Cherryvale Loop Report; Shouldn't We Stop and Ask Someone for Directions?
Welcome to my world
Berly was looking for a good shakedown run today. She said she wanted "a civilized experience," which told me the usual Frenz grind, with its attendant drooling and hacking was probably out... at least for now.
I told her that I knew of a great route out Cherryvale and back through Marshall, one that was both esthetic (my word for goes-past-a-microbrewery) and aerobically challenging. She trusted me - for the last time I'm sure - and we soon found ourselves clanging through a series of cattle gates, tottering over rotting wooden bridges, and wobbling smack into antebellum Boulder County. This would be the area the Open Space guys refer to as the Mosquito Coast, the place they send their rookies to see if they have moxie. They seldom do... or come back.
I hated telling Kimberly I was lost, but when the elephant is in the room, it's best to give it a peanut. Besides, she'd become suspicious when I mistook a culvert for an underpass (Cripes, there's no headroom! Who designed this damn thing?!). And after we'd passed the same "CAUTION; DICHLOROETHANE TEST SITE" sign for the third time, she became decidedly nonplussed.
"Hey Dave, mind if I lead for a while?"
"No problem, but let me know if you need help finding the way."
"I'll be sure to holler. Now move over."
Within five minutes we were back on Baseline and spinning big rings.
Okay, so she got lucky.
In the early days, Dave dressed me down daily; the beta-blockers have since calmed him down
Today Dave wants us to break up into small groups, then report back about what we learned about ourselves. The BS meter is pegged, but there's not much I can do—he's got a million PERA credits, so we are contractually obligated to do as he says.