Baking in Boulder - Orange Nut Bread

For my next trick, I decided to try a recipe of Mark Bittman's to use up some of the oranges I had lying around. After talking to two friends extensively about baking at altitude, I came to the conclusion that making too many changes right off the bat wasn't wise; as in any experiment, one needs a control. Accordingly, the only change I made to the original recipe was to add an extra egg. I did this for two reasons: 1) to add extra moisture, as things tend to dry out in the mountains, and 2) because eggs act as a natural leavening agent. 

I had to bake the loaf for three more minutes longer than the maximum recommended by Bittman until the toothpick came out clean, but it seemed to rise nicely.

Because I made the loaf right before going out of town for the weekend, I threw it into the freezer before tasting it, hoping to keep it fresh for when both Ed and I got back on Sunday. I let it defrost overnight and sliced into it the next morning.

Ed and I agreed that the flavor was excellent. It was a little on the dense side, however, and Ed felt (though I'm not sure I agree) that it needed either more butter or more oil. 

Now I'm left with a conundrum: how to make it airier? Virginia, who faces a larger challenge than I do since her home in Bogotá is about 3,000 feet higher than mine, told me that she had to reduce the baking soda in her banana bread recipe from 2 teaspoons to just 1/4 teaspoon to get it right. Counterintuitively, the loaves she baked with more leavening in them turned out to be more dense. The reason is that the batter rose so fast that it collapsed, resulting in dense, inedible bread. Less leavening led to lighter bread. My bread, however, doesn't seem to have collapsed, so I'm not sure what to try next. I may split the recipe in half and add different amounts of leavening to each half, then bake both versions side by side to compare the results.

Even if I don't master it, however, I'm heartened that my result is, if not excellent, certainly very good. Baking in Boulder may not be as hopeless as I feared.

Old Friends, New Exploits

My friend Virginia is a remarkable person, so when I heard that a piece of her writing had been published in an anthology alongside pieces by the likes of Dave Eggers, Ann Pachett, and Jane Smiley, I wasn't surprised. Never mind that Virginia hasn't been published before. This is just the kind of thing one gets used to hearing when one knows Virginia. The anthology, titled An Innocent Abroad, is a Lonely Planet publication edited by a man named Don George with whom Virginia took a travel writing class. He liked her piece so much he proposed that it be included in his book.

Virginia, a lawyer, moved recently to Colombia with her Bogotá-born husband Jorge. I heard details about the publication from our mutual friend Cathy. The three of us met in high school and I feel lucky to still count them among my friends; they're some of the most interesting, insightful women I know. Cathy, whose Taiwanese parents raised her on an Aramco compound in Saudi Arabia, has worked in various countries including Haiti. She now calls Santa Cruz home, and when she mentioned that she was planning to go watch Virginia read a section of her essay at a Bay Area bookstore, I decided I had to join them.

I flew out to meet Cathy on Friday night. We went to one of the most authentic ramen places I've encountered in this country, then retired to the eclectic house she shares with an aging sculptor and several other roommates. The place is full of Susan's sculptures celebrating femininity and statues of Buddha. We spent the next morning walking for miles along Santa Cruz's breath-taking coastline, then picked up Virginia in San Francisco to drive her to the bookstore, Book Passages, in Marin County.

 Neither Cathy nor Virginia had been to a book reading before, and I hadn't attended one for months. Five other authors, none of them famous outside very small travel-writing or Bay Area authors' circles, were there to read from their pieces, too. Virginia was very nervous. She said she kept telling herself that this wasn't court and that a person's future did not hang in the balance of her ability to know the answers to difficult questions. At least eighty people arrived, including a large fan section composed of Virginia's friends.

Don George, a balding man with twinkling eyes, introduced each author warmly and pronounced each piece a "beautiful story" at its conclusion. Virginia was fourth of the six and her introduction, though warm and enthusiastic, lacked the accolades George piled on the other authors since she'd never been published before. Nevertheless, she held her own among the other accomplished authors and was so serene that one would never have guessed she'd spent weeks fretting about this day.  Her story is an intense one about a harrowing three days in the Puna, a vast desert region in Argentina so dry it is often compared to Mars. I thought one of the other stories I heard was only OK but Cathy and I both agreed that another was very good and the remaining pieces were excellent.

I was sorry to say goodbye to Virginia, who I wouldn't see again before she headed back to Colombia. Cathy and I had a pleasant dinner in Sausalito, then drove back to Santa Cruz. We had time for a quick breakfast the next morning before it was time to head to the airport.

It was a wonderful trip, but too short, and though I enjoyed the time I spent with a few friends I was sorry my time in the enchanting Bay Area couldn't include visits to the many other friends and family members who live there. However, I was encouraged that the flight there was easy enough that nothing should discourage me from making frequent trips to a place I love to see people I love in the future.

First Race: Fa-La-La 10K

Getting motivated to run in Boulder is not tough. There are lots of lovely places to go, and the weather has been really gorgeous lately. But just in case I found myself dragging, last month I signed up for a 10K in December and a half-marathon in January so I'd have another reason to lace up my shoes. My Meetup friend Lindsay picked me up on Saturday morning and I was feeling a bit nervous as we drove to nearby Westminster. I worried that I hadn't put in much training lately. And athletes in this part of the country tend to be very good--pros live here because training at altitude helps them so much, and the overall culture is a very active one--and I wondered how I'd stack up against the competition. I'd built up a thick skin, though. After racing in New York, I was used to less-than-impressive division results simply because there are so many people in each race. Here, as in New York, I figured I'd stay just above the halfway point in the pack, not because there are huge numbers of people but because the small number have huge talent. It wasn't new, but the prospect of continuous mediocrity is not a pleasant one.

It was chillier than predicted and so Lindsay and another Meetup girl I'd met that morning hung out in Lindsay's car with the heat on until just about the last minute. Then we found spots in the back of the corral just as the race began. The course wound around a large park in Westminster that is probably quite pretty when it's green. I ran with the other girls for a few moments, then, feeling good, I decided to pick up the pace a little. 

What followed was one of the more fun 10K races I've done. The Thursday before I'd done a pretty long run and I'd followed it with a pretty fast run on Friday, so I expected my legs to be toast for the race. I felt wonderful, however, and passed people consistently, a pattern I'd maintain until I crossed the finish line. I'd been indifferent about my overall result initially, but because the course consisted of two out-and-backs, I realized pretty early on that I'd worked my way closer to the front of the pack than I'd expected. I wasn't sure how old the women in front of me were (nor even how the age groups were divided), but I decided about halfway through the race that I was going to try to beat as many of them as I could to see how I fared in my division (whatever that was). 

I was tired when I crossed the finish line (and a bit sore the next day), but generally I felt pretty good, not at all as though I'd exerted a massive effort. So I was astonished to learn the following:

1. On this hilly course at an altitude of over a mile up, I'd run a faster 10K than any I ran in New York by about a minute.

2. I'd taken 7th place overall (among the female competitors, of course).

3. I'd placed 4th in my division.

The winning women's time was nine minutes faster than mine, and the third-place finisher in my division came in three-and-a-half minutes before I did, so I don't have to torture myself thinking that if I'd just gone a little faster I'd have earned whatever the third place prize was; no way I was going to catch her.

The girls and I, along with another friend who'd run the 5K, celebrated our achievements with brunch afterward and had a lot of fun. I can't wait now for the half-marathon. I don't have enough time to really put in the kind of training that will give me much more of an edge for this one, but it's fun to know that I'm a bit of a competitor in my new environment!

Avalanches and K2 at Neptune

Neptune Mountaineering, THE store in Colorado to pick up gear for just about any mountain-related adventure one can imagine, plays host to an interesting series of events that I have been enjoying very much of late. The store, which is worth a visit even if one isn't planning to buy anything, has devoted about a quarter of its space to what is referred to as "the museum." On display there are all manner of old pictures and pieces of historic mountaineering equipment like ice axes, crampons, and wooden skis. Rather charmingly, all the labels and explanations have clearly been typed on a home computer, cut out, and affixed to the wall. On certain evenings, shelving is pushed aside to make room for chairs, and a screen comes down from the ceiling if the speaker has need of it. All the events are free.

The first event I attended was a talk about the human factor in avalanches. Markus Beck, head guide at Alpine World Ascents, spoke to a group of around fifty people about why perfectly intelligent, sometimes very well-trained skiers, climbers, and snowmobilers put themselves in the path of avalanches and get into trouble. I didn't know much about avalanches, and so a lot of the first part of the talk, which breezed over the conditions that can cause them, was news to me and went a bit more quickly than I'd have liked. But I followed more easily when Markus got into the psychology that leads people to ignore risks. His talk was accompanied by a slideshow that included some pretty incredible video clips. I took several pages of notes and have decided I'd better learn more about avalanches. Luckily, a talk about avalanches and beacon use is scheduled for next week.

I enjoyed the avalanche talk, but the second event, which took place the following evening, was truly remarkable. Alan Arnette, the oldest man to have summited the formidable K2, spoke for 90 minutes about his experiences and had every person in the room (well over 100, I'm certain) spellbound. Alan climbs mountains to raise money for Alzheimer's research in honor of his mother. He summited K2 this summer on his 58th birthday and nearly didn't make it down to tell the tale, having developed a severe case of HAPE (high-altitude pulmonary edema) that filled his lungs with fluid and made it nearly impossible to breathe.

K2 is the second-highest mountain in the world, and although Everest is higher and therefore gets more press, K2 is a much more difficult adversary. Nearly 25% of climbers die attempting to conquer it compared to only 4% on Everest. This is due mostly to K2's structure; Everest is steep in places but tapers off occasionally, while K2 maintains a steady 30-45-degree angle slope from bottom to top. Having attended Markus's talk the night before I saw Alan, I knew that this is the range in which avalanches are most likely to happen, and sure enough, sliding snow is what kills most of K2's victims. Only a fraction of the number of people who have climbed Everest have tried to take on K2, and even fewer of those have made it to the top.

A photo of K2 and Broad Peak (to the left) from Alan's website that I hope he does not mind my using here to promote his career. There are lots more stunning images on his site.

Alan's slideshow was phenomenal, and as much as I enjoyed listening to him explain each image in person, I half wish it had been a documentary simply because I wish everyone I know could see what I saw . (Many of these images, and lots of other information about Alan's career and mission, is available on his fascinating website where one could easily wander for hours. And if Alzheimer's research is a cause you'd like to support, please consider doing so through Alan.) He took spectacular photos of his adventures and shot short videos during the arduous trip to base camp, during his (very short) acclimatization phase, and all the way up and then down the mountain. Watching these clips in which he reflects on his experiences while K2 looms behind him was pretty incredible. Alan is a very good speaker, and his talk was sometimes funny and always polished and fascinating. Because his experience was so harrowing, I was astonished to learn at the end that his goal is to climb all of the 8,000-meter peaks in the world within the next five years to continue raising money for research. There are 14 mountains on the list, and he's conquered three so far. Annapurna, the only mountain with a more deadly reputation than K2, is scheduled for spring of 2016. See his complete plan here. I sure hope he's careful.

By the way, those who are interested in learning more about K2 would likely enjoy The Summit, an excellent documentary about one particularly storied attempt to climb the mountain that debuted at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year. It is gripping, harrowing, and fascinating.

I've got a few more events at Neptune on my agenda in the coming weeks, and I'm looking forward to learning more about the mountains that surround me in my new home. But I think I'll keep my distance from K2.

Baking in Boulder - Cornbread and Banana Bread

Boulder is just over a mile high. The altitude affects the way you breathe when your heart rate accelerates, though this improves with time. The altitude also affects the way foods and liquids behave when you cook them, but this does not improve with time.

Basic cooking doesn't change much. Water takes longer to boil and boils at a lower temperature because...science. Your stir fry or steamed broccoli is going to take a tad longer but will generally come out in Boulder the same way it would at sea level.

Baking is a different ball game.

The quality of the air affects baking in up here: its drier and its thinner. The dryness is easy to wrap your head around; extra liquid--just a bit--is needed and that's all there is to it. The thinner air, however, affects the way doughs and batters rise, and this is where things get interesting. For one thing, you have to adjust the amount of leavening (baking powder/soda or yeast), though there's no formula for the precise amount to omit. Other factors come into play in unexpected ways, too; for example, if you over-beat your eggs before adding them to your batter, the excess air will cause problems. Too much leavening or too much air in your eggs means that your baking will rise so fast that it will collapse, yielding decidedly unattractive, and probably less tasty, results. One more thing to keep in mind is that because water takes longer to heat up, you have to increase oven temperatures.

Most cookbooks are written for sea level cooks, and recipes I've baked for years with great results now need tweaking. But no set of exact steps exists, so I'm launching into experimentation, making notes all along. My system, so far, is to jot down the changes I make and the outcome on a sticky note, which I attach to the recipe.

My first venture was Mark Bittman's cornbread recipe. First, I set the oven to 400 degrees instead of the recommended 375; he suggests adding 25 degrees to baking temperatures above 3,000 feet. I reduced the baking powder from 1 1/2 teaspoons to 1 and used 1 1/3 cups of buttermilk instead of 1 1/4. I'd read that covering things while they baked could prevent them from drying out, so after 15 of the 30 minutes it was supposed to bake, I tented the pan with foil. The sides looked done, or even perhaps a bit overdone, at 30 minutes and the toothpick came out clean, but the top was a bit pale.

The color, I figured, was the fault of the tent, so I fired up the broiler to give it a little color. I then violated one of my most sacred kitchen rules and started doing something else while the bread was under the broiler instead of watching it closely. Oops. I pulled a somewhat splotchy loaf of cornbread out probably 90 seconds after what would have been ideal and frantically tossed the pan into a snowbank for a few minutes to stop the baking process.

I was nervous to taste it, but the result was a pleasant surprise. The bread was moist and the texture was perfect. Next time, I'm going to try tenting for the first 15 minutes, then removing the foil to let the top bake for the next 15. As far as the ingredients, I don't think I'll change a thing.

My next venture was banana bread (or, rather, banana bread muffins since I was making only a half batch and don't have a loaf pan small enough). Again, I started with an oven 25 degrees hotter than recommended. The halved recipe calls for 1/2 tsp baking soda, but I used only 1/4 plus a tiny pinch more, and instead of 3 1/2 TB sour milk I used 4. I didn't tent the muffins at all after the fiasco with the cornbread. This, I think, was a mistake. The muffins were done in 36 minutes. (A full-sized loaf, according to the recipe, takes an hour. Not sure about sea-level muffins.) Interestingly, they were paler inside than usual and yielded fewer crumbs. Ed deemed them delicious, and while I agree that they're pretty good I think I still have some work to do. The texture inside is good, but they have a crispy crust all around the outside that they never had before. Could this be the fault of the higher temperature? Should I have covered them for at least part of the baking time to counteract the dry air?

I think I will try foil next time and then, if that doesn't work, lower the temperature.

Baking up here is certainly an adventure, and while I am sort of enjoying the discovery process, it will be a long time before I attempt a soufflé.

Gearing Up

How do you motivate yourself to go for a jog when you see this out your window:?

Can't see it here, but in addition to being gloomy and overcast, it is snowing and 18 degrees.

Well, for me the answer is new gear. (In addition to making me feel more prepared, I just get excited about new stuff.) My years in New York helped me get used to running in the cold--in fact, I love running when the mercury dips--but this weather has been a little colder than it was there. A bigger consideration here is the snow factor. In New York, the sidewalks were almost always salted and there was very little snow build-up. Sidewalks were often wet, but I almost never ran on snow. In Boulder, residents are responsible for shoveling the sidewalks in front of their houses, however, and although the city does enforce shoveling (you can get fined if you don't attend to your walkway within a certain window), sidewalks have been snowy. Some people don't get around to it right away. Some stretches of sidewalk aren't associated with a residence. And the multi-use pathways don't get shoveled or plowed much at all. Reflecting on all of this on Friday morning, when I had intended to go for a jog, I realized that my breathable running shoes were not going to cut it. On top of that, although I was in good shape as far as warm shirts and athletic jackets, I had only one pair of warm-ish tights.

(By the way, for anyone looking to run or hike outside when it's chilly, Runner's World has a cool tool called What to Wear that I highly recommend. Simply enter some information about the conditions using drop-down menus and it will give you advice on exactly what kind of clothes to put on, whether you should wear a hat, whether layers are in order, etc.)

The first order of business was to reinforce my pants situation. So I headed to REI where I found a fantastic pair of Salomon pants, designed, according to the label, for Nordic racing. Salomon makes great ski gear, and so I knew I could trust these pants to be windproof and warm even though they were light. They were fitted but not skin-tight, which was perfect for my purposes: I could wear them alone or throw on the tights underneath for really cold days.

Next stop: the Boulder Running Company. I picked up a pair of killer trail running shoes, some Yak Trax, and some light, insulated mittens.

Trail shoes are different from street running shoes in a few critical ways. First, they are less flexible because they have much stiffer soles so you don't feel every single pebble when you're on more rugged terrain. They also tend to have beefier toe structure to protect you in case you kick a rock. My new La Sportiva trail shoes will be great for running actual trails, of course, but two other features make them essential for snow: more textured treads and Gore Tex. Not all trail runners have Gore Tex, of course, but wet feet are cold feet so I wanted mine to be waterproof.

How cool are these??

 Bigger treads are helpful in the snow, but they're not enough on their own sometimes, so I picked up some Yak Trax as well. Yak Trax come in several versions, but the pair I got are designed for running. They're light and easy to strap on and take off shoes. Under the ball of one's foot, there are several small metal spikes that dig into snow and ice. Under one's arch and heel are springs that grip slush and snow.

Yak Trax. The one on the left is upside down so you can see the spikes (small, encircled by red rubber that looks pink in this picture) and the springs. The one on the right is right-side up. The Y goes over the front of the shoe, and the other end hugs the heel. The gray rubber stretches; these will fit over women's shoes that are size 6.5 through 10.

Yak Trax on my shoes. They take about five seconds to slip on; I run in size 7's and imagine women with larger feet need to do a bit more wrangling to get them to stretch into place.

Turns out we were in need of spinach, and so I decided to test out my new gear with a quick run to our grocery store. It was 18 degrees, overcast, and snowing with a very light wind, and the trip would take about ten minutes each way. To my new acquisitions, I added a long-sleeved, synthetic shirt (cotton gets damp and cold in no time), a windproof, lightly insulated cycling jacket, and a warm hat. Warm? Yes. Ninja-like? Yes. (Ed said I looked like I was going to break into the CIA.) Note to self: purchase colored clothing. Can you spot the New Yorker?

I'm wearing a small backpack so I can tote the spinach home. It's designed for running and has chest and waist straps to keep it from bouncing. The spinach arrived looking a little jostled but not too much worse for wear.

Everything performed beautifully. I was warm, but not too warm. My feet stayed dry and toasty in the La Sportivas and the Yak Trax did an admirable job of gripping the snow. I was running on a layer of very dry, fine powder that sat on top of icy crust from our last snowstorm, and though my foot slipped just a bit on a few steps as I pushed off, I felt pretty stable the whole way; I think the snow must have been a bit deep in those places for my short little spikes. Occasionally I ran across patches of sidewalk that were snowless, and the Yak Trax did fine, though I tried to avoid these to keep my spikes nice and sharp. It was easy to pull them off when I got to the store, then slip them back on for the jog home. The only change I'll make to my next run is to bring my cycling sunglasses. I have a pair of yellow-tinted lenses, which will go a long way toward keeping snowflakes out of my eyes. Oh, and I'll remember to bring a tissue. The cold makes my nose run almost as fast as my legs!

The Polar Plunge

Oh the weather outside is frightful,

but the fire is so delightful.

Thanks to what the weather guy calls a "polar plunge" we went from summer to winter in the course of about an hour. On Monday morning, I opened windows in the house because it was so pleasant out. When I answered the FedEx guy's knock at about 11:00 A.M., however, I registered that he was bundled up to the eyebrows a split second before a blast of icy air nearly knocked me off my feet. A few minutes later it started snowing and didn't stop for three days.

Considering how long it snowed, we didn't end up with that much accumulation. The flakes were always small, but they didn't stop, and we ended up with about a foot. Last night the snow finally tapered off, and this morning it is sunny, but since the mercury is registering only 3 degrees, there's not much melting going on. 

Unsurprisingly, I had the sidewalk to myself.

The low last night was supposedly negative 8 (I'm happy to say that I, wearing fleece pajamas and tucked in bed, cannot confirm this) and during our "plunge" phase it was getting up to only about 5 degrees during the day. Certainly colder than usual for this part of the country. Colder, too, than NYC, but I braved the cold on foot twice anyway, once walking to our gym (about 15 minutes) and once to my piano teacher's house (about 20 minutes). Bundled up, I was actually very comfortable as long as I walked quickly. The snow was powdery and bone dry, unlike the slush I was used to trudging through in New York, so I didn't end up with wet feet. (Most people don't use salt here for environmental reasons, so while sidewalks were very much covered with snow it was light and about the texture of flour. Easy to walk in.) I saw a few people shoveling their driveways, a few dog-walkers, and some children with very red cheeks, but otherwise there weren't too many people out. I like walking, though, and I figured that the time it takes to get my car de-iced and warmed up was pretty comparable to the time it would take me to walk to places close to my house. I spotted a buck walking serenely through someone's yard just a few yards away from me, making it all worth it; I wouldn't have been able to admire him as well from a car (if I'd seen him at all) or listen to the soft pfft of his hooves as they landed neatly in the snow.

Driving hasn't been bad either as long as I go slowly, though scraping off the car is a pain. The first time I tried to drive, we hadn't yet bought scrapers and there was too much ice for a credit card to be a substitute. Ed ended up microwaving a pitcher of water and pouring it all over my windshield, which did the trick nicely.

Our first fire was also an adventure, but after figuring out the flue's functioning under slight, smoky duress, things went well. It was short-lived, however, as we didn't have much wood and burned through our supply pretty quickly. Still it increased our coziness factor exponentially.

The birds have been plundering our feeders each morning. They don't seem bothered by the snow, and neither do the squirrels. Todd, however, is not a fan, though it's tough to say whether he objected to the harness or to the weather. Ed said that in Reno, Todd bounded through the snow, tunneling into drifts. On Wednesday, though, he plopped down on the porch for about three seconds, then bolted back inside and refused to come out again. Not everyone is a fan of our sudden winter. 

Snow and Tea

Ed and I hiked around the Glacier Gorge area yesterday and encountered some snow at that elevation, but it was still pleasantly balmy down in Boulder when we returned. This morning, however, the wind picked up I spotted some tiny flakes at about 11:00 this morning. The flurries got flurrier and we've had a steady snowfall for hours now. According to forecasts, Boulder should get a mix of rain and snow for the next few days. The high tomorrow is 19!

We ventured out of the house this afternoon in search of lunch and wandered into the Dushanbe Tea House, a very cool spot that was just the thing for a chilly day. The tea house was a gift from Boulder's sister city, Dushanbe, Tajikistan. It was built there, then disassembled and shipped here. The intricately painted ceiling, the impressive wooden columns (no two are alike!) the ceramic tiles on the outside of the building, the bronze figures in the fountain, and the carved plaster panels were all handmade by artisans in Tajikistan, and no power tools were used in any part of the construction.

To ward off the chill, Ed got a pot of a tea called something like Moonbeam Spice and I got a blossoming tea. Both were great, which was a relief because I didn't want to have to return to their impressive but rather overwhelming tea list, which contains more than 100 choices. The food on the menu is eclectic, offering everything from Mexican to Italian to Indonesian to Vietnamese. I ordered spicy peanut noodles, which were delicious, and Ed enjoyed his Tajikistan Plov, which is a traditional rice dish served with seasoned beef on top. The dessert menu had some intriguing items on it, such as pistachio soup, spiced chocolate cake served with avocado ice cream, and tangerine tea gingerbread, but, alas, we were too full. Next time. I also look forward to going back to try their breakfast offerings, and for their high tea service, which is available by reservation only each afternoon.

Ed and I have both enjoyed the food in Boulder, and the Dushanbe Tea House is yet another great player in our new home's impressive line-up.

First Hike on Mt. Sanitas

My parents flew in a few weekends ago--yes, this post is much overdue--to keep me company while Ed was out of town. It can be hard to entertain guests in a place one doesn't know well, but the weather was predicted to be gorgeous and so I decided a hike was certainly in order. I settled on the Mt. Sanitas Trail because I'd heard some fabulous view of Boulder could be had from the top. It was only about three miles, but with more than 1300 feet in elevation gain, it was rated as a difficult hike. A short, difficult hike is almost always do-able if one has ample time, though, so I figured we'd make a day of it.

We got a later start than I'd hoped to after a leisurely lunch on Pearl Street, then had trouble finding the trailhead which is unhelpfully labeled "Centennial." But finally, after much ado, we set off at somewhere between 3:00 and 3:30. Sanitas is tough because it is so steep, something I'd read and was able to confirm within the first few minutes.

 However, almost we were rewarded with pretty views from the get-go, too. I'm sure it's a scenic hike any time of year, but it's hard to imagine the scenery being lovelier than it was for us in early fall on this perfect day.

Mt. Sanitas is one of the most popular trails in the Boulder area and it's well maintained for the most part. But as we gained elevation, things got a little more rugged.

This is MUCH steeper than it appears in the picture.

 We soldiered on, stopping frequently to pant and admire the view. I'd been in Boulder for about ten days and was still struggling in the thinner air, so I can only imagine what my sea-level-dwelling parents must have been feeling. Still, they were upbeat and said they were enjoying themselves.

Enjoying the first aerial view of Boulder

Enjoying her cell phone

 We made it to the top of the ridge, then followed it as it continued to climb. Multiple false summits kept us guessing, but at long last we couldn't go any higher and realized we'd done it. Boulder lay out before us, a verdant quilt dotted with bright flames of yellow and orange. In the distance, things grew hazy, and we guessed that Denver lay below the smoggy layer. (I was glad we'd chosen to live a little higher.) A fellow hiker lent me his binoculars. I could see the community garden in my neighborhood, but there were still too many trees to spot the house itself. I resolved to come back nearer the end of fall to try again.

I've always found hiking downhill to be harder, and this hike was no exception. Things were steep, and gravel and dust in places forced us to take our time. Luckily, we'd planned our route wisely. We were hiking a loop, and we'd done the rocky part first. Starting on the Mt. Sanitas Trail meant that we'd finish on the Sanitas Valley Trail, a relatively gently sloping dirt road. After losing the trail in some rocks and getting increasingly nervous about the gathering dark, we finally made it to the switchbacks that heralded the beginning of the Valley Trail.

Dad, alas, didn't make it. But he had a good run.

 We made short work of what was left of the trail and arrived back at the car in semi-darkness. It had gotten much colder, and, not thinking we'd be out as long as we were, I hadn't packed warmer layers or headlamps. Luckily, though, there were no mishaps, though even if there had been the trail is popular enough that other hikers would have been able to get help for us. Dinner at Salt is always good, but it tasted even better than usual after our big afternoon.

The following day called for a mellower excursion, so we drove to the Bobolink Trailhead in south Boulder. I'd run on it a few times and it's flat and beautiful.

I'm still getting used to the idea that all this beauty is just minutes away from my house! Central Park was pretty and all, but it's pretty awesome to have the Flatirons in my extended backyard.

Meeting Up

If online services could help me find my fiancee, I figured I may as well turn to the computer again to build my social network. Things in Boulder had been a little lonely with Ed working diligently in California, so I decided to check out a site I'd heard about before called MeetUp.com. The idea is that you join online groups based on your interests, then attend events to meet people you might like. I joined several groups, including a running group, two book clubs (one of them is a book-and-hiking club, in which members discuss books on the trail!), and a group of women with nothing in common other than the fact that we're all female and all enjoy doing fun stuff. I was/am particularly excited about the running group, but was worried that the other members would all be hardcore runners; since I'm still sort of struggling to find my stride, I opted to wait a bit on that one. But then I saw a meet-up scheduled for the group of women at the Boulder Running Company for their weekly run.

The Boulder Running Company is THE running store here. When I need any kind of gear (on my list: trail running shoes and reflective clothing so I can run at night), this is where I'll go. The staff is friendly and unbelievably knowledgable. They also host tons of events, like last night's run. At 6:00, people meet in front of the store, enter a raffle, then head out for a three- or five-mile loop together. Afterward, there's free beer and pizza at the store, and they draw names to figure out who wins raffle prizes.

I was still a little nervous to run with a group, but the organizer of the women's group posted that she is not a runner and hates running but is willing to try anything with a fun group, and lots of other people posted that they, too, weren't really runners, were slow, or were out of shape. Perfect. I was also a little worried about the kind of people who would show up. What if there was a good reason they had to go online to meet others? But it seemed that most of the people in the group had moved here fairly recently, and I figured that if I didn't like them I had nothing to lose but an uncomfortable hour or so, after which I could make my excuses and leave.

I needn't have worried at all about my fitness level. I think I AM still adjusting (and several of the girls I met said that it took them months, which makes me feel a lot better), but these girls weren't lying about their pacing abilities, and we did the 3.7-mile loop at a slower pace than I've run since middle school. I needn't have worried about the attendees, either. I had a great time and really liked everyone that I met. I talked to six girls at length and all of them were really nice and fun. Most have been in Boulder only a short time. I was the newest transplant, but one girl had been here only a month and others ranged from a few months to a year or two. Some of the girls were distance runners just struggling with the altitude--one girl told me she just signed up for a marathon to get her motivated to run in the thinner air--so it's possible that I'll be able to set up some running dates down the road.

We were among the last to make it back to the store, and the atmosphere in the parking lot was party-like with music, beer, pizza, and candy. There was a Halloween costume contest (none of us dressed up, as we didn't know this was happening) and, of course, the raffle, in which one of the girls in our group won a pair of Smartwool socks. We all hung around in the parking lot chatting until someone said she was freezing and we realized that we all were and dispersed.

I've signed up for another meet-up with this group in mid-November; we'll be doing a dessert cooking class at Sur La Table. And I'm planning a run today. If it goes at all well, I plan to drag myself out of bed in time to meet up with the women's running club for a morning run and cup of coffee tomorrow!

Running in Boulder - The Beginning

One of the things I was looking forward to most about Boulder was the chance to run in this part of the country. Boulder residents are very serious about outdoor sports, particularly those that require endurance, and this area is filled with elite runners who train against a beautiful backdrop. There are trails galore, ranging in difficulty from fairly flat, paved cruisers to trails that require runners to scramble over the occasional boulder.

Based on how I've been feeling just climbing the stairs in our house, I know I'm not ready to tackle anything too vertical yet. But I've been on two mellow runs so far. Let me tell you, it's been awful.

I will not be moving to Peru any time soon. 

Runs like this help me understand why many people don't like running. Sure, there's tons of great stuff to look at. This morning I ran by the Boulder Community Garden, admired the Flatirons, and said hello to a woman all in purple strolling along with four goats on leashes. Even if the scenery wasn't pretty, which it is, it's a relief to be running somewhere other than the West Side Path or Central Park, my only legitimate New York options. And yes, the trails are wide well-kept, and lovely, and the ones that go through town even feature underpasses so cyclists and runners don't have to stop to cross streets. But none of this makes up for the fact that running at this altitude makes me feel like an overweight asthmatic kid in gym class.

Boulder sits at 5,400 feet. That's a very big jump from sea-level NYC, and boy am I feeling it. I arrived here exactly two weeks ago today, and while I was pretty sure I was starting to acclimate, today's run led me to a different conclusion. I, who this time last year was preparing to run the New York City marathon, barely made it four miles.

I'm not sure whether physical activity helps one acclimate faster, or if anything can be done to speed up the process. I suspect not, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing for it but to keep on plugging away with the understanding that it's going to be a very, very unpleasant entry. I hope my adjustment doesn't take too much longer. I'm very much looking forward to joining a running group to meet some people, but until I can make it more than a few feet without huffing and puffing there's really no point. I'm not going to be able to have a conversation with new friends until I'm used the scarcer oxygen around here.

One Week in Boulder!

Ed and I arrived in Boulder one week ago today! So far I've been too preoccupied with trying to get the house in order to do too much exploring, though we're both looking forward to a hike tomorrow and I'm dying to go on a run, too. A friend has recommended some trails, and I think I'll start my Boulder running career on Mt. Sanitas. In the meantime, I'll share some pictures from our move.

First, some pictures of our mostly empty apartment, which are really weird for me to look at. (Our landlord stored some things, like TVs and couches, while we were living there, so the place isn't totally barren.) I took these right before closing the door for the last time, an event that made me well up just a little.

Guest room/office upstairs

Living room 

Our bedroom

Our bedroom, from another angle

Master bath/closet/laundry "room" ("laundry closet" would be more accurate)

Master bath/closet, from another angle

Kitchen/living room

Kitchen

Kitchen/living room, from another angle

 Ed and I loaded Hester until she nearly burst at the seams and took a meandering route to Boulder so that we wouldn't get there too far in advance of the movers. Our itinerary was shaped by people and places we wanted to visit rather than practicality. We drove 4.5 hours to Washington, D.C., 8 hours to Charleston, 4.5 hours to Atlanta, 14 hours (!) to San Antonio, 11 hours to Santa Fe, and, finally, 6 hours to Boulder. (Note that almost every day on the road was a little longer than that, since those are driving times that don't include any pit stops.) I didn't take many pictures along the way, alas, though the one from Roswell, below, is worth sharing.

I learned (through trial by fire) that Ed is a very good road trip companion and that the cats are not. We had a great time visiting friends and family along the way, saw some cool things, and ate some great food--and some not-so-great food. In particular, we both really enjoyed Santa Fe. I visited once about ten years ago and am looking forward to spending a longer weekend there now that it's not too far away.

As well as the road trip went, I was thrilled to get my first view of Boulder through Hester's bug-spattered windshield:

The morning after we arrived in our lovely little red house, the movers filled it with boxes and I've spent just about every moment since then trying to unpack them all and arrange things into our new home. It's hard not to be too exacting about things, as is my nature, since we'll be here for only about a year (we hope) until we buy our own house. Since the kitchen was out of commission until just recently, Ed and I have been exploring lots of Boulder restaurants and have been generally very happy with what we've discovered. We've also met up with several of my friends, and I'm excited to have a small but very cool social group in place already.

Our new bedroom as it looked a few days ago. Can  you find Todd?

I love our new surroundings. I'm dangerous on the roads because I keep getting sidetracked by breath-taking views out the windows; soon they'll be a little less startling, but for now they're delightful surprises. The people here are unbelievably friendly and warm, too. This might be less notable to someone who has not spent time in New York, but for me it's a welcome change.

I'll post some before and after pictures once I can get the house in some semblance of order so that the after shots won't look just like the before ones.

Sushi Nakazawa

It's a miracle I can still zip up my pants.

If you have not seen Jiro Dreams of Sushi, stop reading and beg, steal, borrow, or download it

Chef Nakazawa is second from the left

immediately. This fascinating documentary is drool-worthy, both because it is so well done and because it takes everything you think you know about sushi to the next level. It is the story of Jiro, a sushi chef, and his simple sushi restaurant in a subway station in Tokyo that has three Michelin stars. Ed and I watched it a while ago and were smitten, so when we learned that Jiro's apprentice, Chef Daisuke Nakazawa, had opened a restaurant here in New York, I immediately set about getting us reservations.

This was easier said than done, however. There are only three seatings a night at the bar for ten people each, and I was told that we might as well not go at all if we didn't sit at the bar. One can make reservations starting at midnight for up to 30 days in advance, so I set my phone alarm several times in a row and logged in to the site. Again and again I was beat out. I was beginning to get desperate; our time in NYC was dwindling, and our odds of getting into this place were looking bad.

I mentioned my woes to my savvy friend Maggie, and she recommended a new app called Shout. The idea is that if you have something valuable that you can't use--concert tickets and reservations, mostly--you can list it on Shout and other users can claim it and reimburse you. In principle, this is a great idea, but of course some people are making a lot of money by signing up for reservations for the express purpose of auctioning them off. One can make up to $50 a pop for this. Since this was making a limited commodity even more limited, I disapproved of the model. Then again, I didn't have any other ideas. So I scoured the Shout listings for several days and finally found and paid for a reservation. We were in.

The experience was absolutely worth the $50 reservation and gray hairs it cost. Ed and I showed up a few minutes early and had to wait until exactly 9:30 when our reservation was to start. I didn't mind, though, as I was drinking in my surroundings. The restaurant was polished and elegant, generally quite simple, though the framed pieces of lacquered tuna on one of the walls were certainly worth a double take. The small dining room (I didn't count but I estimate there were eight tables) was in the back, and the space behind the sushi bar was humming with activity. About four sushi chefs, all men in whites, sliced and diced all manner of interesting sea life and scooped rice from a large urn by hand, laying their finished creations in the centers of pretty plates to be whisked off to tables by the formally-dressed staff.

Chef Nakazawa broils eel for a table

At one point, a cheery middle-aged man, also in whites, appeared among the chefs. He poured himself some steaming green tea from a tap--these are common in Japan, sort of like samovars in Russia, I imagine--and immediately pretended to splash it, giggling, onto another of the chefs. Ed and I had been trying to figure out which one of the men was Chef Nakazawa, and a quick trip to Google revealed that this practical joker was the great man himself. He wore the same uniform as everyone else and didn't appear to be giving orders or inspiring particular fear in the hearts of his chefs. The difference between him and the dour Jiro was stark.

Then we were escorted to our places at the bar and invited to settle into exquisitely comfortable chairs. There was no food menu, of course, as the menu was set, but we were asked about food allergies and invited to order the sake pairing (which, of course, we did). There was little talk at the bar; everyone seemed to be watching the chefs just as intently as I was.

Each piece was served one by one by the man himself. Chef Nakazawa's assistants would cut pieces of fish with great precision and lay them gently on little pillows of rice and sometimes he would even assemble the sushi himself. Then he'd lay a palm flat and load it up with five or six tasty morsels, deposit one each on the stone slabs in front of each diner, then repeat so that everyone had a piece. As he served, he'd announce the type of fish in thickly accented English that was very difficult to understand. I made certain to chase each piece of sushi with a piece or two of freshly sliced Hawaiian ginger and sips of crisp, tasty sake.

I made very careful notes as I ate to ensure that I didn't forget anything. The courses were:

• salmon
• smoked sockeye salmon
• "dancing" scallop - this was served alive. After placing each piece down, Chef Nakazawa would stroke the flesh of the scallop lightly with his finger and it would undulate in response. This was, obviously, a little strange and we diners all exchanged alarmed looks, but I decided to hide my squeamishness and go for it. The scallop was firm and delicious (though I was rather glad we were served only one), and Chef Nakazawa completed the experience by pressing a button on a small red radio that let out a shrill, cartoonish scream as we all chewed. It was pretty funny and helped me not think too much about what I'd just swallowed.
• giant clam (geoduck)

Our first piece - salmon

• trigger fish "with own liver"

Trigger fish with its liver garish - one of my favorites

• fluke - To convey to us how fresh the fluke was, Chef Nakazawa announced proudly, "Kill here." Then he pointed at a sheepish looking chef and added, grinning, "He do it."
• barrel fish
• horse mackerel - out of Chef N's mouth, this sounded like "hose mackerel" and in response to our confused looks he made a riding motion with his hand and recruited the maitre'd to help translate
• baby gizzard shad - another one that got lost in translation until Chef N assured us, "English person coming," then yelled "Engrish, onegaishimus!" (English, please!)
• massaged octopus, of Jiro fame - absurdly tender

The best octopus one can eat outside Japan

• jumbo shrimp
• golden stripe yellowtail
• smoked bonito
• a tuna trio: plain blue fin, "soy marinated lean part," and fatty tuna

Tuna, arranged in order of decadence 

• sea urchin with truffle salt - I must have looked particularly transported while chewing this piece because Chef N looked at me and asked, "You like it, ha?" My mouth was too full to answer, but I nodded emphatically. He jerked his head at me and said to no one in particular, grinning, "I find a happy face."

• soy cured salmon roe
• anago eel
• tuna handroll
• tamago - for those who have never tried tamago: it's sort of like an slice of an omelette, though I think there's a bit of sugar mixed in because it's always sweet. I tasted my first piece at the Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo--a friendly shopkeeper handed it to me to try and explained in broken English what it was--and I've been a big fan ever since.

The meal was capped off with fruit sorbet. I thought I'd be too full to eat it, but I ended up scraping my bowl clean. 

It's difficult to explain how good each piece was. I was torn between feeling as though I couldn't possibly ever eat anything else ever again and wishing the chefs would keep serving us tidbits all night. Ed and I staggered out of the restaurant way past our usual bedtime stuffed, sleepy, and utterly content. 

All of this cost more than peanuts, of course, but dinner at the sushi bar is really an incredible bargain. I can't recommend this restaurant enough, though I would be a lot less excited to eat at a table. The show is more than half the fun.