From the last post, the only really significant thing I remember about the timber show is that the numbers one and two logrolling positions were duked out by a dude and a dude who lost an arm in Iraq. Guess who the crowd got behind? And unlike climbing or choke-setting, the logrolling is a one-on-one deal where the two dudes stand on opposite ends of the same log, and they run against each other and try to knock the other off. So I secretly rooted for the dude with two arms because I felt sorry for him. I think he took the number one slot, but obviously, I had other things to think about. Legendary coach Gordy somebody was there. Kris said he was missing fingers from logging accidents, but they could have been curled under from where I sat. Still, that's pretty awesome, I guess.
So we left for Portland early in the morning and made it to Denver on time where we met up with Doug and then to the Hertz guy, who confused the heck out of us. Seriously, the kinds of options they give you for your ride are convoluted, impossible to understand and probably designed to make you the loser no matter what you choose. At any rate, we got a Subaru Outback, which was a pleasant car to drive, and we took it out to Steamboat Springs, passing a sign in Silverthorne for "Master Bait and Tackle" on the almost-200 mile drive. No kidding, but no pic.
Mom and Dad had already arrived a few days before, and we arrived in time for beer and chips on the porch. Ray and I went downstairs, Doug got "the Marrakesh Room," which was the front door entryway (which no one uses), which had an air mattress and Carol's art all over. She is going through a glow in the dark phase, which sounds completely nuts and tacky, but her stuff is really cute and works with interesting and funky ideas. Like she has flowers in the light, paisleys in the blacklight and butterflies in the dark, and all in one painting. Yet she made the comment that she cannot call herself an artist (I believe it was, "Callie can call herself a banjo player, but I can't call myself an artist." I mean, I may not play well, but I do identify as a banjo player).
The next morning was Sunday, so I had to get my NYT X-word. On the way back from Safeway, Ray and I saw a bunch of people lined up on the street. Turned out they were waiting for a cattle drive down the center of Lincoln Street. The Pilot said there were about 100 head, which is far better than cattle drives past that Rob recalled, where there were more wranglers (apparently you can pay for the privilege) than cows. Like a 40 to 9 ratio. Anyway, Ray had his camera but I don't have any shots so here is some on the scene reportage and photos. They don't have any awesome pics of Ray and me in front of the herd, or this one bovine jumping on the back of another, it was so, uh, impatient.
We ended up going back out to downtown because dad wanted a cowboy hat. He looked all over for the cowboy hat that met his price point (i.e. supacheap) at F.M. Light. He was floundering through the 35-45 dollar ones when I brought him one from the $4.98 area. He had, shockingly, not seen any of these hats and was thrilled. He said he liked the look of them the most of all the hats, but let's be honest, my dad's favorite shirt for years was a green lumberjack plaid flannel he picked up off the street while in a moving car that was missing a button. The freeness of that shirt definitely made it more attractive to him. Anyway, here's the hat:
Also at the F.M. Light, and something I sorta regret not buying (it was almost $8, though) was Bear Soap. It smelled really good, not gamey or musky at all, and was allegedly made from the melted fat of local bears that had been killed in some fashion — not the bear ranch, I'm sure. As you can see, my shots all ended up blurry. My camera stopped opening its lenscap all the way when turned on, too. I am miffed. This thing needs to last.
Doug found a friend:
We also saw a Ranch Rodeo.
That's Kool and the Gang.
That's what they call a "cowpuncher." I think. Anyway, the Ranch Rodeo does not include buckin' broncos or bulls nor barrel riding nor nothing like that. Instead, there are four bovines representing four tasks the teams must accomplish in less than 5 minutes, all of which are typical of those tasks found on a ranch. This is the calf "branding," where a calf must be roped, felled and "branded" with tempera paint. There also is a steer that needs to be penned in a little pen, a steer that needs to be roped and have three legs tied together for at least 20 seconds and a "wild cow" that needs to be milked. Obviously, that's not a cowboy task, that last one, but it's darn entertaining to watch these cowpunchers try to milk a cow that clearly does not want to be milked.
There were some fraught moments, more than a couple cowboys got stepped on by animals (ouch) and the cowboy above had to get the calf ready to "brand" by flipping it over on to himself. As a sidenote, I saw a PETA photo not too long after of a split-second of a calf getting roped, when the rope was at its chokiest. It was pretty awful. But upon reflection, I had to conclude that this was a task of ranching, and part of the agreement the cows entered into when they decided to give up their wildness to be granted sure-fire reproductive success. This is part of the great genetic bargain, and I am sure the cows would much prefer a little roping to surefire extinction, which is what would occur if beef were never to be sold or et again anywhere.
Later, Ray began to feel a funny feeling in his nose and throat, a premonition of the sickness to come, and it would eventually hit him hard.
On the second day, we got bikes from the Bike and Ski Kare place. Dad and Doug hit the Yampa River trail, while Ray and I headed to the Spring Creek Trail. Huh. The bike trail map we consulted said it was only 4 miles. Obviously it was longer. Also, it climbed. A lot. I was sucking wind pretty bad, totally unadjusted to the altitude (almost 7,000 feet to start with a 1,200-foot climb). I had to stop quite a bit and got lapped by some geezers. Way to make me feel not hardcore at all. And although Ray had a sore throat, he was super perky and just blazed through the woods.
See, he's gloating.
Luckily the ride down was downhill, and we cut back a different way to hit downtown. We ate at the Old Town Pub, where in spite of the old-West/party time atmosphere the BLT had aioli. It was delicious, by the way. We met up with Dad and Doug, who were eating at the Cantina. Doug had checked his bike back in by then — biking is not his thing. Exercise is not really his thing. Dad was using Rob's bike so he put it in his trunk, and Ray and I biked back to Rob and Carol's. Not so easy now that they live way out in "Heretic Park," as they call it, instead of downtown.
Mom tried to get me and Doug into the photo-organizing spirit (she brought, like, three huge tubs) but the only thing I ended up bringing back home was the results of an IQ test I took when I was 15 that got me into the mentally gifted program at Central High School. There are numbers on it, like "Similarities, 18 , Arithmetic, 16, Vocabulary, 18, Object Assembly, 17," etc., and it struck me they were a lot like D&D attribute scores. I got 12s on "P. Arrangement" and Coding, but everything else, in the D&D universe, would have given me some sort of advantageous points on saving throws. I don't really know what it all means, and Google isn't helping. My final score was 139; a mark I'm sure I surpassed in later years but have since long left behind with creeping adult inflexibility.
Oh well, I'm less of a jerk now that I know I don't know nothing.
Then on Tuesday, Ray and I rode the bikes back to return them and somehow ended up getting our car and going to Fish Creek Falls with my family for a brief hike.
It was devilishly hot. We Northwesterners were pretty uncomfortable. After the hike, Doug and Ray and I kicked around a bit in an attempt to wait out the hot day with "WALL*E." Ray said he was feeling icky, so he backed out of the movie. I thought he was just decompensating from all the family time. But no, he was really sick. And boy did I feel bad when I realized he had not been able to enjoy being by himself downtown because he felt so bad he tried to sleep under a tree, then in the car. I took him back to Rob and Carol's, in complete agony, I'm sure, and got him fruit and a glass of orange juice.
"Wall*E" wasn't bad. The whole meanness to fat people thing wasn't cool, though, nor the "plain dude gets hot chick" vibe that you see all the time in sitcoms that was replicated robotically. I wish there was a TV show in which everyone was plain. I'm so tired of hot people. Also, I couldn't understand how people could live on a ship forever. Don't they have limited energy resources in space?
Ray's illness was greatly tempered by some magic Puffs with Vicks in them. Look for them come winter. They are brilliant. My allergic nose was soothed greatly by huffing them.
Ray slept like crazy and seemed a little better the next day. So we did something mellow. Because we had to prepare for the Great Horseback Caper. Which mom backed out of because she felt sick! Ay caramba!
We started with the Trantham place in Yampa, which Rob has been working on. (Well, I'm getting the days all mixed up, but go with me here)
I took a picture of the Antlers, though.
It's just a neat-looking little place.
Then, on to the horsies!
This is at the Elk River Guest Ranch, north of Clark. We all got on horses.
This is sensitive cowboy Tim, our guide. He was totally precious, and because dad was all the way in the back, I, the only extrovert in the front three, had to keep the conversation up. Don't think Tim is sensitive? Well, he said every horse has its own personality, and then he gave brief but very telling psychological sketches of the horses we were riding. His horse, whose name escapes me, likes to mess with people, and will get kind of sassy if not kept in line. My horse, Black Jack, was "the grumpy old man, who wakes up and is like, 'Gotta get to work.'" Ray's horse, whose name escapes me, is the "injured athlete," Dad's horse Al is Doug's horse's sidekick, and Doug's horse, Nacho, is a "lady's man."
Still don't think Tim's sensitive? His favorite wildflower is called "Fairy Trumpet," or "Faerie Trumpet," depending on how you care to spell it. No Mules Ears or Lupine for him. No, but seriously, we loved him.
It was so pretty. If a lot of these pictures ended up washed out and blurry, it's because someone didn't check to make sure the camera's settings hadn't slipped from auto to "P," whatever that does. Le sigh.
Thursday Ray said he felt better (translation: he felt stoic). So we went to Rocky Mountain National Park, which was great because the deal with national parks is always that although you're outside you're really not putting in THAT much hiking effort in a go. This is not Colonel Bob. Though it is higher.
12,000 feet, baby. Although you start at 11K so no biggie, except for all the panting. There was a herd of elk nearby enough to practically touch. The views were astounding. The wind was whipping. The sun was like a UV bomb. There was an interpretive sign that called the pica the "farmer of the tundra." I saw a pica up close. I saw a marmot up close. Then, just as we were getting to Estes Park, Ray practically hit a marmot. I saw some Russian or Estonian or something kids feeding chipmunks by hand, and managed to coax some near to me by pretending I had food. No, I'm sure this water-vomiting will go away soon.
We did a couple of hikes and stopped for a few views, then hit Estes Park for ice cream.
Who knew the Ren Faire squad had penetrated this cozy mountain town?
On the way back through the park, we saw an elk by the side of the road. There were two other elk on the other side of the road, and all three had huge racks. They kind of all panicked after a certain level of crowd built and got together and swam across this little lake. On the way through Granby Lake, Carol had told us to take pictures because it was predicted that in 15 years there wouldn't be a tree left standing due to pine beetle infestation. The damage was just way too depressing to photograph, though. I was really shocked at how hard the pine beetle had hit NW Colorado. The ski mountain even had streaks of red that should have been green. And as dry and hot as it is in Colorado, it wouldn't take much for it to all light up and be awful. Drought has been stressing the trees for years, and they're just not able to fight off the bugs (which are always there) any more. The links to global warming are obvious to the intuitive mind (like my own). Let's stop recreating the atmosphere of the Carboniferous era, plz?
Friday, after mom and dad left, we canoed on Steamboat Lake.
Then we went tubing. Dun dun DUN!
That's the mighty Yampa River, swollen with water from a record snowfall. I didn't take my camera into the water, obviously.
It all started out smoothly and calmly. But for Doug and Ray, there would be trials ahead. Doug foolishly listened to some kids and leaned back on a fall. Kerplunk! He was in the rushing water, struggling to get up to his tube, which was trapped in a "hole." He yelled at the kids to get it out, which, at some risk to their persons, they did. "God, don't let this kid be killed getting Doug's tube unstuck from the hole," I said.
Then Ray took a fall and his glasses started coming off and his hat came off and ... oh, he was going down on the slippery rocks. I saw the whole thing and it was pretty awful. By the time I floated up to him he was back on track, though, and the rest of the way was mellow. Seriously, it took some guts after his dumping to get back in the tube again.
Saturday in Denver we had lunch with Doug at Red Lobster (easy to access from freeway, they have coconut shrimp. Doug got a Food Network award winning recipe of some kind of fish in a macadamia/white chocolate sauce. It was gross) then dropped him off at the airport and then we saw urban stuff:
This is at the 16th Street Mall. We had been to the Botanic Gardens earlier. They're lovely. The cloud forest room was particularly pleasant, drenched with water and moisture and cool.
At the end of the mall, of which very few shops appealed to me (Walgreens, for example), was Tattered Cover. It was the most beautiful surprise. It was like Powell's, which I haven't been to in forever. But it was unexpected and much more intimate than Powell's.
We beat it from there to the airport and made it back to Longview late at night.
I'm still recovering.
1 comment:
Glad to see you're back in the saddle. Obligatory gnarly finger shot: http://flickr.com/photos/wageslavery/2638570540/
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