Because it's there -- Pikes Peak, beyotches!!!

It's certainly not the tallest mountain in Colorado.  It's certainly not the most difficult climb (I hope).  But it's certainly the most famous.  Did you know that Pikes Peak is the second-most visited summit in the world after Mt. Fuji?  It's true, I read it on the internet.  It might have something to do with the fact that there is both a road and a damn railway to the top of it.  Aside from being eminently accessible, Pikes Peak's (that looks weird, doesn't it? I should have another beer so my punctuation gets better) anyway, its claim to fame is that it was the inspiration for the song "America the Beautiful" (motto:  "More Verses Than You Think").

And we're climbing it.  Chris' friend and schoolmate, Scot, has been our behind-the-scenes informant in all our Fourteener adventures.  He spends most of his summers at an incline, heading up.  In fact, he's climbed all the Fourteeners (of which there are 53, I think) -- all of them, that is, except mighty Pikes.  He invited his dad and some friends along to be with him when he crosses this one off the list, so it should kick some serious ass.

We're taking two days to make the ascent, as the trailhead begins around 7,000 feet (most of our mountain hikes start around 11,000).  We'll get about halfway up and stay the night at Barr Camp, a rustic bunkhouse type place that sends hikers off each morning with a hearty pancake breakfast.  We'll summit on Sunday, then hike all the way down the same day.

It will be weird to arrive at the top of the mountain, sweaty, stinky, and panting, to find fat Americans arriving by the carload to snap a picture, eat a cheeseburger, and trundle back down to civilization.  I understand that the same undistinguished fate greets those who finish the Appalachian Trail at the top of Mt. Washington.

Anyway, I'm really looking forward to getting out-of-doors one more time before the Giant Snow Duvet of Doom smothers us all.  Check back for pictures, hopefully not from the Medivac helicopter. 

My dog lloves llamas.

Actually, they're alpacas, but whatever. This was at a small church-sponsored pet and animal fair that we attended last weekend (the greyhound group had a booth).  The alpacas were right next to us, and our greyhounds were surprisingly unaffected.  

I have given you the dynamic "dog's-butt view."  Suck it, Ansel Adams.  Ooh, also take a look at our trees changing color.  Suck it, places that don't have seasons. 

I just met Dave Barry!

About a month ago, Chris and I were walking into our local library (Give a hoot -- read.) and I spotted a poster advertising the appearance of Dave Barry at an author event/booksigning thingy.  I got inordinately excited and bought a ticket online as soon as we got back home.  

For those of you who are not familiar with Dave Barry and his effect on who I am today -- Dave had a widely syndicated humor column in most major US newspapers.  He's also written a ton of books, but I think he's funniest when he can filter his brand of funny into 600 words or so.  Then, he's pure genius.  My family and I have always been big readers of his; I know one of my dad's prized possessions (if he still has it) was the "Thank you for being an Alert Reader" postcard that he got after sending Barry some funny newspaper clipping. 

I try to sneak in some Barryisms on occasion.  If you ever see in my writing the phrases "I am not making this up," "______ would be a really good name for a rock band," or "I support the death penalty for the creator of the low-flow toilet," you are witnessing a direct homage to (read: ripoff of) Dave Barry.  Even my CrapCam wouldn't have a name without him.  God bless him, he's right up there with Gary Larson in my world.

Dave's talk was great -- he told many stories that I remember from his old columns (some involving the dogs he used to have:  his main dog, Ernest; and his auxiliary emergency backup dog, Zippy) and some great ones that were from his more recent adventures at the political conventions and the Beijing Olympics.  Good times.  At the booksigning, I was able to thank him wholeheartedly for his blog, which has "sustained me so far through three crappy jobs, and I hope it's there for the next several crappy jobs."  I hope that pleased him.  

Anyway, here's the picture.  I took it with my nice camera, but since I was sitting on the signing table and leaning back, and taking the picture myself, and Dave is looking at the camera screen instead of the lens, I think this qualifies as a CrapCam photo.  As it should.

I just want to ride on my motorsickle.

Been cleaning out the CrapCam.  I don't usually see clever license plates on motorcycles, but this one simply takes the cake.

If you're not laughing your ass off right now, you're probably among the 99% of people who don't know "The Motorcycle Song" by Arlo Guthrie.  You should really make an effort to listen to it, as it's fairly bizarre, which is what I'm always looking for in a story song.  At any rate, the chorus goes like this:

I don't want a pickle

I just want to ride on my motorsickle.

And I don't want a tickle

I just want to ride on my motorsickle.

And I don't want to die

I just want to ride on my motorcy....cle.

Holliday of the Damned -- AMAZING FOLLOW-UP

This last Friday, I was lucky enough to win a pair of Rockies tickets from work, so Chris and I grabbed a sandwich and some sushi and headed up to Coors Field.  The seats were good enough that we had to pay very close attention to the game, lest we get clobbered by sports paraphernalia.  A woman about 5 rows back got hit by an errant bat.  No joke.

We enjoyed ourselves, especially considering that we were sitting next to the only two Astros fans in the stadium.  They had just come up from Texas the day before, so you can bet they were getting their high-altitude drank on.   Super entertaining.  But that's not what I came here to talk about.  After the Rockies won (yay, or whatever), we were standing around waiting for the crowd to thin, when we noticed two women who had come down to our level to get some pictures.  "Hey Chris," I said.  "That kind of looks like those crazy women, remember?"  Chris sounded not a little shaken when he responded... "No, dude.  That IS them."  I just about busted a gut laughing, and nearly emptied out my purse looking for my phone so I could take a CrapCam photo.  

Sure enough, they had made their way down into our section in their identical jackets, to take identical photos with each of their identical cameras, of the "Rockies Win" sign on the JumboTron.  Just... unbelievable.

Now imagine having to get the sidelong stinkeye from this gruesome twosome for an entire ballgame.  Gah.