The bottle of Maker’s Mark had been sitting on the shelf for months, unopened, a testament to the fact that I can have good booze in the house and not feel compelled to indulge at the drop of a hat.
But after the president spoke tonight to his administration’s alternately pathetic and misguided response to COVID-19, I broke the wax seal, opened the bottle, and poured a shot over ice.
November cannot come soon enough. In the meantime, thank G-d for good bourbon.
Sunny dropped us at the beach at Sycamore Canyon around 9am. It was a later start than we would normally like, but as it turns out it was a good thing we were rested.
The twelve mile uphill hike wasn’t particularly strenuous, except for a portion where we gained about 600 feet in a mile, and that was only a challenge because it was after 8 miles and 2:40 of steady walking up slope without rest. What is more, Aaron keeps up a steady 3mph pace with a full day pack, so it was a bit more than a leisurely stroll up Sycamore Canyon.
In theory the last four miles should have been an easy downhill stroll to the 101, but fatigue was starting to set in, and even the kid was audibly relieved when our stopping point hive into view as we crossed the freeway.
By the end we had taken a bit over 4 hours to walk the 12 miles, but we had crossed the Santa Monica Mountains, burned 2,000 extra calories, and started our training program for the big prize: the John Muir Trail.
This as delivered ten minutes after I set my bags down in my hotel room on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
From tiny gestures like this is loyalty built.
The Courtyard at Deerfield handed me a personalized water bottle when I walked in. Torn between drinking it and keeping it.
UPDATE: Ingot thirsty on the train on the way home, drank it, and recycled the souvenir.
There will be Kosher Rice Krispies treats!
Just in time for Chanukah!
Early Sunday morning in November on Santa Fe Avenue in La Junta, Colorado. I have only stepped off the train for a moment, and had to capture this.
I love train travel like no other means of transportation. As I get older, though, I find myself wanting to stop and spend more time in the places I pass through.
In the introduction to Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey opines that in some places time passes slowly, and that all time should. I suppose that is why I find myself of late drawn to places where the hours meander languorously rather than sprint furtively.
I will be back to the high plains of Eastern Colorado, I know, but at some point I’d like to come in my truck and stay awhile. I’ll bet the biscuits are warm and flaky at the Copper Kitchen, that the espresso and banana bread a delight at The Barista, and that there are delightful folks here as well.
What a contrast: the kid’s first day in uniform ten years ago, and then last month right before his Eagle Scout Board of Review.
There are 29 merit badges on his sash, his National Jamboree neckerchief on his collar, and his Order of the Arrow Brotherhood sash on his belt. I am one proud dad.
He’s being goofy to try and hide his emotions on visiting Yosemite for the first time.
A great month this month with SCRIBEDELIVERY. Zebra Midliners showed up just as my last highlighter was running low. And I have been waiting for an excuse to try the Uni Signo pens.
And Denik Notebooks? Just brilliant, a slightly more creative change from my long shelves of Moleskines.