Welcome to Colorado Central Magazine

The Monthly Magazine for People who like to do it outdoors

In the September 2010 edition:

Pipes, Whistles and Fiddles in the Rockies

by Ellot Jackson

When I moved to Colorado from Chicago over ten years ago, there were many things about the city that I found myself delighted to be leaving behind: traffic, crime and wild extremes of climate among them. However, the one thing I found myself indubitably missing – and craving – was its music scene: specifically, its Celtic (Scottish and Irish) music scene. Chicago was home to some of the best Celtic musicians on the planet, and it seemed like there were sessions and concerts almost every night of the week. In addition, there was always the chance to take lessons in any instrument, from harp to fiddle to accordion to bagpipes, from some of these musicians, either privately or through venerable institutions like the Old Town School of Folk Music or the Irish Heritage Center. Read the rest of this article

Tales from the Road

by Mark Kneeskern

(Editor’s note: We introduced Mark in our August issue and invited him to contribute writings from the road as he currently uses his thumb as his primary mode of transportation.)

Almost cut my hair …

I amble to the roadside and it’s the first day of school again. An exciting moment. A nervous moment. Lessons await in the classroom of the world. I’m much older now, not riding the bus, instead traveling in multiple cars with random strangers. I’ve got my best “Back To School” clothes on … a button-up shirt with wild colors and patterns from top to bottom, shorts with deep pockets for my notepads, pens, markers and digital camera. I’m vying for the attention of drivers instead of cute classmates. Read the rest of this article

Down on the Ground Talking With Tea Partiers

by George Sibley

Most of the local Tea Party leadership was sitting on a bench in front of a local coffeeshop as I came out from a meeting, right by the bike rack where my trusty rusty bike waited patiently. Three of them – call them Tom, Dick and Harry, names changed to protect – whatever. I know two of them by name and vice versa, although we’ve never talked much. But as I grabbed my bike and kicked up the stand, saying something polite seemed to be in order. Rather than the weather, I decided to try flattery.

“Wow,” I said, “seeing the three of you here like this makes me think the government should fear for its future.” Read the rest of this article