Rocky Mountain High

After predicting El FC’s win vs. Charlotte, my beloved hens and I were riding high. In fact, we were reminded of this classic song:

I found myself humming this tune for a bit before it occurred to me: Rocky Mountains? Denver? El FC? I’m a professional augur. I see the will of the gods through animals, but I seem to have other powers as well. It’s clear that a trip for us to the Mile High City is divinely approved.

Scouring Kayak for the best, last minute deals, we secure tickets out west. Travel these days isn’t what it used to be. Now, gentle reader, I’m not talking about travel during the 80s. It’s difficult to believe, even though I lived it, that there were smoking sections on planes. I vividly remember sitting in the back of the plane with Mr. de Ludovico while he chained smoked. All of us in the last 10 rows were completely enveloped in cigarette smoke (Winston Lights, courtesy of my father).

No, I’m talking about the halcyon days of commercial aviation. I mean, look at this service you were provided. Can you imagine?

Nevertheless, my hens and I endured and landed in Denver. Grabbing our bags, we made for the cab stand (I personally prefer to take cabs because those companies treat their employees somewhat better than those employed by ride-share companies). Quickly and efficiently, we arrive at our hotel and check in.

We decide to hit the mean streets of downtown Denver. While perambulating, a man with a certain essence wafting about approached us.

He then kindly offered us some gummi bears.

I was taught by my parents to be polite to people. But, I was also mindful of Vergil’s admonition, “Timeo Danaos dona ferentes.” The man assured me he wasn’t a Danaan, so we happily accepted his largesse. We began to feel a little different. Most of all, we felt hungry.

Entering the nearest restaurant, my beloved hens and I sat and looked at the menu. One item intrigues us; something we’ve never seen before. There’s no large body of water around here. Odd, yet fascinating. “Yes, we’ll have the Rocky Mountain oysters, please.”

Bollocks! They didn’t taste salty, like a regular oyster, but they balled out in taste. Mental note: find that estuary nearby and go nuts on them. Don’t want to egg anyone on, but these rock!

We were stuffed. Not a nibble more. So, we settled our bill and strolled about the town.

Soon enough, we felt the need for some dessert. We entered an establishment that advertised “Best Baked Brownies in Town!” The hens and I were sold.

We gobble them down faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. I emerge a little light headed, but San Julius and Wolfie seem to be in a worse shape. Out on the sidewalk, I notice them do something I’ve never seen before: San Julius spins herself around thrice while shouting out “Wheeee!!!” and Wolfie spins once while shouting “Blech!”

I’m immediately reminded why we’re here in the first place:

El FC 3-1 Colorado