Water, Beer & the Nectar of the Gods

Since the countdown to Italy or Bust 2009 has begun, I made a decision. What better way to prepare for an extended vacation than to ignore responsibility and go on a mini-vacation? So this weekend I and some friends went whitewater rafting in Colorado.

The bulk of my vacation time has already been decimated by the upcoming flight to the land of vino, so I had to leave after work Friday night. What's a 7 hr drive in the grand scheme of things? I rolled into Loveland about 12:30 a.m., and we rolled out of bed at 6:30 to hit the river.

Now, there were those who had cautioned me about our trip, implying that it may be difficult to traverse Italy while sporting a body cast. But I was confident that after my years of canoeing and kayaking, I could handle myself on a puny raft. Then I read the hold harmless agreement.

Guides are not infallible?! Are you kidding me? Possibility of severe head injuries? Uhh, about this part here on likelihood of death...

After signing away our lives, the guide gave us strict instructions as to how to stay alive in the event that we became a "swimmer." That didn't exactly up the confidence level either. However, once we were on the river, we realized our guide was highly experienced and gave great instructions. At no time were we ever in a situation where I would be planning changes to my will. It was actually a blast, not too incredibly dangerous, but not so tame that I could catch up on knitting or anything.

At one point, our guide Matt gave us instructions as to our next Level III drop, which they called Deliverance. I made it clear right then that if I heard banjo music, all bets were off. If Ned Beatty isn't safe, I don't stand a chance.

We were pretty awesome for our first time. In fact, our guide told us that if we come again next year, he would recommend we advance to Level IV. We are thinking about rafting Royal Gorge next year, and we will request Matt. After all, not all guides can be taken seriously while sporting a Nazi helmet.

Here is one of their overpriced pictures of our adventure. For the record, the helmets reeked of head sweat and I'm pretty sure the splash jackets had been previously worn by wet dogs. Next time, I'm so going without. It was nowhere near cold enough to need the jacket. Those pansies need to tube the Niobrara River once, and maybe they'll stop whining about "cold" water.

When we got off the river, it seemed high time for a cold one, but we're all incredibly cheap. The solution? A tour of the Coors Brewery. While I'm well aware that most Coors beer tastes like variations of refrigerated horse urine, it was free. We got to wander around with about a hundred other alcoholics, listening to the history of Coors, (now Miller Coors) all with one purpose: free samples. I was expecting the samples to be little shot glasses of beer, so imagine my delight when it was actually a dixie cup of plain Coors, and then THREE glasses of the Coors product of our choice.

I tested out the Pale Moon, and I can now say without question that I prefer beer that doesn't taste like a donkey relieved himself after eating pepper plants. What is up with spicy beer? Sick. However, the Killian's Red helped me to wash that nasty taste out of my mouth. And after the third beer on an empty stomach, even Coors Banquet starts to taste drinkable.

HOLY CRAP!

(Sorry about that. There was a bat in a paper bag under my desk, and when I heard it rattling, I thought it was a bug and opened it. Excuse me while I go have a heart attack.)

Anyhoo, obviously risking life and limb on the river was not enough for us, so the next day we went hiking. Yeah, you heard me. I hiked. Yes, I know that on an ordinary day I don't walk unless I'm broke down, but this was about communing with nature and all that crap. Of course, at the beginning of our little sojourn, someone forgot to mention that it was 14 MILES roundtrip. Nice.

But we got to see some beautiful scenery, scare up a few critters, and do a little impromptu rock climbing. It was pretty cool up there, and we checked out several old homesteads along the way.


I'm pretty sure I had my life threatened by a barking squirrel.


On our way back down the mountain, we got caught in a heavy rainstorm, so we hung out in one of the old homestead cabins along the way.


When we got back from hiking, we took a quick trip over to Estes Park and did the touristy thing. The prices are outrageous, but it is really pretty, and I got to see several freaky people that made me feel better about myself. And really, isn't that what it's all about?

I now have all the fun out of my system, so procrastination time is over. Now it's going to be all about planning and stressing and freaking out, just so I can go on vacation. Something doesn't seem right about that.
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Only two weeks left til I'm eating Italian food that doesn't come from Olive Garden!