Aside from the obvious fact that the spaces are half-sized for a car, there are three signs in front of the car that state this is motorcycle parking only. Apparently, it doesn’t take brains to own a poor man’s Mercedes.
This person was the first to the trailhead. They must have figured that not many people in Boulder (of all places) would be interested in hiking that day. When we returned an hour later, the lot was full and others were circling like vultures, eager for a place to park. I just love thinking about how this happened in my mind. Backing in, shutting off the car, putting on the hiking boots, walking away from the car and clicking the lock button “yep, job well done”. Or, more likely, yammering away on a smartphone not even knowing what day it is. -JV-
Residing in the dense oxygen and humidity of sea level California I’m drunk with the overindulgence in thoughts of Colorado. A couple of friends from the high state have sent a couple of bad parking photos to me.
Sometimes you just have to say, “What the fuck.” (Miles from the movie Risky Business). These folks seem to follow that line of thinking when it comes to their free-spirited parking style.
Pre-run thoughts this morning…
It’s difficult to express my distaste for where I live now; it’s sunny and 60 degrees and I’m surrounded by lush green mountains after two months of Pacific rains. Yeah, I’ll get out today for a couple-hours-run but, like most days, it’s half-hearted and solitary. If I use my running as a measuring stick for my enthusiasm of my CA surroundings, I’d have to say I’m running on or near empty. The only remaining fuel that powers my low motivation is the image of the Rockies and their trails, and their peaks, and their people, and their vistas, and their sky, and everything. I’ve spent more sleepless nights over the last few weeks than I’ve spent days running. With a tough little 50k just 20 days away I force myself out the door for uninspired time on my feet. 3 miles of pavement up and down the same trail, then back track home on the pavement. Dark gaps of listless life fill the time between runs. California has become a tremendous disappointment for me. The visions I’ve carried of it for the last 25 years have dissolved into a murky visage with less substance than the morning fog so familiar to me now. The dilemma is substantial but as each day rounds to meet the arcing light the decision becomes more lucid and steadfast. I’ve never believed the cliche that life is too short, however, I do feel that certain stages of life are truly too short. With that in mind, I choose to make this short stage of my life worthwhile, regardless of the uncertainty and potential hardships.
So, over the last year I’ve snapped photos of parked cars here and there but never got around to posting them. I took the following and felt it needed publication.
This dope is a prime candidate for one of those charming large set of anatomically correct balls that some hillbilly invented to adorn the trailer hitch of vehicles like this one. We’re at the grocery store here; the owner is likely one of those shoppers who leaves his cart cockeyed in the middle of a narrow aisle while deciding between Fritos and Doritos.
Bomb suspect’s teacher, family dismayed, shocked (AP)
This is regarding the xmas day attempt by Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab (U.F.A – unidentified flying ass) to blow up a Northwest flight in Detroit.
Go get ’em media wizards! Just once I would love to read that a crazy, killer, terrorist, molester, ax murderer, nut bag actually gave some clue of his crooked personality in his outward appearance. e.g. “Family and neighbors say it was just a matter of time before bomb suspect acted out. That boy is crazy! -bomb suspect’s grandma.”
Side note: Detroit? I’m surprized anyone even heard about the incident in that ghost town.