I’m really not sure whether his mispronunciation was kiddingly intentional or a genuine attempt at getting it right. He’s not fond of traveling in the first place. And in the second place, he sometimes worries if people will return from trips with both kidneys.

Ironically, he only has one kidney, having very kindly donated one to a sibling years ago. And just in case you’re wondering, my research finds that there has been no documented case of human organ theft in Las Vegas, contrary to urban legends which continue to persist.

I was in Leadville for the grueling Leadville 100 mountain bike race which is “big stuff” in the cycling world. I believe there were 1,700+ racers, professionals and amateurs, who qualified for the event this year. Various members of my family have raced over the years. My oldest son was our lone racer this year — his eighth time. He rode well and earned another trophy belt buckle.

My daughter and granddaughter have qualified for next year. Aliza turns 18, minimum racer age, in time for the 2026 race. Mountain biking has become a big deal in Utah high schools. Aliza is a top-notch senior racer at Sky Ridge High School which has a team of more than 200 cyclists.

Let’s get back to the hostel that I mentioned at the top of this story. It had been years since I’d stayed at a hostel. Back in the golden olden days of the 1970s when traveling in Europe, we stayed in youth hostels rather than hotels. Even though the word “youth” was there, people of any age were able to use these accommodations.

They were cheap and usually well located. Part of the reason these places were inexpensive was because it was dormitory type sleeping quarters — often bunk beds, like in a military barracks. Men were in one area, and women in another. And, in the morning, before departure, it was typical to be assigned a work duty — usually some sort of cleaning job. Hostels are still a pretty big thing in Europe and around the world.

A memorable hostel I remember from my youth was in Killarney, Ireland. Two friends and I had travelled through the rain for several hours on small motorcycles (125cc size, as I recall) in the dark. How we made it there alive is a mystery. Arriving at the hostel was like being admitted to heaven.

The hostel in Leadville had private rooms, but a common kitchen and living rooms upstairs and downstairs. And, bathrooms and showers were shared with other guests, but designated by gender.

It was fun for me to sit at the community table and visit with fellow travelers. It was a blast from the past.

The one “unfun” moment was when “nature called” in the middle of the night. Some of you of a certain age (old) are aware of this phenomenon. I got up and walked from my room in an adjacent building, to the main building, 20 feet away, where my restroom was located.

All was well, until I attempted to reenter my bedroom building with the door code. The code didn’t work. A second time — no workie. A third try. A fourth try. It was 2:30 a.m. and I started worrying about the safety of my kidneys.

As I stood there in the moonlight and in my version of pajamas (basketball shorts), I sent out a silent, “Help me!” (Yelling would have been embarrassing, but that would have been the next step.)

Lo and behold, looking through the window of the exterior door, I saw through the large entryway, which was filled with mountain bikes, a door miraculously open. It was the door to the only other sleeping room in the small building.

A woman (a rescuing angel) scurried out and let me in. She was wearing a hijab and didn’t seem to want to have a conversation with me in English. Never mind, it was, after all, the middle of the night. Oh, to be clear, she was wearing more than just a hijab.

When I checked out of the hostel, my 15-year-old freshman mountain bike-riding granddaughter, was with me. She looked at the huge glass-windowed refrigerator in the kitchen. Lots of food was visible with many different name labels on clear plastic containers.

She said, “Eww, I don’t think I could stay in a hostel. Look at that! Everyone’s food is all in there together.” Perhaps passage of time and budget awareness will have an effect on her hostile hostel attitude. Maybe.

Most of the rest of my party for the event in Leadville were camped with tents and a large camp trailer about 15 miles outside of town. They were near Twin Lakes right next to the river (Headwaters of the Arkansas).

Accommodations were tough to find in Leadville and I was determined to stay in the hostel that I had with no small effort secured.

I’m glad I had the experience.

My wife had other obligations, so she didn’t get the experience this time. She experienced dog challenges, a flat tire and a grandson baseball game. So it all evened out.

If you get a chance, visit Leadville sometime. It’s an old mining town that has found a second economic life in outdoor recreation, competitive outdoor sports and historical tourism. It’s about 100 miles Southwest’ish from Denver and about 100 miles East’ish from Aspen.

At 10,152 feet elevation, a couple of its nicknames are “Cloud City” and “Two Mile High City.” If you go, and decide to try the hostel, pack some attractive pajamas, just in case. — Merrill