According to Roger Marolt, who writes commentary for another local paper, I may have upset a few full-time residents with my recent column. If so, please accept my apology.

Columnists

According to Roger Marolt, who writes commentary for another local paper, I may have upset a few full-time residents with my recent column. If so, please accept my apology.

Summertime and the living is easy. Now that summer is finally here it’s high time we did all of those easy summer things. It’s a great time to be outside, despite the cotton floating about and people stopped in the street asking their phones for directions instead of you. It’s picture perfec…

My wife and I just returned from visiting recently retired friends in Oregon. They worked hard, built a business and created jobs, played by the rules, invested wisely, and now spilt their time between central Oregon in the summers, and Arizona in the winters.

The situation on the Yampa and Green Rivers this year is being described as “Biblical,” and not in a good way. What are greeting visitors and river trippers in Dinosaur National Park this year are clouds of voracious mosquitos.

Cory Booker, Elizabeth Warren and Julian Castro might not be your choice for president, but they certainly are singing the same song we hear every two years during our city council elections.

The other day after a grueling mountain bike ride on Government Trail, I was sitting triumphantly on a local bar stool after riding the daunting “root,” sweaty and muddy, watching the colorburst kinetic poetry of the Tour de France — the architecture, the countryside, the pageantry — unfurl …

On July 4 I attended Carbondale’s parade, where the motorcycles so prominent in Aspen are replaced by “strider” bikes. You know, the ones without the pedals that toddlers can ride by simply pushing themselves along. It was a great parade and heartening to see that the aspirational and unifyi…

Here we are on the 50th anniversary of the moon shot. I'm old enough to remember the moon landing. July 20, 1969. Apollo 11. Two summers after the Summer of Love. My father pulled over in the family station wagon near Monterey, Calif. We sat in silence listening to the to the landing live on…

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