A Great Walk Not Yet Taken

   A friend (more of an acquaintance, actually) of mine asked me a few days ago if I would be interested in walking from Lakewood to Fort Collins with him.

    A little backstory here; this is a person I met a couple months ago while I was walking around the Main Reservoir Park, a place near my home with a tree lined, short (one mile) trail that circles the small reservoir and has a beautiful view at both sunrise and sunset, so accommodates both morning and evening schedules.

   Most days I'm on that trail in the late evening, which is also when he takes his walk (with his two dogs, rescued mutts named Katy & Davy). We walk two or three laps while engaging in conversation about art, literature and baseball (mostly).

   We also talk about other great walks we have taken in and around the Lakewood area - if Lakewood has a feature worth talking up it's all the great public walking trails. 

   To clarify, we are talking about walking, not hiking tails - Lakewood has a great many hiking trails, too, but walking and hiking are two different types of trails - walking trails are generally short (1 to 100 miles, +/_), level, improved surfaces (concrete, asphalt, brick, or hard packed dirt) that are not very challenging - one literally just walks at a comfortable pace enjoying the view and chit-chatting for a few hours, while hiking trails are dirt trails that might require moderate to strenuous effort to get over or around obstacles, can go up (and down) hills or mountains and can take a few hours or a few months.

   Walking to Fort Collins from Lakewood is possible - Wadsworth Avenue (Colorado State route 121) runs through Lakewood to Broomfield where it marries up to a section of Colorado State route 287 that runs all the way to Fort Collins, and the entire way has either concrete sidewalks or is paralleled by other types of improved trails - for about 60 miles due north.

   60 miles is a lot of walking, and at my walking speed (3 miles an hour, give or take) would require at least 20 hours, one way. That's a long time to be walking, would definitely require an overnight stay (or two).

   I have been mulling over his request in the few days since he asked and I've gone from "no way in hell" to "that might be pretty cool to do". I'm not saying I'm going to do it, but I am considering it.

   Seriously. I'd just have to figure out how to squeeze that much time out of my schedule, and maybe get a few longer day walks in, such as the Clear Creek Trail from Youngfield to Harlan and back - that's good walk right there, 10 plus miles at least.

   

   

   

Your Safety Assured By Monkeys With Cooties

 

Close Up At The Car Show Part II

 

Close Up At The Car Show

 

Early Contender, Best Halloween House In The Neighborhood

 

This is either the worst corn maze ever, or an early contender for best Halloween House of 2024

The Hyperbole Rules

   Journalists, they are all about the reporting of facts about events that have transpired that have been deemed to be noteworthy, right?

   Journalists, they all religiously stick to the who, what, where, when, why order of operations when composing a story which is intended to disseminate information accurately, right?

   Journalists, they are all above reproach, never for a second using their exposure to the masses to spread propaganda or make exaggerated claims of dubious veracity or quantifiability, right?

   No.

   The most cursory review of most magazines, newspapers and websites that have deemed themselves to be reliables sources for news reveals that there is either little to no editorial control of content, or that there is a direct effort to create content that is intended solely to distort facts or situations, and to foreswear reliable sources, evidence, and rationale.

   Take for example, the reporting on drought conditions anywhere in the world. Can there be any doubt as to the scientific accuracy of an article covering drought conditions?

   Yes, specifically if the article contains any assertions that "we are running out of water." That statement right there, especially if it's been inserted by the writer into the article as a statement of fact and is not quantified as an opinion or is not noted as a quote from an interview of a person being affected by the drought, is just plain bad reporting.

   Here in Colorado, USA, that statement pops up in newspaper reports whenever the weather turns unseasonably dry or is dry for any duration whatsoever, or can be construed as possibly becoming dry via exaggeration of the "potential" for a prolonged dry spell. 

   This happens so often that I have become convinced that, even though NOAA has a large research facility in Boulder, not one of the news sources publishing the stories about drought apparently has access to any of the esteemed scientists / meteorologists that are walking the halls there.

   Scientific fact. Water does not "run out". It simply moves from one place to another via transpiration into one of three states of matter, or it flows out.

   Water is matter, either fluid, steam, or solid, and it covers over 70% of the earths surface - and always has, at least for the past 4 billion years of earth's history (according to researchers who published findings in August of 2020 that have not been contraindicated).

   Matter, for those that are not aware, cannot be created or destroyed. The Law of Conservation of Matter, which is taught in Chemistry 101 and general elementary science classes for those who have no interest in Chemistry, explains that rather well.

   Matter can change it's physical state however, and that's exactly what it does all day, everyday. Water has a cycle, known appropriately as the "water cycle" - liquid to gas (via evapotranspiration) then back to liquid (via condensation) and from there to precipitation. 

   The water cycle is constant and unfailing, with the observable variable that water moves around the planet when it's cycling, so sometimes water that was one place ends up going somewhere else. 

   The people who once benefited from the water that was in the former place start fretting when that happens, and start proclaiming that "we are running out of water!"

   No, a thousand times no. The water has simply gone somewhere else in some other state of matter, and if you want some of it, you better go to where it is now. It's not a new process, it's how the planet has always worked.

   To further cast light of the current journalistic tendency for hyperbole, let's look at the terms that are now being used to describe events (weather and otherwise) that have occured over the past few years.

   For starters, let's look at all the "geddons." Everything is a geddon these days. If something occurs that is either larger or more prominent, it becomes a geddon. Blizzards have become snowmageddons, a heavy presence of bugs have become cicada or locustmageddons, traffic jams are now carmageddons, a lack of employable people has become a labormageedon - the list goes on (and you can add "aclypse" or "pocalypse" to a otherwise pedestrian event, too).

   Generally, one can spot the hyperbole just by counting how many times the words "raged," "erupted," "torrential," "violent," "wanton," and "unbelievable" are used to describe what has transpired (or threatens to transpire).

   Not to be all hyperbolic, but hypercole has become so commonplace in news reporting that we may have reached a point of exaggersaturation.

   Yeah, I coined that term.

The Artist & The Wake

   All he ever wanted to do was paint. For awhile he had allowed his desire to paint to consume him, rejecting anything and everything else in his life as being of little to no importance.

   It was during that period of his life that he met the woman he decided was his muse. She was small in stature, but large in personality, and seemed to emanate an aura of goodwill and happiness. 

   He met her at an exhibition of his work being held in a warehouse that had been converted into a large number of small studios and featured a very large gallery space, which allowed the artists in residence to sell their works and pay rent as well as contribute to a general fund that was designed to pay for advertising and other necessities for the gallery's operations.

   She had been staring at one of his larger surrealist pieces, and was tilting her head far to the left when he first caught sight of her.

   She spied him staring at her and tilted her head back up and then turned to face him. "You're the artist, are you not?" She more stated than asked. He nodded, caught off guard by her candor and directness.

   I like the colors you use, bright and bold, full of life. The subject matter is somewhat derivative - religion and sexuality? Been peeking at one of Dali's old portfolio's?"

   "Well, uhm," He stammered. "Yes, I confess I am greatly influenced by Dali's early works, especially the period right after he met Picasso and Miro in Paris and became aware of Tanguy's landscapes."

   "Nice of you to owe up to that - one meets an overwhelming number of artists who refuse to admit they have been influenced by anyone, they all want to be seen as unique and original, which of course in this day and age of the recorded and reprinted mediums, is next to impossible."

   He nodded his head in agreement with her statement, and immediately felt as if he was being mesmerized by her words - words that could have been his words, too.

   He had often thought that was his one and only true premonition.

   Premonition or not, as he stared at the program in his hands the feeling seemed to wash over him just as it had that day 34 years ago. It was as if he had been hurled back in time to that exact moment when he first met her and was hearing her speak for the very first time. He involuntarily trembled slightly as the memory shock crashed right through him.

   For not the first time today, and certainly not for the last time, tears welled up in his eyes. Dabbing at his eyes with a damp kerchief, he looked over the gathering crowd, and he seemed to recognize everyone. 

   Robert was over there, looking like a homeless street urchin. Next to him stood his wife (3rd or 4th, he couldn't recall). She was sipping from a tall fluted glass. There were three men to the left of her, all vaguely familiar but all also not quite recognizable. He thought one of them might have been an early patron.

   Suddenly a person was at his side. "Quinn, are you doing okay? I know this has got to be harder than hell for you, but you really should come into the larger parlor and receive some of the guests. Her brother and younger sister are here, and so are several of her old friends, ones you two knew in Brittany all those years ago."

   "Yes, you're right Stephen, I must. It's just, I needed a little air. She was everything to me, you know, and though I know I will manage eventually, I'm just having a little of a rough go of it at the moment."

   "I understand Quinn, truly I do." Take as much time as you need, but if you need to lean on someone, I'm here for you."

   "Thanks Stephen, you are a great friend. It's an odd thing, you know, surviving her. I mean, what exactly is an artist supposed to do when his muse dies first?"