I really love Colorado. Almost all of it, really. With the exception of Sprawlurbia parts of the front range, like Douglas and El Paso Counties and parts of Weld and Larimer, I like it all. The prairies, the deserts, the mountains...
But the cold--I'm starting to hate the cold. Perhaps it's age, perhaps it's my cycling addiction, perhaps it's that my knees don't like to ski any more. Something about the dark, cold season has become harder and harder to tolerate. Snow and wind and cold depresses me, and it sends me out in the dark to hit frozen chunks of ponderosa pine with a splitting maul. Often.
I'm entered in the 2007 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo as a solo. That happens February 17. Sitting close to the wood stove bitching about the weather is probably not the ideal training strategy, but that's been about the closest I've gotten to training since Colorado's weekly blizzards started some time around Halloween.
Today the storm roared in, and I loaded up the truck and moved to beverlee (er, Tucson). This is what it looked like as I slipped and slid through town getting to the highway:
"I's had alls I can takes, an I can't takes no more!" quoth Popeye the Sailer. Pointing her south.
