Author - Grant
Based In – Durango
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615734385342/
With nothing but the mildest of St Patrick’s Day hangovers (a clear indication that we’re as old as we are boring), today’s mission was to explore Durango via a casual triathlon. I say casual because the bike ride was a potter, the run was a stroll and the swim had more in common with bathing than exercise. Given the distances involved in an Iron Man, our day probably constituted a Cotton Wool Man but it still helped partially negate the consumption of a curry later that night.
In fact I might as well fast forward to the main meal of the day because the
preceding events aren’t going to be all that interesting to listen to. Not that they weren’t fantastic. The 10 mile bike ride along the river was incredibly picturesque with the Southern Colorado Rockies providing the constantly breathtaking backdrop and even though it was basically flat, the fact that we were already about 6000 feet above sea level made us wheeze like 40-a-day Cuban cigar smokers. I even managed to find not one but two ways to turn the leisurely ride into a x-treme sport as we stumbled upon a skate ramp park and a BMX dirt course that both begged to be ripped apart…although in reality I rode through them both with all the caution of someone with Osteogenesis Imperfecta as I can still hear the screams of my brother when he broke his wrist early one Saturday morning attempting a 9-Bricker. Even so, I feel fully justified in throwing the word ‘radical’ into a few sentences over the next couple of days. That will be radical. I’ll say less about the swimming because you may be reading this close to (or, god forbid, during) a meal time and I’m assuming you don’t want the imagery of me, in my zebra print thong, flailing around like an epileptic drunk…oops, too late.
The walk, however, I can expand upon because it gives me a good opportunity
to wax lyrical about this town that we have grown very attached to in a very short space of time. The only review of Durango that we had managed to pull up on line was someone’s rant that all the bars contained wannabe, super-cool ‘droids’ and that there were no ‘real people’…but with the exception of everyone between 17 and 19 having the same car (a black pick-up with 6 foot suspension and dual vertical exhausts), the place is overflowing with charm and uniqueness. In reverse order of importance, it’s close to skiing, every other shop is a pub and there’s a Cold Stone Creamery. I just need two of the three of Hef’s ex-girlfriends to move here (any two, even Kendra assuming we could have her vocal chords removed) and Belinda Carlisle will be proved right (Heaven IS a place on earth). There was even a shop selling Durango T-shirts which meant that Kate could continue to make this blog unnecessary as simply arranging her 135 strong T-Shirt collection in chronological order of purchase will provide an accurate summary of our journey.
Just as Day 135 did, I’m saving the best for last. There are certain times when only a ruby will cut the mustard and tonight was one of them. And when that ruby turn
s out to be a golden one, well does life get any better? We had spied the Himalayan Kitchen the previous evening whilst bar crawling (assuming two bars makes a crawl) and been drawn back to the smells wafting from the entrance way much like the Bisto Kid in the pre-CGI adverts. Whilst this place claimed to specialise in three genres of food (Tibetan, Indian and Nepalese), I am neither from, nor have visited any of these countries so I can’t accurately comment on whether or not they were authentic but I can resolutely confirm that they were lip-smackingly tasty. Kate, being from Essex, ordered a Chicken Tikka Masala (it’s in their genes…much like a dung beetle will only eat dung) and I went for a ‘typical Tibetan dish’ whose name I couldn’t pronounce at the time and have no chance of correctly spelling now so I’ll not even bother trying. What I can tell you is that it was much like a Lancashire Hot-Pot…only with Yak meat, hods of cilantro/coriander and less jokes about Coronation Street. Similar to hot-pot (repeat to fade) it was tasty, filling and warming and the yak meat was reminiscent of goat or very lean beef. Despite my ridicule, Kate’s CTM was fiendishly good and I’ll admit to wiping her bowl dry with the remaining wheat flat-bread and paratha. Even the accompanying beer (it’s the law you know) was better than the average beer and Old Monk (from Chennai, India) is my current favourite tipple…although at 8% alc vol, I’d better not start pouring it on my Cheerios.
It’s not often I’m sad at the end of a meal but this was one that I could have eaten until I was physically sick…I guess that means I could eat yak ‘til I yak. I’m pleased I managed to find a subtle way to get that line in…
Based In – Durango
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615734385342/
With nothing but the mildest of St Patrick’s Day hangovers (a clear indication that we’re as old as we are boring), today’s mission was to explore Durango via a casual triathlon. I say casual because the bike ride was a potter, the run was a stroll and the swim had more in common with bathing than exercise. Given the distances involved in an Iron Man, our day probably constituted a Cotton Wool Man but it still helped partially negate the consumption of a curry later that night.
In fact I might as well fast forward to the main meal of the day because the
preceding events aren’t going to be all that interesting to listen to. Not that they weren’t fantastic. The 10 mile bike ride along the river was incredibly picturesque with the Southern Colorado Rockies providing the constantly breathtaking backdrop and even though it was basically flat, the fact that we were already about 6000 feet above sea level made us wheeze like 40-a-day Cuban cigar smokers. I even managed to find not one but two ways to turn the leisurely ride into a x-treme sport as we stumbled upon a skate ramp park and a BMX dirt course that both begged to be ripped apart…although in reality I rode through them both with all the caution of someone with Osteogenesis Imperfecta as I can still hear the screams of my brother when he broke his wrist early one Saturday morning attempting a 9-Bricker. Even so, I feel fully justified in throwing the word ‘radical’ into a few sentences over the next couple of days. That will be radical. I’ll say less about the swimming because you may be reading this close to (or, god forbid, during) a meal time and I’m assuming you don’t want the imagery of me, in my zebra print thong, flailing around like an epileptic drunk…oops, too late.The walk, however, I can expand upon because it gives me a good opportunity
to wax lyrical about this town that we have grown very attached to in a very short space of time. The only review of Durango that we had managed to pull up on line was someone’s rant that all the bars contained wannabe, super-cool ‘droids’ and that there were no ‘real people’…but with the exception of everyone between 17 and 19 having the same car (a black pick-up with 6 foot suspension and dual vertical exhausts), the place is overflowing with charm and uniqueness. In reverse order of importance, it’s close to skiing, every other shop is a pub and there’s a Cold Stone Creamery. I just need two of the three of Hef’s ex-girlfriends to move here (any two, even Kendra assuming we could have her vocal chords removed) and Belinda Carlisle will be proved right (Heaven IS a place on earth). There was even a shop selling Durango T-shirts which meant that Kate could continue to make this blog unnecessary as simply arranging her 135 strong T-Shirt collection in chronological order of purchase will provide an accurate summary of our journey.Just as Day 135 did, I’m saving the best for last. There are certain times when only a ruby will cut the mustard and tonight was one of them. And when that ruby turn
s out to be a golden one, well does life get any better? We had spied the Himalayan Kitchen the previous evening whilst bar crawling (assuming two bars makes a crawl) and been drawn back to the smells wafting from the entrance way much like the Bisto Kid in the pre-CGI adverts. Whilst this place claimed to specialise in three genres of food (Tibetan, Indian and Nepalese), I am neither from, nor have visited any of these countries so I can’t accurately comment on whether or not they were authentic but I can resolutely confirm that they were lip-smackingly tasty. Kate, being from Essex, ordered a Chicken Tikka Masala (it’s in their genes…much like a dung beetle will only eat dung) and I went for a ‘typical Tibetan dish’ whose name I couldn’t pronounce at the time and have no chance of correctly spelling now so I’ll not even bother trying. What I can tell you is that it was much like a Lancashire Hot-Pot…only with Yak meat, hods of cilantro/coriander and less jokes about Coronation Street. Similar to hot-pot (repeat to fade) it was tasty, filling and warming and the yak meat was reminiscent of goat or very lean beef. Despite my ridicule, Kate’s CTM was fiendishly good and I’ll admit to wiping her bowl dry with the remaining wheat flat-bread and paratha. Even the accompanying beer (it’s the law you know) was better than the average beer and Old Monk (from Chennai, India) is my current favourite tipple…although at 8% alc vol, I’d better not start pouring it on my Cheerios.It’s not often I’m sad at the end of a meal but this was one that I could have eaten until I was physically sick…I guess that means I could eat yak ‘til I yak. I’m pleased I managed to find a subtle way to get that line in…
Westbound to Mexican Hat tomorrow. No, really, it’s a place. Look it up. Told you.
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