Leaves, Then Metal

The aspens, I was warned, peaked last weekend. And the forecast calls for gray and thunderstorms tomorrow (where are we again?). So, this morning, we headed up to the Santa Fe Ski Basin. They run the chair lift for a few weeks this time of year for the leaf-peepers. The drive up was pretty amazing, even though it was clear that we were past peak; seems to be a pretty narrow window.

Parked, got out, checked out the lift, reconsidered the hike down versus the ride down, and got our round-trip tickets. And got on the lift.



The ride was maybe ten minutes up, skimming the treetops. Took us a while to get used to it, neither of us ever having been on a ski lift before (and figuring that the ground was much further away than when it's covered with snow).

Disembark at the top, around 11,000 feet. And cold. It's been cooling here, but the altitude and the wind — we were unprepared, basically, And my autumnal denial outfit of shorts with fleece wasn't the best choice. A few other people at the top. But the views were just amazing. The city below was covered by clouds, the remaining aspens dotted the trees around.



After a few minutes, headed back down.







The grill was open at the base, got some hot chocolate and stretched out in the sun, watching the hikers with their dogs.

The drive down gave us a few more spectatular sights.



Back home, download the photos and clear the camera, change, and head north to the town of Española (Spaña) for Spañapalooza. Ryk, our friend from the local comic group, was involved in the organization of this event (primarily for the local kids), which took place in a town park. (Note, by this time, and at a lower altitude, it was getting hot).

We'd heard about, but hadn't yet seen, Ryk fronting his band GLORYHORDEORCHESTRA.



We arrived just before their set, and kind of continued to hang out with Jarrett at the True Believers table, which was about 15 feet from the speakers. A good vantage point to stay for the DJ and more metal bands. There were a whole bunch of tables from community organizations in one half of the park. We spent the afternoon over in the music area giving away comic stuff and enjoying the theatrics of GLORYHORDEORCHESTRA, poetry from a particpant in the National Poetry Slam, a pretty large skate park, and, after a while, a respectable mosh pit:

Apple Picking

Sunday found us heading out with Kathy for some apple picking.

Started out heading south on The Turquoise Trail to San Marcos Café, probably about 15-20 minutes out of town. Combination small, funky restaurant and feed store, complete with various fowl (roosters, chickens, peacocks/hens, turkeys) wandering the grounds. Good food. We'll have to return with bigger appetites.

From there, cut across the washboard dirt roads and picked up the interstate, exited by Cochiti Lake, and continued on to Pena Blanca.

The end of the road drops you, kind of nestled in among a couple mesas, at Dixon's Apples. An unexpected setting, an apple orchard in the desert, but pretty spectacular. It's apparently a big local destination, and there were plenty of families there, getting apples. We picked a bag of Sparkling Burgundy — more specifically, we picked one up; it's not one of those pick-your-own places. We split it with Kathy, and now we got pie cooling in the kitchen.

Yeah, we left the camera behind.

Update:

happy birthday, Mando!

2 October 1974

well do ya, punk?

FedEx Follies

We had to ship back a bunch of stuff from our trip to SPX last week; we were able to take some back in our luggage, but Monica had to FedEx a box back home. 20 pounds, no signature required.

Through the magic of the Internet, we'd been tracking its progress. And, Thursday morning, it was on the truck and slated for delivery and remained that way throughout the day. We got in later that evening (taking the Nissan to the shop for a new battery; the 14-year-old original seems to have finally gone), and no box yet. Checked online, and it was marked as delivered, about the same time we got in. Nope, no package outside.

Call FedEx, the automated system offers no insight, but some odd automated message in the "signed by" area. Call back, get an operator. Yep, there it was, delivered to apartment 4__ instead of 11__. March on down to apartment 4__, no box outside, nobody home. Back home, call FedEx operator again. With no signature required, they don't even record if someone signed for it, so there's no way to know if they left it with the resident or just outside. Until tomorrow, when they can check with the driver, and can call me back. Back down to the apartment to leave a note.

A couple hours later, a call from the resident. She's got the box. Turns out, she's expecting a piece of furniture, and so signed for it and didn't even look at what it was before heading out. Gratefully, I lug the box back home.

Friday, a kind of defensive message on my voice mail from FedEx, insisting that the package was delivered to 4__, as it said on the package.

That evening, we were heading to an AIGA Santa Fe reception, in honor of a weekend-long visit from Jim Sherraden from Hatch Show Print. That was a pretty great time, got to speak to Jim again (and, again, couldn't have been nicer) and visit with some other designers (including another recent DC-area transplant). Took place in the courtyard at the Palace of the Governors, out in front of the letterpress print shop there.

Headed back home, pull up in front, and there's a FedEx truck in my parking spot. Wait a minute, he comes running out, acknowledges that he's in my spot, pulls out. We pull in, get out of the car, and peer up to our apartment — big box outside. FedEx guy gets out of his truck, asks if one of us is (name of resident from 4__). No, I reply, but I think she's in 4__. Does it seem like it's a piece of furniture? Yes, it does . . .