Pre-Post: Dang it! I should’ve called that woman behind me at the Hollywood Bowl “Countess Zsa Zsa Gabby Bore!” Too late now; I’ve already “published” that blog post. Sometimes I go back in and edit things after the fact but I always feel a little guilty about doing that… like I’m making Greedo shoot first or something.
Last night I had the great privilege of having a progressive dinner in downtown Denver with Kerry and her friend Andrea. What’s a progressive dinner? Drinks, Dinner, and Dessert. And dessert was at D Bar, two Food Network veteran chefs’ place de deliciousness. I know that’s a lot of “D”s for the night, but I can safely swear under de oath that it was Grade A great fun. And that’s not just because I had a few glasses of wine (hence the “loaded” in the title… what’s the “mashed?” More on that in a moment).
It’s always a delight to catch up with Kerry. The two downsides to the visit were A) it was too short and B) I got to crash in her guest bedroom. The latter is a huge problem, akin to how ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree? Kerry’s apartment is something out of a Hollywood set decorator’s dream, the kind of thing you’d see in the movies when some supposedly “ordinary” person goes back to their apartment in New York and it’s this gorgeous pied-de-terre. Kerry’s apartment is definitely jaw droppingly great and her guest bed is the comfiest of comfy — but then again Kerry is not ordinary, she’s extraordinary so maybe the parallel doesn’t exactly work. But the point is, how do I go back to a murder hotel when I’ve seen the sun rise over Denver from Kerry’s place?
Answer – I just have to. Because Bowman, ND, does NOT offer the same sort of views. But it does offer sunsets on the horizon.
Next question: are those Nutella beignets from D Bar?
Answer: Yes, yes they are.
And are those homemade cinnamon rolls from Kerry’s refrigerator?
Yes, yes they are.
***
It was a long 8.5 hour plus drive from Kerry’s to the packet pickup and free pasta dinner in Baker, Montana. And then it was another hour or so to my hotel in Bowman, ND. When booking accommodations a few weeks back, I couldn’t find any vacancy in Baker and thus opted to double up for the first two days of the series at the Trail Motel.
Along the long and winding road from Denver to Baker, I did take a momentary detour to Devil’s Tower. I hadn’t been there since 2006 when Steve and I ran Deadwood and roadtripped around the MidWest.
I assume I’ll have the same reaction when I (eventually) run a marathon on the moon. The moon will be a disappointment as it won’t be made of cheese, whereas Devil’s Tower is decidedly lacking mashed potato-ness. [Editor’s Note: And there’s your “mashed” from the title, y’all!]
I was too pressed for time and too cheap to pay the $15 to go up to the monument proper. Plus, since I was alone it just didn’t seem worth doing. Miss you, Steve. Wish you were here.
Indeed, on top of missing my brother on this road trip adventure through the insulting and dismissively nicknamed “flyover country,” I was also feeling a bit guilty about leaving my mom to fend for herself in Florida as Hurricane Irma barreled into the sunshine state. I’m a bad son for leaving mom high and dry (well, high and eventually soaked… but hopefully high enough not to be flooded). To be fair to me, and to try and make myself feel better, she can evacuate to Disney if it comes to that. And this may be apocryphal but my understanding is that Disney only allows cast members into the shelters and no family members alive. It’s like a disaster movie dramatic moment of choosing whether to stay or go… I like to imagine some cast members turn to their children and say, “Well, Bobby. Susie. Here’s two jars of peanut butter and a knife. Your mother and I love you very much and hope to see you after the waters recede. God speed!” And they turn and this giant metal door closes upon them as they wave goodbye to their offspring. Annnnnnd… scene.
Point is, maybe it’s for the best I’m not there in case Mom has to evacuate so she doesn’t have to worry about having an extra jar of peanut butter for me.
Anyhoo, I made it to the pasta dinner and grabbed my stuff and a plate of penne.
I also asked the Rueckerts and George if I could get a photo with them; the one bold-faced rule in the participant information emails they send out is not to bother the timing table as they have jobs to do on race day. I’m a stickler for rules, so I haven’t wanted to ask them to grab a photo after a race. But this being PRE-race, the rules don’t apply, and, well…
I’ve checked into the Trail Motel and am refreshing the storm tracking imagery over Florida. Fingers crossed all are okay there, but if you’ll permit a bit of selfishness, my toes are crossed too because most of all I want my Mom to be okay.
Love you, Mom. Sorry I’m not there.