Saturday

Saturday Night's All Right for fighting, Saturday Night's all right.....

Saturday afternoon, though, with the cloudy skies, chilly air, and occasional snowflake, is all right for laying on the couch, drinking tea, and resting up for tomorrow. I think I'm headed to Clear Creek and maybe the Quarry Wall to do a little climbing. A rarity, I know, but I'm willing to give this endeavor a shot.

Hopefully, I'll get out with the same crew that I hung with last night. My buddy Jesse, owner of the proud and imminently badass outdoor brand Totem Industries, and his wife Erin came over for dinner. Also in the fold were Brian and Erin (different Erin), basically the nicest climbers in Boulder. Along with those four, Kate and I went to the BRC to check the finale to the BRC winter competition series. We made it for the invitational round featuring a our friends Taylor, John, Dan, and Robin, along with the occassionally strong TC, guidebook cover girl Emily, and others. JStar had the stones to compete in a full Batman costume, so a big salute to him for that little nugget.

I don't know who ended up winning the mens (although I think it was Paul Robinson), but Paige Claussen just destroyed the women's field. It's a sad day when one of the competitors makes the finals routes look like 5.11 while everyone else is falling off at mid height, but as Jesse said, it does make him feel a bit better when she is lapping his projects.

The nadir of the night came when I was driving back from the comp with the whole crew packed into Abby, my valiant Subaru. We decided that the night was young, and we'd like to keep goofing around, eventually driving down Pearl Street hoping to go to the Mountain Sun to grab a beer. To the delight of everyone in the auto, a spot opened up right in front of the bar, and I swooped to ease the wagon home. Unfortunately, it was one of those times when the parallel park gods just smite the unsuspecting driver, and my back right tire found the curb. I tried to reset, hoping no one had noticed, but on the second attempt, again cut too sharply and couldn't fit. A third try produced similar failure, and only on the fourth effort, to the cheers and salutes of the windowside bar patrons and friends in my car did I find success. "Success" at that point, though, was more an embrace of my own embarrassment and admission that I wasn't nearly so skilled as I'd hope the world to believe.

Worst of all, the Mountain Sun was packed, and we weren't going to get a table. After all of 30 seconds inside, we decided to just head back to the ranch and have a beer straight from our fridge. The humiliation was all for naught! So off to the house we rolled, and I left the car a solid 36 inches from the curb upon trying to park in my normal spot.

I'm ready for summer, when I spend much more time commuting on my bike than driving the auto.