The Steamboat Pilot & Today

Joanne Palmer

Joanne Palmer's Life in the 'Boat column appears Wednesdays in the Steamboat Today. E-mail her atjpalmer@springsips.com

Steamboat Springs — Here in Steamboat Springs we have two seasons: winter and construction.

After 18 years of living here, I’ve learned a lot about winter — layer, layer, layer — but until this summer, I knew nothing about construction. After a few short weeks of summer, I’d like to share with you my in-depth, comprehensive, no-holds-barred knowledge of construction.

Don’t. Leave. The. House.

It’s a monster truck rally out there. Yee-haw! There are massive dump trucks, mixer trucks, and semi trucks all grinding their gears down Lincoln Avenue. The new Rocky Mountain High? Diesel fumes.

There’s more orange on display now than during hunting season. Perky little orange cones dot the streets and orange signs announce, “Road Closed,” “Detour” and “Flagmen Ahead.”

Longtime locals pride themselves on knowing all the little short cuts, back streets and alleys where they can zig and zag to get where they want to go. Pronto. I even met a local who claimed he could go anywhere in town without making a left turn.

He moved.

I hesitate to give directions because familiar landmarks are gone. If pressed, I find myself stammering something like, “Turn left where the old Harbor Hotel used to be which is now … uh … um … er … Olympian Place no, Howelsen Place or is it The Victoria? Well, anyway, you know, one of those new buildings.”

Up until recently, I’ve been pretty blasé about all the construction traffic. I tried to find creative ways to pass the time and entertain myself while waiting for the signal person to flip the sign from stop to slow. I keep a little notepad in the car to jot down interesting bumper stickers I spot. On my list:

— Girls Love Dirt

— Skier

— Free Tibet

— Must Be Pretty To Live In The City

— Shoot A Contractor Save An Elk

— M is for Mother Not For Maid

— Worst President Ever

— Money Talks. Mine Always Says Goodbye

— Hard Work Never Killed Anyone But Why Take The Chance

— Give Me Coffee And No One Gets Hurt

— You Must Be From The Shallow End Of The Gene Pool

That’s fun for about a nanosecond. The most entertaining pastime is to watch, OK, spy on what other people are doing in their cars, either while driving or stopped in traffic. I’ve grown accustomed to people singing and, of course, talking on their cell phones. But texting while driving?

D-U-M-B.

For some reason, people think they are invisible inside their cars. Maybe the dealer told them the windshield is really one-way glass and no one can see what they are doing. This has given birth to the car-as-bathroom phenomenon. The other morning a woman sped by me vigorously brushing her teeth. Other me-monkeys put on eye makeup, shave and file their fingernails.

Yuck.

The main reason why the construction traffic is getting to me is that it took me 15 minutes to get to Sweet Pea Produce, and I was downtown when I started. I wait all winter for Sweet Pea to open, not for their produce — which would be too much of a shock to my sugar-addicted body — but for their pies. Late in February, I start dreaming about their strawberry rhubarb pies — pies, pies, pies! — and I don’t stop until the first forkful is in my mouth.

Let me just use this column to issue fair warning: If one more orange cone stands between me and my pie obsession, there’s going to be a trail of squished orange cones in my wake.

Watch out dump trucks. You could be next!