"To everything a season: A time to embrace...a time to refrain from embracing" On "Hope," and Getting Shit Off My Chest

Just about now, in a "normal" year, I'd be rumbling up our driveway in Lovely Ouray...all worn out and physically fit from over a month's worth of hiking/biking/exploring Eastern Utah's notorious nooks. But this is not a "normal" year (oh how we took them for granted), so that Rv season-ending indulgence got blown out of the waterless red rock desert by the "new normal," for at least for a year or two anyway, maybe more. Revelations is upon us. Go ahead, stamp 666 on my forehead. But please make this C-shit go away.

"Don't Stand So Close To Me" and A "New Dots" Tortolita Mountain Hike With Hans and Lisa

I went to Lovely Ouray's lone liquor store yesterday, only to find an eight-ish year old kid on a bike parked square in the middle of the store's entry alcove and effectively blocking my urgent mission to resupply the empty beer section in our fridge. I noted a lady inside at the checkout counter, purchasing a 12 pack of Coors Light. I asked the kid if he was waiting on her or someone in the store...

Flashback To A Couple Arid-zona Hikes With Juliet and Chris...

We are boondocked in one of our favorite camps, amid the rolling, well bouldered foothills of the Catalina Mountains. It's a familiar comfortable spot, like a home away from home.

Groundhog Day and Let It Be...

It's surreal, like being trapped in the movie Groundhog Day, only without Bill Murray and (sigh) Andie MacDowell. Here's what our Groundhog Day looks like: 

Sally Jo, Questions Without Answers...

It fit my mood, an overcast morning forecasted to deteriorate into heavy rain with flash flooding. Bobbie and I ease into Greenwood Cemetery and park near the office. I crack my window and gaze at endless rows of headstones and monuments. They rise from a struggling lawn, caught in the seasonal purgatory between winter and summer—life and death. The veil of thieving clouds hijacks color, contrast, an shadow, lending a dismal pall to a long overdue occasion. 

Homeward Bound

Though it's only been a short while since I graced (or fouled) these BCB pages, it suddenly feels like we live in an entirely different world.

Camps Catalina and Madera Canyon

Post gold rush days, a wild-eyed movement that pointed easterners westward in search of riches, perhaps today's most precious vanishing commodity is cell-less solitude.