9/9/09: Labor Day, Camping and White Supremacy

Interesting title, no? Well, a holiday weekend spent camping with 3 other families and their children turned into a surreal adventure. 18 of us have been camping together for about 6 years now and, as in years past, this was shaping up to be another peaceful adventure - and a more fun one given our collective kids are older and more self-sufficient. They would have more time and energy to play together, and the adults would be able to spend more time chatting around the campfire.

As we pulled into Pickle Gulch, off Hwy 119 past Blackhawk, we passed about 50 bikers (the motorcycle variety). Wearing white leather jackets, their name 'Invaders' was emblazoned proudly across their backs. "Interesting," I thought. Pickle Gulch is pretty big, so I didn't expect there to be many if any run-ins or issues. Let bygones be bygones, and all that.

I should have known something was amiss when a couple hours after arriving we started hearing music blaring over a PA system. Any hard rock or heavy metal song from the 80s was pumped through concert-grade speakers for all at Pickle Gulch to enjoy. Who needs XM Satellite Radio? This was the first clue we were no longer in Kansas. The music started every morning bright and early, before 7, and continued until what I assumed was a campground curfew around 10pm.

The first morning, instead of waking up to the sweet melodies of mountain birds or the scurrying of squirrels, my eyes shot open to the rapid report of semi-automatic rifle fire. And then individual shotgun blasts. In a campground. Oh, boy . . . The old lady who manages Pickle Gulch showed guts walking over to the Invaders compound and telling them to ease off the merriment. Thankfully, nobody - at least nobody within the immediate vacinity - was hurt, or worse. And that was the last of the target practice.

Later that day, Lori and I and another of the mothers went out for hike. We exited the campground and started walking up a dirt road toward the trailhead. Coming down the road was a big white van followed by 3 of the bikers, ape hanger bars and all, their bikes flatulating obnoxiously. As the van turned into the campground, the lead biker laid his bike down and crashed. He was fine but had a difficult time righting his bike. The van stopped and the passenger got out, running back to help the guy. The back of his shirt displayed the 'SS' logo of the WWII Nazi Stormtroopers with the words 'Support Your Local White Boy' surrounding the emblem. Clue #2 we were no longer in Kansas.

The van's driver then got out to help. On the back of his T-shirt was a Swastika with the words 'It's a White Thing. You Wouldn't Understand.' Clue #3. In simplistic terms, our group of 18 occupied the middle of the campground. The white supremists were to our left. To our right camped about 20 Mexicans. I remember thinking, "White supremists to the left; Mexicans to the right. Awesome." And one of the families in our own camp is Jewish. Nice.

The music was so pervasive it turned into a constant droning. I half-expected to see bowls of magic Kool-Aid sitting out for all to drink. What I DID see was a huge Union Jack flag flapping in the mountain breeze in the middle of the haters' compound. Oh, and the kids found some shell casings from the makeshift shootin' range.

For many of the wrong reasons, this particular excursion will be memorable. Of course, we enjoyed each others' company and it was a great way to say good-bye to Summer. Good friends, good stories, good food. And a healthy dose of white Supremacy.

It don't git no bettuh 'un this.