Logos, Range Riders, and lost in the mountains, not necessarily in that order.

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I spent some time this week doing a mailing for guest night with the Pikes Peak Range Riders. In appreciation for my efforts, I'm invited as well. When I was a kid we used to go to the street breakfast in downtown Colorado Springs, eating pancakes and eggs on a plate balanced in your lap while sitting on hay bales in the middle of streets that have been closed to traffic for the event. It was always a lot of fun. Toward the end of the street breakfast, the Range Riders would mount up and ride off, several dozen of them riding off into the mountains for a week long range ride. I always wanted to go. Probably the only time in my life when I was seriously upset that God had made me female was when I found out that I could never be a Range Rider since I'm not a man.

Since then, I've always thought of the Range Ride with longing. Now that I'm older, I will admit that part of the appeal is guys in hats on horses. There is something decidedly old world about it. Virile. Male. Natural. Reminiscent of the old west. I think the guys feel it too, because they are courteous, gentlemanly, and solicitious in all the best ways. Men who are men make women glad of it. Plus, a man can look like the backside of a bus, can be old, bald, wrinkled, pot-bellied, you name it--but put him in a hat, boots, Wranglers and set him on a horse, and he becomes attractive. Maybe that's how what's-his-name got Anna Nicole Smith.

I drove to Golden today to pick up Alex's motorcycle as he is coming home from college for the summer. On the way back I decided to take a side trip through Kittridge, Evergreen and Morrison, checking out roadside shops along the way. I never did find any antique stores that were open, no thrift stores hawking their wares, but I did find a great store in Kittridge just right for wandering through if you're interested in home decor items as I am. Neat furniture, great dishes, wall art, linens and I picked up another book by Frances Meyers about her life and home in Tuscany.

Coming out of Evergreen, I didn't see a sign telling me which direction to go to get back to C-470. I should have turned left. After meandering for a while, I just had the feeling that the sun was in the wrong position. I had that feeling long before I found a sign mentioning Breckenridge, a great town, but many, many miles out of my way on this trip. Turning around, I found the right way back, but spent an extra hour or two in the hills. If you've driven the back roads of Colorado, you know that it wasn't a trial at all.

But I had to get back to Monument to pick up our latest commission check and get it into the bank.

Anyway, I'm home. The bike is a little worse for the wear as I didn't strap it down properly and it shifted, damaging a reflector on the back. I'm grouchy and tired though as if I did a hard day's manual labor. Makes no sense at all.