|In the very early seventies I was suddenly living in Colorado, after having almost no experience with the West. I loved it --
the young guy making all kinds of scenic discoveries around him. Cripple Creek was a particularly magical place for me -- before the casinos -- and particularly in the winter, when it was almost eerily quiet,
it was other-worldly.
This working Texaco station sported a double rainbow of old signs. The more common one at left was only politely out-of-date
at that point.
The other one -- wow!