So we hiked up #locvale in #rmnp with our new #yaktracks and after we made it up each icy climb/hill we'd yell YAKTRACKS! and then continued on, and so many people were so unprepared to hike and this poor Japanese guy was wearing sneakers and would get 10 yards up a hill and then slide back down the trail and afterward, like the next day afterward, as in today, Sunday, I'm reading the paper out front of the VFW and this elderly couple pass and the woman says to her husband "I'm thinking this is one of those situations where I should have brought my gun," and the man said, "That's your thinking?" and opened the door for her and they headed into the VFW and I wonder what Sunday situation calls for a gun and I also wonder how far up the trail that Japanese guy got before just giving up. Anyway, this is my painting. I like it.
Dealing with family, moving across the country, and tackling freelance work. It’s been a busy six months. And it’s been a minute since I broke off some time to sit down and read a book. Which sucks, honestly. Reading is one of those pleasures that spark thought and gets me exciting about my own writing, about the possibility of fiction.
Thankfully, my non-reading streak ended. And thankfully, it ended with Leland Cheuk’s story collection Letters from Dinosaurs.
From a father’s attempt to rekindle a relationship with his estranged son to a janitor puzzling out the mysterious “1776” stickers that appear throughout his office to a man’s life being reduced to bullet points on a page, Cheuk explores the fine balance between assimilation and maintaining ones unique identity. The eleven story collection delves deep into the human desire to belong to something larger than ourselves—whether it be family, community, or a even a corporation. Pulsing through the pieces is the need for normalcy, even if it means accepting absurdities. This idea is deftly highlighted in “League of Losers,” a story told via an email chain that debates both fantasy baseball and how best to commemorate the death of friend’s brother.
As with his debut novel, The Misadventures of Sulliver Pong, Cheuk’s Letters from Dinosaurs is sharp, funny, and poignant. It is a tightly crafted display of powerful writing that reminds the reader that, no matter our background or experience, we share common need to belong.
A town that rises early, with lines for coffee at 6 a.m. Ringing the area is the Collegiate Peaks tipped with snow even now.
The man across the street is digging out his basement, making room for his vision: a bicycle museum.
The brewery doesn't serve ice with drinks. "We have enough of it nine months out of the year," the bartender says.
One Chinese restaurant that serves Harlem quality food at Hampton's prices. Multiple antique stores. A Subway. Pizza Hut. Bars over a 150 years old. A bike shop that's new. All at 10,200 feet above sea level.
I get winded mid-sentence, cut my words to strict meaning. No extra rambling.
Travel ten miles south and it's 10 degrees warmer. July mornings here start in the mid-30s.
The pool is amazing. $3 a swim. Foxes play in the grass alongside the Junior High. The Mineral Belt bike trail loops the town. Lance Armstrong lost the Leadville 100 race his first time here. Blown tire. But he came back to win the next year.
Floyd Landis, the 2006 Tour de France winner, lives here. He lost his title due to doping. He sparked the fall of Lance.
There are bears here.
The locals complain about the crowding, the influx of new people.
The town is 3,000 strong.
There is no taco Tuesday here. All the Mexican restaurants are closed on Tuesdays.