicked” he said and put the pipe in the bag of coals. About 15 seconds later three Boulder County Sheriff SUVs rolled up on the camp ground. I immediately separated myself from the group, for fear of being rounded up by the pigs and thrown in the jailhouse with the squatters. But I was severely mistaken, the police had come to thank the Rainbow Children in person for going around and picking up trash at all the other campsites. Captain Coon, high as a kite, chatted up the Officers with Kennedy like charm. I could see the relief on the faces of everybody at the camp when the cops pulled away. And before long the hippies had a fire going and pot of boiling water. I sat around the warmth and enjoyed a bit of Old Crow and macaroni before Ox offered to take me back to the bus station in Ned. It was getting dark and he could tell I wasn’t too down to spend a night with one of the rainbow daughters. After getting out of his nissan I waved goodbye as I walked to the bus shelter. “Don’t stop exploring!” is the last I ever heard of Ox as he ripped on up 72.