But of course, there's always a story to tell.......
My flight from Baltimore was pretty much non-eventful (which is always a good thing when you're flying). The fun didn't start until I hit the rental car place. I walk in and I'm quickly greeted by an enthusiastic rep behind the counter number three. I tell her I've got a reservation and hand her my license. She goes into the rapid-fire typing routine and then quickly transitions into a sales pitch..... "Mr. Wilson, I see that you qualify for the corporate discounts. Can I interest you in a large SUV? There's a storm front coming in later this week, and you might need something heavy duty."
I tell her that I'm fine with a mid-size sedan. She asks me if I'm sure. I assure her that I'm sure. Then she shifts gears and asks if I want the satellite radio option. I tell her no, then she proceeds to tell how many radio stations come with the satellite option. Always feeling a bit irritable after a flight, I tell her that I don't want the enhanced radio. To throw her a curve, I tell her that I don't listen to the radio while driving because it interferes with the conversations in my head. She pauses for a few seconds, then asks my if I'd like to rent a GPS. I politely decline. I explain that I prefer to drive in circles until I eventually arrive at my destination. Next, I expected her to ask my about purchasing insurance. But I guess she figured that I was getting aggravated, so she just had me sign and initial on the dotted line and then sent me on my way.
I tell her that I'm fine with a mid-size sedan. She asks me if I'm sure. I assure her that I'm sure. Then she shifts gears and asks if I want the satellite radio option. I tell her no, then she proceeds to tell how many radio stations come with the satellite option. Always feeling a bit irritable after a flight, I tell her that I don't want the enhanced radio. To throw her a curve, I tell her that I don't listen to the radio while driving because it interferes with the conversations in my head. She pauses for a few seconds, then asks my if I'd like to rent a GPS. I politely decline. I explain that I prefer to drive in circles until I eventually arrive at my destination. Next, I expected her to ask my about purchasing insurance. But I guess she figured that I was getting aggravated, so she just had me sign and initial on the dotted line and then sent me on my way.
I drove out of the rental car lot and eventually hit the expressway. I was surprised to see that the speed limit was 75 mph. This sent a tingle up my spine and I immediately gunned the 6-cylinder Ford. The only problem when going this fast in Colorado during the winter, is that it's hard to see the lines on the road. I guess the salt and snow bleach them out. So, fearing that I might wind up rolling down the side of a mountain, I slow it down.
I make it to the hotel and get settled in...
A few days later, I head to the Buckhorn Exchange, a popular wild-game restaurant on the edge of town. I had recently seen this place on the Food Network and wanted to check it out for myself. Once I get there, I'm quickly seated. The waiter shows me the menu and tells me about the specials. I'm a little disappointed that they're out my first appetizer choice: the rattlesnake bites. After going back and forth, I skip the appetizer and go right for the entree. I finally settle on the buffalo and elk combo. I've had buffalo burgers before, but never in the form of a steak. I have to tell you. it was excellent. It tasted similar to a beef filet mignon, except much leaner. I expected the elk to taste "gamey", but it was surprisingly mild and tender.
Once I finished my meal, I walked through the restaurant and took notice of all of the mounted deer, elk and moose heads on the walls. I have never seen so many in one place. It was like being in the middle of an episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.
The next night, I took a ride up north to Boulder. Now, I've been to Boulder many times before, but it still always amazes me. It's a laid back mountain/college town with no shortage of eccentric characters. Within the first five minutes of hitting Pearl Street, I'm approached by two different guys who are petitioning to legalize marijuana. I see another guy walking through the crowd and holding a sign that reads, "Why Lie, I Need Money To Get High". The strangest thing was that people were actually giving him money! And from the way his eyes were glassed over, I assumed business was good. Denver might be the Mile High City, but Boulder is just high.
I wander over to the Walnut Brewery. After I'm seated, the waiter tries to talk me into their featured beer. He describes it as having a "banana bread" aftertaste. It doesn't even remotely sound good to me, so I settle on a pint of the house Irish Red. I ordered seared tuna for an appetizer and a burger for my meal. The waiter, who is a dead ringer for Johnny Depp, tells me more than once that I really woofed the burger down. Hey, what can I say? When I sit down for dinner, I'm all business.
On my way back to the hotel, to kill a little time, I stop off at the Flatiron Crossing Mall. I drop into a sports memorabilia place. Browsing through the store, I know I'm not going to be able to leave without spending a few spontaneous bucks. So, in a predictable fashion, I leave with a signed 8x10 of Hall of Shamer Pete Rose. As I exit the mall, I realize that I'm not sure where I parked. So, I spend another twenty minutes walking through various exits before I finally remember that I came in at the food court. I've had memory lapses in the past, but they usually occurred after a long night of "celebrating".
The next day, I head to airport and prepare to go through the security song and dance. I make it through the security screening in an impressive twenty minutes. As I approach my departure gate, I notice that half the people have "carry-ons" that are actually suitcases. I never understand why the airlines don't enforce the size limits for carry-on items. Once I get on board, I see a young woman struggling to put her suitcase in the overhead bin. In normal circumstances, I would be a gentleman and offer to help her. But in this case, I figure if the damned thing is so heavy that she can't lift it, maybe she should have checked it instead of bringing it on board. As I sit there, I'm tempted to yell, "Left with your legs, not your back!" But that would just make me look bad.
As the flight attendants prepare for take-off, they walk down the aisle and close the doors on the overhead bins. They have an problem closing the door on the bin directly above me. There's a suitcase that's sticking out about an inch beyond the door frame. So, the flight attendant says, "Whoever owns this bag is going to have to re-position it so we can close the door. This is holding up our departure."
It happens to belong to girl sitting next to me. She gets up and then starts bitching because someone else has stored two coats up there. How dare they! Of course, she sees nothing wrong with her own bag which happens to be the size of a small sofa. Anxious to get home, I finally stand up and remove my laptop bag (which happens to be the smallest one in the bin) and re-position her suitcase. I close the door and tell the flight attendant that we're now cleared for take-off. She mouths me a silent thank-you and then goes into the "how to fasten your seat-belt" speech.
Before long, we're in the air and back in Baltimore. Other than a mild headache, I feel pretty good. There's no place like home........
kw
On my way back to the hotel, to kill a little time, I stop off at the Flatiron Crossing Mall. I drop into a sports memorabilia place. Browsing through the store, I know I'm not going to be able to leave without spending a few spontaneous bucks. So, in a predictable fashion, I leave with a signed 8x10 of Hall of Shamer Pete Rose. As I exit the mall, I realize that I'm not sure where I parked. So, I spend another twenty minutes walking through various exits before I finally remember that I came in at the food court. I've had memory lapses in the past, but they usually occurred after a long night of "celebrating".
The next day, I head to airport and prepare to go through the security song and dance. I make it through the security screening in an impressive twenty minutes. As I approach my departure gate, I notice that half the people have "carry-ons" that are actually suitcases. I never understand why the airlines don't enforce the size limits for carry-on items. Once I get on board, I see a young woman struggling to put her suitcase in the overhead bin. In normal circumstances, I would be a gentleman and offer to help her. But in this case, I figure if the damned thing is so heavy that she can't lift it, maybe she should have checked it instead of bringing it on board. As I sit there, I'm tempted to yell, "Left with your legs, not your back!" But that would just make me look bad.
As the flight attendants prepare for take-off, they walk down the aisle and close the doors on the overhead bins. They have an problem closing the door on the bin directly above me. There's a suitcase that's sticking out about an inch beyond the door frame. So, the flight attendant says, "Whoever owns this bag is going to have to re-position it so we can close the door. This is holding up our departure."
It happens to belong to girl sitting next to me. She gets up and then starts bitching because someone else has stored two coats up there. How dare they! Of course, she sees nothing wrong with her own bag which happens to be the size of a small sofa. Anxious to get home, I finally stand up and remove my laptop bag (which happens to be the smallest one in the bin) and re-position her suitcase. I close the door and tell the flight attendant that we're now cleared for take-off. She mouths me a silent thank-you and then goes into the "how to fasten your seat-belt" speech.
Before long, we're in the air and back in Baltimore. Other than a mild headache, I feel pretty good. There's no place like home........
kw
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