Blood, Sweat, and Gears

 "Tis It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt." Mark Twain

Defiant and Undeterred in the Face of Failure

I have this addiction to "summits," you see. So, in spite of historical snafus that invariably arise when one jumps the "seasonal" gun, I'm prone to come down with a case of short term memory loss. "But this year we will find a way," I say, and off we go in search of a peak or pass to bag, farting rainbows like a couple of unicorns.

Corkscrewed

Yesterday, full of high hopes and optimism, Bobbie and I headed up toward Red Mountain Pass to hike the Corkscrew Gulch Jeep road. We do this every May, sometimes even April. But this time, Red Mountain was still white with snow... lots and lots of snow. Except for spying a mama Big Horn and lamb, the day was pretty much an exercise in futility (emphasis on "exercise"). This is truly the "Mother" of all wintery Springs, as we await Summer's arrival to the High Country. Me thinks it will be a late wildflower season this year. 

Observations on Experimenting with Pastels...

The "hope," was that it might be possible to jumpstart the right brain from its lethargic rut by switching mediums, in our case, watercolors to pastels. We set expectations low in order to protect what little artistic self worth remained after successive failures, and took a giant eyes-closed leap into the scary "unknown." 

Soreness

On the heels of an overdone bike ride up Camp Bird, the legs felt like a couple of celery sticks yesterday. Not the fresh, crisp kind in the produce section, but more the rubberized year old shit hiding at the bottom of the fridge's veggie drawer... the one's you could tie into a noose and hang yourself with. A nice crawl around town was in order... slow and easy, like smooth jazz.

On "Fuel," and The Backroad To Happiness, Joy, and Inflammation

Lounging in the Lazy Boy this morning, basking in the afterglow (inflammation) of yesterday's momentous bike ride, I says to Bobbie, "Man, if Quads and Sore Ass could talk you'd be privy to an X-rated diatribe." Nevertheless, the season's first pedal up Camp Bird Road is in the bag. Woo Hoo!  

"The sun will come out tomorrow... "

There are snowy, cold days when the cynic in me finds it curious, that the older I get the less evidence there is for the existence of a "benevolent God." Evidence for evil, however, mounts like rubbish in a landfill. Innocent little children are dying from cancer and tornados and bombs, and the Guy in charge turns a blind eye? That is a "just" God? Right. I've never felt so "on my own," so freaking at the whim of arrows that reign down from On High.  

Another Pleasant Vally Sunday...

Evidently the weather gods lost their fascination with winter in Lovely Ouray and moved the bullseye east. They'll have more fun with Tornadoes than snow, anyway. Finally, I can get outdoors where I B-long-2-B. Zoom Zoom.

Desperate Measures

Bobbie's playing Gallery/Gift Shop Gal once again, working for friend's Tamara and Bruce on Main Street Ouray. I delivered a Scrap Cookie and coffee yesterday, to get her through the grueling six hour shift. Shown above are a few of her paintings. I'm still happily unemployed, but could use a break in the low-clouds weather so I can actually see the mountains we live in.