When I awoke as Gregor . . .

2010-09-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

2010-09-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

2008-10-24T22:36:00.000-07:00

outside zoka's in pine, CO

2008-09-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

2008-09-13T22:03:00.000-07:00

Said the waves to the sand . . .

2008-09-12T23:55:00.000-07:00

2008-09-12T23:24:00.000-07:00

2008-09-06T01:16:00.000-07:00

2008-09-06T01:03:00.000-07:00

Bill

2008-09-06T00:49:00.000-07:00

doors and keys and i don't know you.

2008-09-06T00:37:00.000-07:00

your highest of heights . . . .

2008-09-06T00:28:00.000-07:00

Apparently, your common trout is wiser than I . . .

2008-08-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

There's more than would be expected to fly fishing. That 'eleven and one' shit 'with a locked wrist' is not so easy. Put a top water fly, a big nymph tied to that, and a microscopic nymph tied onto that, and you're ready for a good tangled mess.

Dawn and i drank the pabst . . . which made us feel like expert fly fisher-folk.

She has a real patience for untangling the cat-cradles i wove with one wrong flick of the wrist. i think she slightly enjoys it.

She says, "Yeah. It's a challenge. I don't have patience for a lot of things, but . . . "

She's reading over my shoulder. She says, "It's true."

I'm not sure about the intelligence of your common trout, but i plan to hit the books and catch myself a few this weekend.

the south platte canyon

2008-08-26T20:52:00.000-07:00

The storms this day were incredible.

Backward with the Wardens

2008-08-26T16:16:00.001-07:00

We started to hike up a path to a higher lake, through a thick, green pine forest, both a little unnerved by the idea of mountain lions attacking. I'm generally pretty eager to spot a bear, but not so psyched at the prospect of crossing paths with a lion. They're just so sinister, in my mind. I'm not big on cats in general.

The forest, though beautiful, was much darker than everywhere else, and grew more dim with each thunder clap ricocheting off the rock faces of the mountains we were trying to get closer to. Dawn eventually became too nervous (or sensible) to go on, and we headed back for the car. As soon as we started back, it felt as though the storm had spotted us, and we could hear it rumbling through the woods close behind, giving chase. We were both tempted to run, but only walked faster, and the day kept its motif as a horror flick.

We passed and took note of several trees along the path that had been shattered or totally charred from previous storms. They were everywhere.

Once in the car we stopped and took some pictures of the meadow, where the storm was dropping bolts every thirty seconds or so and the thunder was now deafening at times.

We headed back to Ward to stop at the Millsite Inn, a bar and grill along the main road that Brian had told us was a great place for a beer and burger.

The bartender, Tommy, took an immediate liking/disliking to Dawn. He offered to spit in our food (on account of dawn being a Steelers fan), tried twice to shoot ketchup at us out of a plastic Heinz bottle by laying it on the bar and slamming his fist on it (again, maybe a Pittsburgh slight), and had a wise-ass answer to pretty much anything we asked. The door behind him was ancient, and came for Haggerstown, MD. I pointed it out and asked about it. "I dunno. It just walked here."

I pretty much quit talking at that point.

Craig, the ex-gold miner to Dawn's right at the end of the bar could have been thirty-five or sixty-five. I am not exaggerating. He had no front teeth, a scar over his left bulging, bloodshot eye, and his right eye was squinted almost shut. He held himself like a pirate. He claimed at one point to be mostly deaf, and i wondered if it was that, the booze, or the missing teeth that made him almost unintelligible.

We could make out about half of the content of his stories, and when i'd respond, he'd just give me a squinty/bug-eyed stare. (Speaking of bug-eyes, on the way home we found a still-alive praying mantis in front of a gas station, who had suffered an obvious head injury just over his right eye . . . but that's a different story). Craig saved his sister's food from a momma bear and two cubs, once, but not before the bear had opened a can of beans using it's claw like a counter-top opener, and he demonstrated in a way that made me wonder if bears, like raccoons, have opposable thumbs.

He had lived in the woods moving from spot to spot. He told us of how he and his brother drank a certain micro-brew that got them both shit-faced, and then in all seriousness advertised, ". . . and i'm an alcoholic. I can drink alot!"

He told us of how, at one time, 3 million pounds of gold had been harvested from the hills in Ward. "Do you know how MUCH THAT IS WORTH!?" He and i then tried to the math, together, (me knowing nothing of gold's current value) before he spat out the sum, "ALOT!!" Offsetting as he was, initially, Craig was a nice guy and very endearing, but still frightening fellow.

Behind the bar hung an vintage pin-up and two pictures of the Millsite circa '42 and '65. There was also one of those good-luck Japanese waving cats in a small glass case. Dawn found two ashes, or tiny bugs, in the foam of her beer. (I was surprised when she didn't send it back. I was also afraid of what might happen if she did, and a bit relieved when she pulled them out, shrugged, and took a swig.)

We watched the Steelers game on the color TV as Tommy shouted things like, "Where are their dresses!!" "They play well for a bunch of girls." "Thirty dollars a beer for any Steelers fans here!"

He turned to us, pretty much at random and asked, "What are two things in the air in Colorado that can get a woman pregnant." I think dawn ventured two guesses. Not sure.

"Her legs!!" he replied, and walked away chuckling.

By the end of our time there he'd bought us shots, kissed dawn's hand, and announced, "I'm deeply in like." Tommy had never been married, "Why fix it if it's not broken?", but was quite the closet romantic/dirty old man.

When dawn was ready to drive, we left and headed down the hill through town and on to Boulder (where we found the TBI praying mantis). We meant to return the next day to take more pics and see what the Wardens were up to.

But we didn't. We headed south-west, to a place more beautiful and thunder storms even more horrific and spectacular.

2008-08-24T00:23:00.000-07:00

2008-08-24T00:05:00.000-07:00

Ward, CO

2008-08-23T22:13:00.000-07:00

Dawn and I passed the town of 200, on a Saturday drive to nowhere in particular, wondering how we missed it. On the way out, we realized the only sign pointing into the town, off of Route 72, was one for the post office.

The locals prefer it that way.

We turned right, downhill, around a few sharp bends, and were both immediately concerned. I mentioned to dawn, as we passed an older woman in overalls and clearly bra-less, that it was good we were blaring banjo music. "Perhaps, we'll be accepted."

We both grew increasingly spooked, driving down the narrow road through town, as there were abandoned cars, trucks, mining equipment and backhoes, lining the street's side. Most were from the fifties or earlier.

Dawn's theory . . . we were both convinced we'd driven into the kind of horror movie that takes place during the daytime and is scarier than hell itself . . . was that the cars were left where their owners had met their bloody peril, sixty, twenty, two years ago.

My theory was that there was a tow-truck driving eccentric in town who ran out of space in his own front yard, and it being a small, bizarro town, folks let him park whatever, wherever.

Brian set us straight.

Brian could be forty, could be sixty. His teeth were corn yellow, his eyes like two pinholes, and his hair was long and stringy, eggplant colored and grey at the roots. He was a bit frightening, like everything there, and downright a nice guy, fairly intellectual, and full of fun facts about Weird . . . i mean Ward.

We started talking to him, still a bit terrified, when dawn asked if we'd parked in his space. (Ironically, in this town of 200 or so, there's no available parking because every spot's filled with a rusting antique.) He said yes, and that it was no big deal.

I asked him about the cars. "What's the story with Ward?"

"Basically," Brian told us, "the cars are there to make it look ugly."

I'd like to point it out, as i always do, that i was right. There was a local tow-truck driver that would pick up vehicles and drag them into town: but, the town was more than tolerant. They encourage it. Down to the mayor.

The Boulder police once came to town from twenty-some miles away and offered to tow the vehicles clear. The mayor, according to Brian, told them, "You take your fucking tow-trucks and get the hell out of town!"

Brian's lived there nine years, so he could only tell us so much. It took him a year and a half before locals started looking him in the eye. He's accepted now. One of the locals who was carrying a samurai sword on his shoulders and a pistol on his hip, and wouldn't make eye contact nine years ago, was the first one to his aide when he fell off a ladder in May and broke his ankle in two places (hence, the boot).

We talked ankle injuries and assistave devices for a bit.

We were standing, as we talked, in front of the firehouse, which i assumed from it's decrepitude was no longer in use. It is. The funny thing about it is, they have no water supply. They drive down the road to fill up the trucks. The other funny thing is, Brian lives next door, literally, and he and his wife have an eight-foot well in the middle of the laundry room.

Another local, PJ, told us that the water in Ward has been rated number 2 in the world for purity.

The firemen, after dousing a blaze, (again, per Brian . . . who was super nice and very much good for his word) line up in front of the ol' firehouse and light up a joint, pass around beers, and take congrats from the community.

Ward!

Dawn and i both agreed later that we, hearing that, wondered what would happen if there were subsequent emergencies.

Most folks in Ward work at a local retreat, Gold Lake, where Brian encouraged us to visit and partake of the kayaks, lakeside hot pools, clothing optional swimming . . . and where 200+ democrats will vacate next weekend. He told us to do what we like, and if anyone asks, we know him.

We drove out of town to the nearby mountain top lake and got out to take pictures. Moving water ran through the middle of the placid lake and a few fish jumped while we were there. A man on the shore was pulling the skin off the six trout he'd caught earlier, the way the park ranger had showed him. Brainard Lake

We took a short hike, to a higher lake, after reading a warning and refreshing ourselves about what to do if a mountain lion approaches/attacks.

Great Lake Swimmers are playing at my house . . .

2008-08-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

Kev, you should have heard it! Dawn and I were both wishing you were there. It was in a tiny, weird little Manitou gear shop/bar that was about the square footage of my place, with less folks than could fit. And they sounded better than either of their albums. I will not make fun of that guy's voice again.

The sticker we saw read, "Keep Manitou Weird."

2008-08-21T21:40:00.000-07:00

This was near the same place we found the avocado and doughnut side by side.

Though, really that was in CO Springs.

kev

2008-08-16T01:16:00.000-07:00

2008-04-07T23:13:00.000-07:00

Relax. Don't worry. Have a homebrew.

2008-03-28T00:45:00.000-07:00

Junes hit 21 this past Fourth of July, in dog years, and developed a taste for hops, choice yeast, and malted barley shortly thereafter. He and Jeff (Dawn's dog) clean up the spilt mash after bottling.

Dawn's mastering the fine art of homebrewing, and we've cranked out a good 30 gallons of it since november. We can't ship it, so y'all have to come by for a few. We're saving some for ya.

Late post of Farfar from November. Very late.

2008-03-28T00:40:00.000-07:00

and harper's ferry

Snow, we hardly knew you . . .

2008-03-28T00:31:00.000-07:00

2008-03-16T22:11:00.000-07:00

Yes, Tom. I'm very sore from seven months on a snowboard. Spring is almost here, which promises even less posts from me . . . as biking and backpacking season is nigh. More posts to come in the fall.

Plus, I can't find my USB cable to download pics from my camera.

Sorry for the lack of posts . . . been boarding.

2008-02-26T23:01:00.000-08:00

2007-07-28T01:16:00.000-07:00

2007-07-28T01:05:00.000-07:00

Mark and Jodi

2007-07-28T00:55:00.000-07:00

Kidding . . .

2007-07-08T11:34:00.001-07:00

"Cowboy up." 7.7.07

2007-07-08T11:28:00.000-07:00

More from the roof . . .

2007-07-08T11:13:00.000-07:00

July . . .

2007-07-08T11:07:00.001-07:00

"July, July. We both wake up so dry,
that no tears can leave us." - Karen Peris

Mt. Evans . . . .

2007-07-08T10:51:00.000-07:00

I guess the road to the top of Mt. Evans (> 14K ft.) is the highest paved road in the country, and maybe the world? I'll have to do some homework and get my facts straight.

Anyway - there was still plenty of ice on the lake near the top. It was interesting to see the summer bugs frozen in it.

Happy and unhappy fourth . . .

2007-07-08T10:40:00.001-07:00

I went down to Coors field for a Rockies game on the fourth - it seemed to last forever as they clobbered the Mets 15 to 3. After the game they let all of the folks in the cheap seats down onto the field to watch the fireworks. We weren't among them. Next year.

I've never seen so many folks turn cart-wheels. Something about getting on the soft grass, I guess.

The fireworks were some of the best I've ever seen.

Junes hates 'em. He greeted me at the door with his tail between his legs when I got home, then disappeared into the bathtub. That night he went to sleep in the closet, with his head ducked behind a full-length mirror.

A few things about my friends . . . Kev.

2007-06-21T20:21:00.000-07:00

Kev used to have the shittiest luck of anyone I've ever known. His car caught fire on the way back from VA Beach, and once the flames were extinguished he was left standing with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. No one had a light.

I believe his camera and some photo albums were stolen from the back of his charred Escort that night after he had it towed 101 miles to behind his apartment in Richmond, VA.

He's an incredible photographer. Shit luck.

Kev once pissed off the garage roof of the home I grew up in. I had already snuck back in through the window. Kev first peed onto a metal trashcan lid as I whispered, frantically, through the cracked window, "SHUT UP, man . . . you're gonna wake up my parents!" Our basset hound, Jessie, came to the garage's edge to see what was up, and Kev inevitably pissed on her too.

I was laughing aloud to myself yesterday thinking of something that Kev used to do that drove me nuts and embarassed me a bit. When buying something, after the clerk would ring it up and tell Kev the price, he would pause for a second, consider carefully, then exclaim something to the extent of, "Ok! I'll take it. It's a deal."

I texted him about this today, and he replied that he had just done it again this AM. It's a crack up.

Kev's ex-wife makes his brother vomit. She makes us all vomit. Kev's a trooper.

Kev has the most bizarre dreams of anyone i've ever known. I'm pretty sure he told me once of how his entire dream was in reverse.

Kev's a great guy, and I can't think of anyone who knows him that would disagree.

2007-06-17T12:52:00.000-07:00

A few more recent pics from Carbondale, CO.

2007-06-17T12:44:00.001-07:00

Some shots from hiking Sopris . . .

2007-06-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

We didn't quite make it to the summit, but I think we got pretty close. The path was under a good deal of snow near the top, and my trail-running shoes weren't cutting it.

I'll be honest . . . my fear of heights as I attempted hiking along a snowy cliff edge wasn't quite cutting it either. That was the ultimate turning-around point.

Self portrait at 31 . . .

2007-06-10T22:12:00.001-07:00

From the roof.

2007-06-10T22:00:00.000-07:00

Carwash. Carwash, yeah.

2007-06-10T21:46:00.001-07:00

If you ever call AAA because you've locked your keys in your car, and they want to open your door with a pump gizmo and try to talk you out of their using a Slim Jim (or whatever it is) . . . DON'T DO IT!

I watched the locksmith bend my door with that little balooning tool and mentioned, as I watched and heard my cardoor bending outwards, "That doesn't seem good."

"Oh no, it's fine."

Now, whenever I drive down the highway the wind whistles through the door. Whenever I go through a carwash or a heavy rain, it pours inside.

No big deal, but now you've been warned.

Happy Birthday Nicole, and me (about a month late) . . .

2007-06-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

Not Nicole.
Not Nicole.
Not Nicole.
Not Nicole, either.
Nicole.

Not Nicole.

Thanks Kev for bending an ear to my birthday histrionics. I didn't lose my job in fact.

Kev tells me I was crying (literally) over the certainty that my career was doomed the next day and was pretty much perseverating on, "My fucking co-workers!".

I was surprised. I hardly ever say 'fuck'. Only when I hit my head, generally.

I actualy woke feeling fine - probably on account of going to bed before 9:30 pm.

I went there intent of having two beers. The ride home was foggy, at best.

Junes, you surprise me.

2007-03-25T20:33:00.000-07:00

No harm came to this lamed bird. Juneau just sniffed and stared.

A long walk.

2006-11-26T23:28:00.000-08:00

A few pics from our long walk along the Beaver Brook Trail. I think we trotted about twelve miles of it, full circle. Juneau probably went over twenty, with all his back-and-forthness, and he's been lounging on the couch since. It's been nice.

I see a face in this one. An icy gargoyle.

Again, the camera does no justice. The open space here was awe inspiring.

Steve and Mandy . . .

2006-11-26T23:17:00.000-08:00

Joe and Missy, it was great to see y'all!

2006-11-09T22:05:00.000-08:00

Joe taught a man to fish.

Thanks, Joe.

I thought I'd ordered falafel, but apparently never did. The girl behind the counter suggested lemon hookah, and so we partook. This is a regular stop for me - a good mid-point on my march down Colfax, from Mark and Jodi's.

Joe was supposed to meet Zachary, but he's no longer employed there. Anyone there on one of my previous visits would clearly understand why (not that it had anything to do with me). It's a long story, and I recall little of it now. Ask Mark.

Young Love.

The Other End of Fall, in the city . . .

2006-11-09T21:55:00.000-08:00

After two years in Phoenix, it's so good to see snow again out the window.

So I've been negligent. We had fall. Pictures do it no justice.

2006-11-09T21:37:00.000-08:00

Pictures do it little justice. You can't hear, or see the aspen's shivering anticipation of the coldness to come.

It's incredible.

Somehow fall passed me by without my taking any good shots of its splendor in the city.

Biking to and from work each day, I kept reminding myself to bring my camera, but I'm not much for clear thinking in the AM, and never did.

Next year.

A few things about my friends . . . Tom

2006-10-07T02:36:00.000-07:00

I once drove to Tom's house in Burke. I think I hadn't seen him in quite a while. I rang the door bell, and he greeted me with, "Your breath smells like a bowling alley."

Tom once had an inch long hair growing from his cheek, just above his shaveline. When I pointed it out to him, he responded, "Ah, it'll pass."

Tom, Shane and I got ass backwards lost in the Badlands, SD, one summer. We got fried in the plains' sun. That night, there was a horrific storm and it seemed our tent was blowing in from all sides. The coyotes were screaming like terrified school children on the neighboring knoll. Shane burst out of a nightmare, howling, believing one of his big toes was being lopped off. Tom and I, both wide awake, already terrified, settled him down and he passed right out again. Tom gave his life to God that night, but then rescinded the next eve, stating he would truly give his life to Christ if Pizza Hut delivered us a miraculous pizza, where we were.

He later gave his life to Christ, and I'd like to talk to him about how that's going. He once asked me to come back to the fold.

After a day or more in the backcountry, Tom's known to incessantly fantasize over Pizza Hut pizza.

Loveland Pass, CO . . . the first real snow.

2006-10-01T19:38:00.000-07:00

This was the pic I meant to post . . .

2006-09-13T22:17:00.000-07:00

This one instead of the first in that last series, which was basically a vertical repeat of an earlier pic. What I mean to say is, Lookatwhatthelightdidnow!

Light was spectacular at 14,000! I took 122 pics, marveling at what the sun and clouds were doing with the ground and horizon - most didn't come out, as I was using a digital on auto, and couldn't see the LCD display in the light.

Rog, you would've had a hayday with your medium format. It's moving up from the end of my list, as far as handy hiking tools.

A final few from Bierdstadt.

2006-09-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

More pics from Bierdstadt . . .

2006-09-12T21:22:00.000-07:00

Those funny little snowball flakes I was telling you about.

Bierdstadt Peak, Arapahoe National Forest, CO

2006-09-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

Here are a few pics from my first 14er. Altogether an awesome hike, though my lungs were killing me and I thought for sure I was going to pass out several times.

It snowed there this morning, and then snowed these little round balls (like a fluffy hail?) right as we got to the summit.

June's came and ran circles around me, as usual.

On the drive up, he was thrown from the car window when I stomped on the brakes to avoid hitting a deep pot hole. No more than 5 seconds later, he was dumping on the side of the road. The experience truly scared the shit out of him, but not enough that he'd back off on hanging half out the window.

Aside from the defenestration incident, he had a great day too.

More pics to come. I took 122.

Junes

2006-09-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

For those friends who haven't met Juneau.

He's starting to chill out a bit. It's nice.

There's something across the street he obsesses over all day. At times, he's practically catatonic. I haven't figured out what he sees, but it hangs out near the dumpster.

Whatever it is, he adores it.

A more recent, sober acrylic.

2006-09-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

It's yet unfinished. I plan to put river rocks on the ground stretching off into the distance - but haven't had the guts to try and put them in, yet. I'm a little bit stuck.

I've had a few drinks on several occasions and have been tempted to draw them in with black and brown sharpies - but that would brake both rules . . . the acrylic one, and the sober one.

So I'll hold off until I figure it out. Kev advised against the sharpy idea, but it's still lingering as an easy out. Plus, then it would be mixed media.

Pics on the home . . .

2006-09-04T21:13:00.000-07:00

Kev's recent pic on his blog of the darkening blue sky with the trailing lights reminded me of this series I took outside of Phoenix, now taped to a wall in my apartment.

The other's an oil painting I tried in Phoenix, on my balcony, when I learned drinking and oil painting don't mix, for several obvious reasons, but most notably . . .

Geoff, you called seconds after I knocked over (and shattered) a jar of kerosene full of diluted red oil paint. It was a drunken, messy moment that tooks days of elbow-grease to try to erase.

Not unlike certain conversations I've had in a similar state of mind.

When I moved out, somehow, I was charged two-hundred bucks for stuff I completely disagree with (e.g a $40 trash removal fee I attribute to a Starbucks cup I left on the kitchen counter). I wasn't, however, charged for the gigantic, crimson, crimescene-esque stain I tried so hard to scrub off the concrete floor.

The pic is part of the painting now hanging in the dining room. When I look at it, I miss seeing the saguaro towering everywhere, lined in the strip malls and scattered throughout the open desert spaces. At the same time, I'm relieved I skipped town before the 118 degrees set in.

I haven't oil-painted since.

Sticking to acrylic and painting sober.

More of the Georgetown Loop

2006-09-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

The sulfur smell.

The spent ash, falling on our faces.

The resonance of the shrill whistle in our chests.

The lurching.

The early Autumn breeze and the late Summer sun at high altitude. (I got fried, totally disregarding the sun as I was comfortably in long sleeves.)

It was a beautiful day, altogether.

Tom, thought of you, and your lamenting the passing of the caboose in the name of practicality and faster commerce.

The Narrow Gauge at Georgetown, CO

2006-09-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

Gaaaaame POINT . . .

2006-09-03T20:34:00.000-07:00

Ah, bikers and their chaps, leather, and best of all . . . the tassels.

I understand the leather. I'd want it too, if I layed a bike down on the highway. The chaps, not so much. The tassels bring back fond, and sadly, not so distant memories of Ocean City, MD.

I particularly enjoy when they have the tassels streaming from their handlebars. I like to yell things like, "Hey, your sister wants her bike back!" or, "WHY NOT A BANANA SEAT, TOO!?"

With the windows up, of course.

Mariah dares me to do it with the windows down, but as testament to the fact that i never have, i'm still here writing this post.

She also dared me to take this pic, and practically demanded it go on the blog.

Game point.

Happy Birthday, Mariah!!

2006-09-03T20:13:00.000-07:00

'And I'm still in love with you,

I want to see you dance again.

And I'm still in love with you,

On this harvest moon.'

- Neil Young

Red Rocks State Park last weekend.

2006-08-31T20:57:00.000-07:00

Like a bird on the wire . . .

2006-08-31T20:46:00.000-07:00

I saw this bird hit these wires the other day while biking along the North Platte river. It literally "croaked", as much as a bird can croak, and then it plummetted.

I thought it was kind of strange that it had been tagged.

2006-08-25T21:53:00.000-07:00

More pics of the Rockies . . .

2006-08-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

"There's a kiss at the end of the Rainbow . . ."

2006-08-25T21:33:00.000-07:00

I once drove to the end of a rainbow. I can't recall clearly, but I think it was in Wyoming or Missouri.

At its end, on a meadowed mountainside, I met a couple who had done the same.

I felt like less of an ass, knowing these two had chased it, too.

I couldn't believe that every car in Rocky Mountain National Park wasn't pulling aside to check this scene out. A picture like this does it no justice.

A little bit ironic . . .

2006-08-25T21:09:00.000-07:00

This rock stopped.

2006-08-25T21:03:00.000-07:00