Today is our last day of driving: Fort Collins is tantalizingly close, so close you can smell it. It smells like Mountain Fresh fabric softener mixed with a subtle tint of cow patty. Before heading out, Michael and I took some time to catch up on work, visited the CU campus and their local coffee shop, I scoped the campus sunbathers while The Married Man commented on the unique roof tiles used on all the buildings, and we looked back longingly at the mountains one last time.
The drive up to FC was, thankfully, also as uneventful as every other mile on this trip. No crashes, no fires, no explosions, no song and dance numbers, not even an election slogan to report. The best I can do is note that we’ve decided that the van’s steering, which is categorized as “active”, teaches you to do some funny little upper-body safety dance, which at least keeps you marginally awake-er during the drive. (I’ll show it to you when we get back.) Actually, it’s more like an anti-safety dance. (You can dance if you want to.)
Note to DAPER: we’re still being safe. That’s what we call sarcasm in the business.
Right now, the early flight of kids are out riding around, enjoying the scenery, while I’ve got a nice view of the parking lot and undeveloped ditch behind the hotel from the fifth floor. I can also see the roof of the hotel ballroom. For you mechanical engineers out there, know that you’re missing out on some giant air circulators that could be classified as incredible, but only if things like painted metal boxes get your mojo flowing and give you goosebumps on the inside of your frontal cortex.
Note to the ladies: large painted metal boxes do not get my mojo flowing, so please don’t plan on surprising me with one for my birthday, Laura Ralston.
Tomorrow: road course previews, packet pick-ups, chain lube, and last minute details before crushination begins.
Monkeys and cogs,