After eleven years of full time RVing I still fuss and stew about seasonal migrations, and when finally embarking on the geographical drama I literally feel a lump in my throat, as silly as that sounds. That didn't happen this time. I was halfway down the Upper Arkansas River on my way to Buena Vista before I realized that the seasonal drama was taking place, inadvertently. I felt cheated.
Once again it's time for Leadville's annual 100 mile foot race. That's no typo. Leadville itself (10,200 feet) might have snow, and the poor runners will go up to 12,000. It's probably the worst weather of what is left of summer.
The weather was good last year but the poor devils looked like they were going to die at the end. Imagine the closeups of people's faces this year. Why do people do such a thing?
One week ago Leadville had its mountain bike race. There was a special excitement over Lance Armstrong in the race. I drove in at dawn to watch the start. Every parking place on the street was already taken. There were millions of dollars of expensive bikes, everywhere, twitching like nervous race horses.
At the starting line I made no effort to see Lance. Instead I climbed onto a mailbox in order to get an aerial view of the crowd of mountain bike racers. Damsel after damsel handed her camera up to me.
It was fun to study the rheology of the race's start. It was like a landslide at the front, and then layer after layer of waiting cyclist liquefied and flowed down the steep street.
