Buckhorn Exchange, Denver light rail

I did not make this. 

This is probably the most prosaic meal possible to order from the Buckhorn Exchange, the oldest restaurant in Denver Colorado. FACT! The restaurant is in a very rough looking building with a faded mural outside that cannot be painted over because it is just so doggone historic. All sorts of famous cowboy types visited the restaurant in the early years and throughout to the present. The history covers every inch of the interior walls. And it is not the usual kitsch that is purchased wholesale to fill out a theme restaurant, no siree, it is the real deal, real artifacts, photographs of real historic figures that hung out at the restaurant, Buffalo Bill Cody, indian chiefs, railroad builders, gamblers, presidents, Hollywood types, famous local and national people, you name it. But we try not to hold any of that against the place.  

A light rail substation is located directly across the street, a natural decision because that was the spot of an original Rio Grand Railroad station and the Buckhorn Lodge that housed railroaders for the night. Each week the railroad men would cross the street to cash their paychecks whereupon they were given a token for lunch and a beer, the loss leader I suppose to a whole weekend of eating and drinking, so the place was as much a bank as a restaurant, thus the name Buckhorn Exchange. 

It's a mile from my home, basically a straight shot from Broadway down through the gentrified golden triangle, past the projects, to the ganglia of railroad tracks at the unsightly edge of town. On the walk down people were everywhere. Near the end, close by the rougher parts, people were actually yelling at me from their car, "Ew now lookie day -- white boy got a bubble butt!" And I'm all, "Don't even start with me. (But thanks for noticing)." 

I imagined the exercise would sweat the sick out of me. I don't know if it worked or not. I'm too tired to tell. I walked down to the train station, something of a mild adventure because my camera could attract unwanted attention, or so I imagined. Worn out from walking, I rode the train to the terminus then back to the Buckhorn. I thought that  would rejuvenate my energy but it didn't. My legs protested every step. I went into the Buckhorn and ordered the most ridiculously unimaginative lunch. The people there were so nice to me. They were closed for the period between lunch and dinner but the woman saw that I was out of sorts and instead of directing me up two flights to a bar with its own menu, she took pity and seated me in one of  the first floor dining rooms. The staff was busy with between shift tasks, but were nonetheless most generous even though I was wreaking havoc with their usual schedule. 

The Buckhorn specializes in weird meat. It is the place known for bison, ostrich, alligator, snake, all kinds of strange things. To order a turkey sandwich runs counter to the whole raison d'être of the place. The staff understands they will get the occasional fuddy-duddy who will not play the reindeer games, or eat one. Honestly, I couldn't handle much of anything even slightly challenging. All the taxidermy was already putting me off and  I'd rather not eat anything at all. I was only doing it because I knew I must. I'd have preferred a bland chicken pot pie.

That does it. Tomorrow I'm going out and score a chicken pot pie.  

Here's the Buckhorn's usual dinner menu. When you get there for dinner, they'll  have something usually for a special not seen on gentler menus. It looks like this online published menu is designed not to frighten people off. 

This is where I walked this morning that began this episode. I started out half a block from the Denver Art Museum, Hamilton building, oddly titled MAD Greens on the map. Mostly paved, there is little that is green about it. Between this big metal cow, and this clump of art center buildings. 

You can see all the tracks for the ordinary rail and the light rail at the far left on this map. I took the light rail with the farthest terminus then rode the train back just for fun and to see if my legs would stop aching. 

The following set of 120 photographs are gathered in 8 groups of 15 each. This is what I saw from my seat on the train and then from my seat in the restaurant. 

I did not take any pictures on the walk down to the station, although the walk is lovely. The thing is, the camera is strapped around my neck and under an arm like a backpack and it's a bit of a drag to stop walking and set up a shot. I was focused on my destination and I did not care to stop walking. 

On the light rail, again, there was nobody to check my ticket, and that makes me wonder why we even bother to buy them, unless they kick our ass if they do a random check and we don't have one, or something.

At the restaurant, I was the only person in the dining room.  

The diagonal streaks that you notice are reflections of interior train car lights. All these shots have an intervening window. 

This is 5-Points. When Denver was more segregated than it is now, this area was nearly 100% black. It is still mostly minorities but I like coming here and exploring. I imagine I look completely out of place, but I don't care. Deal with it. Below is the Denver Motor Vehicle ➘ where I just recently came by choice to renew my plates. It was crowded as hell and I could have done my business by mail, but I wanted to come here and insert myself. Everybody around me was complaining and unhappy, but I was having a great time. Maybe that's where a germ hopped on me. 

It is very dark inside the restaurant. I cranked up the ISO to maximum and carried on without a flash or any supplemental light. 

The last photo is from a bench next to the front door of the Buckhorn Exchange. I took a cab home because my legs wouldn't go anymore.