Conference on World Affairs

Each year in spring, the University of Colorado at Boulder, hosts a weeklong event called the Conference on World Affairs. If you think that sounds like a pretty broad topic for a conference, you can't even begin to imagine the reality. Here is a smattering of the titles of some of this year's talks:

-Tiny Houses and Liveable Cities
-Bioengineering: Designer Babies and More
-Brexit and the Future of the EU
-Do Your Brain a Favor: Spend Time Outdoors
-The Power of a Story
-Laughing Matters: Humor in an Unfunny World
-Space Tourism for Fun and Profit
-China and North Korea: It's Complicated
-Fireside Chat: Dogs and Us
-CWA Book Club: Hillbilly Elegy Discussion
-The Best Two Parties Money Can Buy
-Oh Heck, I'm Up to My Neck...in Student Loans

I heard about the CWA only last year, after it had already ended, and I was determined to attend this year. It's free and open to the public without registration; anyone can browse the catalog of panel discussions and performances and show up to learn about whatever topics strike their fancy. In browsing this year's offerings, I was intrigued to note that speakers ranged from CU professors to eminent inventors and adventurous to MacArthur Genius Grant winners to celebrity chef Rick Bayless. Needless to say, my hopes were high.

I was not disappointed. Despite a somewhat hectic week, I managed to attend four talks and a movie screening. I was actually rather grateful for my busy schedule; selecting panels to attend would have been all but impossible without constraints to work around. Nearly everything sounded fascinating. I found myself drawn mostly to sociology and education, and attended "Education: Separate and Still Unequal" (about de facto school segregation); "At-Risk Kids: Breaking the Cycle"; "Let's Talk About Race"; and "Will Congress Ever Work Again?" (in which one panelist compared Trump to a yeast that was causing conservative mindsets to ferment and another, memorably, quipped that he was more like a yeast infection). Sessions were either 50 or 120 minutes long, depending on how meaty the topic, and I found that the time flew by.

I was particularly inspired by a speaker who appeared in two sessions I attended ("Separate and Still Unequal" and "Race"), James Bell. Mr. Bell is the founder and head of the San Francisco-based Burns Institute, which works on equity in the judicial system, particularly as it is applied to youth. After spending his childhood in Alabama during Jim Crow, Mr. Bell moved to San Francisco to attend UC Hastings for law school. He was one of the first students admitted as part of affirmative action protocols and was, therefore, one of the only black students in the school. His reception, he said, wasn't always warm, but as a recipient of the MacArthur Genius Grant, I think it's safe to say he's had the last laugh. During the wrap-up comments in one panel, he said that this was his first time at the CWA. He'd had a great time, he said, and it had exceeded his expectations. I was delighted to hear that he'll be returning.

Ed and I also went to a screening of a film I'd wanted to see anyway called The Music of Strangers: Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble. I simply cannot recommend this documentary highly enough. It tells the story of a group of international musicians who share their stories, cultures, and backgrounds through gorgeous music and deep friendships. We couldn't stay after the final credits, alas, but one of the musicians from the film was there to discuss it with audience members. SO cool.

So if you're itching to visit Colorado, learn something new, or both, consider heading to this part of the world in mid-April next year. The only possible negative aspect of coming to Boulder for the CWA is agonizing over the seemingly endless line-up of lectures, discussions, and performances.

Blood on the Boards: Life in the Wild West

We moved into this house in January, which isn't exactly prime time for viewing wildlife. Still, I have been a little disappointed that we haven't had more interesting sightings. The most unusual animal Ed and I had spotted prior to the end of March was a coyote trotting across the face of the hill opposite us. And that's not really all that unusual. We see deer constantly; rabbits frequently; and thanks to Mischa or perhaps the cats, field mice (or at least their remains). There are magpies and sparrows all over the place, but considering how much time I spend gazing out the window, I'd been hoping for something a little bit more exciting. Recently, I got my wish.

I was standing in the kitchen when something on the railing of our deck caught my eye. It was a beautiful hawk of some sort, and I immediately called Ed to come see it. Because he entered the room from a different angle, he had a different vantage point, and so he was the first to spot the carnage. Our deck was covered with gray feathers. In the center was a small pool of blood. And upon closer examination, the hawk perched above its handiwork had a few downy feathers caught between two of its talons. The perp seemed obvious.

Murder scene

We gazed at it for a while while, speculating. We concluded that the victim was probably one of the pigeons that has been hanging around on the ridge line of our roof. Then Ed just had to get a closer look and maybe a few photos, so he army-crawled toward the window. The hawk didn't care for this and flew away. But it was back again a few minutes and kept flapping off when we got too close, then returning. This caused us to wonder whether it had left some of its meal behind, but when we searched later we were unable to find a single body part. It's rather difficult to believe that a smallish hawk wolfed down an entire pigeon, but I'm not sure what else to think.

This is the best photo Ed was able to get. 

Debate about what kind of hawk we have for a neighbor have ensued. Some people who saw the pictures that Ed managed to take believe it was the ferruginous hawk and others believe it was a prairie falcon. Having looked at the pictures of both, all I can say is if they pretty darn similar to me and I can't commit to one or the other. 

Prairie Falcon

Ferruginous Hawk

Whatever it is, I have seen it several times since that day, hanging around in trees near the house. I suppose I should feel sympathetic toward the pigeon population, but it's pretty great to have our very own hawk. I hope it sticks around.

Late Spring Update

I'm back in Boulder, and a lot is happening! Instead of typing thousands of words, I'll let these pictures tell some of the story: 

It's spring! This time of year, I can't think of a better place to be than Boulder. Thanks to all the rain we've had, everything is green and there are blooms everywhere you look. 

I bought some beautiful, healthy tomato plants from the sale at the community garden, just down the street. Today they went into pots, and I can't wait to start enjoying fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes. 

Work on our house design is going very well, and we're having lots of fun going over the plans and working with our team.

It's popsicle season, and I'm excited about my new rocket-shaped molds. I can't wait until these bad boys are frozen enough to eat. 

Ed took second place in a very competitive field at his first triathlon of the year!

He was cheered on by two special guests: his mother, and Mischa. Here, both ladies enjoy the lake while waiting for him to return from the bike segment of the race. Mischa had a wonderful time chasing the waves. 

How the Other 98% Live*

“The true New Yorker secretly believes that people living anywhere else have to be, in some sense, kidding.” - John Updike

"Whoever is born in New York is ill-equipped to deal with any other city: all other cities seem, at best, a mistake, and at worst, a fraud." - James Baldwin

I was not born in New York. Far from it. I lived there for five years that passed in the blink of an eye and have since moved on to a place that I love. But quotes like the ones above give me a deep sense of comfort because my short time in that brutal and magical city has ruined me, perhaps forever, for at least some aspects of life elsewhere. Two recent experiences, both involving stages, made this starkly clear, and it has been a dismal realization.

On Tuesday night, Ed and I met some friends to go to a performance put on by an organization called Truth Be Told. Anyone who is familiar with The Moth will recognize the format: Truth Be Told is a storytelling event. On ordinary nights, spectators can put their names into a hat and, if selected, take the stage to tell a five-minute true story to the audience that connects in some way with the night's theme. They usually take place at Shine, a local brewery. I've never been to one of those; instead, we started with the creme de la creme (so to speak): a grand slam event featuring only winners from the regular events. (I was a little confused about this because one of the emcees alluded to more than one winner from one particular show.) The theme was "Thwarted."

I was quite looking forward to the show, but I left the theater nearly three hours later feeling deflated. The stories themselves were fine; in fact, some of them were quite good. Ed and I attended a few Moth events in New York, and some of these storytellers would have been, if not on par, very close on the coattails of some of the performers we saw. But I was taken aback by my reaction to the hosts of the event, two local women who introduced each storyteller and performed in grating musical interludes sprinkled throughout the evening. I had no idea I'd become such a snob.

It's not that they were bad at what they did, per se. But there was an amateurish quality about every aspect of the show that I couldn't seem to ignore, and I felt deeply resentful about it. Some of the best performers in the world make their way to New York, so that even community theater productions are of excellent quality. I've seen dancers in subway cars that have taken my breath away. New York is overflowing with talented people, and I'd come to take it for granted. Still, if you'd have asked me two years ago, on the cusp of our move, whether I expected that the rest of the world would be the same way, I'd have scoffed and said that I knew it wouldn't be. What I didn't realize was how little I'd internalized that reality. It was a lonely feeling to scan the sea of mesmerized faces all around me and feel as though I was the only one who noticed that the emperor wasn't wearing any clothes. I left the theater, called (I'm not kidding) the Dairy Center for the Arts, with the dismal realization that any show I saw in Boulder was likely to leave a bad taste in my mouth. I missed New York suddenly and fiercely. 

Denver, I was sure, would be different. While driving 45 minutes to see a show was not a prospect I relished, I figured it would be worth it to see good theater. You can't expect too much of a town of 100,000 people, after all, but a big city like Denver would surely be different. Last night I joined some friends to see a show I'd seen and absolutely adored in New York, A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. It was one of the funniest shows I'd ever seen, and I looked forward to reliving the experience with my friends.

The experience was...fine. The show was amusing. But where I'd nearly fallen out of my seat for laughing in New York (without help from any of my fellow theatergoers, who were too busy nearly falling out of their own seats to offer a steady hand), I found myself simply chuckling here and there in Denver. The show was the same, but the actors, alas, just fell short. It was a lukewarm performance, I felt, and even superb writing could only go so far.

I was astonished, therefore, to hear glowing praise in the stairwell as we made our way to the exits after the curtain call. The audience, it seemed, had loved the show. Of course they hadn't seen the original cast perform it, as I had. But would I have been as laudatory as those around me even if this were my first time? I doubt it.

I suppose I must resign myself to setting lower expectations for "local" performances (though Gentleman's Guide was the national tour, not some backwater adaptation), or to holding off on theater when I'm not visiting New York. Who'd have thought that so many wonderful experiences in New York audiences would have translated to disappointed experiences elsewhere?  

*2% of Americans live in New York City.

Just a Little Dusting

Ed and I agree that this is the most accumulation we have seen since we moved to Boulder. This morning, my neighbor sunk a yardstick 14 inches into his driveway! The weather has actually been fairly mild, with no strong winds or even guests really, but the snow just kept falling for more than 24 hours. It seems to mostly be done now, but warmer weather isn't forecast for a few more days, so we've got a lot of unmelted snow to look forward to. Here are some pictures from our new home in the Arctic:

Our cozy house, with Mischa's tracks in the front yard

I actually cleared off the top of our mailbox last night...

Check out that layer on the railing! It's at least 10" tall in this picture. It eventually got so high it toppled over.

Poor Hester

We used to have steps. Now we have a slide.

Another angle, to give you a sense of the depth

Mischa loves wading through the snow, even when it is chest-deep. She also races back and forth, pounces onto (we think) imaginary critters under the surface, and crunches on mouthfuls of it. 

What does when do in the weather this snowy? Well, after one has recovered from shoveling the driveway and the sidewalk (and the elderly neighbor's driveway, and the one's own driveway a second time when all the snow that used to be on top of one's car is brushed onto said driveway after it has already been shoveled once...), one meets up with intrepid friends for a snowshoeing adventure in the lovely and nearby Chataqua Park.

Western Morning, Southern Afternoon

While the East Coast got pounded by record-breaking blizzards, we were enjoying an absolutely blissful weekend here in Boulder. It was sunny and clear, and although the mercury topped out in the mid-50s, it felt much warmer than that when one was in the sun. It was a perfect day for a hike, so I packed Mischa into the car and joined some friends at a trailhead a mere eight minutes' drive from our house. The park is called Chataqua and it's criss-crossed with trails that lead up to the nearby Flatiron Mountains. Here is Mischa, posed and ready for hour hike.

Most of the pictures I took ended up looking more like this, so I was pleased with the shot above:

Although the day was warm, the trail was very, very icy, but fortunately everyone in our group had the good sense to bring spikes. This is a product I didn't know even existed for most of my life, but in Boulder it's indispensable. I actually own two different types, one like the picture to the left and the other with smaller spikes under the ball of my foot and springs to dig into the snow that run under my heel. They're great because they're light enough to carry easily if you don't need them, but they make it possible to walk up slick surfaces that would be nearly impossible otherwise. We cruised by lots of hikers who were slipping and sliding along the trails and turning back early. Perhaps that is why the area wasn't as crowded as it ought to have been, considering the wonderful weather. We had a great time.

Mischa, who had no spikes, did an excellent job anyway. Ed and I had taken her up Mt. Sanitas, another nearby trail, earlier in the week, so this wasn't her first rodeo. Sanitas involves lots of scrambling over small boulders, and we were pleased that Mischa, who had never done anything like that as far as we knew, had little trouble picking out and executing a path over the rocks. She seemed to have a great time, and she was cheerful on our Saturday hike, too (which had no boulders to climb over and so was easier going). She hardly pulled on her leash at all, which is an improvement, was serene instead of anxious when passers-by attempted to pet her, and even did a fair job of ignoring many dogs we passed. (We still have a lot of work to do on this front.) She ended up muddy, tired, and happy.

Having worked up an appetite on the trails, several of our friends and I made a bar in South Boulder our next stop because they were hosting a crawfish boil. They do this a few times a year, apparently, and I will most definitely be back for the next one. Crawfish came in one-pound baskets or three-pound buckets, accompanied by corn on the cob (a little overdone) and boiled potatoes. I dispatched my own basket and part of a friend's, then helped Ed with a three-pound bucket. They were delicious and fun to eat. The only place I'd ever eaten crawfish before was a New Orleans-themed restaurant in Manhattan, so I have yet to rack up an "authentic" experience, but I'm not complaining.

Our bucket

I will be on the road quite a bit for the next few weeks, but I couldn't have asked for a higher note to go out on.

Frosty, Misty Run

Ed's training schedule called for an easy 40-minute run first thing this morning (to be followed by a 3-hour bike ride, lest you get the wrong impression about the intensity of his regimen), and Mischa and I opted to keep him company. Mischa does best when running with a "pack" - one-on-one, she pulls on the leash a lot, but when I take her with a group she trots along at the pace set by everyone else. This was our first attempt at running with her as a duo, and to our relief she did very well and hardly pulled at all. Our mini-pack was apparently just big enough.

This was good, because there is snow and some ice on the roads and sidewalks, and a lunging dog would certainly have toppled whichever of us happened to be holding the leash. We ran carefully. The morning was a lovely one despite the cold (something like 16 degrees). Mischa was in heaven; as a husky, she thrives in cold weather and loves nothing more than to dash back and forth in the snow and pounce on snowbanks. The air up here tends to be quite dry, but we had an unusual phenomenon today: mist. As we ran, the droplets collected on just about every surface and froze. Ed and I both ended up with frosted eyelashes, and the few small hairs that escaped his hat sported winter coats, too. Bits of fuzz on my vest showed up white. Mischa became increasingly icy as we ran, beginning with her face and working back to her ears and ruff.

We knew we had to get a picture of this rare happening, and since I was less icy (and therefore less interesting) than Ed, I dashed inside when we got home--melting my eyelashes in an instant--to grab a camera.

Look closely at Ed and you can see his white eyelashes and a few frosted hairs under the brim of his hat. It's not nearly as hard to see Mischa's frostiness.

The Jaipur Literature Festival Comes to Boulder

I was quite excited when I heard several months ago that the Jaipur Literature Festival would be coming to Boulder. Granted, I'd never heard of it. But I had missed going to hear authors read their work and speak from my New York days, and I figured this was at least worth a shot. Plus, it was free.

The Boulder Public Library

The event was to take place at the Boulder Library, which is one of my favorite places in town. The building is beautiful both inside and out, and I looked forward to having a reason to hang out there for a weekend. I was a little less optimistic when I saw the line-up of speakers, however. I'd heard of only one (Anchee Min) of the hundred or so who would be coming, and for someone who follows literature and publishing as closely as I do, this was rather unusual. I figured these must be pretty obscure writers indeed. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to listen to excerpts from a lot of mediocre books. 

Luckily, that's not really what the Jaipur Literature Festival is about, as it turns out. The connection to literature was actually fairly loose. Instead of talking about books, writers of fiction and non-fiction (and some translators, too) converge to discuss all sorts of topics that they've explored in their books, but the goal is to exchange ideas rather than to promote certain works. The festival started in Jaipur, India eight (I think) years ago and has grown to be tremendously popular there (partially, one can't help but suppose, because it is free). In addition to its yearly visit to India, it has taken place in London and several other cities as well. The JLF had never occurred in the United States before, and a local couple approached the coordinators to suggest that it come to Boulder, thinking it was a pretty long shot but determined to at least propose it. To their surprise, the committee was intrigued and sent some delegates to check out the area. They promptly fell in love and the rest is history. I was a little disappointed to learn that the focus would be less on literature than I'd thought, but I figured it might be an interesting event. 

The JLF took place on Saturday and Sunday. There were talks throughout both days, each lasting about 45 minutes, from 10:00 A.M. through 6:00 P.M. On average, there were three or four talks to choose from for every single time slot - in short, a lot of options. Titles on the program included "Rewilding Our Heart," "Cities and Their Shadows," "First Draft: Between Fact and Fiction," and "Matters of Faith." In other words, they were a little ambiguous. Although the website provided more detailed descriptions of the themes, the prospect of clicking through all of them seemed overwhelming, so I think most people just chose the ones that sounded most intriguing and hoped for the best. Most discussions were led by panels of three to four authors with a mediator, with time for questions from the audience at the end. Having just returned from traveling, I was happy to let our friends Diana and Joel pick the first two talks on Saturday, and Ed and I showed up to attend:  

• Against the Grain: In the Times of Groupspeak - Margo Jefferson, Adrian Molina and Ryan Gattis moderated by David Barsamian
• Twilight Zones - Kai Bird, Simon Sebag Montefiore, and William Dalrymple, moderated by Nur Laiq

Things got off to a rather disastrous start. Against the Grain was (as perhaps we should have expected from the title) disjointed and very poorly mediated. Barsamian is apparently a host on a local, uber-liberal radio show, and he kicked things off by delivering a long, meandering monologue, then asking the panelists if they had anything to say (after failing to introduce any of them). They looked at each other in bewilderment, then, after a few tense moments, delivered monologues of their own. Barsamian had prepared no questions, and the "conversation" was difficult to follow and felt like a waste of time. 
Happily, Twilight Zones (which, as it turned out, was about the Middle East) was fascinating and expertly run. All three panelists were historians, and their conversation, expertly mediated by author and Middle Eastern scholar Nur Laiq, was fascinating.  

I was on my own for Sunday, so I chose to attend: 

• Twice Told Texts: The Inner Life of Translations - Antonio Ruiz-Camacho, Arvind Krishna Mehrotra, Christi Merrill, and Linda Hess, moderated by Arshia Sattar
• Jerusalem - Brian Aivars Catlos, Nur Laiq, and Simon Sebag Montefiore, moderated by Sanjoy Roy

Both sessions, thankfully, bore no resemblance to Against the Grain. The discussion about translation was particularly interesting for me, as it's a subject that I've always found fascinating. Two of the panelists were translators of poetry, which I've always imagined must be the most difficult type of text to work with, and there was plenty of lively debate about whether to translate word-for-word as much as possible, forget the words and try to evoke the meaning of the original poem, or try for something in between. Jerusalem was, predictably, fascinating as well, and I learned a great deal about the history of a city I've often visited but known comparatively little about. One of the panelists was a Medieval historian who teaches at CU, and Nur Laiq, who spends most of her time interviewing Arab youth about their perceptions of current events, sat beside him, so we heard very interesting and diverse information. I was so interested that I bought a copy of Jerusalem (the book) in the JLF gift shop and had it signed by Simon Sebag Montefiore, the third panelist. It's a fairly monstrous tome and I both look forward to, and dread, diving into it. 

There is much talk about having the JLF return next year, and it seemed to me that things went so smoothly that we have a good chance. Overall, it was a wonderful experience, though there were lots of local nuts in the audiences. In Boulder, the local nuts are usually the older generation who have been living here since the '60s and are overly fond of tie-dye and conspiracy theories. Oh well, I suppose they just added to the experience. I encourage anyone and everyone who might be interested to keep tabs on JLF Boulder and to come out next year. Our guest room may even be available. Keep an eye out for recordings of the talks, too; I heard that they will all be posted on the website and will be available for public viewing. 

Ignite Boulder

I've long been a fan of TED Talks. In fact, when I worked at the Yellin Center, I often tried to watch one during my lunch break if I wasn't too busy, and I went through lots of them while waiting for my jet lag to abate in Israel. Watching fascinating people talk about their ideas is always motivating and exciting. So when my friend Candice described Ignite Boulder as being sort of like TED, I was immediately interested...even though I didn't know what on earth she was talking about.

Ignite Boulder, it turns out, is a quarterly series of talks by locals who volunteer to share information about something they care about. People who want to speak apply, and if they are chosen they prepare a five-minute talk on their topic (which can be just about anything). That's the first big difference between Ignite Boulder and TED: the latter talks can last up to 20 minutes (though many don't), but Ignite Boulder moves at a much quicker pace. Another aspect of Ignite Boulder that's interesting is that visual aids are required. Specifically, each speaker must prepare a slideshow and set it so that the slide changes every 15 seconds. As far as parameters go, that's pretty much it. Several of my friends had been before and all raved, and since the shows always sell out I hurried to get tickets as soon as they went on sale.

We arrived at the event space in Chataqua Park, which, though pleasant, was apparently unusual. Ignite Boulder is typically held in the Boulder Theater downtown. The space was huge and felt like a barn. We settled into our seats and watched the place fill and before long the evening's host took the stage to introduce the event. We learned that this was the 26th Ignite Boulder. After warming up the crowd a bit, the host took his seat and the first speaker stepped up to the lectern.

A terrible picture, but the only one I was able to get.

I enjoyed the evening very much, though some of the talks were, naturally, better than others. One woman talked about her experiences as a movie extra. A man talked about suicide awareness and prevention. We learned about Boulder housing laws, voting, the numerous ties between video games and real life, the impact of mentorships, alternative modes of transportation, the importance of supporting the men and women who serve in the armed forces, weather balloon photography, and gender identity. Some of the talks were funny, some a little boring, and some very moving. Some speakers seemed to have chosen random images that related to their topic which flashed behind them as they spoke, while others choreographed their slideshows to line up perfectly with what they were saying at each moment. There was a brief intermission, and the evening was over before we knew it.
 
It wasn't as sophisticated as some of the events I attended in New York, but Ed and I enjoyed it, and I will certainly attend another Ignite Boulder. I will have to remember that I'm no longer in the city that never sleeps, though. Ed and I planned to have dinner out after the show, and we arrived at a nearby brewery at about 9:10. Although it was essentially a bar on a Thursday night, we were lucky to be handed the late-night menu, as the kitchen was going to close soon. In New York, restaurants would just be getting warmed up...

Tube to Work Day

I met up with some friends for a run along the Boulder Creek pathway on Tuesday morning, and I'm sure glad that I did! We were in the right place at the right time to see people gathering for Tube to Work Day.

Only in Boulder would this crazy event not just exist but thrive. It started in 2008 when two friends decided to float to work instead of driving/walking/biking. Yesterday, about 200 people showed up to brave the freezing waters of Boulder Creek.

I missed the actual tubing part, so these pictures are not mine. 

In advance of the event, the founder advised bringing a wetsuit, a business suit (this is the only non-practical item on the list), an inflated tube, a helmet, and a bus pass; tubers were encouraged to leave their cars at home and take public transportation instead. When we ran by the designated starting point at about 7:15 A.M., eager tubers were already strapping on helmets and talking excitedly. I saw a fancy news camera on a tripod, aimed at the river. At 7:50 when we passed by again, the initial few had exploded into a crowd. People wore wacky business attire (some more business-like than others) and had all kinds of floatation devices: some simple black inner tubes, some pool toys, and one shaped like an inflatable swan.

I had to get to work (not by tube), unfortunately, and couldn't stay, and I think we missed the launch by only a few minutes. The event started in a park and was set to end wherever people needed to get out of the river to walk to their offices. I heard that tubers got stuck on rocks a lot in past years, but this year high water levels thanks to our never-ending rain helped, as did the number of people in the river bumping into each other.

I knew in advance about Tube to Work day and had forgotten about it. Even if I'd remembered, though, I don't know if I'd have decided to brave that freezing water. On the other hand, how many people get the chance to participate in something like this? Maybe next year...

Beer Pairings at the Sanitas Brewery

Hardly a week goes by that I don't have at least one email from my new friend Candice. She always seems to know of something fun that's happening in the Boulder area and she loves to get groups together to see what the town has to offer. Her most recent invitation was to a dinner at the Sanitas Brewery, and Ed and I decided immediately that we were most definitely in.

The Sanitas taproom. 

After purchasing tickets for $30 a pop, we showed up on Monday night at a row of warehouses just off the highway. If this were any other town I'd have thought we were in the wrong place, but craft breweries in Boulder tend to set up shop in warehouses so I wasn't worried. Sure enough, after parking in view of forklifts and roll-up doors, we walked into a cavernous room containing several high-top tables and a modern-looking bar with large steel tanks and silvery pipe networks visible in the background. Young men, most sporting beards, walked by every few minutes, sometimes carrying lengths of tubing or buckets and all wearing t-shirts and galoshes.

Our group of about 12 was seated at a square table instead of a typical long, skinny rectangle; this wonderful set-up was perfect for whole-group discussion. Only one other small group had signed up for the pairing, which would normally seem ominous but I wasn't worried because this was Sanitas's first pairing dinner. Both of our tables were in a small room separated from the main bar area by large sliding doors. 

Zach and Clay took us through the evening's proceedings. Zach is one of the co-founders of Sanitas and Clay runs the McDevitt Taco Supply truck with his brother. Lots of breweries in Boulder are supplied by food trucks because, as Zach explained, in the beer sales world the difference between a second beer and a third beer is food, but most brewers don't know anything about the food industry. So a lot of breweries bring in mobile food providers, like food trucks, to supply their customers with sustenance to be washed down.

I'd drunk about half the beer when I took this.

Zach told us about the origins of Sanitas Brewing and Clay walked us through the history of his taco truck before we got to talking about the menu. Then the fun really began. We went through three courses plus dessert and each was served with a too-generous portion of beer. (Most people, thinking ahead to the drive home, left their glasses only partially emptied.) Before each course, Clay talked about the food and then Zach explained why he chose each beer to compliment it. Both had interesting things to say, but the acoustics in the room weren't great and I felt lucky to be sitting fairly close to the front. I liked the tuna course we started with, though I would have been grateful for more of the delicious pineapple pepper sauce. The jalepeno butternut squash soup was a fresh take on the old staple, but it was not for the faint of heart; Clay was generous with the jalepenos and it was very spicy. Just as Zach promised, though, the black IPA served alongside it put out flames with a single sip. The two complimented each other on other levels, too, however, and it was wonderful. I think this was the first time I've ever really experienced true synchrony between beer and food and I was surprised to find it almost as complex and pleasing as a good wine and food pairing. I was served a last-minute tilapia fillet while everyone else set to work on a massive portion of ribs; mine was delicious and Clay made sure to stop by to ask me how it turned out. Next time Sanitas hosts another such event, they'll have to be careful, especially in a town as liberal as Boulder, to have vegetarian options available. The dessert course, a dark chocolate chipotle brownie paired with a coffee-infused beer with hints of vanilla, was an inspired ending. 

This casual yet decadent dinner was wonderful. It was both an enjoyable social gathering and a learning experience. The portions, both of food and beer, were generous and everyone agreed that the meal was well worth the price we paid for it. 

I look forward to visiting Sanitas again, for a casual beer or for another wonderful, multi-course dinner.

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!