Reading: Jared Diamond, Guns, Germs, and Steel

Not yet given up on: John Milton, Paradise Lost

In the midst of: A.S. Byatt, Biographer's Tale; Dava Sobel, Galileo's Daughter

On deck: Suburban Nation; Invisible Man; Don Quijote

Moving: snowshoeing

Watching: "Illuminata"

10 March 2002: Jones Pass

Friday night we watched "Moulin Rouge," which didn't go over very well, which didn't surprise me. So as we assembled the bookcase on Saturday, on the floor behind the couch with the weights out of the way, our audio options were nothing, music, or a movie. I had Tivo'd "Raiders of the Lost Ark" Friday during "MR," and I guess that was sufficiently unMRly.

I did want to see the extra features, but for that I could have borrowed Haitch's. A pay-per-view plus borrowing would have served. Because it strikes me that I myself am not as in love with this movie as owning the DVD should warrant. I saw it twice in the theatre, both times with Haitch, and again at her house a few weeks ago. Now, "Shakespeare in Love" I can watch multiple times. And have. "Almost Famous" is eminently rewatchable, while not quite being a favorite. But "Moulin Rouge" doesn't bowl me over. Well. I can find a good victim for it, I am sure.

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Sunday we went snow-shoeing for the first time in two months. SPM told us yesterday about a place toward Berthoud Pass, less crowded probably than Rocky Mountain National Park and closer.

He was right, but still. The trail is near a mine, whose hum was a constant background noise no matter how far from it we got (the parking lot was on the opposite ridge). Also, since it's not in the park, snowmobiles are allowed. I hate snowmobiles with as many fibers as I can spare from hating jetskis. Everyone was courteous--unlike Jetskiers I Have Known, who seem to delight in buzzing swimming areas--but yack.

Fearing you have a debilitating disease does good things for your outlook. The parking lot was extremely slick, given the packed-into-ice snow and its pitch, and we bumped the bumper of a large, parked truck, whereupon we were stuck. RDC made the mistake, I think, of trying to reverse from where he was, possibly not understanding that the bumper was nudged into our right rear door, possibly not thinking practically about how much tire-spinning it would take to burn through the ice and snow to dirt or gravel that the tires could grip. I, not behind the wheel, kept my mouth shut. But he stopped, whereupon I told him I thought that was a good idea, and an SUV-driver hauling a pair of snowmobiles offered to tug us out. Someone else lent us a towrope. Neither the SUV nor the towrope did as much good as five people lifting Cassidy's butt out and away as RDC reversed over the floor mats. Cassidy has a dent, but the truck, being a big truck, hadn't a scratch. I think RDC might have freaked about denting the car--which is almost three years old--Before, but now he shrugged. We do need to repair the dent, because it cracked the paint and could rust, but it's not bad.

I left a note on the windshield of the big truck, excluding the facts that we had witnesses (and their contact information) who would attest to the truck's not being damaged at all and that we had taken plenty of pictures of the scene and vehicles. I figured that would be unnecessarily defensive and seem to assume a litigious nature in the driver. I'm glad I didn't, because at the end of the day the reply read, "I don't see any damage. Hope you had a great day out there. Score: Dodge, 1; Subaru 0."

I didn't fret until the end of the day, when we, knowing now how slick conditions were, headed down the steep access road, not plowed quite wide enough for two cars, when the right side, our side, of that same road had naught but a ridge of plowed snow between us and a drop. Two other cars were heading up, and there was just not much space for two vehicles to pass each other anyway, let alone when a icy slip a step in either direction would plow you into either a car or a valley. The lead car stopped, seeing the narrowness for what it was; the second car thereupon tried to pass the lead car, got stuck immediately abreast of it, slid backward on its bald Jeep tires, and finally, after much impatient gesturing by the lead car, agreed to reverse down the hill.

I was pretty sure our Subaru could handle slick, and I suppose it mostly can except when it's asked to turn around in too tight a radius on a 10% grade over glassy ice. When we had to stop headed down for the two vehicles heading up, Cassidy stopped exactly as it ought. So that's good.

Now about the snowshoeing. By the time we got up, huffing, we were in a bowl at maybe 10,000 feet. We were about a thousand feet below treeline, is how I make that guess. All around were wind-swept peaks, most of their snow scoured off and deposited in deep drifts on the valley floor. So we attached eight-inch fins to the backs of the snowshoes and played in the drifts.

The only scary moment I had was trying to compensate for sinking too deep by kneeling, plunging to my waist in the kneel, and wondering just how much deeper I might sink. RDC could do nothing without sinking himself. An obliging pine tree was near enough for me to grab its sturdiest highest branch--I could have gotten a sturdier by grabbing lower, but lower didn't get me out--so I didn't sink more as I floundered out. I lost a shoe and had to fish for it. After that (I kissed the tree in thanks: prickly) we stayed on trails.

But pictures are more eloquent.

What I notice about facial sunburns now (and yes, I get them repeatedly, because I really hate sunscreen) is how much they accentuate my wrinkles. You can see here that my brows are furrowed because it's so bright. (The brightness did not suggest sunscreen to me either.) The resultant burn, which stopped at the line of my headband, featured two white streaks between my eyes.

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Us. I'm getting a little better at arm's-length shots, although it looks like the tube from one of our Camelbaks is an umbilical cord.

At a distance, or later in the day, or with trees to either side, or something, the sky lacks the impossibly deep dark blue of closer sky more directly overhead.

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Along the west ridge, snow eddies in little ciroccos. Cirocci?

And that fantastic blue sky.