As my departure date nears, I've been thinking about things I'd like to do before leaving Oregon. Among them were annual events that I had done in the past (I will leave too early to participate in this year's Smith Rock Spring Thing, but I hope to break my own records at next month's Hope on the Slopes), hikes I still haven't taken (I'd like to summit the small, cratered butte just behind Bachelor), and rocks I still haven't scaled (my boss is convinced that we can still take a swing--unfortunate pun unintended--at climbing Monkey's Face). There is also at least one even that, in the past, I heard of too late to take part at the time.
During the summer and fall, when I run along the Deschutes, I take advantage of its melted-snow composition to ice my shins when I finish. It's always effective, though sometimes I have wait until the tears clear from my eyes before I can stagger back out of the water. On February 18, I will join many other Bend residents in the Polar Plunge, jumping into the frigid mountain river in the middle of winter to raise money for Special Olympics of Central Oregon. Since I plan to take part in another fundraiser closer to my heart next month, I won't ask anyone to contribute to both. Instead, I will pay the full registration for each myself, and suggest the following method for your choice of donation.
If you would like to support the American Cancer Society, or reward my habit of skiing as much as possible every weekend, donate to my Hope on the Slopes campaign in March. However, if you want to support Special Olympics, or would like to punish me for any past, current, or future transgressions, click here and make your donation. I plan to use this site in the future to raise funds for various causes I support; consider this a beta test.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
higher and deeper
Last week, Mt. Bachelor got hammered with 100" of snow in seven days. The difference between the two weekends was incredible. One weekend, I drove all the way to the parking lot with views of grass and rocks beside the road, and had to ski around trees and rocks poking up in the middle of runs. The next weekend, my tiny car didn't have the ground clearance to swim all the way across the parking lot--which they hadn't been able to sufficiently plow--, six-foot walls left by snowplows bordered the road, and the still-raging storm kept the power company from supplying a steady stream of juice for the lifts. Only two chairs (and a bunny slope) were running, and most of the mountain was put on wind hold with gusts of up to 100 mph at the summit.
I made a short day Saturday, because I wasn't certain I could get my car back out of the lot, and between the anxious throngs of people waiting in long lines for slow generator-driven chairs and terrible visibility at the top of Pine Marten chair, it wasn't worth it to me. Besides, I'd already gotten a call from a co-worker and his son who had had enough and wanted a ride back to town.
In return, they offered me a ride up and back on Sunday--the catch was that his son would be done with his lesson at 3, and that would mark the end of our day. My usual schedule was cut a little short, but with conditions only slightly improved over Saturday, I still had plenty of fun. I spent most of my afternoon skiing through the trees on the Skyliner chair, wandering through copses and clearings I'd never known were there.
I also experimented a little with cold-weather garb. I wore a pair of liner gloves under my mitts to help my fingers a little (they had gotten very cold the previous weekend), and instead of my usual neoprene mask, I tried a scarf made for me a few Christmases ago. I could feel cold air coming in, but it allowed for better venting--although the vapor apparently condensed, collected, and rapidly froze. It only took a couple hours after I broke off the first icicle for this one to form.
I made a short day Saturday, because I wasn't certain I could get my car back out of the lot, and between the anxious throngs of people waiting in long lines for slow generator-driven chairs and terrible visibility at the top of Pine Marten chair, it wasn't worth it to me. Besides, I'd already gotten a call from a co-worker and his son who had had enough and wanted a ride back to town.
In return, they offered me a ride up and back on Sunday--the catch was that his son would be done with his lesson at 3, and that would mark the end of our day. My usual schedule was cut a little short, but with conditions only slightly improved over Saturday, I still had plenty of fun. I spent most of my afternoon skiing through the trees on the Skyliner chair, wandering through copses and clearings I'd never known were there.
I also experimented a little with cold-weather garb. I wore a pair of liner gloves under my mitts to help my fingers a little (they had gotten very cold the previous weekend), and instead of my usual neoprene mask, I tried a scarf made for me a few Christmases ago. I could feel cold air coming in, but it allowed for better venting--although the vapor apparently condensed, collected, and rapidly froze. It only took a couple hours after I broke off the first icicle for this one to form.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
High Noon
“Yer days are numbered, boy.” The last word drawled out to two or three syllables.
The response was calm, careful, and showed no measure of the tension he felt. “Yep.” He shifted on his feet, re-settling his weight with his heels ever so slightly raised within his boots, ready to spring should the need arise. “Reckon so.”
The challenger’s eyes narrowed. Thumbs hooked in his belt, his trigger fingers tapped alternately at his hips in a slow, even cadence that matched his voice. “Been seein’ yew around here a lot lately.”
The younger man nodded.
“Been thinkin’ on this a spell now, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.” His eyes fixed on the target of his consternation, he spat from the side of his mouth. It arced out and landed in the sun, leaving a dark, sticky line in the sand, glinting in the light. “Yew come here outta nowheres, doing what you done, sayin’ what you said... people gonna notice.”
The younger man wasn’t sure of an appropriate response, so he nodded again, his hands shifting uneasily from his belt to his pockets and back as his challenger spoke.
“Lotta people around here mighty unhappy now, knowin’ what’s comin’ next.”
They stared at each other for a moment before the older man continued; it felt like a tirade that crept slow as a dead steer on a steep hill.
“Ah suppose... ah suppose you think what you’re doin’ is best for you.”
“Don’t see much other option.”
The older man turned his head slightly, squinting toward the horizon. The younger man had come from that direction. He wrinkled his nose at it. Finally, he nodded, satisfied, and after a cursory sneer at the dust on his boots, turned back to look at the younger man.
“Safe travels, boy. We gonna miss you in these parts.”
(1-18-12)
On Friday, my boss announced to my office that I was leaving the company.
The response was calm, careful, and showed no measure of the tension he felt. “Yep.” He shifted on his feet, re-settling his weight with his heels ever so slightly raised within his boots, ready to spring should the need arise. “Reckon so.”
The challenger’s eyes narrowed. Thumbs hooked in his belt, his trigger fingers tapped alternately at his hips in a slow, even cadence that matched his voice. “Been seein’ yew around here a lot lately.”
The younger man nodded.
“Been thinkin’ on this a spell now, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.” His eyes fixed on the target of his consternation, he spat from the side of his mouth. It arced out and landed in the sun, leaving a dark, sticky line in the sand, glinting in the light. “Yew come here outta nowheres, doing what you done, sayin’ what you said... people gonna notice.”
The younger man wasn’t sure of an appropriate response, so he nodded again, his hands shifting uneasily from his belt to his pockets and back as his challenger spoke.
“Lotta people around here mighty unhappy now, knowin’ what’s comin’ next.”
They stared at each other for a moment before the older man continued; it felt like a tirade that crept slow as a dead steer on a steep hill.
“Ah suppose... ah suppose you think what you’re doin’ is best for you.”
“Don’t see much other option.”
The older man turned his head slightly, squinting toward the horizon. The younger man had come from that direction. He wrinkled his nose at it. Finally, he nodded, satisfied, and after a cursory sneer at the dust on his boots, turned back to look at the younger man.
“Safe travels, boy. We gonna miss you in these parts.”
(1-18-12)
On Friday, my boss announced to my office that I was leaving the company.
Friday, January 13, 2012
airport security
SFO is a poorly organized airport. Recently, while flying USAir for the very last time, ever, I had to change terminals in SFO which means going through security a second time, because they like to minimize your chances of making a connection. On the way back from winter holidays, I carried two very full carry-on items, and I wore a vest Dad gave for Christmas, replete with pockets. Stored within these various parcels I carried, among other, less interesting things:
- a titanium spork
- a queen-sized quilt
- a handful of Legos (this is actually more standard than you might believe)
- some dried fruit and a quart-sized Ziploc bag of deer jerky (in vest pockets)
- a climbing harness, climbing shoes, and belay device with carabiner
- a kite with a wingspan over seven feet. (these last two items are also more standard than you might believe)
However, the reason the screeners stopped me and went through my vest pockets was this:
"Are you carrying a frog?" "Yes. Not that pocket. On the inside. That one." A blue-gloved hand turned, showed it to the young lady watching the monitor screen, and after they had both nodded, satisfied, the frog was returned to me and I continued on my way. Must have been a slow night at SFO.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Polar Bear Run
Saturday I ran the Polar Bear 10k, because I acted impulsively four weeks earlier. I had been out for a walk one evening, taking pictures for a small project and wandering my side of town, when I saw a sign at my favorite running store and went in to investigate. The entry fee was $15 and all adults got a long-sleeve tech tee. You can't buy the shirt for that, so I signed the form and walked out with the realization that I needed to be able to run 6.2 miles the weekend after I returned to Oregon from the holidays. Some training runs ensued.
The week of the run was a series of random weather. When I left work Tuesday for a six-mile tune-up near the Old Mill, it was in the forties; comfortable running weather for me, even in shorts. Twenty-four hours later it was nearly sixty degrees, and the mercury dropped to about thirty by the time I left work Thursday. Friday evening, as I walked through downtown with relatives from California, they marveled at the thick, puffy flakes of snow drifting downward around us. I had no idea what it would be like for my run.
It was 22 degrees as I drove to Redmond Saturday morning. Invisible icy patches randomly spotted the blacktop trail of the running course, and I wondered how well I could run while cradling a shattered ulna. As (ahem) luck would have it, the race started ten or fifteen minutes late, by which time it warmed up to 25, and the sun had converted most of the black ice to wet blacktop. I got the time I expected, which was probably better than the time I deserved, and the shin splints which had been threatening all week to erupt with crippling agony gave me a pass. Good enough for me.
The week of the run was a series of random weather. When I left work Tuesday for a six-mile tune-up near the Old Mill, it was in the forties; comfortable running weather for me, even in shorts. Twenty-four hours later it was nearly sixty degrees, and the mercury dropped to about thirty by the time I left work Thursday. Friday evening, as I walked through downtown with relatives from California, they marveled at the thick, puffy flakes of snow drifting downward around us. I had no idea what it would be like for my run.
It was 22 degrees as I drove to Redmond Saturday morning. Invisible icy patches randomly spotted the blacktop trail of the running course, and I wondered how well I could run while cradling a shattered ulna. As (ahem) luck would have it, the race started ten or fifteen minutes late, by which time it warmed up to 25, and the sun had converted most of the black ice to wet blacktop. I got the time I expected, which was probably better than the time I deserved, and the shin splints which had been threatening all week to erupt with crippling agony gave me a pass. Good enough for me.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
howl
It was more vivid than any dream I’ve ever had, and I came into it far more suddenly. Rather than drifting in slowly from some other dream or a sleepy black void, I was inexplicably and instantly a coyote, sprinting at the edge of the desert, dodging between clumps of sage and leaping small cacti, the needles scratching at my soft stomach. The sharp sweetness of the rabbit’s fear tingled in my nose, and my ears perked and twitched, following the sounds of its frantic paws in the soft, dusty soil. Cool night air smoothed my fur as I ran, the moon nestled high above among ten million shining stars. I hunted the rabbit because it was there and I was excited with equal parts hunger and sport. I had even pounced too soon, knowing it would run, and knowing I would get to chase it, but not which one of us would win the little race. Then I yipped, high and shrill in the cold night, and the rabbit stumbled at the sound, just enough for me to gain. I sprung high, dropping upon my prey with wide jaws and gleaming eyes--
--and woke in my bed, the taste of blood and fur still warm in my teeth.
(1-6-12)
This strange short was probably inspired, at least a little, by the song "Fur," by Blitzen Trapper. Check them out--worth a listen and Oregon-based!
--and woke in my bed, the taste of blood and fur still warm in my teeth.
(1-6-12)
This strange short was probably inspired, at least a little, by the song "Fur," by Blitzen Trapper. Check them out--worth a listen and Oregon-based!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
a plan revealed
My performance at the climbing gym over the holidays was an embarrassment. My only defense is that I hadn't climbed since the trip in May. Perhaps all the running I've done since then has led my body to the erroneous conclusion that it is ok to reabsorb that upper-body muscle tissue and refocus efforts on ridiculous calves.
Luckily, the climb itself wasn't the real point of the afternoon. It was more about getting to see a couple friends I hadn't seen since the same trip in May, when they put me up for the night after returning to Cleveland, and then carted me to the airport the next morning. After we collectively decided that a better use of the remainder of our evening would be the immediate consumption of wings and beer, we left the gym for the nearest Winking Lizard.
I've tried and failed to remember how we got on the topic, but somehow we came to my desire to through-hike the Appalachian Trail. My REI dividend this year should be enough to get a nice one-man backpacking tent, and I had joked about how I might have to use it to reduce the cost of my next transcontinental migration. Maybe that's how we got to the AT. The Girl knows that I want to hike it, and knows my secret reason. I got the sense from our friends' "oh, yeah!" response that they also knew my reason, but the topic never strayed that far.
I know I can handle the hiking; I regularly get up in the morning and hike ten or twelve miles before lunch. Granted, I never have to cook over a pocket rocket stove, roll up a tent, or carry a forty to fifty pound pack on those treks, but it can be done. I have the gear (besides a stove and water filter--I have Mom's stuff, but I may upgrade to something smaller, lighter, made for a single person, and designed with this decade's technology), including a small, compact sleeping bag and pad, and a cookset I got months ago and am still itching to use. Mom got me a framepack for Christmas when I was in high school, and it has only been used for Boy Scout trips, moving, and one or two weekend backpacking trips since. I'm a bit ashamed of that. I asked for and received a cookbook called "Lipsmackin' Backpackin'" from The Girl for Christmas to expand my trailside culinary range. To put it simply, the details of day-to-day backpacking do not concern me, though I plan to do extensive training and testing before making my way to Springer Mountain.
Nor did such details enter our conversation at the Wink. People who have recommended I try out for American Ninja Warrior wouldn't question whether I can hoof it 15-20 miles a day through muddy, rainy, mosquito-swarmed mountains. They wanted to know if there would be pictures. That's when I started outlining the portion of the plan I'd never told anyone else, but which consumes much of my thinking about the trip.
I have a small, compact digital camera which I love. It has shortcomings, and doesn't do a couple things as well as I would like, but it was a very thoughtful gift from my Dad after my last camera died on me during one of his visits West. I have two memory cards, one of which I've never used because I've never filled the first on a single trip. If I hike the AT, I'd take that camera, and both memory cards. I would take a spare battery, and either conserve it very well until the next mail drop delivers another, or find some super-lightweight and possibly solar method of charging it. I would also take a journal, and fill in as much as I could during my trip. Each time I receive a mail drop with fresh supplies, I'd send out a smaller package with journal entries and a memory card full of photos. This was the part I revealed at the Wink: that I'd like someone to be kind enough to post those entries and pictures where they could be shared. I didn't tell anyone that night, but I had already started this blog for just such a task. I also didn't tell them that, battery willing, I might shoot some video along the way as well.
I recently received a Spot satellite messenger from another friend; this was my answer to whether I'd take a cell phone with me. It will allow me to send my location and an "I'm ok" message to my support team and other concerned parties. It's also more durable and water-resistant than a cell. A quick peek at my current location would let my support team know how soon they need to ship my next resupply package, and whether anything more urgent may be necessary (there is also a non-emergency "I need help" function).
Someday I'll post a more thorough explanation of why I started this blog, but for now rest with this: I want to share my adventures. I am Fond of getting Lost. And I was thrilled to discover that my friends were eager to transcribe a future AT trip, though they warned me that they may add some editorial comments of their own. Of course, now that they know about my plan, I suppose I'm locked in to doing it.
Luckily, the climb itself wasn't the real point of the afternoon. It was more about getting to see a couple friends I hadn't seen since the same trip in May, when they put me up for the night after returning to Cleveland, and then carted me to the airport the next morning. After we collectively decided that a better use of the remainder of our evening would be the immediate consumption of wings and beer, we left the gym for the nearest Winking Lizard.
I've tried and failed to remember how we got on the topic, but somehow we came to my desire to through-hike the Appalachian Trail. My REI dividend this year should be enough to get a nice one-man backpacking tent, and I had joked about how I might have to use it to reduce the cost of my next transcontinental migration. Maybe that's how we got to the AT. The Girl knows that I want to hike it, and knows my secret reason. I got the sense from our friends' "oh, yeah!" response that they also knew my reason, but the topic never strayed that far.
I know I can handle the hiking; I regularly get up in the morning and hike ten or twelve miles before lunch. Granted, I never have to cook over a pocket rocket stove, roll up a tent, or carry a forty to fifty pound pack on those treks, but it can be done. I have the gear (besides a stove and water filter--I have Mom's stuff, but I may upgrade to something smaller, lighter, made for a single person, and designed with this decade's technology), including a small, compact sleeping bag and pad, and a cookset I got months ago and am still itching to use. Mom got me a framepack for Christmas when I was in high school, and it has only been used for Boy Scout trips, moving, and one or two weekend backpacking trips since. I'm a bit ashamed of that. I asked for and received a cookbook called "Lipsmackin' Backpackin'" from The Girl for Christmas to expand my trailside culinary range. To put it simply, the details of day-to-day backpacking do not concern me, though I plan to do extensive training and testing before making my way to Springer Mountain.
Nor did such details enter our conversation at the Wink. People who have recommended I try out for American Ninja Warrior wouldn't question whether I can hoof it 15-20 miles a day through muddy, rainy, mosquito-swarmed mountains. They wanted to know if there would be pictures. That's when I started outlining the portion of the plan I'd never told anyone else, but which consumes much of my thinking about the trip.
I have a small, compact digital camera which I love. It has shortcomings, and doesn't do a couple things as well as I would like, but it was a very thoughtful gift from my Dad after my last camera died on me during one of his visits West. I have two memory cards, one of which I've never used because I've never filled the first on a single trip. If I hike the AT, I'd take that camera, and both memory cards. I would take a spare battery, and either conserve it very well until the next mail drop delivers another, or find some super-lightweight and possibly solar method of charging it. I would also take a journal, and fill in as much as I could during my trip. Each time I receive a mail drop with fresh supplies, I'd send out a smaller package with journal entries and a memory card full of photos. This was the part I revealed at the Wink: that I'd like someone to be kind enough to post those entries and pictures where they could be shared. I didn't tell anyone that night, but I had already started this blog for just such a task. I also didn't tell them that, battery willing, I might shoot some video along the way as well.
I recently received a Spot satellite messenger from another friend; this was my answer to whether I'd take a cell phone with me. It will allow me to send my location and an "I'm ok" message to my support team and other concerned parties. It's also more durable and water-resistant than a cell. A quick peek at my current location would let my support team know how soon they need to ship my next resupply package, and whether anything more urgent may be necessary (there is also a non-emergency "I need help" function).
Someday I'll post a more thorough explanation of why I started this blog, but for now rest with this: I want to share my adventures. I am Fond of getting Lost. And I was thrilled to discover that my friends were eager to transcribe a future AT trip, though they warned me that they may add some editorial comments of their own. Of course, now that they know about my plan, I suppose I'm locked in to doing it.
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