A new chapter begins a mile high

After Mom went to her great reward in January,

I find myself alone and climbing the walls in Fresno.  What was I to do in this horrible place, and where should I go next.  Divorced and financially comfortable, the only thing keeping me in this hellhole was my bridge partner, Juli, to whom I have become very attached over the last nine months that we have been an item.

Of course, there was only one answer, Boulder Colorado where my son and two grandbabies reside and miss Big Daddy.

I had been there twice before, visits about 40 years apart.  The first time I went was with John Funaro in senior year of high school to visit his sister who was a student at CU.  We crashed on her dorm room floor and spent a few nights smoking really cheap, bad dope and drinking 3.2% Banquet beer legally.  We were so broke, I distinctly remember standing guard outside a university ladies' room while Big Sis went in to steal a roll of toilet paper.

Quite a looker, John's sister

The second time was for Bryan & Jill's wedding, which was a totally different experience.  While we never left the downtown Pearl Street mall except to climb to the mountain summit for the ceremony, I kind of got the feeling that this was a special place, at least in the summer.

Lots of people still remember this toast.  I can still recite it

Katie Hopkins, Kevin's perennial plus one

Still, I was torn.  Leaving Juli behind, at least for the rest of the school year was tough.  I am much further along in our relationship, already dreaming that she will retire and join me here where she could easily find a job.  She, however carries a lot of baggage from jumping into prior relationships too soon.  We decided that after I move she will come for an extended visit to see if we truly have a fit.  One visit to NCAR and she will be a goner.

The move from Fresno to Boulder was a breeze.  At least for my furniture and stuff.  My personal journey, i.e. a eighteen hour drive with Angelo was hell on earth.

Michelle's Meal Ticket 

At the time, it made sense that we should break up the drive by camping along the way.  First stop was to be Moab, but the rainy forecast mad a motel a better choice.  Still, Angelo had a serious case of tent lust.  This dumbass insisted we camp in Rocky Mountain National Park, about four hours out of our way because the pass to Estes Park was not yet open for the season.  They still had about ten foot of snow on the roadway.

Of course the real problem was that even though it was May, the park was not yet open for the season and only a few campsites by the lake marina were available.  No wonder.  That night the temps were in the low 20's.  Even the three bundles of firewood Angelo stole from the General Store were not enough to keep us warm, and I froze even while wrapped in a blanket in my sleeping bag wearing a coat, hat and gloves.   Knucklehead had to pee in the middle of the night, but not wanting to leave his shelter, just snorkeled his shrinkage out the tent flap and tinkled onto the tarpaulin ground cover.  It quickly froze, so in the morning he slipped on it like a banana peel and almost fractured his empty skull.  The commotion woke me, and when I emerged from the tent, I found him unfurling our last roll of paper towels in vain hopes of rekindling the embers of last night's bonfire.  I said, "Angelo... I have one word: DINER."  He saw the wisdom of this, and it was quite brilliant, especially in light of the fact that there were no open bathrooms or even a dead drop, and he is quite regular.

Finally, we made it to Boulder, and after I happily put him on the plane home, I began the next chapter of my life in the foothills.