So it wasn't a bad Christmas, as Christmases go - how about yours? Oh sure, there wasn't a Ferrari (red) under the tree, or a Triumph Bonneville (black), or a wide screen HDTV (any color), or any of the other trifles which would make my life on this earth just that little bit pleasanter. And I was able to procure a train set all by myself this year so for once, wasn't expecting Santa to come up with one. Still, I made a modest but satisfying haul largely based around my fondness for quality alcohol and British food.
I'm long past the age of needing to be up at the crack of sparrowfart to see what Santa has brought - I'm well aware of his "naughty or nice" technicality and as I've been nailed by it more often than not, Christmas morning doesn't hold the same thrall it did back in simpler times. We have some friends who routinely open their gifts midway through Christmas Eve, others who check them out as soon as they receive them. Me, I can happily wait until the day itself and instead, was looking forward to my first lie-in for months. It wasn't to be of course. The World's Most Irritating Dog ™ had us awake and cursing long before the sun had put in an appearance.
Once I was dressed and had spent several minutes shivering outdoors, there was little point in going back to bed and even though it was only morning by a mere technicality, Dear Wife was awake too so we decided to commence the gift grab. As I said, it was a modest Christmas and this didn't take particularly long so we had the presents unwrapped, the oohing and aahing completed and torn paper and empty boxes out in the bin before most sensible people were even awake. Just like being a kid again.
Back in mediaeval times, when I could be classified as a kid (physically, not just mentally) my parents used to impose a rule that they couldn't be woken until 7am, whether Santa had visited or not. Maybe it was 4am, I don't recall but I do remember it seemed ridiculously late. Of course they were awake anyway because my sister and I used to sit in the hallway outside their bedroom counting off the minutes, but they didn't actually surface until they were good and ready. Which meant presents couldn't be opened until the old folks officially declared Christmas Day had commenced. Wish I had that kind of obedience from my dogs.
I seem to remember Christmas going on a lot longer back in those days too. Not just in the sense that there were more presents (although there were) but that the day itself was much more of an event. I'm sure it would be different if we had kids in the house but other than the brief spell of gift opening, the day itself wasn't a whole lot different from any other. Maybe it's changed now but when I was growing up in Britain the TV companies pulled out all the stops to put on their best programming with Christmas specials and spectacular variety bonanzas. This went on for two to three weeks. Looking at the TV guide, I see our stations here just put out the same reality TV, trailer trash talk shows and celebrity worship garbage that I ignore the rest of the year.
One advantage of the early start was of course, that I had plenty of time to get things done. I was able to walk the pupsters, do some yoga, practice my drumming and still had time for a lie down before it was time to get ready to head out for Christmas dinner. It was at the house of some friends this year; an intimate little affair of just them, us and about thirty other people.
It began with such traditional Christmas activities as firing potato guns of the deck and peppering the side of an old jeep with paintballs; just like they did in Dickens' day. By the time we had that out of our systems, the yard was strewn with enough mashed potato to keep every skunk in the neighborhood fat and happy 'till spring, while the jeep looked like something which might be driven by the Partridge Family. If it had an engine that is.
Target shooting got a little harder, but not impossible, as the sun began to drop, but finally, dinner was served. Turkeys of two varieties; Cajun spice injected and deep fried to perfection; and reg'lar style. Mashed spuds, veggies, salad, yams, breads, oh I could go on for ever - and very nearly did. There weren't enough seats, so some stood, some sat on the floor, some on the deck outside, others just shared stools, cheek to cheek. But everybody ate their fill and speaking for myself; I had to work hard to leave enough room for me beer.
The Guinness didn't last as long as I'd hoped - I think the pixies must have been drinking it; but the hostesses had thoughtfully provided a large bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label to help lubricate my vocal cords. Even so, I suspect I left the cap off a little too long because it seemed to evaporate rather quickly. Fortunately, Dear Wife had the car keys as I suspect Park County's tax collectors, who were out in force, may have paid me more attention than I would have liked. I'll was aware that I'd had my share, so with a maturity I don't often show; I decided to forego my usual nightly dram and headed straight to bed.
Which meant that to my pleasant surprise, I awoke remarkably hangover free the next morn, and was even able to manage a short run before breakfast. How very virtuous of me, don't you agree?
So Santa, ya listening? That's got to be worth at least a Triumph Bonneville (black) next year, huh?
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Only 24 Hours in a Day
05:30- Huh? What? That beeping noise...what is it? Ohfercryinoutloud, it can't be the alarm already, I've only been in bed five minutes! Ughhhhh, I frickin' hate mornings.
05:35- Yes, I know I said I was going to exercise before leaving for work this morning, but that was at 10pm, with a glass of ice-cold vodka in my hand. Must have been mad.
05:50- I'm turning into a prune. Must get out of the shower. In a minute.
06:10- Look dog, I'm freezin' my arse off here. Will you just pee already?
06:20- (Singing) "On the road again" Of all the inventions modern man has come up with, I'd say heated car seats rank right up at the top. Coffee's pretty darn good too. That said; I'd still rather be back in bed. At least until the sun comes up.
07:30- Yanno, it's all very well parking on the other side of the river in order to save having to pay, and in the summer the ten minute walk is really quite delightful. But on a bitter winter's morning it's amazing how exposed this stretch across the park really is. It's not often I actually look forward to arriving in the office.
07:55- You can tell it's going to be a rough day at the office when you've handled five phone calls before making it to the bathroom. More coffee, that's the answer.
10:15- If there really is a hell, I'll bet it involves conference calls. 10,000 lost souls sitting in eternal torment while two of them repeat the same information over and over again. Wonder what's happening to my e-mail in-box right now. Dang, I've got so much to do; I don't have time for this. What? My turn to speak? No, I don't have an update. No, I don't know when they'll have it completed. Yes, I'll follow up. Hmm, did that sound frustrated? I think I sounded frustrated. Should probably watch that.
11:55- Lady, you're pushing my buttons today. It really isn't that complicated - your problem is that you haven't attended any of the training classes and when I try to explain it to you, you just don't listen. That and you have the IQ of a throw cushion. How do you manage to dress yourself? OK, let's go over it one more time.
12:45- I need to eat. I need to eat. I need to eat.
13:55- I need to eat. I need to eat. I need to eat.
14:15- Note to self: When mixing up tuna and salad dressing for sandwiches, it's a good idea to prevent the mixture from being too moist. Soggy bread with the filling falling out doesn't an appetizing lunch make.
14:59- Say what?
15:01- OK, this isn't looking good. Surely not.
15:03- Oh surely...NOT! They could NOT have been so stupid as to roll out the product without making sure this feature auto-updated. Please, please, please, please, please don't tell me I'm going to have to go in and enter all this manually! I don't have to do this manually do I? Tell me I don't have to do this manually. I do have to do this manually? Oh.
15:05- Hi, it's me. You'd best go ahead and have dinner without me. I'm going to be here late tonight. I don't know, very late. I'll call you in a bit. Because it's my job that's why.
15:45- I swear, if this laptop freezes up on me one more time, it's going straight out the window. This is going to take forever.
17:35- I'm telling you - one more freeze up and it's a fast trip to the ground floor for you my little electronic friend.
17:58- Yep, you deserve a medal for staying an hour late. You must be exhausted poor lamb. But considering you didn't come in 'till 9:30, I'll hold off on the rose petals at your feet for the moment, OK? See you tomorrow.
18:25- I wonder how long a human can live on vending machine food. And why is it, the orange juice is always the first one to run out? Ooh look, Twix.
19:20- Crap look at the time, and I've barely scratched the surface. There must be a more efficient way to do this. Hmm, how about if I create a spreadsheet and then...
19:55- Well that was a colossal waste of time. OK, back to doing it the original way. Music, that's what I need. Music feeds the soul. Let's see what music I can find.
20:20- Have I really just spent the last hour getting no further forward with this? OK, come on now, focus. Grind it out.
22:10- Hi, it's me. Yep, looks like I'm going to be here all night. I'm not sure, probably 4 or 5-ish. OK, I'll call you when I pull into the driveway so you can unlock the door. Sleep well.
12:05- Whoa, where did the time go? Making progress though, if I can keep going at this pace, I should be done by about...Friday. Dang, that's depressing.
01:25- Consider the Twix my friends. Shortcake, caramel, all coated in a layer of milk chocolate. And just when you get done…there's another one. Perfection in confectionary. Oh man, I'm tired. Wonder if I could get an hour's shut-eye if I laid on the floor. No, no - push on, push on. The sooner this is done, the sooner you'll get home. But oh dearie me, is it ever going to be over?
02:45- Feeling a little fuzzy round the edges now. Must focus on the task at hancze@gh
04:15- OK, that's it - I've had enough. Time to head home. Just send out a few e-mails so everyone can see the time stamp and notice how virtuous I am.
04:30- It's an odd feeling walking through a totally deserted city. Nobody, but nobody is about. OK, well now that car's just gone and spoiled it. But apart from that, there's nobody about.
04:45- Has the steering wheel always been so heavy? Have I always lived so far away? Traffic's pretty busy going the other way though. Lot of people must start work pretty early. Poor bastards.
05:15- Honey, I'm home!
05:30- Oh it's so nice to snuggle into warm sheets ready for a good night's sleep. But first though, I need to set the alarm.
Got to get up for work in the morning.
05:35- Yes, I know I said I was going to exercise before leaving for work this morning, but that was at 10pm, with a glass of ice-cold vodka in my hand. Must have been mad.
05:50- I'm turning into a prune. Must get out of the shower. In a minute.
06:10- Look dog, I'm freezin' my arse off here. Will you just pee already?
06:20- (Singing) "On the road again" Of all the inventions modern man has come up with, I'd say heated car seats rank right up at the top. Coffee's pretty darn good too. That said; I'd still rather be back in bed. At least until the sun comes up.
07:30- Yanno, it's all very well parking on the other side of the river in order to save having to pay, and in the summer the ten minute walk is really quite delightful. But on a bitter winter's morning it's amazing how exposed this stretch across the park really is. It's not often I actually look forward to arriving in the office.
07:55- You can tell it's going to be a rough day at the office when you've handled five phone calls before making it to the bathroom. More coffee, that's the answer.
10:15- If there really is a hell, I'll bet it involves conference calls. 10,000 lost souls sitting in eternal torment while two of them repeat the same information over and over again. Wonder what's happening to my e-mail in-box right now. Dang, I've got so much to do; I don't have time for this. What? My turn to speak? No, I don't have an update. No, I don't know when they'll have it completed. Yes, I'll follow up. Hmm, did that sound frustrated? I think I sounded frustrated. Should probably watch that.
11:55- Lady, you're pushing my buttons today. It really isn't that complicated - your problem is that you haven't attended any of the training classes and when I try to explain it to you, you just don't listen. That and you have the IQ of a throw cushion. How do you manage to dress yourself? OK, let's go over it one more time.
12:45- I need to eat. I need to eat. I need to eat.
13:55- I need to eat. I need to eat. I need to eat.
14:15- Note to self: When mixing up tuna and salad dressing for sandwiches, it's a good idea to prevent the mixture from being too moist. Soggy bread with the filling falling out doesn't an appetizing lunch make.
14:59- Say what?
15:01- OK, this isn't looking good. Surely not.
15:03- Oh surely...NOT! They could NOT have been so stupid as to roll out the product without making sure this feature auto-updated. Please, please, please, please, please don't tell me I'm going to have to go in and enter all this manually! I don't have to do this manually do I? Tell me I don't have to do this manually. I do have to do this manually? Oh.
15:05- Hi, it's me. You'd best go ahead and have dinner without me. I'm going to be here late tonight. I don't know, very late. I'll call you in a bit. Because it's my job that's why.
15:45- I swear, if this laptop freezes up on me one more time, it's going straight out the window. This is going to take forever.
17:35- I'm telling you - one more freeze up and it's a fast trip to the ground floor for you my little electronic friend.
17:58- Yep, you deserve a medal for staying an hour late. You must be exhausted poor lamb. But considering you didn't come in 'till 9:30, I'll hold off on the rose petals at your feet for the moment, OK? See you tomorrow.
18:25- I wonder how long a human can live on vending machine food. And why is it, the orange juice is always the first one to run out? Ooh look, Twix.
19:20- Crap look at the time, and I've barely scratched the surface. There must be a more efficient way to do this. Hmm, how about if I create a spreadsheet and then...
19:55- Well that was a colossal waste of time. OK, back to doing it the original way. Music, that's what I need. Music feeds the soul. Let's see what music I can find.
20:20- Have I really just spent the last hour getting no further forward with this? OK, come on now, focus. Grind it out.
22:10- Hi, it's me. Yep, looks like I'm going to be here all night. I'm not sure, probably 4 or 5-ish. OK, I'll call you when I pull into the driveway so you can unlock the door. Sleep well.
12:05- Whoa, where did the time go? Making progress though, if I can keep going at this pace, I should be done by about...Friday. Dang, that's depressing.
01:25- Consider the Twix my friends. Shortcake, caramel, all coated in a layer of milk chocolate. And just when you get done…there's another one. Perfection in confectionary. Oh man, I'm tired. Wonder if I could get an hour's shut-eye if I laid on the floor. No, no - push on, push on. The sooner this is done, the sooner you'll get home. But oh dearie me, is it ever going to be over?
02:45- Feeling a little fuzzy round the edges now. Must focus on the task at hancze@gh
04:15- OK, that's it - I've had enough. Time to head home. Just send out a few e-mails so everyone can see the time stamp and notice how virtuous I am.
04:30- It's an odd feeling walking through a totally deserted city. Nobody, but nobody is about. OK, well now that car's just gone and spoiled it. But apart from that, there's nobody about.
04:45- Has the steering wheel always been so heavy? Have I always lived so far away? Traffic's pretty busy going the other way though. Lot of people must start work pretty early. Poor bastards.
05:15- Honey, I'm home!
05:30- Oh it's so nice to snuggle into warm sheets ready for a good night's sleep. But first though, I need to set the alarm.
Got to get up for work in the morning.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Heeeeere fishy fishy
I can see myself fly fishing. Standing in a pristine mountain stream with golden late afternoon sunlight streaming behind me as, with the skill and patience of a Zen master, I carve a graceful arc with my line before reeling in a trout of epic proportions. I release the fish, return it to the water and admire the way the light plays off its silvery scales as it swims away. Think Brad Pitt in "A River Runs Through It" and you'll have the general idea.
Still, I barely have time for the hobbies I have now and fly-fishing isn't all that cheap a sport in which to get started. Until fairly recently I wasn't aware that I had any special interest in taking up fishing at all but after giving the sport a go for the first time in years during a camping trip in the summer (where I was the only one in the group to catch a fish - a monster of at least 4 inches) the desire was formed.
I also hadn't realized how comparatively inexpensive simple spinning rods are. Sure there are the pricey ones for people who take the sport seriously, but ambling round a hardware store one day, I came across some on sale starting at around $20 - $30. That's well within my price range but first I consulted my friend Ed. Ed's been kicking around a lot longer than me (well, 7 years longer) and knows about these things.
"So is a $30 fishing rod OK to buy, or is it just a waste of $30?" I asked. Having received confirmation that the rod on which I'd caught my record breaker back in the summer probably only cost about that much, the decision was made. I was to become an angler.
Of course time passed, real life got in the way and if it hadn't have been for another friend, Melissa, I probably wouldn't have done anything about it.
"OK, I'm picking you up from work on Friday," she told me authoritively last week. "We'll go to Sportsman's Warehouse" (a kind of retail toy box for enthusiasts of outdoor pursuits) and pick out a fishing rod for you." Of course, it wasn't just going to be just me and her. Christmas is coming and too many other people wanted an excuse to visit the place so the simple act of choosing a gift for me, turned into a team event. Ed was there, of course, along with Robin and Karen so the five of us descended on the place like locusts with charge cards.
Once inside, the womenfolk spread out and headed for their respective interests. Robin took off for the shoes, Karen for the hats and Melissa for the jeans while Ed and I manned the shopping trolley and gave helpful advice. While waiting Ed, found a camouflage bathrobe, which he thought, would be ideal for hiding among the potted plants, while I came across a pair of shoulder length camouflage gloves. To avoid being spotted during formal evening functions I suppose.
Soon it was time to hit the fishing section and having rejected my first choice, a 3 ft "My Little Pony" type number in a shade of pink which would match my eyes some mornings, we moved onto my next selection. It was a cool looking silver thing but Ed decided it wasn't flexible enough. Apparently flexible is a good thing when it comes to fishing rods so he moved along the row and picked out another for me. This one was black and the tip zipped up and down like a whip when I swung it. OK, decision made, but of course - that was just the beginning.
I needed line, hooks, bobbers, sinkers, scissors, a tackle box and of course, the all important bait. You would think it would simply be a case of walking along the shelves and grabbing the stuff but instead the process involved a level of discussion which would have made a Bedouin camel trader weep. Melissa learned her fishing in West Virginia where the fish are very different animals to our Colorado natives. Ed's the local expert while I was utterly clueless so we went back and forth over the merits of # 8 hooks versus # 10s, bobbers or not, light line or heavy, the debate went on.
Ed's an aficionado of the fishing vest, while Melissa's a tackle box devotee. Being blessed with skinny, weedy looking arms I knew that a bulky vest wouldn't be much of a fashion statement on me as you probably know, anglers are a stylish bunch so I decided on the tackle box.
"You'll want one with a shoulder strap," explained Melissa, "because you'll have your rod and stuff in one hand, your beer cooler in the other and you won't want to be messing with a tackle box in your third." Sound advice that, so we picked out a green one and moved on.
Selecting my first supply of bait was another big decision. Back in the days when I last fished, you either purchased a small bag of some unidentified marine life from a crusty old guy in a kiosk at the head of the pier, or you went into the back yard and dug up worms. I haven't seen a worm in Colorado and I doubt they would keep 'till the warm weather so instead we checked out the endless supply of commercial offerings. It would never have occurred to me that fish would go after some of these fluorescent concoctions but it seems those are the "in" colors. Bright red salmon eggs, neon orange Power Bait, glitter balls called "Drag Queen Bait", which tickled Melissa no end - it was all here. Even little jars of multi-colored paste which you use, presumably, to roll your own. It's all very hi-tech these days.
Finally we were done and I headed for the checkout to hand over a sum of cash considerably higher than the $20-$30 I had originally anticipated. Still, Christmas only comes once a year. I'll need Melissa and Ed to show me how to work most of this stuff but I did spend a happy hour on Saturday unwrapping it all and placing it neatly in my new tackle box. I also picked up my first fishing injury, drawing blood when the snap of the box ripped open my index finger. How manly is that?
Still, I'm all set to go now. The gear is primed, I'm ready for the hunt and fish had best beware. Everything is in place.
So how long is it 'till Spring?
Still, I barely have time for the hobbies I have now and fly-fishing isn't all that cheap a sport in which to get started. Until fairly recently I wasn't aware that I had any special interest in taking up fishing at all but after giving the sport a go for the first time in years during a camping trip in the summer (where I was the only one in the group to catch a fish - a monster of at least 4 inches) the desire was formed.
I also hadn't realized how comparatively inexpensive simple spinning rods are. Sure there are the pricey ones for people who take the sport seriously, but ambling round a hardware store one day, I came across some on sale starting at around $20 - $30. That's well within my price range but first I consulted my friend Ed. Ed's been kicking around a lot longer than me (well, 7 years longer) and knows about these things.
"So is a $30 fishing rod OK to buy, or is it just a waste of $30?" I asked. Having received confirmation that the rod on which I'd caught my record breaker back in the summer probably only cost about that much, the decision was made. I was to become an angler.
Of course time passed, real life got in the way and if it hadn't have been for another friend, Melissa, I probably wouldn't have done anything about it.
"OK, I'm picking you up from work on Friday," she told me authoritively last week. "We'll go to Sportsman's Warehouse" (a kind of retail toy box for enthusiasts of outdoor pursuits) and pick out a fishing rod for you." Of course, it wasn't just going to be just me and her. Christmas is coming and too many other people wanted an excuse to visit the place so the simple act of choosing a gift for me, turned into a team event. Ed was there, of course, along with Robin and Karen so the five of us descended on the place like locusts with charge cards.
Once inside, the womenfolk spread out and headed for their respective interests. Robin took off for the shoes, Karen for the hats and Melissa for the jeans while Ed and I manned the shopping trolley and gave helpful advice. While waiting Ed, found a camouflage bathrobe, which he thought, would be ideal for hiding among the potted plants, while I came across a pair of shoulder length camouflage gloves. To avoid being spotted during formal evening functions I suppose.
Soon it was time to hit the fishing section and having rejected my first choice, a 3 ft "My Little Pony" type number in a shade of pink which would match my eyes some mornings, we moved onto my next selection. It was a cool looking silver thing but Ed decided it wasn't flexible enough. Apparently flexible is a good thing when it comes to fishing rods so he moved along the row and picked out another for me. This one was black and the tip zipped up and down like a whip when I swung it. OK, decision made, but of course - that was just the beginning.
I needed line, hooks, bobbers, sinkers, scissors, a tackle box and of course, the all important bait. You would think it would simply be a case of walking along the shelves and grabbing the stuff but instead the process involved a level of discussion which would have made a Bedouin camel trader weep. Melissa learned her fishing in West Virginia where the fish are very different animals to our Colorado natives. Ed's the local expert while I was utterly clueless so we went back and forth over the merits of # 8 hooks versus # 10s, bobbers or not, light line or heavy, the debate went on.
Ed's an aficionado of the fishing vest, while Melissa's a tackle box devotee. Being blessed with skinny, weedy looking arms I knew that a bulky vest wouldn't be much of a fashion statement on me as you probably know, anglers are a stylish bunch so I decided on the tackle box.
"You'll want one with a shoulder strap," explained Melissa, "because you'll have your rod and stuff in one hand, your beer cooler in the other and you won't want to be messing with a tackle box in your third." Sound advice that, so we picked out a green one and moved on.
Selecting my first supply of bait was another big decision. Back in the days when I last fished, you either purchased a small bag of some unidentified marine life from a crusty old guy in a kiosk at the head of the pier, or you went into the back yard and dug up worms. I haven't seen a worm in Colorado and I doubt they would keep 'till the warm weather so instead we checked out the endless supply of commercial offerings. It would never have occurred to me that fish would go after some of these fluorescent concoctions but it seems those are the "in" colors. Bright red salmon eggs, neon orange Power Bait, glitter balls called "Drag Queen Bait", which tickled Melissa no end - it was all here. Even little jars of multi-colored paste which you use, presumably, to roll your own. It's all very hi-tech these days.
Finally we were done and I headed for the checkout to hand over a sum of cash considerably higher than the $20-$30 I had originally anticipated. Still, Christmas only comes once a year. I'll need Melissa and Ed to show me how to work most of this stuff but I did spend a happy hour on Saturday unwrapping it all and placing it neatly in my new tackle box. I also picked up my first fishing injury, drawing blood when the snap of the box ripped open my index finger. How manly is that?
Still, I'm all set to go now. The gear is primed, I'm ready for the hunt and fish had best beware. Everything is in place.
So how long is it 'till Spring?
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
By 'eck, it's cawd!
When I got home the other night, Dear Wife was sitting bundled up in scarf and fleece sweater. "I think there's something wrong with the boiler," she said "I can't get the house warm".
"Well, do you realize how cold it is outside?" I asked "That could have something to do with it."
Our house is comparatively small, which means it heats up very quickly, but it's also made of papier-mâché and spit, which means it cools down very quickly too. Our gas fire only has two settings, "On" and "Not On". When it's running, it has the living room toasty in no time, when it's off, things cool down fast. So, we spend a lot of time hopping up and down to meddle with the switch.
However, the fire only heats one room. The rest of the house relies on an ancient and rather frightening boiler which sits in a closet and emits loud rattles and clunks at regular intervals. The thermostat seems to operate under it's own volition with very little regard for the actual temperature and we've spent many a happy night, lying awake listening to it fire up and switch off, fire up and switch off, sometimes several times a minute. We've been warned by people who know about these things that it will need replacing soon, but at the moment we're frittering away our income on food and car repairs so it will have to wait. And to be fair, it does a passable job of keeping the house warm.
Except when temperatures plummet the way they have this week.
The very first Gunsmoke File relates how our friends in Phoenix were horrified when we announced our relocation to the frozen wastes of Colorado.
"Don't you know it's cold up there?" they asked. Well yeah, of course we did but as I pointed out repeatedly, it's supposed to be cold in winter. And one of the many delightful things about Colorado is that even in winter, the sun shines most days so while there may be snow on the ground, and ice in the shady spots, it's usually still comfortably warm outside.
But not this week.
I was spoiled on Monday because I drove the Subaru to work. With its powerful heater, road hugging tires and best of all, heated leather seats, I cruised down that hill and back up again at night, all the while wondering what everyone else was complaining about - the roads were fine, the snow wasn't so bad, it wasn't that cold. Sure, there were hurricane force winds out there (109mph recorded in Golden) but they didn't affect me. What's the big deal? I found out on Tuesday when I was back to driving my usual transport, Angus the 4Runner. Now I love Angus to bits, and he's taken me places I would be scared to attempt in the shiny new Subaru, but it has to be said, when it comes to luxury, the car manufacturers have moved on somewhat in the eighteen years since he rolled off the production line.
The heater works, sort of, in that it dries out your eyeballs while making no discernible difference to the temperature. The tires don't hug the road so much as caress it, in a gentle stroking motion. And worst of all, the seats have to be heated manually, namely by placing your butt on them for 45 minutes or so. Even the tape player refused to be roused from its slumbers, forcing me to rely on the radio, which never helps my mood.
Although the drive through the mountains wasn't too bad. It was only when I hit the town that things got really gnarly as a winter storm was in full force and traffic at a virtual standstill. Still, I made it into the office eventually, much to the surprise of the city dwellers who hadn't expected to see me at all. Having arrived late, I had to remain shackled to my desk until well after 7pm, but at least, I thought smugly, the roads will be better now. Wrong again Einstein.
Although the snow had for the most part been cleared, the ground itself was slick and shiny as sub-zero temperatures caused everything to be coated in a film of ice. There's nothing quite like that exhilarating little thrill when you feel your car begin to slide beneath you, especially if you're surrounded by much bigger vehicles, often traveling faster than you are. 2-wheel drive, 4-wheel drive, it's all the same when you're on ice and I think that's the best workout my heart's had since the last time I went out jogging.
Creeping along at around 35 mph I was passed by a blonde soccer mom type in a Ford Explorer doing, I would guess, about 70. About 1/2 a mile ahead I saw her taillights suddenly begin to zig-zag as she fishtailed across three lanes of traffic. Luckily the drivers around her were driving cautiously and each had time to avoid her so she ended up on the hard shoulder, completely unharmed. As I passed her she was staring fixedly ahead with her knuckles white on the steering wheel. About 5 miles further on, creeping along at around 35 mph I was passed by a blonde soccer mom type in a Ford Explorer doing, I would guess, about 70. Sigh.
Still, Angus and I made it home unscathed and in no time I was indoors and ready for dinner. There's nothing like a big bowl of steaming hot, home-made soup on a night like this so it was a shame we didn't have any. Instead, I microwaved a pizza and munched disconsolately while huddling over the space heater. By bedtime we were, according to our cheapo thermometer on the front deck, down to -13F. I talked to the dogs to see if I could persuade them not to pee until say, May, but it was no dice. So, wrapping myself up like Nanook of the North, I dragged them outdoors for their evening constitutional. It was ear nipping, toe stinging, booger freezing cold out there - the kind of cold that sucks your breath from your lungs. Still, there's something inherently comically in watching a dog try to pee without putting any feet on the ground.
When I dragged my butt out of bed at 5:30, the windows were coated in Jack Frost's artwork - even on the inside. Cheapo thermometer told me it was -28F, which is bloody cold. I took one look at Angus, buried in a cocoon of ice, another look back at the kettle, and thought.
"Today, I'm going to work from home."
"Well, do you realize how cold it is outside?" I asked "That could have something to do with it."
Our house is comparatively small, which means it heats up very quickly, but it's also made of papier-mâché and spit, which means it cools down very quickly too. Our gas fire only has two settings, "On" and "Not On". When it's running, it has the living room toasty in no time, when it's off, things cool down fast. So, we spend a lot of time hopping up and down to meddle with the switch.
However, the fire only heats one room. The rest of the house relies on an ancient and rather frightening boiler which sits in a closet and emits loud rattles and clunks at regular intervals. The thermostat seems to operate under it's own volition with very little regard for the actual temperature and we've spent many a happy night, lying awake listening to it fire up and switch off, fire up and switch off, sometimes several times a minute. We've been warned by people who know about these things that it will need replacing soon, but at the moment we're frittering away our income on food and car repairs so it will have to wait. And to be fair, it does a passable job of keeping the house warm.
Except when temperatures plummet the way they have this week.
The very first Gunsmoke File relates how our friends in Phoenix were horrified when we announced our relocation to the frozen wastes of Colorado.
"Don't you know it's cold up there?" they asked. Well yeah, of course we did but as I pointed out repeatedly, it's supposed to be cold in winter. And one of the many delightful things about Colorado is that even in winter, the sun shines most days so while there may be snow on the ground, and ice in the shady spots, it's usually still comfortably warm outside.
But not this week.
I was spoiled on Monday because I drove the Subaru to work. With its powerful heater, road hugging tires and best of all, heated leather seats, I cruised down that hill and back up again at night, all the while wondering what everyone else was complaining about - the roads were fine, the snow wasn't so bad, it wasn't that cold. Sure, there were hurricane force winds out there (109mph recorded in Golden) but they didn't affect me. What's the big deal? I found out on Tuesday when I was back to driving my usual transport, Angus the 4Runner. Now I love Angus to bits, and he's taken me places I would be scared to attempt in the shiny new Subaru, but it has to be said, when it comes to luxury, the car manufacturers have moved on somewhat in the eighteen years since he rolled off the production line.
The heater works, sort of, in that it dries out your eyeballs while making no discernible difference to the temperature. The tires don't hug the road so much as caress it, in a gentle stroking motion. And worst of all, the seats have to be heated manually, namely by placing your butt on them for 45 minutes or so. Even the tape player refused to be roused from its slumbers, forcing me to rely on the radio, which never helps my mood.
Although the drive through the mountains wasn't too bad. It was only when I hit the town that things got really gnarly as a winter storm was in full force and traffic at a virtual standstill. Still, I made it into the office eventually, much to the surprise of the city dwellers who hadn't expected to see me at all. Having arrived late, I had to remain shackled to my desk until well after 7pm, but at least, I thought smugly, the roads will be better now. Wrong again Einstein.
Although the snow had for the most part been cleared, the ground itself was slick and shiny as sub-zero temperatures caused everything to be coated in a film of ice. There's nothing quite like that exhilarating little thrill when you feel your car begin to slide beneath you, especially if you're surrounded by much bigger vehicles, often traveling faster than you are. 2-wheel drive, 4-wheel drive, it's all the same when you're on ice and I think that's the best workout my heart's had since the last time I went out jogging.
Creeping along at around 35 mph I was passed by a blonde soccer mom type in a Ford Explorer doing, I would guess, about 70. About 1/2 a mile ahead I saw her taillights suddenly begin to zig-zag as she fishtailed across three lanes of traffic. Luckily the drivers around her were driving cautiously and each had time to avoid her so she ended up on the hard shoulder, completely unharmed. As I passed her she was staring fixedly ahead with her knuckles white on the steering wheel. About 5 miles further on, creeping along at around 35 mph I was passed by a blonde soccer mom type in a Ford Explorer doing, I would guess, about 70. Sigh.
Still, Angus and I made it home unscathed and in no time I was indoors and ready for dinner. There's nothing like a big bowl of steaming hot, home-made soup on a night like this so it was a shame we didn't have any. Instead, I microwaved a pizza and munched disconsolately while huddling over the space heater. By bedtime we were, according to our cheapo thermometer on the front deck, down to -13F. I talked to the dogs to see if I could persuade them not to pee until say, May, but it was no dice. So, wrapping myself up like Nanook of the North, I dragged them outdoors for their evening constitutional. It was ear nipping, toe stinging, booger freezing cold out there - the kind of cold that sucks your breath from your lungs. Still, there's something inherently comically in watching a dog try to pee without putting any feet on the ground.
When I dragged my butt out of bed at 5:30, the windows were coated in Jack Frost's artwork - even on the inside. Cheapo thermometer told me it was -28F, which is bloody cold. I took one look at Angus, buried in a cocoon of ice, another look back at the kettle, and thought.
"Today, I'm going to work from home."
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