Du the Du

My sister, a couple of brothers and myself all crossed the finish line at the annual Buffalo Duathlon on April 15. We did the "sprint" which was a 5k run and a 20k bike ride. It was more challenging than I expected. The event was held at Antelope Island. It was my first visit. I saw no antelopes and no evidence of the famed buffalo heards that make a home on the island. And it definitely was not because I was moving too fast. One of the quasi good things they did was right the age of every participant on the back side of their calf. So you could see the age of all the penta, hexa, and septi -geriatricts passing you on the way. I knew I should have drunk more Red Bull. We hope to make it an annual family affair.

Death of a Dinsdale

Grandma's brother's funeral was Monday of this week. It was only the second I have ever attended. Pat was the second of grandm's two brother's to die. She and her baby sister 'Babe' are the surviving members of the original family. Grandma passed the funeral with marked courage though she was obviously troubled by concern for Pat's 'eternal reward'. Pat was a smoker, drinker, and spoke with the harshness characteristic of a Montana farmer. In Grandma's book, that's grounds for eternal punishment.

Cleer Creek Cemetary is the resting place of most of our Dinsdale relatives and their family. There are maybe 50 head-stones total in the plot that is about a two acre square. It sits on a bluff outside of Red-Lodge about 10 miles. To the south and the west the Bear-Tooth mountains rise abruptly and magestically out of a plain of golden rolling hills. The setting is ideal as a resting place for the dead.

February Climb

I met up with Dave Clawson, an old climbing buddy today for some climbing at Ogden's schoolroom. School--room is right. After months of winter lethargy I got burned out on the 5.8 approach. The views of Ogden City and Antelope island, as always, were marvelous.

About two years ago this time we were at roughly the same place with another friend. A party of three. But the temperature was in the mid-30's and the rock super cold. It was cold enough to inspire this poem, which I wrote that night when we were done. Happily it was in the mid 50's today.

Climbing in December

A distant billow of white
Hugs tight the rim of a distant shallow shore
A mass of condensation condecending
In the gathering cold of night.

The rock sucks up a deep orange glow
The last blow from that too far southern sun
All day, the light is cold, the shadows colder
Making our blood to slow

The rock is too deep to give
Any give except gravity's weight upon it's shoulder
A fist sized chunk, latent then falling
Into a boulder-field siv.

Blood runs easy in the open air
Bright-red flair oosing from a purple knuckle
A numbing prick and a gathering prickling
Pleading the heart its warmth to share

The December ascent--an erksome delight
At the onslought of night, I cannot but question
The worth of the climb and the climbing
And then...the distant billow of white.

Day One

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday which means today is 'fat Tuesday.' I celebrated by running three miles. I made it throught the whole day without seeing a single string of beads. Then again, I'm living in Tremonton. My politically correct calender doesn't even acknowledge the holiday and I had to double check on wikipedia to ensure that it is indeed the day we 'fill our canteens' before the fast.

My first entry on this blog. "Robas Decent" is no longer available on eponym.com so I thought resurrecting the blog with a new name--one accurate to the intent--would be good.