We did the Incline first thing. It did not get off to a good start; we parked at an extreme distance, up in the residential area. It was a long walk. On the way we met another woman/dog pair headed that way. The dog was a Border collie/ pointer cross, his body leaning toward pointer and his coat an interesting patchwork of black and white, as if it couldn't decided whether to be solid or speckled, and had compromised. They were the first of many climbers--it was sunny and warm, and a lot of people were doing the climb. We leapfrogged with a young woman from Louisiana who'd been in Colorado for two weeks and was beginning her high-altitude exercise regimen with an attempt at the Incline, having more or less recovered from giving birth a few weeks ago. She made it all the way up. Oh, and a man passed us on his way down with a Golden and this tiny dachshund with really short legs. The Golden was doing fine, and the dachshund was keeping up, in a game hopping scramble. I hope it was carried up, because I have no idea how that dog could have gotten up some of those steps. We made it up in an hour and thirty-one minutes, eleven minutes more than last time, which miffed Phil rather. We sat in the shade at the top for awhile, cooling off, and then headed down the trail. That was when my feet began to hurt, that trail being by no stretch of the imagination flat, level, or even smooth. In most areas your feet are on slopes which run down to the gully in the center of the path. One foot began to drop broad hints about pulled muscles. We kept going. The End Was In Sight--no, not by a long shot; but we were aware of its presence. We passed a number of people, going both up and down. Going up was the older couple with the Aussie. She was big, with easily twenty pounds or more on Lark (although more pounds than she should have, for her inches), and she was a beautiful black tri, with a wide white collar over the back of her neck. She was lovely. She was also shortly to overheat, as her coat was considerably thicker than Lark's--almost winter weight. I hope they didn't go far. We had quite a ways to go yet: down the trail to the parking lot, down from there to the road, along the road to the uphill branch that led to the car. We stopped on the way at the Iron Spring, where, every few seconds, water spurts out of a hose from a structure like a glorified wellhead. Of greater interest to me was the creek; Lark and I scrambled carefully down to the water, and Lark, after cautious consideration, walked into the water. It was, for the most part, only a couple of inches deep, but the current was very fast. She cooled her paws all the same, which was what I'd had in mind. We climbed back up to the pavement and rested. Philip got a Nalgene out of the pack--I think all the good water was gone, excluding the dog water--and got some of the water from the spring. It was really strong and tasted fairly awful. It wouldn't have been so bad, though, if the minerals hadn't stuck to my tongue. Glech. After that we continued, more or less refreshed, up to the car, and thence to Boonzaijer's. Rosie from church was manning the counter and took our order: and eclair each for me and Grandma, and the last fruit croissandwich for Philip. It was rather like the fruit cups, with the same fruit and cream, but the pastry base was an enormous croissant, the top dusted with powdered sugar. It looked delicious. Philip confirmed this estimate. We ate at the bakery and then went to King Sooper's for a few things--Grandma had called us at Boonzaijer's to say she was out of Vaseline, and I already had a small shopping list. We didn't take long, and then rejoined Lark in the car with a SoBe for me and a Gatorade for Phil. Then we went home. And crashed. I'm pretty sure Phil went to sleep, but I had computing to do and didn't really want to take a nap.
At about five o'clock Philip and I went out to dinner. We started at Trinity Brewery, a lively little place with a Colorado atmosphere and an emphasis on the drinks. The waiting was pretty informal, with a get-your-own-plate principle, but they were impressively green, with (main point) a bin for food scraps, labeled "scraps for the piggies." We asked about it, and the waitress told us that the scraps go to a farm, but tend to end up with the chickens, as pigs don't discriminate and are like to eat a toothpick. We sat at a table with high bar stools, and Philip had a beer ("Drinkable") and I had a root beer. It was mild and not very fizzy, with some resemblance to a cream soda, but I liked it. We had sliders to eat, which are basically mini hamburgers. Those were very good. Philip, who seemed to look on the evening as an exercise in criticism, made me rate the place. Three or four stars.
Shuga's was next, a nice little cafe on Cascade. We ate outside, ordering a cup each of the spicy shrimp soup, and Philip had a cocktail--I don't recall the name, unfortunately. The soup was good, not too spicy, but by the time I'd gotten half way through mine the inside of my mouth had had enough. We talked more than we ate there, but it was a nice place, with a comfortable atmosphere. Three or four stars.
After Shuga's we went to Amanda's Fonda, a Mexican-style family restaurant with a lot of business. We waited perhaps an hour for a table, until Philip went and collared a waitress--we were served immediately. The outside eating area was on a large porch on the far side from the road; it was well-guarded from mosquitoes by torches, a very real necessity, as a creek ran just below. The sound was a pleasant undercurrent to the conversation and music. We ordered the seafood enchiladas, and shared; they weren't bad, but I can think of better uses for seafood. We left once Philip finished his grande margarita, which he'd bought at the bar at the beginning of our wait. I had a few sips, at intervals, and liked it; the initial flavor, of citrus, gradually giving way in your mouth to a mildly alcoholic taste, was a pleasant effect. Three stars.
The plan for the fourth stop was an Irish pub-style restaurant downtown. We found the place, only to discover that, at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, they were carding everyone at the door. We kept walking, and ended up at Josh & Jon's ice cream parlor. There was a chalk board next to the line, where lots of people had left messages--there was one, "Call Cameron for a good time--719-337-0075"--it was pretty fun to look at. We ordered a butter pecan sundae, with hot fudge, whipped cream, and two cherries, to share. It was really good. Sarah Debenedittis says we should have gotten Yellow Cake, though--she says the ice cream tastes exactly like cake. The butter pecan was good, all the same. Afterwards we walked around a bit more, as my legs grew increasingly mutinous, and it was a relief to sit down when we reached the car and went home.
Castle, episode 6. Mystery: jewel theft. Personal: Cinderella comes to the ball. Funfunfun.
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