SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN. We then passed a molybdenum mine that looked, with its cupola roof and windowless metal walls, like some secret government installation where captured aliens were being held and interrogated. But I liked Leadville from the first. I liked it, in spite of the fact that either the bouillabaisse or the altitude had turned me into a nauseous, headachy, exhausted sack of miserable metaphoric cells. The highest incorporated municipality in America, at ten thousand feet, Leadville is a mix of miners and ex-miners, outdoorsy types, alternative types, employees of the pricey ski resorts an hour down the interstate, and other assorted unlabelable souls. The main street—another historical district—sports a few blocks of red brick buildings and saloons with a distinctly Old West feel. It was like Deadwood, but harder to get to, less touristy, more real. We checked into the Delaware Hotel, yours truly feeling so sick that he swallowed his pride and allowed the young man behind the desk to carry his bag to the third-floor room.
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