There've been all sorts of bad puns on Telluride. What do you call Telluride in the winter, Tellurglide. What do you call Telluride at the end of an argument, Tellurwrong. There really isn't a supreme Telluride pun yet. They're all bad.
So Telluride happens to be beautiful, much like every other mountain town we've encountered. The difference between Telluride and most of those other towns, is that Telluride is full of healthy athletic white people, which is alarming. I'm not sure why, and am generally not comfortable around people that look like they're succeeding in being earnestly happy. I mean, they win. That's the point of life, right? To be happy, and beautiful, and wear breathable-hundred-dollar-mesh-long-sleeve shirts. And to be caucasion. I'm pretty sure that's apart of happiness. A happiness that I'd never measure up to. I mean, how could I. I'm thinking about all this while climbing Lizard Head Pass, blissing out. The thousand foot climb looks like it's about to end, and when it doesn't, I think, 'thank you. I am so blessed to be able to climb this beautiful mountain.' And I realize that I'm white, in athletic clothing, mostly muscled and tan. Despite the evidence, I don't think Telluride would let me in their club.
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