June 2011

While planning their Colorado adventure, the Weenies made sure to leave a good amount of time for pure relaxation. We decided to spend the last five days of our vacation in a fairly remote area where we could unplug, rest and clear our minds before heading back to the real world of computers, deadlines and 100º+ temperatures.

After much research, we chose the tiny town of Alma, just south of Breckenridge, to host our retreat. More than a week of driving, hiking and sightseeing had us ready to unwind in a delightful mountain home. I should have known something was amiss when we realized that Alma didn’t make it into any of the guidebooks at the bookstore.

Everything started out alright; the landscape was breathtaking—the air cool and crisp. Snowcapped mountains exploded from the valley floor just steps from our living room windows. At night we could see every star in the galaxy. It was literally a mountain paradise. But as we all know from the movies, the more stunning a setting, the more likely it is that some sort of malevolent force is lying in wait… and that force probably doesn’t have internet service.

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Below is a partial transcript of the events that took place during the final days of the Weenies’ Colorado experiment.

Alma, Day One: We arrive at our secluded mountain home in the early evening. The altitude has gotten to us, making even a trip upstairs exhausting. For medicinal purposes we eat some chocolate, pop a couple of Advil and go to bed.

Alma, Day Two: It’s the Weenies’ anniversary! We sleep, read, eat and generally enjoy each other’s company. Bill gets Ilene a nice gift. Ilene thinks trip to Colorado was supposed to be nice gift. Ilene feels like an ass for not getting Bill anything.

Alma, Day Three: Feeling sense of inferiority that while Bill is navigating his way through Walden Pond, I’m reading futuristic soft porn on my Kindle. He accuses me of secretly texting. Has he discovered that I’ve been sneaking out during his naps to stand in a field with my iPhone held high in the air, hoping for connectivity? There is a TV here, but we are determined not to turn it on. We’ve given thought to climbing onto the roof to try and get service, but who would take care of Dexter if we died in a tragic internet accident?

Alma, Day Four: Things are getting desperate. Trapped in our magnificent prison, Bill has started reading old junk email and looking through photos of our dead dog, Wally. Yesterday he sat at the window with binoculars, reporting on a team of climbers he saw atop the mountain ridge. I’m pretty sure he was hallucinating. Without considering the gaseous ramifications of feeding Dexter eggs, Bill dooms us to an afternoon of stink bombs wafting out from beneath the quilt we’re all sharing. Now it’s snowing sideways, so Bill takes inventory of our food supplies—he’s worried about scurvy. We’ve taken to wearing unibomber hoodies to bed.

Alma, Day Five: We’ve eaten four pounds of chocolate, three pizzas, a bag of cookies and some grapes. Yesterday’s highlight was brushing our teeth. Dexter keeps trying to get us to go for walks, but it’s as if we’ve lost the ability to move our bodies. He barfed last night in an attempt to give us a project to work on together. We’ve gone through almost all Trivial Pursuit questions from the 1985 edition and have considered breaking out an old jigsaw puzzle gathering dust under the coffee table. Bill obsessively plays solitaire, while I forage for carbs. We haven’t bathed in two days…

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In the end, Alma was the perfect experiment for the Weenie family. Sitting in quiet contemplation was not an activity they were familiar with before. Now they can check that off their list and go back to watching Law & Order reruns and working until midnight.

Tune in next time for the final chapter in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone
Part 8: Mountain Mama
Part 9: Why Poodles and Spas Don’t Mix
Part 10: On the Road Again
Part 11: Vail

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Weenie in Vail

Exactly 20 years ago I graduated from The University of Texas, sold my car and bought a one-way ticket to Vail, Colorado. Burned out after college, the last thing I wanted to be was a practicing graphic designer, so I packed up a few things and headed off for life as a ski bum. “Weenie’s Vail Years” is a saga in and of itself, and maybe I’ll tell it someday. For now though, it’s just a bit of back story.

Let me start by saying, I love this town. Vail took me in during a difficult time in my life, and while there were some rough patches along the way, the fact that I could wake up to such beauty each day and ski to work made everything seem alright. Also, I was in my 20s and there were lots of boys there. But I digress.

Dexter hits the motherload

Coming back to Vail after so long was like going to someone else’s high school reunion; I didn’t know anyone and spent a lot of time trying to find a restroom. As we first drove into town, I had Mr. Weenie take me by the condo where I used to live. Hardly anything had changed. The place hadn’t been painted in some time, and the same old ski racks hung on the front porch.

Next we headed toward Vail Village, but I didn’t recognize anything. How can anyone get lost in a town the size of a large cruise ship? We drove in circles as I tried to locate some sort of landmark to anchor my memory, but all I saw were great swaths of condominiums and construction crews.

The month of May is the off-season in most western ski resorts, so the place was like a ghost town. Locals refer to it as “mud season” since all the snow has begun melting but the grass hasn’t grown back yet. That’s when all construction is done for pretty much the entire year, and anyone not in the construction business either goes home for a visit or heads down to New Zealand for six more months of skiing. The emptiness of the streets made it even more obvious that my beloved little mountain town had turned into a behemoth stranger.

Vail has always been high-end—even a little snooty—but the locals were well known for keeping it real. We did so by doing foolish things on skis or in bars (often both at the same time) and by scaring the tourists. But now here I was—a tourist in my own neighborhood. While I recognized certain shops and restaurants here and there, and the famous Covered Bridge was thankfully still intact, most of my time that day was spent pointing out what wasn’t there 20 years ago.

Covered Bridge over Weenie

In the end I was glad to revisit my past. Enough of the old Vail was still left to remind me of a free-spirited Weenie who took advantage of that window between adolescence and real life to play in the snow for a few fun years. Most importantly, the chocolate shop by the main lift was still around, so I dropped fifty bucks there for a big sack of tasty memories.

Later on, when Mr. Weenie reminded me that you can’t go home again, I had to disagree. Indeed, you can go home again—just be prepared for some rich assholes to have redecorated while you were out.

Tune in next time for Part 12 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone
Part 8: Mountain Mama
Part 9: Why Poodles and Spas Don’t Mix
Part 10: On the Road Again

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Weenie & Dex in Leadville - COLD

After a wonderful week of hiking, the Weenies said goodbye to Pagosa Springs and turned their sights westward toward Durango and beyond. Sadly, the Durango Railroad didn’t allow poodles, so we continued on up past Silverton to the heart-pounding twists and turns of the “Million Dollar Highway” (named, I assume, for the amount of money you promise God you’ll donate to starving orphans if you survive). Clark Griswold had us on a tight schedule, so after a quick lunch in the sleepy mining town of Ouray, we headed out for our next destination.

Bill + Train = Hubba-Hubba-Hubby

The highlight of the day was definitely the Black Canyon of Gunnison National Park. The Royal Gorge seemed comically small compared to this rugged masterpiece of solid rock. We saw lots of wildlife there, including some sort of chicken-like creature we initially thought was a hawk. (Clearly the Weenies’ birding skills are not very well developed.) We drove all the way down to the riverbed, 2000 feet below, then tried getting back up to the top before sunset. Have you ever tried outrunning the rotation of the earth? Not as easy as Superman made it appear, but sort of fun in a Lucy and Ethel kind of way.

Gunnison National Park's Black Canyon

The only negative was that I left my coat at the hotel where we stayed that night, which didn’t bother me much until we got to Leadville the next day. Did you know Leadville is the highest incorporated city in the United States? And do you know what that means? That means it’s freaking COLD there, people.

Tune in next time for Part 11 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone
Part 8: Mountain Mama
Part 9: Why Poodles and Spas Don’t Mix

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One of the top items on the Pagosa Springs “must do” list is soaking in the healing waters of the hot springs. While the sulphuric smell of rotten eggs is a bit of a turnoff, the nose quickly adjusts once the soaking has begun. The Weenies decided to splurge on a spa that offered massages in addition to the springs. Our only problem was a certain small fuzzball who also happened to smell like rotten eggs.

While taking a two week vacation in the Colorado Rockies with your toy poodle may sound like a good idea in theory, I encourage you to think long and hard before doing so. There were very few things we missed along the way due to poodle intolerance—we even managed to slip him into a few restaurants here and there—but sneaking him into a spa seemed a bit optimistic.

After setting up a voice recorder while Bill and I were out one morning, we discovered Dexter had a severe case of separation anxiety (you would have thought we’d left him with Cruella DeVille), so we called the spa to get special permission to bring him along. How naive we were to think he’d just sleep through a 90-minute hot rock massage in his little bag without incident. Apparently the mountain air had given the Weenies a severe case of the stupid.

After boiling ourselves in spring water while the sun burned our winter-white skin, we decided Dexter would join me at my massage since he tends to be a bit on the mom-centric side. I explained to the massage therapist what the deal was, and she was fine with it. About five minutes into the treatment I heard a sound: “Scritch, scritch, scritch! Zip, zip, zip!” The indignant poodle began scratching at the screened opening of the bag to indicate his unhappiness. “Scritch, zip, scritch, zip!” Dexter had managed to partially unzip the bag and stick his head out like a long-necked gopher, which resulted in a first degree burn to my back when the therapist lost control of her hot rocks.

“Scritch, scritch, zip!” Sigh. The tolerant massage therapist suggested we place Dexter’s carrier under the table where I could reach down and slip my hand inside the bag to rub his belly. This worked great for Dexter, but it kind of sucked for me.

When I flipped onto my back, Dexter was left sitting under the table, apparently convinced I had disappeared altogether. “Zip, scritch, zip, scritch!” Now the massage therapist was laughing while I was planning a play date between Dexter and a hungry coyote. We eventually had to take the evil poodle out of his sack and place him on my belly while the therapist worked around him on my arms and legs. He briefly sniffed the massage oils, then plunked his head down and started to snore. That bastard.

So I basically spent $150 plus an extremely generous tip for the most un-relaxing massage ever. Meanwhile, Bill came out of his room looking like a swarthy noodle, having just experienced the best massage of his life. That bastard.

Tune in next time for Part 10 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone
Part 8: Mountain Mama

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Opal Lake: Not so easy for the Weenies, but well worth it.

The Weenies’ second hike was somewhat more successful than the first. For one thing, we didn’t get lost in the parking lot. As a warmup we decided to take what the brochure called an “easy” jaunt up to a mountain lake. Note: “Easy” in Colorado is not the same as “Easy” in south Austin. I told Bill we needed more than one bottle of water, but he was convinced our little walk wouldn’t take more than 45 minutes or so.

An hour and a half later we shared our last rationed sip of water as we watched the mud under our feet (and paws) turn to snow. To be fair, we did have a lovely lunch by a mountain lake, although considering the water situation, my choice of peanut butter and jelly was not very well thought out.

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Over the next few days we chose much easier hikes (for real this time). Other than when I almost fell into a giant crevasse (which turned out to be one in a series of very cool ice cave fissures), the hiking was fairly uneventful. We climbed up ridges to gorgeous waterfalls, while resident fecal expert, Bill Haddad, kept us apprised of the bowel habits of Colorado’s diverse woodland creatures. Who knew a walk in the woods could be so educational?

Tune in next time for Part 9 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City
Part 7: Man Does Not Live by Cookies Alone

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Uh-oh-spaghetti-o

Unlike our usual vacations where we eat out for virtually every meal, the Weenies decided to prepare most of our own while in Colorado. Now this probably sounds like a completely normal thing to do for most people, but in case you haven’t noticed, the Weenies are not most people. You see, even when we’re at home we rarely make dinner together. For one thing, Bill and I don’t eat the same foods (he’s the steak to my tofu), so we usually end up having completely different meals at completely different times. I may get hungry at 6:00, whereas his dinner might consist of Whataburger taquitos at 1:00 a.m.

So to say we were a bit out of our element would be an understatement. Since one of us had to stay in the car with Dexter T. Poodle while the other went into the grocery store, much of the decision making was left to the shopper. This explains why we had spaghetti, fruit and veggies in the basket when I did the shopping; while when Bill was in charge, there was an abundant supply of cookies and cinnamon rolls in the pantry.

The first meal we prepared was spaghetti with tomato sauce and veggies. Easy enough. After everything was ready, I made a big plate of pasta and sauce for Bill, which I proceeded to fling directly into the sink. That about sums up my cooking skills in a nutshell.

Other food-related hiccups during our vacation included an in-flight salsa explosion, the unfortunate altitude-meets-yogurt episode, a coffee-on-Nikon/poodle moment, and the great Rocky Mountain scrambled egg incident.

Tune in next time for Part 8 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley
Part 6: Lost in Condo City

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After our exciting morning at the Royal Gorge, the Weenie family arrived in Pagosa Springs, which would be home base for the next week. Our condo was perfectly located in close proximity to some of southern Colorado’s most beautiful hiking. That said, our first full day in Pagosa was spent sleeping. Literally. We slept until noon-ish, ate, napped, napped again, had dinner and went to bed around 8:30.

Dexter is not pleased with Mother's internal compass.

The real adventure in Pagosa Springs began the next day, when Dexter and I set out on our first hike. The weather was a bit cloudy and cool as we went outside to explore the neighborhood. After winding our way through the area, we came upon a quaint gravel path leading to yet another set of condos. Beyond that there was a small beaver pond I was hoping to reach before the weather turned.

About a minute later when the skies opened, Dexter and I decided to head back home. Now, I’m not known for my keen sense of direction, so it’s generally a good idea to assume my internal compass points the opposite way from where you’d want to go. Bearing that in mind, I had three choices: (1) Go the way I thought we should go; (2) Go the opposite way from where I thought we should go; or (3) Walk in circles until someone found us.

Having opted for the latter, Dexter and I set off in a circular fashion as gigantic taunting crows took our lead and circled overhead. While these asshole harbingers of doom mocked us from above—all the while hoping my small, leashed, rodent-like companion would make a break for it—I spotted a figure walking toward us.

This being a retirement community, the fit-looking man walking across the street appeared to be somewhere in his mid-seventies. While I donned a sweater, heavy pants, fleece pullover, ski jacket, gloves, scarf and a hat; this fellow was strolling around in jeans and a light windbreaker. When I flagged him down to ask where I was, he happily offered to show me the way home.

As I removed my glasses to wipe off the rain, I told our new friend that I thought the condo was brown and near some aspen trees. After replacing my specs, I realized that every condo as far as the eye could see was brown and surrounded by aspens. Within 15 minutes of searching I was out of breath, sweating and mumbling incoherently, so just to stave off further embarrassment I lied and said we had indeed located the right place. Then I walked up to the front door of some random stranger’s home.

While I wistfully watched my trailblazing friend fade into the distance, I suddenly remembered I was carrying a phone that could do everything but clean the toilet. I looked up our address, but unfortunately my iPhone was unable to smack me across the face and tell me that the condo was right behind us. Dexter and I ended up wandering around the parking lot in the rain for another 20 minutes before finally finding our way home.

Tune in next time for Part 7 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…
Part 5: Down in the Valley

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Day two of the Weenies’ excellent adventure began with a visit to the Royal Gorge. In addition to its spectacular plunge of over 1,000 feet to the Arkansas River below, the Royal Gorge’s sheer cliff walls support the world’s largest suspension bridge. Even more impressive than the bridge itself was the fact that I had cell service from just outside the park gates. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s possible when I regularly drop calls on the way to my sister’s house in west Austin.

While the circus surrounding this national treasure reminded me of a geologically-themed amusement park, and the entry fee for the two of us sounded as steep as the rock walls beyond the front gate, Mr. Weenie insisted it was worth the price. Keep in mind that I was traveling with the Clark Griswold of the Weenie family. As I stood there envisioning a $50, 30-second, head-nodding peek at the gorge from atop a very large bridge, a generous old codger handed us a six dollar discount coupon (which coincidentally, was the exact price of a funnel cake). Decision made.

Sorry folks, park's closed!

Having paid for the experience, we decided to take full advantage of all the park had to offer, which as it turned out, included a terror ride to the bottom of the gorge in a small metal cage. I was excited to spot a huge eagle soaring by on our way down; then somewhat disappointed when a four-year-old boy correctly identified it as a very large crow.

We smuggled Dexter into the park via a baby carrier-type contraption with a shawl draped over his head. It was a good thing the little ones got in for free. After paying $150 for a doggie airline ticket, I was damned if we were going to drop another 25 bucks so that the world’s ugliest baby could ride a gondola down the side of a cliff.

After wandering the area for about an hour and a half, the Weenies found themselves hungry and bridge-weary. The walk to the refreshment stand was about ten yards with a three foot rise in elevation, but by all the huffing and puffing you would have thought we were about to summit K2. Twenty minutes later, six dollar funnel cake in hand, the Weenies sat down in the sun to enjoy some great people watching and a well-deserved royal gorge of their own.

Tune in next time for Part 6 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position
Part 4: And they’re off…

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After landing at the Denver airport, picking up our embarrassing mountain of luggage from the baggage carousel and renting a car, the Weenies were off on their Colorado extravaganza. Supposedly the first leg of our long drive through the Rockies was quite beautiful. I know this because Mr. Weenie told me so. Apparently I’d fallen asleep about ten minutes into our two-week journey, thanks to my inflight cocktail of Xanax and Dramamine.

As I awakened from my drug-induced coma somewhere near Cripple Creek, we decided to stop for sustenance; and by sustenance, I mean potato chips and powdered sugar doughnuts. So there we were—making our way around snowcapped mountains and winding rivers, all hopped up on trans fats and corn syrup. Unfortunately, even the refreshing breeze of the largest mountain chain in North America couldn’t overcome the stench of a certain foul-breathed poodle who’d just spent three hours in a bag stuffed under a seat. All I could do was thank the gods for Febreeze and cover his head with a map.

Traveling with a dog is both fun and challenging. Getting Dexter to eat and drink by the side of the road was a poor choice, so we gave up and decided to feed him in the car. He was a champ at car dining. Unfortunately, his mother was not so swift. Take note, all you pet-loving travelers: Do not attempt to toss a dog dish full of water out the window of a car going 65 miles per hour. Other highlights of the drive included unintentionally going off-road during a snowstorm and peeing on my own foot.

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Our first overnight stop was in Cañon City, a small town with the dubious title of “Colorado’s Prison Capital.” Highlights included the nearby Supermax Facility—high security home to some of the country’s most violent criminals. (Not to be confused with the other high security supermax of the feminine hygiene variety.)

According to our guidebook, we were staying at a very well-known establishment. Famous guests over the years included the likes of John Wayne, Charles Bronson, John Belushi and Cory Haim (no doubt all visiting friends in prison). As we dropped our bags in a room that had clearly once housed a petting zoo, Bill noted that the name “Quality Inn” was relative to whether you were referring to the motel itself or to its service and smell. I’m pretty sure the sheets hadn’t been changed since John Wayne was a guest, but I was too tired to care. We hopped into bed at 7:30 and slept in our clothes.

Tune in next time for Part 5 in the Travelin’ Weenie series.

Catch up with the rest of the saga…
Part 1: Travelin’ Weenies – The Colorado Experiment
Part 2: The Comfort of Crap
Part 3: Weenie in Her Full, Upright and Locked Position

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