Colorado State Policeman Trooper Cat

Because It's Uphill

Loveland pass has an elevation of 11,991 feet above Sea Level.

Denver, Colorado, about 60 miles away, is about 5600 feet above Sea Level.

That's an average grade of 2% for 60 miles, although the road at its steepest point is about a 15% grade.

So, no matter how you slice it, no matter how badly you're fleeing from a drug-deal-gone-bad, making it to Loveland pass in under half an hour is quite the accomplishment.

Happy 68th birthday, sorry it's a few days late...

Go Here, Read This, Listen to That

Three things about one thing.

Whiteray on a tragic anniversary in Ohio.


Dorian Lynskey from the Guardian on the same event (and the same song).

They Had To Use A Special Computer As My Replacement

I never thought that words like "product" could ever leave my lips...

There's a road that leads out of town.

It's not paved.

Every spring it washes away. When the snow melts.

But you can find it in the summers. Never crowded. But always traveled.

It avoids the highway. Goes the long way around the hills.

It's not the kind of place they put on the website. Or in the brochures at the tourism council.

It's a road that's windy. Mostly ignored.

In the winter, it's covered in snow. And ice. And memories.

It might have had a name once. Might have appeared on maps.

But not now. Now, it's something you have to know about. You have to seek out.

But it will take you out of town. All the way out of town.

Just make sure that's where you want to go.

And Then There's This

Which I'd love if Elvis didn't look quite so old.

And it didn't have Elmo in it.

But it's still almost too cute for words.

Good Height, Right Temp, Strong Flow

Just Like A Mad Dog You're Chasing Your Tail in a Circle

The shower comes on.

Again.

Part of the slow wake.

Stumble into the bathroom. Stumble for the light. Pee.

The showerhead is a good height. The water's the right temp. There's a good flow.

Underneath.

Good height, right temp, strong flow.

A morning. Like ten thousand others.

Good height, right temp, strong flow.

Another morning. Slow. Wake.

Stumble. Stumble. Pee.

Good height, right temp, strong flow.

Eyes? Check? Open? Not yet. Soon.

Soap always in the same spot. Shampoo. Razor.

Good height, right temp, strong flow.

Over and over.

Notable only for the changes.

The hotel where the shower's too low. Or the water's too hot. Or the flow's just a trickle.

But for now, it's clear.

There. Now. Like before.

Good height. Right temp. Strong flow.

These are the things. The patterns.

Stumble in. Stumble around. Pee.

Waking slow. Until.

Until the time.

When the eyes open.

And even then. Good height. Right temp. Strong flow.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Good height. Later.

Right temp. Later.

Strong flow. Later.

A million times. Each separate. Each completely different.

Good height.

Each...

Right temp.

Exactly...

Strong flow.

The same.

Water circles.

Round.

And out.

Draining. Leaving something. Something more noticeable in its absence than its presence.

Good height. Right temp. Strong flow.

And... out.

RIP RIchie Havens

When I was a kid, I bought the triple-record soundtrack to Woodstock. The one with the liner notes that all the flaws were left in the live recordings, saying "Consider them like the scars in fine leather, proof of the origin and authenticity of the material in which they are found."

And in the legend of Woodstock, there's always talk of Richie Havens. Out there with an acoustic guitar. Improvising an ode to something that hadn't yet begun. Something that would start. Something that hasn't yet been completed.





May it someday happen.

Happy 4-20

Yeah, How About Those 1970s