Catherine Dilts
The only time I’ve been pepper-sprayed was a few years ago when
I was in the Black Hills at the beginning of the Sturgis motorcycle rally.
Thousands of bikers – and a preponderance of biker wannabes – swelled the
population of tiny western South Dakota towns temporarily. I was glad our
August vacation was ending before Sturgis officially began. The biker culture
is not my cup of tea.
More to my liking was crewing for a RAGBRAI bicycle team
this July. Thousands of cyclists pedal across Iowa, from the Missouri River to
the Mississippi River. The week-long event travels through Iowa farm country in
a peculiar caravan of bicycles, buses, and RVs. Entire tent cities pop up for a
brief moment in time, housing cyclists and crew, until pulling up stakes the
next morning. I was enchanted by several of the overnight and midpoint towns.
My daughter and her husband, riding their bicycles across the entire state of Iowa, visited many more tiny towns the
support crews did not get to see.
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| RAGBRAI bicyclists invading Dyersville, Iowa |
Surely this is a peculiar phenomenon. Thousands of people
descending on small American towns for unusual events?
The third experience sealed it for me. These are not isolated
incidents. Especially considering the longevity of the Sturgis motorcycle rally
(over 85 years) and the RAGBRAI bicycle tour (53 years).
The Mesa Verde
Literary Festival is new. 2026 was only the second year for the event. It
followed a sold-out writers’ conference in Mancos, Colorado.
With a population 1,282, I was doubtful the remote town
could attract enough literature fans to make the trip worthwhile. Instead, I
was delighted to witness yet another small-town takeover.
What is this obsession with small towns? As a cozy mystery writer, I understand fans craving stories set in charming villages, burgs, and hamlets. The world is insular. The clues promise to be attainable. While the protagonist risks rubbing elbows with the criminal – or murderer – she or he also has access to law enforcement and reliable cohorts eager to solve the mystery. Preferably best buds, book club members, or unassuming little old people.
Back to Mancos. This agricultural town has the added appeal of re-birthing
itself as an artists’ colony on a miniature scale. You can see it in the
sculptures and murals. The Mancos
Common Press is reviving letterpress printing using the original equipment
still on site. There is a bookstore. Two coffee shops.
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| Mural outside the Mancos Common Press |
The Festival was recommended by my daughter’s friend Fleur
Bradley. Because it is in our home state of Colorado, we decided to give it a try. Keep in mind
that Colorado is a large state. With mountains. We talked our husbands and one
granddaughter into going. The men drove our RVs. The trip took seven hours
one-way.
We camped at an RV park that promised it was a short walk to
downtown. I tested that claim after we were settled in at the campground.
Granted, my crew is all fit. We walk and bicycle frequently. It was, as
promised, a short and easy walk to everything.
The Festival opened Friday with an author reception. A
meal’s worth of healthy snacks were provided, as well as beverages – soft
drinks, beer, and wine. Mark Stevens gave a short welcoming speech.
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| Mark Stevens welcoming authors to Mancos |
Saturday was fun. I especially enjoyed walking from the Mancos Community Center, where writers had books to autograph and sell, to author chats and panels. Many venues were outdoors. The weather was fabulous.
My co-author and daughter Merida Bass and I had our author
chat tucked away under the pergola of a cantina. Later in the afternoon, we
were outdoors at the library.
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| Jenny Dandy, Serra Wildheart, Antonio Farias, Merida Bass, Catherine Dilts |
We were pleasantly surprised by the crowds. I did not expect much turnout, considering the remote location. The Mesa Verde Literary Festival was worth the drive.
That’s the thing I’ve learned about small towns. When they
host an event, they turn out. To volunteer. To play host with accommodations,
food, and drink. In this case, to participate. To buy books. Merida was anxious
to see whether her newest book, Someday’s Garden, would be well received.
People bought it, and her other children’s picture books.
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| Merida Bass with her newest release, Someday's Garden |
If we’re invited back next year, I will attend the Festival
again. I will try to justify the drive time by making more of an extended
vacation, though. With Mesa Verde National Park only a few miles away, there's
no excuse. Mancos is a great base camp for adventures. And an unexpected artists’
colony in the Four Corners region.
While other folks are flocking to huge conferences and
participating in big-city literary events, I might stick to my comfort zone.
That small-town vibe is where I’m most comfortable.
(I probably need to explain being pepper-sprayed. A gal in
tight jeans riding on the back of a motorcycle may have accidentally activated
her self-defense spray. A cloud emanated from her general hindquarters region
and drifted to the sidewalk where we were walking. A painful experience I don’t
care to repeat.)
