Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Annual Cle Elum Bike Ride



We'd only been planning this ride since about March, but when the phone rang at 6:15 am Sunday morning, I knew who it was and I knew what he was going to say.

"Hey Frank," said my brother Tim, somewhat too cheerily, "looks like we're going to have to cancel the ride. Rain."

Well, I had noticed a few sprinkles when I got the paper from the front porch, but until the phone rang, it hadn't occurred to me that it was enough to possibly scare someone off from what I was sure still was going to be a very pleasant ride.

"Cathy (his wife) is already back in bed, so we're going to bag it." That was about it for the conversation--his mind was made up. Little did I know then that he had made the right decision, though possibly for the wrong reasons. While maybe not mind-boggling, the rain that was to fall over the region during the next 6-7 hours, especially up in the mountains, was the most during a 24-period since early May.

Nonetheless, blithely ignorant of impending doom, I called my sister Sue and feigned indifference to the weather, which was now squally, but with encouraging periods of dry, and confirmed that breakfast was still a go at her apartment and more importantly, that brother-in-law Greg was still a go as my stalwart riding partner. He was.

I left the house at around 6:45, armed with every layer of fleece and nylon that I owned. I counted 8 little rain drops on the windshield during the short ride to Sue and Greg's place. Breakfast was at 7 and by 7:30 we had loaded up the bikes and were on our way, as the eastern sky was slowly brightening. It was now sprinkling, but relatively warm. We were hopeful.

By the time we got to Bellevue, we were hedging our bets a little, looking for wood to knock on and hoping the bright spots near toward Snoqualmie Pass were not illusions. As we approached North Bend, the rain had stopped and the roadway was almost dry and things seemed to be in a clearing mode. The old Subaru faithfully chugged up the steep hill to the Rattlesnake Lake trailhead and by 8:30 or so, we were on the John Wayne Trail.

Ten minutes later it was raining and it didn't stop raining until about ten minutes after we arrived in Cle Elum, almost exactly six soggy, sad hours later.

In the beginning, the moderate sprinkles were light and refreshing, sort of like the soft drink, with the perspiration from the inside meeting the rain from the outside, comfortably somewhere in the middle of my several layers of clothing. I had a digital thermometer on the bike and the temperature was a brisk 41 degrees, but despite it now raining harder and heavier, we were still plenty warm as we were pushing the pace pretty good, and going up a little grade, to boot.

It's about 18 miles from the North Bend trailhead to the entrance of the Snoqualmie tunnel, and by mile 15 I had started to bonk a little bit, trying to keep up with Greg's tough 11 mph pace. I suddenly remembered some PowerAde I had brought along and after just a few sips, I couldn't believe what a difference it made. I had never before been so energized by a drink and it helped me make it to our first serious rest stop, at a little snowshed just a couple miles before the tunnel.

The break, which I had been hugely looking forward to, was a major disappointment. Cracks in the roof allowed the rain to pour through. There was not a single inch that was dry, nor place to sit, so we had a miserably short break. To make matters worse, my much anticipated granola bars were like lead from the cold and were almost impossible to chew.

Somewhat fearing that we might get overly chilled if we didn't soon get moving, we jumped back on the bikes and headed for the tunnel. It was possibly in this short stretch that the rain seemed to intensify, coming down in focused freshets, soaking us to the bone. Ironically, it was here that we saw some bikers going in the opposite direction. Somehow they didn't look, at least, as miserably as we felt.

We made it uneventfully through the 3-mile long tunnel and emerged into Eastern Washington at about 11 am, where it was, not surprisingly, still raining hard. We passed the Hyak parking lot where another group of would-be bikers were milling about, trying to decide what to do. I was hopeful that our beleaguered appearance as we rode forlornly past might have convinced them that they should try again in spring.

We passed Lake Keechelus and were cruising along nicely at a solid 15+ mph. We were taking a beating on the rough trail (which worsens considerably at this point), but because we were going a little downhill, it wasn't too bad and I was sure I could make it to our next rest stop, at a short, dry tunnel about ten miles away. It was here, about halfway between Hyak and Easton, that we met another big group of riders, heading west. They asked how far it was to the tunnel, we told them and they reluctantly continued up the trail. I still don't know where they had started from.

We made it to the rest tunnel and thought that the rain was starting to lighten slightly, but it was still just 42 degrees and we were starting to get a little cold, especially in the feet, which is almost always the first thing to go when riding bikes in inclement weather. I changed my shirts and put on a dry jacket and felt a little better.

This particular tunnel has nice memories for me. I remember taking a long, long break here the first time I rode the trail six or seven years ago, when I had an old Walkman cassette player taped to the handlebars of my trusty old Motiv comfort bike. I did this same ride once again by myself and then a much-shortened version with my daughter Tiana when she was about 10 or 11 years old. It was then that Greg started riding the full route with me and in the four or five years since, we've had various combinations of brothers, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law and kids riding along for at least part of the trail. But we always stopped at this scenic little 200-yard long tunnel 5 miles west of Easton.

It was an easy ride down to Lake Easton, through the back streets of Easton proper and back onto the trail, which now parallels the freeway and becomes very monotonous and very rough. We were making good time again, but eventually the pace wasted me and I had to slow down. But we were within 15 miles of Cle Elum now, and the rain, though still heavy, wasn't so heavy and we could sense that we were at the beginning of the end, which along with a slower pace, made things much more palatable.

But then the effort suddenly increased and it took me a couple minutes to realize that my back tire had blown. What a miserable experience that repair was! Cold fingers, raining, dirt, sand and grit everywhere and just very, very tired. Finally got the spare tube on the wheel, the wheel on the bike and the tire pumped up. We were on the final leg, with just 5 or 6 miles to go.

We passed over the Yakima River a couple times, came to the South Cle Elum trailhead with it's cozy trailside restaurant still open and headed on blessed smooth pavement to our cabin, two or three miles away.

Arriving precisely at our predicted time of around 2:20, we got no heroes welcome, as everyone had gone out for nachos and beer. But the rest of the family arrived about half an hour later and the traditional Cle Elum reunion (ostensibly for Tiana's birthday) was once again underway, for the sixth or seventh consecutive year, always in the first part of October.

Food, beer and birthday cake followed and after a short respite, the rain started up again. The leaves outside had fallen, NFL football was on the TV and for a brief moment all was at peace.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Wisconsin 2006--Central





Merrill, Wisconsin Look at a map of Wisconsin and a little above the state's center, twenty miles north of the booming Wausau, lies the sedate town of Merrill, where my Dad grew up and where much of our family still lives.

Merrill has a population of approximately 10,000 and bills itself as the "City of Parks." I wasn't going to argue with that, as I think the parks almost outnumbered the houses and the houses may have outnumbered the people, who are apparently leaving the town in somewhat alarming numbers. Houses are for sale everywhere and what might pass for a decent downpayment in the Northwest will buy you a nice 4-bedroom house on a tree-lined street in Wisconsin. Jump on the nice freeway for a twenty minute commute to your job in Wausau and you would have it made at $14 an hour.

The town has a somewhat disjointed, army-surplus sort of downtown, where the clear, crowning glory of a wonderful old county courthouse stands out from what is otherwise non-descript. There is a classic, old-school apparel store called Thelma's and a scary tatoo parlor next door. This is not a gentrified downtown, although I believe an old convent had been turned into condos, which seemed kind of progressive.

We stayed at a nice motel well on the outside of town, across from the omnipotent and omnipresent Walmart, a MacDonalds, a grocery store and a few other little stores, which the kids loved. The motel had a new pool and spa, which kept Savanna and I entertained. It was very quiet. In the 50-room motel, I don't think 4 or 5 rooms were ever occupied at one time.

On Friday, we visited Bob and Rose Aikey, (my uncle and aunt), who live nearer downtown and just a few blocks away from the house where my Dad grew up. That night, we went to a fish fry at a local roadhouse. I must mention something right here that struck me about the entire Wisconsin experience: into every public place we went, most noticeably the restaurants, it was absolutely uncanny how we were stared at by the locals. It wasn't so much a "you're not welcome here, stranger" kind of look, but more a piercing, "do I know you from somewhere?" stare. It was very weird--these people are so used to seeing only people that they know, that we became a legitimate curiosity. So different from here in Seattle, where dealing with strangers is the norm, where eye contact is seldom made and where chance meetings of acquaintances in public places is rare.

Next day was the vacation's main event--the Ryan Family Re-union at Kitchenette Park. Family from near and far started showing up at around noon and it wasn't over until nearly dark. A very long day, especially for Tiana who wasn't really into the eating or activities, but a day that went pretty fast with lots of food, beer and miscellaneous activities. We had something like 75 people show up. My Dad was the oldest of his generation, I was the oldest of my generation and on it went to the next two generations. Everybody got along great and it was great fun seeing most of my 21 cousins, many of whom I had never met and most of whom I hadn't seen for more than 40 years.

Sunday morning we were up early for the five hour drive to the airport at Minneapolis. We got their early enough where we had time to jump on the train and went to the Mall of America for a quick visit. It was then back to the airport, a quick run through security and onto our Sun Country flight, for the three hour journey back home.

Wisconsin 2006--North Woods



August 22, Cable, Wisconsin Arrived at my Uncle Pat's house at about 8:30 where a big dinner was waiting on the table. Pat and his wife Evelyn met us in the driveway and it was so great to see them. Tiana and Savi were a little overwhelmed, especially in the fatigued state they were in after the long (nearly 5-hour) drive from Minneapolis.

After dinner, or "supper" as they call it out here, Pat and Evelyn's daughter, Bridget, came over for drinks and dessert with her husband, Jeff. In their mid-40s, they have already raised two kids, both of whom are in their early 20s, and are living by themselves in a grand Northwoods style house just a hundred yards down the road. They offered to let us stay in their basement, as they had a little more room than Pat and Evelyn.

We lugged our stuff next door, settled comfortably into the spacious and beautifully appointed basement, where Tiana had her own bedroom and I shared the bunkroom with Savanna. We played a little pool and at about 11pm went outside to the hot tub, where we watched the stars for the next hour and looked out over the classic aspen and pine forest of this region.

Interestingly, as Bridget lived next door to Pat and Evelyn, one of Bridget's sisters had a beautiful weekend cabin next to her and then just five minutes away, another one of the sisters had a very nice cabin next to the golf course at Telemark. Needless to say, the family is very close and all six of the kids very successful. They have all carved out a very nice and civilized existence here in the northern reaches of Wisconsin.

Next morning, we had a big breakfast at and did some sightseeing, including a drive up to the shores of Lake Superior, where we had lunch. Later that day, Jeff graciously offered to take us to nearby Lake Owens for a kayak outing. We quickly gathered up 4 sea kayaks, threw them in the truck and in half an hour were on the water. The girls did great, as neither had done much, if any, kayaking before. We went on a 4-5 mile paddle, threw the boats back in the truck and were home in time for dinner. Unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera, so we don't have any pictures.

Cable is quite possibly the quintessential Northern Wisconsin town. The population couldn't have been more than a couple thousand, but everything seemed so sedate and comfortable, from the bucolic and compact downtown area, to the outermore neighborhoods on the large lots with the cultivated gardens and that sort of plain, but solid and ageless architecture that is more typical of the colder parts of the country. Outside of the city limits, were the classic Wisconsin weekend cabins, virtually all made largely of the local native pine, inside and out.

This is the kind of town where everybody really does know everybody, where the seasons are abrupt and distinct, where hunting, fishing, football and hockey dominate the lifestyles of every generation. Where staying warm in the winter and co-existing with the deerflies and mosquitoes of summer is an artform.

In the northwoods, a new lake is always on the horizon, with a spiderweb of swamps, canals, rivers and streams to connect them. The pine woods are never far off and they are deep and they are dark. These features define the landscape and the towns just try to fit in the best they can. And on the outside of each town are the ubiquitous roadhouses, home of the Friday night fish fry and center of northern Wisconsin social life.

We left Cable early Thursday morning, heading toward my grandparents' old cabin on Plummer Lake, a three hour drive. On the way, I was again struck with the tranquility of the small towns the highway passed through, with the mom and pop shops, the well-kept schools, kids riding their bikes everywhere, the classic churches and just sort of the sense of stability that seemed to permeate everything. Yes, I was definitely envious of what I perceived to be a superior small-town way of life. I'd love to be there during just one winter.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Wisconsin 2006--North Central





Plummer Lake, North Central Wisconsin (Aug 24, 2006) It was 41 years ago since I last stepped on the hallowed grounds of the Ryan Family's lakefront cabin.

Not much has changed.

The small pines and alders still dotted the gentle slope to the beach. Some growth-challenged maples, already changing to their fall colors, were mixed in. My cousin Katie stood again in the doorway of the one-room cabin. My grandfather's workshop, just small and cozy enough for a comfortable chair and a bottle of rye hadn't changed. The boathouse, though a little aged, looked familiar. The two-seat outhouse had not been updated (can an outhouse be improved?), but I hear that it has nearly filled up, and changes may be in order.

Once inside the cabin, my God, it was a time-warp that words can hardly describe. The same thick-planked picnic table near the kitchen window. Kitchen cabinets and decorations--the same. The beds, the other furnishings, the pictures and animal skins on the wall, exactly as they were 40 years ago (at least in my own mind's eye). Most of all was the rich, honeyed-glaze patina of the cabin's pine interior. The view out over the small lake certainly hadn't changed--no new homes could be seen, no new development of any kind. This is the north-central area of Wisconsin, where home buyers of 20 years ago feel lucky if their home values have appreciated one percent a year.

For the first time since leaving Seattle, both kids seemed to be having a good time. I think they felt a real family connection, if not a sense of history, by finally seeing this modest little cabin I had mentioned to them so many times. Or maybe it was because for the first time since leaving Minneapolis on Tuesday, they had reliable cell phone coverage. Even though I had been here only once before, I remember it as a great time, fishing with my grandfather, swimming and lots of good eating. I can't believe it has been so long since I've been able to come back.

We had a nice lunch and enjoyed some time with cousin Katie and her parents, sister and parents. We went out for an ill-fated ride in the pontoon boat, but were blown onto the far shore when the outboard motor conked out, possibly because of some bad fuel. We had a long hike back to the house, where we fired up the trusty fishing boat with its 1970's vintage Johnson 6-horse and went to rescue the much bigger pontoon boat.

The legendary mosquitos were a no-show, as were the much-dreaded biting flies. By 4pm, we were on the way to Merrill, the re-union's location and "ancestral" home of the modern Ryan clan.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Caution--Screw up Ahead

Until I have time to put these vacation posts in the right order, start seven posts down with "Boat Trip, 2006" and work your way up. They're sort of in reverse order, get it?

Sincerest regards,

The Author

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Round Six--Thursday, August 3, 2006



The cove is so quiet this morning, partly due to the fact that because the tide is low, nobody can come in, nor leave. Very peaceful with blue skies, a slight breeze and a little nip in the air. It is fun to watch people as they get up and quietly go thrugh their routines. There is a woman on an adjoining boat eating a bowl of cereal on her swimstep. Another person, I notice, has spent the night in a hammock on his boat’s bow, and is just trying to roll out of it. Others are sitting quietly in their cockpits, drinking coffee. Many still haven’t woken up, though its nearly 8. I have yet to hear anybody start up their skiffs.

There is a boat next to us with a bunch of teenage kids. They seem to have a lot of fun together, have been swimming and playing around on the decks. As Tim mentioned, it’s a great environment for children--I wish I was able to offer this lifestyle to my own kids in a way that was palatable to them, but alas, they have yet to express any interest. Some of my favorite memories as a kid were from being around the water.

Finally, the tide got high enough where we were able to slip through the channel and into open water, on our way to Pendrell Sound, well-known as the warmest body of water in the region, where temps frequently get into the mid-70s. We reached the head of the bay near noon, under perfect conditions. No wind, not too much boat traffic and warm temps. We got the skiff set up for water skiing, had a couple great runs (picture to come) and maybe had the best 2-3 hours of the entire trip.

We headed out of the bay at around 130 or so and suddenly noticed in 4 teenaged boys in the water, 2 or 300 yards directly in front of us, waving their arms. We didn't really know what to think, but supposed their boat had sunk and that they needed to be picked up. None of them was wearing a lifevest. We cut our speed and reluctantly headed toward them, knowing that some kind of hassle probably awaited us. We had no idea how true that was going to be.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a 16 or 17' skiff came speeding in front of us, and Tim and I felt some relief as it seemed that somebody else was going to beat us to the rescue, and we could continue on our merry way to the next anchorage. Alas, it was not meant to be, as seconds later we noticed nobody was actually in the boat, that it was running loose across the bay at about 30mph and tha somehow those kids must have been bounced out. We nervously approached the kids, still waving their arms, and kept a wary eye on the runaway skiff, which was making a bee-line for the port shore, about a quarter mile away.

I was anticipating a neat crash onto the beach, when at the last minute the skiff made a turn and started toward the opposite shore on this 1/2 mile wide bay, where once again it looked like it was going to crash and burn. Again, at the last possible moment, it made another turn, like it had some kind of morbid sense of direction. It was now heading, roughly speaking towards us and the kids, but was poised to pass well behind our stern.

As we got ever-closer to the kids, the unmanned skiff started turning sharper and sharper and it was now looking like it was just going to miss our own skiff, which we were towing about 30' behind. We sped up the boat, as the skiff was turning sharper and sharper but we had little maneuvering, as the kids were now directly in front of our bow. Marian II, like most boats of her type, responded reluctantly and was not a match for the much faster skiff. Sure enough, the runaway skiff ran straight across the stern of our own skiff, ripping off the motor, destroying the starboard pontoon and ripping down the control console, all without even slowing down. The loose skiff was to continue running around the bay for another fifteen minutes, finally running out of gas.

The die was cast, the vacation was ruined. The expected hassles ensued. An angry and somewhat distraught Tim picked up the kids, who were returned to their parents, who seemed equally distraught. Insurance discussions and cleaning up the mess to make our skiff tow-able were finished and a few hours later we were off to Grace Harbor, to consider our options.

It was not one of our pleasanter cruises and Tim passed that night fitfully, no doubt wondering what to do. Here he was with me scheduled to go back the next day via float plane, his wife and several friends due to come up on Sunday, and more family coming up the following week. But he had no skiff, no way to get to shore, no backup in case of emergency. And besides, the skiff was just a lot of fun, whether it being for water skiing, whale watching or just covering a lot of ground quickly.

It was finally decided the next morning to cancel the rest of the vacation and bring the boat back to Seattle. Tim felt much better after the decision was made to go home and the cruise down was actually fairly pleasant, with Tim showing amazing resiliency, considering all that he had been through.

Round Five--Wednesday, August 2, 2006

Today, we left Grace Harbor at about 8, cruised into Refuge Cove, where we were in a race to be first in line at the gas dock. Unfortunatley, a Grand Banks 46 just beat us to the last open slip and we had a to wait a few minutes to tie up. We took on 185 litres of gas (which is god knows how many gallons), Tim got a few candy bars, I finally got my precious potatoes and we were off on a circumnavigation of West Redondo Island.

At about 2pm, we pulled into (at high tide) what I call Sardine Can Lagoon, aka Roscoe Bay. You come in through a tight channel, which is barely awash at low tide, which enters into a snug and cozy anchorage, holding at any one time up to 100 boat. Once inside, its like anchoring in a lake and it becomes like a small floating community. The water is warm, there is a real lake nearby for swimming and a couple hiking trails, one of which we took.

The hike up to the top of a nearby hill is one I’ve done a couple times before. It starts from the north side of the cove, is flat for a little while, gradually starts climbing, is flat again, climbs very steeply, is somewhat flat yet again, and then makes the final root-pulling ascent to the top where there is a commanding view of the entire Desolation Sound basin. I banged my head on a tree crossing the trail and we set a new speed record for completing the round trip in a little under 2 hours (that was Tim, I came in a few minutes later).

We rushed back to the boat, jumped in the water to clean off, had a wonderful pot roast and fried potatoes dinner, read, watched a little Hogans Heroes and went off to sleep a little after ten.

Round Four--Tuesday, August 1, 2006


After an interesting, albeit non-eventful cruise through Okisollo Channel and the Seymour Narrows, at about 2 pm we ended up in Grace Harbor, or as I like to call it “Geriatric Cove.” There are the usual assortment of mis-fit boats, mis-fit skippers and sidekicks, but mostly the code words around here are retirement and being quiet. There is one notable exception, a Tollycraft composed of 4 teenaged girls, one boy and a set of parents, whom are seldom seen, nor heard (we later found out they had taken their skiff into town for a big night out).

The weather today has been mostly sunny, with little wind, except for some brief wisps as we fluttered across the Straits from Campbell River. Temperature has been in the mid-60s. The water temp here in the predictably crowded anchorage is 68.

For dinner we had some marinated chicken on the grill, applesauce and rolls.

Tim is his usual grumpy self, obsessed with keeping the boat spotlessly clean and not allowing other vessels to approach with 50 yards (hopefully you can detect the sarcasm). This keeps the riffraff away, but tends to wreak havoc with people trying to enter the lagoon.

We saw our first mosquito tonight, a smallish specimen, who audaciously landed on my leg and paid the ultimate sacrifice. That was to be the only skeeter I saw on the whole trip.

It looks like it will be another calm night as the boats are facing all different directions, as the last yellow rays of sunshine light up the evergreens on the opposite shore, with an eery, phosphoresent glow.

Round Three--Monday, July 31, 2006

Alas the last day of July and it finds us no closer to Tim’s water skiing than yesterday. We ended up leaving Van Donop at about 7 am for a relatively short but tumultuous cruise to the cooler waters of the Octopus Islands. Along the 3 hour voyage, we had one bit of excitement as we slipped through Beazley and Surge Narrows with about 5-6 knots of current pushing us along.

We arrived in the large bay that is the most popular anchorage in this particular island group, and the most spacious. Literally hundreds of acres of protected harborage, all over good holding ground and consistently 25-40' of depth--just how Tim likes it. We anchored at around 1230 and went out for a putt in the inflatable. The weather has been absoluteley calm the whole day with scarcely a ripple of wind. Temps have been in the mid 70s and the skies have been mostly sunny.

Two hours after anchoring a nice couple from an adjoining bay came over to say hi. They were the owner of the Iphigenia, a 50’ classic belong to Tim’s yacht club. They knew several common friends and we spent a pleasant 15 minutes chatting with them, their skiff tied up alongside.

The water temps in the bay are around 60, a little cool for swimming, though nearly ten degrees warmer than Puget Sound.

A couple of notes: Although I doubt that either one of us have changed our shirts in four days, we maintain an aire of civility by keeping the toilet seat down, though obviously there are no women on board. I find that fact somehow quite comforting.

A comment regarding the popular alcoholic beverage "Mikes Hard Lime-Aid" which I recently tried. Although cool and somewhat refreshing, it was extremely sweet, with the slightest drop outside your mouth, sticking to everything like super glue. An hour after drinking one bottle, I felt like I had been poisoned and had to urinate every fifteen minutes or so, for the next six hours--much the same reaction I get when drinking tea. I don’t know what was in it, as they don’t list the ingredients, but combined with the hangover I had from a single bottle this morning, I can’t really recommend it. But then, that's just me.

Reading a collection of short stories by Joseph Heller, which I am really enjoying. We had bratwrust for dinner tonight, which somehow wasn't a great success, although with applesauce, it wasn't too bad.

Round One--Saturday, July 29, 2006

Leaving for Desolation Sound today at 7, from Shilshoe Marina. Tim and Cathy pick me up promptly at 630 and I promptly forget half my stuff, including sleeping bag, pillow, misc foodstuffs and all my diet pop, in the back of the van. Oh well, most of it can be replaced.

We had possibly the worst french dip sandwiches I’ve ever eaten for dinner tonight. The beef was still partly frozen, the au jus sauce was not mixed well, and the french bread, the 18 pack I got at Costco, was completely moldy.

The cruise up to Canadian customs on Vancouver was uneventful, having passed this way several times before.

Round Two--Sunday, July 30, 2006


Just sitting here at about 9pm, having recently finished a little light reading and a little earliler a much heavier dinner of spicy sausage lasagna. “Here” is in Van Donop bay in Desolation Harbor, where today’s 13 hour cruise from Montague Harbor finds us.

The way up, through the infamous Dodd Narrows, and past a thriving Nanaimo, is best described as tedium mixed in with wonder, as long cruises often are. The wonder today often revolved around the miracle of navigational technology and how seamlessly it fits into the environment of an 80-year old classic wood boat where we still use a knotted string tied to the wheel to help the vessel go straight.

Much of the day was dead calm, which is unusual in the wide open water up here. When we crossed into the milky white outflow of the Powell River just north of Texada Island (which I remember seeing from the plane last year as an epic plume of ash-colored water), the sea flattened out ever more and took on a sort of translucent shimmer, as if one had

calmed it with baby oil.

Finally at around 7 we gained our night’s destination, dropped anchor in a peaceful lilttle cove, had dinner and cracked open our books and magazines. Tim just woke from a nap, promptly turned on the propane heater, despite it being a very comfortable 68 degrees. We’ll now view our much-anticpated Hogan’s Heroes DVD and I will undoubtedly turn into my bunk at around 10pm, fiddling with my AM radio, and if not finding that receptive, listening to some tunes on my player. I shall be sound asleep by 1030.


Tomorrow we head for the warmer waters of Desolation Sound proper, where a day of laughing at Tim trying to water ski awaits.

We had lasagna for dinner--very delicous.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Dinner on the Tug


On Saturday night, my longtime friend Steve Vogel invited me over for dinner on his tugboat, along with my brother Tim and sister in law Cathy. The main focus of the night was to go over the pictures (printed from genuine film!) Steve had taken on a recently finished solo bike tour he took in Scotland. Much of the countryside was what you might expect--a lot of green rolling hills, many bays and inlets with the ocean always in the background, and thousands of sheeps, oftentimes threatening bike riders on the very narrow roads. There were very few trees, but the area was absolutely filthy with castles and the remains of castles--very picturesque!

For dinner we had some barbecued pork ribs, corn on the cob and potato salad. It was very pleasant sitting on the boat, with its marvelous view of Lake Union and the hundreds of boats going by. We talked mostly about bikes and biking and had a very enjoyable evening. Steve was excited about a new $2900 touring bike he had just ordered, which should match up perfectly with his non digital camera. He has always been one for the classics, though, much like my non microwave sister, who has a telephone that actually rings and has a genuine rotary dial, to boot. But Steve is a classic figure himself: professional woodworker, furniture maker, extremely well-read and now, it would seem, a diehard long distance bike tourer.

Pearl Jam


The highlight of the summer, so far, was last week when Savi and I went to the Pearl Jam concert in Portland. I had done the design work and the printing for the event's program (through a sponsor) and was offered comp tickets and a quick backstage tour if I helped out with a little pre-concert organizational work.

We left for Portland at about 8am Thursday, as our first meeting was at noon. We got into downtown Portland at just about 1130, did a quick meeting and had just enough time to check into our hotel (the venerable Mark Spencer, just a couple blocks from Powell's bookstore), before another quick meeting at 200 at the Art Museum, which is just across the street from
Schnitzer Hall, the concert's venue. We then had a chance to go backstage, and into Pearl Jam's dressing room, where I took a picture of Savi standing in front of Eddie Vedder's wardrobe locker.

It was then a 15 minute walk back to the hotel, which in 100 degree afternoon heat, was not altogether comfortable. We hung out in air-conditioned room for an hour or so and then headed to Baja Fresh for an early dinner. At about 515 we started back to Schnicter Hall, where had worked for a couple hour distributing VIP will-call tickets. Finally at 730 we went into the hall and found our seats in the first row of a huge balcony, dead center and not more than 75 feet from the stage. There was a warm-up comedian and then Sleater Kinney played a quick 7-song set, which I enjoyed very much. Finally, at about 9pm, Pearl Jam came on stage and every seat in the ornate, 90-year old theatre was jumping.

They played for about 2.5 hours and the band seemed very tight, and Eddie Vedder, especially, seemed in good spirits and was very personable and was a huge crowd favorite. Their second encore, which they performed with Sleater Kinney was the old Neil Young song, Keep on Rockin in the Free World, which was one of the best live rock performances I had ever seen--it was absolutely stunning.

It had been a very long day, with all the heat and the walking etc, so we left after the third encore started and got back to our room at about midnite. Sav then watched a couple episodes of her favorite TV personal, Rachel Ray, and finally at about 1 am we called it a night.

Next day we had a nice little breakfast in the hotel lounge, went to the bookstore for about an hour or so and checked out at exactly noon. On the way home, we stopped by to see me Aunt Jean (my mother's only sibling) in Vancouver. It was extremely hot, but we had a good time and I was happy to see how well she is doing for an 82 year old woman. We finally got home at around 530 pm.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Annual backpacking trip




Last weekend the girls and I headed up to Thorp Lake for our annual backpacking trip (if you can call one night a trip). I believe this was the first time that everybody had on full-size backpacks, although I was still stuck with the bulk of the load, including a totally separate tent for Tiana, who insisted on sleeping by herself.

The hike up to the lake, though not really that long, was very steep, gaining over a thousand feet vertical in the first mile. Tiana led most of the way, and was even able to pick her way over some snow, which obscurred the trail in the shadows near the lake. Savi also did great, without a single complaint.

When we got to the lake late in the afternoon, there was only one other party already there, at the main camping area, so we headed to the opposite shore where a very picturesque peninsula had our name on it. We made camp well before dark, had dinner and made a nice fire. It was quite breezy, so there were just a few little mosquitos buzzing around.

The night, as always, was a long one for me. Tiana and I were awokened by an animal shortly after 11pm and I was not able to get back to sleep for a single minute, despite taking a couple Tylenol PM, one quarter of which would have knocked me out back home. I think a lot of the sleep problem is not having a pillow. Sometimes, if I have room in my pack, I can bring along extra clothes or a soft jacket which I can use for a makeshift pillow, but because the lake was so high making the night temps so low, I was wearing what little extra clothing I had, and therefore had absolutely no pillow. Miserable!

Savi and I did a little fishing Sunday morning and actually got a couple bites. We left before the heat got to be too bad and were back at the cabin by around noon.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

July 4th weekend hike


After being abandoned by the kids for the long weekend (one had a friend coming over, the other was going to a friend's), I packed up the might Subaru wagon and headed east, toward the heat, for a couple days in Cle Elum.

I got to the cabin at about 2pm and the temperature was well into the 90s, without a breath of wind, which is unusual for this time of year, where it usually blows a gale from mid-June through August. The town was having its annual Pioneer Days Festival, which includes a 3 on 3 basketball tournament. It was so warm downtown, with the sun baking the brick buildings, that main street was virtually deserted, except for a few diehard spectators trying to stay cool in the shadows, watching the unfortunate players suffer on the asphalt courts.

Next morning I got up reasonably early and felt like a climb, so I headed out past Lake Cle Elum, intent on climbing Mt Thorp, which at over 5800' would make a reasonable 3500' vertical gain hike from the trailhead. Quite surprisingly, there were no other cars at the parking area (which admittedly is not shown on most maps). I headed up the trail's first mile, which is quite steep, but passed through very lush brush and an overflowing spring creek. After passing through a lovely meadow, the trail headed steeply up again, mostly through smallish pine trees, which provided ample shade in the morning heat.

It was here in the shade that I ran into the first snow, which covered the trail for hundreds of yards at a time. It was fun to practice my old route-finding skills, especially since there hadn't been any recent hikers, so there were no footprints to go by. Shortly thereafter I passed by beautiful Thorp Lake (see picture) and was absolutely amazed that there was nobody here either. I had the whole lake to myself and kicked myself for not bringing my fly-rod.

From there I had to go off-trail, climbing more or less straight up the side of Thorp Mountain, hoping to run into the Knox Creek trail, which would take me to the summit trail. After about 45 minutes I did hook up with the main trail and an hour later I was on top, where I saw two people sitting on a snow bank with their dog.

There are stunning views of Mt Rainier, Lake Kachess and the Stuart Range from the summit, and it's little wonder that it served as a fire lookout for many years. I only had my cell phone camera, which didn't really do justice to the spectacular surroundings. I had been up here once before, nearly twenty years ago, and I can still remember the fierce wind that almost blew me right off the mountain. This time there was a dead calm

I was pleased that there was cell phone reception as I was able to send some real-time photos to a few friends.

It only took me 90 minutes to return to the car, and less than five hours after I left the cabin, I was back home again--beer in hand.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

This says it all


I got to looking at the picture I used in the previous posting and I realized what a perfect metaphor it was for that night's event. Here's Tiana, graduating from middle school, outside the lunchroom door, in her glamorous dress, smiling like she was on the cover of Glamour magazine. Then there's Savi, still inside the school, pressing against the glass. I just thought it was very poignant and deserved a posting of its own.

8th grade promotion




The bright blue polyethelene tarp was fluttering as the make-do backdrop to the faux-Roman inspired stage. Non-descript music, somewhere between hip-hop and rockabilly, was emitting from the dimestore speakers as the expectant parents, friends and family of the soon to be promoted 8th graders gathered in the outfield of the Little League field, as the ballplayers themselves were practicing in the infield. Across the asphalted parking lot, the speakers took the stage and the students, some 300+ of them, gathered in the adjoing chairs, all doing their best to look cool and smug, despite this likely being the biggest night of their three year middle school career.

The ceremony started promptly at 7 with the compulsory speakers, some of which were quite good. The students were then introduced individually and moved to the stage to take their certificate. Some of the names were actually pronounced correctly. The night was deemed a complete success, IMHO, when Tiana successfully negotiated the passage from chair to stage and back to chair without falling off her newly-purchased high heels. If only her passage through the actual academic process was as smooth.

Afterwards we gathered in the school lunchroom for cake and other assorted refreshments. Another highlight of the evening was wandering around the school's interior (after Tiana had ditched us), with Savanna's dimunitive friend, Moses. We passed Moses' locker and he was anxious to show us how he could fit entirely inside, even with the door closed. Needless to say, there were some entertaining moments as we were unable to immediately get the door unlocked.

All in all, a satisfactory evening, although I can't say I am going to miss Whitman much, especially when Savanna graduates next year. Bring on Ballard High--let the nightmare begin!

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Progress Report

At the boatyard, we have an 8-10 page report that's prepared daily, to track the progress of the various boats we're working on. We call it a progress report. Updating this report, preferably in real time, is a major function of Crista, the office manager, and John, the production manager. If we were in the the printing business, this essential document would be called the production schedule--outlining the work that has to be done during that day. I like the terminology "progress report" better. It seems more, well, progressive.

I guess we could do a progress report on my first 3+ weeks in the marine repair business. There were times in the first week when I thought I was absolutely crazy for being there and desperately wanted to walk out. I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know the terminology, I didn't know the names of the other employees and I just felt completely lost and frustrated. But I survived, and week two was a little bit better. It still seemed somewhat overwhelming, but I wasn't dreading waking up every morning, as I had been earlier.

The blue collar atmosphere at first shocked me. It was such a contrast with the some of the high-profile accounts I had been working with all my professional life, that I didn't quite know what to make of it. The smokers, the dopers, the drinkers, the get me through until payday mentality, it was just too much. But you know what? In time, one can get quite used to anything and now I rather like the people. Several, in particular, are quite intelligent, charming and stimulating. Others, alas, are just challenging, but even they have a certain appeal.

Would I be there if my brother wasn't a partner in the business? Probably not. Wouldn't have been hired, wouldn't have stayed. He's a calming influence. But everybody in management has been really cool, from Scott, the other partner to every one of the office workers. There's been a lot of patience going on and I appreciate that very much.

Every day brings new challenges. Irritating and demanding customers, employees who are almost whimsical in their commitment to showing up every morning, sudden rainstorms that complicate job completions, equipment breakdowns, perverse and maddening accounting procedures, the constant barrage of changes, adaptations, complaints, scheduling issues and the relentless ringing of the phone. Yes, I realize these are all typical office-type situations, but for someone like me who has been used to a much more sedate environment, it is really weird. In fact, when answering the phone, I've had to bite my tongue several times not to blurt out "The Rosenthal Group" which was the last real office I worked in so many years ago. Funny how that is still in the memory banks.

And perhaps the most challenging thing is the pay. While I'm probably getting paid more than I'm worth right now. it has been a huge adjustment compared to what I've been averaging over the past decade with my own business. What I used to earn with just a few phone calls now takes me two weeks of solid work. Wow! But I'm actually not complaining. The situation is what it is and it's all for the good. Discipline, a challenging environment, learning new skills and interacting with a diverse group of people is worth more than money and is probably just what I need right now to build up my confidence and hopefully inspire me to greater things. Who knows what the future may bring.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Onward and ....

Warning: Stream of Consciousness ahead--has not been edited for content.

For those of you able to add 2 + 2, it will probably come as no great surprise that I have been working at my brother's boatyard for the last couple weeks, sort of trying it out. It was set up to be a part-time job, with hours from 730am to 1230pm, four days a week (Fridays off). My brother Tim and his partner Scott, were kind enough to offer me the gig, as it has become apparent that the prized printing position I've been seeking for more than six months is simply not going to materialize. At the boatyard, or so the theory went, I would at least have a real job with regular paychecks, and because, ostensibly, it was only about twenty hours or so a week, I would have plenty of time to pursue the invigoration of my print brokerage business (see previous post).

Well, the invigoration of my own business is not going so well, and because the boatyard is so busy, or simply because it requires so much attention right now, I've been putting in longer hours than expected. Which is fine, as Lord knows I could use the money.

What do I do at CSR Marine, the name of my brother's company? Well, the last 8 days have pretty much been a straight-up learning curve for me, trying to get a feel for the company and helping the office manager in any little way that I can. Just learning the names of the 15 or so employees has been tough, as has been adapting to all the intricacies of the boat-repair industry. Terminology. New computer systems. Payroll. Dealing with blue-collar employees and blue-blooded customers. Trying to massage a billing system that makes what we had 25 years ago seem like state of the art.

But I think that's probably part of the reason they brought me in--to help get their technology a little more up to date. Right now I'm in the "paying your dues" stage, where even the greenest employee probably knows more about the boatyard's operation than I do, and where the veterans are muttering under their breath, "Well, if he wasn't Tim's brother...." But no matter, I do what I do, which is mostly try to help with the phones, help with the billing and payroll, do a little scheduling of the boats coming and going and try my best to sweep up the pieces when something goes wrong. I thought production management in the printing business was a lousy, though lucrative, way to make a living. As I watch other people running a boatyard, I keep seeing a runaway locomotive, with the engineer desperately trying to keep it under control. For a newcomer, at least, it is totally crazy, all the time. Give me printing, which is at least in my comfort zone. But then again, printing is dying away, and "custom marine fabrication" (as it's called) is booming. Tough choice.

But there are good parts. Some of the people I'm working with are really excellent, with great personalities--some even have a sense of humor, which I crave. The whole atmosphere of the boatyard I find personally challenging. It's probably the toughest thing I've had to do in more than ten years, which tells you what a comfort zone I've been in. Just the whole work thing, punching in and punching out, has been an incredible adjustment, and believe me, I've had to check my ego at the door. I guess I used to think I was on an even footing with most people, but the past six or seven months have completely disabused me of that notion. I've come to realize that I'm just another schmuck, slithering through life, in possession of few real-world skills and with no more motivation than would fill a pinky thimble. It would be easier of my brother were around more, but he's needed at the main yard--where I'm at is one of their auxilliary operations. It's probably best, for now, that I'm just one of the pawns and don't have him around to bail me out.

What has happened, where exactly have I gone wrong, or has it all been just meant to be? That has been my trump card to despair for so long: things will work out, things will get better, this is just how it has to be for now. Well, the ripcord on that philosophy has finally been pulled and I just hope the parachute opens before I hit solid ground at about 200 miles per hour.

Unbelievably, even after writing that last paragraph, I do believe that everything's going to be OK. Am I completely stupid? Or am I so prideful that I can't admit to any failings? Will Frank Ryan Ink be anything beyond a cute logo? Will I grow to love the boat repair business, or will I sink into a sea of frustration at the inability to work as someone's "employee" after being self-employed for so long? I don't know--I guess my real character will come out now, for better or worse. Either I make the very best of the current situation, or I let it depress and frustrate me into the abyss, ever deeper.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Play-time

It's nice having a blood relative in the theatre business. That's because she can me free tickets. And everybody knows how the theatre was my first love.

The only hitch in this scenario is that to get the free tickets, I usually have to with my sister Sue and her husband Greg. That's not quite as bad as it seems--they're actually very good company and often help me understand the plot of the play.

A couple weeks ago we saw a play that the undergraduates in the UW's Drama Department (where Sue works) put on. It was the rock-opera "Tommy" and what a rousing production it was. I enjoyed every minute of the musical and was very impressed with the play's professional production values and the skill level of the players.

Two nights ago (Sunday), the three of us went downtown to the Intiman Theatre at the Seattle Center to see "Rounding Third," a two-man, one-set play depicting a season in the life of two Little League coaches, ala Felix and Oscar in the "Odd Couple." The team's veteran manager, who lives to coach baseball, acquiring the fleeting perks of his delusional importance along the way, is joined by a naieve, first-time coach from the neighboring city, who's the father of the team's most incompetent player ("Frank"). Along the way, each coach gives into his personal demons, and the actual team, once so important, takes its rightful place as just a diversion. It's an inspiration little comedy and I enjoyed it very much.

Ten and One

Going into the last week of the regular season, the Little League team that I've been helping to coach, if you can call it that, has a record of 10 wins and just one loss. Although my memory of the game is fading, the one loss occurred about a month ago against just an average Queen Anne team and was rather inexplicable in many ways. We could tell almost from the first pitch that it just wasn't our night. It was cold, the kids weren't into it, the pitching was shaky and we just could not string together any hits. The baserunning was lousy, as was the defense. I guess that's just my way of saying that we should be undefeated (which would have been sweet!).

My nephew Sam is one of the better players on the team and has just been a really, really solid part of the team with his good hitting and excellent play at first base. He has also had some overpowering appearances at pitcher. At over 6 feet tall and with his long, brown hair, he cuts quite the striking figure on the field.

Sam's dad, Don, is the real star of the team. The commitment of this man is amazing. He has made it to every practice and every game, oftentimes having to arrive an hour early with all the team equipment, and usually not leaving the dugout until everyone else is long gone. How he's able to keep up with the demands of the team, as well as the demands of his high-powered job with USBank is a total mystery. I have enough trouble making it to most games and by the end of the seventh inning, I am more than willing to go home and eat dinner. His patience with the kids (and the other coaches) and his deep knowledge of the game has been a real inspiration and a learning tool I can use with my softball team.

I'll post some pictures later.

Speaking of Branding



I mentioned in the previous post, that my new-ish Fuji road bike is heavily branded, with twelve logos all told, appearing on it's frame and fork. In another shameless attempt at brand-leveraging, I've changed the name of my flailing print brokerage to Frank Ryan Ink. The old name (Trailhead Grafix) had a lot of meaning to me when I started the business more than ten years ago, but it never seemed to click with my clients. Maybe I needed new clients. Anyway, afte being asked dozens of times about the genesis of the name, I just started explaining it away by telling people that all the good names had been taken.

I've been around the printing business long enough though that most vendors and all customers can at least relate to my name, hence the change. A designer friend of mine did the logo and another buddy is printing up some new stationery. I think it looks pretty sharp, though I haven't had time to create a good web version yet (the one you see is still a little blurry). Anyway, it will give me a chance to reconnect with some old clients and possibly eke out a few more orders while I'm waiting for that truck driving position to open up.

I've even run a couple newspaper ads and finally, after all these years, have a company website. It's not the best, but since I created it in less than 90 minutes from to finish, I'm reasonably happy with it. My free trial web-authoring software expired shortly after I uploaded the site, so don't expect much in the way of improvements. You guessed it--FrankRyanInk.com.

Logo-mania

I was just out in the garage working on my bikes. In so doing, I noticed my ten year-old Trek 1000 has two Trek logos. Conversely, I counted twelve logos on my two year-old Fuji. I guess they call that "branding."

Monday, May 08, 2006

Where Have I Been?

I can't believe it's been since April 24th that I made my last post. Lots of personal things have lately damped my enthusiasm for writing. I need to try harder to keep this blog going--and I will. I have lots of things I can discuss, including my nephew's terrific Little League team, the beginning of softball season for my kids, a couple plays I've gone to and some work I've been doing at my brother's boatyard. All that (and more) to come!

Monday, April 24, 2006

Clever Title to Come


Sitting on a nice, warm car with the sun at your back, munching on some Red Hot Cheetos, with a commanding view up the street, waiting for your friends to come by.

Car is Found

My wife's car, which was stolen from in front of our house ten days ago, was found yesterday (Sunday) morning. Tuuli saw the car as she was driving to the Petco pet store to do some shopping. It was neatly parked on the street in front of a non-descript white house, about ten blocks north of our own house, and just one block away from the street we drive every morning when taking the kids to school.

There was absolutely no damage. The car was locked and there was still some gas in the tank. The interior had been ransacked but nothing was missing. The license plates were still on the car, the tab still on the license plate and the ignition had not been punched. According to my wife, the vehicle had been driven about 200 miles, so we're wondering how long it had actually been at that location.

Needless to say, we're very grateful. We got the car home, cleaned it out real good and installed one of those Club steering wheel bars, as obviously someone out there has a key. Would it have been nice if the police had found it earlier or if they had taken more of an interest in the details of the recovery? Sure, but evidently stolen cars are a low priority for them. So low, in fact, that they basically take the approach that the car will turn up on its own parked sideways on somebody's planting strip, or be involved in a crash or be pulled over for a traffic infraction. Or the owners might recover it themselves, less than a mile from where it was stolen. In any event, the car usually finds the police--the police dont' find the car, and they can still brag that they have a near-90% recovery rate.

Monday, April 17, 2006

Vancouver BC



Spent Easter weekend up in Vancouver, where I think the snow level was somewhere around the 25th floor of most downtown hotels. Since we were staying on the third floor of an apartment/hotel in the West End, all we got was cold rain, much of which was coming at us sideways.

But that's totally typical for this city in mid-April. It's pretty much typical in mid-June, as well, though the snow level is probably somewhat higher. I don't know if I've ever been to Vancouver when it wasn't windy and wet, but that's largely because I usually go in the low season when hotels are cheap and you're only competing with the locals for a table at the latest Indian or Greek restaurant (I recommend the Olympia on Denman).

Even at this time of year, however, you can find plenty of tourists at the border crossings, which are almost bad enough to make the whole idea of traveling to Canada unpalatable. The trip up from Seattle was bad enough. Because of Tuuli's work, we couldn't leave until 3:30. That's the Friday afternoon of Easter Weekend. It was not good. It took us nearly two hours just to get up to Marysville. There was stop and go traffic in Bellingham. We waited at the border for over an hour. We finally limped into Vancouver at about 8:45--over five hours after we left. Mapquest said it should take two hours and 38 minutes. The wait at the border coming back was even worse: an hour and twenty minutes.

We stayed in a small apartment building (the Oceanside) which had been converted to a hotel a few years ago. It was right across from the famous Sylvia Hotel, so was convenient to the water and Stanley Park. Our hotel selections were limited because we had the dog with us, but this place turned out just fine. It was quiet, adjacent to Denman Street, which was great for eating and people-watching and near Stanley Park, with it's Seawall Walk and 22 miles of hiking trails. The hotel was very modest, with simple but clean rooms. There was no pool. Parking, though free, was very limited and there is virtually no street parking in this area. The four-story hotel has no view rooms, so during the worst rain squalls when were stuck in the room, we amused ourselves with the constant parade of scavengers going through the dozens of dumpsters immediate vicinity. There was a notice in the lobby that all rooms had free wireless Internet access. It would have been nice if they had made mention of that on their website. Having my laptop would have made it much easier to research things to do and would have been a boon for the kids.

After arriving late Friday, I took a long walk in the rain to the other end of Denman where there is a large marina. Saturday was spent just screwing around (mostly involving the one thing the kids are interested in--eating) and Sunday we went to the Aquarium. We got home around 5. I immediately threw a big ham (pre-cooked) into the oven and we had our Easter dinner at about 7:30.

One disappointment: I had wanted to pickup a bottle of Absinthe (see earlier post) in Vancouver, where it is supposedly legal. The first liquor store I checked didn't have any, but it was pretty small and I thought the bigger one by the hotel would surely stock it. After not finding it on the shelf, I asked a clerk. He had never heard of it. That depressed me even more than the weather. I'm learning that some things are just not meant to be.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Case #99-234665

Yesterday (Wednesday) morning we awoke to find that Tuuli's car was missing from the its accustomed place in front of our house. Apparently, it had been stolen.

The car, a 1995 Subaru AWD Legacy wagon, was no beauty. With trim pieces missing here and there, a faded paint job and worn-out tires, it's the kind of vehicle you could leave unlocked, with the keys in the ignition, and the bad guys would just keep walking until they came to the next Honda Civic or Toyota Corolla, the two most-stolen cars in the Seattle area.

For some reason, however, they wanted this car. There was nothing of personal value inside. The interior was filthy, with dog hair, mud and other junk related to my wife's pet-sitting business. Nobody was taking this car to a chop-shop. We're not going to find it somewhere on cinder-blocks with its wheels and tires missing. I wouldn't give you 50 cents for the stereo.

So yes, one does wonder why it was this car that was stolen. The simple answer is that it was just a crime of opportunity, probably done by some local kids. Walking down the street in the middle of the night, checking every car on the street for unlocked doors. Looking for something in the glove compartment or the back seat that they could grab. Maybe someone had experience with a similar car and knew how to get it started. Or maybe someone put a little more thought into it and decided that a ten-year old Subaru wagon was the perfect low-profile, non-descript sort of car with which to commit other crimes. Chances are we'll never know.

But the really unfortunate part is what a pinch this puts us in logistically. Like most families, we simply need two cars. And because money is tight right now, the idea of renting a car for $50 or $60 a day is not too palatable (our insurance reimbursement for rentals tops out at $20 a day). And when the car is found (almost 90% of cars stolen in Seattle are recovered), it undoubtedly will have some damage. It may have been crashed into another car and thus be totalled, or it could just have had its ignition punched. The former scenario will get us a couple thousand from the insurance company, the latter a few days in the shop and the cost of our deductible. If it turns out that we need to buy a replacement vehicle, that is going to be a huge hit.

I'm not really mad that the car was stolen. That happens all the time and we just have to deal with it. But nothing, and especially nothing bad, ever occurs in a vacuum and this has just been a tough week, for a lot of reasons. This was just the topping on the cake, as they say.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

A Different Kind of Post



This is what posting means in Cle Elum.

Went over to our cabin Tuesday night and spent all day Wednesday working in a new garden I'm putting in. I actually started the garden last fall when I cleared an area at the bottom of our front yard of a hodgepodge of brush, small trees, an old firepit and miscellaneous garbage that had been left there by the home's previous owners. Once cleared, I gave it a good tilling and let it sit for the winter.

Yesterday, I pulled the tiller out of storage and worked the ground again for a couple hours, mixing in much of the organic debris that had collected over the winter (mostly old leaves and twigs) until I had a nice, rich composty loam to a depth of about ten inches.

Because our yard is a magnet for deer, elk, rabbits and skunks, I felt that a fence was a necessity to ensure a viable garden. To support the fence, I dug 11 post holes to a depth of 18 inches, put in the posts and set them with concrete. In the next couple weeks I'll string some chicken wire and complete the job.

The garden has a dead south exposure and will get plenty of sun, even though there are two or three tall pines that will give some shade. The plot is also on a mild slope, which should not only help get everything some extra sun, but should also provide good drainage. At some point before the weather gets really hot, I'll have to install some kind of automatic irrigation system that will water the garden when I'm not around.

Now the only question is what to plant. The growing season in Cle Elum is quite short, with freezing temperatures expected from the first of October until the end of April. Most local gardeners do their planting in late April or early May, so that precludes the possibility of many vegetables that might be available in a milder climate.

Other possibilities would be something like grapes and berries. I put in some grapes about ten years ago in a small garden closer to the house and they have done quite well, with virtually no supplemental water and very little care. The only problem is that as they are still maturing toward the end of September, if you get an early freeze, the fruit is killed immediately.

Another thing you have to plan for, besides the short growing season, is minimum temperature tolerance. Although the winters have been relatively warm lately, there's never been a December or January when the temperature doesn't get close to 0 degrees and I remember several times when it got down to -10 or -15, which is low enough to kill many perennials, including a lot of popular grape varieties.

Therefore, I'm also looking closely at berries, some of which, such as blueberries, should do quite well in Cle Elum's climate. Another possibility would be a mini-orchard. The space is big enough (being about 500 square feet) where I could probably put in three or four dward fruit trees.

I'd love to put in some corn, peas, potatoes and tomatoes, but for reasons already mentioned, I don't know if that's going to work. Vegetables are extra tough because they require more frequent care and I just don't know if I'll be over there enough this summer to do all the weeding, etc that's necessary for their survival. I'll let you know in a couple weeks what I've decided!

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Spring Reign 2006



"Spring Reign" is what they call it, but this year "Winter Deluge" might have been more appropriate. This is the world's ultimate Ultimate Frisbee tournament, attracting teams from as far away as Alberta, Canada, Northern California and Billings, Montana, 56 of them to be exact, in a 2-day feast of food, fun and coping with fickle Northwest weather..

Younger daughter Savanna and I arrived at the incredibly expansive Burlington site next to the Skagit River early Saturday morning. It was raining. It was blowing. The temperature was in the low 40s. It was good weather for soccer, but very bad weather for throwing a 175 gram disc. After checking in at the official headquarters, we plotted a course for our field. Unfortunately, we forgot to bring our GPS plotter and field glasses, but after what seemed to be some kind of vision quest, we did hook up with our teammates, who were huddled under a white and red awning, resisting the coach's plea to take the field and start warming up.

At 10am sharp, the first of the three Saturday games began and despite the inclement conditions, the game went well, with the good guys (the Whitman Wildcats) winning 13-0. The second and third games went a little less-well, with one blowout to a team that included some high school players and a close loss to a very good private school from Tacoma. The kids played great for all three games and seemed to be enjoying themselves despite the near-impossibility of staying warm or dry.

After the game Savi and I checked into our motel, where she hooked up with some of her teammates. A bunch of us went out for dinner and when we returned to the room at about 8, we were so tired that we just watched TV for a couple hours and went to bed at 10.

Thanks goodness the rain stopped sometime during the night and Sunday morning found the conditions much better. We got to the fields at about 9:30 and again started our first game promptly at 10. Because of the results from yesterday's games we got into a difficult bracket, but the kids held on to a win a very tight match. The second and third games were also very close, but both resulted in tough losses against very good teams.

With the exception of one game, there were five matchups that were very close, with the average margin of victory being somewhere between two and three points. The games were exciting and fun to watch and they all lasted close to the 90-minute time limit. I think most of the kids had a great time, especially on Sunday. The tournament was very well organized with lots of food, and the weekend just sort of flew by. In the spirit of Ultimate Frisbee, where good sportsmanship is part of the culture and co-ed play is mandated (each team must have three girls and four guys), a lot of friends no doubt were made.

Savanna, as usual, was one of the star players and made several spectacular sliding catches and was the top scorer for the Whitman team. Along the sideline, she earned the nickname "The Claw" for her uncanny ability to make difficult one-handed snags. She also won two "Spirit Disks" which the opposing team awards to players who show exceptional sportsmanship and enthusiasm.

Friday, March 31, 2006

Rue Are You??



It's not often we're able to use the quaint little word "rue." You know what I'm talking about, as in: 'I rue the day my sister was born," or "I rue the fact that my sister won't join me in an absinthe-tasting party." In common usage, I think most of us use "rue" as a shortcut for regret, or to imply disappointment.

The primary dictionary definition of rue is to "bitterly regret," such as "I bitterly regret that my sister is being such a jerk about this." Remember the part about bitterly, as that's going to be important in a minute or two.

I love learning about the origin and development of words, or their "etymology" as it is technically called. Do you know what the etymology of etymology is? Like most English words, it comes from a Greek root, in this case "etumos" which means true or truth. Therefore, the study of a word's origin leads us to the truth of its original meaning, which in many cases leads to a better understanding of its current usage, or at the very least, is just plain interesting in the sense of how words can change their meaning over time.

Getting back to rue. While doing my research on absinthe (see previous post), I ran across wormwood, which is a type of herb, the oil of which is often regarded as the second-most bitter substance out there. I can hear you asking, "Well, if wormwood is the second-most bitter substance, what is the most bitter?" I'm glad you asked me that, because that's what this whole posting is about!

According to my highly suspect sources (the Internet), the most bitter natural substance on earth comes from a perennial plant called Ruta graveolens, also known as the common rue, which is an ancient medicinal herb from the citrus family, still valued today for its uniquely bitter properties (often used as a natural insect repellant). The actual word rue (in both its noun and verb forms) goes back through old English, Latin and even Greek, where its basic meanings have remained similar--bitterness, in all its forms.

Somewhere in the early years of Old English's development, the bitterness of the herb came to be applied to people's feelings of regret or disappointment and hence its modern usage as a verb. So now you know that if you want to use the non-noun form of the word "rue" in its traditional sense, your meaning must include an element of bitterness or recrimination, such as "She'll rue the day she decided not to share a goblet of absinthe with me." Have I made my point yet???

Finally, you might also be asking: "Well, Frank, that's all very interesting, but what about the French word rue, which we often hear, and which means street or boulevard. Surely that must come from the same root, but I don't get the connection between a bitter herb and a Parisian street. How do you explain that?" OK, I don't have quite enough time to delve into that, but I'm sure that if I did, it would have something to do with my sister being narrow-minded and petty, so we'll just have to leave it there for now.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder


It was sometime in college, or possibly a little thereafter, that I first heard about absinthe. All I remember is a friend telling me that it tasted like mouthwash. Well, I liked mouthwash then and I still like it today. The only thing is, now I don't drink it.

Absinthe has been technically illegal in the United States since about 1910, so I never did get a chance to try what is affectionately known as "The Green Fairy," or, if you happen to be anywhere near the Balkans where an inferior version is distilled, "The Green Death."

What is absinthe? Well, you could call it a liqueur, or spirits, or bitters or an apertif. Predominantly produced and consumed in Europe (where the EU has recently legalized it), the best brands are French and Swiss. It is known for its high alcohol content, which often exceeds 150 proof, and for its unique distillation process, which involves the use of several bitter herbs and oils, not the least of which is wormwood, and its primary active ingredient, thujone.

Thujone, as it turns out, has an infamous history. As a component of wormwood oil, one of the bitterest natural substances known to exist, it plays a key part in the absinthe folklore. It is also the main reason that the FDA has banned the distillation (though not the possession) of absinthe in the United States. It seems that thujone is at once somewhat psychoactive, as well as quite poisonous, in large enough quantities. As my sister Sue has said, there are plenty of other foul-tasting alcoholic products on the market, so I guess this was an easy one for Western nations to ban. The fact that wormwood oil was known to cause seizures in epileptics didn't help.

Even in Switzerland and especially France, where absinthe had sort of a cult following with the artistic underground, its possession became illegal after the turn of the 20th century due to fears that it caused insanity, apathy (which was a big deal in the years leading up to the first World War), lessening of sexual inhibitions and last but possibly not least, death.

Still, afficionados found a way to get their fix and distilleries started popping up in Eastern Europe, catering to niche absinthe markets on the Continent as well as a strong following in New Orleans, which often honors the French tradition. Speaking of tradition, absinthe is often consumed, even today, in the time-honored manner where one pours a certain amount of the beverage into a glass goblet, which is then diluted with an equal part of water, poured over a cube of sugar, supported on the rim of the glass by an ornate spoon. This process of dilution produces what's called the "louche," which is a swirling-up of the absinthe's essential oils, intensifying the the drink's green color and producing, it is said, an almost hypnotic state in some observers.

From the little research I've done, it appears that absinthe can be ordered over the Internet from European retailers for legal delivery to the United States. Its cost is about $40-$75 (+ shipping) per half litre bottle. It is also available in parts of Canada, including British Columbia, where the thujone content is strictly controlled. I understand that it is allowable to bring it across the border.

I may be going up to Vancouver in the next couple weeks and I have every intention of bringing back some absinthe. I'm only discouraged by the knowledge that my dear sister Sue has preemptively declared her lack of interest in the requisite absinthe party. She has done her own research and calls the liquor "Vile, contemptible, dangerous and illicit," or words to that effect. And yet she still doesn't want to try it. She did admit, however, that it would probably make an excellent rat poison.

Well, all is know is that if it tastes anything like mouthwash, that's good enough for me. And I hear it doesn't have that minty methyl-alcohol aftertaste, either. I'll give you a full and objective report in a couple weeks. In the meantime, for more information on absinthe, just google it.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Restaurant Review


Just got back from the latest star in Seattle's dining scene, Tutta Bella's Neapolitan Pizzeria in Upper Fremont.

Ironically (for me at least), the massive space this veritable pizza factory occupies is a former print shop, one in which I actually worked. I half-expected the miasma of printer's ink and solvent as I walked up the familiar front steps, but even though it was early evening, the kitchen was humming and the only smell was a delightful one wafting out from the massive twin brick ovens.

Make no mistake, this is a big, open restaurant with minimalist wall treatments, few dividers and little adornment. It's meant to be a loud, family-style bistro, with plain wood tables and unfinished ceilings. Though we were shuffled off to a far corner of the restaurant, the service was excellent. The girls' sodas (bibite) were quickly refilled and our salads arrived within ten minutes of ordering. The Caesar was wonderfully fresh with a spicy dressing. The small easily fed two, while the large, as I was told, would serve 4.

Of course, most people are coming to Tutta Bella's for the impossibly thin-crusted Neapolitan style pizzas. With the fresh tomato sauce and the excellent organic toppings, the eleven inch pizzas are just right for one person. Even my youngest daughter finished hers with no problem. The pizzas matched the decor--tasteful, understated, even Spartan.

Prices for pizza ranged from $7.95 to $10.95. The Caesar was $5.50 for the small or $8.50 for the large. Finish up with the ever-changing gelata specials or the incomparable bucket of tiramisu, big enough to serve three or four, but just right for two. Get a dessert, and a single-shot of Antibassi espresso is complementary.

Other Seattle restaurants have tried to make their fortune in the thin-crust pizza game, but have had to compromise along the way, usually be offering non-pizza options. Tutta Bella succeeds in making the pizza joint a restaurant destination and a special event. Get there early and even then plan on parking on the street, as the parking lot will probably be full. A second Tutta Bella location is in the resurgent Columbia City neighborhood, on Rainier Avenue South. There will probably be more--look for one on the Eastside soon.

Fashion Illustration


I've been after my 14-year old daughter Tiana to take a fashion illustration course since last September. I still can vividly remember some fashion design sketches she drew several years that just blew me away. She hasn't done much drawing since then, but I know she has talent and definitely has an interest in fashion. The New York Fashion Academy, which is located in Old Ballard (not far from our house) each quarter offers a full range of fashion-related courses and though the overall focus of the school is more in the vocational realm, I talked to the teachers and we all felt that Tiana would do just fine with the introductory course.

I had sort of given up hope that Tiana would ever agree to take the class, especially if none of her friends could take it with her. And besides, she is playing softball 2-3 times a week now and has just joined up with the local cheerleading squad, so she is reasonably busy. I was very pleased, however, and quite surprised, when she told me a couple weeks ago that she would take the course.

Last night was her first class. They'll meet every Monday for 2-1/2 hours for the next month and then she can go on to more advanced classes, if she wants. She said last night went fine, even though she was the youngest in the class by about ten years. I'm looking forward to seeing how her interest and talents evolve in the next four weeks. The accompanying pic is a scan of some sketches she made last night, which we can sort of use for a baseline. I'll try to post something that she has drawn after every class.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Table Returns

The table that mysteriously disappeared from my driveway earlier today has magically returned--whence, I know not.

Table Has Legs, Walks Away

This is unbelievable!

I've been meaning to refinish our kitchen table, so when today's weather looked sunny and reasonably warm, I hauled it outside and set it up in the driveway, by the garage.

I totally sanded off the old finish and put on three coats of a water-based gloss finish, waiting about an hour between coats. The sun was shining and the garage/driveway gets a clear south exposure, so the finish was setting up and drying nicely. I'd easily have it done in time for the kids coming home from school.

The mail come early and because I had something that needed to get out, I walked down to the corner mail box to drop off a letter. When I came back, the table was gone!

Because the table was fairly close to the sidewalk (although still clearly on my private driveway), someone must have thought I was giving it away and they just took it. For God's sake, the finish was probably still wet! There was sandpaper, rags and a can of varnish right next to it. Can you freakin' believe that?? I am so upset....

Well, I talked to the neighbors and nobody saw anything. I also put up a sign stating that the table was not free and that it would be nice if whomever took it, brought it back.

Anyway, it's probably gone for good. It was a nice table and looked really sharp after refinishing. Just disappointing that someone would take it.

Hill Climbing in Seattle, Cycle-style

My brother-in-law (Greg) and I met at his Fremont home yesterday (Sunday) morning at 8:45 for a quick two hour tour of some of the city's hills. As I've done more and more riding the last couple years, I've found it increasingly difficult to get a goodcardiovascular workout without going for very long rides, often in the 4-6 hour range. It became really tough to fit in that much time, especially in the standard time months, where daylight hours are at a premium.

Last fall, I started doing some hill-climbs--running style--and found that was a great workout. In 30-40 minutes I could get the heart-rate way up and after a steady diet of that for 6 months, I feel really fit. But running up and down the same hill four or five times a week got a bit tiresome, so I guess it was time to get out on the bike.

The weather yesterday morning was blustery and cool, with a solid 15 mph wind blowing out of the south. The two miles to Greg's place involves a couple little hills and halfway there I already felt like this was going to be a long morning. It's a funny thing about cycling--it can take an incredibly long time to get warmed up. Especially with the wind blowing and the cool temps, I was just dragging. It's a psychological thing you have to get over. Just like riding up a big hill, things always get better on the other side.

We did have a nice break as we rode down Fremont Ave to the bridge. Then it was over the Ship Canal, up a moderate incline (Dexter), until we came to the cutoff that led to the Aurora Avenue underpass, going past Canlis Restaurant. Then another incline as we worked out way up the northside of Queen Anne hill, with a very steep section going up 4th Avenue N.

We made our way to the very top of QA (watertower) and worked our way down the south face to the bottom. Just for fun, we climbed up the west side of the hill and soon found oursevles on the top once again. We rode to the north side of the hill, found Dravus and sped west toward Magnolia. As it goes up the Magnolia hill, Dravus becomes very steep (unrideable?), so we just made it up as far as we could and took a left, heading south. After a few blocks, we found a very steep, but more manageable way up and soon were at Bayview Park, a fairly obscure, but very nice city park with a wonderful view of the Port Area and the north end of Queen Anne.

We made it to the top of Magnolia's east ridge, slid down and headed up the west ridge, toward the watertower. Again the way was very steep and quite long and though we both powered up, it was the most challenging part of the ride and definitely one of the more challenging hill climbs I've ever done.

We headed north to Discovery Park, worked our way through the old parade grounds with its wide open view of Puget Sound, and snuck down toward the locks, following an old road loaded with downed trees, shady and slippery with a winter's growth of moss. We were soon walking through the Government locks, picked a newly-completed section of the Burke Gilman trail that took us to Shilshole Bay and biked north to Golden Garden Park, where we took a winding, unshouldered road up the hill to the top of 32nd Ave NW. Then it was just a short ride home for me (Greg still had to go to Fremont) with the overall time of the ride being about 100 minutes.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

FutureMe.org Update

On a website, far, far away, I once wrote about FutureMe.org. Basically, FutureMe is an email gateway where one can write a message to any valid email address, and have it delivered at some future date of the user's choosing, whether it be next week or in five years. If FutureMe is even around in five years is a question I choose to ignore, mainly because their basic premise is so compelling to me that I want them to survive a long, long time. The idea of a successful delayed email delivery may not have flown a few years ago, where most of us were changing their email addresses more frequently than their cars' oil filters, but now with gmail, yahoo mail and other free web-based (non ISP-dependent) email services available, the odds that someone will keep the same email address for more than a few years is reasonably good.

The idea of sending an email on a delayed basis is frought with tingly possibilities. As FutureMe makes clear, once the message is sent, there is no taking it back. As my sister Sue would say (albeit for different reasons), it has a high "cringe factor."

I sent a test message to myself on December 15, for delivery three months later. Sure enough, last week on March 15, I received it. The system works! I would love to send a message to my older daughter, for reception when she was 18 years old. I would say that I hope she's happy and fulfilled and at least somewhat educated. I would also tell her that I hope we're still on speaking terms and that she feels loved. I would tell her that she has no idea how difficult she sometimes made things for me, and for herself, and how I know she didn't understand that the things I was trying to teach her were for her ultimate good. There's a lot more that I would say that I can't go into now, but you get the point. It's a great vehicle for conveying emotions that might otherwise be lost forever.

Apparently, it's also a great vehicle for conveying a bunch of crap. Interesting, and occasionally poignant, crap--but crap nonethless. Have you ever noticed how poor writing and grammar can make the tenderest of thoughts irrelevant? All of that and more are in the public pages of FutureMe.org, where those who so choose, share their future emails. Go there, and prepare to be amused. While you're at it, send me a message to be delivered in six months. I'd appreciate it. A digital divulgence or disclosure would be nice--something juicy!

CCFA Luncheon


Yesterday afternoon found me at the Westin Hotel's Grand Ballroom for the fourth Annual Awards Luncheon for the Northwest Chapter of the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America.

As I drove downtown, the weather had me worried, even though the event was obviously inside. If it started raining hard, I might have to park in the Westin's very pricey garage. If it was reasonably dry, I could feed the meters with a pound of coins and walk. Yes, I'm cheap. Luckily, the weather held.

The banquet room was already bursting at its seams when I arrived about twenty minutes early. I was expecting a lot of people but was amazed at how tightly packed everybody was. That definitely added some electricity to the event and made going through the silent auction line somewhat of an ordeal.

We were let into the ballroom right at 12 noon and I was able to briefly chat with the other 9 people at my table, all whom were very amiable. The middle-aged woman on my left reviled me with horror stories of her medical condition, but the only other mild-negative for the whole event (other than forgetting to take some pictures with my cameraphone) was the meal's entree: what appeared on the plate to be a nice, big flaky, piece of fish turned out to be something quite different--I think it was chicken. The lack of a readily-identifiable taste/texture of the questionable creature was somewhat disconcerting, as well as indigestible. But I digress.

The program started off with a bit from Pat Cashman, who handed off to Tony Ventrella, who handed off to my buddy Steve Wright, the foundation's Executive Director. Other speakers included a very poised 14-year old Chelsea Nofield, representing a youthful perspective on living with Crohn's disease (a serious digestive disorder). I was quite amazed that she was able to carry herself so well in front of such a big audience. Equally impressive was Cody Shadle, a guitar-playing teenager, who shared his experiences with Crohn's as well as how much he was helped by the CCFA-sponsored Camp Oasis, which he said was a life changing event. Very cool speakers.

Next up on the podium was Mike McCready, guitarist from Pearl Jam, who has kind of spearheaded the entire luncheon thing and has become a big part of local fundraising and awareness efforts, particuarly since he publicly disclosed a few years ago that he also suffers from Crohn's.

Finally, it was time for the luncheon's featured speaker, Ron Reagan, whom I had really been looking forward to hearing. He bounced up onto the platform, looking very energetic and stylish in his black-on-black linen outfit, the true picture, perhaps, of a professional speaker. His 30-minute talk was at times serious, at times humorous, but always inspirational. The Seattle-area resident touched on things dear to most liberal's hearts, including healthcare reform (universal coverage) and stem-cell research, and how the present administration is blocking both. Very little was said of his rather better-known father, and then it was only in passing, in a very-detached and objective manner. I found his message very appealing, and was somewhat surprised that he was not given a standing ovation.

The event ended with an exciting live auction for an X-box 360 autographed by Bill Gates and four box-seat tickets for next year's Super Bowl, provided by the Seattle Seahawks.

CCFA's mission statement is "To cure and prevent Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis through research, and to improve the quality of life of children and adults affected by these digestive diseases through education and support." To learn more, go to http://www.ccfa.org/chapters/northwest/ .