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.