Spaceport in Colorado
Who knew?
Colorado is home to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, and the Space Force was HQ’ed at Buckley AFB until “he who shall not be named” moved it to Alabama on a whim. Now, some common-sense Congressional wranglings might keep Space Force in the Centennial State. It was only recently I learned that we have a space base as well.
Far out! I’m not just randomly quoting the late John Denver. It really is far out, in a small town named after its water tower. Watkins, Colo. by all accounts is where the Eastern Plains of Colorado begins, and the first stage of my adventure was finding the Colorado Air and Space Port on GPS. On my first try, it tried to send me to a Starbuds dispensary up in Broomfield. Then, the space-based GPS sent me out beyond Aurora on Quincy Ave. Give me a full tank of gas — er, fuel — and let’s blast off.
I never realized how far east you can go on Quincy Ave. It truly is another world. I was in near-Kansas when I decided to check my altimeter and coordinates, only to find that I was off-trajectory. Without interference from any commercial or industrial communications as far as the eye could see, in any direction, Mission Control redirected me about 10 parsecs to the north.
“Watkins, come quick. I need you.” I was dangerously low on coffee and about to burn out my retinas from looking directly into the rising sun. I couldn’t tell you if the Space Port folks planned it as a “Welcome to Earth” feature for aliens, but there sure are a lot of cows out there. The ones I saw appeared to be healthy and right-side out. Several of the cows were checking on the status of their solar panel farm and satellite communication systems. All systems “Go!”
A road sign indicated that I was drawing near to Watkins. You had to know something important is there when your town or city is included on a mile marker sign. Still, I worried that if it was this hard to find the Space Port from its home planet, how might alien wayfarers find it? There was no guard house or entry gate, as I expected. There was a military installation with a tank pointed ominously toward the road. I was warned by a sign — in English, only, which I found peculiar — that I was under video surveillance by an intergalactic agency called “Airport Security, Inc.”
I passed the Army Reserve center and if I chose, could have driven out on the tarmac. I parked in the parking lot instead. The terminal building was open and decorated for Christmas. I made a thorough inspection of the facilities because they say you only rent coffee, and I believe that. Only one person was in the office area behind glass walls, a celestial beauty with flaxen hair. I was going to ask a few annoying questions but she was obviously quite busy. Not that I was staring, but apparently alien races still use fax machines. How quaint.
On the far side of the terminal, past the entrance, was a Mexican cantina with a sign that said, “Please Wait to Be Seated,” although there wasn’t anyone there to seat me. Perhaps the hostess was abducted. It made sense, because if alien visitors were coming to earth for any reason besides mutilating cows and making crop circles, they were probably going to want Mexican food. It was festively decorated, though, and for a small place it had a vast array of alcohol behind the counter. About two dozen tables with chairs were eerily vacant.
The terminal was mere window dressing for what I came to see. I went through the doors onto the tarmac. Once again, there was no security. To my utter disappointment, no alien spacecraft, either. A variety of small and medium-sized jets and prop planes were parked and chained on the tarmac. Airplanes landed and took off on the runway, although they never taxied toward the terminal. Odd, don’t you think?
On the west side of the airplane parking area was a Phillips 66 fueling station. Someone was filling their aircraft at the pump. It was an Earthling. He waved and said hello.
I walked the length of the tarmac area anticipating that I would find the hangar for the alien spaceships. My hopes were dashed. I did enjoy watching earth-based planes take off and land as I waited for the aliens. It became obvious after awhile what was going on.
The empty Mexican cantina. The planes that took off from somewhere, but not from any of the hangars. The planes that landed but never taxied toward the terminal. It was Saturday. Apparently, aliens don’t land at the Colorado Space Port on Saturday.
(All photos Copyright Kerry Gleason 2021)