Ain’t no mountain high

The title lies (kinda). That mountain is high. But it won’t keep me from getting to you, baby.

Last Friday Dana and I decided that the best way to beat the heat was to bike up Mt. Royal, the mountain for which this tangled, multi-lingual city is named. By Colorado standards, it’s hardly a mountain–it’s merely an overambitious hill, that happens to have 3 million people hoodwinked.

But. Bike up this sucker, and you too will mentally upgrade it from “hill” status.

I haven’t been biking on a regular basis very long, and so there are some things about bikes (mostly around maintenance and repair) that I simply don’t know. Dana was kind enough to broaden my understanding of gears (they’re on the right AND left handlebars! Whoa!), which made the second half of the ride up much, much easier.

There were ducks at the top.

"This is why we can never go anywhere."

And there was a racoon under a lookout.

Also, there was this tiny little town I think I may be falling for.

Montreal, from Mt. Royal

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