To all TBS people who were just dying to make my acquaintance in person last week in Reno: Sorry. I spent most of my time out there being a social nonentity. This was due to extended contemplation of whether it would be more efficient to sit ON the toilet, or crouch in FRONT of it, and whether one or both forms of violent expulsion could be controlled long enough for it to matter. I don’t know where exactly the food poisoning came from (Beto’s, maybe) but it was horrible.
Just thought you’d like to know. Cheers–
SB
OK, has nothing to do with bourbon, but I figured that was one way to get people to read this. Wolfy…thanks for posting the Imogene story. You are indeed fortunate you weren’t there to see the mid-race urination. Kinda wish I hadn’t had to see it either.
I am starting my next writing project, which will be a story on a sort-of re-enactment of the first recorded ascent of Long’s Peak, via Keplinger’s Couloir. It is a fairly easy climb but it’s really out in the boonies, on the southwest side of the peak. I already have the most important item for an historically-correct repeat of the route: a recipe for really heavy biscuits. Since Maj. J.W. Powell, who lost an arm in the Civil War, was the original expedition’s biscuit-chef, I will have to prepare the biscuits using only one hand. Fortunately, Keplinger himself had all his appendages, so I won’t have to actually climb one-armed!
I know it’s a longshot but…are there any BaconStrippers with knowledge of any good sources on the exact route the Powell party took? I think I have it figured out but so far as I can tell, no one knows for sure.
Events are drink-ski-run-climb-drink.
1. Drink: Cocktails at Martinis Enoteca in Lodo, Denver, brews at Wynkoop Brewery next door. BTW the good citizens of Denver elected the founder/owner of Wynkoop to the mayorship of the city. Now that’s my kind of politician.
2. Ski: Closing weekend at Mary Jane. Why do areas always close just when the skiing is getting really good? Parsenn Bowl was full of good snow and a bunch of smelly knee-droppers getting in one more hero run down the bowl and through the trees. By tradition, the final run of the year is made topless. To the amazement of all…nobody has brought a camera to record the event for posterity. Or posterior. Or whatever.
3. Run: Horsetooth Half-Marathon, Fort Collins. Naturally…the previous event takes a toll on the glycogen content of one’s legs. This is compensated by the prospect of free beer at the finish provided by New Belgium. Logically, the fastest finishers have the shortest wait for both beer and portapotties. A time of 1:30:50 does not succeed in turning the heads of any of the local hottiez hanging around the finish, but it does get me ahead of the crowd in the beer line.
4. Climb: The Palace, Cache la Poudre Canyon. Is it possible to lead 5.10 after having just run, fast, for 13 miles? Yes. Is it a good idea? Not particularly. Fortunately it’s all on bolts. Ufff…grrrg…whff…mmmf…hggg…clip…whekk…comeonpullitpullit…clip… aaagg…okwatchme…reach…ohshithatsasloper!!…pull…step…rrrgg…clip… eeeeeeyaaahhh.!
5. Drink: Dry Bombay martini, Blue Paddle, on the porch, on the first porch-worthy day of the spring. Listen to the neighbors discuss their Sunday. “Do anything fun this weekend?” “Yah, I mowed the lawn for the first time.” Bwa-ha-ha-ha.
During my last sesh as the Midnight Bathroom Remodeler, I removed the tub drain and associated hardware, the better to protect it from the caustic rain of mortar while I was tiling the showerhead area. I was prepared to find the overflow drain covered in hard water deposits, etc. but what I wasn’t prepared for was the fact that it was nearly clogged with 55 years worth of sludge, undifferentiated glottz, toxic funk, and 5.8 million of the previous residents’ PUBES. I found an old cooking pot in the attic disinfected the whole works by boiling it in 5% bleach.
Just thought you’d all like to know that.
Disclaimer: The following post has nothing to do with cycling, skiing, climbing, or any other outdoor pursuit, and has everything to do with the poster being an incurable, 7075-alloy, four-star geek.
This is a 1947 model General Electric clock-radio, poached from the House ofWoe in suburban Denver (a.k.a. my late and not especially lamented grandfather’s house). The clock is completely functional, including the annoying buzz alarm, but the radio hadn’t worked for years. I took it upon myself a few weeks ago to see if I could get the radio working, took the back off the thing, and lo and behold, there resided no less than four (count ‘em) glass vacuum tubes. I felt like I’d just walked through a time machine. I removed the tubes and took them down to the local electronics supply store, which, for some reason, had a tube-testing machine. One of the tubes proved faulty, and to my unending surprise, the shop had a replacement for sale. $12.95 later, I reinstalled the tubes and powered up. The tubes glowed a faint, warm red-orange, and a moment later, the soft, nostalgic background hum of 60-Hz AC power issued from the speaker. A flip of the tuner, and — shazam– KCOL, broadcasting at 610 kilocycles, was heard through faint static.
There is no reason save geekiness to have fixed this thing–there’s absolutely nothing on AM radio that’s worth listening to, unless the Broncos ever make the playoffs again. But–ya gotta admit, having a vacuum tube AM radio that works is pretty damn cool.
SphincterBoy
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