Hello and welcome to An altitude Problem, where the "w" key was victim to an Andy-style spaz out, and flailing doggy toenails raked across the keyboard. "W" has to be hit twice as hard as the rest of the keys. It's frusterating. I am tempted to not backspace to fill in all the missing "w"s. But then no one ould kno hat I as riting and I ould sound an idiot. I am used to typing on my own computer, but I am stuck using B's old one until my power cord arrives in the mail. I left it in Kansas on my last trip back, and this one is small and compact, and I tend to overshoot keys. So we will see how long this lasts.

So, what has happened since I last posted?

Nancy and the kids (who are not such kids) came through, stopping for night. We spent the evening out at Green Mountain Reservoir, hiking around Lower Cataract Lake, then cooking out on the shore of Green Mountain. B and Marci met us out there and had the charcoal heated by the time we got down from our hike. It was a late evening by the time we dragged our smoky selves back to the house and tried to stay awake long enough to all take showers and wash off the black smudges.

I went to Kansas on Sunday to see all of my mom's family, the entire family was represented except three of the Idaho cousins and, of course, Grandpa, Grandma, and Allen. Got to hang with old friends, and it was good. The drive home was the worst part, fighting sleep through the flatness between Goodland and Denver.

The drive out there was one of the highights, because I left here late enough to hit the lonely highway between Goodland and my parent's place about sunset. It's strange, but after I turn south off the interstate, I always feel the strangest transformation taking place. I begin to shed who I have become over the last seven years in Colorado, and I begin to feel...well, it sounds stupid. But I feel almost one with sunbaked earth and wide open expanses and jackrabbits. I think it's all the native shortgrass pasture ground out there. I feel a sense of place and timelessness and respect, and that night, the usually obnoxious local country station, the only station I could pick up, was playing the classics, so I turned up Waylon Jennings, George Jones, Dolly Parton, and it all fit, and the sun dipped low and bathed the high plains in a warm glow that worked itself into my soul. Then the glow faded and it was dark and I stepped on the gas pedal and flew through the flat, black night. Going to Western Kansas does that to me. It is what I know, it is who I am, and that does not mean that I need to move back, but always, when I drive out there and the mountains fall away in my rearview mirror and the land gets that particular shade of gray-green and the sky just above the horizen looks brown and dusty, I can't help it. We all need roots, no matter how far we branch, and mine are dug firmly into the shortgrass prairie and gyp-rock bluffs of Ladder Creek. It matters not how much I enjoy living far away from it, I will always be just a little bit barefoot farmgirl.

I came home and scaled back my plans for my greenhouse, cutting out my planned 24" deep hole under it, filled with compost for heat. I was getting nowhere with all the rocks buried in the ground. I finally quit when the blisters got too big to ignore and I began to rue the dy that I ever thought a greenhouse would be a good idea. So I lay down the wire mesh required to keep out the voles, little garden-wrecking vermin, and now the project requires some materials I cannot get in Summit County, so I am awaiting a trip to Denver to load up.

Last night was the first Diva's ride, a good evening. I got stopped by my nemesis mud-hole again. Here is the story of me and this mudhole and the Divas.

Two years ago, this trail was one of the first rides of the season, as usual. There is one extremely boggy, muddy spot on it that does not dry until late in the season, if at all, and it always presents a dilemma to trail-conscious mountain bikers and hikers. Last time, I was in the lead, it as my first time on this trail when it was muddy, and there as a well-defined trail leading just uphill, bypassing the big muddy spot. I took it, and from behind me, heard, "SUSAN!! NO!! NEVER, EVER, EVER RIDE AROUND THE MUD!! It causes unneccessary erosion!!" And finished the ride with my tail between my legs, feeling stupid for breaking a cardinal rule of mountain biking. Apparently, the bypass trail was a maverick trail and my trail monitor behind me did not think it should be there and was horrified that I should add one more tire rolling over it. Cut to this time. This year, there have been a lot of postings on mountain biking websites, town websites, Mountain biking club's facebook pages, and public awareness meetings about trail maintenance, brought on in part by new wilderness area proposals that cut into mountain biking networks, and they all say the same thing- a hole in the trail because of wheel tracks is not a good thing, but widening trails to ride around the mud is worse and causes more widespread erosion. Ride through the mud. Ride through the standing water. Not around it. So this time, confidently in the lead, I picked the line with the most standing water (riding through standing water causes less damage than riding through mud that will not flow back and smooth your tracks), and about halfway through, I heard, "NO, NO, SUSAN, YOU BAD GIRL!! NEVER, EVER, EVER RIDE THROUGH THE MUD!! It ruins the trail!!" And the entire group nodded with judgement eyes as I stood there balanced on a rock in the middle of the giant mud puddle. This time, I called her on it and asked okay, what exactly should I be doing? If riding around it was wrong, and riding through it was wrong, what options did I have? Apparently, the trail around it was the way she thought I should go, so I obediently shouldered my bike, hopped from rock to rock over to the maverick trail, and remounted, internally rolling my eyes and wondering if I will ever be able to finish this ride without being yelled at because of my mud-puddle practices. By this point, my tail does not have to go between my legs quite as far, because I am beginning to realize that everybody has their own idea of how to navigate mud puddles, and everybody thinks they are the sole advocates of trail care, and everybody will yell at those they do not think are caring for the trails the way they would. And anyway, mud puddles are not my particular pet peeve. They are an issue, yes, but with each mud puddle I decide what it is I should do, and if there are rocks in deep mud, I carry my bike and step on the rocks, and if there is water over the mud, I ride through, and if there is room to squeeze around it without widening the trail, by all means. There is no one right way to navigate a mud puddle. But sliding your tires, on the other hand...definitely my pet peeve. There is nothing I hate more than a slid-out corner, all loose rock, that won't let me make a clean, fast turn because it is all loose sand and rough holes. There is no reason for it. Just a little control, and a little more front brake and a little less back brake, and the switchbacks and steep hills would not be such a loose, sliding nightmare to ride.

Bookings are starting up for the summer. There are seven arrivals today. I have not had more than four since the ski slopes shut down. It is starting- the summer rush. Lazy time is over. Our two months of finding busy work so we can make a little money, and spending lots of time at home is almost passed. We have needed every minute of it to start liking our lives again. Yes, Summit County and us, we are a tentative item again, at least until the next snowfall. I fear that the next ten weeks, until the aspens start to turn and the nights get frosty again, will not be long enough for us to fully forgive this place for last winter, and then we will be in the sequel. And it will be cold, and dark, and the people will be demanding, and the phone will ring, and the snow will blow, and we will be even les in the mood for it as we were last winter.

In the spirit of enjoying summer, B's snowmobiles are for sale. Last winter took us to new levels as far as how us how difficult it is getting to break away. Even one day out of cell-phone range can end in catastrophe. Maybe we need to rethink the mini-getaways and days spent in the backcountry (all of two last winter, and those we payed dearly for) and just take more actual vacations, getting away late into the fall and early in the spring. He bought a small used camper on ebay the other day, which we will totally justify after the snowmobiles are sold, and have plans for many more Moab and Fruita trips now that we do not have to worry about having to stay in motels. Most campgrounds do not allow dogs except in campers. It just seemed like a good compromise, since I think we should always camp, to save money, and B thinks we should always stay in a motel, so he can be warm. Now he can be warm and we can pay much less than a motel would charge us to keep him warm. And we can bring the dog along.

And now, off to do my thing. There is work, and babysitting this evening, and cleaning my house, and it is a gorgeous day outside.