But before summer was even over, Dad came to visit:
So we chilled, drank beer, and caught some more fish:
Fortunately we had amply luxurious surroundings, golf course included, to relax in after all that heavy lifting:
The guest/dude ranch (or rather five-star resort) that we stayed on was border-lining on trippy. Not only is this thing sitting a stone's throw from the Platte Wilderness, with private ownership of some fantastic fishing waters, but it also includes a tennis court and Guide Michelin-quality restaurant. The people wandering around the place ranged from brain surgeons, through Old Southern Money, to Tom Hanks' neighbors. I've never felt quite so poor, and rarely so pampered. Fortunately I haven't the faintest idea of what this largess ended up costing, since (as they say in the Old Country) "pappa betalar"...
I've done very little climbing lately, after sustaining yet another chronic over-use injury (elbow tendonosis, round two). I got a little too uppity after a successful start to the season, and after several one-arm mantles on a particularly sweltering day in Clear Creek Canyon (105 F, holy crap!) my triceps attachment called it a year. A painful reminder of mortality. On the bright side I found two new climbing partners, John and Jeff:
I've been pretending to show them the ropes (sic), but my advice is hardly needed. "Climb up the crack, John. Try right hand up, left hand down." "Oh, like this?":
After three days of climbing both of them are already better than I am. That kind of natural talent used to piss me off to no end - I certainly never had any - but these days I'm trying to take things like that in stride:
And it looks like the dog agrees - things are actually pretty awesome (zoom in on this one, folks):
