Posts from — July 2005

Enough of this Boulder business, I’m goin’ to Oshkosh!

That’s right, it’s late July and that means it’s time for EAA Airventure, the biggest general aviation airshow in the world, and I’m going again. I had originally thought I would be riding with my friends in the Aztec again, but I seem to have moved far away from them. So, I’ll be flying commercial to Green Bay and meeting up with John, Rob, Damian & Jill, Bill & son, and Jake tomorrow, and we’ll all be driving down to Appleton. From there, we will plan our assault on Oshkosh’s Whittman Field while consuming beers.

EAA Airventure — generally known as “Oshkosh” to pilots — is quite simply the greatest aviation spectacle on earth. If you dig planes, you gotta go. And once you go, you want to go to every one. I attended it for the first time in 2003, and last year I really missed the high of attending. It’s a big celebration of things with wings, and the people who fly them, invent them, build them, restore them and love them. So you see, I gotta go.

Hopefully the cold front that is draped across the entire middle of the country will not mess me up too bad, and I’ll rendezvous in a timely fashion, and by this time tomorrow I’ll be sipping beers with my pilot pals

Thursday, I’ll hit the warbird flightline and melt into the dizzying array of assembled aircraft, marveling at the scope of the show, the enthusiasm of the participants and the wonder of aviation.

Last week, I saw some of those tree huggers. Literally.

I used to think “tree hugger” was a funny little dig, a pejorative nickname assigned to those who care about the environment. I never thought the term was related to an actual habit or hobby. But here in Boulder, the hippies are hardcore, man; they really do hug the damned trees.

I was walking along Pearl Street, trying to regain my composure after very ungraceful descent from a short mountain hike, when I saw a young couple stop their walk, and turn to face a tree. It was a large tree, in someone’s front yard, and it was utterly unremarkable as far as trees go. Trunk, branches, leaves. Just like all the other ones. But apparently this one was sending out some kind of signals, because this couple stopped, and after a brief discussion the woman walked up to the trunk and wrapped her arms around it, in a loving bark embrace. Arms outstretched, lying against the trunk, she laid her head against the tree, and appeared to be listening for further instructions.

Apparently the tree said “hey, get your boyfriend over here, and we’ll have a three-way”, because it wasn’t long before the guy walked up to the tree and embraced it too. I didn’t know whether to laugh or call an ambulance. I laughed anyway, just to be safe. I laughed loudly.

As I continued walking home, I occasionally shot a look over my right shoulder to see if the wood festival had ended, and I was alternately pleased, annoyed and confused to see that they were all still locked in a calm embrace.

Folks, I don’t know what to make of this. That scene will haunt me for some time, I expect.

You have to love this.

All week, the local movie theatre - complete with fabulous neon marquee - has been advertising not a movie, but a live broadcast of Stage Fifteen of the Tour de France.

Showtime: 5:30.

AM.

As in, in the morning. As in, five thirty in the frikkin’ morning. The local paper mentions raffles and bloody marys, but I’ll need more than that to get me out to the Boulder Theatre at five in the morning.

But you know what? I’ll bet you there was a good turnout. As for me, I watched the end of the stage after I woke up, which was whenever the hell I woke up. The entire stage will be rebroadcast several times throughout the day and I will see what I gotta see, but there is something very cool about living in a town that hosts a live early-hour broadcast of this pivotal stage in this very special edition of this very special race.

P.S.
A 1,000 year-old woman just walked into the coffee shop wearing white Crocs with matching white ankle socks. This should never happen.

I left my apartment at 8AM this morning, and arrived at work ten minutes later, self-reliant the whole way. A friend of a friend out here loaned me his mountain bike indefinitely, which has been great for getting around Boulder. There are bike paths and bike lanes everywhere, and many crosswalks have bike sensors in the road so when you roll up the lights often immediately begin to turn in your favor. A garbage truck stopped and let me cross a side street, and the driver even waved and smiled.

I also rolled along inches from what appeared to be a twig, but turned out to be a friggin’ snake this morning. I’m quite certain it was a highly venomous species, just as certain as the rustling in the bushes I heard the other night as I unlocked my bike from the rack at the office was a mountain lion.

It’s an adjustment.

One week in. Settling in at work, and just yesterday I moved from a hotel to an actual apartment, so now it really feels like I live in Boulder. I guess I do. Holy Shit! Today was my first day off since arrival in Colorado, and I spent it walking around and exploring (and locating this free wireless internet access point). I was here in Boulder a month ago for the interview, and our friends Bill & Lauren showed us around, but the weather was uncharacteristically poor and we were pressed for time to boot, so everything kind of flew by. Today, I have been experiencing Boulder the way one is supposed to: slowly, thoughtfully and roasting under a mountain sun.

After spending $80 at the Whole Foods and having precious little in my fridge to show for it, I took comfort in the fact that I now have organic pasta, organic sauce, organic tomatoes, and some goddamned SPF 9,000 suntan lotion, with which to battle the Colorado sunshine. Then I watched the day’s stage of the Tour de France. Then I toured the local bike shops, of which there are many and they are all very good. Most of them have old bikes and jerseys hanging from the rafters of the shops, and sadly these are the exact same bikes I used to ride and covet when I was younger and faster and riding competitively. I am very excited to be living in what is most definitely the road cycling Mecca of the United States, and I think a new bike is in my future. In the meantime, my friend Lauren has graciously arranged for her friend to graciously loan me his mountain bike until I obtain other wheels of my own. I hope to pick that up tomorrow and roam a bit more.

The glider towplanes put on a show every so often, diving back to the pattern after yet another glider tow to altitude, and I watch every one. I will get over to the airport soon for a little dual instruction in one of their planes. It will be strange to be a renter again, but it will also be cheaper…

Some other thoughts:

Hippies have become my new pets. They are everywhere here, running around with their hair and their tea and their outfit (note the singular), and I just get the biggest kick out of them now. At first blush they appear threatening, what with the smell and the seeming lack of all rational thought, but then you realize that they are harmless, like Garter Snakes.

Crocs are stupid. If you don’t know what these are, it’s because they have fittingly not reached your part of the woods yet. They are ugly, stupid sandals that everyone seems to wear around here when they aren’t wearing their Birkenstocks. They appear to be made out of a flammable plastic, and I think one night if I have too many beers I may conduct some live experiments to determine this.

Oh, and by the way, I have a news flash: the Grateful Dead still SUCK MAJOR ASS.

There is nothing worse than a hippie family with a baby in a restaurant. I thought it was bad observing the spoiled wasp progeny run rampant around a nice restaurant in New York City, but you ain’t seen nothing until you’ve sat in a lovely brewpub, enjoying your beer and chili-burger when all of a sudden some annoying tattooed teva-wearing family rolls in with their all-terrain stroller loaded with annoying sensitively-raised cargo. It didn’t take long for these people to allow the little hippie worm crawl all over the place as they smiled with wonderment. The parents just laugh and laugh whenever the child screams, or cries, or crawls or does any one of a thousand other unacceptable things to do when in a public place.

But man, is the beer good. And the scenery. And the people. And the bookstores. I’m happy.

Outta my way, Mork. Boulder’s about to get a new resident.

Tomorrow I get on a plane, and Tuesday I start a new job, in a new city. Brenda & Emma will join me shortly, but I need to start out there ASAP, so it’s off to Boulder for me, with a suitcase and my laptop. I’ll have a little more than a dance belt and a tube of chap stick ($5 to the first person to get that reference), but not much more. Hotels and corporate apartments are in my immediate future, as well as the exploration of a new city and adjusting to a new office, new co-workers and a new branch of my career. It’s really frigging exciting, but it’s also been very odd these last couple of weeks. Everywhere I go, I think “this is the last time…”, whether it’s going to a restaurant we like, or into the city, or cursing at yet another horrible driver. Lots of goodbyes have been said these last few weeks, and I didn’t even get them all in. I keep telling myself I’ll be back, and of course I will; most of my family is in this area, so that’s not a worry. But for some reason, today, the gravity of the situation landed on my head. Something about packing all you’re gonna have into two suitcases makes you realize all that you’re leaving behind.

Emma knows exactly what’s going on, and Brenda’s even less pleased. But someday soon we’ll all be out there, in a new house with great views, and a couple of bikes. And no, I will not ever, ever, own a pair of sandals. I think this is gonna be good.