Red Rocks and Ivories

After our lovely afternoon at the Denver Botanic Gardens, we decided to drive out to Red Rocks, just 15 miles west of Denver. It is well known for its Amphitheatre, but is also a place for hiking, biking and enjoying the spectacular view.

It is 6,460 feet above sea level, and aptly named for the beautiful red rock formations where the Great Plains meet the Rocky Mountains.

The Amphitheatre seats 9,450, and opened in 1941. Inside the nearby museum, we enjoyed looking at the long list of artists in the Performers Hall of Fame.

It is the only naturally-occurring, acoustically perfect amphitheatre in the world. It would be awesome to attend a concert there.

The view looking back toward Denver is breathtaking.

As are the rocks that surround the stage and give it the acoustical perfection.

We even found someone to take our picture while we were there.

As my brother likes to say, "God is showing off today." That is how I felt, surrounded by the beauty of this place.

Looking from the parking area toward the museum.

We stopped at a photo spot on the way down.

Jim posed in the rocks.

Back at the hotel, we enjoyed the lobby view of the stained glass roof. The bellman told us that the roof is original, and has been maintained by the same company since the hotel was built.

We relaxed in the atrium, where I enjoyed a Raspberry Lemon Drop.

This case, in the lobby, tells about a steer that got loose during the National Western Stock Show, and came trotting past the hotel. In honor of the show each January, the Grand Champion Steer is led down a red carpet and put on display during Afternoon Tea at the Brown Palace. A real life version of a 'bull in a china shop.'

Another view of the lobby during the cocktail hour.

We ate dinner at the hotel in the Ship Tavern, where prime rib is a specialty.

And, of course, I sampled their bread pudding. Delicious.

Just as we were finishing our dinner, the piano player came in to start the evening's entertainment. He was quite near to our table, and I said to Jim, quietly, "I don't suppose we should ask him to play 'When the Saints Go Marching In.'" (We were in Bronco country, you know.) Apparently, piano players have very good ears, because he immediately started a quiet, then louder version of 'Saints.' I got up to tip him, and take his picture, and we thanked him for playing a song for the visiting team. He laughed, and said he was so not a sports fan that it didn't even occur to him why we had made the request. I thought it would be good luck. More on that later.