Awake at Eich and Misty’s on the floor of their home theater, complete with projection screen, theater seating, projection booth, and track lighting.  His full name is Ernest P. Eich IV and he is a freelance film maker and knows Hoony from when ol’ Hoonhout used to play rock n roll there.  Their apartment is upstairs from the first bank Butch Cassidy ever robbed.  They report hauntings.  We ventured into the bustling streets of friday morning T-Ride nestled between unfathomable peaks and The Bluest Skies, and stumbled across the first farmer’s market of the season.  I smelled and tasted things people grew and made, then we took the gondola (ganj-dola) to the top of the ski hill for free– it’s considered public transportation there.  At the top we scoped terrifying ski runs, I found 35 cents, and we filled ourselves with Rocky Monsters on this last Colorado afternoon of the tour.  We made one last stop with Matt (former V.O.R. drummer) at Bridalveil Falls, the tallest falls in CO.  At the brink of the falls sits a white two-story house.  In addition to the living area, in the basement, resides a hydroelectric system utilizing the falls to generate power.  The guy got a 99-year lease from the mining company at $1/ year, moved his family up for a time, ferrying supplies up the cliff with a series of cables and baskets.  Now he just sells the surplus energy to the town.  Enroute to Moab I threw a watermelon out the window and a mileage marker sliced it in two like a Hatori Hanzo.  At the show I met an aussie named Grog who possessed an incredible talent for spinning while bush-whistling.  Afterward we had a soak outside the hotel, then walked across town, snuck into a bed N breakfast, and swam and soaked some more.

Quote of the Day:    "Will, there’s a cat in your soup."

by Jesse Shell

Awoke this morning feeling peaceful and incredibly well-rested.  Kevin returned home from his job helping people get ahold of their medical debts for lunch on his skateboard wearing a tie-dyed button up business shirt.  This made me smile; I must have one.  We made a honey deposit– the Purdy’s gave us a huge tub of ranch-raised honey and we’ve been trying to give some away everywhere we stay– made plans for future awesomeness, and headed northwest.  The first order of business for leisure was to stop at Mesa Verde (green table) Nat’l Park where Pueblos built their homes into canyon walls.  Being on a timeline, we could only cruise through tourist-style, snap a couple pictures, get up close and personal to some poison ivy, and hike down to one of the palaces, which was incredibly well constructed and intact.  They carved footholds into the cliff walls– think of breaking trail on a snowy slope except with the now elusive timeless patience the Pueblo nurtured– and climbed to the plateau above to farm.  We pulled into Telluride– reminiscent of Banff– with enormous peaks all around, aspen groves covering entire ridges, a tall waterfall diving through the hole in a snowbank it carved and into the underworld.  The Fly Me To The Moon Saloon is a funky mountain town club with old basement rock walls that whisper rock history.  We explored, salivating over the tags and stickers of our favorite bands that’d played there before us.  Hawk and I strolled into the pizza joint up the way to several dudes standing on their barstools pumping fists, and literally the whole joint yelling at the top of their lungs.  Figuring the thin mountain air had gotten to the locals, we stuck around for slices and silliness.  We waded through the throng of established drinkers– contracting a contact-drunk in the process– and found a seat just as Dropkick Murphy’s came on, to which vocal chords were pushed to truly masochistic heigths.  Back at the Saloon a few people danced first set but my view from the merch table was blocked by a couple displaying the kind of tonsil-hockey I though only existed in parody-films and highschool gymnasiums.  At setbreak I met the former drummer of my neighbor’s (in Boise) band, my room mate’s co-worker, and a friend of Kyla and Kevin’s that invited us to stay for the night.

Quote of the Day:    "I’m dancin’ FAST!….so fast the band sped up!"
–crusty pee-pants drunk who spoke mostly pirate

Jesse Shell