#italian restaurant colorado

[ingoodtastedenver]

Step Into Stella's Cucina

Step Into Stella's Cucina, a new restaurant in Boulder.

We walked right past the front door for Stella’s Cucina twice before we finally figured out that the sleek, steeley door with the “S” logo was our goal. Located next door to Rosetta Hall, the new restaurant in Boulder can be easy to miss. You kind of have to be in-the-know to know where to go. But now you’ll know so that you don’t pass by this chic Italian dining experience with a New York flare.…

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 6 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - you spend the night in West Virginia, in which you find yourself in a slightly awkward situation. When you move on to a small town in Illinois, you make a decision that could end up being your downfall, while Spencer tries to take his mind off his growing attraction towards you.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - blood, murder, masturbation (male), slight voyeurism, slightly aggressive Spencer, swearing, drinking, making out, tears.

WC - 5k

Chapter Six - Raise No Fool

Logan, West Virginia was, by all accounts, an exceptionally boring place. There was nothing particularly interesting about it, aside from maybe its proximity to the Appalachian Mountains. 

The town boasted two restaurants, Morrison’s Drive In with its “world famous” hot dogs or Chirico’s Ristorante, a family owned Italian joint which was where you and Spencer had eaten dinner upon arrival in town. Shopping was just as sparse as was any other kind of activity in these parts. But you supposed you weren’t here for a vacation. 

The Chapmanville Inn, the fifty bucks a night motel Spencer had picked out was cheap but certainly not cheerful. The old building had definitely seen better days, a lick of paint would have gone a long way. Then again, knocking it down entirely and starting over again would have gone further. 

The room was smaller than your already pokey living room at home. It had twin beds, a wobbly table with a single chair you wouldn't think out of place in an elementary school, a stained blue carpet and little else. At the very least your room had its own bathroom, worryingly not all of them did. 

You hadn’t said much of anything to Spencer for the rest of the drive or over dinner. He kept trying to engage you but you responded with little more than perfunctory sounds and nods. Eventually he gave up trying. 

He’d allowed you to call Luke from the car outside the restaurant while he listened intently to everything you said to ensure that you didn’t incriminate him. You were sure Luke could sense something was amiss, between you telling him you’d left without your phone and that he couldn’t contact you on your replacement device, you knew he was suspicious. You’d ended the call telling him you would be in touch soon. 

When you checked into the Chapmanville Inn, under the names of Andrew and Rose Burnett with their Colorado drivers licences and paying cash, you went straight through to the bathroom to shower. 

You spent a long time under the measly flow of luke-warm water, cleaning yourself with the hotel shower gel which had an odd scent that you couldn’t place. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant but it certainly wasn’t nice either. 

You dried yourself off and changed your clothes and when you stepped back into the bedroom, you found it empty. Spencer was nowhere to be seen and neither were the two firearms or his hunting knife. The only thing left behind were your bags and the clothes he’d been wearing earlier neatly laid out on one of the beds. 

You padded over to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look out at the parking lot. The little navy Nissan was no longer in the spot Spencer had parked it in. 

Your first thought was to run. It could be your only chance to get away from Spencer’s manic clutches. The lobby must have a phone, you could call Luke and tell him everything and get him to come and pick you up. Or you could call the cops and have them come for Spencer, but on what grounds? 

You had no proof he had done anything wrong and you weren’t here entirely under duress. Spencer hadn’t forced you at gunpoint to come with him, ok so he’d threatened you but you could have gotten out of this if you’d really wanted to. When Luke hugged you at the BAU and obscured your phone’s microphone you could have told him what was going on but you didn’t. You didn’t tip Luke off for the same reason you weren’t going to run now. 

You didn’t want to. And that was what scared you most about this whole situation. You had no intention of going anywhere because you wanted to be here with Spencer, no matter how foolish that made you. And you were sure Spencer knew it too, otherwise he wouldn’t have left you here alone. If he’d thought you would run he never would have gone anywhere without you. 

Goddamint, I am in way over my head. 

You sat down on the free bed and quickly fell back against the pillows. You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you laid down. The last few days had taken its toll on you, coupled with the lack of sleep you’d had due to your nightmares and you were exhausted. You felt your eyes fluttering closed within seconds of your head hitting the pillow. You didn’t even manage to get under the sheet before you were drifting off to sleep.

***

You weren’t sure what woke you. Maybe it was the sound of the door being closed or the light that emanated from the crack in the bathroom door. Maybe it was the metallic smell that filled your nostrils and pulled you out of sleep. 

You rubbed your eyes, momentarily forgetting where you were as your brain roused into consciousness. You became aware of the sound of running water. A tap? No, the shower. You sat yourself up in bed and saw the trail of clothes leading to the bathroom door. Socks. Jeans. A hoodie. A pair of boxers. No shirt.

You swung your legs out of the bed without having the forethought to do so and were soon pushing yourself to your feet. You didn’t have to go far before you found the offending item, draped over a garbage bag on the back of the chair. 

Even in the dark room you could tell the material was soaked in blood, mostly by the smell. You’d already assumed where Spencer had gone tonight and now you had proof. 

Still there was no sign of the guns or the knife. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept towards the bathroom and poked your head around the crack in the door. Sitting on the sink basin, either side of the faucet were the two firearms Spencer had taken from your storage container. Inside the basin, soaking in some water was the partially bloody knife. 

Feeling your stomach turn, you went to return to bed before Spencer saw you creeping around but as you turned away from the sink your eyes landed on the shower. 

Through the flimsy yellow-ish curtain you could make out the perfect outline of Spencer’s body as he stood under the shower head. The lighting couldn’t have been more ideal, showcasing every dip and curve of his figure in silhouette. 

You couldn't quite work out if he was facing you or the wall as his hands moved to run through his hair. You could however make out his slim waist and his strong thighs. You heard him exhale sharply through parted lips as he moved his hands from his hair further down his body. 

When he turned to the side you had to hold back a gasp and clamped your hand over your mouth at the sight. His cock was standing at full attention and one of his hands was wrapped around it. When his hand started to move you had to bite down on your hand to stop from making a sound.

Your eyes were glued to his crotch, mesmerised by the way his hand glided up and down his hard length. You pressed your thighs together where you stood feeling dizzy at the sight and wishing there wasn’t a shower curtain hindering your view. 

It wasn’t long before you felt yourself getting wet, your arousal soaking into the fabric of your panties. You wanted to follow Spencer’s lead and touch yourself, or better, have Spencer touch you. But you didn’t move. You kept frozen still, watching him behind the curtain whilst biting down on your hand. 

Small pants and soft moans were coming from Spencer’s lips and you were possibly more turned on than you’d ever been in your life. You would give anything to just hop in that shower with him, to have a front row seat to what he was doing to himself, maybe even help him out. 

You were caught up in your fantasy, lost in imagination of what it would be like to have Spencer fuck you up against those grimy shower tiles. So when a voice interrupted your sordid thoughts, you yelped in shock. 

“You can either join me in here or go back to bed. I don’t need an audience, princess.” Spencer’s tone was amused yet breathy and he didn’t stop stroking himself as he spoke. 

He’d known you were watching him since you walked into the bathroom, the thin curtain worked both ways he’d been able to see you peeping on him. It was the only reason he’d gotten hard in the first place and he’d decided to give you a bit of a show. But you had to pay the cover charge if you wanted the grand finale. 

You made a pathetic whimpering sound like a puppy being kicked in the ribs and then he heard you scurrying away and shutting the door firmly behind you. He smiled to himself, shaking his head and continuing his activity once he was alone. He hadn’t expected you to join him, although he certainly wouldn’t have been upset if you had. He was aware you were attracted to him, as he was to you, but he wasn’t going to push you. 

He stroked himself to completion and made sure to moan louder than was strictly necessary when he came, to ensure you heard him. He inspected his body after and once he was sure he had rinsed off all the blood, he shut the shower off and got out. 

He dried himself off, dressed in a clean pair of underwear and a clean shirt. He cleaned off the blade soaking in the sink before taking it and the firearms and leaving the room. Your bed was furthest from the bathroom and you laid on your side with your back to him. He knew you weren’t asleep as your breathing wasn’t deep enough, but he’d let you pretend that you were. 

He took the knife and the guns and tucked them inside the nightstand between his bed and the bathroom door. He collected up the clothes he’d deposited on the floor and put them and the blood stained t-shirt in the garbage bag. The rags he’d used to clean the inside of the Nissan after disposing of the body went inside the bag too. 

Turning back to you he had an overwhelming desire to crawl into the small single bed next to you, turn you on your back and pin you down to the mattress so hard he left bruises on your wrists, maybe even some between your legs. 

But he refrained. There would be plenty of time for that, and he was sure it would happen. But right now you were like a frightened deer, seconds away from retreating back into the woods at any given moment. He needed to bide his time, let you come to him. But he would have you, he was sure of it.

He crawled into his own bed and mirrored your position, laying on his side so he could watch the back of your head. You seemed to tense up, as though you could feel his eyes on you somehow. He smiled against the pillow, closing his eyes and still seeing you behind his lids.

“Good night my darling Rose.” He mumbled, but as expected, he didn’t receive a reply.

***

The following day you somehow spoke less than the one before. This time you wouldn’t even make eye contact with him unless he forced you to and when he did an adorable blush would spread to your cheeks. You clearly felt awkward about what you’d witnessed last night but Spencer didn’t. And he would use your embarrassment to his advantage.

Your silence made for an extremely long journey. It was almost five hundred miles between Logan and his next planned pit stop in Edwardsville, Illinois. It took just over eight hours to make the drive with the couple of stops for gas he’d had to make. 

He had no target in Illinois. He probably could have found one if he’d wanted to but he was keen to reach his final destination without going off route too much in search of victims and Edwardsville was just a quick detour off of the I-70, barely taking him away from the interstate. 

He’d chosen the Heartland B&B for the night, which was a huge step up from the rundown Chapmanville Inn last night and about triple the price. But his generosity went unnoticed by you. 

It was an old farmhouse style building, set back from the road and surrounded by woodlands. The room was cosy and most importantly, clean. However, there was only one bed. 

You had a scowl on your face as you sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at Spencer in frustration. There was a couch on one wall but it was far too small for a person of his height to sleep on. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep your hands to yourself if we share a bed, Y/N?” He teased you but it only made you scowl grow.

“We will share this bed in your dreams.” You scoffed. 

“Oh we certainly will.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I mean it, I am not sharing a bed with you.” You folded your arms in defiance. 

“You expect me to sleep on that?” He nodded his head in the direction of the tiny couch.

“Or the floor. The bathtub. I don’t really care. But you aren’t sleeping here.” 

Spencer stepped closer to you, surprising you when he grabbed you roughly by the bicep and pulled you up to your feet. He was bearing his teeth at you like a wild animal.

“I think you’ve forgotten who has the power here, princess. You will sleep where I tell you to sleep. And if you keep sassing me, that will be in the car.” He spat at you, squeezing your arm so tightly he would surely leave a bruise. 

Suddenly he let you go, shoving you back to the bed and making you whine slightly. He turned his back on you, allowing you to see one of the weapons and the knife sheathed in the back of his pants as though giving you a warning. You watched him walk back over to the door and throw it open.

“Off on another vigilante mission?” You scoffed and he froze at your words in the open doorway. 

He exhaled noisily before slowly turning back to face you. He looked more annoyed than you’d ever seen him, as though your mere presence was a burden right now. 

“No,” he hissed. “I’m going to find somewhere to have a fucking drink.” 

He didn’t wait for you to reply before he stepped outside and slammed the door closed behind him.  You felt your cheeks burning with your anger and you let out a frustrated scream, slamming your fists against the mattress. 

You were growing sick of this. You’d let Spencer drag you halfway across the country only for him to treat you like a nuisance. You’d thought you were here to help, to be somewhat useful to him but instead you were to stay hauled up in hotel rooms while he went out and did whatever the fuck he wanted. 

No, not anymore. You weren’t going to let him treat you like this. If you were in this, you were in it together or you were leaving. You jumped up from the bed, marched to the door and threw it open before disappearing into the night. 

***

Luke had just put down Roxy’s food when his cell phone rang from the coffee table. He patted the dog on the head with a sigh as he prayed it wouldn’t be Garcia calling to say they had yet another case. 

The team was worn extremely thin after the loss of two members and the cases seemed never ending. It was the first evening he’d gotten to spend at home in such a long time and he pleaded that he wasn’t about to be called back to Quantico. 

The number flashing on his screen wasn’t one he recognised and he frowned as he picked up the device and answered it. 

“Hello?” He leant against the back of the couch. 

“Luke, it’s Y/N.” Your voice floated to his ears and he breathed a sigh of relief but it was only temporary. Your tone was a little frantic, quiet and if he wasn’t mistaken almost scared. 

“Is everything ok?” He quickly stood up straight as he started to panic. 

“Yeah. Yeah everything’s fine.” You tried to level your voice. 

“This isn’t the number you usually call from.” He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, something didn’t sit right with him.

“I went for a walk and left my cell phone at my parent’s.” 

“Y/N,” He swallowed. “You would tell me if something is wrong right? You know you can tell me anything.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” You tried to insist. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure? Because I’m really starting get concerned that-”

“I said I’m fine. Jeez, Alvez, paranoid much?” You chuckled but it didn’t sound like your usual laugh. 

“You’re sure? I mean it Y/N you can tell me if…” He trailed off when he heard a beeping in his ear. He pulled the device away from his face and saw the incoming call from Garcia. He groaned as he put it back to his ear. “Sorry, Y/N it’s Garcia. I’ve gotta go.” 

“Oh, ok.” You squeaked. “Sure, I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

“I hope you do.” He swallowed again. “Y/N promise me you’re ok. Promise me that…Y/N? Hello?” He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose when he realised the line had gone dead. 

You quickly replaced the pay phone in its cradle and rolled your eyes at your stupidity. You were not in the right frame of mind to be calling Luke, of course he would see through your thinly veiled attempts to pretend you were ok. You just hoped he didn’t think much of it, hopefully the case Garcia was calling him about would take his mind off of you. 

You leant back against the glass booth and ran your fingers through your hair. You’d gone storming out of the hotel so quickly you hadn’t stopped to think that you didn’t have a key. You could go back and wait for Spencer in the lobby but who knew how long he would be out for. He’d said he was going for a drink, how many bars could there be in a tiny town like Edwardsville? 

As is by some stroke of luck, you noticed a flyer tacked to the inside of the phone booth and stepped closer to it. It was crudely made, no real effort gone into it. You recognised it from the bulletin board in the lobby of the Heartland and could only assume they were posted all over town. It was a flyer for a bar proclaiming two for one shots on Tuesday nights. 

Tonight was Tuesday night. And if you were Spencer, this was the place you would go. 

You grabbed the flyer, pulling it down off of the glass and taking it with you as you marched across the street in the hopes of finding a cab in this backwoods town. 

***

The Corner Tavern, conveniently located at the corner of Main and Union streets, was somehow exactly how Spencer imagined it to look. It looked like it had been plucked right out of an old western, with its hanging sign proclaiming its name and saloon style doors. But inside was a completely different story. 

They’d clearly kept the facade for its charm but inside it had been renovated to reflect a much more modern setting. Loud music played from tinny speakers and the lights were almost too bright for his liking. Most surfaces were a garish silver and combined with the lighting hurt his eyes a little. 

But it offered two for one on shots and after walking for almost three miles from the hotel, he was in desperate need of a drink. Or five. 

He ordered two shots of Bourbon and necked them in quick succession before ordering another two as well as a glass of scotch. Double. Once again he quickly took the shots before meandering around to find a table. 

He’d locked one of the guns and his hunting knife up in the glovebox of the Nissan, not wanting to be seen as a threat to the locals. But he still kept the little Colt tucked inside his boot, he wasn’t a complete idiot. 

He had been sitting down for approximately two minutes before he had company in the form of a curvaceous blonde who was almost half his age. She was likely tipsy, certainly flirting. That was confirmed when she bypassed the other chairs at the table in lieu of sitting directly on Spencer’s lap. He couldn’t tell if she’d missed the wedding band on his finger or simply didn’t care. 

He’d be lying if he said didn’t find her attractive and that he didn’t appreciate her attention. Maybe a fling with a beautiful young girl he would never see again was just what he needed. It had been a frightfully long time since he’d been intimate with someone. 

She placed her hands on his shoulders, grinding herself a little in his lap as she did so. She moved close to his ear and he felt her hot breath on the side of his face.

“I’m Sarah.” Her lips brushed against his ear lobe. 

“Andrew.” He replied, thinking it easier and wiser to use his alias.

“You’ve got a hot professor thing going on, Andrew.” She giggled and the sound was akin to nails on a chalkboard to Spencer but he ignored it. 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.” He let one arm snake around her waist, holding her place. 

His other ventured upwards, cupping her cheek while his fingers threaded into her hair. He used his grip on her to pull her head back from his ear. Her eyes were glossed over from alcohol consumption and her lips were pouting at him, desperately inviting. 

He really couldn’t be blamed when he tugged her closed and slammed his lips against hers. She certainly didn’t seem to mind as she was quick to let him plunge his tongue in her mouth. 

He gripped her face as he kissed her and she in turn wrapped her arms around his neck. She adjusted herself in his lap until she was straddling him and the way in which she rocked against him had him growing hard in no time. 

She moaned shamelessly against his lips, would probably have even let him fuck her right there in the middle of the bar for anyone to watch. Her desperation turned him on and disgusted him in equal measure. But it didn’t stop him deepening the kiss and grinding upwards to meet her. 

Maybe they could go somewhere with a little more privacy, the alley down the side of the tavern could work. He could so easily get her on her knees for him, he was sure he could get this hopeless girl to do just about anything for him. 

His free hand glided under her shirt and across the planes of her back. He wondered how many other men this pathetic creature had let take advantage of her. Were older men always her type? He would be willing to bet she had daddy issues that he would be more than happy to exploit. Only he didn’t get that chance. 

Suddenly Spencer found himself being forcibly pulled away from Sarah by his hair, a hand threading into his locks and roughly tugging him by the roots. He sat back with a frown while Sarah’s arms fell to her sides, expecting to see an angry boyfriend or something standing over them, he was already concocting a way out of this in his head. But what he saw instead was somehow worse. 

Your eyebrows were furrowed deeply in anger as you glared at him, your lips pulled into a tight line of frustration. But it was your eyes that contradicted the rest of your expression, your large, sad eyes that were filled with tears as you looked at him with this woman straddling his lap. 

Sarah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at you in annoyance at your interruption. Spencer barely paid her any notice, all he could look at was you and how it looked as though your heart was breaking.

“What the hell, lady? We were kind of in the middle of something here.” She got up from Spencer’s lap and approached you, folding her arms across her ample chest. 

“So I saw.” You squared your shoulders. “I hate to break this to you, but I’m his wife.” 

You proffered your hand towards the blonde, showing off the worn gold band on your ring finger. Spencer couldn’t help the smirk that jumped to his lips as you played the part of scorned wife so perfectly. 

Sarah frowned, looking between the ring and Spencer who was still sitting dumbly in the chair. He shrugged at Sarah, not at all looking sympathetic. 

“In my defence,” He pushed himself up, sidling between you and Sarah. “You didn’t ask.” 

“Go to hell, jackass!” Sarah suddenly slapped him hard around the face, with a force that caused Spencer to stumble on his feet. 

He groaned at the impact, cupping his cheek in his hand. He knew he couldn’t argue with Sarah, not without admitting your marriage was part of a fabricated identity anyway, so he let her storm away. 

“See, I would deserve that if we were actually married.” He joked, turning to where you stood.

He felt the exact moment his heart shattered in his chest. Taking in the tears now silently rolling down your cheeks and your quivering bottom lip he felt the pain he’d caused you by kissing that stranger tenfold in his own heart. You looked utterly forlorn as you stared at him with the most broken look in your eyes he’d ever seen.

“Y/N…” He whispered, stepping closer to you. “I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t realise that you…that we…” 

He trailed off as he saw you raising your arm. Seconds later another blow landed on the same cheek, this time even harder and he yelped in pain. You worked out a lot, you boxed in your spare time. That wasn’t fair at all. 

“I second what she said,” you spat as angrily as you could muster given your tears. “Go to hell, jackass.” 

Spencer went to speak but you were already turning on your heels and fleeing the bar. He wanted to call after you but he’d already garnered a lot of attention from other patrons who were now all staring at the jackass who had seemingly cheated on his wife. 

You stormed away, your tears burning your cheeks as they fell and tried to brush them away to clear your vision as you shoved your way out of the bar and onto the dark street in the middle of a town you didn’t know. 

You’d been stabbed in the back by someone you had once called your best friend. You’d been used, betrayed by the man who had given you his ring, albeit a fake one. Your mother didn’t raise a fool, so why were you letting Spencer use you as though she had? 

I'm wearing rose-tinted shades but,

All I see is shades of my imagination covered in red.

A crooked smile and some fake love,

Put me in these handcuffs.

Threw away the keys 'cause I was a threat.

Well, first you try to tell me that we're family,

Then you try to tell me that it's for the best.

You promise that you'll be there if I need you,

But I don't need your handout, you can take it back.

I won't be used,

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Mm, I got a pain in my backbone,

Where'd you get that knife from?

Why the hell is it so covered in red?

I let you walk into my home,

Let you make it your own.

You tried to tear it down and,

Leave me for dead.

Well, first you try to tell me that we're family,

Then you try to tell me that it's for the best.

You promise that you'll be there if I need you,

But I don't need your handout, you can take it back.

I won't be used (no, no),

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Ladies and gentlemen,

If you're sick of being disrespected,

Let me hear you sing it, go.

I don't wanna feel,

Like my money that you're spending.

No, I don't wanna feel,

Like I'm losing 'cause you're winning, baby.

I don't wanna feel,

Like my money that you're spending.

No, I don't wanna feel,

Like I'm losing 'cause you're winning.

And I won't be used,

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging.

I won't be used,

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh (whoa),

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh (no more, no more),

Won't let you leave me hanging.

Won't let you leave me hanging.

Won't let you leave me hanging.

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world

[universityofwarwick]

asked this guy what his favorite restaurant is in italian as part of the little chiacchierare language learning time and he said a steakhouse at a ski resort in colorado i hope he dies

[ladylooch]

Hey! Could you please do fluff with Kevin? There isn't much out there for him.

First of all, I agree with you 100%. Not enough love for this boy in the hockey writing world, but that’s okay. I’m happy to provide Kev content.

Also, LMAO at you requesting fluff and me hearing, KEVIN SMUT? YES!!!! Hahaha. Ya girl is absolutely unhinged for this one.

Thank you for requesting this sexy, Swiss prince.

To say it’s been a rough couple of weeks would be putting it lightly.

Kevin was hurt in a weird accident with a Colorado Avalanche defensemen in the beginning of March. He went knee to knee with him trying to enter the Colorado zone. Kevin had immediately dropped to his knees, wincing in pain. Watching on TV in LA, I had held my breath when I saw the obvious discomfort gracing his face. He tried to come back for the third to no avail. 

I’m not coming back, but I think I’m okay. 

That had been the text he sent. 

How okay he really was is still up for debate a month later. 

I’m standing in our closet, looking at the various swimsuit options I have. My husband wants to end our date night with a dip in our hot tub. I am debating between the teal bikini and a purple one piece with cut outs along the chest and back.

“That one.” Kevin murmurs to me, nodding at the bikini. 

“I don’t know, these straps come off easily.”

“Exactly.” He says, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“This is going to end up floating around us isn’t it?” I ask, tilting my head at him. He laughs knowingly.

“I’ll grab us some wine.” He calls as he walks from the closet in his green and yellow board shorts.

“Mhm.” I nod. 

I make quick of changing, thinking of the dancing California sunset that’s sure to provide an incredible ambiance for our night cap.

I pad out to the living room, glancing through the glass doors and seeing Kevin already descending the stairs gingerly to the backyard where our salt water pool and hot tub are. I grab my Stanley tumbler, filling it with a good chunk of ice and some filtered water from our fridge. I double check the lights for the stairs are on for after the sun sets. If my tops going to end up being removed, I want the rest of the lights off. Our new neighbors don’t need a front row view of my handsy husband.

My Givenchy flip flops slap against my heels as I walk down the stairs. Kevin is already in the hot tub, arms braced on the side, looking to the West where the sunsets over the Pacific Ocean. I stop in my tracks, pulling my phone out to snap a quick picture of the view in front of me. The shadow of the descending night highlights Kevin’s broad shoulders as they support his head propped on his hands.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah you are.” He murmurs, turning and standing so he can hold my hand while I step in to join him. He floats me over to where he was, handing me a glass of sparkling white wine. It’s the perfect compliment for the pasta and cheesecake we had at a local Italian restaurant in Hermosa Beach earlier.

“How is your knee?” I ask him after a brief sip. The bubbles burst on my tongue as Kevin leans forward to press his lips to mine.

“Good.” He murmurs against my lips. His teeth tuck my bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling just enough to omit a soft hum from me. An easy grin stretches his lips as he pulls back.

“It needs to be darker.” I warn him, glancing at the neighbor’s window that’s a stone’s throw from our fence. The yard space in California leaves much to be desired.

“I know.” He nods in agreement. “That’s why you’re not on my lap yet.” I let my feet float up into said lap, settling them on his strong thigh. He leans back into the jets on his side, sighing and closing his eyes as they hit just the right spot on his spine. He lets out a soft grunt of approval that has a pulse squeezing my inner walls.

“I miss watching you play.” I say to him, reaching out to drag my finger nails along his arm resting on the edge of the hot tub. “The team misses you too.”

“Yeah, I know. I hope I handle tomorrow well.” He speaks to me with his eyes shut. Tomorrow he is expected to skate a full practice in a non-contact jersey. I take another sip of my wine, watching as Kevin seeps deeper into the hot water. He chews on his bottom lip delicately until it slides from beneath his teeth, snapping back in place. His lips plump from the friction, making my mouth go dry from more than just the wine. “Kevin.” I whine at him. “Stop.”

“What? This feels good.” He murmurs, fingers dipping to rub at the balls of my feet. His thumbs dig into the sore muscles there, rubbing away tension from running along the beach earlier.

“You’re teasing me.” I whisper to him, sliding deeper into the water as my nipples pull taut against my top. His eyes slowly open, pinning me with their darkness. 

“I want you begging for me by the time it’s dark.” His teeth glisten in the shadows caused by the setting sun. I break eye contact, reaching for my wine again. He leans back against the side. When his eyes close again, I narrow mine at him. He wants to play games? Sure. I’ll play. 

I move my feet from his lap with no protest from Kevin. I slide the bottoms of my swim suit off my legs without disturbing the water as much as possible. I pull them from the water then toss them onto Kevin’s face. He startles at the surprised. He grabs them from his face, opening his eyes with a slight scowl. When he realizes what’s in his hands, his eyebrows raise in excitement.

“I’m done waiting.” I drawl to him, pushing off from the edge and making my way to him. His arms wrap around my waist, lifting me on top of his lap. I can feel his erection building beneath me as I press my mouth against him. My tongue laps at the seam of his lips, pushing in to swirl with his. 

“Needy.” He scolds me as I slide my mouth to his cheek, then down his throat. I suck the skin there, scraping my teeth just enough, so he melts beneath me. 

“Who’s needy now?” I whisper in his ear, tugging his ear lobe between my teeth. His hands come to my hips, rubbing my naked folds into the bulge of his lap. I whine at the friction of his shorts against my sensitive bud. My head tilts back as he pressed hard up, watching as I rut my hips into his like he’s buried deep inside of me. Our neighbor’s light pops on, drawing Kevin’s attention. He presses my hips all the way down, halting my movements. We both wait with heavy breath for the light to dim again. When it does, we both buck our hips into each other.

“Off.” I mumble to him, undoing the tie keeping his shorts together. He wiggles them down, his erection jutting out. I glide my hand along it for a few strokes, grinning at the groan of ecstasy sputtering from his lips. 

“Baby, put me inside of you.” He begs me, eyes twisted in needy discomfort. I lean forward, nipping at his top lip, then licking his mouth as I complete his request. “Oh fuck..” He sighs into my mouth. My tongue laps at him before I match his moan of appreciation. I work my hips up and down, then back and forward, alternating the movements as his finger tips dig into my flesh. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck as he tilts his head to rest on the edge. His eyes open, slightly hooded, as he watches me bounce on him. “Just like that. Good job, baby.” His one hand releases from my hip, moving to my clit to rub encouraging circles with each thrust.

“Kev.” I whimper to him, leaning forward so my breasts rub against his face. He smiles, knowing what I want. He slides the bathing suit off to reveal my swollen nipple. He tugs it into his mouth with his teeth then sucks his cheeks in to pull me deep into his mouth. I move faster on him, working us both closer to the edge. “More.” I beg as I feel the first flirt of orgasm. “Just a little.” He takes over the tempo, pulling his thighs up so I can change the angle by leaning back. His other hand removes from my hips, letting me fuck us to the ultimate high while playing with my other breast. My back arches and he pumps his hips deep, moaning with me as I crash into the white hot heat gripping my core. Kevin follows me with a profound moan as my walls pull more from him with each pulse. 

I collapse forward, gripping his neck as my face buries into his wet shoulder. His hand moves behind me- one on my ass and the other on my lower back. He lifts me almost all the way, then drops me back down him as I continue to flutter around his seeping head.

When I come to, I notice the darkness covering our yard. I sigh happily, pulling back to search his beautiful face. His content smile sparkles in the moonlight.

“I like when you’re impatient.” He whispers, worried about disturbing the glow between us.

“I’m always desperate for you.” I tell him, kissing along his jaw until I reach his lips.

“I’m ready for bed soon.”I lay my cheek back against his shoulders, enjoying the rocking of the hot tub bubbles against my spent body. Kevin slides out of me, then tucks me as close to his body as I can get.

“Me too, but just a few more minutes of this.”

He murmurs his agreement against my hair, followed by a sweet kiss.

Later, after we are dry and dressed in pajamas, I rub his injured knee with delicate finger tips as we drift off to sleep. I hope my touch will help heal him, but I feel comfort in knowing we’ll be ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

[pcttrailsidereader]

How Your Backpacking Meals Are Really Made

By Emily Pennington (excerpted from the July 14, 2024 article in Backpacker)

A faint whiff of cumin and cracked black pepper serenades my nostrils, reminiscent of the Indian spice markets I once visited in my mid-twenties. Only, I’m not in South Asia, or even the back storeroom of a hip Thai restaurant; I’m in my hometown of Boulder, Colorado, touring the massive factory where Backpacker’s Pantry meals are made.

My host for the morning is Soraya Smith, the company’s president and recipe-development chef. Smith, who had always been involved on the recipe side of American Outdoor Products (the parent organization of Backpacker’s Pantry) took over as president after her husband, Rodney, died in a tragic ski accident in 2020. She’s been the face of the family-owned corporation ever since.

“I’m from a foodie family,” explained Smith. “My mom is Spanish-Italian, and my father is from Iran, so we’re very multicultural. I also went to Culinary School of the Rockies before stepping into this role.”

Our first stop was the test kitchen, where Smith pulled different dry ingredients together to experiment with new recipe ideas. To be totally honest, the various plastic bags she grabbed out of a large bin looked more like the Parmesan cheese packets you’d get for free with your pizza delivery than high-quality foodstuffs. But therein contained the secrets to my favorite post-hike meals: proprietary flavorings and mixes, which Backpacker’s Pantry makes with freeze-dried ingredients.

As we entered the factory’s enormous storeroom, I asked Smith for a refresher: What exactly is freeze drying?

Freeze-drying technology was used extensively by NASA during the space boom of the 1960s. Since freeze-dried food retains more than 90 percent of its original nutrients, it’s the best way to keep astronauts stocked with nutritious food. Better yet, the food can last for years without going bad.

When an ingredient is freeze-dried, it’s brought to an inhospitable -60°F, then back above freezing multiple times while inside a vacuum chamber. That way, only the ingredient’s water content is removed. “Some companies make a large sheet of, say, lasagna, cook it, and then dehydrate it,” Smith said. “We, on the other hand, mix each of our freeze-dried ingredients into the bag, so that when you add that boiling water, most of them are getting cooked for the first time. It’s fresher, and I think it has a better texture.”

Once workers grab individual ingredients from the palettes in the store room, they go to the dedicated mixing room, where seasonings and starches are stirred together in large tubs. The room looks like a sterile, high-tech scene out of Willy Wonka.

Here, Smith points out that the brand adheres to a strict allergen separation system. For instance, a recipe with gluten won’t get run through the machines on the same day as a gluten-free recipe to protect customers with gluten intolerances. Ditto for dairy products. (Workers clean the machines thoroughly at the end of each day by passing them through a chrome-covered, bedroom-sized industrial dishwasher.)

After mixing, the meals are mechanically portioned out by category—sauce, starch, meat, and vegetable—then sealed by hand. Workers sample the meals throughout the day, preparing a baggie to taste-test at the beginning, middle, and end of each run. The goal is to ensure the flavors remain consistent throughout. Forks and counter space are set aside in the test kitchen for this specific purpose. If something doesn’t taste right, they ditch the batch and correct it.

The Backpacker’s Pantry factory produces thousands of meals each day. Once the day’s meals get sealed, boxed, and quality checked, they head into a gigantic storeroom, which then ships the products to big retailers, like REI, as well as directly to consumers.

As I closed the huge warehouse doors behind me and concluded my tour, I was surprised to feel tremendously better about all that just-add-water food I’d been eating. The ingredients were both fresher than I’d imagined and more rigorously quality-checked. Ninety percent of their original nutrients, huh? Heck, maybe I’ll toss a couple under my desk to eat in the office.

[lamphous]

not to make a long post longer, but here's the whole thing:

"The Abortion Absolutist" By Elaine Godfrey

Warren Hern has been performing late abortions for half a century. After Roe, he is as busy with patients as ever.

May 12, 2023

The sky above Boulder was dark when the abortion doctor picked me up for dinner. I had to squint to recognize Warren Hern in his thick aviator glasses and fur-trapper hat.

At the restaurant—a kitschy Italian spot along a pedestrian mall—Hern ignored the table the waiter offered us, pointed at one in the corner, and clomped over in his heavy hiking boots. He’d like to order right away, he said: the osso buco and a glass of Spanish red. How long will that take?

Hern spent the next two and a half hours of our dinner correcting me. A baby is a fetus until it is “born alive,” he told me as I chewed my bucatini. His dear friend, the Kansas physician George Tiller, was not “murdered” in 2009, he was assassinated. The activists who scream outside his clinic are not “pro-life,” they are fascists.

Pausing, Hern sighed. He is very busy, he said, and there are many things he’d rather be doing than talking to me. “But I can’t complain that the pro-choice movement has completely failed” at communicating, he said, “and then turn down an opportunity to communicate.”

I’d met Hern before, so I wasn’t surprised by his gruffness. The 84-year-old can be a curmudgeon—he’s obstinate, utterly certain of his position, and intolerant of criticism even as he dishes it out. Useful qualities, perhaps, for someone in his line of work.

Hern is now nearing his fifth decade of practice at his Boulder clinic; he has persisted through the entire arc of Roe v. Wade, its nearly 50-year rise and fall. He specializes in abortions late in pregnancy—the rarest, and most controversial, form of abortion. This means that Hern ends the pregnancies of women who are 22, 25, even 30 weeks along. Although 14 states now ban abortion in most or all circumstances, Colorado has no gestational limits on the procedure. Patients come to him from all over the country because he is one of only a handful of physicians who can, and will, perform an abortion so late.

During the first 13 weeks of pregnancy, when about 90 percent of abortions in America are carried out, the fetus’s appearance ranges from a small clot of phlegm to an alienlike ball of flesh. At 22 weeks, though, a human fetus has grown to about the size of a small melon. The procedures that Hern performs result in the removal of a body that, if you saw it, would inspire a sharp pang of recognition. These are the abortions that provide fodder for the gruesome images on protesters’ signs and the billboards along Midwest highways, images that can be difficult to look at for long.

Many of the women who visit Hern’s clinic do so because their health is at risk—or because their fetus has a serious abnormality that would require a baby to undergo countless surgeries with little chance of survival. But Hern does not restrict his work to these cases.

The phone at Hern’s clinic rings constantly these days. Since the overturning of Roe and the corresponding blitz of abortion bans, appointment books are filling up at clinics in states where abortion remains legal. Women who have to wait weeks for an appointment may end up missing the window for a first-trimester procedure. Some book a flight to Boulder to see Hern, who is treating about 50 percent more patients than usual.

These later abortions are the less common cases, and the hardest ones. They are the cases that even stalwart abortion-rights advocates generally prefer not to discuss. But as the pro-choice movement strives to shore up abortion rights after the fall of Roe, its members face strategic decisions about whether and how to defend this work.

Most Americans support abortion access, but they support it with limits—considerations about time and pain and fingernail development. Hern is reluctant to acknowledge any limit, any red line. He takes the woman’s-choice argument to its logical conclusion, in much the same way that, at this moment, anti-abortion activists are pressing their case to its extreme. Hern considers his religious adversaries to be zealots, and many of them are. But he is, in his own way, no less an absolutist.

—

In May of 2019, an envelope landed on my desk at work with a nature calendar inside. The photos—an arctic tern landing on a hunk of ice, a shock of mountain maple in the Holy Cross Wilderness, two sandhill cranes taking flight—were all credited to Hern. I’d interviewed him a week earlier for a short article about abortion-rights activism, and it amused me that a working abortion doctor was making wildlife calendars and express-mailing them to journalists. This past December, I flew to Boulder to meet him.

The Boulder Abortion Clinic is a single-story, yellow-brick building, partially hidden from the road by a wooden fence. Someone tried to shoot Hern once, back in 1988, so now the front windows are made of bulletproof glass. You have to show ID to gain access to the waiting room, and the blinds are usually drawn, leaving the whole place slightly dim. Stepping inside is like going back in time: The office is a maze of wood paneling, vinyl chairs, and faded green carpet.

The first day I visited, no protesters were chanting outside; it was a Monday, and they tend to show up on Tuesdays, which is patient-intake day. Hern’s staff sat me in an office near the front desk, where I could hear calls coming in. I listened as a receptionist told a patient named Lindsey that it was okay to be anxious; she paused a few times while Lindsey cried.

“The fee will be about $6,000,” the receptionist said. Late abortions are expensive because they are medically complex. For patients who need financial aid, the National Abortion Federation may cover some of the cost, and local abortion funds often contribute. The receptionist told this to Lindsey, and offered her the organization’s number. “You can do partial cash and credit card, yes,” she said. Often, if a woman cannot afford to pay for her hotel, her transportation to Boulder, or some part of her procedure, Hern will foot the bill himself, staff members told me.

Hern stopped performing first-trimester abortions a few years ago; he saw too much need for later abortions, and his clinic couldn’t do it all. The procedure he uses takes three or four days and goes like this: After performing an ultrasound, he will use a thin needle to inject a medicine called digoxin through the patient’s abdomen to stop the fetus’s heart. This is called “inducing fetal demise.” Then Hern will insert one or more laminarias—a sterile, brownish rod of seaweed—into the patient’s cervix to start the dilation process.

When the cervix is sufficiently dilated after another day or two of adding and removing laminarias, Hern will drain the amniotic fluid, give the patient misoprostol, and remove the fetus. Sometimes, the fetus will be whole, intact. Other times, Hern must remove it in parts. If the patient asks, a nurse will wrap the fetus in a blanket to hold, or present a set of handprints or footprints for the patient to take home.

I interviewed half a dozen of Hern’s former patients. Most of the women who agreed to talk had wanted a child. But they’d received serious diagnoses late in pregnancy: disorders with disturbing names such as prune-belly syndrome, trisomy 13, Dandy-Walker malformation, and agenesis of the corpus callosum. Some said they considered their abortions a kind of mercy killing.

“I put my baby down,” Kate Carson, who’d gotten an abortion at Hern’s clinic in 2012, told me.  She’d been 35 weeks into a much-wanted pregnancy when her doctor diagnosed multiple brain anomalies. Carson’s daughter, the doctor said, would have trouble walking, talking, holding her head up, and swallowing. “It’s euthanasia. That’s the kind of killing this is,” she said. “But I would do it again a million times if I had to.”

Amber Jones, who terminated her pregnancy at about 24 weeks in 2016, told me that her baby’s diagnosis meant he would not survive. Hern reassured her, she said, that she “shouldn’t be made to carry the pregnancy. That it’s bullshit, and we have the right to access health care.”

Carson and other patients described Hern as brusque. But they seemed to take comfort in that brusqueness, as though Hern’s fierce assurance helped them feel more sure themselves. “I wouldn’t say he has a great bedside manner,” Carson told me. But “the degree of respect that I felt from him was enormous.”

Abortions that come after devastating medical diagnoses can be easier for some people to understand. But Hern estimates that at least half, and sometimes more, of the women who come to the clinic do not have these diagnoses. He and his staff are just as sympathetic to other circumstances. Many of the clinic’s teenage patients receive later abortions because they had no idea they were pregnant. Some sexual-assault victims ignore their pregnancies or feel too ashamed to see a doctor. Once, a staffer named Catherine told me, a patient opted for a later abortion because her husband had killed himself and she was suddenly broke. “There isn’t a single woman who has ever written on her bucket list that she wants to have a late abortion,” Catherine said. “There is always a reason.”

The reason doesn’t really matter to Hern. Medical viability for a fetus—or its ability to survive outside the uterus—is generally considered to be somewhere from 24 to 28 weeks. Hern, though, believes that the viability of a fetus is determined not by gestational age but by a woman’s willingness to carry it. He applies the same principle to all of his prospective patients: If he thinks it’s safer for them to have an abortion than to carry and deliver the baby, he’ll take the case—usually up until around 32 weeks, with some rare later exceptions, because of the increased risk of hemorrhage and other life-threatening conditions beyond that point.

Even within the abortion-rights community, Hern’s position is considered a hard-line one.

Frances Kissling, the founding president of the National Abortion Federation, the professional association for abortion providers, admires Hern and his commitment to women. But she has misgivings about his work. “Later-term abortions are more serious, ethically, than earlier abortions,” Kissling, who left NAF after a few years and went on to lead Catholics for Choice, told me—and only more so in cases that involve women who have not received any serious fetal diagnoses. “My ethics are such that I would say to them, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I cannot perform an abortion for you. I will do anything I can to help you get through the next two or three months, but I don’t do this,’” she said.

—

Hern bristles at the label abortion doctor. Too simplistic, he says. He will correct you if you use it. He is a physician, he says, who happens to specialize in abortion. Worse still is abortionist. He remains angry about a 2009 story in Esquire in which the author referred to him that way, again and again. It’s a pejorative, Hern says. He is more than his profession, he needs you to know. He is many things: an anthropologist, an epidemiologist, an adopted son of the Shipibo Indians in Peru. Abortion was never the destination for Hern, he insists; it was a detour.

As a child growing up in the suburbs of Denver, Hern dreamed of studying diseases in faraway places. During medical school, he worked as the unofficial doctor at a mining camp in Nicaragua, where he learned to speak Spanish. He spent six months in Peru, studying the culture and practices of the Shipibo. In 1966, the Peace Corps sent him to Brazil, where he learned Portuguese and trained under physicians who had started a family-planning association. Hern toured a maternity ward where one room was full of women recuperating from childbirth. Two other rooms held patients suffering from complications related to illegal abortions; at least half of those women ultimately died. This, he says, was formative.

In 1970, Hern accepted a job at the now-defunct Office of Economic Opportunity in Washington, D.C., where he led the effort to open family-planning clinics across the country and launched a voluntary-sterilization program for adults in Appalachia. Given the link between the eugenics movement and the early birth-control movement, the word sterilization can carry an ominous ring. Hern says, though, that his work was intended to give low-income people choices and reduce their financial hardship. “Families like these,” he wrote in The New Republic at the time, require housing, clean water, food, and sanitation. “But one of the most important needs is freedom from the tyranny of their own biology.”

In 1973, Hern was back in Colorado—the first state to decriminalize abortion in some circumstances—acting as a consultant for family-planning programs when the world shifted. Sarah Weddington, a lawyer friend of Hern’s from D.C., had won the Roe v. Wade case before the U.S. Supreme Court, and abortion was now legal in all 50 states. Hern wrote op-eds defending the decision and an explainer about the procedure for The Denver Post. One day, he got a call from a Colorado group that wanted to start a nonprofit abortion clinic in Boulder. Would Hern be their medical director? Of course, he told them. Absolutely.

The Boulder Valley Clinic opened in November of that same year. Hern designed the medical protocols and performed all of the abortions himself. Although one major battle for abortion rights had been won, a larger war was just beginning. Demonstrators began gathering outside the new clinic. Two weeks after it opened, Hern received his first death threat—a late-night phone call at his secluded cabin in the mountains. The man on the phone said he was coming for Hern. The doctor began sleeping with a rifle next to his bed.

In 1975, Hern took out a loan and started his own practice. He named it the Boulder Abortion Clinic—avoiding euphemisms like women’s care because he wanted patients to be able to find him. At the time, Hern had never performed any second-trimester abortions, for which the standard procedure then was to inject a saline solution into the uterus to induce labor. But Hern had read about another method in a textbook that explained how Japanese doctors were using laminarias to end abnormal or dangerous pregnancies. The method took longer, but it was safer. Hern studied the technique, ordered laminarias, and got to work.

Soon, Hern had published the first research paper on this multiple-laminaria method in American medical literature. Other clinics adopted the procedure, with modifications, and it’s been the dominant method for second- and third-trimester abortions for nearly 50 years. Hern and his staff carry out up to a dozen such terminations every week.

—

Hern was 34 when he performed his first abortion, a year before Roe v. Wade would be decided. A friend in D.C. who ran a local clinic invited him to come learn the procedure. Hern’s patient was 17 and in her first trimester of pregnancy. She wanted to be an anesthesiologist, he remembers.

Hern had learned how to do a dilation-and-curettage abortion in medical school, but still, he was terrified—and so was she. He recalls that after he finished and told her she wasn’t pregnant anymore, she wept with relief. He did too. “I was overwhelmed by the significance of this operation for this young woman’s life,” he told me. “This was a new definition, for me, for practicing medicine.”

But the work sometimes got to him. He would often retreat to his office to compose himself after an abortion. Partly, it was the high-stakes nature of the procedure. But he also needed time to process how the dead fetus looked, how removing it felt. Sometimes he’d sit in his office and think, What am I doing?

He had bad dreams too. In the 1970s, physicians did not induce fetal demise during abortion, and once or twice, during a procedure at 15 or 16 weeks, he used forceps to remove a fetus with a still-beating heart. The heart thumped for only a few seconds before stopping. But for a long while after, a vision of that fetus would wake Hern from sleep. He could see it in his mind, the inches-long body and its heart: beating, beating, beating. In one dream, Hern angled his own body to shield his staff from catching a glimpse.

Other people might have decided that this work wasn’t worth the haunting images, the pricks of conscience. They might have quit. But for Hern, the psychological stress of the work was the necessary cost of helping patients. He saw it as his job to carry some of the emotional weight. Over time, that stress became easier to manage. He stopped needing to compose himself between procedures. The bad dreams went away.

In 1978, Hern presented a paper before the Association of Planned Parenthood Physicians in San Diego titled “What about us? Staff Reactions to D&E”—dilation-and-evacuation abortion—in which he concluded that, though medically safe, surgical second-trimester abortions are clearly more emotionally difficult for providers than earlier ones.

Some part of our cultural and perhaps even biological heritage recoils at a destructive operation on a form that is similar to our own, even though we know that the act has a positive effect for a living person … We have reached a point in this particular technology where there is no possibility of denying an act of destruction. It is before one’s eyes.

I quoted that paper during a conversation with Hern, as we sat shoulder to shoulder at a bar in downtown Boulder. He was nodding before I finished. Many of his colleagues were annoyed by what he’d written, he said. The abortion-rights movement isn’t exactly eager to talk about these visuals, mostly because it gives fodder to the opposition. Hern’s comments about “destruction” still appear on a number of anti-abortion websites as evidence of the horror of the procedure.

But the point of his report was to be honest, Hern said, and he stands by it. Why not face the truth that abortion late in pregnancy is, at least in one way, destructive? He still believes that such destruction can be a profoundly merciful act.

Regardless of the circumstances of pregnancy, in Hern’s view, a woman’s life—her humanity, her wishes—isn’t just more important than her fetus’s. It is virtually the only thing that matters. That approach is diametrically opposed to the view of anti-abortion advocates, for whom pregnancy means motherhood and, often, self-sacrifice.

Hern understands that few share his total conviction. “This is a grotesque conversation to many people,” he said at the bar. “But this is a surgical procedure for a life-threatening condition.”

During that conversation and the ones following it, I prodded for cracks in Hern’s certainty. At one point, I thought I’d found one: Hern had told me about a woman who’d sought an abortion because she didn’t want to have a baby girl. I thought he had refused. But when I followed up to ask him why, I learned that I had misunderstood. Hern said he had done abortions for sex selection twice: once for this woman; and once for someone who’d desperately wanted a girl. It was their choice to make, he explained.

“So if a pregnant woman with no health issues comes to the clinic, say, at 30 weeks, what would you do?” I asked Hern once. The question irked him. “Every pregnancy is a health issue!” he said. “There’s a certifiable risk of death from being pregnant, period.”

—

Hern met the Kansas abortion doctor George Tiller at a National Abortion Federation conference in the late 1970s. The two talked on the phone nearly every week for 30 years. Tiller was the opposite of Hern—gentle, soft-spoken, churchgoing. “George was a normal person,” Hern told me once. “That distinguishes him from me right away.” Yet Tiller was murdered for doing the same work.

The phone rang at Hern’s house one morning in May 2009, and Jeanne Tiller was on the line. “George is gone,” she told Hern. An anti-abortion fanatic had shot her husband at church, where he was serving as an usher. Hern flew to Wichita for the funeral, and helped carry his friend’s casket down the aisle of the packed College Hill United Methodist Church. Sixty federal marshals stood guard at the service, he said. They told him that he would likely be the next target. Later that week, Hern performed abortions for all of Tiller’s remaining patients at his clinic in Boulder.

Thirteen years after Tiller’s death, Hern and I stayed up late talking in the restaurant of my hotel. Hern was speaking so loudly—about Donald Trump, fascism, and anti-abortion violence—that the bartender had begun to stare. Opposition to abortion has long been “the hammer and tongs to power” for the Republican Party, Hern was saying, “because of their allegiance to the white Christian nationalists and white supremacists.” Christianity, he told me, not for the first time, “is now the face of fascism in America.” That moral arc of the universe bending toward justice? “That’s the belief, but I don’t believe it.”

I asked Hern whether he ever worried that now, in a post-Roe world, he might have an even bigger target on his back. I wondered whether it was a bit reckless for him to be so outspoken with reporters like me. Actually, it’s the opposite, Hern replied. Being so vocal “increases the political cost of assassinating me.”

“That’s dark,” I said.

He simply shrugged. “This is what I have to think about.”

Suddenly, he remembered that he’d brought me something. He dug around in his coat pocket, and pulled out a fridge magnet he’d made from a photograph he took a few years ago near the island of South Georgia: penguins diving off an iceberg into the deep blue ocean.

Hern is known for presenting such gifts to people—and for regularly mailing out his latest published works. In addition to the magnet and the calendar, Hern sent me a copy of his poetry collection and his new book on global ecology. In the latter, titled Homo Ecophagus, he compares mankind to a cancer on the planet, writing that our unrelenting population growth will ultimately lead to the demise of every species on Earth. To view human beings as a scourge seems a rather ominous perspective for a man who ends pregnancies for a living. Could he see his work as, even subliminally, a form of population control? When I asked about that, Hern shook his head vigorously, waving my question away, as if he’d been ready for it. “Being concerned about population growth is consistent with the idea of helping women and families control their fertility on a voluntary basis,” he said.

Hern lives in a modest gray split-level cluttered with landscape photographs, Shipibo pottery, and mounted fossils. Some of the photographs were taken by his wife, Odalys Muñoz Gonzalez, who is 27 years his junior and whom he refers to as “mi amor.” Gonzalez is originally from Cuba, though they met at a conference in Barcelona in 2003. Back in Spain, Gonzalez directed her own abortion clinic. Now she works at Hern’s, performing nonmedical tasks and translating for Spanish-speaking patients.

Gonzalez sometimes worries that Hern comes across as too intense. “I always tell him, ‘Don’t look like Bernie Sanders,’” she told me, in her thick Cuban accent. Part of her hates that he can be so angry, so severe. “But another part of me loves,” she said. “Because how many people do you know that live with the level of passion that Warren does?” Still, Gonzalez wishes he would retire so that they could have more time to travel together and photograph wildlife.

During my stay in Boulder, I did occasionally look at Hern and wonder: Would I want you in charge of my complex medical procedure? Next month, he’ll be 85, and when he shuffles around the clinic in his turquoise scrubs and white lab coat, he looks it.

Younger providers have opened a handful of new late-abortion clinics in recent years. Some of these providers and others in the field argue that Hern’s abortion procedures take longer than they need to, and that his methods are out of date. Hern should have retired decades ago, these critics say. “Being 84 and doing procedures is problematic,” one physician, who requested anonymity in order to speak candidly about Hern, told me. (When I asked Hern about the criticism of some of his methods, he said he has always emphasized patient safety and will alter his procedures if they make the abortion safer. “If people don’t agree with me, I don’t really care,” he said. “I don’t give a shit.”)

Hern is working with two other doctors in the hope that eventually they will take over the clinic. But he’s hard to please. “I have to find the right people, train them, get them to know what needs to be done,” he says. “Finding physicians willing to do this work—who will do it well, do it carefully—is difficult.”

One morning during my visit, Hern and I climbed up the hill behind his house. The ground was muddy, and, thanks to a recent skiing injury, Hern was unsteady on his feet. I briefly wondered if this hike might bring about the end of one of America’s most famous abortion physicians. At the top of the hill, Hern pointed up toward a grassy crest of land above us called the Dakota Ridge. A big problem with modern society is that we’ve forgotten that we’re part of all this, he said, waving toward the ridge. The Bible says to “go forth and multiply and dominate the Earth and blah-blah, but that is exactly the wrong advice.”

He’s read the Bible a few times, he said. But he’s not religious; he’s spiritual. “The natural world, the forest, is my cathedral,” he said. To watch the sunrise, to see a wild animal, “just to be there, that’s a spiritual experience for me.”

And then, suddenly, Hern was connecting it all, drawing everything together: religion, Republicans, the Supreme Court, the future of American society. “These people believe stuff that’s out of the medieval times. The Pleistocene!”

He sighed. “I’m holding back,” he said, not holding back at all.

—

On my last day in Boulder, a few of the clinic staff gathered in the kitchen for an unofficial Christmas party. They’d finished the week’s procedures, and all of the patients had been sent home. Now it was time for eggnog. Gonzalez poured some into mugs, and the clinic administrator offered to spike it with a bottle of his homemade rum. They passed around a box of chocolate cupcakes that someone had brought in.

Hern congratulated his staff on a good year, and they listened, amused, while he explained that he wasn’t able to find any good Audubon calendars at Barnes & Noble for their annual staff Christmas gift. He made a joke that he’d already told me more than once: “I could just give you the calendars from last year to pass on to your Republican friends,” he said, with a laugh. “They won’t notice for about 300 years that they’re out of date.”

A dozen Christmas stockings hung on the bulletin board, each displaying a staff member’s name in glitter glue. Buttons were pinned on the board, too, including some emblazoned with George Tiller’s face. You will be greatly missed, one said. Someone had propped open an outer door for circulation, and a stack of papers near the phone rustled—instructions for how to talk to someone calling with a bomb threat. “TAKE A DEEP BREATH,” they read. “Questions to ask: When is the bomb going to explode? Where is it right now?”

Hern seemed not to notice the strange juxtaposition of it all—the eggnog and the abortions, the cupcakes and the bomb threats. The buttons with the image of his murdered friend and the fact of his own stubborn survival. Of course he didn’t. He has spent five decades living with these contradictions.

This was an interesting read. Surprisingly nonpreachy given the subject; and well worth the time.

[brookstonalmanac]

Beer Events 11.15

Events

Matthew Vassar took over his father's brewery (1810)

Southern Indiana Brewing closed (1935)

Charles When patented a Cluster Cutter (1949)

LeRoy Longton patented a Hops Harvesting Apparatus (1966)

1st batch of Pale Ale brewed by Sierra Nevada (1980)

Vanberg & DeWulf founded (1981)

Miller Brewing patented a Beer Keg (1994)

1st bottle of Samuel Adams Millennium sold at auction (1999)

Hands on History: Beer Cans debuted (2003)

S.S. Steiner patented Improvements to the Bittering of Beer (2007)

Rock Bottom and Gordon Biersch merged to form CraftWorks Restaurants and Breweries (2010)

Heineken patented an Assembly of a Tapping Keg with a Neck and a Connecting Device and Parts Therefor (2011)

Breweries Opened

San Rafael Brewing (California; 1990)

Bere Alutus (Romania; 1992)

Tabernash Brewing (Colorado; 1993)

Adam's Rib BBQ & Brewery (Kansas; 1994)

Italian Oasis Brewery (New Hampshire; 1994)

Westport Brewing (Missouri; 1994)

Ybor City Brewing (Florida; 1994)

Maumee Bay Brewing (Ohio; 1995)

Brautech Brewing (Florida; 1996)

Brewers Art (Maryland; 1996)

Peak Northwest Brewing (Oregon; 1996)

Steve & Clark's Brewpub & Sausage (North Carolina; 1996)

American Beer Works (Illinois; 1997)

Storz Trophy Room Grill & Brewery (Nebraska; 2013)

[journeydb]

September 1 2023 Barcelona

Barcelona has SO many amazing restaurants! We really like going to the same ones that we have visited and had good experiences and good food when we go out with friends but occasionally we try something new, like we did tonight. Our friend and neighbor, Isabel, is always open to trying new things so we went to Oaxa Cuisine with her. The decor and ambiance were colorful, creative and exciting but I found the food to be too spicy for my tastes. Isabel and Bruce liked it better than I did but I also have a sensitivity to garlic and I'm vegan so my options were more limited than theirs.

Isabel is such an interesting person and it's always fun to be with her. She comes from a big family, like I do, and she is the only one who left Buenos Aires, Argentina, to live abroad, just as I did when I moved to Colorado from Massachusetts and then to Spain to live here part time. She is a successful painter and some of her works have even been displayed in museums like The Louvre. She lives alone except for her cute dog, Zaira, and she travels a lot so someone comes into her place to care for her dog while she's away. She lived in the United States briefly when she was an exchange student in college and her English is quite good. She also speaks Italian and a little German. Our conversations when we're together drift from English into Spanish and back again, depending on what we're discussing, just like many of our conversations with other people here who also speak English.

[paletalegear]

Design Nathan MacKinnon From Colorado Avalanche 2024 MVP Hart Memorial Tr

Design Nathan MacKinnon From Colorado Avalanche 2024 MVP Hart Memorial Trophy Winner Unisex T Shirt

I can go out for dinner and within a Design Nathan MacKinnon From Colorado Avalanche 2024 MVP Hart Memorial Trophy Winner Unisex T Shirt hour drive I can find awesome Italian food, good French restaurants, German, Polish, Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Mexican, Ethiopian, Greek or Malaysian food and may others. Granted in NYC you can probably find all of that in a 3 block radius in NYC, but it is nice to have. I can go to a supermarket and find jicama, lemon grass and other exotic ingredients. If I can’t find it in the supermarket there is probably an ethnic food store within a short drive where I can. I can spend a day at the beach with many thousands of others laying blanket to blanket, or go to Island Beach State Park where the crowd is controlled and the scenery and sand dunes probably don’t look a lot different from what the first European settlers encountered when they reached the shores of NJ.

ophy Winner Unisex T Shirt

[firstandtownmaincenter]

Top Restaurants Near Town Center: A Culinary Guide to Colorado Springs | First and Main Town Center

Nestled amidst the vibrant ambiance of Town Center, Colorado Springs, lies a treasure trove of culinary wonders waiting to be explored. Whether you're a local resident or a visitor seeking culinary delights, the diverse range of restaurants near Town Center promises to tantalize your taste buds and leave you craving for more. Join us on a gastronomic expedition as we unveil the top restaurants that make Town Center a haven for food enthusiasts.

Cinema Point Colorado Springs: A Hub of Culinary Excellence

Embark on a culinary journey starting with Cinema Point, where food and entertainment converge seamlessly. This bustling area boasts an array of dining options catering to every palate. From cozy cafes serving aromatic brews to upscale bistros offering gourmet cuisine, Cinema Point sets the stage for an unforgettable dining experience.

Town Center Shopping Mall: A Mecca for Food Connoisseurs

Adjacent to Cinema Point lies the Town Center Shopping Mall, a hub of gastronomic delights. Step inside and immerse yourself in a world of culinary excellence, where every corner holds a culinary gem waiting to be discovered. Whether you're craving international flavors or classic comfort food, the restaurants within Town Center Shopping Mall cater to every craving.

Exploring Powers and Carefree: A Culinary Odyssey

Venture beyond Town Center to explore the culinary landscape near Powers and Carefree. This bustling area is home to an eclectic mix of eateries, ranging from cozy diners to upscale restaurants. Whether you're in the mood for a hearty brunch or a gourmet dinner, Powers and Carefree offer a myriad of options to satisfy your culinary desires.

First and Main Town Center: A Shopper's Paradise

After indulging in a culinary feast, why not indulge in some retail therapy? First and Main Town Center stands out as the premier shopping destination in Colorado Springs, offering a diverse range of shops and boutiques to explore. From designer labels to unique artisanal finds, First and Main Town Center has something for everyone.

The Old Spaghetti Factory: A Timeless Classic

No culinary journey in Colorado Springs is complete without a visit to The Old Spaghetti Factory. With its warm ambiance and hearty Italian fare, this beloved eatery has been delighting diners for decades. Whether you're craving a classic pasta dish or a mouthwatering pizza, The Old Spaghetti Factory promises a dining experience that's both nostalgic and delicious.

In-N-Out Burger: A Taste of California in Colorado Springs

For those craving a taste of the West Coast, In-N-Out Burger is the place to be. Sink your teeth into juicy burgers, crispy fries, and creamy milkshakes, all served with a side of California sunshine. With its laid-back vibe and iconic menu, In-N-Out Burger brings a taste of California to the heart of Colorado Springs.

Chipotle: Fresh Mexican Fare

Satisfy your cravings for Mexican cuisine with a visit to Chipotle. Known for its fresh ingredients and customizable menu, Chipotle offers a delicious array of burritos, bowls, tacos, and salads. Whether you prefer classic flavors or bold combinations, Chipotle has something to please every palate.

Modern Market: Farm Fresh Fare

Indulge in farm-fresh fare at Modern Market, where wholesome ingredients take center stage. From hearty salads to artisanal sandwiches, every dish at Modern Market is crafted with care using locally sourced ingredients. Whether you're dining in or grabbing a meal to go, Modern Market offers a healthy and delicious dining option.

Conclusion

With its diverse culinary scene and vibrant atmosphere, Town Center, Colorado Springs, is a paradise for food enthusiasts. From cozy cafes to upscale eateries, this bustling area offers a myriad of dining options to suit every taste and craving. So, whether you're in the mood for a leisurely brunch or a gourmet dinner, let Town Center be your guide to culinary bliss.

[cuveeblog]

3 Exceptional Destinations to Plan a Culinary Getaway

From one side of the globe to the other, the world is brimming with new culinary experiences. Many people venture to destinations unknown to immerse themselves in the culture and cuisine.

When it comes to experiencing everything a new destination has to offer, exploring local delicacies can be one of the best ways to get acquainted with the local culture. Food brings people together. There’s a joy in trying new foods and sharing them with others. As you plan your next getaway and explore luxury villa vacation rentals, put these three destinations on your list—especially if you want to experience cuisines that will stay with you long after you’ve returned home. The Rustic Cuisines of Tuscany Italy is often praised for its cuisine. Cities all over the world are home to beloved Italian restaurants. However, when you’re in Tuscany, enjoying authentic Tuscan food as birds harmonize in the cypress over your shoulder, that’s the moment the magic happens. Tuscan cuisine is known for using farm-fresh ingredients. The region is an agricultural breadbasket in both the figurative and literal sense. You can find exceptional breads throughout Tuscany, along with sun-ripened tomatoes and freshly harvested truffles. You can even go on a guided truffle hunt! This culinary adventure typically happens between March and October. If you’ve ever wanted to hunt real truffles in the idyllic landscape of Tuscany, you can make it happen. The hunt can even conclude with a visit to a local restaurant where truffles take center stage. The Flavors of the Pacific in Hawaii There are a number of destinations all over the globe that might be called cultural melting pots. Hawaii definitely falls into this category. Nowhere is this fusion more apparent than in the cuisine. The Hawaiian Islands are lush with fresh tropical fruits and vegetables. And then there is a seemingly endless ocean surrounding the islands—mere steps away from luxury vacation homes where you can indulge in chef-prepared dishes made from all the delicious flavors Hawaii has to offer. This is cuisine that takes the concept of “sea to table” to the next level. Picture this: In the morning, you set sail for a deep-sea fishing excursion. In the evening, you return, bring in your catch, and watch as your chef transforms it into a spread sure to delight every palate. A Western Flair in Aspen While Aspen, Colorado, may not be the first place that comes to mind when you think of premier cuisine experiences, it may leave you surprised and delighted. In the heart of the Rocky Mountains and the American West, Aspen is yet another intersection of culture and cuisine. You can find menus featuring authentic ingredients, including river-caught fish, local farm-raised beef, mountain-grown greens, wild mushrooms, and much more. Of course, the ingredients are just the start of the Aspen culinary experience. These ingredients are brought together as they’re intended by regionally renowned chefs. If you’ve ever wanted to experience the flavors of the grand Rocky Mountains—and cuisine with a genuine Western flair—Aspen sits atop the peak of culinary ecstasy. About Cuvée Imagine touring the ancient vineyards of Tuscany via helicopter. Imagine landing at one of the long-established wineries for a glass of the local chianti. Imagine ending the day feasting on regional delicacies as the golden sun sets over the verdant hills. These are just a glimpse into the kinds of experiences Cuvée and their dedicated Experience Curators can bring to life for you to enjoy. From their curated luxury home rentals in Colorado to their properties throughout the Caribbean, Cuvée can create a getaway unlike any other. Immerse yourself in local culture, cuisine, and handcrafted experiences you’ll remember for the rest of your life. Cuvée has spectacular properties all over the world, including homes in some of the most in-demand destinations on the planet. Experience culinary delights around the world with https://www.cuvee.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/3UmkHsy

[letree]

Arizona Baby Moon

Feb 20, 2024- Kaine, Jennifer and Cletus the foetus hopped on a plane to Pheonix, AZ. We arrived late at night and went to our room to sleep and noticed ear plugs on both the night stands.. We soon realized that our room backed onto a 24hr train stop, and every time the train pulled up it tooted its horn. I know this because the sliding door to our balcony didn't close properly so we didn't miss one toot. The next morning we hopped in our dented up RAV4 (aka- the ravioli) and drove to a town just outside of Sedona and got lunch at Tortas de Fuego. Kaine had some tacos and baby had churros and ice cream.

All fuelled up on meat and sugar, we found some hikes nearby and climbed up and around the large red rock until the skies decided opened up and made us turn back. The next day (Kaine's 34h birthday) we had breakfast at the home of the 3lb cinnamon bun. We probably would have considered trying the 3lb bun, but it had raisins in it. bleh.

Fuel'd up on more meat and sugar, we went on a 10km hike to the Devils Bridge. It was flat desert filled with cactus and lizards most of the way, and close to the end we climbed some rocks to reach the bridge. We had burned off our breakfast and needed more meat and sugar, so we brought along a turkey sandwich and the most neon green muffin you've ever seen. We needed something other than meat and sugar for dinner, so we went to an Italian restaurant called Padres. While waiting for our food, our table neighbour brought to our attention that God had been telling him to talk to us all night. He recited a bible verse to us followed by some words of wisdom, then we indulged in giant bowls of thick & creamy pasta. But what's a birthday without DESSERT?! We stopped at the grocery store and got some chocolate cheesecake to eat in bed and were asleep by 9 PM. Is this what 34 looks like?

Our next destination was Tusayan, a town right beside the Grand Canyon. After driving there, we went and watched the sunset at a viewpoint in the canyon then had dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Each table at the restaurant had painted animals or scenery on it and the wooden chairs were all a colourful hand painted display of animals characters and flowers.

We'd been eating too much and needed to burn some calories! We headed to the Grand Canyon and took a shuttle bus to the South Kaibab trailhead, which has an elevation of 7460ft. From there we hiked down into the canyon to Skelton point, which is an elevation of 5200ft.

Descending is the easy part, signs of a man on all fours vomiting warned you not to try hiking the whole trail in one day or that would be your fate. I was the only pregnant person on the trail but still managed to pass a few people! A lot of the views you can see the red rock, but apparently the rock isn’t actually red, it’s just stained red from the water washing rust down it and staining it that color.

The canyon is so deep that when you look down it, depending on where you are, you can’t even see the bottom. From the odd corner you can get a glimpse of the bottom where you can see the Colorado river passing through. We hiked out of there just in time to watch another sunset and ate leftovers in the hotel after a nice dip in the hot tub.

Next, we drove to Page where we saw the Glen Canyon Dam. Just down the from the dam we hiked around the ‘bee hives’ which were tall layered red sandstone in tower formations.

It was getting hot hiking through the desert in jeans and long sleeves, so we drove over to another hike called the hanging garden. They call it the hanging garden because amidst the dry sandy landscape, there’s one random rock in the middle of the desert that has a cool moist overhang which houses moss and hanging greens growing from the lower portion of it. We climbed up the rock and ended up at a cliff where a view into the canyon emerged and you could look out to lake Powell and across the desert.

That evening we went to a local brewery for dinner where I ordered a Mac cheese, but they forgot the macaroni and just gave me a bowl or cheese sauce lol.

Before leaving Page we stopped at Horse Shoe Bend, which is another extension of the Grand Canyon that wraps around a big rock formation. We then headed out towards Prescott, home of the first ever rodeo in 1888. We stayed in Hotel StMichael, built in 1864, and rode up the original elevator with its sliding accordion doors to our room where the walls still hold the smoke smell from years ago. Unfortunately the time of year we went, pretty much everything was closed, but Kaine still managed to get some brisket!

[izaacs-notdeadyet]

fav kind of bread

garlic bread from this really specific Italian restaurant near the river walk in colorado 10/10 food was kinda bad but that bread was heavenly.i also like lightly toasted white bread with a lot of strawberry jelly

[austin-cartwright]

WHO: @carlavillanueva WHERE: Austin & Kat's Living Room

There was no question that Colorado in November was cold, especially at night. It was one of Austin's favorite things about being home. The crisp mountain air coupled with the smell of wood burning fireplaces and the twinkling stars was nearly euphoric for the photographer. It was the true sense of home she always missed while she was away. But that didn't mean she wanted to go out into the freezing temperatures every night. Not a chance. Which was how their plans to go out for dinner turned in to the girls in their comfiest and coziest sweats sitting by the roaring fire with glasses of wine and Italian food takeout containers sprawled around them as a Hallmark Christmas movie played in the background.

"You know what I've never understood?" Austin asked, mouth half full of the bite of penne alla vodka she'd just taken. "Why, when you order any kind of pasta with chicken, they never cut up the chicken into bite sized pieces." Washing her bite down with a sip of wine, Austin gathered more pasta on her fork. "Like, why, do I have to cut it up first or try and bite off a bite sized hunk with a mouth full of pasta? I get aesthetics in a restaurant but when it comes in a metal container with a clear plastic lid- we're clearly going for convenience." Shrugging her shoulders, she took the bite of pasta. "But that's just my opinion... And I'm gonna eat it anyways. If I'm an idiot and choke on a too big piece of chicken while stuffing my face well," Shrugging her shoulders with a grin, Austin chuckled. "At least I went out doing something I love."

[careerarm2-blog]

September 20 - drive to Aspen

Beautiful day today! Clear, sunny, no wind or rain. Perfect for the 3 hours drive from Steamboat Springs to Aspen. Again, the roads were good but curvy. There were ranches, mountains, small towns. The aspens are starting to turn a golden color and hopefully we’ll be able to see more of the turning of the leaves. There seemed to be wild flowers or grass turning yelllow also covering the fields. This state is really pretty with many different sceneries.

The road crossed the Colorado River in several spots. This rivers runs through Glenwood Springs where we stopped for lunch. Before getting to this town, the road goes through the Glenwood Canyon, which is really narrow and winding. People ride the rapids in this area.

This area appears to have more small towns close together than other areas we visited. I-70 runs across the state and into Denver.

We got to Denver around 3 pm. The mountains are right next to town and there is a gondola from town to a ski area. Outside of town there is another ski area called Buttermilk! Strange name!

This town is considered among the wealthiest in the US with many billionaires having their vacation homes here. It is also a “destination” place for weddings/meetings/events, etc. we just to a short walk around town and the stores look super fancy, with many art galleries around. We had an early dinner at an Italian restaurant, Mezzaluna, and the pizza with cheese, no tomato sauce, arugula and figs was delicious. The other people at the restaurant had the “rich” look, very trendy. Almost every one walked with a big dog, no chihuahuas here.

It so happens that we are staying at an independent hotel. I heard 2 women, one the hotel manager, speaking Spanish and I recognized Argentine Spanish! They live in a place near Aspen, because this area is too expensive. They really like it specially the mountains.

I noticed that the restaurant prices are about the same as in SD/LA. A lunch, nothing fancy, no drinks, between $25-30 total. Gas is around $4.20 gal and up.

[nwbeerguide]

Ecliptic Brewing releasing two fresh-hopped beers an Italian Pilsner and an IPA.

image courtesy Ecliptic Brewing Press Release Portland, Oregon. Earth … Ecliptic Brewing is releasing two fresh hop beers for 2023: Altair Fresh Hop IPA and Astro Fresh Hop Italian-style Pilsner. Both beers are expected to ship mid-September. Altair Fresh Hop IPA, which comes in a 16-ounce can and draft, is brewed with fresh Strata and Centennial hops from Roy Farms, as well as regular Strata and Centennial. Astro Fresh Hop Italian-style Pilsner is a draft-only option, brewed with fresh McKenzie hops coming from B&D Farms. Regular Sterling and McKenzie are also included. Says John Harris, Ecliptic’s Owner and Brewmaster,” This is the best time of year. We love brewing with fresh hops and are so lucky to have hop fields less than an hour away from us.” Altair Fresh Hop IPA and Astro Fresh Hop Italian-style Pilsner will be released throughout Ecliptic Brewing’s distribution network in mid-September. Visit Ecliptic’s website or social media for up-to-date details on this release and other potential small-batch fresh hop beers. Altair Fresh Hop IPA The brightest star in the constellation Aquila, Altair uses fresh Strata and Centennial to celebrate the annual hop harvest. ABV 6.5% IBU 50  …  Astro Fresh Hop Italian-style Pilsner Astro, originating from the Greek word for star, shines with fresh McKenzie hops. A crisp, clean lager to celebrate the annual hop harvest. ABV 5.5% IBU 35 About Ecliptic Brewing Ecliptic Brewing is a venture from John Harris, an Oregon beer icon whose background is steeped in the state’s rich craft brewing history. The name Ecliptic unites Harris’ two passions: brewing and astronomy. Ecliptic Brewing’s Mothership location opened in October of 2013 in North Portland and its second location – the Moon Room –opened in November of 2021 in Southeast Portland. Ecliptic celebrates the Earth’s yearly journey around the sun through both its beer and restaurant menus. Harris’ signature beers include Ecliptic Starburst IPA, Phaser Hazy IPA, Carina Peach Sour Ale, Capella Porter and Pyxis Pilsner. Ecliptic beers are available at the mothership brewery (825 North Cook St), the Moon Room (930 SE Oak St), in grocery stores, bottle shops, and on-tap throughout the area. They are distributed by: Maletis Beverage (Portland, Salem, Vancouver WA), Bigfoot Beverage (Eugene, Bend, Coast), Fort George Distributing (Northern Oregon Coast, Southern Washington Coast), Hodgen Distributing (Eastern Oregon), Summit Distribution (Southern Oregon), NW Beverages (Seattle, Tacoma), Odom (Eastern Washington, Northern ID), Dickerson Distributing (Bellingham), Hayden Beverage (Idaho), Crooked Stave Artisans (Colorado), Freedom Distributors (North Carolina), Arizona Beer & Cider (Arizona), Beer Thirst (Canada) and Tread Water (Japan). For more information, visit: eclipticbrewing.com. ### from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/3PlX2oq