Swimming Like Fish Among The People

Upon learning of my recent travels, an e-mailer offers his support:

Holy Sh**! Talk about a fish out of water. This what it must be like if Hugh ever walked into a strip bar. Or I am thinking the movie Blast From The Past. All I can tell you is I don't want you having a relapse like you did in your lawn jockey days, so if someone offers you some chronic just say no Elder. Also I recommend that you make sure you are not caught in the People's Republic of Boulder wearing something like a white T-shirt and 501 blue jeans while walking down the Pearl Street Mall. You might get some offers that would make a good Minnesota boy feel unclean and question his sexuality. Well watch your back Elder, if you see Ward say hello for me and shine on you crazy diamond. If you get into a major jam I can gather a SORT team to try to extract you ASAP just use your Little Orphan Annie Decoder ring and we will be in route. God speed Elder, God speed. Your brother in arms, Paul in Littleton, Co.

So far, so good. I've been able to remain relatively incognito. Tonight, I strolled the city streets wearing hiking shoes, cargo shorts, and sporting a back pack. My shirt did have a collar on it, which might have attracted attention had I not spilled coffee all over it on the drive from the airport. This helped create the illusion that I might be a mentally ill transient, and thus a member of a subgroup that the community would welcome with open arms, unlike say, a Republican traveling on business.

The funny thing about stereotypes is that there usually is a glimmer of truth in them. Just about every lefty stereotype you can imagine is readily visible in Boulder. I lost count of the number of Subaru's and Volvos I saw on my walk to a local watering hole for dinner. Seriously, it seemed as if ever other car were some variant of Subaru or another, many of the replete with anti-Bush sloganeering.

Making fun of the people of Boulder is easy. Almost too easy. It's like mocking Hugh for breaking his wrist when he recently fell down while running. If I were to even bother commenting on it, I would say that it has to be the lamest story of a sports injury that I've ever heard. If, that is, I even considered running to be a sport in the first place. Like I said, just too easy.

If one really wanted to embrace a true counter-culture life style within the city limits of Boulder, you'd have to drive a pick-up truck with gun racks and "W The President" and "I Love Wal-Mart" bumper stickers. Now that's what you would call true dissent.

But the scenery is beautiful and the beer is damn good. I stopped in at a bar near CU that has managed the difficult balancing act of hanging on to the charms of a college dive while still being acceptable to older folks (no puke in the bathrooms). I enjoyed a jumbo Sunshine Wheat and a pork sandwich with fries and cole slaw for all of ten bones. Total. We're not at Keegan's anymore Dorothy.

On the way back to my hotel, I dropped by a liquor store and picked up a six pack of 14'er ESB from Avery Brewing Co. The selection of locally brewed craft beers was outstanding and made my choice very difficult, especially since most of them are not available in Minnesota. So many beers, so little time.