Anyone for Tennis?

I came across the delightfulness of Tennis yesterday via another blog. Tennis, I have learned, are a husband and wife team of musos who wrote their first album while sailing south down the east coast of the U.S. They sport that rendered crackliness of '50s records that is in fashion right now, and I guiltily lap up the faux retroness. Apparently these charmers will be playing in Denver tonight at the Larimer Lounge, and I'm going to make a bold prediction, so as to make it first ... Tennis could very well be the next Captain and Tennille.

For a listen, click here.

Meanwhile, yesterday's "day-ender" was what Yanks term a "trail-run" (but which every understated Australian knows simply to be a jog) out in Denver's foothills. The view up to Red Rocks was not too shabby.

And the tall roofs of Denver's downtown district, and ruckus of the Rio Grande, were about as close as I like them, visible here in extreme miniature.

Along the Castle Trail, I was accosted every 200 yards by a mountain-biking 50-year-old man. Evidently they were each on a reconnaissance mission for their own vitality and youth - mountain bikes are an excellent vehicle for recovering your virility, I hear, being as they are so burly. An excellent vehicle for recovering your youth? A race car bed.