Flying north, way north, from Denver today provided two hours to read the Sunday New York Times and the latest issue of Poetry magazine. Each time I looked out the window the scene appeared more like the Arctic. The Banff Airporter shuttle van driven by Denise raced across snow-slick flat highway toward the mountains as the sun disappeared earlier than it does in Denver. Bob Dylan’s “No Direction Home” on the Nano provided a good soundtrack, and my white ear buds made it clear I wasn’t planning to get to know my seat-mate during the two-hour drive. Once safely close to our destination, I removed my privacy shield and found out he was headed for a mathematicians conference here at the Banff Centre, where he said the artists (including we bloggers, I assume) and the math geniuses eat in the same dining room but at different tables. This makes sense.
I’m hungry and need to find the dining room where my new photo ID card will earn me supper before the reception at 7. But arriving at Camp Blog has unleashed a manic desire to post to The Chronicles, seemingly every 15 minutes. The Banff Centre is a spiffy campus featuring a nearby rec building with a huge swimming pool, and I brought my suit and goggles. Somewhere not far from here teams of huskies are getting ready to haul bloggers who, if they’re like me, don’t get outdoors much, on a wild sled ride through the tall trees. I expect my ride through what’s new in the wilds of the blogosphere is going to be equally bracing.