Santa's Bells

"Santa was here!" shouts a cheery voice with sparkling eyes, making Christmas morning even more delightful.  Busy little hands sorting through wrapped presents, holiday music playing over the speakers, and blurry-eyed parents from staying up late to ensure someone was fast asleep before completing the final details of Santa's visit, gather around the Christmas tree.

Rattlesnake Antics

“Was that a snake?“  I asked while gazing out the passenger door window.  

“Maybe.  Or is it a car part, like a radiator hose?” replied Scott as he slowed to make a u-turn.  “Geez,” he began while easing up to the object lying in the graveled shoulder, “that’s a BIG rattlesnake!”

I hopped out.

Moustache Unplugged #23

hehehe....undetected, I take the opportunity to work on my letter.....

Dear Shameful Hunter,

Look at him!  Grace and beauty have been replaced by glazed, partially opened eyes.  Like a plush piece of red carpet, his thick tongue is unnaturally rolled out of the corner of his mouth with coagulated blood sloppily spattered throughout his heavy nape of neck guard hairs.

BearPaw

                                                         
Politics.  Simply seeing the word is nauseating.  Stir in fake politicians with silver tongues, special interest groups dumping in hoards of money and never-ending campaign advertisements and this guy wants to detach from the world. I'm giddy that the elections are over and I always vote--it's the gift for which our founding fathers fought and died.  I stay silent in the world of politics, but, like anything, if someone has something to say, I'll listen and make my own, private opinion.

I was approached to host a script written by someone who has something to say. BearPaw is bluntly outspoken and was moved by a recent Presidential decision to sit and write.  I remain quiet, but will host my first guest blogger.  And, I get to leave a parting shot.

World's Toughest Mudder 2012

Look at this crew! Here we are, mid-November, in Englishtown, New Jersey after paying an extravagant entry fee for the race, not to mention costs of airline tickets, lodging, rental cars and the like.  And for what? To compete in a 24 hour race that includes obstacles involving electrical shocks, swimming across icy lakes, getting shocked while in water, mud bogs, underground tunnels and the overnight temperatures will drop into the mid-20's.  What's wrong with us?  Are we crazy? I'm not sure, but we're at the World's Toughest Mudder 2012.

(Here's another lengthy entry where I suggest brewing some coffee, otherwise you may nod off while wading through the story. Last weekend was WTM 2014, hosted in Las Vegas, that was quite a race where the overall winner completed 95 miles. I was a fortunate participant 2 years ago meeting some great people along the way.)

Ghosts of the Forest

Spending time with my mistress, it’s good for the soul.  But, my “Spidey-sense” says I’m being watched…

MRI'd

"And over there's the restroom," repeated the technician for the third time as I prepared for the MRI by stripping down to basic clothing.

"Do I need to be worried that this machine is going to squeeze something out of me?" I had to ask since she had nearly ordered me to go potty like a child preparing for a car trip.

Moustache Unlpuged #22

hehehe...undetected, I take the opportunity to work on my letter...

Dear Colorado Parole Board,

An 18 year old murders a 28 year old motel cook that yielded 50 cents in change.  Eight days later, the same 18 year old murders a 19 year old Army soldier.  Five days after that,  with 2 accomplices, the same 18 year old kidnaps an employee from a Red Lobster restaurant and ultimately murders her.  Separate trials with separate convictions results in a sentence to life in prison.

And, once again, he sat before you hoping to be paroled and released back into mainstream society.

Nolan's 14

“Hi.  I’m Gavin and it’s good to meet you,” he said in a humble manner as he extended his bony hand for a firm handshake.

I just met a legend serving coffee in a quaint little shop.

Roadkill

It’s Friday afternoon.  The ever pulsing heart of Denver contracts and fills arteries with cars, in mass exodus, vacating the bustling city.  Interstates congest in all directions, but the aorta is westbound I-70 into the Colorado high country.  Anymore, seasons don’t matter. Whether it's ski season or summertime, year-round flow on I-70 becomes like a hardened artery, choked down to a small orifice permitting only a tightly restricted flow. Cars stop and go as blood pressure of drivers' skyrockets. 

Synthetic Fire

The fire is simply not the same.

Moustache Unplugged #21

hehehe....undetected, I grab the opportunity to work on my letter....

Dear Mountain Bike Riders,

Like any population, there's good, bad and average with the focus of this letter directed to the entitled buttwipe bikers who disregard the sense of maintaining a true singletrack and feel it's their right to customize trails to better match their pathetic skill set.  Plus, this same group quizzically challenges who has the right of way with other trail users and I'm reaching the point of jabbing a stick in the front spokes and folding over in laughter while witnessing the spectacular end-over crash.

Mount Elbert

People encased in all sorts of mountaineering gear lounged around on makeshift lawn furniture stacked out of lichen covered talus rocks. Dogs of assorted breeds and colors, all off leash, casually wandered about, nonchalantly cold nosing not only one another, but also any new two legged arrivals.  It was a gathering place where everyone shared a common goal. We were at the highest point in the Rocky Mountains that stretches over 3,000 miles from Alberta and British Columbia in Canada through Idaho, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado and New Mexico.

Dalmatian Squirrel

“Hey, we should think about trying the stuff.  My mother-in-law just had hip surgery and used it and says she feels great,” I overheard Neil tell Susie one morning at the gym. Both have their unique aches and pains and with my Achilles issue, I was curious.

“What's this magical “stuff” you’re talking about,” I had to ask.

“Marijuana massage lotion,” was the reply.

It Is What You Make It

Only a few miles to go.

Only a few miles to go.

I keep reciting the simple sentence in an attempt to bring comfort, to ease the pain, from biting off way too much of a trail run than what I am able to chew.

Good Friends

Flipping the light switch on, the lone bulb comes to life as I quietly gaze at the collection. Neatly paired together, they rest on the rack while others are haphazardly strewn across on the floor. The pairs remain motionless while I study the cluster below.  I am determined. I am focused.  My eyes move from one, to another, to another.

Finally, I find one and gently pick it up while continuing to search for its mate. "Aha! There you are!" I state while scooping up another and cradle the duo in my arms.  Giddy with my find, I leave the room and venture outside into the early morning darkness,

Moustache Unplugged #20

hehehe...undetected, I'll seize the moment to work on my letter...

Dear Health Insurance Man,

I am totally amazed that your dorky, pencil-necked dweeby self, seated comfortably behind a desk in a far away place, knows more than my surgeon in regard to what is good for me!

Like Father, Like Son

"He's young," stated Gary while pointing to Shasta, one llama out of six that were going to be strung together, nose to butt, to pack gear out. "He had a few training walks at home along the river and his first real trip was coming up here...he did pretty well," Gary added.

The 2014 Leadville 100 (LT100) trail race was over and the Hope Pass aid station had been broken down, packaged tight and compartmentalized into panniers to be hung on the llama pack trains.

Good Medicine

"Are you here as a volunteer or passing through," asked Deb to a woman entering camp burdened with a backpack and popping earbuds out of her ears.

"I'm passing through," the lady replied. "I'm hiking the Colorado Trail and working my way to Durango," she added while unslinging her pack and reaching down to pet her small red heeler who was overwhelmed by 8 dogs swarming the new arrivals.

Moustache Unplugged #19

hehehe...undetected, I seize the moment to work on my letter....

Dearest Nyx,

With devastating sadness, I learned about your tortuous death.  Simply thinking about your final hours of suffering here on Earth brings me to a level of utter disbelief. Oh, how you must have innocently questioned what was happening to you as the scorching heat became more and more oppressive. As temperatures soared, your body methodically shut down as you patiently waited for your savior. 

He never came.

Hips 'n Hops

Whoa! I caught The Moustache finishing another letter and intercepted it. He had branched out and reached a whole new level, and, after reading it, I referred to him as The Dirty Moustache. His latest was naughty, sensuous and totally inappropriate on this forum, but I made a compromise. Because I liked the idea, we agreed if I would clean it up from his X-rated version to something more acceptable, I'd publish it.

Hope Pass 2013

As a prerequisite to future blogs that are rolling around in my head, I offer the next piece.  It is quite lengthy, so do not expect a quick read.  Sit back and hopefully enjoy what it is like to experience volunteering on a 100 mile trail running race at an unusual aid station that is talked about worldwide.

Alone, I Marvel

Stars still twinkling overhead will soon to be erased with the coming daylight. I had analyzed the ski runs, carved like wavy stripes down the mountain sides, the night before. Noticing the highest chairlift far above timberline, I had challenged myself to reach it for this morning's adventure.  After double knotting my worn out trail running shoes, I set out in the darkness without my faithful headlamp that forgot to jump in my suitcase when I packed for vacation.

Wasabi Lessons

Caveman hungry...must eat now!

Moustache Unplugged #18

hehehe...I seize the moment to work on my letter...

Dear Neighborhood Coyotes,

Let this be a proper warning.  STAY AWAY OR ELSE!

Body Language

The evening alpine hue purples the surrounding mountain tops as I nestle my chin into the collar of my jean jacket.  Stopping on the sidewalk with clouds of breath fogging in front of my face, I peer up and down Main Street. Others, bundled in heavy layers, shuffle on top of the crunchy, snow-packed sidewalk and I spy the simple, 3 letter word I am seeking.

Pub.

Brew Dogs

The stagnant line of impatient people stretched up the sidewalk like crazed Christmas shoppers camping outside of Walmart for Black Friday's super sales. I wore a wrist band from smartly pre-registering the night before at a local pub, and smugly told myself how my super-genius, pre-planning would alleviate the pain and suffering of standing in line.

Feeling like a VIP, I approached a staff member at the gate. "What do you mean it does not matter?" I blurted after being rebuffed and told to get in line. "What good was pre-registering then?!" I huffed, steam rolling out of my ears, and stomped up the hill to become the caboose for the train of people.

Cottontail Ninja

Scattered gray clouds thudded along the ground, gently pushed by an early morning breeze. Vegetation, burdened with a heavy dew, rolled droplets off the tips of droopy leaves.  Fiery brush strokes of vivid colors streaked amongst the breaking clouds and the morning silence was cherished. Sounds were muffled by the heavy air as my peace and serenity were instantly interrupted with a shrill screaming that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

Snowflake Kertuffle

"It'll take a full year for complete recovery," my surgeon commented and those words echo in my ears, driving me to prove him wrong. I simply don't have a year to fart around while crippled from Achilles tendon surgery and I have been pushing physical therapy to the limits. So, on the 5 month anniversary of my waking up incoherently blabbering to nurses who had dressed me after floating around in la la land during surgery, I felt ready for a true inaugural trail run. 

Moustache Unplugged #15

hehehe...I seize the moment to work on my letter.....

Dear Jackass News Reporters,

Unbelievably, I've listened for days and not only does my moustache violently twitch with your simplistic vocabulary, but my ears furiously sizzle and my butt hairs angrily bristle with your "live and on the scene" news feeds.

Content

Cruising at highway speed, aided by a strong tailwind, a pronghorn antelope streaks alongside me, darting between sagebrush and eyeballing his suicidal intention to blitz across the roadway in front of my truck. Suddenly, our sprint enters downtown Jeffrey City, a modern day ghost town out on the high sagebrush plains of central Wyoming.  The pronghorn dashes behind what appears to be an abandoned gas station. Crudely made signs and a neon light indicate that the business is open with MONK King BiRd POTTERY hand painted with two bird footprints on the storefront.

Cornered

A pizza box spotted with grease here, a crumpled old newspaper there, a bag of assorted trash tossed in an empty corner. One discard followed by another is such a slow buildup that it goes unnoticed. It's similar to gaining weight. A pound here and a pound there isn't noticed since it is just a gradual increase. But, link days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years and years into decades, and the accumulation becomes staggering. The first pizza box morphed into mountains and the conditions surpassed hoarding, it was a super-hoarder's house.

Moustache Unplugged #14

hehehe...undetected, I seize the moment to work on my letter...


Dear Fellow Americans,

Happy 4th of July, and...

Sassafras and Willie

The little girl's blue eyes bulged as the scene before her gushed more bloody fluid. Beneath her thick blond hair, her brain busily processed every tiny detail and no words were spoken as she stood entranced with the activty.  She did not wince or nervously knead her delicate fingers in balled fists, but instead, her small hands stayed at her sides. Oddly, she was not terrified while standing in the corner of the small room. She somehow was very intrigued.

Moustache Unplugged #13

hehehe...undetected, I seize the opportunity to work on my letter...

Dear World Cup Officials,

Yes, here in the United States of America, football is a homegrown sport highlighted by the Super Bowl which involves an oblong ball and a WHOLE lot of rock 'em, sock 'em physical contact. Futbol throughout the rest of world is highlighted by the World Cup which involves a round, NASA-designed, aerodynamic ball and a WHOLE lot of running with minimal physical contact. I attempted to watch some World Cup action and quickly discovered there's alot about the sport that I simply do not understand...

Time Machine

Here lately, I've been more and more wishing for a time machine.

Revisited

Most of the cows trailed along with their calves clinging tightly beside them while being pushed towards the corrals.  Men on horesback sought high ground to use as vantage points to view any stragglers hidden in the many draws and canyons on the ranch as other men on 4-wheelers quickly zipped around the vast property also collecting cagey mommas seeking refuge.  Heavy spring rains had the rolling eastern plains of Colorado lush with grass and waterholes brimming at capacity.

Duh

A new weight machine in the corner is calling out to me. I plop down on it to crank off a set of high repetitions and, the stack of weights does not even jiggle in my attempt to lift it. I slyly look around the gym to see who was the meathead that last used the machine and only catch glimpses of elderly folks shuffling around.  Hmmmm.....

Moustache Unplugged #12

hehehe....undetected, I take the opportunity to work on my letter....

Dear Fellow Appalled Citizens,

On January 1, 2013, two police officers, one on duty and the other home after calling in sick, teamed up together for an incredibly outrageous crime in the quiet city streets of Boulder, Colorado. Under the cover of darkness, the on-duty officer stalked "Big Boy" through street lamps, front porch lights and leftover Christmas decorations. While Big Boy grazed in a yard under a crab apple tree, a bullet ripped through him and ended his life.  The officers' plan was in full motion. It wasn't even close to resembling a hunt, but merely a greedy killing and a wanton destruction of life.

Good Day

Huffing and puffing and bitching at my bum leg that is taking way too long to mend (at least in my mind), I keep my chin tucked while marching up the mountain. Physical therapy at its best. Screw that room full of antiseptic stench and therapists who uncomfortably touch me. I can stretch what needs to be stretched and exercise what needs to be exercised without smelling mothballs, bad breath, sour feet and questioning the hygeine of who last sprawled on the equipment they ask me to lay across. Doc told me to let pain be my guide...so, bring it on!

Summit

While traversing the mountainside, a flash of movement above me on the slope catches my eye. My head jerks to better focus on what becomes a man in a t-shirt coming down a trail. A leash angles down and periodic glimpses through the brush shows it's attached to what appears to be a yellow lab. The duo moves in slow motion and they drop out of sight behind a small ridge. Minutes later, I come to where our trails intersect with them now on "my" trail as I cut up onto "their" singletrack. He waves, I wave back, and he rotates to focus on his dog. A tidal wave of emotion rips through me, streaming tears from my eyes.

Square Wheels

"Wow, you caught me off guard," commented my surgeon after I asked him how he was doing as he entered the examination room.  It was my 3 month anniversary visit after having my Achilles detached from my heel bone for some repair work. "So seldom does a patient ask a doctor how he is doing... I'm fine, thank you for asking.  And how are you?" he queried.

Hmmm...my inner voice stalled...How do I answer this properly?

Bam-Bam (Part 2)

Vrooom.

Click. Click.  "F#cking thing!" I mutter.  Click. Click. Click. "You expensive piece of monkey shit!"

Bam-Bam

The cashier clumsily scans the barcodes and then lackadaisically tosses the purchased clothing into the plastic bag, giving no thought about any perceptions of her nonchalant actions. With new clothes wadded up in the bag, the grand total is announced amongst popping sounds made from gum being chewed in an open mouth. Change is handed back inside of folded bills where coins instantly spill out and now, blood pressure is rising. Tumbling money is snatched up and the bag is yanked off the counter while the excuse of "it must be her first day" is briefly considered.

Moustache Unplugged #11

Hehehe...undetected, I take the opportunity to write a letter...

Dear Litterbugs,

I find it utterly remarkable, and incredibly outrageous, that you simply pitch trash onto the ground or toss it out of a car window without an inkling of guilt. What is wrong with you?

I'm Back

Free from crutches and the walking boot, I grabbed ski poles and, giddy with anticipation, I headed out to visit my mistress/therapist. I knew she would be good rehab for my Achilles surgery and she would never complain about my taking it slow and easy.  As I rolled into the parking lot and threw the transmission in park, I glanced up.  She looked, as always, enduring in the morning sun. 

Red Stripe

The cloudless blue sky makes for an intense afternoon sun as I ease my car into the parking lot at the trailhead. Several unoccupied cars are scattered in the lot as I quietly slip out of the driver's seat and gently push the door closed to keep the area quiet with solitude. I glance around to get a feel for the surroundings and something catches my eye. 

It's red, beat up and laying on top of a yellow painted, concrete pedestal that serves as a stout base for a parking lot light.

A Legend?

Like a rodent hunched up in the corner, clutching food in tiny raised hands, he stares blankly from his dark eyes that are set deeply in their hollow sockets. His greasy dark hair is slicked tight to his forehead while his whiskery jaw rapidly gyrates while chewing up his food. Boney fingers busily chase the last remnants of tuna around the inside of the circular tin and, hours later, he's naked and rolling around on the trailer floor convinced he is going to die.

Thank You

This blog was created 2 months ago in a foggy, pain killer induced state of mind.  A filleted Achilles tendon stifled any activity from my body while dope rendered my brain useless as I floated around in puffy white clouds, sparkled with fairy dust, talking to polka-dotted elephants. I had no purpose in life while rotting away in bed. I don't Facebook, Google +, tweet, instagram and had never read a blog. A person can only do nothing for so long. So, while incapacitated, I read a friend's blog and liked it.  And while drifting around in glittery clouds, I told myself to create a blog and promised myself to create a daily post until I returned to work.

Moustache Unplugged #10

Hehehe...undetected, I've grabbed the opportunity to work on my letter...


Dear Principals of Elementary Schools,

In no way do I blame the following on you, but I must remind you of something that occurs on your school grounds twice every school day.  It involves the ultimate display of human self-importance and I hope you hire one big, hairy legged, knuckle dragging, tobacco-spittin', hard-ass P.E. teacher to be your enforcer.

Good Fortune

The antique stock truck, hauling a red bull in the back, sputtered, coughed and jerked to a stop on the side of the road.  The gas gauge incorrectly showed a quarter tank, but I recognized the symptoms and knew I had just run out of gas...with a bull...and a dog...out on the Escalante desert...with no gas can...with about 15 miles to town.

Ah shit!

The Coat

It patiently hangs around, with dangling threads, silently watching over things and is easily overlooked since it blends into the cluttered, hodge-podge collection strewn throughout the shop.  It's seen better days.  Burnt, torn and tattered, it can barely function but is kept more for sentimental reasons. 

My blanket-lined, Carhartt Duck Chore Coat, a Christmas present over 25 years ago, anxiously awaits more use.

Eusocial

Like poorly behaved bar patrons getting evicted, I watch many getting physically thrown out.  Some try their best to cling onto the enforcer, pleading for another chance, but they eventually fall off and wander aimlessly in small circles near the main door. It's a pleasant summer afternoon and I cannot understand what is happening since so many are scattered across the ground.

I'm passing the neighbor's beehive and am stopped cold to watch nature in action.

Not For Me

Straddling on fences above the sweaty beast, I slowly ease myself lower. He thrashes around, crashing his head forward into the gate and banging his ribs against the metal panels that squishes my legs as I continue to drape them further down his sides. His bony spine jabs into my hind end while I try to find a seat along his sharp backbone as he slings snot and slobber. Happy Jack is not a big bull, but I was warned that what he lacks in size he more than makes up with speed.  And, he has a good set of horns that he knows how to use.

"He'll take two jumps out and then hit it hard to the left," I was told while positioning my bull rope.

Ol' Dawg

"James, wake up! You can't sleep here," said the cop while nudging a haphazard pile of filthy blankets with his toe. They were in the grungy basement laundry room of a rundown apartment complex. "C'mon James, get up! I convinced the family shelter down the street to admit a lone male...you're getting the last bed...I'll give you a ride."

"FUCK YOU!" replied James in his deep, cigarette-scratchy voice. "I'll walk down there myself! Asshole!"  With that, he was swallowed in the raging blizzard while marching towards the shelter with his blankets wadded under an arm.

Teton's Tub

Wave after wave, gentle crystalline waters rhythmically slapped the rounded stones at the shoreline.  Bubbles gurgled amongst the stones after the wave's retreat, only to be immediately drowned with the next wave.  A water-logged tree, with all its branches broken off from tumbling in the churning waves, was beached and targeted for use as my bath stand.

Jackson Lake in the Grand Teton National Park was going to be a very chilly bathtub.

Moustache Unplugged #9

Hehehe...undetected, I take the opportunity to write a letter...


Dear Warrior Dash,

In following the advice of many literary coaches to keep prose succint, YOU SUCK!

It Can Wait

I spot my quarry and thumb the accelerator. My old, dinky yet reliable 4-wheeler shoots across the dormant hay meadow, bouncing over frozen cow pies and shallow irrigation ditches. The cattle have already cleaned up all the hay dropped off the truck earlier this morning. With full bellies, some lay scattered in the field while others head to the river to drink. Low hanging branches beside the river are polished silky smooth from years serving as back scratchers. 

Noticing my approach, my target heads out. Although at full throttle, I press my thumb harder hoping to somehow get the 4-wheeler to go faster. Slowly, I get closer and closer.

Welcome Back

Laying motionless, they are sprawled out beside one another like college students on the front lawn of a university frat house the morning after an all night kegger. Because of the intense heat, they're intentionally spaced apart from one another, fearing any touching will intensify the nearly unbearable temperature. Face down with stretched necks and legs stiffly extended, they breath in concert to a slow and steady rhythm.  And, their wings flare out from their sides like stubby arms.

Peeps have been purchased and are sleeping under the intense red glow of the heat lamp.

Why Not

While seated at the cozy breakfast table and looking over my steaming coffee cup that was raised for a sip, I glanced out the picture window and couldn't believe my eyes. Coming straight across the  irrigated hay meadow, as if on a mission, an undeterred coyote was making a beeline to the ranch house. Jax and Tari were already outside and soon began barking as I went for my rifle.

Not So Fast

"Let pain be your guide," answered Doc when questioned how far I could push things during rehab.

Oh ya! It's finally time to feel wonderfully shitty, I rejoiced as if the reins that have kept me in check for the last 2 months were released.  Pain from my Achilles surgery will not thwart my desire to get back running on the single track trails, I boldly told myself.

The Tree

It stands alone, like a dedicated sentinel overlooking vast territory, motionless in its duty. Although it makes no noise in an attempt to communicate, it somehow reaches out and draws me near. It offers peace, solitude and deep reflection. It's my spot. 

Others have a similar area.  An aging recliner with smooshed cushions, a wooden adirondack chair with chipped paint or a beat up lawn chair with sagging web straps. Mine happens to be a tree.

Conscious

"The witnesses aren't the best, but the consensus is that Jeff and Lance stomped Kentucky Dave to death," a homicide detective was overheard muttering to a coworker.

Karma

"I hope this isn't true, but people are talking how you shot my dog," I confronted Brad who had pulled into my dirt driveway with Delmar, his co-worker, riding in the passenger seat.

"Well, I won't lie," he nervously replied while looking everywhere but at me. "Your dog was running our cattle and I did shoot him...and...um...Bob told me to," Brad claimed. "He didn't suffer. It was a clean shot," he added.

Moustache Unplugged #8

Hehehe...undetected, I seize the opportunity to write a letter...

Dear Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT),

Yes, I know I previously wrote you a letter (Moustache Unplugged #4 ), but I simply can't help myself when you provide such comical reactions to a chronic problem. 

Incessant Forward Motion

"If you can't run, hike.  If you can't hike, walk. I call it Incessant Forward Motion, IFM, and eventually you'll make it to the finish line," said Rick Trujillo, founder of the Imogene Pass Run.

He was speaking during a carbo-loading spaghetti supper the night before the race hosted upstairs in Ouray's firehouse. I passed on the pasta since it looked like a starchy gut-bomb that would do more harm than good, and I intently listened to the man who not only founded the Imogene Pass Run, but won the Pikes Peak Marathon 5 consectutive times. Plus, he also helped design the Hardrock 100 that is commonly referred to being one of the toughest 100 mile races for ultrarunners. If that's not enough, he won the Hardrock in 1996 and has a full time job and a family.

Cascading Waters

With eyes pinched shut, I scrunch my face as steaming hot water pelts it from the waterfall. Having found such a remote hot mineral spring in the desolate mountains of Wyoming is a blessing.

Believe It

"TIRE CHAINS REQUIRED" flashed on the emergency highway sign as I began to ascend Wolf Creek Pass. Powered by a Cummins diesel engine, the flatbed pickup truck easily yanked around the 20 foot gooseneck trailer filled with Corriente cattle I had just purchased outside of Trinidad. Andy kept me company in the front seat while Hugo, my red heeler, excitedly paced non-stop from side to side on the flatbed intently watching for oncoming semi's to snap at as they passed. The weather was calm with pleasant temperatures so Andy and I assumed the sign's warning was accidentally turned on.

Darn It!

Alone, I effortlessly glide along the trail through the thick mist. I can taste the cloud and feel the dampness brush against my torso and legs. Oddly, although heavy snow intermittently changes to a soft drizzling rain, I am neither cold nor wet. That's hard to believe since I'm only wearing shorts and trail running shoes, but, the moisture lands on my skin and simply evaporates and I remain dry. My cadence remains strong as I nearly float along the ground, absorbing my favorite running conditions while on my #1 trail.

Moustache Unplugged #7

Hehehe...undetected I seize the moment to write a letter...

Dear Colorado Parks and Wildlife,

While peacefully minding my own business in my house, my whiskers uncontrollably twitched upon hearing a sound from the past. I freeze, ears straining, and soon confirm what I thought I heard.  There it is again, proof that the enemy has returned!

Encouragement

In a skimpy tube top and threadbare daisy duke short-shorts, she walks barefoot on the sidewalk as sporadic lone males in their cars circle the block. Some are trying to work up the courage while most are doing a quick recon of the area for police prior to stopping their car and asking the proverbial prostitution question, "Do you need a ride?"

Wilderness and Wolves

"A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain."

Howard Zahniser, author of The Wilderness Act 

It took over sixty drafts and eight years before President Lyndon B. Johnson signed The Wilderness Act into law on September 3, 1964. Originally, 9.1 million acres of federal land was protected which has now bloomed to over 109.5 million acres today. Beings that there are 640 acres in a square mile, today's Wilderness protected lands are around 171,093.75 square miles. (For comparison sake, total acreage of California [land and water] is 163,694.74 square miles.) Wonderfully, that's quite a bit of preserved territory protected from mans' vices.

WTF?

I'm awakened by racket in my buddy's apartment as I had fallen asleep in the tiny loveseat sofa the night before. I glance out the window and see dawn's early colors just starting to change the night sky when suddenly, my face is smothered by a pillow with such force I can't remove it.

Long Way To Go

While partially concealed in the morning shadows of the parking lot, I squint and witness the behavior that creases my brow and sours my mouth. People so enthralled with each other, but even moreso with themself, that they do not even notice her. They move along with fake smiles, purposefully glinting their most recent tooth whitening procedure, as they pretend to pay attention to each other. 

But, I know better. 

Properly Named

She violently spins to face me.  Eyes red with hate and her body tense in anticipation of a fight.  She's already sweaty and stands rigid while analyzing my every step.  I take a calculated step towards her and she strategically makes a counter move.  We're both skilled, and the showdown in the alley has begun with the Hell Bitch.

Really?

"Holy cow! Look ot those things!" my startled wife exclaimed while looking past my face and out the window.

"What? I don't see anything?" I announced while looking oustide and noting nothing was unusual.

"Your eyebrows! Geez...get those things fixed. That one's at least 2 inches long," she lovingly brought to my attention.

Suddenly feeling like a hideously gruesome troll or the long-lost missing link, I console myself that there is no way they are that bad.

Gotta Go

Glancing up, I notice a lady step off to the side of the trail.  Alone, she was coming downhill as I was heading up and I found her gesture very premature, but much appreciated.  Most trail users are considerate, but her stepping aside while so far away was unusual.

I maintained my focus on the trail as it was cluttered with loose rock and my proprioception (fancy college word of the day) was key in not getting hurt. While chugging up the hill, I noticed the lady had remained motionless at the side of the trail. Since most wait for the final yards to step aside, including me, her behavior was odd.  Music was setting a good rhythm during the ascent and while nearing her, sheer terror distorted her face while staring right at, or behind me.

Moustache Unplugged #6

Hehehe...undetected, I seize the opportunity to write a letter...

Dear Dipshit Californian Tourist,

Wow! That's a gigantic population, so I must narrow it down. You were in a light gray 4 door Nissan Sentra traveling northbound in the Grand Teton National Park heading towards Yellowstone. Oddly, I cannot provide a description of you, the driver, but I noticed a middle aged, frumpy female with heavily hair-sprayed, brown hair in the front passenger seat. As you crossed Pilgrim Creek, the scenery changed from big, open views to a tunnel going through a pine forest where trees choked both sides of the road. You were alone on the road with no cars ahead or behind you.

Be Careful What You Say

"Are you not entertained?" Crazy Scott bellered to the grandstands while standing on a short concrete wall. "Are you not entertained?" he repeated with hands raised high and facing the bleachers.

I recognized the scene from my favorite movie, Gladiator, and Crazy Scott showed up with the intent of winning the World's Toughest Mudder 2013. The start of 24 hour race was an hour away and Crazy Scott was already reciting his victory speech.

Keep Singing

I parked the car, removed the keys and cracked the driver's door open to hear music blaring from a nearby vehicle. But, something wasn't right. Instead of the typical bump 'n thump of window rattling rap music, I'm hearing nostalgic country music. But, something is still not agreeing with my ears.  Someone is singing out of tune with the music...WAY out of tune.

I search for the vehicle with the wayward singer and my attention is drawn along the storefronts of the strip mall. There, tucked in the corner, stood a lone sidewalk performer singing his heart out as if he was on stage singing a duet with the true artist. Shoppers passed by, staring at him, and the more he strained to screech out some high notes, the more he intrigued me with his effort.

Retreat

Trudging through the deepening snow, I recognize it is now about 6" deep where it was  about 4" when I started. The temperature is in the 20's with my moustache icing up as I work my way up the canyon. The blue sky is cloudless after the overnight snowstorm and the sun is just hitting the mountain tops. It's a beautiful morning and my trek up the canyon has been peaceful with my footfalls silenced by the snow. Suddenly, I notice a lot of activity.

The unblemished blanket of snow is all tracked up and I look up to see something just above me on the slope.

Warning:  By hitting "Read More" a graphic photograph follows.



Hazardous Conditions

With only a few hundred yards to go, I pick up my pace to finish the trail run with some serious huffing and puffing when I see him. Standing near the parking lot is a man in uniform, mirrored sunglasses and hands on his hips. Not wanting to make eye contact, I glance out the side of my sunglasses as I run past and offer a token, but very phony sounding, "Good morning." Thumping music blaring from my earbuds prevent hearing any response as I don't even break stride. 

I knew the trails were closed. A temporary, half-assed sign told me so, but I went around it.  It's not that I felt above the law, it's just that I understood the stupid knee jerk reaction that precipitated the decision and found the closure absurdly preposterous. While stretching at my car, I notice in the paint's reflection that the man in uniform is quickly stomping up behind me. I pop my earbuds out and spin to greet him. His droopy gut jiggles over his duty belt as he assails me for defying his authority.

Fun and Games

"What was that?" I called out to Andy who was off to the side of the dirt road.

"Oh great," he said, thoroughly disgusted and shaking his head.

Together, we took off after the dark shadow that was trying to elude the two men on horseback.

Diary of a Wimpy Leg

Dear Dairy,

I wish I had more nerdy computer skills, because I know the mobile format to read the following will make a mess of things.  Oh well.....

Who would have thought I would ever make an entry in a diary such as this,

But after my Achilles tendon got chopped on, my life is not so bliss.

I've become a burden to my other leg and a long list of names,

But I really celebrated when Mr. Plaster Cast went up in glorious flames.

Moustache Unplugged #5

Hehehe...undetected, I grab the opportunity to work on my letter...

Dear Samsung,

Your big, fancy and overpriced flatscreen TV broke the day before its one year warranty ended.  So, I called for warranty work and a repair main showed up 6 days later with a part that did not fix the TV.  He returned after another 6 days with 2 new parts and still was unable to fix the TV.  Another 7 days passed and this time he arrived with a main board, a power board and a new LCD panel.  These 3 major components were installed and the TV remained broken.  Frustrated, the repairman called Samsung engineers who blamed him for using faulty components whereby the enigineers embarassingly learned that the parts came straight from your warehouse.

Prints

Large snowflakes lazily waft downward from the low hanging clouds in the night sky and have accumulated to a fluffy layer about an inch deep on the trail. The fresh snowfall wipes Mother Nature's canvas clean as her artists busily create their most recent piece of work.

My headlamp's beam is reflected on the bright snow this early morning and footing is a little trickier since rocks are concealed.  But, repetition has my feet on autopilot while traipsing up the trail.

Compassion

Ramon told the police officer that Deanna had been stabbed, kidnapped and possibly killed by her thug of a boyfriend.  Although not a witness, he heard it from other homeless people and pointed to a shabby, abandoned garage at the end of a filthy alley.  Upon entering the delapidated shed, a scrawny feral cat bolted and the police officer recognized the pressurized arterial spurting of blood that had jetted its signature zig-zag pattern on the dingy wall like funky graffiti.  Detectives were summoned and the crime lab processed the bloody scene.

Deanna was well known to the police--a big, burly, brassy bitch.  She took pride of her reputation and wore it well.  One officer, thinking she was quite cool, was overheard commenting on Deanna's potential murder being a "victimless crime."  The offensive comment was off-the-chart unprofessional.

Warning Labels

While leaning on a shovel, I squint to read some fine print on the sidewall of the tiny wheelbarrow tire.  "Warning: Not intended for highway use."  Bummer, after I was done, I was going to use duct tape and baling wire to attach it on the back of the car and use it as a trailer to help a friend move. 

What other ridiculous warning labels can I find?  "Do not attempt to stop blade with your hand," was in my chainsaw's manuel.  Whew, glad they warned me.  "Do not drive with sunshield in place," was printed on my accordian-folded cardboard dash protector.  Really?  But I like driving by feel.  I venture inside the house.  "For external use only," was found on the label of my wife's curling iron and I won't even speculate what prompted that warning. 

I went to the cupboard and grabbed drinking glasses to search for the ultimate insult towards humanity.  I was disappointed not to see a label in the bottom of the glasses that read, "Warning: User must swallow to avoid drowning."

Warning labels.  So often ignored by the conscientious consumer that they are often unheeded.  Such was the case as a teenager.

Red Eyes

Standing in the parking lot, I reach up and click on my headlamp.  Over the top of my colorful Turtle Fur beanie, the headlamp's broad elastic band firmly secures it to my head.  Dawn is still over an hour away and the early summer morning temperature is cool, but no jacket is needed since I'll be warmed up in a big way within minutes.

Flat white light describes the headlamp's dull beam.  Spooky flat white light best describes it...as in "The Blair Witch Project" spooky.

Beautiful

Glancing across the pasture, I couldn't make sense of the scene.  Scattered in several spots appeared to be where a pillow fight had gone bad and feathers exploded all over the ground.  I ran into the pasture and viewed the carnage.  A dead hen here, a dead hen there.  A quick count revealed several were missing.  Coyotes had struck mid-day.

As I gathered the deceased, I looked down towards the open space where the missing hens were carried away as a meal.  In the corner of my eye, I noticed another hen, fluffed up and motionless, under the neighbor's bushes.  I went to her and immediately noticed Beautiful had also been attacked.  Blood oozed from her head and an eye was swollen shut.  She survived the coyote attack, but for how much longer?

Old Fashioned

Cigarette smoke hangs in a thick layer at the ceiling, dimly illuminated by neon beer signs and weak bulbs struggling to cast their best glow on the lone pool table.  Overplayed country songs echo from the aged jukebox while voices murmur and the crack of clashing pool balls add to the atmosphere of the small town tavern. Stale beer from old spills mixes with the wood conditioner from the aged wooden bar and challenges the acrid cigarette smoke for champion odor. 

Suddenly, the front door swings wide open and there he stands in all his glory, Mr. Slick Willy.  Eye brows are shaped and moustache is waxed while heavily starched, nut-huggin' Wrangler jeans are creased from the dry cleaners.  A gigantic, store-bought silver belt buckle is attached to a custom leather belt that, to no surprise, has his name tooled on it. His pant cuffs rest on a $750 pair of custom Lucchese cowboy boots and his fancy pearl snap, button-up shirt is topped off with a brand new silk wild rag.  A perfectly shaped, black 100X Stetson cowboy hat finishs the ensemble. His big mouth provides a grand entry as he proceeds to tell everyone what a rough day he had at work. 



(Poor quality, sorry.  But, oh so good.  Cartoonist is Gary Larson.)

 

Moustache Unplugged #4

Hehehe...undetected, I've grabbed the opportunity to work on my letter...


Dear Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT),

For decades, I-70 traffic into and out of Colorado's mountains has been an absolute joke.  Weekends during ski season make a mockery of the interstate having motorists idle 4+ hours to travel a mere 60 miles.  But, holidays and summertime weekends also constipate the interstate like pain pills in a surgery patient.

I Need a Beer

A tiny old man steps up on an inverted milk carton as he flips back the dumpster's lid.  The lid thuds against the cinder block wall of the convenience store as he stands on his tip toes to reach inside the big bin of rubbish.  He digs around, evidenced by occasional trash falling out, and continues with his rummaging. 

Expired donuts, with a variety of other expired food items, that are thrown out by the convenience store attract the homeless to the dumpster like token feedings.  The intersection is sprinkled with a homeless population who knows the day, time and exact employee responsible for the food's disposal.  They patiently wait in the alley's shadows, quietly watching for their next meal to be pitched. 

Scratch an Itch

I caught a fleeting glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye.  I knew she was there.  I had intentionally avoided making any eye contact, but I could not help myself.  I had not been so close to my mistress in months and revelled in how beautiful she looked.  Sunshine's glow highlighted her features and her lines were even better than I remembered.  Despite my planned avoidance, I suddenly was captured in her trance, unable to help myself.  In such a hurry to touch her, I forgot my crutches and hastily hopped the chain link fence that was the final barrier between us.  I completed the obstacle as if my cast was no longer worn and crouched down beside her.  My fingers reached out and ...

I was really on the Apex Trail and touching its gritty dirt!   Wahoo!

OOPS!

Grunting, I heft up the final bale of hay to load the truck for the morning's feeding.  Circling around the front of the pickup truck, I notice Jax and Tari both scrunched in the driver's seat, appearing like spatting siblings ready to fight over who was going to drive.  I crack the driver's door open and both stand with their stubby tails wiggling as if I had been gone for a month.  Dogs are amazing.  Human have so much to learn from them about devotion, forgiveness....the list is extensive.  And, it includes stunt driving.

Extreme City Slicker

A steady stream of headlights exits the highway as I watch for my friend's car.  Life has thrown him a few curve balls and I invited, maybe even demanded, Oso joining me for a run since few problems can't be figured out during a long trail run.  A car pulls up with a smiling face and he follows me further down the interstate to the parking lot at the base of the trail.

On the horizon, dawn is painting the inky night sky with large brush strokes of brilliant colors as we head out.  Typically music seals my ears while I run, but today I leave the music behind to visit with Oso as we trek up the trail and enter the canyon. 

Shoulda' Known Better

Steam rolls off their wet backs as they trail single file through the deep snow from the windbreak that sheltered them from the storm.  Older calves that typically run helter-skelter, bouncing off their mommas and each other, are constrained by the snowfall and follow along in the quickly developed cow path.  An occasional cow stretches her neck to beller as a vapor cloud forms in front of her face.

Silently Judged

Wholeheartedy sick of being such a burden around the house, I look around and decide to help with a simple chore that will reward me with a feeling of accomplishment.  Eagerly, I ditch the crutches to free up my hands and do the one-leg hop to the overflowing laundry basket.  Grabbing the basket so the narrow portion travels freely through doorways, I hop-hop-hop through the house and to the stairs. 

Carefully, I concentrate on balance and drop one stair at a time, make the landing and finish dropping more stairs to the laundry room.

Whew!

Moustache Unplugged #3

Hehehe...undetected, I've grabbed a moment to work on my letter...

Dear Olympic Committee,

Sochi was a beautiful place with scenic views and magnifcent structures to accompany the 2014 Winter Olympic Games.  But, did you notice the palm trees?  Um, palm trees grow in warm climates and I think Winter Olympic sports require cold temperatures...

As a review, summer is to hot as winter is to cold. 

Too Late to Fix

Alone, instinctively distancing himself to the far corner of the horse pasture, Sierra stood.  Eyes bulge, ears are pricked and nostrils flare as he intently watches my cautious approach.  One hand carries a dangling bucket of grain while the other pretends to hide a halter and lead rope behind my back, an overused ploy that I am sure he's seen hundreds of times.  I was new to the ranch and learned from the other hands that Sierra was a captured wild mustang from the Brown's Park area in the northwest corner of Colorado.  Years ago, Butch Cassidy, The Hole in the Wall Gang and other outlaws used the same area for its remote, unforgiving and desolate characteristics.  If Sierra was really born and raised there, his personality may cast a fitting reflection of his early years.

"Easy big fella," I gently spoke to him as his muscular body tensed. 

Gut Check

"You're tougher than you think you are, and you can do more than you think you can."     Ken Clouber, co-founder of the Leadville 100

"Race Across The Sky" refers to the Leadville 100 (LT100) trail run, a race that starts and ends in the highest incorporated city in the United States.  At an elevation of 10,152 feet, simply walking around Leadville, Colorado makes people gasp for oxygen.  Once a booming mine town, Leadville's population was decimated when the mine closed and Ken scrambled for its resurrection.  He had heard of some crazy horse rider competing in a 100 mile race, but prior to the race, the rider's horse became lame.  Undeterred, Gordy Ansleigh toed the start line in sneakers and ran against the mounted riders and finished the race in 23 hours and 47 minutes.  That was in 1974 at the 24 hour Western States Trail Ride which pioneered today's frequent 100 mile trail races.

Ken knew he needed an event with such holy-shit punching power that it would arch eyebrows and get people talking.  So, in 1983, why not host a similar event, but at altitude...extreme altitude...Leadville altitude?  Hence, the beginning of the LT100.

Tubbin'

Anger fueled cuss words accompany each step as I crutch towards the bathroom.  The cumbersome cast, decorated in the pattern from Norway's crazy Olympic curling team pants, is a bitch. 

A selfie of a cast? With a pink background?  Pathetic.





Lifeguard

"Hey, look down the beach at this guy in the surf," my wife suggested while sunning on the sands in Hawaii.

"No thanks.  I'm okay just laying here," I replied while laying face down in a lawn chair.  I had just finished snorkeling like the ultimate tourist where possibly half of the Pacific Ocean was swallowed through the stupid black tube.

"I'm serious, look at this guy," she repeated with slightly more emphasis.

The White Man

Absorbing sunlight on his dark, leathery skin, he is warming himself from a cold winter's night.  Long black hair is pulled back into a ponytail as he nestles into his fleece-lined brown leather coat.  He stands tall above the others and a broad nose with prominent cheekbones highlights his Native American blood.  With his head held high, he not only looks stoic, but also appears to be the exact replica of the model used for the classic Buffalo Nickel.

But, his home is being homeless. 

Moustache Unplugged #2

Hehehe...undetected, I have grabbed the opportunity to work on my latest...with a dictionary this time...


I can't believe what I'm hearing!!  It's making my whiskers twitch!

A community in Colorado, who knowingly moved into mountain lion country, are surprised that their dogs and cats are disappearing and are blaming the lion.  Acting absolutely astonished, they are vocal about the calamity to include the sensationalism of how small kids might be next. They are demanding governmental intervention to step in and fix it.

Really?   C'mon!

Pure Grit!

Finland and Germany were neck and neck during the start of the final leg in 4 X 5- kilometer women's crosscountry ski relay in Sochi.  Announcers boldly spoke how the battle for the gold medal was between those two racers.  Entering the final leg 25.7 seconds behind, a time difference too great to make up, was Sweden who was being chased by a 4-time Olympic champion.

The race between Finland and Germany fighting for the gold was at a pace the announcers' assumed they could not withstand.  With such a frantic pace, it was preposterous to think Sweden could catch them.

Divine Intervention

With saddle leather creaking, I was in tune with Amber, a recently purchased sorrel quarterhorse, as my body swayed in the rhythm of her strong stride.  We left the house, cut across hay meadows and pushed straight up the dark canyon's logging road to get to the summer pasture on top of the ranch.  Thankfully, no bears were encountered this time and as we crested to the sagebrush flats, Hugo, my red heeler, jumped on the opportunity to dart past us.  Amber, unbeknownst to me, was competitive.  On her own, she broke into a kidney-bruising trot to regain the lead.  Despite her unfriendly pace, I smiled at her spirit.

Moustache Unplugged #1

Hehehe.....undetected, I've grabbed the opportunity to work on my letter....


Deer Farm-a-sue-t-kul Kompanies,

U make gah-zillions of dollars every year off the sales of pillz.  Many pillz do grate thingz, but it is kommon knowledge that pain killerz constipate.  And u do nothing!

Patience

Patiently, I wait.

Everyday the yearning to see her, to feel her, to breath with her, to run with her becomes increasingly unbearable.  I close my eyes and remember sweat slickened skin, pumping arms, churning legs, labored breathing and a racing heart while spending time with her.  I reminisce over great music from our custom playlist filling my ears while her pine forest scent tickled my nose.  Although bedridden with this dreadful cast, I still catch glimpses of her from my window.  She looks so lovely in the distance. 

A Good Lunatic

Everything was normal.  Cars were stop and go, aggressive drivers darted between lanes, black exhaust plumes from diesel trucks choked the air.  As usual, afternoon rush hour was getting on my nerves.  In a left turn only lane at a busy intersection, I stopped behind a huge camper where my field of vision was limited to bumper stickers collected on roadtrips.  Music from KBPI drummed out of my speakers when, suddenly, the driver behind me fled from his car and stood in front of a Toyota truck rolling in the oncoming lanes. 

The graying man slammed his hands hard on the hood, belly bouncing off the grill, yelling for the driver to stop as the Toyota continued to creep forward.  He worked his way around to the driver's side where he continued his barrage of striking the hood and windshield while yelling at the driver.

Fang versus Rhino Horn

“Whoa!” blurted the surgeon while sliding my x-ray in front of the fluorescent bulbs.  Bones of my right foot and ankle were illuminated and my riddle was finally solved. 

For months I ran trails with pain in my Achilles tendon that I elected to ignore. It’s nothing, I’d tell myself and push through the pain to enjoy Mother Nature.  Good music and thoughts helped drown the pain, but after suffering too many months, my self-diagnosed Achilles tendonitis needed a professional opinion.

“See this here?” asked the surgeon while pointing to my heel bone that had a stalagmite jutting upwards. “That’s a bone spur that grew into your Achilles and you broke it off at the base,” he added.