Ever since Brenda & I moved to Boulder there has been one glaring omission from our daily lives, and that is settling down to read a good local newspaper. Back in Jersey, the Star Ledger was an excellent paper that originated from the local county where we last lived in that state. We got great reporting and writing, on everything from the international to the very local. The sports page was phenomenal. Molly Ivins’ column was printed regularly, and we had almost no use for the New York Times and its holier-than-thou masthead font (and pricing).

Here in Boulder, we have the Daily Camera.

Now, being a Boulder newspaper, the Camera boasts some interesting and fun features that definitely pander to the local culture. There is a “trail dogs of the week” section, where reader-submitted photos of their dogs out on the many local trails are featured; there is a rock climbing column, as well as what has to be the highest percentage of sports section coverage devoted to cycling and running in all their forms. And of course the letters to the editor section—replete with outlandish requests and complaints from both ends of the liberal-conservative continuum—never fails to entertain. But the editing of this newspaper has been sub-par from day one, and pretty much every single day I can spot at least a couple of grammatical and spelling errors in what is supposed to be a professional newspaper, and one of the articles in today’s business section encapsulates this dilemma so well I just had to share the first paragraph:

Camera’s Circulation Falls
By Alicia Wallace, Camera Business Writer

New statistics show circulation at major US newspapers continued to tumble, and the Camera does not appears to be immune to the trend.

‘nuff said? Thought so.

Last night I went to see the Eels at the Fox Theatre in Boulder. It was my first concert in about ten years! The last concert I intentionally went to was to see Bluetip at Maxwell’s in Hoboken, New Jersey (which was great).

Once again, as I did when I went to see Bluetip, I went alone; Brenda hates going to shows, and I kind of do too, these days. For a kid who used to see a minimum of three bands a weekend from junior year of high school though college, my last couple decades seem pretty pathetic by comparison, but I have my reasons. I’m an old fart who doesn’t like people and crowds, as well as most new music. So naturally I’m not a fixture at clubs anymore, but the Eels drew me out of the house.

Thanks to my friend and former co-worker, I was introduced to the Eels a few years ago, back in New York. Led by Mark Oliver Everett, son of some sort of quantum physicist genius, the Eels have been inventing new music for the last decade and a half. Their music is alternately haunting, rocking, sad, happy, and always inspiring.

This year’s iteration of the Eels features Mark Everett (a.k.a. “E”) and a dude simply known as “The Chet”. Not Chet, The Chet. They both took turns playing instruments as diverse as the guitar, the piano, drums, xylophone, saw (serious), and others. They even shared a drum solo:

The show was very fun, tight and entertaining. Standing room only, I was tapping my toes and bobbing my head in the aisle at what is now my favorite venue ever. The Fox Theatre is a tiny venue; it feels like you’re having a band come over to your house to jam in your living room. And the Eels are known for their covers, and this tour did not disappoint. This year the cover of choice is Led Zeppelin’s “Good Times Bad Times”, and E and The Chet rocked it as hard as Zep ever did. The Chet was playing a very cool Gibson Les Paul with a tremolo bar, and you can enjoy a segment of the cover here:

A great night of music and fun. Rode my bike home from the show in the rain, drunk, bombing down the hill along Colorado Avenue. Gotta love it.

This is cool. What we got here is the last remnants of the 8” of snow that dumped on Boulder yesterday. The Colorado sun came out in force today, melting most of the white stuff; the final traces are hanging tough here in the shadow cast by the ballfield fence, all nice and neat in a line, while Hooper and Lulu watch in despair as Jeannie and the other woman walk away with their dogs Joplin and Kyla:

Just goes to show you what a little shading can do in terms of reducing the amount of direct beam solar radiation that affects a given area.

P.S.
The bits of snow missing in the foreground were eaten by Hooper. No shading device could have prevented that.

OK, I know it’s been a while. Here is what’s on my mind:

• When you own a dog, you clean more than ever, and yet your place is generally messier.


• It’s snowing on the high peaks. Winter is just about here. While I like the look of the mountains with the snow on them, I’m dreading the thought of a winter like we had last year here in Boulder.


• The Colorado Rockies (baseball club) are absolutely tearing it up, and they remind me of the Phillies of 1993, another team of lower-paid gamers who ended up playing like a team instead of a collection of overpaid egos. I’ll be rooting for a National League team this year in the World Series.


• Speaking of baseball, I would love to see the Red Sox fold like the bunch of pussies that they are. They should already be declared the losers of the ALCS simply for Manny Ramirez’s bullshit posturing when he hit that home run last night. Sorry, I just fucking hate that guy. Actually, I’m not sorry. He is a douchebag.


• Speaking of baseball, who’s idea was it to have Dane Cook do ads for major league baseball!? I truly believe I’d rather watch Carrot Top try and generate enthusiasm for the game than this no-talent ass wipe.


• I got a new camera; just wait ‘till you see the incredible pictures.


• I saw my sister and my brother-in-law.


• Things are generally good.

Yeah so last week I wrote a post that purported to be about a cool cruiser bike, but was really a platform for me to bitch about a local bike ride that I felt had fallen into a sad display of Boulder elitism. I railed against these people and their policy of requiring costumes and cruisers on the ride. Since that time, some of the people I was complaining about found my little rant, and posted some seemingly witty retorts; what they really did was show their true colors. Meanwhile, several other bastions of the true spirit of the ride emailed me off-line and showed me the seamy underbelly of the Boulder bikeride/cruiser/chill/hangout groove, and as you might expect, it ain’t pretty.

In the process, I got my shit straightened out. The good news is, the cruiser ride is dead. The better news is, the ride(s) live on.

Here’s the thing: The so-called “Boulder Cruiser Ride”, or “Happy Thursday Ride”, or whatever you want to call it, had exploded in popularity last year and a lot of the people who showed up were wasted college- and high school-kids who were only there to get fucked up (just like the rest of us). But there were too many of them and they kinda sucked at riding and they kinda had no appreciation for bikes, so they sorta sucked and had to go. I agree. But it became the opinion of some of the regulars that anyone showing up for the ride without a cruiser bike, or not in costume—a silly, silly habit of some of the regulars—should not be allowed to ride. Which I disagreed with. I said as much on the happy_thursday Yahoo list—that purported to be the mouthpiece for the ride but is in fact an odd collection of people that I have long since unsubscribed to—and got slammed for saying so. So I quietly bailed from the whole sad thing.

And then last week I saw a cool cruiser on a website while surfing one night and blogged about it, and I guess my little post devolved into a rant about the shitty attitude of what I perceived to be the consensus of the “Boulder Cruiser Ride” attendants. Turns out the ride was ruined by a bunch of hypocritical assholes who drive their SUVs in to Boulder from outlying towns to ride, and have taken over the long-standing ride tradition to serve their own egos and idiotic goals, ultimately leading to the ride being published in the local newspaper and the attendant rise in attendance which led to the problems that led to its demise. And I got flamed for complaining about that.

The best thing about all of that is that some of the very best people involved in the old Boulder Cruiser Ride have contacted me off-list and explained how my off-the-handle rant was out of line; it’s a good reason to have a website and an opinion. I’ve learned that with regard to the so-called “Happy Thursday Ride”, a few bad apples have fucked the entire batch.

The Boulder Cruiser Ride is no longer, but it’s all good, as we say. There are now several factions of people riding bikes around Boulder on Thursday nights; some of them are into bikes and bike culture, and some of them are egomaniacs with agendas—and there are loads of people in between. So I plan on venturing out this week and enjoying the benefits of evolution. I already know where the cool ride leaves from.

I must have one of these! The Ellsworth “The Ride” is the coolest cruiser bike ever, and I am now accepting donations towards the purchase of one of these bad boys. And I promise to ride it around Boulder and not be an elitist asshole like the local “Boulder Cruiser Bikeride” jerkoffs who have taken their little (formerly large) ride underground (sort-of) and excluded all people who show up on non-cruiser bikes or not in costume (and, let’s face it, costumes are, like, totally stupid, even on Halloween).

I realize I have not given sufficient back story on the Boulder Cruiser Ride, but I guess those assholes never gave me enough good times to do so. And now you have to have a cruiser and a costume to be allowed into their little drum circle, so I guess I’ll never get enough material to fill you in. Suffice to say, the Boulder Cruiser Ride has become another bad example of Boulder Elitism, and I now live to hurl insults at the entire rolling jerkoff assemblage. (They’re not all bad, as it turns out.)

Meanwhile, I am still accepting donations for an Ellsworth “The Ride” cruiser, so I can cruise in non-pretentious glee.

Holy crap…

Forecast for Boulder And Jefferson Counties Below 6000 Feet/West Broomfield County
Updated: 9:37 PM MDT on June 06, 2007
High Wind Warning in effect until 12 PM MDT Thursday…

Rest of Tonight
Partly cloudy. Very windy. Lows in the mid 40s. West winds 25 to 35 mph. Gusts up to 100 mph in locations right near the foothills.

Thursday
Partly sunny. Very windy. Cooler. Highs in the lower 60s. Northwest winds 25 to 40 mph with gusts to around 100 mph in the morning.

I love the “around 100 mph” estimate. You know, ninety, one hundred, whatever it takes… The sliding glass door is already bowing in response to the wind blasts around here, and I don’t see myself getting much sleep. Uh oh, better post this since the lights are browning out…

So, my fabulous weekend came to an abrupt halt this morning, quite literally. As I was flying though the air, I thought, yep, weekend’s over. Lemme back up a bit.

I was riding to work, about to join the Foothills bike path when this dude making a right onto the Boulder Creek Path decides he’s just going to use the entire bike path to make his turn. Problem was, I was thinking I might just use the right half of the path myself.

We collided, I went flying up and over him and ended up on my back, thinking “what the hell just happened?” By the time I got to the office I was a little light headed and was starting to sense that I’d done some things that are definitely gonna hurt in the morning, and the collection of scrapes and bruises all over my body are testament to that. Worse than that is my right index finger, which apparently acted as cushioning for my brake lever when it slammed into the other bike. It’s swollen, purple and stings like hell, four hours after the incident. Gonna go get it looked at, I think.

I hope the other guy is alright. He seemed fine, but so did I at the time. My trusty On One commuter bike is fine; the front wheel is a little out of true and the saddle lost some leather, but otherwise it’s ready for more action.

I also think Boulder is rubbing off on me; instead of ripping him a new one for ruining my morning, I showed genuine concern for the guy, even after he fully admitted the crash was all his fault. If this was Jersey, I’d have been spewing expletives before I’d even landed.

This morning I went for a ride in the mountains, an activity I have just recently started doing and I realize I am remiss in reporting on here. Suffice to say, it’s amazing. All the splendor of the mountain scenery that I witness when I go hiking, plus high speed descents and the camaraderie of the road. Opportunities for nature spotting abound; often there are raptors circling high above the canyons I ride in, and occasionally one can see a deer up on a hill, or a squirrel will dart out across the road. A couple of weeks ago I even saw a fox run cross the bike path with breakfast in his mouth. But today, I was treated to an even more unique nature experience. Today, as I started ascending Left Hand Canyon Road on my way to Jamestown, I caught a glimpse of a black bear. Actually, it was a really fucking good glimpse. Specifically, I almost hit him.

I was riding along, minding my own business, when I heard a rustling in the bushes just up ahead and to the right side of the road. As I searched the area of the rustling, imagining a rabbit or squirrel was about to make an appearance, this brownish furry mass just exploded out of the bushes and lumbered onto the road. He was dripping wet—must have just taken a dip in the stream that I was currently riding over—and he seemed about as surprised as I was: he, to be standing in the middle of the westbound lane of Left Hand Canyon Road, and me, to be staring broadside at a black bear that was about as big as my Volkswagen and galloping across the street about 15 feet in front of me. I hit the brakes for a second, but since it appeared he was determined to make it across the street, I picked a line behind the bear, between his ass and the edge of the road and—this is the slow motion part—I rode right behind the galloping bear as he made his way across the street. If I’d reached out real far I could have touched him as I passed. This didn’t seem like a great idea.

Luckily I was going uphill; I was only going about 15 miles an hour, so I didn’t have to hit the brakes too hard to avoid hitting him. But if I was coming down the hill and he’d come out from that side of the street, things would have been very different. Food for thought.

Another Colorado memory that I will remember forever!

About a week or so ago, I received a flyer in the mail announcing the coming of the Liberty Belle—a restored, airworthy, Boeing B-17 bomber dating from World War II. She was going to be at nearby Rocky Mountain Metro Airport (formerly known as Jefferson County Airport), right down the road. Rides would be available.

There are a handful of these flying specimens touring the country at any given time and they serve to remind people of the sacrifices made by the so-called Greatest Generation and to preserve the legend of these magnificent aircraft. The usual deal is you make a reservation to fly in the thing, pay your money (in this case, $450 for a 30-minute flight), and enjoy a very unique aviation experience. The money goes toward offsetting the enormous operating costs associated with flying a four engine heavy bomber manufactured over sixty years ago—when the word “hybrid” was never applied to an automobile—while you get to launch into the wild blue yonder in a piece of friggin’ history. Not a bad deal, considering. The typical passenger profile ranges from curious thrillseeker, to aging veteran, to child of some crewmember who never made it back from those very dangerous skies over Europe in the early 1940’s, when the B-17—A.K.A. the “Flying Fortress”—was plying her trade. I’ve seen video interviews of passengers filmed during and after these flights, and their testimonies are always enlightening, but the ones from the kids of these crewmembers will always, always make you a little misty.

Now, $450 for a half-hour ride is a little rich for my blood, especially for a flight wherein I don’t get to actually fly the damned thing. So I immediately opted out, but I stuffed the date in the back of my head. After all, I had already mentally mapped out the ideal flight plan for a 30-minute sightseeing flight from Jeffco, and it would have taken the flight northwest, directly toward Boulder, then along the Front Range toward Longmont, and then, with a nice sweeping turn back to the southeast, back toward the point of origin.

And that’s exactly what the Liberty Belle did, all day today.

This morning, around 9:30 AM, I was sitting in my living room sipping coffee and reading email when I heard a sound that I never hear around here. It was the rhythmic, synchronized, throaty thrum of four Wright Cyclone air-cooled, piston-powered aircraft engines. I immediately recalled the flyer I had received, realized today was the day, and ran to the window. And there she was:

The Liberty Belle, now showing in Boulder, Colorado! I grabbed my camera and ran from my deck to the front porch like a maniac every time the plane came by on another run. Seeing the object of one of my many infatuations flying past the mountains that have become my latest love was nothing short of breathtaking. I took a few shots, that will appear to most as pictures of mountains with a speck in the sky. But I know what that speck is, and now so do you.

Here’s the photo album: B-17 Over Boulder

I went for a bike ride shortly after the third run, but the ‘Belle continued to fly, and I annoyed my riding companions every time she flew by, imploring them all to look up and watch this magnificent assemblage lumber past. If you’re in the area and are so inclined, the ‘Belle flies again tomorrow. I’m hoping for better sky conditions and the chance for a few more pictures, myself.