Bear-ly Made It

Well, after 2,000 miles and 30 hours of driving, we finally made it to our new home. You may not believe this, but the drive from Denver to Aspen makes the other 27-hours of car-bound misery absolutely worthwile. There isn't enough slave labor in Japan to manufacture a camera worthy of capturing the beauty that is Glenwood Canyon, but we damn sure tried. We took dozens of photos, so rather than posting the pictures here, we are going to put together an online collection, likely set to some generic, standard slide show music, a la Green Day's "Time of Your Life." Lauren will let you know when and where you can find the album.

The pictures I did choose to attach, however, are attached for a purpose. They are intended to show each of you just how unpredictable and precious life is, and how you should never take one moment for granted.

Above is Lauren celebrating her arrival in Aspen, smiling at the thought of the limitless possibilities her new life promised. Then, just hours later, she was tragically mauled by a 10-foot bear in broad daylight while shopping on the Aspen pedestrian mall. And the whole thing was caught on camera. Circle of life, I guess. I must say though, if her mauling can inspire just one of you to get out and do something extraordinary tommorrow, it will all have been worth it.

Day 2 Summary: Things To Do in Denver When You're Sleepy

820 miles. 13 1/2 hours. 4 states (IL, MO, KS, CO)

Well, we made it. Lauren and I traversed the Kansas plains and landed in Denver shortly after 6PM. We were fortunate enough to be able to stay with my buddy Regan, as well as his soon-to-be wife Lori and dogs Roxie (on bottom) and Pete. Lauren and I were exhausted and eager to crash, but not before consuming a hearty meal of raw fish. I must say, there's almost no point in eating stuff like that if I don't have Freddy around to torture with it.

A quick Regan story. When we first met, in March of 2000, I had only been in the city for four months, and despite my undeniable magnetism, had yet to make any good friends.

Anyhoo, Regan and I were introduced by a mutual female acquaintence one Saturday night at the Purple Martini, and we hit it off right away. He was everything I hoped to become during my time in Colorado; a top-notch skier, avid hiker, he loved to camp, mountain bike, rock climb, etc...

When the night ended, Regan asked if I had plans for the next day.

"No plans," I replied, my cool exterior belying my nervousness, "What did you have in mind?"

My mind was racing with the possibilities. What exhilerating -- potentially dangerous, even --Mountain Dew commerical of an outdoor excursion did this adrenaline junkie have in store for me?

"You wanna' go shoot some prairie dogs?"

That's when I knew I wasn't in New Jersey anymore.

And no, I didn't go shoot any prairie dogs. Who could get mad at this face?