Birthday at Blue Lake

Last week I took "Bodie 2.0" (the now-fully recovered house dog and hiking buddy) up to the Brainard Lake Recreation Area, about an hour's drive west, on my birthday to check out one of the many nearby escapes I hadn't yet seen.  It was overcast and occasionally spitting rain by the time I finally drove up there, and the 4000+ feet of additional elevation made it a good bit cooler than Boulder.  But even on a weather 'off-day', it held some beautiful secrets...especially the further we ventured up the trail to Blue Lake, a glacial basin above the tree line.

brilliant Autumn color made for a scenic drive...

Ward, where no one knows your name - or wants to

Ward from above

I'm not one to make a big deal out of birthdays.  In fact, I'm fine with people not knowing if they're going to make a big deal out of it.  So I figured, why not do something special with my first natal anniversary in Colorado?  (note: If you knew your Little Rascals / Our Gang classics, you'd know why I use that odd term...think Mr. Hood!)

(the obligatory signpost shot)

a decidedly not shabby view from just inside...

...and an even better one moments later

I like the "Don't quit!" message :)

Once we kicked off the trek, there was nothing terribly challenging about it -- and we had it mostly to ourselves.  Mitchell Lake wasn't far up the trail, and it provided yet more worthy views and even a playmate for Bodie, who ran completely wild in a figure 8 pattern when he was released from the leash (which of course never really happened, park rangers!).

pure mountain streams bisect the route

Mitchell Lake mirrors its view

Video! Successful video!

Bodie the hyper water dog, post-swim

mountain stream cliche

gaining altitude...

deadwood and a half-hiding doggie

Feelin' Fall-y

"What's holding you up, photo boy?"

emerging from the tree line for good

"I'm setting you free but you gotta cooperate, capiche?"

Scotland, is that you?

Bodie diggin' the snow shelf...

...then doing his best pointer.

Blue Lake, magnificent in seasonal color.

Tempted to swim, then shivered thinking about it.

CHILLIN'!

After getting back home, I had to rush downtown to my weekly floor hockey game.  Yep, floor hockey.  Sounds kinda silly, right?  In fact, that was even part of the appeal...using sticks from a high school gym class, the game manages to be fun while competitive and incredibly cardiovascular (especially if you have no substitutes, which my team never does).  For me, it's been a blast being a part -- excuse me, a captain -- of a team sport again after many years of joining nothing like this.  And the beers afterward make it more like the post-game atmosphere my dad & his friends enjoyed so much when I was growing up than I thought I'd ever experience.  My teammates even sang to me after Randy spilled the beans that I was the birthday boy.

"Charlie, why on earth are they singing to me?"

Charlie's Angels, surrounding our mascot

Saisons

Learning to watch which direction the clouds take...

That's right, I'm throwing French at you now.  The title ("seasons") is one of the very few words I know in that beautiful language, and only because of delicious Belgian beer styles.

I've been mesmerized again by the changing of the seasons here, largely because I'd seen two winters in this part of the country before finally catching another season, due to the timing of my deployment overseas.  I think another reason is that seasons only momentarily grab your interest in a place like New York, because let's face it -- concrete & asphalt don't change color all that much.  In Colorado, it's a different story.  Ironically, locals and longtime residents often complain that there is no Spring or Fall, but trust me on this -- there certainly is.  Now eastern North Carolina?  That place has no seasons beyond Summer and Not-Summer, as I called them.

This could be any season from Hogsback Ridge...

Printemps (Spring)

Flowering trees all over Boulder

Tulip beds on Pearl Street

As you can see, there is Spring...

And yes, it makes the Flatirons sing.

(gagging now at my choice of words)

Eté (Summer)

Green everywhere...

Boulder Creek = one sweet Summer spot

The Spring rains of '11 left Irish hills all Summer

Flatirons hikes are even better in July

Dana the reptile would have it this hot all year

 Automne (Autumn)

Fall colors framing Georgetown, CO

Thanksgiving cornucopia at Brainard Lakes

Brilliant reds...before the snow

Hiver (Winter)

Scenes that make Colorado famous...Copper Mountain

Wintry sunset, early March

Even in Winter, a city of abundant art.

Perfection.

City of Transplants

It may be common knowledge to those living in Colorado's front range, but for those unfamiliar with the phenonemon, everyone in Boulder is a transplant.  Okay, not everyone, but damn close to it (and I say this as someone who actually knows rare born & raised boulderites).  Still, a few recent gatherings here reminded me of how funny it is to have conversations so often about (A) where everyone is actually from, and of course (B) how great it is to be here.

Bodie is a native...I think.

Example: the initial meeting/party of the Boulder Sport & Social Club's Fall season.  Six of us who signed up to play either floor hockey or ultimate frisbee (or in my case, both) have the typical conversation.  And it turns out that our origins represent the states of Utah, North Carolina, California, Connecticut, Oregon/Texas and New Jersey.  The only surprise might be that for once the upper midwest wasn't represented.  I meet an inordinate number of Michigan, Illinois, Wisconsin & Minnesota folk here too.  This chapter's director, though, turns out to be an actual Coloradan.

Just a few transplants happy to be here. 

I find that local feelings on this phenomenon range from the welcoming to the hostile...which is sometimes understandable, as the roads get clogged more often and open space is 'claimed' by new development.  Still, there are those who dig the variety of experiences we transplants have brought along (this town's population has to be among the most well-traveled I've ever seen), and there are those who affix "NATIVE" stickers to their SUVs in order to remind us that they are from here.

It's a slap in the face, see?  It means that this vehicle's driver is here by birthright, and you're not.  So naturally this trend gave rise to a whole slew of variations and responses, all set to the same Colorado license plate design of the Rocky Mountains backdrop.

One of the most popular: NOT A NATIVE, BUT I GOT HERE AS FAST AS I COULD

There is also the first one I ever saw, a favorite of mine: NOBODY CARES YOU'RE A NATIVE

But only recently did I see this take on it, the best one yet: XENOPHOBE


So take that, snobs!  It would be cool if we could all just get along, you know...the way we usually actually do when we meet in person instead of conducting verbal warfare by sticker slogan.  I vote for the bumper fanatics to try this one instead...

Peace of Boulder

(Another post that I just realized was written months ago, but had been left in the queue since.  This was scrawled out in June 2011, with the photos just thrown in.  Enjoy...if you like this sort of thing.)

Boulder, 8/1/11. No thanks to you, iPhoto.

I sat outside for a while on my front porch tonight, with no phone or laptop or distraction of any nature...something I haven't yet done in the collective eight months or so that I've lived here (granted, most of those were wintry).  What I learned was the importance of making sure to simply sit like that, in a setting as idyllic as the northern reaches of Boulder.  I'm lucky, truly lucky, to call this place my home.

The "Uptown" neighborhood, May '11

It started this evening with the flashes of distant lightning I could see the front windows.  Curious, I stepped out, to see overhead only the usual bright stars and dark sky -- something I've enjoyed gazing at night after night here.  Looking north, I made out the mass of orangish cloud which gave off occasional heat lightning, but the sky remained otherwise clear and placid from the foothills in the west to the prairie haze in the east.  Even a falling star joined the party, as if to absurdly serve notice that I should be doing this much more often.

Foothills in sunset from my home, July '11

As the only sounds were those of the occasional dog walker, the distant hum of cars on Route 36, and the passing gentle breeze, I couldn't help but think of how safe, protected and civilized this is.  I also marveled at the fact that there are only dozens who live on this street, while I used to look out my window in New York upon tens of thousands of immediate 'neighbors.'  Here, as with there, one can see how many televisions are in use every night, as mine almost always is.  Blue and green glows dance across room after room of townhouses and apartments, while nature's display above is infinitely more entertaining.  Did more of us notice in the days before TV, or were most people simply turned in for the night once darkness fell, the way so much of the world still does it now?

Daybreak over Boulder, June '11

The Lizard, May 2010

(I just discovered this post, which had been almost completely readied just prior to my departure for Afghanistan last year, and then left sitting in the queue since.  It's silly, short, and kinda fun.)

OK, the gecko. I just liked "lizard" better as a title. Here is a photo essay of the little fella who appeared on my screen window one early evening in Sneads Ferry, NC. I began snapping away, thinking he'd be shy and scurry off, but it turns out he didn't mind the paparazzi one bit.

Nosedive!

Dive! Dive! Dive!

Regrouping...

Prepare to launch.

Launch!

The gecko has got to be one of the most adaptive species out there.  They are found in rainy environments like coastal Carolina and my old childhood home of Singapore, and I spot them underneath rocks in dry Colorado all the time...so damnit, here's to THE LIZARD.

Has it been 17 months?

Hi there...where ya been?  OK, so I'm a slacker.  Waste.  Layabout.  Lazyman.  Wait, wait just a second -- I may epitomize those terms sometimes, but I've been up to some stuff...even a lot of stuff.  Interested?  No?  What if there are travel tips, and wacky photos, and random experiences, would that work?

New (yet old) wheels for Colorado: the "Jagranner"

I honestly have no idea whether or not this revived blog might appeal to anyone, at all...but since I need a place to lay down my thoughts & observations, and www.afghanidan.blogspot.com just isn't the right forum for my stories of Colorado and travels elsewhere, I'm willing to give it a shot.  Even when I started it, in fact, I had the intention of making this a home for travels over the previous few years -- the Afghan blog of course covering half of 2006 and most of 2010 (into this year).

The "Standout": Redondo Beach, CA - Apr '11

Just over this summer, I've notched a few random firsts: scaled my first 14ers (mountains over 14,000 feet in elevation), rode my first Boulder cruiser ride, tubed the length of the local whitewater creek, reeled in mahi-mahi off the Outer Banks of NC, tried zip-lining in Mexico, hit a bluegrass festival in the Colorado mountains, experienced Seattle's famed Solstice Festival, and a whole lot more...all in the name of science.  Well, not exactly science...enjoyment?  Yeah, that's the word.

This is MID-JUNE at Arapahoe Basin, CO

What we should do with it...well, I'm open to suggestions.  When I manage to drag myself out on a trail run around here, or a scenic hike, or (even rarer) a gym visit, or have one of those briefly illuminating beer-soaked discussions with friends about what I enjoy doing, the idea surfaces of doing...well, something like this.  Only one that people would read.  The obstacles are many: I have a habit of snapping a thousand photos when a few well-timed ones will do -- and then leaving them unedited while I move on to the next occasion; the thoughts that strike me in those moments mentioned above simply fade quickly or lose their priority status when my attention span latches onto something else ("Squirrel!"); and sometimes, anxiety and depression kick in too heavily...the last thing I want to do when obsessing about where I'm going is sit around looking at the past.

The legendary Red Rocks amphitheater, Aug 2011

Here's hoping I can jump around a bit -- thereby dropping the obsession on backtracking a million miles in the quest to present events in order -- and stay on it regularly.  There is no shortage these days of material as I try to throw myself into pastimes that make Colorado so amazing, travel to new destinations when I can, and battle to overcome my personal limitations which have made post-deployment life even bumpier than the one which preceded it.

Gutting out the Bolder Boulder 10K, May 2011

Running...from Out of the Blue.

 [Ed. note: It was not blue today, despite this post's title...and not sunny like the 2009 photo above.  In fact, it was overcast, with socked-in mountains disappearing and increasing clouds blanketing the Front Range...making it freakin' cold.  Try to remember that the next time you say one afternoon, "Hey it sure it is gorgeous out -- surely tomorrow will be the same, right?"]

I ran my ass off today.  Actually, I ran my right leg, right hip and left foot off, apparently...I don't know when any of those body parts will be in working order again.  But I did it in the interest of running 13.1 miles in a good time, a privilege for which I paid $75.  Yesterday.  I signed up for the race yesterday, with (as I duly noted on Facebook...how else to better revel in self-pity?) no training, and no running to speak of in my recent history.  There has been the very rare 3- or 4-miler, maybe one every month or so, dating back to...I honestly have no idea.  I haven't been a regular runner in a long, very long (think multiple years) time.

(I'm going to engage now in a tactic that annoys the utter hell out of me when used in conversation...that of asking a question in order to provide the answer.  Seriously, if you do it to me, or in front of me, or you are a paid or even highly respected speaker, and you start to do this -- I will walk far, far away immediately.)

Why did I do it?  I still don't know the answer.  My girlfriend was signed up since before I even met her a couple of months back, and she was preparing to run -- though her training has suffered and fallen off completely due to the incredible amount of attention I demand and general wackiness in which I engage.  So there we were (again: yesterday), picking up her packet and race bib and whatnot, when I decided, "What the hell...I could use some competitive running. Maybe I'll do the 10K. Wait, that's pretty weak when others are running twice that, right? There's a 10-miler...but seriously, if I can run 6.2, I can run 10, ergo, I can run 13+. Sign me up, bitches!"  I didn't really use that term, but I did say it with the sort of confident swagger that only a complete moron can display.

As we drove around the local roads just after the now-infamous spontaneous sign-up, it began to sink in for me just how long 3 miles, and 6, and 10, and -- dear God, 13?? -- really are.  It's not that I haven't run a half-marathon before, or even a marathon...I've run exactly one of each, six and four years ago respectively.  As I watched the odometer ever-so-slowly tick off distances that looked brutally painful over rutted dirt roads, it occurred to me why it had been so damn long since I'd run such a distance.  And those were run in New York City, with its constantly distracting twists, turns and neighborhoods.  Now I was on the back roads east and north of Boulder Reservoir, facing impossibly long straightaways, huge prairie vistas that don't seem to move any closer, and only the occasional cow to count as a spectator.

The agonizing nature of willing one's legs forward when they have no intention of doing so after a few miles, the slew of injuries that appeared or reappeared or experienced sudden & profound aggravation, the mental exercises in which one must engage in order to strive for a particular time or just to avoid walking...all of that seems so far away and long ago now, only hours later.  But the exhilaration of finishing well, the satisfaction of giving it all you possibly had to give, and even the thrill of hearing your name called out (with "Boulder, Colorado" as your hometown for the very first time, no less)...they stick around longer, thank God.

Which brings me to now: Sunday afternoon in one of Boulder's ubiquitous cafes, anxious to resume the drinking I began when I downed a few delicious microbrews with my lunch just a bit ago.  I survived, and you could even make the case that I thrived, if you score my run relative to the various factors of no training, multiple lingering injuries, brand-new running shoes and an altitude over a mile high that my cardiovascular capability has not fully embraced.  My leg may be dead, my foot may bear blisters literally on top of other blisters, and who knows -- my walk may never be the same again.  But if it's this type of jackassery that I need to prove to myself that I can step in completely cold and still pull off a respectable result in a grueling competition, than so be it.  I'll be that jackass.

(See link below for more on the inaugural Boulder Spring Half...)

Boulder Marathon history & description of 1st Spring Half