December, or How I Started Blogging

So, family and friends, you've asked for it and here it is.  My new blog is here.  It's fresh, it's exciting, it's completely worth your time to read what I have to say about me and my life.  In fact, after a few months of this, you'll end up wondering what the hell you were doing before December of 2010.

Gothic Mountain

So, let me go ahead and give y'all a point of reference; a beginning, if there is such a thing.  I'm typing this blog at a comfortable desk in the crackling warmth of Avery cabin in Gothic, CO, an erstwhile silver mining town turned into a field station by the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory.  During the summer, the aspen glades and montane meadows are full of bright, eager, young scientists at the beck and call of bright, eager, older scientists who are studying the various species and natural processes that occur in the East River Valley.  There's a peak population of around 200 people here in July, mostly students and research assistants in various capacities.  My job is to feed them.

In the winter months, however, Gothic truly is a ghost town.  The rustic log cabins are shuttered and cold.  There is only one outhouse with a trail to it through the snow.  Wind whips through the spruces and over the little hills in town, encountering only the odd fox or rabbit to shiver at it's caresses.  There are only six of us humans here in total, and this is a very populous year.

Gothic, CO

billy barr is the accountant for the lab, and he owns a house just north of Gothic.  If you're in the valley and you see what appears to be a scarecrow on skis with long gray hair and a wild beard, chances are you've run into billy.  If you somehow end up with chocolate at the end of the encounter, it's certain that you have.

John, Ira, and Shayn are all living in the cabin across the trail from me in Rogers-Boggs cabin.  They're a motley crew that works here year round like I do, consisting of  a Texan hippie, a Colorado snowboarder, and a quiet 40ish gay Hoosier all living together.  Visiting them provides most of my daily entertainment.

Gary and Kiki are a couple from Crested Butte, the nearest town to us, who just got off a five month trek of the Continental Divide Trail, which runs from Canada to Mexico.  (Or vice versa.)  They apparently haven't had enough isolation this year, so they've decided to join us here, four miles past the end of the road.  I don't know much about them yet, but everything I've managed to learn about them; the CDT, a VW bus, avalanche training courses, and the radio call signs "Rigatoni" and "Angel Hair," add up to a couple of badass people.

Which brings us to here, where I introduce myself.  I'm a 27 year old Midwestern guy who's somehow managed to stumble into a ski bums wet dream.   I have never skied in my life.  Ok, that's a lie, I went to a bump somewhere in southern Wisconsin styling itself as a ski resort.  I can remember to this day the stiffness of frozen jeans and the terror of the ski lift that I endured with my cousins Maggie and Charlie. The Rocky Mountains of central Colorado are a bit different.  So here I am, with borrowed skis and a sense of expectancy and adventure in the middle of nowhere at 9,000 feet.  I could tell you a lot of anecdotal history about myself, which would include tales about dropping out of College to get married and move to France, or about three years of a reefer clouded stint working for Indians (dot, not feather) in Austin, Texas, and maybe a few about growing up in rural Indiana to spice things up.  But none of that's really important.  It's not where I come from, you see, but where I am that's beginning to define me.  All you need to know right now is that I'm a bearded youngish fellow with a quiver full of skis, a wood burning stove, and enough naivety to try and use them.

Me

So there we have it, a decently solid base to begin blogging from.  I think next time, I'll do a little bit on the history of the town of Gothic and the RMBL (pronounced "rumble" by the members.)  You can also expect some photographs, a bit of rough poetry from time to time, musings on the nature of the East River Valley and it's environs (which will probably be mostly dealing with snow, ice, or other variations of frozen things,) perhaps a political rant here and there, and neat little asides on humanity, philosophy, and life in general.  But for now, adieu.