The Wrong Tree

February 21, 2026

1986 The Woods were our first training ground — a tangle of trees and hills behind Jon's house on Columbia Avenue, just a block from Heath Street where I grew up. Decades of runoff had carved the hills into earthen ramps that could launch a bike, a sled, or a kid with more confidence than coordination. The trees — spindly young maples, saplings, and thin trunks — were our safety nets, angled just enough to let you grab hold mid-jump and ride them downward like a kid-sized rappel down an uneven…

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Book it Danno

February 17, 2026

Something bit me on the neck. I was at my desk in Denver — working, not doing anything interesting — when I felt it. Couldn't tell you what it was. Probably a boxelder bug. Those flat, red-striped freeloaders are everywhere in Colorado, and while they're not exactly known for biting, I wasn't about to rule it out. Whatever it was, I swatted at it, went back to my screen, and forgot about it. Then a lump showed up. Slow at first. Just a firmness under the skin, behind my right ear, tucked along…

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How Far They Bend

February 17, 2026

1988 There's a moment in every kid's life when you realize the world runs on rules — and that some people follow them, and others... test them. I didn't test them to be rebellious. I tested them because I didn't stop to ask whether I was supposed to. And the thing about edges is: once you find one, you start wondering where the next one is. * * * By eighth grade, Sam and I had turned Waterloo into our personal X-Games course. We rode bikes everywhere — streets, trails, parking lots, The Woods —…

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A Millimeter from Darkness

February 16, 2026

On Christmas morning in 1982, my older brother Jason and I excitedly tore through the wrapping paper, uncovering the classic BB gun—the same one Ralphie nearly shot his eye out with in A Christmas Story. We were thrilled, but our excitement quickly hit a snag. The Iowa winter raged outside, rendering our new toy useless in the biting wind and snow. Dad, always prepared, handed us another box. Inside was the solution: a BB gun trap—a steel box with a black front panel and bright red spinning…

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Holding the Table

February 11, 2026

In 2002, I played in the U.S. Amateur Pool Tournament in Laurel, Maryland. To get there, I had to be one of the top players in the APA league and one of two winners from a qualifying tournament. Denver was one of only twelve cities in the country to host a qualifier, and ours was held at Shakespeare’s pool hall. The same pool hall I played in after getting laid off from Spiremedia. The same one, only a few miles from my house. This tournament would be my last hurrah with pool. I didn’t know it…

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The Train Game

February 9, 2026

1987 Just past The Woods, the neighborhood dissolved into something wilder. A fenced-off quarry opened up first — a small lake at its center, deer wandering the edges like they owned it. The guy who owned the land had built himself a floating house out on the water, like he was hiding from the world. Every time we pushed through the fence, it felt like finding buried treasure. Beyond the quarry was where things got serious: a junkyard full of wrecked cars, and right next to it, the railyard.…

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