The Lawns of Longmont

So, I already wrote this post while standing in the Denver Greyhound terminal, but Blogpress -- the iPhone app I have been using to blog while on this trip -- decided that it no longer wanted to play nice and did not actually publish the post. Then, for the sake of consistency, it deleted the draft of my post. Nearly an hour of thumb twiddling on my phone down the toilet.

This is very disappointing. Not just for the loss of a blog post, but because it means that my ability to update y'all gentle readers from the road is greatly inhibited. However, I have my trusty disposable laptop with me, so hopefully I can continue to keep you all in the know.

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Thanks to everyone who wrote so encouragingly about me taking the plane from Omaha to Denver and "cheating" on my trip. Not only did it warm my heart to know that people are reading my blog, but it was great to have some positive reinforcement for my decisions.

And it turned out to be a great decision. Not only did I arrive in 1/20th the time it would have taken me to bus out to Denver, my ticket was apparently a "classic" ticket on Frontier airlines. As such, it entitled me to a free checked bag, a premium beverage (bourbon and soda water, thanks), and a snack (oh man, you guys have cheese curds?). I had no idea that I was entitled to such perks when I ordered the ticket and was feeling extremely pleased with myself as I floated in to the Denver International Airport.

Now, the Denver airport is famous for two things: losing your luggage, and horrible omens. First and foremost among the bad omens is that the airport is home to the worst bar in America: the "Q Bar," which is a Quiznos with an attached bar that charged me $9 for a Blue Moon (bottle) the last time I was there.

Second are the amazingly creepy murals that can be found inside. One of them, as I recall, depicts the Grim Reaper drawing the souls out of people.

Third is the Nightmare Pony, which I guess is supposed to symbolize the power and majesty of the Denver Broncos (football team, not horses). Why the artist chose to communicate this concept with a giant rearing blue horse with terrifying patterns across its body and illuminated red eyes is completely beyond me.

Fourth is a recent addition: a huge statue of Annubis, the Egyptian god of Death. So uplifting!

Despite all these bad omens my flight arrived on time, I met Kris (best pal, Boulder resident, artist), and was on my way to Longmont. On my way out, I was pleased to see two new members of the airport freakshow: gargoyles leaping out of suitcases that the explanatory placcard ominously says are "about the size of a ten-year-old boy."

Sunday was a lazy day for Kris and I, since it was pretty late by the time I got in. The next morning, I had planned to get started working on Kris' backyard. This wasn't a condition of my visit, but rather something I volunteered to do. As many of you know, I used to work as a groundskeeper and every year my hands get itchy for plants and soil. Kris inherited a rather unkempt lawn from the previous owners who had employed some downright odd gardening practices; the oddest of which was laying newspaper underneath mulch.

Unfortunately, after I had finished reacquainting myself with Kris' excellent vinyl record collection, I wound up getting distracted and not starting on the lawn. Most of the late afternoon was spent with Kris, going to different stores and searching for the legendary Mexicoke. That is, Coca-Cola from Mexico where it is still made with cane sugar. Years ago, Kris told me that after one drink of this stuff, I would understand why people used to be obsessed with Coca-Cola.

After four stores and nearly two hours of searching, we threw in the towel on the Mexicoke. Once again eluded by the fizzy beverage, I renewed my vow to track it down and taste its delicious, caramel colored contents.

That evening, Kris took me to Il Pastaio where I was once again treated to some of the best pasta I've ever had. Il Pastaio has an interesting format for ordering. You're presented with a menu that lists sauces and prices. When you order, you tell the waiter which pasta you'd like and with what sauce. You are billed not based on what kind of noodles you order, but the sauce.

The house specialty is, without a doubt, the ravioli. Unlike most other restuarants which might have, at most, three varieties of stuffed square noodles, Il Pastaio offers a veritable cornicopia of choices for the discerning diner. That night, Kris had the squash and I assure you that it did not disappoint.

The next morning, I gathered the gardening equipment I'd found the day before and began my assault on the yard. There's not much to say about that, and I am running out of time at this coffee shop, but I did a pretty good job and thuroughly enjoyed my time working on it.

To celebrate the taming of the yard, Kris and I went out to Toy Story 3 in the dying Twin Peaks mall (I looked for Laura Palmer, but she never showed). As you can imagine, the movie was excellent, and I declared it to be the best of the series.

There's much more to tell, and I am not being fair to the amazing time I had in Colordado, but I am running out of time. Kris: forgive me!

I must be going now, gentle readers. Portland awaits, and my bus leaves soon.

Onward!