Headed South...

I switched cold-killing strategies last night, moving from grease and alcohol to Mediterranean basics: olive oil, pasta, shrimp, and chocolate. While dinner was delicious, I didn't sleep any better, and the funk that I'm fighting is threatening to settle in my chest. I need to rest, but I also need to keep moving, 'cuz the Steeplechase is looming. It's a delicate balance, and right now I feel like those little rhinovirus bastards have their thumbs on the scale.

This weekend's trip to Escalante should be just what the doctor ordered. Here's a preview:

The house we're borrowing. There is a little Smoky Joe stashed there somewhere, and the driveway should serve as the perfect venue for charring some therapeutic protein.

This is rumored to be the view from the front porch at sunset.

And this slice of heaven is Thunder Mountain. Fourteen miles of this should cure what ails me.