Unfortunately, Paul Rudd Was Not Present

While we were resting and recouping from the trauma that was Kansas, the Wife and I got to do a bit of exploring in the Boulder area, where the Wife's dad and family live. And, yes, we got to see a lot of sickeningly healthy and granola people running up mountains, biking off cliffs, and installing home-made solar panels on their teepees. And, yes, one of my father-in-law's neighbors owned that Bactrian camel. Perhaps they developed an affinity for camel's milk? Or maybe there's a nearby underground camel racing circuit.

One of the highlights was hiking along the base of the Flatirons, which nominally was a "pleasant" hike, but ended up involving a significant ascent up to a natural quarry. Even the Booger was flushed once we reached the highest point of our hike.



By the way, correct me if I'm wrong here, but I believe this may actually be the first sighting of my face on this blog. It's not that I've suddenly decided that my visage is not offensive. It's more that I was just lazy and wanted to post this picture.




But, probably the most fascinating part of our walk that day was seeing a full regiment of junior LARPers reigning fake, plastic death on each other in a field near the parking lot. My understanding was that it was a role-playing summer camp of sorts. One of the Wife's half-sisters even knew one of them, who cringed and avoided eye contact when she went up to greet him with a hug. So, yeah, stereotype affirmed.

A couple hours later, upon returning to the car, dozens of the pint-size (read: 2 inches shorter than me) LARPers were still battering each other into submission. The wonders of blunted weapons and infinite lives, I suppose.