I really dig espresso shacks. Common throughout the west, these little booths can provide a tasty boost (a booth boost!) on a long drive, with the added convenience of not having to leave the car. I quite missed espresso shacks during my time in Florida, especially when I was doing crazy things like driving to Key West on a lark. No, on the east coast you have to find a Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts if you want a good coffee kick. I'd rather drink soda than rot-gut gas station coffee.
Espresso shacks are usually locally-owned and can provide quite unique coffee flavors. They are generally stashed in easily accessable parts of parking lots, near a main road, with a window on both sides so that the barista can help two customers at once. In Oregon, they were so plentiful that I was even able to satisfy a craving for a latte on a camping trip! In some towns, if you saw one too late to stop, you only had to drive a few more blocks to find another one.
While I've passed a few of these shacks in Laramie, I haven't visited any of them. I prefer to save my cash for when the caffeine is crucial to driving on the open road. More than once I've stopped at "The Humble Bean" in Fort Collins, Colorado, after a long day of hiking with an hour's drive more to go. In Bozeman, Montana, I picked up a needed boost at a crowded shack that offered five espresso shots to the brave of heart. There's a lot of open road in Montana.
Other drive-thru services don't impress me as much. I've used the drive-up window at the bank, but I usually don't need banking services while in my car. I'll admit to partaking of fast-food drive-thrus on occasion, but if I'm desperate enough to eat fast food, I've probably been driving so long I'm also desperate for the loo and have to go inside anyway.
Wyoming and Colorado have one more drive-thru service that I've never encountered before. Drive-thru Liquor Stores. No joke. The first time I saw one I thought I had misread the sign, but they are actually quite widespread. Now, on first reflection this sounds like a bad endorsement of driking and driving. Actually, on second and third reflection, it still does. I know it's cold outside, but if you have to get out of the car to get your groceries (no drive-thru Safeway so far), then you probably ought to be able to walk to get your booze as well.
I have yet to try this newfound drive-thru option. I just find it too weird, and I don't know if I would know what to ask for at such a window. "Do you have a nice red wine, not too expensive, but tasty?" "Ahh, excuse me, what's your microbrew selection?" "I'll have a bottle, no, two, of your best champagne." I suppose the idea is probably more along the lines of grabbing a quick case of Bud before the game/rodeo/stockshow/hunt.
I have enough trouble with drive-up windows anyway. I once scraped my side view mirror pretty badly on an espresso shack ledge in Sisters, Oregon. So I misjudged a little. I also have trouble with tollbooths when you have to get close enough to throw the coins in or push a button. Can you imagine trying to maneuver that sort of thing under the influence? Or even while thinking about alcohol?
And I'm sure the hooch doesn't come with a chocolate-covered coffee bean on top.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
No Degrees
The temperature outside currently stands at 0 degrees. While I know this distinction is quite arbitrary--after all, in Celsius it is a frigid but unexciting -18 degrees--the big, round zero still grabs my attention. Zero degrees makes sense in Celsius, since it divides freezing from above freezing. Zero degrees Fahrenheit just seems bloody cold.
When I went to work this morning it was 1 degree (Fahrenheit). I greeted the Texan vet Kris, who wishes more and more every day he was back in his native mild, humid climate, with this info. He said, "I guess that's better than no degrees." He was trying to put a positive spin on it, since he was headed outdoors for a miserably chilly day of cow vaccinating.
No degrees seems like it should describe a bland landscape in which it wouldn't matter if you wore long or short sleeves because the temperature was just so unremarkable. No degrees should be so irrelevant that no one noticed or thought to mention it at all, like in a personalized climate-controlled room or in the setting of a suspenseless novel. No degrees sounds boring, but harmless.
In reality, no degrees is pretty uncomfortable. Any exposed skin becomes sore and red (don't forget your gloves!) and your nose hairs start to crystallize. When the temperature hits zero, the wind chill numbers dive so far into the negative that they just don't matter any more. What is the difference between a wind chill factor of -22 and -32? They both just mean it's time to go inside.
No degrees also gets me thinking of one of my numerous shortcomings, the lack of letters after my name. I am surrounded by DVMs and MDs and CVTs and my own dear man Johnny BAMAMFA that my own little BA seems quite pathetic. But, I guess as in temperatures, one degree is better than none.
I still would rather bundle up for the cold than try to escape the heat. Besides, the last conversation I had with people pining for the warmth of Florida or Texas devolved into a discussion of pests and nasty creatures. Florida: mosquitoes, no-see-ums and palmetto bugs (giant flying cockroaches--don't let the pretty name fool you). Texas: scorpions and fire ants and tarantulas and more (giant) mosquitoes. Wyoming: no bugs for at least six months of the year. Because of things like zero degree temperatures. I may have to wear five layers, but at least all of those layers are bug-free.
When I went to work this morning it was 1 degree (Fahrenheit). I greeted the Texan vet Kris, who wishes more and more every day he was back in his native mild, humid climate, with this info. He said, "I guess that's better than no degrees." He was trying to put a positive spin on it, since he was headed outdoors for a miserably chilly day of cow vaccinating.
No degrees seems like it should describe a bland landscape in which it wouldn't matter if you wore long or short sleeves because the temperature was just so unremarkable. No degrees should be so irrelevant that no one noticed or thought to mention it at all, like in a personalized climate-controlled room or in the setting of a suspenseless novel. No degrees sounds boring, but harmless.
In reality, no degrees is pretty uncomfortable. Any exposed skin becomes sore and red (don't forget your gloves!) and your nose hairs start to crystallize. When the temperature hits zero, the wind chill numbers dive so far into the negative that they just don't matter any more. What is the difference between a wind chill factor of -22 and -32? They both just mean it's time to go inside.
No degrees also gets me thinking of one of my numerous shortcomings, the lack of letters after my name. I am surrounded by DVMs and MDs and CVTs and my own dear man Johnny BAMAMFA that my own little BA seems quite pathetic. But, I guess as in temperatures, one degree is better than none.
I still would rather bundle up for the cold than try to escape the heat. Besides, the last conversation I had with people pining for the warmth of Florida or Texas devolved into a discussion of pests and nasty creatures. Florida: mosquitoes, no-see-ums and palmetto bugs (giant flying cockroaches--don't let the pretty name fool you). Texas: scorpions and fire ants and tarantulas and more (giant) mosquitoes. Wyoming: no bugs for at least six months of the year. Because of things like zero degree temperatures. I may have to wear five layers, but at least all of those layers are bug-free.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Superstar Skiing
Today, while downhill skiing at a local resort, I got brief taste of what it might be like to live the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Well, a bit. I didn't get chauffeured in a stretch limo or have slope-side champagne and caviar. I didn't have a facial to protect my delicate skin from the elements or have access to a mountain chalet with a fire to warm my toes. I wasn't serenaded by live music or escorted around by Lasse Kjus (excellent Norwegian skier and what I shout when I complete a perfect ski move or manage some serious speed. I like to exclaim something in my joy, and "Nibbles!" or "Prong!" isn't suitable in this situation.)
I did have the slopes almost all to myself.
It’s Monday, and the scheduling gods favored me with the day off (never a bad thing on a Monday. Or any day, come to think of it.) The sky, clear and blue on a beautiful, sunny day, seemed to beckon me to the mountains. I never ignore that call (unless I have to be responsible and go to work or something).
Yesterday's dreary grey skies brought six inches of new powder to the nearby resort. Monday kept most people in town. It wasn't even Wyoming crowded, which is what I've been calling the small groups occasionally encountered out and about in this least-populated state. When I went cross-country skiing during a University ski team practice, it was Wyoming Crowded (a dozen people in view and numerous cars in the parking lot). Opening day for the latest Harry Potter movie this summer was Wyoming crowded (one theater, lots of eager fans). I'm sure the rodeos are Wyoming crowded (minus me).
Today, I never once had to stand in a lift line or avoid a downed snowboarder on the slopes. I didn't have to listen to punks yelling at their buddies or children screaming about the cold. I didn’t even get hit in the head by an errant ski pole.
It was fabulous. I skied for hours and had a blast. I even had a chance to ski through fresh powder for the first time. It was like gliding on air. My Atomics (thanks again, Dee) cut through the snow like nuclear missiles without the fallout. I felt like a star.
And on the drive home? Prongs! A very large herd, too. Wyoming crowded.
I did have the slopes almost all to myself.
It’s Monday, and the scheduling gods favored me with the day off (never a bad thing on a Monday. Or any day, come to think of it.) The sky, clear and blue on a beautiful, sunny day, seemed to beckon me to the mountains. I never ignore that call (unless I have to be responsible and go to work or something).
Yesterday's dreary grey skies brought six inches of new powder to the nearby resort. Monday kept most people in town. It wasn't even Wyoming crowded, which is what I've been calling the small groups occasionally encountered out and about in this least-populated state. When I went cross-country skiing during a University ski team practice, it was Wyoming Crowded (a dozen people in view and numerous cars in the parking lot). Opening day for the latest Harry Potter movie this summer was Wyoming crowded (one theater, lots of eager fans). I'm sure the rodeos are Wyoming crowded (minus me).
Today, I never once had to stand in a lift line or avoid a downed snowboarder on the slopes. I didn't have to listen to punks yelling at their buddies or children screaming about the cold. I didn’t even get hit in the head by an errant ski pole.
It was fabulous. I skied for hours and had a blast. I even had a chance to ski through fresh powder for the first time. It was like gliding on air. My Atomics (thanks again, Dee) cut through the snow like nuclear missiles without the fallout. I felt like a star.
And on the drive home? Prongs! A very large herd, too. Wyoming crowded.
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