Old-timer makes a move to the Western Slope of Colorado

 On the Way Out Series

Vol 4, Part 6

Back in January of 2008, I had a book released entitled Billy's Victory about an 11-year-old boy who had lost his father, due to a terrible automobile accident. In fact, the father had been in the minor leagues for ten years and had finally received a call from the New York Yankees and was en route to spring training in Florida when the accident happened.

Billy had learned the game of baseball from his father and now his father was gone and the young boy stopped talking and the words stuck in his throat with no way out. His mother decided to move the young lad from Texas to a town in Colorado -- a small town called Johnsonville to be with the grandparents and the caring townspeople, who would bring the young man back to reality.

I had visited the Western Slope of Colorado many times. In fact, my son and his family live there and then his son and daughters decided to stay in the area and raise their own families there. The town sits along I-70 and in real life is the town of Parachute, Colorado.

Parachute is some 35 miles east of Grand Junction and about a 15-minute drive west of Rifle, Colorado. In other words, beauty in all directions, just the thing the late John Denver sang about.

In my fiction book, Billy would begin his journey back, along with his family and friends, using the backdrop of the Western Slope towns of: Grand Junction, Parachute and Rifle...and a mysterious town called Green River, which was the home of a monster -- actually just a big boy, who threw an un-hittable fastball.

It's ironic I'm now the newest resident of Parachute, Colorado. At the age of 76, a super senior citizen no less, and I intend to finish my life here. I hope I run into another Billy, or some interesting townspeople to write about. Who knows? I still have time to write the great American Novel. Yes, I know time is running out on this old-timer.

I've only been here a day and I swear I saw Billy bicycling down Main Street. There was a fishing hole in Billy's Victory called Willow Creek where Billy and his Grandpa George would go fishing. In fact, a snake bit his Grandpa one hot summer day and Billy was forced to run through the forest, slide down the hill and rush up Main Street to his Grandma's drugstore, rush in through the front door and yell out to save his Grandpa.

It was halfway through the book and Billy had finally spoke.

I walked around Parachute today, took a drive up to Rifle and low and behold found me a Dunkin' Donut Shop. That alone made me a happy camper, but the ride back I witnessed the beauty of the land on both sides of the road, complete with the Autumn foliage on the Aspen trees.

The air is fresh. The wind has a bite to it and teaches you to begin thinking about pulling your winter coat out of the closest. I have a lot of adjustments ahead. This land is a far cry from the Sonoran Desert, the land where I grew up.

I will continue to search for Billy. Maybe another Billy.

One thing is for sure, I've found a new home and right now it's not fiction but the real thing.