You might be from Colorado if

A winter statistic: 98% OF AMERICANS SCREAM BEFORE GOING IN THE DITCH ON A SLIPPERY ROAD. THE OTHER 2% ARE FROM COLORADO AND THEY SAY, 'HOLD MY SODA AND WATCH THIS!'

For rednecks, especially those of the mountain trailer trash breed (you've met us, even though you might not know it), that above sentence is usually uttered while at the wheel of a 12-year-old sedan.

NOW: You're from Colorado if you'll eat ice cream in the winter. Are you kidding? I stock my freezer with popsicles first thing in December. And we're not the only ones in the Costco line with a jumbo pack of Orange Dreamsicles, either.

When the weather report says it's going to be 65 degrees, you shave your legs and wear a skirt. That's in the spring. In the winter, the shave-legs-and-wear-skirt point is 47. Shorts for guys (and those of us who wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt) is at a clear 42 degree day.

It snows 5 inches and you don't expect school to be canceled. No shit. Five with seven more on the way means get an early start, the school won't be starting late.

You'll wear flip flops every day of the year, regardless of temperature. No, we'll wear Birkenstock sandals. Flip-flops don't happen until late May; the snow will suck them off your feet.

You have no accent at all, but can hear other people's. Actually, I must disagree here. Colorado has a few accents, which no non-Coloradan can pick up. Mostly, you can tell if someone's from the Front range, ranch country, the Western Slope, or right up Jack Frost's asscrack on the Divide. You think I'm kidding. Spend a winter in a trailer in Buena Vista.

And then you make fun of them. Okay, we'll make fun of people's accents, but mostly northeaserners. "Hey, nor-easter! That 'sat-ah-lights' means snowplow. No, you don't get snow where you're from. You ain't seen nothin' yet." Sometime's that's followed by "Hold my soda and watch this."

'Humid' is over 25%. Damn straight. And this constant 45% we've been having means our swamp cooler won't function, except to give us new and creative mold problem. Really, the other day, I held a board meeting with all the various strains of mold that want to live in our bathroom. The toilet mold isn't getting his damage deposit back, the shower mold is getting evicted before he even gets to move in, and the mold that wants to happen on the ceiling because of the damn swamp cooler malfunctioning got hit with agent orange.

Your sense of direction is: Toward the mountains and away from the mountains. Is there any other way? March me across a compound hill leading into a drainage that will run 40 miles before it hits flat land, and I will be able to point where we came from. March me out on flat land and ask me the same thing, and I will get it very wrong.

You say 'the interstate' and everybody knows which one. Well, we only have two. Say "the highway" and everyone knows what you mean, too. Just give a number, like "24, 25, 285, 17," (ut-hut-hike!), and folks will know whether you mean Interstate, U.S., or Colorado road, too.

You think that May is a totally normal month for a blizzard. June's pretty normal, too, in Jack Frost's asscrack, oops, I mean the Divide.

You buy your flowers to set out on Mother's day, but try and hold off planting them until just before Father's day. There's any other way?

You grew up planning your Halloween costumes around your coat. I went as a fireman one time just so I got to wear heavy canvas duds. Another time I went as Chewbacca just so I could wear fur to stay warm. We only had three dry Halloweens when I was growing up, and one of then was 17 degrees.

You know what the Continental Divide is. Who doesn't?

You don't think Coors beer is that big a deal. They bought the whole town, of course it's a big deal. It just isn't any good from a beer or supply chain standpoint.

You went to Casa Bonita as a kid, and as an adult. And take every visitor there, too.

You've gone off-roading in a vehicle that was never intended for such activities. Can you say "Jeeping in an MG 1100?" How about "Towing a big-ass trailer up a dirt mountain road with a '93 Olsmobile Cutlass" Been there, done that. How about "Towed someone out of a mild Colorado ditch with an '83 Mustang?" Hell yeah. I always say, if you get stuck anywhere in Colorado, wait and a local will help you. If you get stuck within 90 miles of Denver, call me, we'll get you out.

You always know the elevation of where you are. 5373 feet.

You wake up to a beautiful, 80 degree day and you wonder if it's going to snow tomorrow. Or thundersnow. I didn't know that was possible until it happened. I thought the Reds had attacked. With a nuke.

You don't care that some company renamed it, the Broncos still play at Mile High.

Every movie theater has military and student discounts. Seriously, is that abnormal?

Everybody wears jeans to church. Some folks ride quads to church. I saw one feller ride a horse one time.

You actually know that ** South Park ** is a real place not just a show on TV. You also know that the really weird people are just over the pass on either side of South Park.

You know what a 'trust fund hippy' is, and you know its natural habitat is Boulder. Drinking Fat Tire Ale and saving the whales.

But where else do you have such a Postcard view from you front/back porch! Somewhere that's NOT Boulder.

You know you're talking to a fellow Coloradoan when they call it Elitches, not Six Flags. Fuck Six Flags. It will always be Elitch's, (both spellings are acceptable), and not to see Elitch's is not to see Denver.

A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you. It does tend to bother other people, though, so you'll probably throw a firecracker at it. Tom did that once, the bear jumped straight up out of his dumpster, hit the ground running, and never came back.

Your two favorite teams are the Broncos and whoever is beating the crap out of the Raiders. Except last season. The Broncos were' not on that list last year, but Elam was. Trading him was the dumbest thing that franchise has ever done.

When people out East tell you they have mountains in their state, too, you just laugh. They're hills. That's why y'all are called hillbillies. We've got hillbillies here, too, but here, they live in the FOOThills, and the real dangerous moonshiners, hunters, and general backwoods boys live up past the foothills, in the front or second range of the MOUNTAINS.

You go anywhere else on the planet and the air feels 'sticky' and you notice the sky is no longer blue. It's been sticky around here lately, too. Wouldn't it suck if the overall change in climate patterns that "global warming" is going to cause put us smack dab in the middle of a cold, wet zone?

Listen up dumbass!

This is a public service announcement brought to you by Common Sense. If you are unfamiliar with Common Sense's portfolio, let me direct you to such stunning works as Run When You Hear Police Sirens, Get Underground When You Hear Tornado/Air-Raid Sirens, Come in Out of the Rain, Don't Smoke Near the Tanker Truck, and Stay Off Other People's Property After Dark Especially in Texas.

It has recently come to my attention that wrist injuries are by far the leading injury among snowboarders. I suppose this shouldn't suprise me, since experience has shown me that snowboarders are just as dumb as skateboarders, only snowboarders' brains are chilled, making them run even slower.

I really hate skateboarders. No, let me rephrase. I really hate skateboarders who think the ability to not fall off makes them better than anyone else. But they always forget that apparently the process of learning involved several sound smacks of the head on pavement when they calculate that opinion. Unforunately, that cooler-than-thou attitude prevails among them.

Of course, afficionados of one boardsport are likely to try and enjoy another, so it is only natural that that same keeping-up-with-the-Joneses-and-trying-to-out-dumbass-each-other crowd would be drawn to snowboarding, which is basically skateboarding, only different. Both cultures seem to love the idea of doing tricks, or as I like to call them, temporarily breaking up with the ground and then getting back together, only now she's pissed. I've skateboarded. I've snowboarded. They're not the same. Don't tell me they are.

Of course, when I say I've skateboarded, I mean to say that I have gotten one foot onto a skateboard, and sometimes two, before going some small distance and landing on my ass.

In both skateboarding and snowboarding, it is commonly considered cool to teach yourself. I think that's really just a great way to prove yourself to be a real world-class tool. Formal lessons? Fuck those. I'll just ride up this mountain strapped to a board which changes the physics of my body entirely, then discover that I have to come back down somehow. That somehow is probably by spending most of my time on my face, ass, or hands, and spending very little actually upright and in control.

Ever seen a car parked on a hill, but without the parking brake set? Seen it slowly take off and pick up speed down that hill, all the while being an unguided two-ton missle? Unlike in skateboarding, where you run out of hill, in snowboarding, the inexperienced boarder has basically made himself into the human version of that car. Trouble is, the car doesn't unexpectedly catch an edge and slam windsheild-first into the pavement. People do.

People who never learned to fall properly, which is an accurate desription for most participants in all land-based boardsports, will stick out their hands in front of them when falling. If they fall backwards, their stick their arms out behind them. No, no, NO!

I've done it couple of times. Precisely twice. Both times I failed to catch myself onto my wrists, for which I consider myself lucky, and instead injured my shoulder such that I couldn't even lift a glass with that hand for a couple of weeks. Every other time I've fallen, I've tucked my arms in. It's only when you're tired or uninformed that you will want to stcik a hand out. That will do one of two things: one, it will put a tremendous shock through your wrist and quite easily break it (give up that piano, guitar, drum, or video game career!), or two, it will act as a large lever and turn you into a human slot machine. It will wrench your shoulder back and leave you in too much pain to move, eyes rolled back in your head, making all sorts of strange and otherworldly noises, not to mention the new and creative string of obscenities you will suddenly find yourself employing. You've just hit the inconvenience jackpot!

It is everyone's natural instinct to stick a hand out when falling. I dohn't really know how this got naturally selected, since sticking a hand out never results in something good.

When you catch an edge snowboarding, it is like you have been tackled by a pro football defensive lineman who hates your guts. Really, try it when you're going down a slope at speeds otherwise only attainable in a car. Not gonna do that again, are ya?

But it happens again and again as you're learning, and as you traverse terrain you don't know, even as a hot-shit "expert." Especially icy spring slopes. But if you fall once onto your hand and once the proper way, you'll immediately learn what not to do. No more having to think about it. Trouble is, nobody seems to even know how to fall, let alone employ it.

Pull your damn hands in!

Now you got no excuse. You know what will happen if you keep falling the way you have been, and you know how to properly fall. Flailing about like an uninformed animal and breaking your wrist is not cool, and will not attract the ski bunnies.

Besides, they're already in the hot tub with me.

You ain't in Washington no more

I got this email the other day... rang so true. Folks, when you go to the South (primarily redneck country), you're not in your element anymore. Don't make fun of 'em, okay? Especially not in front of no 10-year-olds (you'll see why). I ain't from the South, Colorado born and raised, but a lot of this is true all over the country to some degree. I might amend the "four men in a pickup truck" one, though, to also include:

"If you get stuck in a snowstorm anywhere near civilization, don't worry, two or more people (odds are, they're going to be mountain rednecks) will be along with shovels and tow chains. 'Ya'll ain't from aroung here, are ya? See, we don't go uphill this time of the year.' It's what we live for. In the winter, at least. Even if the folks in question only have cars, trust me, they'll get you out of three foot snow. We know what we're doing; don't interfere."


The North and SouthThe North has Bloomingdale's, the South has Dollar General.

The North has coffee houses, the South has Waffle Houses.

The North has dating services, the South has family reunions.

The North has switchblade knives; the South has Lee Press-on Nails.

The North has double last names; the South has double first names.

The North has Indy car races; The South has stock car races.

North has Cream of Wheat, the South has grits.

The North has green salads, the South has collard greens.

The North has lobsters, the South has craw fish.

The North has the rust belt; the South has the Bible Belt.

FOR NORTHERNERS MOVING SOUTH . . . In the South: --If you run your car into a ditch, don't panic. Four men in a four-wheel drive pickup truck with a tow chain will be along shortly. Don't try to help them, just stay out of their way. This is what they live for.

Don't be surprised to find movie rentals and bait in the same store.... do not buy food at this store.

Remember, 'Y'all' is singular, 'all y'all' is plural, and 'all y'all's' is plural possessive.

Get used to hearing 'You ain't from round here, are ya?'

Save all manner of bacon grease. You will be instructed later on how to use it.

(I've been made fun of for this, but it's true. Bacon grease is an excellent foodstuff, and should not be wasted.)

Don't be worried at not understanding what people are saying. They can't understand you either.

The first Southern statement to creep into a transplanted Northerner's vocabulary is the adjective 'big'ol,' truck or 'big'ol' boy. Most Northerners begin their Southern-influenced dialect this way. All of them are in denial about it. The proper pronunciation you learned in school is no longer proper.

Be advised that 'He needed killin.' is a valid defense here.

If you hear a Southerner exclaim, 'Hey, y'all watch this,' you should stay out of the way. These are likely to be the last words he'll ever say.

If there is the prediction of the slightest chance of even the smallest accumulation of snow, your presence is required at the local grocery store. It doesn't matter whether you need anything or not. You just have to go there.

(except here in the Rockies, instead of the HILLS, where if anything less than three feet is predicted, your presence is required at work. Don't worry, we'll dig you out the first few times.)

Do not be surprised to find that 10-year olds own their own shotguns, they are proficient marksmen, and their mammas taught them how to aim.

In the South, we have found that the best way to grow a lush green lawn is to pour gravel on it and call it a driveway.

(Seriously, you want green stuff, act like you don't give a damn about it)

AND REMEMBER: If you do settle in the South and bear children, don't think we will accept them as Southerners. After all, if the cat had kittens in the oven, we wouldn't call 'em biscuits.

Way to land, dude.

I've heard a lot lately that the proper way to snowboard is upright, on one's board, not flat on one's face. The main reason for this is probably the road rash I have all over my face right now from landing on rough spring ice. Other than that, though, I have had a great time on a snowboard, feeding my need to sometimes walk a knife's edge between getting home safe and coming home in a pine box.

I don't really know why some people love to take their life into their hands, toss it around, and bet it all on red 13 for a couple of spins. We all know that eventually, sooner, rather than later, our numbers will come up and we'll wake up injured or worse. Some people live timidly for decades, avoiding anything that might cause them pain, and drop dead of a stroke with a thousand regrets, or get hit by a bus, or a drunk driver, or lightning. Other people live twenty-some years, but enjoy and savor every minute. Most people don't know where on the spectrum they'd rather be.

I do know that "hey ya'll, watch this!" and getting hurt often go hand in hand, but we rednecks love to showboat, risk something (like our trucks), and be able to look back on good times. A lot of folks think that if you do dumbass stunts, you're automatically a redneck, and if you're a redneck, you'll be doing dumb things. Tha's not really true, but we do love a good risk now and again, even those of us who would rather not flirt with disaster most of the time, like me.

The grass may be greener on the other side, but it still has to be mowed

According to my friend, the world record for watermelon-seed spitting is 3.6 yards. 11 feet, people. I've never measured my best shots. But I know that as soon as watermelons are available at King Soopers, I'll be out in the backyard with a camcorder and a tape measure. I know I'm mighty good with a sunflower seed.

Believe it or not, we got on the watermelon seed topic by flipping through and making comments about an atals we found in study hall. In it, there was a picture of a man dressed in old-school Inuit gear, furs and all, riding a caribou. The caribou didn't seem suprised. Neither did the man. There is something, though, that just seems like a bad idea when it comes to hopping onto a grazing caribou. Maybe it's because "hey ya'll, watch this" are famous last words. I know some people who would try to ride a caribou after one or two beers.

The best idea I've EVER had

Well, maybe it's not. A lot of things look like a great idea until I think them through. Then I usually realize that it won't work, I'm too lazy, or it'll probably get me arrested. But I'm going to write down this idea before that moment of enlightenment comes.

Let me set the scene. I live on a hill. A hellishly steep hill. You know, the one that goes from Alameda to Highway 285? Well, if you are ever in Denver, you know what I'm talking about. Everything for a few miles is tilted at an angle, rendering it impossible to get home in the winter, play basketball in your driveway, get into your driveway at all, or find level land that's not privately owned for miles around. You can get on a bicycle at my house and get a speeding ticket before you get to the grocery store, if you are a speed demon and don't use the brakes. I've come real close. But see, the problem is getting home.

You can't ride a bike back up this hill. I don't care who you are, you can be a champion Tour De France mountain rider and you will be stopping for breath before you are halfway home. There is no way to get enough torque, even if you get a flying start and stand on the freaking pedals. Last year I decided to pull one of the big gears off of the front of my bike and stick it on the rear, giving me a much lower gear ratio. I still walked the bloody thing home. I'm getting real sick of this.

I know it's still winter and all and I should be complaining about powersliding onto the lawn when trying to park in the driveway, but I kind of enjoy when my dad does that, and we haven't had enough snow to cause that recently. I've been working under the assumption that it's summer for the past few weeks, and I'll be doing that until it actually is.

Anyway, my new master plan involves the weedwhacker in the shed. I know that this probably is a very bad idea, but what better way to get into trouble over the summer? That's what summers are for.

I really wish my dad had ever taught me bicycle maintenance, but I guess I can't hold it against him. He grew up in steeper country than me. I don't know if bicycle maintenance is a subject he never learned, or if he just never shared it with me. Anyway, being almost totally pedal-bike-illiterate and yet being a gearhead with a love for motorcycles, my solutions are trial and error (mostly error). I know I can solve my problem with what I have on hand, I just can't figure out how. And, when all else fails, add a motor with enough torque to help me get home.

You have no idea how tempting it is just to take the Kowasaki to wherever I'm going.

But I know that would be cheating, get me grounded, probably arrested, and it hasn't run since the '80s.

So I'm back to working out a solution to my problem while keeping my bicycle primarily human-powered. My lastest theory is to take the 12-volt motor from our weedwhacker and gear it onto the sumnabitch. Silent, lots of torque, and it's not like we really needed that weedwhacker.

Now I'm going to bed before I stop and realize that there's SO many things wrong with that idea. G'night ya'll.

Good ideas and bad ideas

As you've probably noticed, I harbor a strong dislike for snow. This dislike for snow went from mild irritant to full-blown pet peeve last winter. I'm sure you heard about the 90 days of snow that crippled the Midwest? Don't get me wrong, I love sledding. I am addicted to snowboarding when I don't have to pay through the nose to do it. I wouldn't mind getting suspended for a snowball fight. My contempt for snow lies in its tendency to turn into ice, and that ice to turn into work. Work for which I do not get paid. If I got my ass in gear, I could offer the only ice-removal service that I'm aware of in the area. Snow also makes a horrific mess of my beloved car. The mag chloride destroys the paint and rusts the frame. We've clipped our trees trying to get in the driveway, too, and caused damage to the cars. Overall, I hate snow when it is on paved surfaces or my family's cars.

This brings me to my story. Yesterday I was out removing ice from all the paved surfaces around our home. The melting is also getting on my nerves. When it stays below freezing, the snow sticks around for my snowsport pleasure, and can be plowed off the streets. I only have to deal with it once. But when it gets above freezing, it forms lakes and lakes of ice every night. On a bloody hill, so I can't even go skating on it. I just have to chip it off every freakin' day, before dawn so it's still brittle enough to chip. Yesterday, due to passing out at a really bad time, I found myself outside at three in the afternoon. Just as the ice was too hard to shovel and too soft to chip. If you ever want hours of frustration or maybe a really dastardly punishment for your kids, send them out to remove ice on the first 45 degree day since the snow fell.

Anyway, as I found myself just getting pissed off enough to feel like doing and/or watching something stupid, something stupid dutifully showed up. A boy on an ATV going up an icy hill with King Soopers bags. This would be the ideal way to get around, except this poor bugger had a little 1/2 horsepower air-compressor engine in it. No torque. He couldn't even spin his wheels, all he could do was get off and push it uphill. At one point he got it to where he could spin his wheels (after taking half an hour to go up half a block), and his dad, who was with him, hopped on the back and they proceeded to creep up the rest of the block, revving the engine at the redline. This made my day.

I felt sorry for them, and was tempted to run inside and sell them a better hillclimbing engine, but logic got ahold of me (I want to use that engine and they couldn't afford it) and I just watched the whole absurd spectacle unfold before my eyes. I have never seen an ATV be that hopeless, with that small of a motor. It looked like a kit vehicle, or perhaps one that they put the small motor in so that they didn't have to license it. I don't know. All I know is that they had the right idea but the wrong execution. If anything had gone wrong, I've seen bad bad things happen to vehicles stuck on that hill.

Also, I think I'm going to start an ice removal business and get a little more cash tucked away for when the shit hits the fan. Spekaing of which, look out for my little philosophical piece on the various ways shit can hit the fan. Coming soon to a blog near you.