Author: Steve

A weekend at the State Park. We had it all to ourselves during the week.
Meadowlarks in the morning. Magpies. Pelicans. Red-tails. The park
started filling up Friday night. It was totally full Saturday. Kids
campers pets music conversation boats bicycles campfires beer late night.
People having fun. Nothing bothered us. Once we close up the motorhome for
the night, we’re done with the outside world. Sunday, the exodus begins
early. Chatfield State Park. It is right at the edge of Denver, so it’s easily
accessible to everyone on the weekends. Full hookups. More bicycle trails
than we can ride while we’re here. Boating, fishing, birding. It has a
heron rookery. Horseback riding. An airpark for remote control model
planes. They buzz the sky in the distance, except for the jet. It
whooshes. In the middle of all these piston engine model planes, there is a
delta wing fighter jet, with a jet engine. Really. We woke to hot air balloons rising over the other side of the lake Sunday
morning. This is a nice place to be.

We left Durango and drove to Golden. Lots of stuff to do each time we visit
the front-range. Kids, grandkids, and a satellite dish. Time for the big
one. Time for the data dish. Monday, I scheduled the entire day at the
motorhome so I could watch the installation and participate in any decisions
on the fly. Frank, the installer, worked Monday afternoon and into the
evening. Tuesday I commuted off to the Conifer job. Frank worked all day
Tuesday and into the evening again. The result…. Instant-on WiFi. A WiFi signal from our own satellite dish, from anywhere
in North America that we can see the south sky. Reliable WiFi. Frank did a
good job. A Motosat DataStorm. We never have to search for a WiFi park
again. When we have a choice between a commercial RV park and a state park,
we don’t have to forego the state park so we can stay in touch. A major
upgrade to the mobile process. Wednesday afternoon, we moved from the commercial RV park to Chatfield State
Park. Full hookups, well-separated sites, and a State Park view. Wildlife.
Grass, bushes, and birds. Quiet. I spent the rest of the week working on
the Conifer job. Didn’t get it done. Jamie shuffled next week’s schedule
for me. I’ll go back to Conifer on Monday and Tuesday to get it done before
we move on. Life on the road. Life in the State Park.

Durango. Weather, 70s every day. Scenery in all directions. Steam train
passing morning and evening. Job, perfect. I love these engagements that
go so well because their accountant did such a good job. Fieldwork
Wednesday Thursday and Friday. Exit conference in the afternoon. Time for
that bicycle ride in the evening that Sue (yes, I’m naming names) has been
promising (threatening) us with for a year. A mountain bike trail ride we
would never forget (forgive). We each left work, went to our respective houses, gathered our respective
gear and spouses, and met up at the trailhead at the edge of town. We
unloaded our bikes, started up the hill, and immediately found ourselves
surrounded by mostly twenty and thirty something riders attached to their
high-tech, lightweight alloy, twenty-nine speed, full-suspension, disk
braked machines by their clip on pedals, our hosts included. This ride
consisted of a hill climb. Steep rocky dirt road (trail) with ruts and
bumps and rocky sections. So off we go, grinding our way uphill, ducking to
the side for more experienced riders swooping past at ten times our pace
(uphill) and a hundred times our pace (downhill), our hosts included. They
promised a meadow ride at the top, but what we found at the top was more
uphill. How can a meadow be uphill all the way? I swear, the entire ride
was uphill, except for that five minute downhill at the end. Judy, the trooper, rode until she couldn’t, walked her bike through the
rough stuff, then rode again when she could. I, being more testosterone
enabled (encumbered), managed to ride the entire way, chuffing my way up the
hill like the Durango Silverton steam train, finding our cheerful hosts
waiting for us at every trail junction. There is something innately evil
about a person who rides way ahead, waits for you, and just as you arrive
and are about to collapse, heads off for the next section don’t you think?
The person who didn’t need the rest just did, then takes off just before the
person who is barely still alive can. Judy survived the ride. I survived
the ride with only minor scrapes and scratches. Somewhere around the top,
on the only flat spot I recall, I moved to the side of the trail to let a
faster rider by who was approaching at something like fifty times my speed.
I lost it in the soft stuff and fell over. The faster rider didn’t even
slow down going by. She just yelled out a question about me being okay as
she flew past. Sue promised (threatened) a ride we would never forget (forgive). She
delivered.

Along the float, there were climbers on the rock walls.