IN HOT PURSUIT: BUENA VISTA, COLORADO

…from the great Colorado auto tour of 2012…

Buena Vista, CO Town Hall

The daily 2:00 PM thunderstorm had just swept into town.  I’d stood with our party and predicted as follows: “In about a minute in a half, we’ll be soaked.”  I missed it by forty-five seconds.

Each with a fish taco on a Chinet paper plate balanced on our laps, sitting in the plush, leather accommodations of the rented Lincoln MKX (not my choice) we watched the shower cleanse the streets of Buena Vista, Colorado and the drama unfold.

Back step to Town Hall

No matter how small the berg, constabularies in most towns seem to employ Ford Crown Victorias as their patrol cars of choice.  The smaller and more remote the village, the more whiskers on the car.  BV’s Crown Vic looked collectable were it not for the crease in the right rear fender and the salt rust forming beneath the car on the side I saw.  Its siren whooped, however, as it had been installed only yesterday and it was the bellow of that siren that got our attention initially.  Through the thick veil of rainfall, the cruiser was in pursuit of the suspect on Main.

The Saloon

Citizens in Buena Vista helped.  Two young maidens, who’d been enjoying the cloudburst, clad in cut-offs and string-bikini tops joined the chase, as did a young twenty-something on a bicycle.

The suspect was described as a middle-aged golden retriever, perhaps golden lab, clearly guilty of cavorting about town sans leash. 

We pulled away from our parking slot and monitored the fray.

The Picture Show

The girls seemed to be having the best time of things – next to the dog.  They whistled and hooted and clapped their hands, crouching on one knee cooing and coaxing.  Dog waggled to within an arm-and-a-half length and then bolted.  The lad on the bicycle circled, perhaps more interested in the knit tops the girls were wearing than the stray dog.  No blame assayed here.

The cop had parked the Crown Vic catty-wompus in an intersection and was now in foot pursuit armed with one of those long handled loop things that you lasso over the neck of the offending party – if you get close enough.

           

Tracks thru town

 A well-travelled state highway bisects town.  Visibility was, at best, limited.  The dog was headed for the highway.  The young ladies sprinted after him, their gleeful hoots now sounding more desperate.  Bike boy flashed past.  The officer hotfooted back to his vehicle.  A Coors Beer truck – Coors is big in these parts – pulled in front of us, blocking the view.  Blinded, we waited for the light to change and the traffic to clear.

Two cycles later we were heading south on the state route.

Dog had safely crossed; girls stranded on the other side.  Loping down the street, he looked over his shoulder and appeared to be laughing as only dogs can do.

© 2012

Church of the Open Road Press