Mushrooming is more than a passion. It’s an obsession, and after two poor seasons in a row, we are finally experiencing some fungus among us in Colorado. Which means that it has become very difficult for me to go hiking or running or biking, because as soon as my mushroom eyes catch glimpse of a nice shroom, I stop, drop and pick. The pursuit is the fun of it. And once I find one nice bolete (the king of mushrooms), I know there must be more and I can’t be satisfied until I find the next.
Yesterday I tried to go for a mountain bike ride, but a few miles in, I spotted the cap of a king bolete and had to stop. Immediately, I realized I had a problem. I had no basket and the beautiful mushroom was too big to fit in my jersey pocket. In desperation, I wrapped the shroom in my rain jacket, tied it to my handlebars and headed back to the trailhead. All was fine until I hit a rock and the jacket went flying. Luckily it had a soft landing, so although a piece of the cap was destroyed, most of the mushroom remained intact. Still, I didn’t want to give it time to disintegrate, so I rushed home to sauté it in butter before it became bruised. The mushroom made a meal, and I didn’t even care that my ride was cut short.
