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.