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When telephones were connected by wires, when the only experience most people had with computers was that IBM card that came in the utility bill, when TV only had 3 or 4 channels, and when gas ran about 25¢/gallon. And when you could get paid with silver coin.

Vietnam was winding down; Watergate was winding up.

I was a college "student"; living in a dorm, doing college student things. Which rarely included that thing called "study".
Unless it was girls.

I was young and naive ... just right for adventures.

Repeating myself - "college student", "young and naive". Yeah, I know.

Y'all know what an adventure is, don't ya?
An adventure is something you'd rather not be doing at the time you're doing it - but makes a great tale later.

Not that this is a great tale - or much of an adventure. It evens out.

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Coors! The magic elixir to those of us east of the Mississippi ... or the Missouri as it turned out.

It's been said that what makes Coors distinctive is its lack of taste. That may have been so for those where Coors was sold, but it was that yellow can - from mystical Colorado - and the swish sound as that pop-top was pulled that spoke magic. And maybe a touch of "you can't get it here".

Way back when in the days of yore, beer cost maybe $1.00 to $1.50 for a 6-pack - instead of that or more now for a single. A case might cost $5. In Colorado.

In the east? A 6-pack sold for more than $5; $20-25 for a case - price depending on how far east of the Mississippi one was.

At that time, I had a 1966 4-door Chevy Belair. It looked like this - sort of. Not as nice but at least the same color.
I bought mine for $250. Probably have to pay more than that for this one, even adjusted for inflation.

I kind of miss that car ... 3 on the tree as I recall. But that might have been a different car.

Do you have any idea how much beer will fit in a 4-door 1960s sedan? The back seat? Including the trunk? Extra space up front?

I don't remember myself, but we ended up buying the store out.

Store? You couldn't buy the stuff in any store nearby ...

But you could in Kansas City, Kansas. Hell - that's not even 1000 miles away.

Road Trip!

Me, my buddy, a baggie or two (for holding the pop-top tabs :) ), a radar detector, and a tank of gas.

Oh, yeah. The speed limit in those days was 55mph. Sure ...
(Or was it? May have been - come to think on it, probably was - before such insanity was imposed upon us.)

Night rider! ... well, on the way back anyway.

I should probably mention neither of us knew Kansas City - either one of them. Barely knew where it was. Out that-a-way someplace.
No matter, we'll find it. Gas station road maps.

To this day, I don't know where we were ... someplace not far off the highway; someplace in Kansas; someplace after dark, someplace in a neighborhood two white boys didn't belong.
Even if we were from Detroit.
Uh-oh ...

Probably should have had a clue when the employees helping us load the beer were carrying baseball bats ... and perhaps other items best left hidden. Too late by then anyway.

Friendly chaps though ... didn't even rip us off ... too badly.
Perhaps asking them to help us empty one of the baggies helped.

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Portal to portal in less than 24 hours. Home at dawn.

There was a mystique about Coors in those days. People came up to us to buy what we had as we were unloading.
It's barely dawn. Where did you all come from this time of day?

Did I mention I was in college then and lived in a dorm? That we were unloading at the dorm front door?

The word must have gotten out that we were on a beer run.
This was years before "Smokey and the Bandit"

They were paying $10 for a 6-pack.
Do you know how many 6-packs fit into a 1966 4-door sedan?

I paid a semester's worth of classes, books, and other expenses from that trip.

And enough left over to eventually have a beer-can pyramid any self-respecting, dorm-living, party animal college student would be proud of.

With a little help from my friends of course.

Didn't need no student loans. Went out and worked for my money.

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Much, much later ... after many decades had passed by ... I ended up living in Golden. Before it got all foo-foo like it is now. Lived above the Ace Tavern for a while as a matter of fact. Nobody drank Coors there.

Took the short tour of the brewery many times - but the magic had gone. The taste probably never was there; it certainly wasn't in the now of that time..

Coors Light? What? They just scoop the water out of Clear Creek and can it? After they take any taste out?

Distribution is now nation-wide, the beer is probably pasteurized. Did that make a difference? Times have changed, as did the tastes and mysteries of the nation.

The myths of my youth have been replaced by facts.

Last I heard, Coors isn't even brewed in Colorado anymore.

No, despite this pretty much true tale, I am not a beer guzzler and what beer I drink/drank is of higher quality than Coors. But I have a 6-pack of good porter floating around here someplace that's over a year old. I just sort-of stopped drinking the stuff.

And not because I "had" to.

Getting older isn't pretty.

Better than the alternative though.

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While I'd just as soon stay away from "politics" as a primary focus on this site, there are some issues that just come up. One being illegals.

My wife's an immigrant. Came in legal like and became naturalized. The process is not easy or fun. The office where she started the process was so ... nasty, I had to stop going with her because I'd have spoken up and those damn bureaucrats would have taken it out on her.

On the other hand, she came and wanted to become a US citizen - she put up with the process, she didn't yell and protest and wave her old country's flag around.

Every time these illegals gather round like this, it seems it would be easy for the National Guard to come in, surround them, and deport every single one of them.

And cut off welfare for any Yankees that participate. Yep - as a US citizen you have the right to protest. But being on welfare should have consequences - one of them being that if you depend on the government to survive, you give up your right to bite the hand that feeds you.

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If he sees his shadow, he ducks back under cover and we have 6 more weeks of winter.
If he doesn't see his shadow, he decides to go back to bed and we have 6 more weeks of winter.

Or something like that.

Up here in the hills of Idaho, it's going to be a wet, rainy day with temperatures predicted to be in the 40s. It didn't get down to freezing last night.

Florida has had more "winter" than we have this year. Snow-pack levels up high are OK, but down here, barely at the level to need "high-altitude" cooking directions, we've had two snowfalls the entire season - one a month or so ago, the other last Friday. Both were only ¼ inch or so, neither lasted the day. Most "winter" we've had was 10 days straight of pogonip. Frosted up the trees heavy enough to be concerned about breaking branches. Then it went away.

Now I've lived up in these hills for more than 20 years and I've seen it snow nine feet in a week - three storms one after another dumping 36" each time; chains a daily necessity even on a 4x4. I've never seen essentially no snow.

Which leads me to wonder what the rest of February, March, April, and sometimes into May has in store for us.

Like most things, life tends towards a balance.

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