10/9/12
Denver, CO
As this is a blog on cycling and questing, I thought it would be more than just appropriate to discuss cyclings and questings outside of the European realm: It would be the next logical step. After all, when will be the next time I set foot on the Emerald Isle? When will I again have the opportunity to take a chilly dip in the Mediterranean? WHEN WILL I TASTE THE SWEET SUCCULENCE OF SICILIAN BLOOD ORANGES??? Well, with the advent of global food distribution, the answer might be sooner than I think.
But we all know I'm a sucker for things so local, they're internal. And we all know my internals aren't what they should be (did someone say enema? because I swear if you come near my children again I'll...).
So it is that I turn to nearer 'ventures, learning to appreciate my front doorstep in the hopes of one day setting out into the rising sun and seeing a new land. I'm talking about a place where the beer flows like wine, where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano. I'm talking, of course, about Durango.
Guh?
That's right, folks. Durango, or, as Lloyd Christmas would understand it, SW of Aspen, in fact in the very southwestern-most part of CO. There is a trail that runs from Denver to Durango, some 480-520 miles, depending on if you travel on foot or by bike. And along this trail, I was met with every hardship imaginable. OK, I know what you're thinking: Laser-piranhas? High unemployment? The USS Monitor? Nay, nay, and touche!
I embarked not alone, but with a trusty companion who is as good in the mechanical department as I am in the eating/thinking about eating/wanting to be eating/playing cards department. His name is Ko, and I shall be introducing him in full next entry.
On the morning of July 6, 2012, we embarked for greener pastures and steeper mountains, and on July 6, 2012, we had to turn back to the car because of a terrible mechanical issue.
But the next morning, July 7, 2012, Ko and I set forth on a journey that would claim the lives of 7 marmots and 20 noodle packets; would conjure up at least a dozen storms; would separate us three times; and would see us run out of food not once, not twice, but thrice times.
Are you prepared for the trials, tribulations, and triskaidekaphobia of...
Denver, CO
As this is a blog on cycling and questing, I thought it would be more than just appropriate to discuss cyclings and questings outside of the European realm: It would be the next logical step. After all, when will be the next time I set foot on the Emerald Isle? When will I again have the opportunity to take a chilly dip in the Mediterranean? WHEN WILL I TASTE THE SWEET SUCCULENCE OF SICILIAN BLOOD ORANGES??? Well, with the advent of global food distribution, the answer might be sooner than I think.
But we all know I'm a sucker for things so local, they're internal. And we all know my internals aren't what they should be (did someone say enema? because I swear if you come near my children again I'll...).
So it is that I turn to nearer 'ventures, learning to appreciate my front doorstep in the hopes of one day setting out into the rising sun and seeing a new land. I'm talking about a place where the beer flows like wine, where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano. I'm talking, of course, about Durango.
Guh?
That's right, folks. Durango, or, as Lloyd Christmas would understand it, SW of Aspen, in fact in the very southwestern-most part of CO. There is a trail that runs from Denver to Durango, some 480-520 miles, depending on if you travel on foot or by bike. And along this trail, I was met with every hardship imaginable. OK, I know what you're thinking: Laser-piranhas? High unemployment? The USS Monitor? Nay, nay, and touche!
I embarked not alone, but with a trusty companion who is as good in the mechanical department as I am in the eating/thinking about eating/wanting to be eating/playing cards department. His name is Ko, and I shall be introducing him in full next entry.
On the morning of July 6, 2012, we embarked for greener pastures and steeper mountains, and on July 6, 2012, we had to turn back to the car because of a terrible mechanical issue.
But the next morning, July 7, 2012, Ko and I set forth on a journey that would claim the lives of 7 marmots and 20 noodle packets; would conjure up at least a dozen storms; would separate us three times; and would see us run out of food not once, not twice, but thrice times.
Are you prepared for the trials, tribulations, and triskaidekaphobia of...
THE COLORADO TRAIL (ooooohhh, aaaaaaahhh, gollum, gollum)...
there was some beauty, I guess
