Clubs, 'Vettes and Turbulence

When Son Rogue was younger, he and I started a tradition of going to a Rockies game each year near his birthday and Father’s Day, since those two occasions are often only a few days apart. In recent years, as our lives had become busier, we had gotten away from that tradition. This year, SR surprised me with a birthday gift of club level seats to a Rockies game the day after Father’s Day.

Let me just say this about that. The club level at Coors Field is really nice. I mean really nice. The club area, behind the seats, is indoors, air-conditioned, carpeted, tiled and staffed with very polite people. Oh, and there is lots of good food to choose from, much better than the options that the poor unwashed masses sitting in the “regular” seats have.

In addition to the nice surroundings, the people sitting in the club seats seem to be better behaved than elsewhere in the stadium. It was quite refreshing to not sit near some guy that thinks he knows everything about baseball because he "almost made his high school junior varsity team…"

The view of the field is terrific from up there, and it’s a great location for foul balls. The gentlemen sitting in the row in front of us brought his glove along, just in case. He also took out a second mortgage to buy a beer. Somewhere around the third inning he set his glove down to take a sip of beer. Unfortunately the batter didn’t see him do that and sent a foul ball towards our section. Our mortgagee instinctively reached for the ball, spilling his beer in the process. Our section heaped a lot of good natured abuse on the guy, and he laughed it off.

During in the middle of the game, some ominous looking helicopters started flying near the stadium. SR and I guessed that it was some sort of practice for the upcoming convention here, and SR verified it on his blackberry. About 2500 police officers were involved in the exercise, except for the three sitting behind us, who were in plain clothes and enjoying the game. Since they carry guns for a living we decided not to ask them why they weren’t training with their fellow officers…

One of the risks of the club level is that it attracts frat-boy types of all ages, including the father-son duo sitting a few rows in front of us. Dad, let’s call him “Dick” (the reason will become obvious), was well-dressed, wearing tasseled loafers, nice slacks, suspenders, and an expensive shirt and tie. He was well coiffed and thought that he “had it goin’ on.” It almost worked too, except that instead of removing his tie, he just loosened it and spun it around on his neck so the tie was pointing toward his ass. Not to be outdone, Dick’s son wore his glasses backwards on his head for most of the game. They were not sunglasses, but regular glasses, you know, for seeing. Ahh, frat-boys…

Oh yeah, the game. The Rockies didn’t play well, and were shut out until the bottom of the 9th inning. The only highlights were when Willie Taveras nailed a runner at the plate with a terrific throw from center field, and pinch-hitter Aaron Cook, who is a pitcher, hitting a first pitch single to left field. Other than that, it was a tough night for the Rocks…

Thirteen hours after the game ended I was on a plane heading to Nashville. I to had help solve some construction problems at a place north of Bowling Green, Kentucky. You may know this pace as Mammoth Cave National Park.

I had never heard of Bowling Green, Kentucky. I always thought that Bowling Green was in Ohio. Apparently, there are at least two Bowling Greens.

Bowling Green, Kentucky is the home of

Western Kentucky University

and, interestingly enough, the

Corvette Assembly Plant

and the

National Corvette Museum

Some of the people I met with suggested that I take a tour of the assembly plant, but I was afraid that I would’ve been compelled to purchase a new Corvette after the tour ended. And since I don’t have “65-large” sitting around that I don’t know what to do with, I thought it best to stay away. Besides, I probably couldn’t afford the gas to drive it home.

The highlight of the trip for me was on Thursday when my colleagues and I ate lunch at the Pig Diner in Pig, Kentucky. I would provide a link to their website, but Pig and the diner are located in

Edmonson County, Kentucky

which is in a very impoverished part of the United States. Nonetheless, the food at the Pig diner was outstanding, and I highly recommend it. Oh, and while some of the folks that eat there wear suspenders, don’t show up at the diner wearing your tie ass-backwards…

The trip back home was uneventful, except for the severe turbulence our plane experienced over southeastern Colorado. We hit a pocket of rough air that must’ve caused the plane to drop several hundred feet. When it happened, everyone let out an involuntary “Ooooooooo” and the plane shook and rattled.

At least that’s what I’m told.

You don’t hear too well when you’re curled up in the fetal position, screaming like a little baby…

Huh?

Spanning the globe, bringing hard-hitting news directly to your screen. Here are the stories you could probably do without….


This is a bad day…

Nude Man Rescued from Portable Toilet

A frat party gone terribly wrong…

Thong-Masked Robbers

But Daddy, I’m the princess!

Horseplay

We all get cravings from time to time…

The Wild Asparagus is Ready

It might be time to drop a few lbs….

Moonshot

Roots

In 1937, a young man left his farm near Bethany, Missouri and came to a small town in northeastern Colorado. Shortly after arriving in Windsor, my grandfather purchased a service station on the edge of town and began to build a new life. In March of the following year, his wife and 7 children joined him in Colorado.

Grandpa R was an interesting guy. In his forties, he enlisted in the Army during WWII, and served with the Persian Gulf Command in what is present day Iran. As I mentioned previously, in the February 8, 2007 edition of Suburban Rogue , I remember him telling me about seeing the Queen Mary while in that part of the world. Upon his discharge from the Army, Grandpa R returned to Windsor and opened Roy’s Market, a grocery store near the east end of Main Street.

In April of 1958, a few weeks before I was born, Grandpa R was elected Mayor of Windsor. Highway 392, which leads from I-25 down the hill into Windsor, exists largely because of his efforts while Mayor. Grandpa R also was the Fire Chief for awhile, and later in life he drove a school bus. He was also very active in his Army alumni group, frequently traveling to conventions throughout the U.S.

My brother, who has built a very successful electrical contacting business, and his family live in Windsor. Last Sunday, my niece graduated from Windsor High School, the latest in a long string of “R’s” to do so. My relatives have been graduating from that school for about seven decades.

I’m glad to report that my brother and his family are safe and uninjured after today’s terrible events. Their home, which is located about 1 mile from the worst of the devastation, suffered some minor damage, as did their cars.

The beautiful, tranquil cemetery where my grandparents are buried is located in the heart of the most affected area. Many of the large trees in the cemetery were uprooted by the tornado.

I’m sure many you have seen pictures or video of the devastation caused by the tornado today. The people of Windsor are in for some difficult times in the coming weeks.

They’re gonna to be ok though, there’s a legacy of strength to draw upon…

Daiquiri de Naranja

At the completion of my 50th trip around the sun, having traveled over 29 billion miles,* give or take a few million, I found myself on a beach, looking at the turquoise blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. A beach seemed like a good place to rest after such a long journey…

Our trip started with a 2:00 am wake-up. I don’t recommend heading out on vacation with just three hours of sleep. Mrs. R and I arrived at a deserted airport at about 4:30 am, easily found parking, checked-in to our flight, and were assigned seats 1A and 1B. They give that kind of treatment to rock stars and old farts celebrating their birthday. If you’re an old fart - rock star celebrating your birthday, you receive, in addition to preferential seating, a full can of soda on your flight…

We arrived at the Cancun airport early Wednesday afternoon. It was overcast, and there was a very light rain falling. By the time we had made it through customs and negotiated the gauntlet of timeshare salesmen and taxi drivers, the rain had stopped. We found our pre-arranged transportation to the resort,

Iberostar Paraiso Maya

and were standing in sunny paradise about 45 minutes later.

The Iberostar Paraiso is located about 30 or 40 minutes south of Cancun, on the Yucatan Peninsula. The Yucatan Peninsula was home to the Mayan empire, and there are several spectacular ruins in this part of the world, including the UNESCO World Heritage site

Chichen Itza

Many of the people that live and work on the Yucatan Peninsula are direct descendants of the Mayans. These are beautiful people, friendly, warm, and with smiles that could light up the darkest of rooms.

As we were checking in, we were served a delicious tropical drink, with pineapple and orange juice and I don’t what else. The young lady at the check-in desk then offered to upgrade our room, from the “Lindo” to the “Maya” at no additional cost. The Maya rooms are suites, and the building we were assigned to had its own private pool. Heck, even I could do that math…

After we got the luggage up to our room, we went to the lunch buffet, were enjoyed a 6000 calorie lunch, and then wandered around the resort, trying to figure out where everything was. We strolled along the beach were I enjoyed the, ahem, “scenery,” while Mrs. R enjoyed the water and the sand and the sun.

On Thursday morning we headed out to the beach. Mrs. R worked on her tan while enjoying a tropical beverage and I went snorkeling. The swim beach was roped off, to keep motorized craft such as jet skis away from the swimmers. I snorkeled out to the rope, and then along the boundary for awhile, and then turned and headed back toward the beach. Mrs. R apparently lost track of me while I was in the water, but soon located me when hundreds of people ran screaming from the beach as a large, pear-shaped, alabaster-white creature carrying snorkeling gear emerged from the sea…

By the time Mrs. R reached me, I was watching the chef’s prepare a large pot of paella over an open fire on the beach, while simultaneously observing (in the name of science) the gals preparing for the bikini contest. I told her I was just trying to take in the whole beach experience, but Mrs. R is not one to be fooled easily, and this day was no exception…

We spent Thursday afternoon at the pool,

and discovered the swim-up bar and the delicious Daiquiri De Naranja. Mrs. R also took this photo where my right arm appears to have become detached from the rest of me. Musta been those Daiquiris….

Friday we spent the entire day at the pool where Mrs. R sipped Margarita’s and I took an impromptu Spanish lesson. I had some trouble at first pronouncing “Naranja.” Fortunately our poolside waitress, who was a very sweet young lady, took some time to teach me the correct pronunciation. She also made sure that our drinks were kept fresh throughout the day.

When our waitress went on her lunch break, the swim-up bar took on an added importance. Here is Mrs. R leaving the swim-up bar, heroically rescuing a couple of drinks from drowning…

Saturday we once again headed to breakfast buffet. As we entered the restaurant, we were handed mimosas, as was every other adult. It was very thoughtful of the resort to give everybody a mimosa on my 50th birthday… I ate a celebratory breakfast which included, among other things, a large bowl of Kellogg’s Froot Loops. Hey, just because I’m 50 and a card carrying member of AARP doesn’t mean I have to give in to the whole “Senior Citizen Thing.” Besides, I took all of my medicine before breakfast and was wearing my orthopedic shoes, so I thought it would be ok…

We decided to head back to the beach after breakfast; I really wanted to try snorkeling again. Unfortunately, I forgot to check with Mother Nature about my plans. The red flags were flying at the beach, which means no swimming. It was very windy and 3 and 4 foot high waves were rolling in. A couple of the lifeguards tried swimming in the roiling water, but even they turned back after a short distance. To a novice snorkeler, the water looked very intimidating. We hung out at the beach for awhile, were I continued my “monokini” observations and Mrs. R worked on her tan.

We left the beach, and then did a couple of laps on the lazy river. Let’s just say the lazy river is appropriately named…

There is some interesting wildlife at the resort. The

Coati

hung out along the boardwalk from the pool to the beach. They seemed like friendly little guys, as long as you had some food to give them.

The

Yucatan Jay

spent their time in the tropical forest between the beach and the pool.

Speaking of wildlife, Mrs. R experienced an unfortunate Speedo incident at the pool bar one afternoon. It seems a rather large gentleman, who was clearly old enough to know better, thought he looked good in a tiny black Speedo. I’m guessing he was the only person who thought this. Anyway, while Mrs. R was at the pool bar one sunny afternoon, this guy came up next to her and ordered a drink. However, instead of sitting on the stool, he put one leg up on the stool, apparently to show off his, ahem, “asset.” Mrs. R broke into hysterical laughter, spilling her and several other people’s drinks, and causing a minor commotion at the pool bar.

Sunday came all too quickly, and we headed to the airport. It was an entertaining ride, since we had the pleasure of riding with Stanley and Sally Sanctimonious who passed judgment on most everything.

As we passed the resort conference center, I remarked that it looked like a great place to hold some meetings. Sally informed me that they “had been in the conference center last night and it was very modern. Very modern.” Golly-wollickers Sally, you mean they got E-leck-tricity, and runnin’ water, and all them newfangled thangs?

As we got closer to the airport, we had to make a couple of stops at some other resorts to pick up more travelers. To get to one of them we had to drive on a dirt road, past dozens of acres of dead forest. Sally wondered why all the trees were dead. I suggested that it was caused by

Hurrican Wilma

which struck the Yucatan in 2005. Sally wasn’t buying it, because she had never seen anything like it before, so therefore it couldn’t possibly be…

We reached the resort, and Stanley hopped out to have a look around. He came back to the van and pronounced “our hotel is much nicer than this one.” To which Sally responded in hushed tones “I think it’s because this place is for Spanish people…”

Yikes. Apparently you don’t have to look too far to find ugly Americans...

We had a great time in Mexico. The beach and the pool and the people and the Daiquir de Naranja's were all very therapeutic and I left feeling a lot younger than my 50 years.

Can't wait to get back down there...

* For those of you interested in checking my math, first of all, get a life; here’s my logic:

The circumference of the earth at 40 degrees north latitude is approximately 19,000 miles, so living near Denver you travel a 19,000 mile circle in one day. One trip around the sun is an additional approximately 584,000,000 miles. To account for leap year, use 365.25 days per year. Combining both the rotational and translational distances:

[584,000,000 + (365.25 x 19,000)] x 50 ≈ 29.5 billion

Ralphie

As was mentioned in the April 20th edition of

Suburban Rogue

the most exciting moment of the 2008 CU spring game was Ralphie’s run after halftime. After an exhaustive search, a not-so-exclusive video of that moment has been located…

Enjoy!

Ralphie's Run

Spring is Here!

Some weekends are busier than others…

On Friday I talked to a group of very energetic 5th graders about structural engineering, amazingly, none of them nodded off. Then they built structures using gumdrops and spaghetti. The object was to build the most efficient tower, which is the ratio of height to cost. Gumdrops cost $1.00, and spaghetti $0.50, because as most structural engineers (and even some architects) know, connections are always more important than beams and columns. The winning team scored a 0.84 which is very, very good.

Saturday afternoon I was part of a record setting crowd of almost 18,000 Buff fans who turned out for the annual spring football game, pitting the Black Team from the University of Colorado vs. the Gold Team from the University of Colorado. This is a very clever trick that all college football coaches use because it ensures that no matter what, your team always wins the spring game…

CU Spring Game

The Buffs unveiled their new no-huddle offense, which is all the rage these days in college football. They moved the ball okay, but they still struggled with the running game. The defense gave up some passing yards and I think that might be a real problem during the upcoming season. Special teams had two blocked punts and one blocked field goal attempt, that’s a good news – bad news sort of thing. You like to see your team make those kinds of plays, but you hate to see your team give up those kinds of plays.

For me the highlight of the day was during halftime, when former players from the 1940’s through the 2000’s were introduced and brought on to the field. Colorado is one of the top 25 “winningest” programs in college football history,

I-A Winning Percentage 1869-2007

and to see these legends back on Folsom Field was a thrill. When these men all gathered together at midfield and sang the school fight song, well, it raised goose bumps on the outside of me, and stirred something very deep inside of me. They left the field to a standing ovation. Phew, what a moment!

The most exciting play of the day was made by newcomer Ralphie V, the Buffs latest mascot. Ralphie V is an 18 month old American Bison who is very quick. When she led the Buffs onto the field after halftime, she took off in a hurry, causing one of her handlers to fall. She ran right over the top of him, I couldn’t tell from my vantage point if she stepped on the handler or not, but after she passed he rose to his knees and threw his fists into the air. Sometimes the toughest guys on the field aren’t necessarily the ones wearing helmets and shoulder pads.

By the time Ralphie had made it to the far sideline, she had broken free from all but one of her handlers, and this poor guy was hanging on for dear life. The handlers finally got her cornered on about the 40 yard line on the west side of the stadium, and she made the rest of her trip around the field without incident. (Note to Reader: I scoured the Internet looking for a video of this exciting run, but was unsuccessful...)

Ralphie V may slow down a bit by the start of next season, since she is expected to gain 500 or so more pounds by then. If I was CSU, or Eastern Washington or West Virginia or Texas or Kansas State or Iowa State or Oklahoma State, I would be very concerned...

Sunday I took a snorkeling lesson. It was the class of Larry’s – a retired couple and their grandson, and me. Grandpa’s name is Lawrence, and his grandson’s name is Larry. Larry, his parents and grandparents are heading to Cozumel in June to celebrate Larry’s graduation from high school. Lawrence is a retired fire-fighter and is in excellent condition, he is also a heckuva nice guy.

The four of us, along with our instructor Dennis, watched a short video and then headed to the pool at

Underwater Phantaseas

our local suburban dive shop.

The first thing we learned was how to adjust and put on our gear. As you can see from the photo at the top of this blog, I had already been working on that. It was important to me not to look like some kind of goofball…

Grandson Larry was clearly the star of the class, quickly mastering the pike dive and efficiently cleaning the bottom of the pool of all of the rubber fish. I did manage to snag one fake manta ray off the bottom, but it took a couple of attempts.

I earned the snorkeling equivalent of a gold star for my version of the “giant stride” step off move, which is what you’re supposed to use when leaving a diving platform from a boat.

Once I got used to breathing through the snorkel I found I could easily move through the water, and my only concern was crashing into the pool wall, which fortunately never happened.

Not bad for a slightly uncoordinated dork with two left feet…

Gone Country

Mrs. R and I are about 7 miles above the heartland as I write this, returning home after 5 days in Nashville. I went to Nashville to attend the North American Steel Construction Conference, and tricked Mrs. R into coming along, even though she wasn’t real keen on being around several hundred engineers for 5 days. Come to think of it, neither was I…

A little history…

Fort Nashborough was founded on Christmas day in 1779, and named after Revolutionary War general Francis Nash. Due to its location near the Cumberland River, Nashville was a vital transportation and trade hub. Nashville’s strategic location made it a key city, and during the Civil War, the city fell to the Union in 1862.

Today Nashville is home to more than 800 churches as well as the headquarters of the Southern Baptist Convention. Oh yeah, they play a little music there too. There are well over 100 recording studios in Nashville, and about 300 or so in the greater Nashville area.

We arrived in the Music City on a cool but sunny Tuesday afternoon. We checked into our hotel, the Renaissance, and then headed out to orient ourselves to the city. An interesting tidbit about the hotel, there is a chocolate sculpture of a guitar in the lobby, near the elevators. It was apparently inspired by an Aerosmith song, “Love in the Elevator,” which is about exactly what the title suggests…

Since I am much older than Mrs. R, and tire easily when traveling, we decided to head back to our room early and call it a night. Our peaceful slumber was interrupted by our redneck neighbors; it had to be Delbert and Nadine, at about 4:00am when they arrived in their room after a long night of Honky-Tonkin’. We were kept awake for awhile, as they were apparently inspired by the chocolate guitar, and engaged in some very noisy love-making. Delbert and Nadine would awaken us nightly with their goings-on, and well, it was pretty irritating, in a voyeuristic (look that one up, Delbert!) sort of a way. Very classy, those two. I’m sure they’re the most fabulous couple in their trailer park…

My first seminar wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon, so we spent that morning at the

Country Music Hall of Fame

What a cool place. Everything you could possibly want to know about country music is there, from the earliest days to the present. In addition, they have an extensive collection of recordings, photographs, and motion pictures. Next time you’re in Nashville, spend a few hours there, you won’t be disappointed.

That afternoon I attended some seminars while Mrs. R scoped out the local food and music scene. She discovered a place called Rippy’s, which is on Broadway, right across from all of the famous (infamous?) Honky-Tonks. Rippy’s is a barbecue place with the added benefit of nightly live music. We had an incredible dinner, (chicken for Mrs. R, pulled pork for me) and listened to

Tommy Townsend

perform for a couple of hours

Tommy and his guitarist friend, whose name escapes me (although it wasn’t his normal sidekick, Daryl, who was, as Tommy described, “laid out drunk.”), played mostly classic country; a lot of Merle and Waylon and Johnny, and George; my favorite was a cover of Garth Brooks’ “I’m Much Too Young to Feel this Damn Old,” and George Straits’ “Amarillo by Morning.” What struck both of us was how down to earth Tommy was, it was as if your neighbor had invited you over for a beer and pulled out his guitar. What a terrific evening!

Thursday followed with a day full of seminars, including one by a gentleman named Socrates.

Socrates Ioannides

is a structural engineer in Nashville who has designed several buildings of note all over the world, including the Renaissance Hotel. He is a character - with his headful of bushy white hair, a drooping moustache, and sharp a sense of humor, he reminded me of Mark Twain. Socrates is also one of the top structural engineers on the planet, and his seminar was the best one I attended.

Thursday night was the “Conference Dinner” which consisted of exclusive use of the 7 adjacent Honky-Tonks along Honky-Tonk row. Folks by the name of Cash and Nelson and Cline and Kristofferson are some of the people to have frequented these places over the years.

We went through the buffet line, and loaded up on some delicious food from

Jacks Bar-b-que

and headed into

The Stage

where Chad Street was performing. He and his band were having a great time, and soon so was everyone else. Chad and his band easily moved from country songs to countrified versions of Eagles and Bob Seger songs, to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Hearing “Sweet Home Alabama” played live, south of the Mason-Dixon Line, was a memorable experience!

So was hearing Wild Cherry’s “Play That Funky Music White Boy” performed by a country band in a Nashville Honky-Tonk. As Chad and his band moved from one type of music to another, and it made you realize that whether the music is country or the blues or rock-and-roll, it all has the same DNA…

The people watching was also very entertaining that evening. At the start of the evening, as we entered the tent which was set up behind the Honky-Tonks, and where the buffet lines were located, we were greeted by a Wynona Judd look-alike. I naively figured it was just one of those kitschy Nashville things, kinda like Elvis impersonators in Vegas. Mrs. R, however, had a different take. Later on, at The Stage, she noticed Wynona working the room, and not just as an ambassador for the city, but rather as a, ahem, “Professional Woman.” Nuthin’ like some good ol’ southern hospitality, I reckon.

Some of the engineers and steel fabricators attending the conference had brought their significant others to the conference, and some of the couples at The Stage decided to dance. It’s really quite humorous to watch engineers dance, and Mrs. R repeatedly thanked me for “not being the worst dancer in the world.” You’re welcome honey. Bet I’m in the bottom 100, though…

Anyway, a 40-ish couple took the floor and they were clearly the best dancers in the building. Their skill so inspired a drunken conference attendee that he cut in, twirled his new partner a couple of times, tripped and fell, bringing her down on the back of her head. A few minutes later the police and paramedics came and our dancer left with a big ice pack on the back of her head. Chad Street and his band never stopped playing while all of this was going on. Man, this Honky-Tonkin’ stuff is pretty exciting.

For me, Friday was a long day of seminars on Seismic Engineering. While it was all interesting stuff, I won’t bore you with the details, well, except for F=ma. Mrs. R, however, seemed to have had a much more exciting day.

She had to barricade herself in our room when two hotel employees got into a fight, complete with punches thrown, right outside of our room. Mrs. R called the hotel emergency line, and the “Brawl in the Hall” ended shortly thereafter. The Renaissance is a beautiful hotel, but they may need to review their personnel and hiring practices.

We awoke to a chilly Saturday morning and had some time to kill before heading to the airport. We thought about taking a tour of the legendary

Ryman Auditorium

and possibly recording a song in their recording studio. But Mrs. R was rightfully concerned that our duet would likely damage the recording equipment beyond repair, and that this would suddenly become a very expensive trip.

Instead, we strolled along Broadway, past the Honky-Tonks and street musicians. On a whim, we decided to go into Boot Country, which was advertising “Buy 1 Pair, Get 2 Pair Free.” We were helped by a gentleman who claimed to be a guitarist/singer and was clearly hung-over (what are the chances, a hung-over musician selling boots to make ends meet in Nashville?). He shared a parable with us about the last time he was in Denver, and how he was humbled by his encounter with a person down who was down their luck. He was also very charming and was sporting some mighty fine custom-made red and white cowboy boots. “Kinda like what ol’ Hank used to wear” is what he told us.

We were clearly charmed by our itinerant musician/salesman, and before we knew it, Mrs. R and left Boot Country with three brand new pairs of cowboy boots, including some shiny yellow ones that Mrs. R is dyin’ to show the girls at work.

Wow, what a week!

I’ve been to several cities in the south and, without exception, left them feeling less than inspired. Nashville is different though. This place has soul. Whether it’s the music, the barbecue, or the friendly people, I’m not really sure. But I am sure that the combination is hard to beat.

So long for now, Nashville…