When I was a ten-year-old ragamuffin of a girl, my parents took my two sisters and me on a trip to Colorado. Part of the trip included a stay at C Lazy U Ranch, and that’s where I fell in love with Colorado and little cowboys, swearing that one day I would grow up, move to Colorado and get me my own cowboy. And that’s exactly what I did, or almost exactly. When our youngest boy was ten, I returned to the ranch to experience it all over again through his eyes.
The Night Before
“Giddyup yourselves to bed,” Baddy told the boys, a dart from a toy gun whizzing by his head. We were hoping for some alone time before I took off in the morning on a weeklong trip around Colorado, just me and four boys under the age of twelve.
The boys, with visions of Western films flashing through their heads, were too excited to go to bed. “I hate horses,” our oldest, Brevitt, exclaimed, running by me to escape his brother Axel, who was in hot pursuit of retribution. Brevitt often worried about new things. When I took him aside later to talk about his anxiety, a litany of questions followed: “Are the wranglers going to line us up and pace back and forth in their cowboy hats, spitting chew and telling us the rules, like in the army? Do they hold your horse by the reins the entire time? Do we have to actually ride the horse?”
I had anxieties too. What was I doing taking four boys on a trip around Colorado? Weren’t our best memories best left as memories? If I had given it much thought, I surely would have changed my mind, but I stayed the course, and we took off the next morning.
Returning to C Lazy U
On the drive, nothing looked familiar, but as we gained elevation and turned down the long dirt road to the ninety-year-old dude ranch, the floodgates flew open and the memories came rushing back. I grew anxious to fetch me a horse and venture out into the high alpine meadows laced with sage and lavender lupine.
Approaching three men whose cowboy hats touched as they laughed over some Western secret, I rolled down the window of Vini-Man to ask for directions to our cabin. They nodded friendly hellos and showed us the way.
As I unloaded the car, the boys raced off to check out the scene. It was my first quiet moment after the long drive, and I sat in a wooden chair outside the cabin to breathe in the crisp, cool air and take it all in. At first it was hard to shake how different my memory was from what I was seeing. The picture I had painted in my mind all these years had taken on a life of its own, and although everything remained just where I had left it, a quiet oasis untouched by time, my memories were of a different vessel. Back then, my sisters and I raced around, roaming from cabin to corral to grand lodge, but it all seemed so much more spread out now. I needed to get in it and feel it again.
So accustomed to having the kids attached to me, I was amazed to find them happily integrated into the kids’ program without my doing a thing. The counselors now wore the Velcro, so I strolled over for orientation.
The scene was energetic, with guests mingling and chatting as if they were longtime friends. We were introduced to the head wrangler, who had been at the ranch since my last visit in the ’70s. Known for matching guests to the ranch’s 165-plus well-trained horses, he compared riding a horse to riding a bicycle: “You need to put life into it before you can guide it.” Mountain biking I could definitely relate to.
The wrangler approached each guest to assess our riding skills and assign our horses. I mentioned that I was at least thirty years dusty but asked if I could have the full experience and join the fast group. I was chomping at the bit to gallop through the fields as I had as a child. In the end, I was glad he kept me within my skill level.
At dinner I walked into the handsome log dining room with trepidation. I wasn’t used to being on my own. Who would I sit with? As I stood in the doorway looking for an open seat, a nice-looking man stood next to me, also alone, and we made our way together to a table with two open spots. His name was Jake, and he was there with his four children on their annual trip to the ranch. He was a member of the fast group I so badly wanted to ride with, but he suggested I start off slowly. On my other side sat a woman who had traveled solo from Miami, a true adventurer. The more we talked, the more curious I grew; something about her questions made me think she was breaking away from a sheltered, possibly difficult past, but I could tell the answers might never come.
Meeting Lady
The next morning we fueled up and said hello to all our new friends; already it felt like one big family. Heading down to the corral in the crisp mountain air, wafts of memories surfaced only to disappear again with the wind. The counselors wrangled the children, and the adults gathered to meet our horses.
So caught up in the adventure of the story, I wasn’t prepared to climb on top of a large beast with a mind of its own. Mounting up, I said howdy to my speckled white horse, Lady. Her ears twitched back, and I puffed up my chest to let her know who was boss.
This was going to be awesome: riding in the great outdoors all day, breathtaking views of the Continental Divide and Indian Peaks Wilderness looming nearby, no little bodies interrupting my train of thought, which at the moment was delivering a whole lot of monkey chatter as the horses slowly headed up the trail. “This is great… isn’t this great?” Big sigh as my eyes scanned for Jake galloping through the fields.
Climbing higher into the mountains, I began to relax and let the scenery calm my soul. Watching the other riders, I tested my horsemanship. Lady was very responsive, only a bit less so than an expensive car. Remembering the wrangler’s words, I gave her a kick and a “Yawww,” and she took off. “This is how we do it,” I sang to myself, very quietly.
Linda
Back at the ranch for the afternoon siesta, I scanned the crowd for Jake. I wanted to hear about his day of galloping. I spotted him at a table with his riding group and strolled over.
A handsome woman welcomed me in. Think Lynda Carter in a Western. She was obviously the ringleader of this tight-knit group. Let’s just call her Linda to keep things simple. I envied Linda’s confidence. I admired her dark hair framing an intelligent face and her sexy Western wear: tight jeans and ostrich-skin cowboy boots paired with a cream silk shirt with delicate gold sequins trailing down her plunging neckline. She looked born to ride. As we talked, she said she wanted to use her horsemanship skills on the greener horses that hadn’t been ridden much since the previous summer. My envy grew stronger.
“Barn sour” is what they called it, which I had experienced on one ride when a horse stubbornly refused to leave the road for the trail. “Ummm,” I piped up to my wrangler, “I wouldn’t mind a bit if you traded him in for something more agreeable.” I was no Linda on a mission to break that lazy mindset.
Later that day, word spread like wildfire that Linda had been thrown by her horse. When I asked if she was OK, she seemed stirred but not shaken. “You’re resilient,” I said. “No, just relentless,” she replied, swaggering off to get back on her horse, her ostrich boots kicking up dirt.
The next day, out on the trail, I saw horses racing through a field and felt that desire again to be where the grass was greener, until I noticed the horses were missing their riders. When I pointed it out to the group, we all had the same thought: Linda. Pushing the envelope, Linda had been thrown again, and this time she went in for stitches. “If people request a horse that hasn’t been broken in for the summer, we expect them to be established riders,” a wrangler said when I asked what was going on. In true dude ranch style, the pampering was there if you wanted it, and so were the challenges.
Herding Cattle
Getting the big “Whoa, Nelly” for wanting to push it before I was ready, I took a cattle-herding clinic instead. Our wrangler, Ronnie, reminded us we were doing this for fun. “Howz about you go first,” he said, tipping his hat in my direction. “Bring me two calves out of the pen.” Lady was ready, and we moved in. Yeeehawww. My dyslexic directions confused her at first, but we figured it out, and it was exhilarating.
Every day I fell deeper into the luxury of “me” time, looking forward to evenings when the adults gathered at the ranch house drinking wine paired with delicious appetizers while the kids parallel-played in the pool with their beloved counselors, drinking an unmonitored number of shakes. Mutual heaven!
I often brought my laptop to write so guests could approach me and share their multigenerational C Lazy U stories. These people had been coming for years. One investment banker kept appearing by my side and then disappearing, asking with a mischievous smile and a wink whether I wanted to hear a really great story. He never did tell me that story, and I was certain there was a lot I was missing, but I was there to experience the story, not chase it.
The Morning Jingle
On our last morning, waking early to write, I heard horses outside our cabin. It was the morning jingle, when the horses are herded back to the stables after a night in the lush green pastures. Grabbing my camera, I tried to capture the hauntingly beautiful scene of horses galloping by, leaving nothing but a trail of dust settling in the early sun.
I feel so fortunate to have shared my first Colorado experience with my little Aspen boys. Although they didn’t need a dude ranch to discover their love for Colorado, they agreed that C Lazy U was “miles above ordinary,” as the ranch likes to say. I can attest to that, both then and now, and I’m thankful to the families who own the ranch for ensuring that this uniquely Western experience so many of us fall in love with as children stays true to our memories and lives on for generations to come.
A version of this story was published in Destinations Travel Magazine. Disclosure: we received complimentary meals and lodging for this review; our opinions are our own.
