In high school I played soccer year around. My club team dedicated the spring to tournaments, where we traveled to Austin, Dallas and even Colorado to play teams from across the country. Side note: I was one of the stronger players on my high school team and we lost pretty much every game every season. On my club team I was one of the weaker players and we won several tournaments and played consistently well no matter where we were. Hm.
Our team qualified for the opportunity to play in a national tournament in Colorado one year, and our coach thought it best to take a bus out there as a team and spend a week in Steamboat Springs so that we could acclimate to the thin air. The bus ride was more than 40 hours long and this was before DVD and VCRs on buses, so we were forced to entertain ourselves the old fashioned way, lots of hangman and spades. And once it got dark, we were forced to sleep beneath the seats on the ground while the driver pumped hours of Kenny G through the bus speakers. But it was great, because we were on our way to play in a national tournament and we got new uniforms, plus the entire team had matching bags and everything.
Steamboat Springs is beautiful in the summer. The first couple of days we practiced and ran a bunch. One afternoon a group of us ate lunch together at a local restaurant. The soccer tournament brought people from around the country, and it was at this restaurant we met a family from Arizona. Here is how the discussion played out:
Man: Hey there! Where are you guys from?
My Mom: We're from Houston, Texas.
Man: Houston? That's funny, we were just in Houston. What part of town do you live in?
My Mom: We live in Spring Branch, which is just west of the city.
Man: Whoa! Spring Branch? That's I-10 near Voss, right? That's where we just were visiting some friends.
My Mom: What a small world! Yup, we live in a neighborhood right off of Voss and I-10. I wouldn't be surprised if you were within a couple of blocks of our house. How funny!
Man: Let me tell you, I saw the funniest thing in a neighborhood over there. We took a walk one evening and we saw this house with a dog on the roof. I'm not kidding! This little grey dog was running all over the roof of this house barking at us as we walked by.
Hardy: PRINCESS!!!
Man: What?!
Hardy: That's my friend's house! His dog's named Princess and she is always on the roof barking at people!
This is one of my favorite stories. Princess was somewhat scraggly, but she will always hold a special place in my heart as the little grey dog on the roof.
Side Story: One night in high school Chris and I got drunk on beer and NHL 93 and when we snuck out later that night to smoke a cigarette it started to rain. We huddled up against the house on his second story balcony, where we saw Princess wet and shivering. Like caring, drunk teenagers we spent the next hour in the rain telling the dog how much we loved her.
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HOW DID SHE GET ON THE ROOF? Did she...LIVE up there? That seems like something her owners would try to discourage. Ha.
This was Chris's dog. Chris's parents had a deck put in upstairs that sat flush against the roof at a few spots. The dog could climb steps in the backyard to the deck, and then simply walk onto the roof.
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