"FALLING ROCKS, DON'T FALL ON ME"

Sometimes you only have to say something once and it becomes part of local legend or family lore. Once on a Colorado trip when our two children were young, my wife uttered those words in response to a sign announcing Falling Rocks Ahead. Now, nearly every time any of us see a similar sign, we utter, at least to ourselves, that clause stated years ago.

And it must work, because except for windshield chips, we have been spared from falling rocks.

On the same trip, we had rented a car from a place called Rent A Wreck. The van we rented, for comfort and necessity for others who were meeting us there, was not a wreck at all. Initially we had started with a big old boat, a hoopty, but after a few blocks, I could see that wasn't pleasing to my wife. Back to Rent a Wreck on Grape St.

The guy at the rental place told us we'd never remember Grape so count the street lights and turn after the fifth one or so. He was the same guy that told us our hoopty didn't have a couple of hubcaps, but hey, who could keep them on anyway, the way they just hopped from a car.

Our van hadn't thrown any, so we were off again. The vacation was great, ending on a Robert Trent Jones golf course, Skyland, in Crested Butte where Scott eagled the last hole. I was fighting a huge sand bunker in front of the green, so I didn't appreciate it at the time.

Maybe I should have uttered "Falling ball don't get near that trap."