Last night was the fourth week of 11 weeks of our local rodeo, held every Friday night. It’s always a good turnout. It’s sort of funny as there’s not a lot of cross over between the crowd that goes to the rodeo and the so-called Vail crowd. We were with Davy and Abby as it was River’s first barrel race. She’s 11 and such a sweet kid. In rodeo, they have events called the slacks, for beginners. This could be for barrel racing, calf roping, whatever. This all happens before the main rodeo and events start.
Here’s Lana, a 14-year-old mare, who is an experienced barrel horse, and then River.


In their run, Lana pretty much went wherever she wanted to, with River holding on for dear life, trying to lead her around the barrels. River was clearly upset when the horse missed a barrel and ran towards us at the gate to get out of the arena. She was almost in tears and yelled, “open the fucking gate”! We told her, “No, go back and go around the last barrel”, which she did. We, Lori, Davy, Abby and I, were laughing at this sweet little 11-year-old, that just told us, “Open the fucking gate’! To her though, it was no laughing matter. She thought she failed miserably, when the truth was that for her first barrel race ever, just staying on this horse, which is an athlete and knows her job, was a big win. We told her how proud of her we were, but she was so upset and crying for a good 10 or 15 minutes, poor kid. Abby wanted to console her, but Davy and I said, let her be upset and tell her good job and that she’ll do better next time. Failure is a life lesson, and she will do better next time. After a bit, she was fine and gave us big hugs thanking us for coming. We stayed for another hour or so before heading home.
Big news of the day is Lori, and I are going to France July 29th. We’ll fly into Paris, then down to Marseille where we’ll spend 3 nights or so at this incredible resort owned by a Swiss family, who also own a vineyard, and the BMC bike brand, which is a billion-dollar company with a team in the Tour de France. After that, we’ll drive over to my other estate, Plaimont. It is 5 hours west and we’ll be there for a couple nights and then fly up to Paris for a few nights. I hooked up Davy’s friend and his wife at the Metallica concert a couple weeks ago and Davy said he was going to call him and try to hook us up at the Four Seasons in Paris. Terry, who I gave the VIP passes to, runs the Four Seasons in Denver. I found a great boutique hotel in Paris for $700ish a night, but if we get comped at the Four Season, we’ll take it. We’d never book it, as it’s whopping $2500 a night! Either way, Lori is super excited. She deserves this trip. Airfare wasn’t too bad, about $5k for both of us, after I used some credits we had, for First Class. We were going to do France on our October Italy trip, but it was just too long of a trip, so after talking with Murielle, my partner in France, and checking everyone’s schedules, I decided to just go now and get my two visits in France out of the way. This is the good part of my job as I’m treated like a Prince and wined and dined and catered to like a rockstar. To be clear, not like James, but really damn well. It’ll be a great trip, and I decided to just go, so Lori could go when the weather is great. October in France is not as fun as July and August, and this was Lori gets to go to Europe twice. I texted Holly and Tom and told Holly that she and Tom should meet us in Paris, as we know she loves everything about France. Not sure if they’ll go, but we’d be happy to have them. We’ll still be going to Portofino and Venice, Lake Como and other parts of Italy, the first ten days of October. It’ll be way less stressful now that we don’t have to go to France on the way. Time to brush up on my French.
Today we’re off to Jeff and Tina’s BBQ in Denver, which starts at 3. We’ll hang for a couple hours and then drive home. Jag and Ava are meeting us, and Ty is bartending the party. Should be fun. Weather looks so so, with storms, hmm.
That’s it for today, time to get moving, have a great weekend and God Bless.
