just the girls

i thought you all would like to see a picture of the two women i consider my closest friends in our little mountain town. helena from sweden (left), and robyn from seattle via boulder via east coast (center)! for my birthday this year, helena hosted a wonderful dinner where we talked and laughed by candle light. afterward, helena and i took the bus up to aspen, to have one last wild night before all the tourists and seasonal workers leave with the close of ski season. we had a blast, laughing and dancing with all the young 20-somethings...i can't beleive i actually felt OLD for the first time out on the town! (i am 26 now after all....haha) we danced and danced until the wee hours of the morning. these two women have helped to make my transition back to CO so much more connected and grounding. they both bring out my depth and my wild side too! i thank them now for being in my life.

brent is away this week, teaching his students how to kayak and raft guide. ahhh, the difficult life of being a teacher in aspen.

more pictures to come!

love you all, thanks for reading

Kayaks+Road Trip= Dirt Bagging

Dirt Bagging is becoming a lost art. What is Dirt Bagging you say? It was, and faintly is, the art of travel, adventure, and experience all on the smallest of budgets. Usually cans of sardines in mustard sauce, hand rolled cigarettes, and sleeping in your truck are common occurrences when on a dirt bag expedition.

Dirt Bagging hit its hay day in the mid 70's in Yosemite's Camp 4. Here climbers would spend months living in the camp, climbing hard day in and day out, drinking wine from leather pouches, eating cold beans, and only spending $2 a day max. From my research the first documented and published works of Dirt Bagging was Jack Kerouac and his buddies traveling from coast to coast, living the life, and doing it for next to nothing.

My college friends and I were heavily influenced through climbing into this life of Dirt Bagging. Every weekend offered a new trail to navigate, rock to get scared on, and river to wrestle. We often had jobs with the utmost of flexibility to allow for spur of the moment trips to the desert, river, or mountain (if we had jobs at all.... i.e. Tony Cappa, Colin Coulsen, and occasionally myself). The beauty was the spontaneity, simplicity, the usual outcome of adventure, laughs, and friendship.

College ended, much to my dismay, and we all took new roads to follow. Kyle went to CA to work as an English teacher, Colin and Tom building cell phone towers in South Dakota, Phil teaching in Denver, Dane in CA sitting in the cubie, Tony going back to college, Kazu to New Hampshire for his Doctorate, Joe delivering babies out of a fire engine, Gee somehow getting into grad school, and me teaching full time in Aspen. Yet the flame has not extinguished. I hear stories through the grape vine about cross country bike tours, climbing Indian Creek 3 weeks in a row, traveling to Guatemala, driving to Joshua Tree for the weekend, and quitting your job to live in a motorhome you bought from a gypsy in Fresno. This is what life is all about and I am happy to be part of a culture of people who go on day to day with this drive and passion to really do it right (in our eyes at least).

The following pictures are of Kyle and I's latest Dirt Bag foray. It was over my spring break and was a small pre-season paddling pursuit on the Colorado and Yampa rivers. On the Colorado we ran Barrel Springs into Shoshone and on the Yampa we can Cross Mountain Gorge at about 2300cfs. It was a true Dirt Bag experience in its finest. We paddled difficult rivers, laid on the ground around a fire sipping PBR, smoked DRUM rollies, ate sardines with crackers, slept in the van down by the river in Steamboat, and didn't shower for 5 days. What a life....enjoy the fotos...

Do you Townie?

Last week a small group of community members and I got together at the Double Dog Saloon to discuss an uprising. The topic? Bringing some soul back to the Gucchi streets of Aspen. The movement? Riding your bike, cruiser, townie, uni, or other mode of pedaled transportation. The goal is to build some local community, encourage people to ride bikes rather than drive (Aspen has a horrendous traffic problem), and of course have fun.

We will meet for the first ride in April and a date is yet to be set. Hopefully over time the ride will grow enough to take up whole streets, slow traffic enough so that drivers will notice the riders, and a new tradition will be born. If you would like to participate please call or email so I can tell you a date. All you need is your bike, a smile, and a little velorution....

Mazatlan

When I think of Mexico I see color. Colors deep with life, black and white lines, shadows, brilliance, contrast, and depth. Mexico is a country built of layers, stacked high, and always in motion. Some areas move faster than others, some layers crack, exposing the roots and history in present day.

We traveled to such a place, Mazatlan. This is a tourist hubb in the state of Sinaloa on the pacific coast. This town is layered with rich history, change, evolution. Most of the growth spurred by American influence and our willingness and longing to spend money for a vacation.

Our vacation was a gift of sorts. As I wrote before the Fleming family of Seattle invited us to join their vacation south of the border. Cara went down 3 days before me, watching the kids for a few hours a day, the other hours relaxing by the pool, sipping a drink, and turning off her head. I joined her Wednesday of last week leaving a blizzard in the Rockies to warm humid ocean breezes.

When we weren't at the hotel, or should I say Italian Rivera Villa, we were riding the local buses, eating at taco stands, talking to the cabbies, and soaking the riches of Mexican life. Most of the before mentioned riches were oddly absent or significantly watered down at the hotel. Again the world of contrast.

At the hotel we played with the kids Casey and Max. Probably two of the most amazing kids I have met so far. Casey is a beautiful little girl with inquisitive, curious, eyes, and an eager smile. She has recently discovered photography and wants to couple this talent with saving animals such as sea turtles and whales. She is an ambitious three year old. We took daily expeditions around the hotel, searching out the fish in the ponds, the green lizard, and the pink flamingos. Max her little brother is a ball of fierce energy and engaging grins. Cars and his bottle where the main sources of intrigue. He drove toy cars all over everything and chased his sister from one end of the resort to another. When we were with the kids Brian and Krista could be a couple again, go out on dates without toys and bottles, talk without interruption, and enjoy the peace a vacation can bring.

Below are a few pictures of the journey, travel, and down time. Enjoy...And one huge thank you to Brian and Krista, Max and Casey for such a great time with your family in Mexico! B-

Pueblo Bonito Emerald Bay ~ Mazatlan Mexico

Cara right now is not at home. She is not even in 'Merica. Cara is on the beach of Mazatlan under warm skys and surrounded by the color of Mexico.

Cara in Grad-School nannied for a wonderful family by the name of the Flemmings. They have two beautiful children Casey (3) and Max (1.5) who Cara and I have known since Casey was just 4 months.

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A few months ago the Flemmings asked if we wanted to go to Mazatlan for a week. They needed some rest and relaxation in the bright latin sun and a break from the bleak, dreary, cold, gray of Seattle. The question is how do you relax with two toddlers running around? Thankfully this is where we come in. They wanted to have a babysitter who they trusted so they could take some time to enjoy couple life again. That babysitter is us, 5 hours a day, playing in the pool, making sand castles, and applying SPF 40 like every 20 minutes. To make sure we would go they have paid for our airfare, lodging, and some spending cash. This offer was a hard one, what would we do? Did I mention Cara is already on the beach?

Take a look at this place we are staying. Unreal! We just want to thank Brian and Krista for this wonderful gift!

Morning Waves

The ocean has been in my blood since my dad taught me to surf.

To relax I imagine crashing waves

hear the melody of the tumble of water

Here is a wave that first emerged a few months back.

Like the tides it came, crashed, and collapsed back to the mind.

Tonight, maybe due to the moon, the tide ebbed to the forefront

I took down the old wave from the living room wall

Pulled out paints and brushes, closed my eyes, and looked for

the crashing of water, the new tide, the new wave.

Bullet Holes...

This month has been kind of tight on the old purse strings. To alleviate this pinch I went to Grand Junction to visit my friend Kyle who has been building his parents new house. The job was to hang sheet rock, aka, dry wall, on the ceiling of the house. This is probably one of the worst jobs, second to installing insulation, and staining decks a day laborer can land. The work was tough, carrying 8ft sheets of gypsum fireproof boards, humping them onto your head, climbing a ladder, holding the board with one hand, fish for a nail in your nail bags, grip your hammer, move the board into place, hold with one hand, nail with the other, and multiply that by 1000 square feet or so, and 9 hours flies by really fast.
To stretch our weary bones, the following day we did a morning jaunt to the Bullet Holes. A bouldering area frequented more by Hill-Billies and Meth-heads than dirt bag climbers. The rocks are great Dakota Sandstone (Clastic Sedimentary) riddled with bullet holes, lame graffiti, and a sea of broken bottles. Ideal conditions for climbing!

After climbing we went to the greatest store this side of I-70. Its called the Junque Man and junk is what this old timer has collected. The store is in heaps and piles, sorted by house goods, electronics, old magazines, motor parts, broken records, pee stained sleeping bags, bent forks and spoons, sweet belt buckles, worn boots, and years of old, missing, unwanted, glorious treasures. I walked away with a nice pair of cowboy boots, already broken in with dry wall stains, for only $5. Unreal the amount of time you could spend here, combing the bowls of this man's life long collection. Next time I visit Mecca I will bring my camera!