Rocky Mountain High
January, 1988. The strong winds made the snow fall sideways. 18 wheelers whizzing by me. My wiper blades frozen, clearing only about a 12×12 inch portion of the middle of my windshield. Interstate 70 in Pennsylvania was not a good place to be that day. But I had to be in Bloomington Indiana the next day to check into my dorm room, and begin my graduate studies in Jazz.
After paying around 5 cents per mile for a few hours of near death experiences ( I 70 is a toll road), the snow and wind ceased, and the skies cleared. “Welcome to West Virginia Wild and Wonderful!” read the sign on the side of the highway, and within the hour, I was in Ohio, the last state to cross before entering Indiana.
After stopping for gas and food, I was back on the interstate. The next sign really caught my attention:
“I 70 West
Columbus, Indianapolis
St Louis, The Rocky Mountains
” The Rocky Mountains! ” I thought. “I LOVE the Rockies!” A few years back I spent a week in Rocky Mountain National Park. And when I was a kid, I always drew pictures of snow capped mountains…the mountains in Massachusetts, where I grew up, and in the surrounding states were beautiful, but the highest were only four to six thousand feet above sea level, and most had trees on the summits. As I continued to drive I thought how crazy it would be if, instead of heading south on route 37 when I hit Indianapolis, I stayed on I 70 and drove to Colorado. I was driving my parents Chevy Caprice Classic, which they had graciously allowed me to use for the semester. It was a big four door sedan, with a trunk that would make the mafia envious. I had everything I needed to start my new life in the Rockies: clothes, my keyboard and an amplifier, some records and a turntable, and my 13 inch black and white TV. But, I decided to do the responsible thing, and go get my Masters degree, as planned. Feeling depressed about my decision, I turned on the radio.
I often hear people say “Things happen for a reason.” I, on the other hand, usually say “There’s a reason things happen.” Coincidence and chaotic theory are how I explain the strange things that occasionally occur. But what happened next had me believing the other people. The FM band was not picking up any radio stations, so I switched to the AM band. I turned the dial, and got nothing but static. As I kept turning, a station finally came in. Being AM, I figured I would most likely get a news or talk radio station. But this station was playing music. And wouldn’t you know, the song that was playing was… “Rocky Mountain High,” by John Denver.
Despite the universe telling me to go straight to Colorado, I learned a lot in grad school, and I ended up here anyway. But thank you, John Denver, for convincing me to settle here.
