Make it look easy

Make it look easy

School is about to start and with that comes earlier mornings - meaning waking up at 4:50AM or earlier - and a new motivation for organizations. I took a picture of my desk this week as I was

in getting things ready for the coming year, thinking about how long I would be able to keep organized enough to maintain a clean desktop; I have to keep on top of planning, correcting, notes, test updates, etc. Last year I was able to keep it up for only 2 months, but I also jumped in mid-year and was spending a lot of time getting things organized from the wrong side of the pile, just the fact that there was a pile. So with the beginning of the year to get hings organized, I hope to make it through Christams with the first wave of organization, and hope to regroup over the holiday (along with some time spent in Spain) to be able to finish off the year without a pile on my desk. A good example of where I don't want to be at any point in the year can be found in the following photograph...

...and to start the year with that pile, what will it look like as the year progresses, does it diminish? I showed these pictures to a friend of mine and he explained the importance of keeping a mess on your desk to appear busy, as he did while working as an accountant. My approach is more like running, the easier you make it look, the easier it is. So if I am trying to look busy, I am going to manage to make myself even busier, while giving that same appearance. And just looking busy doesn't mean you look effective nor efficient.

I think I am going to stick to my clean desk, and good, hard running.

I am really not having luck with any form of combustible fuel related personal transportation lately. Originally, the ‘78 Pinto’s battery died, leaving me with the choice of buying a new battery and forgoing something else that seemed important at the time, or rely solely on the ‘81 Honda CB400E to get me around during the summer months. For some time I did manage to get about exclusively on the motorcycle, even after having used it to crack my collar bone June 9th.

I finally decide to get a battery for the Pinto, have a friend drive me to Checkers auto parts, and make the $60+ purchase. I clean off the connections at the end of the wires, and before staring the car, note that there is a definite lack of coolant in the radiator. I add some distilled water, check the oil and other fluids, and then start her up. After about 2-3 minutes of the car running I notice an airy noise coming from within the still opened hood. The radiator is leaking, but from the seal along the top. No game-winning touchdown for the Pinto, as ol’ María is placed on the disabled list until she can cool off without an outside aid or shutting down every too often.

To the CB400. About midsummer I noticed a trend in oil loss from the Honda, and made it more of a habit to check the oil levels very consistently. Well, this morning I had to add a bit more than is usually necessary for the refill. I drove to school to get a jump on preparations for this coming year’s classes, then to meetings to introduce us to our mentors for the year, and then to some education classes through Metro State in Denver.

On the way home, maybe a mile short of Table Mesa Rd. heading westward on 36, the engine loses power and just dies. I am forced to make an emergency stop on the side of the road and push the Honda to the nearest gas station. I note the oil levels look much lower than those that I had checked that same morning. With a combination of pushing, driving, and cursing complaints (all while thinking about Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance since I just finished it this Spring) I manage to get home in the short commuting time of about 2 hours where it usually takes 40 minutes.

Now I am not sure that either for of transportation will be reliable even for tomorrow, and I cannot figure out RTD’s routes well enough to entrust my school meetings to my bus-managing skills. I only had to take public transportation while in Madrid and most of that was on the straight forward metro.

I may have to ride in tomorrow on the bicycle. It would be fun, but I should log about 70 miles running this week… and the ride back is always straight into the wind… uphill…

The Mushroom Hunt and the Kings English

The Mushroom Hunt and the Kings English

King Bolete (Boletus Edilus) was the days aim, at least to find as many as possible in a short time so we could cook a bunch of them at “base camp” and enjoy the days harvest. Apparently they are among the best mushrooms that can be found during picking season.

Mike Colpitts, Josh’s dad, met up with us at his restaurant on Tuesday evening for dinner, a bottle of wine, some story telling and a short bit a panning for the next days hike-harvest. Wild mushrooms could be intimidating to those who don’t know which ones will kill you and which you can gluttonously eat. Thankfully to us, Josh’s father had become interested in wild mushrooms some twenty years ago and has studied them since in order to understand what he saw on his hikes through the mountains. After a couple a glasses of wine, an immense steak (the first I have had in months), and a beer or two, the planning was finished and all that lied ahead was a wink or two, a morning run at 10,000 feet, and a breakfast of Josh’s mother’s granola.

(a creek bridge on Peak Trail)

After my morning run, and a shower, Josh got up to join me for breakfast and an unwanted photo session in sued. Because we had set the rendezvous for 11 AM at the Steak and Rib, we headed out for the meeting.

I followed Mike up the tree-covered slopes of Baldy Mountain, named so because of the rock filled slopes that you meet after leaving the tree line. He explained to me the coloring of the Boletus – an amber tint – and the way you have to pick it – simply cutting the stem as near the ground as possible, so that the mushroom can regenerate at its stump.

After about an hour or so of the mushroom hunt and a plentiful harvest, Mike (Mr. Colpitts) signaled to Josh and I to start our way to the base camp to reap the rewards of fresh fungus. There were a total of five of us on the trip, two of them being friends of Mikes. Picking the smallest mushrooms because they are of the best flavor and have no maggots in them, mike cleaned and prepared the mushrooms and placed them on his camping stove. With an amazing roast beef, several cheeses, grapes, fresh bread, and bottles of wine, lunch was worthy of a choice restaurant (not unexpected as he is a co-owner of the Steak and Rib in Breckenridge)

As Josh and I arrived at the lunch spot, Mike and his fellow mushroom aficionados were talking with another man with a bit of a Texas Draw. Dale, from St. Angelo, TX wanted to learn as much as he could about the mushrooms of the area. Seventy three years old, he was excited about everything that was going on. He spent six months in Breck, three for the skiing in the winter and three for the hiking in the summer.

“Dale, could we offer you some wine?”

“Could you offer me some wine…? You could always offer me a glass of wine” said with an excited draw and a jump towards the freshly poured glass.

After we all ate some mushrooms, including Dale, conversation turned to the meeting place for their hike on Friday. They always meet at the Steak and Rib. Dale was a little unsure as to where that was.

“You better know where the Steak and Rib is…Mike?”

Mike reintroduces himself to Dale as one of the owners with a friendly handshake and a smile. At this Dale waits pensive for a moment, and does an joyous jig, “that’s the one with the steak stuffed with that, that crab meat?!?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“That’s one of the best steaks I’ve ever eaten. I had some friends come up and they asked if there was anywhere to get a good steak, and I said, ‘got ya covered.’ ”

Sorry not to have a picture of him, but that definite Texan helped fill the campsite with laughter the entire lunch. Just before he went to leave, there was a cheese that Mike used in the sauce for the mushrooms. He reached for the empty box and tore of one of the side that had the cheeses name saying, “I aint to good at the Kings English, I speak Texan, need some help with remembrin’ its name.” Just makes me smile thinking about his zest for life.

Josh's mother wanted to get a dresser fixed. So while we were there, we were enlisted as the movers for the furniture. We threw the dresser into the back of the car and headed from Breckenridge to Silverthorne to find the Furniture Stripping shop. Jerry gave directions to Josh, without listing a street name... After having passed a warehouse once in search for the furniture stripping sign, we continued on a different street. After about five minutes search, Josh remembered that he mentioned it would be around back. When we found it, this was the facade that verified our arrival.

Jerry, the business owner, wasn't there but had given us instructions pertaining to where we should leave the dresser. Just to the right of the facade was a shed that he left unlocked for us. The furniture that was sitting in the shed was very well finished. Hoping the same can be said for his new project.

In the early years in college, I used to drive to Pittsburgh to hang out with my cousin, go for some mountain bike rides, and of course, drink some beer. You may call him a bad influence, but I beg to differ. He may have facilitated my drinking, but he also facilitated my understanding of enjoying life. Even if he is not having the time of his life, you sure as hell are going to think he is, and it tends to spread infectiously to the people around him. The days of Pittsburgh it was mountain biking through Seven Springs, post ride interviews (as he would call them) with Mr. Yuengling, some fattening subs at a locally famous shop – I forget its name- and always a concert. We saw Phish, Blues Traveler, and Dave Matthew’s Band among others, always managing a tailgating event before each and often a veggie burrito afterward.

When he moved out to Boulder, it wasn’t long until I came out to visit and then another. I was drug along, or managed to tag along, to a few of his trips while there; mountain Biking in Red Rocks, Fruita and Breckenridge, nights out with Tim and some of his friends and always a cold beverage available in the cooler or fridge.

Almost ten months ago I received a call from Josh, a friend from my time in Spain, offering the possibility of a Spanish teaching job in the district where he worked, two months after that I was teaching Spanish and living in my cousin’s spare room. I moved out not to long ago, but we still manage to see each other every now and then, fitting our rendezvous in outings, drinks, and parties. Just this past Wednesday, he invited me to join in as well as anyone who I thought in bringing for a cookout watching the sun drop past the western edge of the eastern Rockies and the full moon come out from its hiding over the flatirons. Here are some pictures from yet another smile inducing event compliments of the event planner by evening/operations manager by day.

The Boulder Express, CU Boulder Campus Crew getting ready on a Monday for the morning roll up the foothills.


Ramiro, the Mad Scientist, Eric (Precious) and I meet about two to three times per week to run the Boulder Creek Path up the Canyon usually starting about 6:30AM or 7:00AM. The run is a spoiling climb west up the creek path getting into the Flatirons, and then a steady downhill back into Boulder. Morning runs should all be so horrible.



Eric, a.k.a. Precious, getting the Monday morning motivation...
















Ramiro perfecting the post run standing lounge.