Musings from Wine Hour

LA view south from the hotel

I never write from the moment...and that may be why I write so little.  Always tucking away partial entries, mere ideas, and -- most especially -- massive digital collections of unedited photos, I've shucked all along the concept of blogging as it's normally done.  I've also merely prioritized other activities over the slog of editing and choosing images (trust me, for a perfectionist who takes endless photos, is IS a slog), eventually ending up with...well, nothing.

So rather than intending to write something later when my ducks are more in that proverbial row (who's out there forcing these ducks to line up, anyway?), I'll post these rambles now.  The picture below is exactly what I'm looking at and listening to right now...an acoustic duo playing covers of mostly classic rock hits, and doing a decent job of it, in my Los Angeles hotel.  There are certain moments of my life that seem particularly unreal, and they happen more often on the West Coast than anywhere else -- given my tolerance, it can't be due to a mere two glasses of wine (hey, it's free during Kimpton hotels' daily wine hour) that I'd be so cognizant of that trend. 

Hotel Palomar, 5:55 on a Thursday

Apropos of nothing, I do love that they're playing a Tom Petty tune right now, when I'll be seeing him live in two weeks for the first time.

Opening Day was today...baseball's, of course, the only one that ever mattered to a true American sports fan (in my humbler-than-thou opinion).  And while most of the country has experienced a bizarre and unusually early Spring for who knows how many weeks now, this day always signals a new beginning for so many of us.  I'm going to do my best to ignore the fact that Major League Baseball has cheapened the hell out of this once-proud and once-simple tradition by feeding us an early international series -- in Japan, last week for pete's sake -- and a nighttime opener that no true fan recognizes as Opening Day.  A full slate of games, played mostly during the day...possibly the last bit of nostalgic scheduling left in a sports landscape that refuses to deviate from its revenue-maxing prime-time fixation.  And only left that way because enough people will skip work or leave it early, and let the kids play hooky, in commemoration of the day.  Hope springs eternal, as everyone likes to say on this day -- especially everyone rooting for a team with no chance.  But in our souls, happiness reigns.  By late Summer, or even July if you're a Mets fan, hope will have long evaporated but Summer is there to fill the void.  For now, for this blooming season, we get to believe...and just be comforted by it being back.

April 2011: Petco Park, San Diego

Goin' Out West

(somewhere outside Sacramento)

The following was written back on October 27, right before leaving Boulder...
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The fresh foot of early snow left behind.

Today begins my long-awaited road trip to the Left Coast.  And you are right...hell yeah, it is about time!  For almost a month I'll be in California, after whipping through Wyoming, Utah and Nevada.  With any luck I'll get to spend time in the Sierra Nevadas -- especially catching the Hangtown Halloween Ball, an incredible new three-day music festival -- then San Francisco, Big Sur, and hopefully more of the Pacific coast on my way down to Los Angeles.  The plan is then for me to undergo my occasional transformation to a clean-cut Marine and work for a couple of weeks, before returning east to the Rocky Mountains (man, that turn of phrase sounds weird...east to the Rockies?).

What's it all about, you may be wondering...especially if you are a parent of mine.  Well, aside from the obvious benefits of employment and continuous service during the latter phase, it's about all those glorious western cliches...the open road, independence, exploring the new and the relatively exotic.  I refuse to believe that discovery cannot be reason enough for a lengthy adventure.
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Street art and a nomad, San Francisco.

Still, I won't have anything close to a true recap tonight (err, this morning...as it's 3 am).  It's time to leave LA today, and head out on the journey's bonus leg: a northern jaunt to the Pacific Northwest for Thanksgiving before returning to Colorado.  The odyssey has been everything I thought it would be, and then some -- from the furious pace of the sprint west to the unbridled enthusiasm of a harvest festival, from the character of an iconic city to the wonder of the wild coast, from the accepted glitz of tinseltown to the chill vibe of southernmost Cali -- and I need to sleep a bit so I can continue it in one piece.  Keep on keepin' on, as I like to say.

Sunset beyond "the City of Angels"

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.