...she was chef at Panzano, then...to Rioja. ...moved on to Bistro Vendome, after Crafted Concepts... ...then...to her own place, Work & Class... "It's a great business. We can go anywhere. More people should think of this as a career." ...an early partner...helped open Ulteria. ...his successful side gig - Split Lip, an Eat Place... "I planted a...culinary garden on the patio. Bartenders...pick what they need every day. They'll come downtown for a concert or sporting event...but they think it's so unsafe." ...the rising minimum wage. "The City of Denver has made it too arduous to be a small-business owner. We were so busy from start to close. There was no sitting down. We would stand and eat, shrimp tails flying, in the cloffice." (...the closet that served as an office.) - Westword, 9/8-14/2024
Thursday is the 1st of yet another new month. This is the first day this week I haven't had to go in early. Since Sunday, I haven't been to the waterpark. I arrive this morning shortly after they open. I'm in line at the drop slide. A little girl is ahead of me. Another girl, perhaps a high school freshman, comes out of nowhere and runs up the steps ahead of us. In her sunburst patterned bikini, she goes down the slide and comes up with her long blonde hair in her face. She also appears to be unaware that she needs to get out of the deep end. When a lifeguard blows a whistle, she replies, "I'm okay." She leaves through the shallow end, which she isn't supposed to do, but at least the line can proceed. I take my turn and get back in line. She begins to run past me again, up the steps, before her dad calls her back. The following day is my birthday. A swim in the morning and one in the afternoon. The next day is Saturday. After work, I have a swim at the closer pool before the sister picks me up, and takes me to dinner. When I reached the pool, I was told that they were beyond capacity. I discovered that this meant a lifeguard hadn't shown up for work. When one arrived to replace the guard, the pool was suddenly admitting swimmers again. At dinner with the sister, no mention of last month's drama with her. When she drops me back home, I have a message from the woman I've been dating. It's curt: "I will pick you up [tomorrow] at 3 [PM]." Again, no mention of our drama on Facebook. The following day is Sunday. I would like to drop off film at the camera shop, have a swim at the pool, swim at the waterpark, workout, and drop my bike off for another tune up. The camera shop does not open until 11 AM. Before that, I decide to ride down to my neighborhood supermarket and back. Before I return home, I stop at a deathburger for breakfast. Ayoung guy, a kid wanders in. He goes to the soda machine and fills a cup with ice, and then he wanders back out. The middle-aged manager is working the counter and the drive through alone. His only help is a drive through intercom which isn't working. By the time I get home, I decide to ride straight to the camera shop. When I get there, I decide no skip the workout, waterpark, and even the pool which is right down the boulevard. I ride to the nearest train for the trip downtown to the sporting goods supercenter. At the train, the elevator to the platform isn't working. I carry my bike down a long flight of steps to the platform. I hear a crazy person yelling. I take a seat on a bench. A couple comes along the platform. The guy is bent over as if he can't stand straight. He's eating from a small container of ice cream with a torn piece of cardboard. Another couple comes along. This guy is even more bent over. Both couples leave shortly before the train arrives. Another young guy comes along by himself. Over one shoulder are the handles to a big canvas bag with a bright pink flower print. He's stepping down to the tracks and then climbing back up to the platform, picking up trash which he puts in the bag. Sandals are on his dirty feet.
The train arrives and takes me toward downtown. At one stop along the way, I watch through the window as one passenger boards the next car with a dog without a leash. This line drops me on the far side of a downtown college campus. I'm joined at the station by a group of goofy hipsters. They've just come out of the car with the guy and his dog. They step too close to the tracks and a train approaching from the other direction blows its whistle at them. I ride to the other side of campus, to the downtown trail and then on to the supercenter. I manage to get the door to the entrance open when an elderly woman insists on squeezing past myself and my bike. So that she may hold the door for me. I feel time slipping away from me, in spite of the city's rapid transit. I reach the bicycle department at fifteen to 1 PM. Not bad. A tech tells me my bike will be ready in 40 minutes. This is fantastic news. I'm getting new brake pads, having a rail straightened which should have been done a couple of visits ago (which is why one sifter won't come out of gear and which I'm told I won't be charged for), get my brakes adjusted, and even check the oil. So to speak. (By this, I mean get the chain cleaned and oiled.) The tech asks me if I want a "soft adjustment". I tell her, I don't want anything soft. Cables tight, tires full. The tech crew this afternoon is almost all young and female. Forty minutes turn into an hour. The tech tells me that she checked my front rotor. This is the literal disc in the "disc brakes". I need a new one. I tell her she better check the rear rotor. She says I need two new ones. (I need to tell her to check both and not only one?) This is turning into some kind of comedy. She says it's not a time-consuming replacement. I watch her as she slowly unscrews six screws from each rotor. She shows me a new one. "Nice and shiny," she says. The minutes are something which I can almost feel slipping away. An hour and a half after I get here, my bike is ready. I race down a trail from here back to my side of town. I get home five minutes before 3 PM. I jump in the shower to wash the perspiration off. I throw on some clothes. I step outside to see if my lady is here, just in time to see her walking toward my door. We head down my boulevard to our favorite Mexican place. We have an early dinner and sit and talk for four hours. My butt gets sore. Next weekend, she wants to go hiking she tells me.
Monday. I hit my old rec center before the waterpark, to do the workout I missed yesterday. When I reach the waterpark, I enter the parking lot off the trail. Hidden in a corner of the lot, next to the entrance of the trail, is a small homeless pickup truck. The hood is open and the air filter is removed and sitting on the engine. In the pool are a couple of females who I am convinced are sisters. The oldest is perhaps a high school junior or senior. She's absolutely beautiful, with long honey blonde hair. The other is not yet old enough for kindergarten. The younger one is reluctant to come off the steps into the shallow end. By the time I'm leaving, the older sister has convinced her. Mondays, we're open until after the pool closes. I'm riding home in a rainstorm. I'm rolling past the parking lot for the waterpark. It's empty now, except for the homeless pickup. It will be gone the following day. Now, swimming. Let's briefly discuss. Monday through Wednesday of this week, I had to be at work early. So no waterpark. Monday we close late. Monday through Thursday afternoon, it rained. No pool. Thursday. It's overcast and 64 degrees F. When I leave for work, it's drizzling. I go to the waterpark anyway. I have the pool and the drop slide entirely to myself. This may be the last week of the season when the pools and this waterpark are open during the weekdays. Moving to weekends only. There is another outdoor pool, the opposite direction of the far one where I've been swimming on weekends. It's open during the week through Labor Day. As for the rain, it's forecast tomorrow as well, and next Monday. As it nears time to close at work, the sky turns a familiar shade of dark. Just minutes after I leave work, there's a bright flash overhead, followed by loud thunder. Seconds later the rain opens up. I stop under a tree in a front yard and pull out my poncho. It lets up halfway home. Back on my corner, the homeless guitar guy occupies a spot at a corner of the Vietnamese grocery parking lot. He has the guitar in hand. He has other possessions in a plastic trash can somehow affixed to his bicycle. The following morning, I'm due at work a half hour early. Again it's grey and cool. No waterpark. I'm out the door and on the long street a block from my own. Coming toward me is a homeless couple, both on bicycles . I've seen them around, the woman much older than the guy. Neither have helmets. As I said, homeless. Both have unlit cigarettes hanging from their lips. This is one end of the street. Toward the other end is a big dog laying in the street. From here, it appears as if it's dead. As I approach, I then notice the owner on his phone. When I pass, the dog jumps up. Deceased indeed. Its owner says something to it in Spanish.
"Hmm. You Don't Know If There's an Event."
I'm on the way home Friday. I pass a spot on the trail, along the bank of a creek. There have been a pair of tents down on the bank, and a clothesline, and assorted stuff. With most of the week having seen rain, this creek has surely risen, as it always does. Everything down on the bank has been moved up and to the other side of the trail. I'm sure it was hauled up here by the proper authorities, as it's neatly stacked. Branches lay among the collection. Saturday. The sky is clear for the first time in days. At work I check the sky to see if I need sunscreen. I see some clouds in the sky. I roll the dice and don't put it on. At 3 PM, I leave work and there are dak clouds to the west rolling in. I make a break for the distant pool. I'm almost there when thunder shows up. I stop to put on my poncho. When I get there, they're shut down for a half hour, until they get the OK to reopen. I decide to ride home. I'm just back across the tracks, coming up a busy avenue, just a couple streets from my own. An ambulance approaches from behind. I turn my head to avoid the siren...not watching where I'm going. The next thing I know, my front tire is hissing, alternating louder and softer as the rim rotates. The air doesn't last long. There's no slime in this tube. Fortunately, it's not a long walk home. I know where I'm going tomorrow. I make it up to just a block from my street. On the corner is a pile of parked cars. I think I hear a PA system. Along the way down this last block, a teenaged kid comes out of his home. He asks me, "Sir, is there an event [going on]?" I tell him I don't know. "Hmm," he replies, "you don't know if there's an event." Hey, I'm just a guy with a flat. I could be homeless for all he knows. When I get home, I have a message from my lady. The hike has been postponed. She wants to go out for coffee at 5 PM. I again suggest we get dinner. The good news is, I have the day to complete a list of tasks. The first thing I do on Sunday is remove my front rim. Fortunately, 'tis the front one which is flat. The rear rim involves winding the cassette around the chain while somehow removing the rim straight out of the slot with the brake pads. I secure it to the back rack of the bike I ride on the weekends. I'm out of the house shortly after 8 AM. I decide to get the tube replacement out of the way. I forget that all I have to do, to hook up with the trail to the sporting goods supercenter...is ride north. Shadowing my own boulevard. Past the construction I would otherwise run into catching the trail across town. And that's exactly what I do, head across town. I ride down the neighborhood streets I walked up a little more than 12 hours ago. I realize what I did and decide to continue on to the train. It whips me downtown, and soon the tube is replaced. I ride back down the trail to my place. Along the trail, a Lycra-clad cyclists saw I had stopped to polish off the hot chocolate I grabbed from the coffee shop next to the bike place. He asks if I'm "Okay?" Then I'm home. Front rim replaced. It was only a 3-hour trip.
The rest of the afternoon was another successful mad dash. I grabbed lunch at the bar and grill near the gym. The outdoor bar had one seat left, between two couples. On the left, the guy was telling his lady about listening to a Joe Rogan podcast. He killed a fly on the bar with his hat. I did indeed grab some chocolate therapy. Hit the gym, the hot tub, and made it to the waterpark. All before making it home in time for another dinner date with my lady. Monday. I'm called in to work a couple of hours early. At work, I check the internet and make a couple of calls. Beginning today, the pools in my municipality are done for the season. The waterpark has gone to weekends only. But...there is a rec center to the west of my home. And it has an outdoor pool which is open every day until Labor Day. I check online for this week's schedule for that pool. Tuesday through Thursday...the outdoor pool is open until 7:30 PM! I get out of work at 5, and I think I can do the ride in an hour. I stay a little late at work today, when we close an hour later than the rest of the week, and I abort the idea of a swim this evening. I do grab a bus up the boulevard. From the train station, I ride toward home. I'm coming through the intersection of a busy boulevard, approaching the underpass of another train station. From the sidewalk on the other side, a homeless couple on bicycles have pulled in front of me, toward the underpass. This is a long sidewalk, raised above the busy avenue below. It goes under both a set of passenger and commercial train tracks, and it comes out at an intersection with a highway. It's a popular underpass for homeless to pitch a camp. The guy is behind the lady, both ahead of me, and he's pulling a bike trailer. The cloth top is gone from the trailer, which is full of some stuff. A bulldog stands on top of the pile. I follow them through the crosswalk. They turn off at the opposite corner, and I head for home. I'm coming over the sidewalk where my front rim picked up a shard of glass 48 hours ago.
Tuesday. I do the ride to the outdoor pool the opposite direction from work. At the outside, it only takes me 50 minutes. I have a fine swim. This early, it's only lap swim. My bags are on a bench next to the pool. A young guy in the lane next to me is doing a butterfly stroke. When he turns at the end of the lane where the bench is, he splashes water on my bags. I'm suddenly in a Three Stooges sketch. The ride to work however appears to be something like two hours. I can still make it back to the pool by 7 PM. Or so I thought. At closing time where I work, I have my bag secured to the back rack on my bike. Helmet and bike shorts on. The front tire is flat as a pancake. Well, it's been threatening rain all afternoon anyway. I grab a quick diner at the bakery before I catch the bus with the bike. From the bus to the train downtown, and up and over a bridge with many stairs. And a walk back to the supercenter, The tech finds a thorn in my tire, so it wasn't a defective tube. But he tells me the previous tech adjusted my brakes "sloppily." I ask if he has any Teflon tire liners in stock. The warehouse from which it would otherwise come is out. And my new tube does not have a valve which may be removed (in which to insert slime.) But he doesn't charge me for the brake readjust. And I'm ready to ride home. Which is fortunate, because I'm opening Thursday. I've been gone today from 8 AM to 9 PM.
...interacting with the natural world. ...in busy neighborhoods or quiet forests... ...jot down thoughts and observations... It's easy to get lazy observing nature...amidst beautiful surroundings. ...sharpen your senses as you record delightful details, ever present in the ordinary but commonly ignored. ...walking barefoot...then sharing your experience. ..."Nocturnal Nature," "Urban Nature,"..."Traveling and Tramping" and "Just Breathe." ...just dip your toes into a cool pool... - Well, Summer + Fall 2024
I'm calling Wednesday a triumph. The sun is out. It's been raining overnight all week. I do the math incorrectly and leave for the pool an hour later than I want. I still make good time. In spite of my not taking a correct turn. And taking a brief goose chase around a residential loop, resulting in zero benefit and wasting precious minutes. Only then do I realize that I came too far down one street. I turn onto a trail along a busy highway. The rain clouds have retreated to the far horizon. The sky is as blue as the fire smoke will allow. I'm climbing a long hill, at the crest of which is a wonderful view. It hits me then that I've been on this asphalt trail before. I just can't remember why I've been here. It's downhill fast to the avenue upon which I want to turn. I move around an overweight girl at the corner. Onto the avenue's sidewalk, I'm then confronted with a mom pushing a stroller. I find a moment to move around the pair. I weave along the sidewalk for some blocks before I reach the street with the pool. I reach the parking lot and weave around several elderly rec center patrons. One guy in a buttoned-down shirt and slacks says, "Hello." I still make it with a fighting chance to swim. At the desk, they charge me two dollars less than yesterday morning. I have a quick lap swim before I head for the trail from here to work. When I did this ride 24 hours ago, I concluded that the end of this trail took me out of the way to connect with my usual trail to work. I ended up doing some backtracking. This morning, I exit this trail along a street which I use to ride to the sister's place. It requires climbing a long hill. But I end up at the bakery across the street from where I work...having shaved at least a half hour off of yesterday's ride. Perhaps more than that. After work, again the sky is threatening rain as usual. I decline to return to the pool this late afternoon and head for home instead.
Thursday. As I'm working open to close, I ain't simmin' before work this morning. I ride to the stop for a bus to work. Along the way, in a residential neighborhood close to the stop, a cat pursues a mouse around a corner. The cat stops to look at me before it continues its chase. I don't get as much sleep as I would have liked, and at work I briefly doze off. I have a quick dream that I'm riding through an underpass, and outside is a flash of lightning. Even days such as today, open to close, they always go flying past. So many customers drop off the last 2 1/2 hours, I wonder if I will leave on time. I get everything done, and I do the ride from the distant rec center in reverse after work. I have a fine swim, though this particular outdoor pool is 2" 9" on one end, and 3" 3" on the other. Inside the rec center, through a couple of open garage doors, is a diving pool and another large swimming pool. I ride home and have dinner at the Vietnamese place behind my home. I listen to one of the managers speak English to another employee. I'm listening to her ask someone to, "Clean this. Okay? Clean this?" I wonder why she doesn't use Vietnamese and I look up to see an employee who isn't Vietnamese. I wonder if he's Hispanic, because he doesn't appear to understand right away. Friday. Along the way to the rec center, I take another goose chase through a neighborhood loop. When I leave for the rec center, the temperature feels as if it's in the 60s F. After work, I'm headed home as the outdoor pool is closed by now at the distant rec center. It feels as if it could be 100 degrees F. I stop at a deathburger to grab dinner. When I cone out, my front tire is once again flat. Fortunately, I'm within walking distance of a train. It whips me downtown where I have a short walk to the sporting goods supercenter. The same tech from Tuesday is here this evening. He has a look at the tube, which I told him lasted 72 hours. He tells me that he discovered a manufacturer defect. There's a missing gasket. I never would have guessed. He comps me a tube. I ask if he has one with slime. He has one which fits. Before the defective tube went flat, I had planned to hit the supermarket on the way home. I decide to hit one downtown this evening. At one intersection off the trail, a pair of young guys pull up on choppers. One yells at me, "HEY!" He keeps yelling as I ignore him. The other yells, "Help me!" Neither has helmets. At the green light, they take off. One accelerates ahead and darts across into the next lane. A few seconds later, I turn into the parking lot for the supermarket. It's covered by the rest of an office or residential tower above. I sneak between a police SUV with its lights flashing and a concrete pillar. Its siren blares next to me and it takes off for the exit ahead. It's followed by an identical vehicle behind me. I pick up some vegetables for lunch to take with me to work, in an effort to return to eating at work. With 12 diet sodas and veggies, I take off in the dark. Out of downtown, and toward a trail back to my own side of town. I ride down a street with what appear to be Victorian era homes, now occupied by kids attending the downtown campus. It's an interesting thing to see in this low-income neighborhood. Makes me want to yell, "HEY!" And I'm not even on a chopper. I take a long and steep bridge over the train and highway to the trail home. The sunset over the mountains is quite a sight.
The American Whore
Saturday. I'm on the connecting trail home after work. I'm coming along a big golf course with a small forest of trees along the river. Ahead are perhaps ten paramedics from a firehouse. On the grass, under the shade of the trees, is a thin young woman. When I get home, I have a message from my lady. She's repostponing our hike. Her car is making a noise she doesn't like. Not unlike my bike repair, she took her car in and paid money to have it looked at. They didn't find what was causing the squeak. She has since recorded the noise on her phone and is going to take it back in this week. Instead, she is picking me up at 5:30 PM for another dinner date. So, on Sunday, I on the way to the waterpark. I'm in cycling shorts and no shirt, climbing a hill on a street in my extended neighborhood. An oncoming hatchback passes me. I hear the driver say, barely audibly, "Put some clothes on." I have a fine swim at the waterpark, lunch at the bar and grill, workout at the gym, and some chocolate therapy. During lunch, I have the outdoor bar to myself. There's no one else here to complain about the fan blowing air out of the bar, to keep out the bugs. It appears as if the overhead tarp has been moved closer to the bar. I don't have a shaft of sunlight on my head and neck. Soon, a young couple takes two of the seats. The bartender asks the guy if he wants anything to drink. With the supreme confidence of a local, he orders a "Hazy IPA." The bartender tells him he has one particular kind. Sophisticated drinkers are up on their details. "That'll do," the guy replies. The girl is silent. The bartender asks is she's going to "start with Mimosas...Bloody [Mary]s?" I make it home in the late afternoon and have another long dinner with my lady. Monday I get another late start and I have a lot to do, so I skip the pool before work. It's a gloomy grey day anyhow. I'm coming down a long street in my extended neighborhood. I'm stopped at a busy avenue, at a home on the corner where the woman with her pants down was pulling weeds. This morning, there's a grey-haired guy out next to a tall row of bushes. He's pouring something out of a pitcher. He says to me, "Buenos dias, por favor. Welcome to the American whore." Does me make reference to the previous woman?
Tuesday. 9:30 PM. I get the call. Can I open? My alarm wakes me up. I don't get as much sleep as I would like. When I am ready to leave the house an hour later, it makes me laugh. I have my bag secured on the back rack of my bike. The last thing I always do is check the sir in my tires. Is this the 4th or 5th time? My front tire is flat as a pancake. I would otherwise return downstairs and bring up the bike I use for the commute to work, when my newest one is in disrepair. But I don't have the time for all this, including moving Velcro pouches from one bike frame to another. Next to the bike I have upstairs is the one I ride on the weekends, with its own bags on the frame. I simply move my back from one back rack to the other. The hell with the rain poncho. I ride to work and back, and the entire day goes past in a flash. When I get home, it's then I bring the other bike upstairs and move the pouches and fill the tires. Thursday morning, I secure the flat front rim on top of my bag on the back rack. I ride into downtown and make my way to a deathburger for breakfast to go. This particular bike uses break fluid, and it's notoriously low. I have to walk down one steep hill to get out of my neighborhood. I hope its something the supercenter can handle. I'll find out when I get there. From the deathburger to the downtown trail which goes straight to the supercenter. I have to make my way around a guy asleep on the sidewalk. I end up running over some landscaping stones. My butt is thrown off the seat, and the front end of the seat stabs me in the butt. I pass another homeless guy directly after this, who says out loud, "That's it?" I reply, "That's it." It's a short ride to the bike shop. On the crest of the final hill, acyclist passes me and says melodically, "Good mor-ning." I reply, "Goodbye." Somehow, with a rim on my back rack, breakfast to go, and being stabbed in the butt by my own seat, I have arrived at the infamous front door of the sporting goods supercenter. Speaking of but, I'm here but a few seconds when a guy with a coffee in one hand reaches for the handle of the front door. It's locked. He tells me he was going to open the door for me. Then...he leaves. He wasn't even going inside himself. (?) The next attempt is by a young woman carrying a beagle in one arm. She was going to take her dog inside? When the door is unlocked, I'm in front of a tech who hears the story of my three or four previous visits. This particular bike tech tells me a couple of significant things. One is that he immediately notices that mt front tire is worn out. This is undoubtedly the reason for my flats. I suspected as much. The other is, with the purchase of a new tire, a new tube is free. Had the tire been diagnosed a week and a half a go, I would have not had to pay for two tubes. I ask him to top off both brake fluid lines. He recommends the lines be flushed instead, which obviously can't be done today. I ask him to top off the lines anyway. He asks for a half hour.
I wait and listen to others who show up. One is a customer who arrives to pick up a bike. He sounds like a dork. "They called me to ask, 'Can I pick it up tonight?' And I'm like, 'No."" The tech asks him for paperwork. He has none. The tech wants to make sure that all the work on his bike has been completed. He asks the customer, "Do you have any other shopping to do?" This customer begins most sentences with "Um". "Um, not really." I laugh at this. He's not smart enough to humor the tech a little, or play along. I wonder if he knows the guy who opens doors to businesses without entering them himself. The tech asks for 15 minutes just to check over the bike the customer is here to pick up. Another customer in line has a bicycle which I am glancing over. It has no gears, and only one brake on the front rim. A female tech cocks in. She's gabby and upbeat. Another tech asks her about something of hers which he admires. She answers with the address of a website. "Gear dot com, dude," or something. The guy with the gearless bike is with a tech. He tells the tech, "I could have adjusted the brake myself, but I brought it into you." My rim has a new tire and a new tube with sealant inside, otherwise known as slime. I decide instead of putting the rim back on the rack, to use the bungees to carry it on my back. I also decide, instead of my original plan to take the rim to work, to ride home from here. I do so and put this bike back in the basement. I'm home with time to head for the bus. Rim replaced on its frame, along with Velcro pouches, I'm out the door once again.
...the lights at the Buffalo Bill restaurant and gift shop will be switched off at year's end. ...employees, many of whom are international citizens in the U.S. on work permits who stay in housing on the Tepee's lower level.
"Coffee doesn't have to be this global commodity. Coffee...can be very regional... It can tell a story. ...what different localities taste and feel like." ...a professional travel and food photographer... ...Yacht Club (recent winner of best cocktail bar in the U.S.) ... - Westword, 8/22-28/2024
Sunday. After a week of my swimming before work thwarted, I made it to the waterpark yesterday after work. And the hike with my lady is postponed until she gets a day off from the job she begins this weekend. So I make it to the gym as well as the waterpark again today. At the waterpark, I'm in line at the drop slide. A mom has an interesting one-piece suit on. It has long sleeves. I think I hear her speak both Italian and English. I ask her if she's Italian. She replies that she's speaking Hebrew. Afterward, I run down a goose chase which claimed to be an outdoor art festival. Nope. My lady and I do go to the park near her home. We sit and discuss our contributions to social services through paychecks. She's receiving disability until the end of this month, recovering from a shoulder operation. She's done nothing but work and has worn out the joint. I can't believe that Labor Day is just around the corner. I get home and get the call. Can I come in 3 hours early? On Wednesday, I sneak in a swim before work, at the distant rec center outdoor pool, the opposite direction from work. I'm flying down the trail from there to work, approaching an oncoming pedestrian. I check my rearview mirror and spot an approaching cyclist. I get past the pedestrian and move to the right. The cyclist who passes me has a Lycra cycling shirt on. Upon the back, in capital letters, it reads as follows, "TRIPLE BYPASS". I get to work, and during only my regular shift during a busy day, it flies past. One of my customers I mention the cycling jersey to explains that it's the name of a particular invitational bike ride. On the way home, I stop at my neighborhood supermarket and pick up more diet soda for home. Then I realize I can swing by the clinic a few blocks away and pick up a prescription. I arrive home and am working on this blog...when I realize I left the sodas at the clinic. I jump on a bike and ride back and collect them.
Thursday. I get the call to come in a hour early. The following day I will work open to close. I'm sitting at a stop for my bus to work. Last night's rain clouds have burned off and it's a beautiful blue sky. School is back in chaos. I awoke with plenty of sleep. Again, I can't believe it's the end of the last month of summer. How long will it be before, instead of removing my helmet because of the heat, I'm removing it to put on the hood of my winter jacket? Here on the sidewalk is a diaper. The bus comes and collects us, and soon we're at a stop across the boulevard from a supermarket. The elderly passenger in an apron who steps aboard strikes me as somewhat familiar. He's counting out change for his fare when the driver asks him to sit down. She has to get moving she explains, and he can't be standing when the bus is in motion. The following evening, I will end up working late enough that I catch the bus home. In a first for myself and another passenger, the driver does not even stop at the gate in the train station. This is news to us. She tells him the cord must be pulled for the train station, just as any other stop. Either this is brand new...or this driver is off the chain. But Late Thursday morning, we stop and pick up a guy with a child in a stroller. Seated directly across from me, the stroller and I make a kind of gauntlet through which the elderly apron guy passes five times. Once when he takes a seat, the next two when he again approaches the driver with the rest of his fare, and the fourth when he yet again walks up to the fare box next to the driver. Now she's yelling at him to please sit down when the bus is moving. He's finally taken aback, and replies, "Okay," as if to tell her to calm down.
"If you get on your bike at one end of the city where I live...on the southeast corner ... I want to be able to find my way...downtown without risking my life or feeling...nervous the whole way down." ...sidewalks are "an integral part of the whole transportation mobility mix." - Littleton Independent, 8/22/2024
...bike lane construction, which began in 2022 and lasted until April, [was] "the real hit" that made it hard to survive... "It was a matter of survival to...outlast the bike lane being open." ...the lack of connection to other bikeways in the city...means the lane could be underutilized until the...infrastructure is built out, which will take years. "...really problematic is...a lot of bicycles and scooters on the sidewalks." - Westword, 8/29-9/4/2024
'Tis the last day of the month. Yesterday I left the house around 4 AM. On my corner is a Vietnamese grocery. It's a building outside of which has seen three of its exterior side occupied at different times, by a homeless guy with an acoustic guitar. And a bicycle, and a bike trailer, and a shopping cart. The last two are overflowing with a collection of apparently random items. Four hours past midnight, someone is bundled up asleep across the front entrance. I ride through the crosswalk. Across the street is a 24-hour gas station. Three homeless guys stand at the entrance. They watch me ride in the dark, bike shorts and no shirt. One whistles at me, or does his best. On this Saturday morning though, I leave the house shortly before 7 AM, as the sun is just coming over the horizon. I'm headed to a stop for my bus to work. I cross my boulevard at the long street a block from my own. A homeless couple are crossing the street in front of a dive bar. The lady is in a hot pink coat. It's a chilly morning. Just a short block away, another homeless guy turns the corner on an Uber bicycle. In his left hand, he holds a pair of aluminum crutches. They flash in the rising son. I will end up at work in an hour and a half, and cross the street to get breakfast before work. At 3 PM, I leave work and ride to the waterpark, for their last weekend of the season. I get some funnel fries, deep fried waffle sticks covered in powdered sugar. Every time I've been here this season, a different middle-aged person is manning the funnel fry stand. This afternoon, it's a slow guy. He somehow even fries slowly. When I get my order, I hand him six ones. He makes a joke, "We don't take ones." before he smiles and takes the cash. There's an old push button cash register at this stand. Another middle-aged guy comes along to empty his trash can. He tells him he has no trash and to check on the lady at an ice cream booth. In the pool is a young dad surrounded by kids. He's in a shirt from a surf shop somewhere. If he's a surfer, I'm the Pope. I have a swim, a couple of rides down the drop slide, and I head for home. The park is open today, Sunday, and Labor Day. The outdoor pool at the rec center the opposite direction from work is open through the 15th of next month. It's been a fine month and something of a confusing summer. But mine is not to question why. I found myself sitting at the bakery across the street from work one morning. I just wanted to stay and sit and read. I asked myself why I was do responsible? Why didn't I just blow off work? because if I wasn't at work, the place would spin out of control. I suppose that's a compliment. Oh, but to sit in the bakery for an entire morning, just once...
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