Mountain Media #188

A Story for Tomorrow

Film: “A Story For Tomorrow,” by Gnarly Bay Productions

“A Story for Tomorrow” has 400,000 views on Vimeo because it taps into something: It captures the feeling of a trip that could be your trip. It is a 5½-minute video that is the perfect answer to the question “How was your trip?” And you wish instead of telling people, “Oh, we had a great time,” that you could make something like “A Story for Tomorrow” and show it to them instead. As soon as it stops at 5 minutes, 36 seconds, you find yourself starting to research plane tickets, maybe, but not necessarily to Chile, where Dana Saint shot the footage for the film (including Patagonia and the Atacama Desert). Narrated by Argentine actor Castulo Guerra, the film is more than vacation shots — the voice-over gives it a fairy-tale feel, and you can’t help be inspired to do something other than sit at your desk when he asks, “Did you enjoy your story?” 

Climbing Zine

Kindle: “The Climbing Zine,” by Luke Mehall

For Volume III of The Climbing Zine, writer, climber and all-around swell guy/dirtbag Luke Mehall decided to make the digital leap and bring his publication from its grassroots in southwest Colorado and make it available on’s Kindle Reader. Mehall, whose work has appeared in Climbing, the MG, Rock and Ice and Patagonia’s The Cleanest Line blog, has made the hard-copy ’zine available at locations in Durango, Crested Butte and Gunnison or by mail since its inception, a homegrown publication true to the DIY/tradition of ’zines. Luke’s homespun tales make up the majority of the content, and he’s been living the life long enough, and climbed so extensively, that you feel his well of stories might never run out — and could power the ’zine for decades. I don’t own a Kindle, but I love the Kindle iPhone app, and I love the idea of taking the The Climbing Zine with me on my phone in a tent, dentist office waiting room, airport security line and you know, public restroom. $4,, 

Mountain Heroes

Books: “Mountain Heroes: Portraits of Adventure,” by Huw Lewis-Jones

How awesome could a book of portraits of mountaineers and climbers be? Pretty awesome. “Mountain Heroes” is an encyclopedia of legendary figures spanning the 20th century: Sir Chris Bonington, Yvon Chouinard, Lynn Hill, George Lowe, Tom Hornbein, Reinhold Messner, Don Whillians, Steph Davis, Galen Rowell, Sir Edmund Hillary, Dean Potter, Apa Sherpa, Ines Papert, Maurice Herzog, Warren Harding, Royal Robbins, Tenzing Norgay, Steve House, Fred Beckey, George Mallory — to name just a few of the characters profiled. Each portrait is accompanied by the climber’s bio, making this a CliffsNotes of the who’s who in the history of mountain climbing. It’s paperback, but coffee table material — full-color photos, and easy to pick up and flip through for a couple minutes, and then an hour.

Web: Nature Valley Trail View

If you understand Google Street View, the technology that enabled Google to let you look at a 360-degree photo of any neighborhood on your computer screen, you will understand Nature Valley Trail View, which shows you 300 miles of trails in three national parks. Which is pretty rad. I’ll just go out on a limb and say that a 360-degree view from the Grandview Trail in the Grand Canyon is better than almost anything on Google Street View. A team used a backpack camera to capture footage of trails in the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone and Great Smoky Mountains national parks (a good bet since those three are the perennial top-three-visited national parks in America). The application, which launched in March, is free to view on the web at

Nature Valley Trail View



Tuning in … Greg Pettys wails a solo song in a house full of soul and bread.

Just when you thought we were safely out of the ’60s, along comes another generation glomming onto some of the love, peace and music concepts idealistically developed back in our various decade-long delusional altered states.

Although it wasn’t the hippies that conceptualized communal living with all-night jam sessions. Sharing space, women and food was advocated in recorded 5th-century Persia, where Zoroastrianism was the dominant religion, with doctrines encouraging its followers to take delight in life’s pleasures — eating, drinking, friendship, love without domination, no war or bloodshed and an open-home policy for all who needed shelter from the storm.

Persian reformer Mazdak carried the “share-the-wealth” ideology into the 6th century and professed that vegetarianism and free love was the way. Fast forward to late-19th century Germany, where Der Wandervogel (translated as rambling, hiking or wandering bird … yes, the original Freebird) emphasized amateur music and singing, unorthodox clothes and getting back to nature and was probably most influential to the ’60s hippie movement.

The ’60s band houses were a communal concept, where musicians ate, slept, worked and played together to maximize the creativity and share the joy of an uninhibited life. But the reality was usually quite different, especially if you had to have a day job and you’d come home to find your food stash in the refrigerator consumed by the guitarist who strummed all day and smoked all your weed. However, all trespasses were later forgiven through music and endless passing of the peace pipe.

Many of the neo-hippie musicians today are the spawn of their grandparents’ culture. Dreadheaded, long-haired, organic bio-musicians living in peace and harmonies under the same roof and sharing a healthier lifestyle through drumming circles, dance, yoga and musical dedication. In a rambling drafty house that was once a mountain bar from the old mining days in Crested Butte, a clan of seven mostly musicians live with Walter the dog. And recently, Eli the Kundalini yoga instructor, who was friend of a friend of a friend, moved in behind the still-intact original bar at the far end of the living room. They are referred to as the bread mafia, since most of the household members also help run their business, Mountain Oven (, whose mission is “ …  to bake delicious and wholesome goods for our community with creativity and love.” A package deal of soul food, music and a sense of extended family.

Lizzy Plotkin, mandolin player, fiddler and vocalist, says they’re all in about four bands (one of which is The Wild), in addition to the live-in ongoing jams. They’re melding music. Housemate Greg Pettys, who wails on horn and guitar, explains the incestuous nature of the commune. “We share each other lovingly. We have to, it’s a small town.” He also acknowledges that the love of learning to play multiple instruments is born of necessity. If they need a bass player, someone will pick up a bass and learn it. They all sing. “Like the Jack of all trades you have to be to live here in this town, it’s survival,” he claims. “We moved into this house as musicians, but we didn’t play together until recently.” Greg says the musical clan was initiated to relive stress. “We’re always working, living and loving together and the music is nice therapy. Everyone gets along when we start playing music.”

Another member of the Mountain Oven household is Jonathan Brown, who has seen four winters in Crested Butte. “I’m teaching myself keys so I can be in a loud dirty band with a friend,” he says, adding that he’s encouraged and inspired by his housemates. “All struggle is creative and an impetus for new art and intentional living. It’s a single house but it spreads to multiple houses.” Brown notes there are two other music houses on their street. “Everyone pooling energy, food, talents and skills to raise the bar. It makes it easier, providing more free time to allow people to devote themselves to whatever inspires them and feeds their soul.”

As for the healthier lifestyle, they all claim to save the acid for Vinotok, the local pagan autumnal festival. It’s just nice to know that the culture of love, peace, music and homemade bread is still alive and cookin’. Carry on.

Dawne Belloise is a freelance writer, photographer and vocalist who has lived communally in many hippie band houses throughout cosmos. She is currently hitting the open road with her guitar, 20 lb cat and a bird named Spike. Email 

We’re not in (Ar) Kansas Anymore

Beer and River

Dusty Lanci rides the Owyhee River (OR) in style. Photo by Sarah Lanci.

The newest member of the mountain-brewing fraternity is Elevation Beer Co., a start-up taking root in Poncha Springs. If you find yourself wondering, where in the hell is Poncha Springs, don’t feel bad. Half the Chaffee County locals interviewed couldn’t place it. Head north, and you’re in Buena Vista. Head east to nearby Salida. Head west and you’ll be on Monarch Pass. Head south for the Poncha Pass and the metropolis of Saguache.

If this sounds like a remote location for a brewery, it is. But for their business plan, Poncha is centrally located. Elevation intends to brew for a different market than many microbreweries. Rather than going after taps and brewing for volume, Elevation plans three product lines for production. Based on the rating scheme for ski trails, their Blue Square brews will be easier-drinking beers, and distributed locally on tap.

The other two lines, dubbed Black Diamond and Double Black, will feature bigger, bolder expressions of beer style with the first releases to be a Belgian Quadruple made with caramelized honey and a Farmhouse Ale aged in chardonnay barrels. These will be distributed “corked & caged” in 750ml champagne bottles throughout Colorado and are aimed at the beer aficionado market. Look for Elevation where you buy beer by press time, and stop in for their grand opening to be held at the brewery on May 19th.

Since we last checked in with the Eddyline Brewery, located in the South Main area of Buena Vista (MG #179), things seem to have been going well. A new facility and canning line is complete and operational, and distribution in 16-ounce cans has taken off with a newly inked deal that should put their beer on shelves across the High Country of Colorado this summer. To celebrate, Eddyline is co-sponsoring the Colorado Kayak Supply (CKS) Paddlefest on May 25-27th and will have a special release, Paddlefest Pilsner a.k.a Boater Beer, on hand for the event. This beer is a craft-brewed American Lager, perfect for hot summer days on the river. With back-to-back “Best of the Fest” awards from the Telluride Blues n’ Brews festival to their name, Eddyline is on a roll heading into summer 2012.

According to head brewer Mike LaCroix, Amicas Microbrewery in Salida will be featuring several seasonal releases, as well as a few new brews this spring. In addition to the Ute Trail Pale Ale, look for the next in their series of single-hop IPAs to be released, with this version featuring the Australian grown “Galaxy” hop. Single-hop IPAs take a simple base beer and then bitter it with one variety of hop, rather than mixing several to generate a more complex hop profile. The idea is to provide a clean base on which to showcase the flavors of the hop variety without distraction. Mike has also been exploring the craft of barrel-aging beer, and will be releasing an Imperial Brown Honey Ale, aged in a bourbon barrel for several months. It should come in around 12% abv, and will only be available on tap starting in mid-April.

Also in Salida, Moonlight Pizza has begun brewing beer. Billed as “beer for the worker bees,” the brewing operation was started to complement the existing pizza business. All indications are that this is a groovy place worthy of a stop, as they say, after running a marathon, leading your first 5.10b or swimming a rapid.

Erich Hennig is an avid homebrewer and lives in Durango, CO. 

Mountain Vision #188

Ashes on the Colorado Utah • 1979

It’s not the River Ganges; these are only campfire ashes they’re spreading on the waters, and these guys are not really panning for souls, either. However, the ashes of a couple of close relatives would eventually be committed to these
headwaters, anyway.

My mother in this way hoped to meet up with my father again, even though he was given to the sea off-shore of Monterey Bay.

I released Karen at the same spot on the Roaring Fork River, near its confluence with MacFarlane Creek, east of Aspen. It always was a matter of catch-and-release with her, anyway. It’s Gold Medal Waters. ‘Nuff said.

Senior correspondent Bob Chamberlain lives with his dog at 8,000 feet in Colorado’s Roaring Fork Valley. 

Way of the Mountain #188

Rivers are the lifeblood of the planet, and the sculptors of mountains. Where I live, on the cusp between the jagged peaks of the Southern Rockies and the mesa tops of the Colorado Plateau, winter is finally relinquishing its hold and mud season still in force. Soon we will have our brief warmth, after bouts of storms and possibly even late snows.

Sometimes it seems like we live in a world of two seasons in Colorado — winter and summer, and what’s between them is a no-person’s-land where anything can happen — hot sun, cold snow, driving rain. Here’s a selection of short poems for this season between seasons.

— Art Goodtimes
Maverick Draw


Early morning snow flurry melts
within an hour.

During which, Dream Queen,
what did you achieve?

I listened to a crow’s mazurka
on a pebble roof.

— Anne Valley-Fox
Santa Fe

Common Sense #14

People who hold themselves
with the grace of a cat
do not fear the jump
from one platform
to the other

— David Patton
St. Louis

Jail Bait

Legs forming a perfect four,
bare shoulder leaning
into the side of the shore’s
ramshackle tackle shop.

Hook, line…

Johnny rsvp’d twice
before lock up.

— Kierstin Bridger

Envy 2

I envy the dirty and alive,
the sleeping tired
Who rise to no care
but to get out there
And ride snow water dirt
Lungs pounding and tight,
cursing and vivid.

— Bryan Shuman


In spite of my
skinned knees

I pull myself up
square my shoulders

and keep on

— Nancy Davenport
Menlo Park

On The Road

The gray swirls of its coat
still startling in the daylight,
the wildcat’s
guts spill across the Sumatran highway
and confirm its determination
in this jungle
to survive.

— James Penha
New Verse News

The Raindrops

Play the aspen leaves
Like piano keys.
They do not recite; they write.
And they recall nothing.
Bathe me
In symphony.
I am shattered; I am mended.
And this is my religion.

— Erin Duggin



Mountain Media: Books #187

“The Straight Course: Speed Skiing in the Sixties,” by Dick Dorworth

The Straight Course

Nowadays, the average person will have approximately five to seven careers. Less limited than previous generations, the choices for careers are endless and, with that, finding the “right path” can be daunting, overwhelming and demoralizing. Which is why long-time MG senior correspondent Dick Dorworth’s latest book, “The Straight Course: Speed Skiing in the Sixties,” is so relevant 50 years after the events he describes. The ’60s were unsettled and challenging for the country and the world of skiing. Despite pressure to ski within a certain style, politics that could make any patriot of ski dissent and challenges with injuries and his personal life, Dick held strong to what he knew skiing did for his life and how it filled it with more meaning than if he gave up when his path appeared blocked. “More important was the hard (and hard earned) knowledge of something not right.” By staying true to his heart and path, he accomplished incredible achievements in speed skiing. Dick’s honesty about looking within to find that truth and, once found, never letting go, offers new generations a way to find direction through the confusion. After all, “a company job is not necessarily the best thing a man can do with the time in his life.” Time might be better spent skiing over 100kph down a fast, unrelenting speed track. “The Straight Course” is a fascinating look into the history of a pivotal time in skiing, while offering wisdom for finding our own way through the world. $15.95,

 “Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs,” by Fred Beckey

Beckeys favorite climbs

Besides starring in the world’s most hideous climbing outfit (on p. 209), I spent two weeks with The Fred on three of these routes (Prodigal Son, Touchstone Wall and Crimson Chrysalis) while he was working on this book in 1996-98. His goal was to climb every route in this “guidebook,” a feat I’m pretty certain no climbing guidebook author has ever achieved; Fred didn’t quite either. But “guidebook” might not be the right term for this publication, which suffers from a bit of an identity crisis. It’s the size of a small table (13.2 x 9.4 x 1.3 inches) and weighs 5.2 pounds. It looks and feels like a coffee-table book, but when you read it, it describes climbs, with topos and photos and other basic information — yet, you wouldn’t stuff it in your pack and head out. In short, it’s a guidebook inside and a coffee-table book outside. So, to appreciate this book, you have to look at what’s in it. “Beckey’s 100 Favorite Climbs” (there are actually more than 100 — 29 of which were Fred firsts) is a catalogue from the jam-stuffed brain of the most knowledgeable, experienced and well-traveled climber in American history. Fred introduces readers to peaks like Ironman in the Adamant Range, Oubliette in the Ramparts and Golden Klattasine in the Coast Range. These aren’t peaks on the tongues of your typical Western U.S. climber — hell, I had no clue something like Gimli Peak existed until I started reading this book. This book is a mind-opener. It’ll make you realize why you started climbing to begin with, and that there’s a whole lot more to see out there than what you originally thought. After waiting 16 years, I am not disappointed. $79.95,

“The Pacific Crest Trailside Reader: Oregon and Washington,” edited by Rees Hughes, Corey Lewis

Pacific Crest Trailside Reader

This is not a guidebook, but rather a collection of writings about the Oregon and Washington stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail (there’s a companion volume for California). This means that the book is short on maps and “just-the-facts” information about flora and fauna, but large on firsthand experiences of folks who’ve trod the iconic trail. There’s blissfully little poetic navel gazing and plenty in the way of good stories about any aspect of the PCT experience you can imagine. Jogging the entire 2,600 miles. Figuring out/being given your “trail name.” Journeying with goats, children or painful injuries. Getting lost and being rescued. Hiking at night, or alone, or through the ash fall of the Mt. St. Helens eruption. Coming face-to-face with bears, lynx, huge toads, heart attacks and hypothermia. And always, through all three sections of the book — “Forests Forever” (Oregon), “Lava, Moss and Lichens” (Southern Washington) and “The Great White North” (The North Cascades) — folks suffer through chronic sogginess and all manner of precipitation, particularly toward the end, when hikers are racing Pacific storms and Old Man Winter to the Canadian border. The book itself might not change your life, but some of the essays within probably will, and, if nothing else, you’ll be inspired to shake off that dusty pack and seek out some adventure of your own. $19.95,


Mountain Vision #187

The Road Nevada 1967
The Road, Nevada 1967


Desert rendezvous, westbound; destination Pacific Ocean. You can’t drive to the island, and it’s too far to swim. Time to make the Pierhead Leap. Start scanning the horizon. Feel the Earth turn as the Sun sets and stars come out. That’s where we’re going.

Where water out of an iron pipe is warm enough to shower. Where winter is two days with louvered windows closed and wearing socks. Where Christmas is a refrigerated ship container of trees, tied in bundles, and a stack of Coors beer in the entrance to the liquor store, which disappears before it can be stocked in coolers.

Where time is what you see in the sky. The Clouds of Magellan are where we’re headed, every night, standing South, South-by-Sou’west, a-quarter-South, and in the fo’csle bunk below, the sound of the sea rushing past.

But the Colorado River is “Closed to Navigation,” so we drive.


Senior correspondent Bob Chamberlain lives with his dog at 8,000 feet in Colorado’s Roaring Fork Valley. 

A Little Traveling Music, Maestro

Soul Center Bridge“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,’ he (Bilbo) used to say. ‘You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

— J.R.R. Tolkien,

“The Lord of the Rings”

With a few exceptions across the mountain states, the lifts have, or will be soon, cranked to a screeching halt and, while many will undoubtedly trek off to higher snow, most of us are ready to load up the water toys, climbing gear and mountain bikes and head out into the oncoming spring. Cars and trucks may be the vehicles, but music is what gets us there. There is a rhythm to tires on open road, a vibration synced from engine to asphalt that sustains us through the journey, but it’s the music that puts down the miles and propels us into the adventure.

Cars and trucks have inspired generations of songs, but in taking our chariots to the next level of evolution in the marriage between vehicle and music, artists have lately turned cars into creative, tonal and percussive instruments. Using slamming doors, switches, ignition, revving and pounding the steering wheel, Los Angeles filmmaker Julian Smith made a music video starring a Jeep Cherokee. The genre is called “bootboxing” and it solely utilizes all the bells, whistles and actual sounds produced from any vehicle (check out “Techno Jeep” on youtube).

Japanese engineers even took it a step further, getting their groove on those annoying rumble strips meant to keep drivers awake and on the road. In California, they tuned the grooves of rumble strips to play the finale of the “William Tell Overture” when a car drives over the entire quarter mile of ruts (see “Civic Musical Road” on youtube).

My good friend, Cathy Hedin McNeil, who well understands the cadence of vibrations through the lower register of her bass guitar, is convinced that road and music vibrations work in harmony with one’s own internal field vibrations. “Music enables a person to travel in the most literal and the most figurative sense. Certainly on the open road, you can’t think about driving on the open road. The freedom that engenders necessitates music playing. The symbiosis of music and traveling is a very literal thing, in the car, rubber on the road, music blaring out of your speakers … In the figurative sense, a song like ‘White Rabbit’ (Jefferson Airplane) can take me traveling to unlimited other realms within the field. For instance, I can be in a normal state of emotion, but I can put on Tchaikovsky and it can move me to tears and traveling into that realm of my own emotion that I might not otherwise be able to access. I don’t have to travel … music takes me there from my living room. Between music and maps, I can go anywhere and it doesn’t cost much except a joint and a pot of coffee.” Indeed, that’s why they called it tripping in the first place.

Music transports us simultaneously into the past and the future, drops us into the heart of hot and gritty cities or takes us home down a country road. It lifts us out of a crowd and into our minds. It can bridge the distance of vastly different cultures. In Steven Spielberg’s conceptual movie, “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” it was a five-tone musical phrase in a major scale that was the communicative link between visiting extraterrestrials and humans during a starry-night concerto under Devil’s Tower.

Long before Led Zep rambled on, Steppenwolf decided they were “Born to Be Wild” and, yes, even prior to Lynyrd Skynyrd wailing about how they were such freebirds, there was music sparking wanderlust equally as much as wanderlust inspired the music. The lure of open road, open seas, endless railroad tracks, and space, the final frontier … it’s all about freedom and movin’ on. It’s enough for us to pack our bags, stick out a thumb and run down a dream and an adventure or two. If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there, and with an inexhaustible playlist of traveling music, there’s no limit to where your mind and body can wander.


Dawne Belloise is currently staging a gypsy exit out of Crested Butte in a travel trailer large enough to hold a couple of guitars, a killer sound system and a 20-pound cat. Email her at 

¿Tienes Experiencia?

A good brew on the beach!’Bout the time that the blazing mountain sun pulls her annual spring prank, searing  “Last Call for Turns” across the slopes and forcing Ullr and winter back to the frigid lands of the north for another season, down south of the border, she’s calling a different tune, one replete with a rough reggae backbeat, bikinis sand, rum and the sea.

With the selection of beer produced in Mexico, one would think that a journey beyond to the countries comprising the isthmus of Central America would relinquish a cornucopia of fine cerveza for the intrepid traveler to enjoy. While it is true that beer abounds, craft brewing is all but non-existent, and what brew is available is produced and distributed by giant beverage monopolies, not unlike the bad-old-days around these parts.

In Belize, the national brand is Belikin, and comes in three varieties, Lager, Premium Lager and Stout. The crafty company also produces another brand, Lighthouse, which seems to be the same liquid packaged under the premium label, only marked-up and sold in green bottles. To help keep the beverage inside chilled for an extended period in the Caribbean heat, Belikin Lager and Stout are packaged in brown glass bottles with much thicker sides and bottom than average. The theory goes that the greater mass of glass takes longer to warm in the sun. After conducting a thorough test, my wife and I concluded that, despite only having a 10-ounce serving inside, the thicker-glass-prevents-the-brew-from-turning-to-warm-piss was a bunch of shit, and on the morning of day two, purchased a fine pair of bottle coozies, (proudly sporting a stencil of the Belikin label), a cherished prize that we own and operate to this day. A beautiful country filled with wonderful people, coastal Belize spoons with the second-largest reef system on the planet. If you’re a fan of Cancun, staying on the island/peninsula of Ambergris Caye would be a fine choice, or if, like us, you’re style tends more toward Tulum or Mahawal, staying a slight distance south on the tiny spit of sand known as Caye Caulker would be a wiser move. It was on the third day, while enjoying a bottle of Belikin at the café Herbal Tribe, that tragedy struck. The details are not for print, but suffice it to say that either the sun, water, gallons of scotch bonnet sauce, mountains of conch ceviche, multiple lobster breakfast burritos and dinners of fresh-caught and grilled bonefish had caught up with me, or the brew was funky. All I know is that, from that moment forward, I chose to spend the extra fifty cents on each bottle of Belikin Premium, and the ship, as they say, was righted.

Flores, an island/town located on the stunning Lago Peten Itza in the Peten region of northern Guatemala, is absolutely not to be missed. A primary jumping off point for visiting the Mayan ruins of Tikal, Flores is the perfect place to sit and enjoy the sunset over the lake from the deck of your five-dollar-per-night hotel and to chat with fellow travelers about the splendor of the city and the mystery of the ruins over a cold beer. Gallo, (the rooster), is the national brand, and a litro of the flavorless lager can be had for under a dollar from any of the shops around town. Limes can help the taste, but not much. Half hidden on shelves in the darkest corners of the shops, one may notice many small pints of a nameless clear liquid adorned with labels featuring icons of saints and other religious figures. BEWARE! The poison contained within is distilled juice of the hangover vine cut with low-grade gasoline. One shot may cause dizziness, nausea and vomiting, with a full pint inducing unconsciousness or death. This same filth is sold as Guarro in Costa Rica and should be avoided, that is unless your taste tends towards such pleasantries as snake venom, scorpion poison or extra-strength Rophenol.

The surf on the beach at Santa Theresa, located on the pacific coast of Costa Rica near the tip of the Nicoya Peninsula, features a right/left break on an endless sequence of kilometer-long rollers. Spider monkeys nurse their young and feed on breadfruit above your hammock at the treeline, while Ticas in tiny hot-pink Brazil-cut bikinis and hombres with eight-packs and sun-bleached dreadlocks absolutely shred the surf in front of you. Lying there, half dazed by the sun, and exhausted from hours spent on the board learning to surf, ice-cold bottles of Imperial and Pilsen, jammed to the brim with the tiny orange-fleshed limes that grow locally, tasted like ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. Later, the German woman who owned the hostel across the dusty road that ran along the strip of jungle separating the beach from the town shared a bottle of Centranario Rum with us (the 12-year-old variety), and it was then that I truly found out what ambrosia was.


Erich lives in Durango, CO, at the alternate reality ranch, just outside of town.