France

My life in France is here:

imfromcanada.blogspot.com

Moving on...

Last night, for the first time in a long time, I slept in a bed in a room with air conditioning. It was only one of many wonderful moments I've experienced in the last 24 hours since moving out of the place I was living with the crazy woman. My friends, Andy and Jess, allowed me to move in for the rest of my time in Colorado. They recently bought a house that has a spare bedroom, and, well, I'm their Dupree.

It's only now that I remember how nice "creature comforts," such as air conditioning on a hot day, can really be. It's also nice to like the people with whom I live. However, my residence was contingent on my eventual departure. That being the case, yesterday I bought plane tickets to travel to France. I'll be leaving Denver at the end of August to drive back to omaha, see family and friends, and leave my car. On September 3, I'll fly to Philadelphia to visit a friend, and on September 6 I leave New York for Barcelona via Copenhagen. From Barcelona, I'll travel by train to southern France where Marie, my employer, will pick me up and take me to the estate. I'll live and work there for the next year or so.

This is, of course, contingent on my receiving a visa from the French Consulate in Los Angeles. On Monday they'll receive my application, and if things go well, I'll receive a visa in 7-10 business days. If I don't receive that visa, my plans will change dramatically, but I'll still go to Europe.

Intolerable heat.

Today, Denver set a new record high temperature. It was 103 degrees outside. Currently, it is 92 degrees inside the apartment home I share with an insufferable, intolerable, inconceivably cheap, passive-aggressive, swimsuit-wearing, non-air conditioning-using, obsessive-compulsive, note-leaving old woman. To mitigate the high temperatures, we've opened a window and turned on a fan. That ought to take care of everything. I think I feel it cooling down already. In the interest of not making anyone nauseous, I will not include any photos with this short post.

Great Basin NP? Sure.

On top of Mt. Baker, looking south.


A few months ago my friend Andy and I were sitting in the office at the end of yet another mind-numbing exercise in futility "building" trails for Jefferson County - also known as a day at work. We were trying to kill the requisite 30 minutes of time we spend not working at the end of each day by reading back issues of Outside magazine. I happened upon an article detailing a backcountry weekend trip in Nevada's Great Basin National Park following unnamed ridges across unnamed peaks to thousand-year-old stands of Bristlecone Pine trees, the oldest known living organisms on earth today. It seemed like a good idea, so we went for it.

Some of the living ones are over 4900 years old.


As we left Denver on Wednesday, we drove into rain. Not a big deal - it probably wasn't raining 700 miles west, anyway. Well, we continued to drive in rain through Colorado, and then Utah. On Thursday, after lunch at the 'Lectrolux Cafe in Baker, Nevada, the waitress warned us about the recent rash of afternoon showers and storms blasting the park, and we shrugged our shoulders and decided that we didn't have much say in what happened and that we needed to get on our way - the park was waiting.

High-altitude Columbines.


After visiting the not-so-spectacular visitor's center, we headed up up up to the parking lot at 10,000 feet and set out on a short hike to check the local "glacier," - the only permanent ice feature in Nevada. As the skies darkened around us and thunder echoed off the brittle rock walls towering 2500 feet above our heads and lightening cracked closer and closer and rain began to fall, we decided to take shelter under a tree, and a tall one because it had more branches to block the driving rain (brilliant!). After basically being chased off the mountain, we regrouped and the words "Las Vegas" were mentioned once or twice (we were only 4 hours away), but, tragedy averted, the skies began to clear behind towering Wheeler Peak as we cooked dinner and the race was on to hike out of the basin and into the backcountry.

Sunrise against Mt Washington.


We reached the saddle as the sun set below the storms to the north, producing one of the most amazing sunsets either of us had ever witnessed. Not having much time to check the area before dark, we set up camp and went to bed. The morning, however, provided a disconcerting surprise. As Andy walked off to meet the call of nature, he stumbled upon a freshly killed deer carcass, which was uneaten. That deer had likely been killed by the only local predatory macro fauna - the mountain lion (or as we affectionately deemed it, the alpine pussy), and lions typically don't a) move very far from their kill and b) let anything threaten their hard work. Later realizing how foolish we were to inspect the kill more closely, we became much more thankful for not being killed and for the impending good weather.

The next three days were filled with long hikes up tall mountains in search of amazing views, rapid descents through deep valleys looking for life-giving water, and camping spots among thousand-year-old trees seen by only a few people lucky enough to learn about these living legends. We played Bristlecone baseball at 11,000 feet, and let me tell you, the cones really carry at that altitude. We stumbled across abandoned gold mines from the early 1900s on a failed attempt to find water. We threw rocks down thousand-foot-deep fissures in the mountains and listened closely as they caromed and echoed across the valley below. We were chased off the mountain on our final day after a desperate ascent against nature before arriving at the car as the rain drops began to fall.

This one's dead, and probably has been for a few thousand years.


We ended our stay in Nevada at the same place where we began - the 'Lectrolux Cafe in Baker. As part of our extensive and exhaustive calorie replacement therapy, we shared an appetizer of pizza before burgers, fries, slaw and, for me, and few of Alaskan Brewing Co's finest ales. I had lost nearly 10 pounds in those three days, so I felt justified in the slurpee I purchased a few miles down the road. However, I soon found that eating a slurpee and texting your friend, while driving across the "loneliest highway in the United States" at night, revealed itself to be very conducive to running over rabbits. I must say that Highway 50 is not so lonely if you are a rabbit - in fact, it is more like a singles club for strapping young thumpers. It would have been more dangerous to try NOT to hit them. (Apologies to all animal lovers, and a warning to not drive in western Utah at night.)

After not paying to camp in the Fishlake National Forest in Utah, we ended our calorie replacement therapy at Burger King for breakfast and Wendy's for lunch before strolling back home Monday afternoon to the news of endless rain in Colorado over the weekend and hopes for a greener tomorrow. All in all, things went pretty well.

Sunrise reflection against Johnson Lake with tree.

A horse called Barbaro.

Like most people who watch horse racing, I tune into the Kentucky Derby about 15 minutes before the race. Typically, I like to watch the second leg of the Triple Crown (the Preakness Stakes) to see if this year's Kentucky winner will continue the quest to become the first Triple Crown winner since Affirmed. But, like many "fans," if a horse falls out of competition for the illustrious prize, I'm out. The Belmont is but a blip on my sports radar, and I don't want to hear about it anymore - not 'till next year, anyway.

Adding to my disinterest is my profound lack of love for most animals. If it doesn't weigh about 70 lbs and can't fetch a stick or go for rides in my car, I probably don't care. Horses typically don't fulfill any of the three requirements listed above, and are more useful for Jell-O, glue, dog food and, in desperate times, meat. I suppose bow material for stringed instruments is also valid.


Coming soon, Elmer's Glue, Special Barbaro Edition. For a limited time only.


There are, however, some people who feel differently than me regarding this subject. These people believe Barbaro, who destroyed his leg (see below) leaving the gate at this year's Preakness, is some type of savior horse. On the contrary, this horse was too stupid to not break his own leg and almost died (and still may). Some savior.

Would you want to live if your leg looked like that after surgery?


Shifting gears, I'd like to comment on the idiocy of some horse racing fans (likely children, who are themselves too stupid to realize horses can't read and other obsessive-compulsive-delusional types who should know better). Do you think horses can read? Or being optimistic, understand spoken English? Give me a freakin' break! "Get well Barbaro!" "Good luck Barbaro!" What's wrong with you people?! The only thing possibly going through a horses head, other than routine sexual impulses, is probably the desire (and notice I did not use the word "thought")to eat, sleep and shit. These natural instincts do not require self-awareness - reading, and more importantly, understanding sympathy from others, do. When the little jockey guy shows up to say hi and express his best wishes, the closest thing the horse experiences to awareness is nothing more than a Pavlovian response to stimulation - lets race!

I didn't know horses could read!?


The only "idea" a horse has: flowers = food. As an aside, I wish my room was that nice.


Stop talking about Barbaro on the radio. Take the crappy trying-to-feel-good story off of Sportscenter and the evening news, and get back to real stories and real injuries to real people, like Albert Pujols. Now that makes me upset.

Best camping trip ever!

Ahhh, Memorial Day. It sounds like a lot of fun. There's no work, you get to spend time with friends, BBQ over open fire, drink beer, car camp, experience "nature," fight for ground at overcrowded camp sites, explain to the police that you're not 17, hide from the rain under a tarp, freeze in the snow, and pack your camp site up at 6p in 35 degree temps between snow showers.

Things started out well on Saturday. I arrived at a camp site and built a fire. The air was cool, the sun was warm. My friends joined me a couple of hours later and we cooked lunch - burgers and brats. Then the nightstick-wielding Larimer County Sheriff and National Forest Ranger showed up and rained on our parade. They explained that we needed to move - we weren't in a "numbered" camp site, and adding insult to (ego) injury, they told us we appeared to be of high school age and needed to see identification because we had beer.

Not a big deal.

We found another site a few miles away, which also happened to be at about 9700'. We made a few phone calls to redirect our friends, and life was good. Saturday was by no means a loss. A good night sleep made everything better, and Sunday morning was beautiful.

The clouds began to roll in around noon, and we preemptively set a tarp above our food and wood. After an unsuccessful attempt at shooting supper, we returned to camp just as more friends arrived. They brought rain. And snow.

As the six of us sat beneath a 9' X 10' tarp, the rains came. As the initial humor of the precipitation wore off, faces grew long and feet became cold and wet. Icicles formed on the edge of the tarp, which by now we had converted into a tent-shape to block the driving wind. A shovel served to support the center of the tarp and we all sat on pieces of wood to stay off of the ground.

Soon, talk began about Big City Burritos and warm and dry things - like beds and clothes. When the rain/snow finally let up, we bailed. Two people spent no more than 3 hours "camping," and another two got lost en route, only to gain phone reception in time for us to tell them we were back in ft collins, and they too should return.

I guess it could have been worse, but I don't want to be part of that trip. For now, I'll enjoy the 72 degrees here in Denver, and the salvaged friendships from what certainly had the potential to cause interpersonal hardship. Maybe next Memorial Day...

Because pictures make it better...

This one has been on the table for so long it's fading from the sunlight that enters through the reopened blinds.


Uh, okay...


Mastery of tape: F - unacceptable.


Did a 6-year old with Parkinson's write this?


Because you're too old to change it back?


F. Ken Fleckenstein says, "...


I'm sorry many of the notes referenced in my first post are no longer in the house. Eventually, the adhesive dried out and the notes fell. Whenever new notes are created, I will photograph them immediately and post them on this blog.

I'm also entertaining ideas for notes I could post before moving. I won't tape up blatant personal attacks, but if they're funny, please send them, too.

Bring it on! Why higher prices at the pump are a good thing.

How can paying $2.91 for a gallon of gas be a good thing? Well, if it increases Americans' use of public transportation, stimulates interest in, and consequently fuels research for alternative fuels and modes of transportation, and lessens the middle east's grasp on our proverbial balls, all while helping to end pollution (and global warming?), that's how.

In a world of supply and demand, OPEC nations are only beginning to recognize our insatiable demand for fuel. They control the supply with the inelastic demand curve (is that right, econ people?). That is, regardless of the price, we will continue to buy oil.

For example, in Venezuela, gas at the pump on March 24 averaged only $0.12 per gallon. In Iran, it was $0.33. Here in the United States, we've lived for a long time under the illusion that we are NOT Iran's, Iraq's, Saudi Arabia's, and other OPEC nations', bitch. We kicked some ass in Bush War I and all was well. When I was 16, I paid $0.70 per gallon.

Only in Venezuela...


Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad said last week, "The global oil price has not reached its real value yet. The products derived from crude oil are sold at prices dozens of times higher than those charged by oil-producing countries." He went on to say later, "The increase of the oil price and growth of oil income is very good and we hope that the oil prices reach their real levels." That's reassuring - the head of the world's 4th largest crude exporter loves higher prices and hopes the trend remains the same.

With oil prices at record highs, and oil companies recording record profits, maybe this is the time we seriously consider alternatives and begin work to seriously develop alternative energy and transportation. The benefits are endless - national autonomy in a more real sense, pollution levels dropping in 1st world countries more quickly, allowing for the benefit of such technology to be passed along to developing and undeveloped countries before the situation gets even worse, and lower fuel costs in the long run for you and me.

Washington DC has experienced some of their heaviest public transit days in the past week. The same can be said across the country. Salt Lake City has shown a 50% increase in ridership this year alone.

In Colorado, lawmakers briefly considered suspending the state's mandatory $0.22 per gallon tax used to fund highway repairs, but relented after realizing that such a move, even for only three months, would cost nearly $100 million.

As for me, well, I don't know how I'll deal with higher prices. I too, must drive to work everyday. I fill my car almost once a week, and it's not getting any easier. However, when I purchased my car last summer, fuel economy factored heavily into my decision. Tax incentives for more fuel efficient vehicles, for both producers and consumers, will help to stimulate change. There are things we can do to help our own fuel economy. Check it out: http://www.fueleconomy.gov/feg/drive.shtml

Finally, check the link on the right side of this blog to find the lowest gas prices in your area.

I don't have the answer to our energy needs, but we can all do the little things to make the transition a bit easier. No one thinks it's going to get better before it gets worse, but in the longterm, I can handle higher fuel prices now if it means no oil later.