I don't know Lloyd, the French are assholes...

I have always wanted to go to Aspen CO, since we missed it my last go around with the guys...I heard that Aspen was the place to be, because "the beer flows like wine, and the women flock like the salmon of Capistrono..."

So I told Steph let's not go to AZ just yet. We need a chance in climate. I know a place where the beer flows like beer straight our of the Rockies. It didn't take much to convince her, because we were both tired of sweating and...well...not only do they brew Steph's favorite beer, Blue Moon, in Golden CO, but it is free!

After a quick tour of the Coors brewery, we found Marley in the driver seat and Petty riding shotgun. We have our suspicions that the girls were trying to find a way to the Purina factory half a mile down the road.

From Golden, we were on our way to Aspen. Up and down a few mountains on RT 70 west, we were awestruck by the landscape. We sat with the windows down, in a traffic jam at the base of a mountain listening to Tom Petty for about half an hour only to go about 2 miles. Back on our way we climbed and descended a few more mountains...the DJ on the radio told us that the low temperature for the night was going to be around 40 degrees. This became apparent as we climbed a few more mountains and saw snow on the ground, big, frozen, piles of snow!

We left 70 for a much smaller road that climed some more mountains, but this time it was a little different. The roads were two lanes, and sometimes one lane at certain spots. We got out to let the girls potty and to look down on the mountain we had just climbed.

We luckily found a camp ground about an hour outside of Aspen. Before getting there, we loaded up on our s'more ingredients and hot cocoa and some brauts we would cook over the fire. We've learned from our past that we will need to put the rain fly on. Besides, it was getting chilly as the sun went down. Not to disappoint, mother nature brought on some more rain. I had just gotten the perfect campfire started, the embers were red hot and the logs caught flame with the slightest breeze. Then came the rain. We ate our bratwurst sandwiches and plain pasta standing under the gate of the of the mini-van(which we have yet to name). Our hopes of gorging on s'mores and sitting by the fire were washed away by the steady rain. Steph got the girls settled in the tent and I put out the fire. Ironically the fire was not so easily extinguished as our plans to enjoy it. I spread the embers out went into the tent. We went from sweating our selves to sleep to stacking our sleeping bags and blankets on top ourselves to stay warm. Since I get hot in my sleep, I slept in shorts and a t-shirt. I realized how foolish I was when I got up in the middle of the night to answer nature's urgent call. I was close to literally freezing my nuts off, I may have left icicles on the the tree stump I visited feet away from the tent.

In the morning we got back on the road. This time it was Steph's turn to climb the mountains. It was fun to see her knuckles turn white as she gripped the steering wheel, maneuvering through 180 degree bends on a 2/1 lane road up Mt. Elbert (I think it was named after the fat guy who critiques movies) which happens to be CO's tallest peak at 14433 ft. Well we got to the top right at the Continental Divide with snow on the ground. The view added with the high elevation was breath taking... There was a guy in a stretchy tank top and shorts panting in front of our van. He had just biked up the mountain. That was breath-taking. I was worn out just watching Steph steer our way up the mountain, I could not believe that someone had the urge to bike up that mountain. To the bicycle man, I raise my free Blue Moon to you and drink to your achievement.

I was eagerly looking forward to visiting Aspen, and trying to locate Mary Swanson or was it Samsonite. Either way, Harry was right. The French are assholes and so are the inhabitants of Aspen. This was exclamated by the kid who tried to pull out in front of us without looking and yelled at us to slow down, as we drove by him going the blazing speed of 10 mph. Then came the gas station that charged us $4 for a bag of ice. Steph just paid them from our tube of quarters and walked away. I wondered if the ice could do tricks, or if it was much different than the pile of snow on the ground on the side of the mountain.

I fell asleep on the way to Utah with visions of bicyclists, free beer, perfect campfires, and uneaten s'mores. Good thing I wasn't driving.

-IKE