Island time... Pt. 3/Back home

My final days on the island were spent primarily in Kona, as the town is much more enjoyable after the mobile circus of Ironman departs. Save a few trips to the wonderfully opulent Mauna Lani for a wine tasting dinner and triathlete dinner at the Canoe House, I was content to ride out my days on the beaches around Kona town, afternoons at the misty cocoon of Dave's house near the coffee road.
One evening I was fortunate to attend a private concert played by Leche de Tigre at Ceviche Dave's. This was the same band which played all evening at the McKenzie wedding, and they have a solid following in Kona, for good reason. This particular show was to celebrate one band member's successful battle over cancer, so the music seemed deeper, more dynamic and lively with his drumming. I was lucky to have an opportunity to share the night with these new friends, to remember just how small my dilemmas and complications are in the bigger picture.
Flying to the island from the mainland around this time of year automatically initiates a sleep pattern of waking early, sleeping early, so with the aid of some fresh Kona coffee, I greeted the sun on my final day and set out to soak it in one more time. Lava Java served up my morning fuel (and another fishbowl of coffee), and then it was off to jump cliffs at Secrets. Dave and I happened upon two people at breakfast who were keen on joining our outing, so with Mark and Becky now in tow, we headed down south.

It had been a full year since I walked my way through the old Hawaiian battle grounds to reach the jumping spot, but little has changed in that time. The same sharp rocks and crashing waves, the deep blue sea offering its embrace. Each time I have visited the spot, I observe the same cautious hedging and pussyfooting of new jumpers, and then the moment when fear is conquered (or at least momentarily ignored), and they take that irreversible step... A beautiful process and metaphor for life. I had the pleasure of helping two new people make the leap, their faces bright with accomplishment and adrenaline in the shifting waves below.

So off the island then, a chance encounter with a wonderful Canadian woman who had just cycled around the island passed the time until I had to face down the lurking demon which was my redeye flight to LAX. As fate would have it, my seatmate shifted uncomfortably throughout the flight, disallowing any sleep for me. As the time passed, of course my anxiousness did too, and eventually all things conspired against my desire to rest: crying babies, my own racing heart, a lingering cough from the tropics, flight attendants bumping me with elbows and carts...

My jetlagged haze was considerable as I stepped into my native state again, but quickly replaced with excitement. Not quite "home" yet, but back in the clutches of wonderful Colorado. To celebrate my return, I enjoyed the company of a good friend for dinner, wine, and then The National concert at the Fillmore. Fortunately we came equipped with her iPhone and some bravado, courtesy of our wine stop, and were able to push our way in waving barcodes from our tickets which the box office lady refused to issue...Hilarious.

Morning was coffee in one of triathlon's meccas, Boulder, and a walk amid perfect fall conditions while I reacquainted myself with it's charming downtown. Perhaps I will return for some training next season...

The story unfolds for a couple more days in the city, and then it's back to Durango, where cooler fall conditions are my sure companion. Exciting adventures ahead as I revisit some of my hobbies and interests which have been dormant during the training and racing season...