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The Peak Puzzler
Test your trivia with the Peak Puzzler weekdays with Brian and Mark at 8:35 am.
Win an Office Party at Rumbay
Win an office party for your entire office with Rumbay and The Peak 95.1
Sign up now on the internet for your office to join The Peak 95.1 at Rumbay this Friday.
Questions:
How many people will be attending your party?
What is the name of your company?
When would you like to come? (Friday Nights Only)
Click here to signup for this contest on-line!
Peak Party Lunch Hour
Join Shawnee weekdays at Lunchtime for The Peak Party Lunch Hour. Call in your requests to 473-PEAK (7325).
Sponsored by Dos Hombres
Battle of the Sexes
Men and Women try your hand at what the other knows best. Join Mark weekday morning with at 7:05 am.
Sponsored by 7th Wave Car Wash
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Ewy in the afternoon
Ewy on the ride home
Jared Ewy gets you home with up-to-date traffic information,
entertainment, and the Best Mix Of Music.
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Jared Ewy
What is with this man?
and now the continued saga of Ewy breaking his back...
Ahhh, the Animas River, one of the last free-flowing rivers in the West. Like a dull dagger it slowly cuts into the San Juan Mountains, mercilessly wounding the ancient rock until it's contents can spill forth down into the Animas Valley and to the people that flock to water like moths to a porch light. A snowflake that lands on top of Engineer Peak, 14,000 feet above the sticky saltwater of the sea, eventually melts and finds its way into the Animas River. A snowflake, possibly originating from an evaporating horse trough in Kansas or maybe even rain puddle in Beijing, has made it's journey from mountain peak to river to me--laying unconscious on the muddy banks of the Animas.
Luckily it was late October, so the river was running at it's lowest flow all year. Only my legs were underwater, but had it been two months earlier, my head and torso would have joined the rest of me in the freezing runoff.
So, there I was, Mr. Hotshot Small Town Deejay Boy, out cold in the mud...and dreaming.
I must tell you that I am not the most spiritual person in the world, but as I lay in the river enjoying one of the best naps of my life, I dreamt of spirits--and rituals. In my dream I was just another part of a huge crowd pressing into each other to get closer to an ornately dressed figure on a rather plain stage. (Actually, I think the stage in my dream was the one from the Walden, Colorado Elementary School gymnasium, which was built sometime before WWII and used mostly for a good hiding place for young couples to try and make it to first base. Oh, another quick aside: In sixth grade I had advanced to first base quicker than any of my classmates. So, in an attempt to move even further, I arranged to meet my girlfriend, Nicky, in the dressing rooms beneath the stage. I was to show up with my friends and she with hers, and after some encouragement from our moral support, we were to be left alone so that I could see her bra. The moment was set Nicky and I were alone. Her friends could be heard giggling on one side of the dressing room and mine, Bert and Brent, could be heard on the other. We stood as far away from each other as the ten by ten-foot space would allow. Somehow Nicky had made about a twenty-foot distance between us. We waited, staring at each other in bewilderment, trying to figure out how we had ended up in this predicament. Our attention turned to our friends. Their giggles had turned to jeers, "you're to chicken to do it" and anxious curiosity "c'mon Jared, hurry up and tell us about it." Nicky made a quick move to get the whole process over with. My pulse raced to a wild African drumbeat. Like a camera shutter my eyes widened to take in all of the light I could. SNAP! It was dark. Nicky screamed. I ran towards her, now squinting, to see if I could still catch a glimpse of something to take back to my friends. But with my head down towards my targeted visual and no light in the room, I ran right into a frenzied Nicky. We both screamed. I think my pre-pubescent squeal was of a bit higher pitch than hers. My friends roared with laughter. My friends, a term used loosely for the two bozos who had turned off the breakers and left me in the dark-- stranded at first base.)
Under the night sky the large crowd pushed forward to see the mystical man on stage. The spotlight that illuminated him seemed to split into to separate beams. One drifted across the mass of faceless people and landed on me (if only I had this extra lamp in sixth grade.) I think I was at the threshold of epiphany. This man was going to tell me something that would change my life. I was going to lifted to the height of new existence, transcending my old beer-drinking, goofy self. A new me would emerge from this dream. Why had this god-like being singled me out from the throngs of his admirers? He must want to tell me the secret to life, but no. I woke up before he could speak.
The dream was over. (Nicky has since settle down with a nice husband and two children.) A billion melted snowflakes ran over my feet. As many nerves shouted something from my back to my brain. I quickly learned that the message was all about pain.
to be continued
You can email Jared Ewy at:
Jan Carter
Jan will keep you moving with local traffic.
Jan Carter has worked in broadcasting for more than a decade as a reporter,
copywriter, producer and commercial voice-over provider.
When her plan to simply build a new interstate next to the existing lanes of
I-25 was rejected by CDOT officials as "silly," she was unbowed. Carter is
now planning to retain Dean and Mark as the engineering firm for the
project. Expected date of completion is 2077.
You can email Jan Carter at:
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