Stafford Creek

I've been looking forward to this first hike of the spring since the last hike of the fall (December 2007). Personal circumstances, namely my daughter's ongoing difficulties, made this getaway even sweeter.

Stafford Creek is a tributary of the North Fork of the Teanaway, about 30 minutes by car from Cle Elum. I arrived at the trailhead at about 2pm, promptly buried three beers in a nearby snowbank for later retrieval and hit the trail proper at 230.

Stafford Creek at this time of year is a raging mini-river and the recent warm spring sun made the flow as strong as I had ever seen it. I was just hoping that I wouldn't have to actually cross it. The map showed that the trail pretty much stayed on the east side of the creek, but you never know with washouts, etc. As it turned out, there was one crossing, but a large downed log made for an easy bridge.

The trail is relatively low, starting at about 3300'. While there was a little snow in the shadows, the going was easy for the first two miles with just a few switchbacks resulting in an elevation gain of just 300-400 feet. Nearing 3 miles, snow started showing on the trail, several feet thick in places, and with the warm temperatures making the snow very soft, the going was a little tough. At about 4 miles, as the trail passed high above the creek, I saw a little clearing far below and worked my way down the steep hillside to investigate.

I found a fairly flat spot, hard by the creek, with just enough room for my tent. There was a nice log to lean against, plenty of firewood if I wanted to start a fire and several cozy rocks to snuggle up to. Most important, it was very private with a nice open slope across the creek where I thought I might see some marmots.

By 6pm I had the basic tent set up and was sitting down with a glass of wine, watching the water boil by. A few minutes later, I felt the first rain drop. I hurriedly put up the rain fly and 15 minutes later the skies cracked open and the rain began in earnest. I threw all my gear in the tent and got cozy, preparing to make dinner. I fired up the stove and a few minutes later was enjoying a nice beef stroganoff.

As usual, I had an impossible time sleeping, even with the full-sized pillow I had brought along. To make things worse, my trusty radio failed to pull in any stations, so I was left to fend for myself, with the nearby roar of the creek my only solace.

It rained all night, but I did manage to stay dry and by 8am the sun was out and all was well. I cooked up a little breakfast, broke camp and hit the trail, getting back to the car in just 90 minutes. My precious beers were still there, though I had misjudged the strength of the sun, which had melted out the snow, totally exposing the cans to plain view.

I'm a Slacker

It's been out for a few months now, but momentum is rising quickly for the new Slacker portable music/radio player and the accompanying Slacker.com website. I'm right on board with that flood of interest--I think this is going to be the next big thing in the media player business.

Let's start with the basics: The idea behind the service is that instead of selling us mp3 downloads, Slacker.com offers professionally pre-programmed radio stations offering dozens of musical genres that can be listened to either on your home computer or downloaded to your Slacker portable player via any available wi-fi hotspot or through your own home network.

You never really own the music, so there are no DRM issues There are no download hassles as new music that Slacker thinks you might like is constantly being downloaded in the background, normally via wi-fi, though a USB connection is also available. The basic service is free and it's a great way to discover new artists or listen in greater depth to artists that you already like.

Slacker also let's you create your own personal radio stations. Just select artists that you want featured on "your" station and Slacker will build a radio playlist around them. Slacker then fills in the gaps by adding content it perceives as complimentary. For example, I created a station featuring the Rolling Stones. Slacker added content like the Beatles, Cream, the Kinks, the Who, etc, all of whom are artists I like. It also added some more obscure artists representing the same genre/era, many of which I enjoyed hearing for the first time.

The portable player, which is an important part of the Slacker business model, has been getting generally positive reviews, and is available in 3 models, ranging from $200-$300. The more expensive units allow you to listen to up to 40 different stations and gives you more memory for your own music. The player has a huge screen for viewing album art, biographies and the standard issue dynamically driven graphics. I'm not a huge fan of the player's design, and I understand it is rather cheaply made and that the earbuds are a disgrace. Still, most reviewers say the player is entirely functional and is a good mirror of the website. I'm thinking the second generation player will be a big improvement, but there's no word when that might be available.

While the basic service is free, there is a premium service available for $10/month. The subscription entirely eliminates little 10-second Slacker ads that occasionally pop up and also gives you the option of skipping as much music as you like. With the basic service, you are only allowed to skip 6 songs per hour. The premium service also allows you to seamlessly mix in your own music collection with Slacker's radio collection.

Downsides: Slacker is not for you if you like to have total control over your playlists. Even though the Slacker portable player allocates .5gb to 2gb of memory for your own mp3s, the main premise behind the service is that Slacker chooses the music it thinks you want to hear. There will be clunkers (which you can skip) and you can "teach" Slacker what songs/artists you like/dislike by clicking on the "heart" or "ban" buttons, but in the end it really is more like that favorite radio station you listened to as a kid, minus the DJ rap, commercials and the heavy rotation of that weeks' top 40. To me, that's a good thing.

Another thing I really like about Slacker is the artist bios. They are well-written, informative, interesting and can be viewed either on the portable player or the website.


All in all, I love the Slacker concept. At home, I have my laptop hooked up to my stereo and the music plays all day from Slacker.com. If I'm in the mood for something different, I just change stations. But it's the dedicated player that completes the service and sets it apart from other personalized media. By using wi-fi, which has become virtually ubiquitous in the home, workplace and any number of other public locations, loading fresh content is seamless and virtually hassle-free. Being able to add your own music to the player makes this, and not the latest iPod, the perfect music player.

Spring Reign 2008

Having been to the country's biggest Ultimate Frisbee tournament for the last four years, I thought I had seen every kind of weather possible. At this huge sports field complex on the banks of the Skagit River in Burlington Washington there have been frigid north winds coming down from Canada, thunderstorms that would roll through like freight trains, gale-force winds, hail, and of course, rain. But after a pleasant first day of the event, which drew teams from as far away as central Canada and San Bernadino California, on Sunday, we were about to "make history" as long-time Ultimate Coach Ben Goldfarb predicted as the day began.

I woke up at about 630 this morning at the Cocusa Motel, where Savi and I had stayed Saturday night. With yesterday's prediction of good weather, I made a pot of coffee, not even thinking to check outside. I finally peaked outside as it was getting lighter and was shocked to see the motel grounds covered in white, with the tropical blue of the swimming pool glistening in the snowy courtyard. Wet snow was coming down hard and piling up at a somewhat alarming rate, at least as far as the tournament was concerned. I walked to the nearby grocery store in a near blizzard, not believing this most unusual weather for April 20. As everyone says whenever the weather is unusually cold, "Must be global warming."

A couple hours later, the snow let up and some blue sky showed, but the damage had been done. The fields had an easy 3-4 inches of snow and it wasn't long before all the consolation games had been cancelled. Indeed, just a few of the championship bracket games were played before the tournament was cut short. Conditions, as one could imagine, were horrible. Frozen fingers, treacherous footing, indistinct boundary lines. Still, as is the spirit of Ultimate, players remained upbeat and made the best of it. Dozens of snowmen were made, huge balls of snow were rolled behind cars as a prank, and when the sun came out, sunscreen was applied with winter gloves.

It was unfortunate for the hundreds of friends and family who had driven to Burlington, only to find most of the games cancelled, but for those of us already there, it was a wacky wonderful day that we'll remember for a long time to come.

From Kona with Love

BIG ISLAND VACATION, PART TWO: Entering our fourth day here in Kona, on the sunny side of the island. Nice, though somewhat cramped, one-bedroom condo right on the water, with the surf barely 20' away from our 3rd floor lanai. View is facing south over a craggy lava beach and immediately in front of our room is a little tidal pool where two sea turtles have been hanging out.

The town proper, or at least the crazy-busy, mile-long tourist strip (Ali'i Way) starts just a couple blocks to the north, so all the restaurants and shops are well within walking distance. The city of Kona, unlike Hilo on the other side of the island, is in a development frenzy, with condos, shopping centers and new roads coming in everywhere. The older part of town, especially the settled areas along the waterfront, are quite peaceful during the day, and very busy at night. There's a very nice farmer's market and interestingly, the oldest missionary church in the islands is located along the main drag, a surprisingly massive structure dating back to the 1820s.

We've been doing a lot of snorkeling and swimming. The air temperature has been getting into the low 80s and the water temperature has been right around 78 degrees. Yesterday was a fun day as we went out on a catamaran sailboat for a dive trip to a couple primo spots accessible only by boat. The boat was rated for 26 people, but there were only 5 others onboard and with a crew of 3, it made for a great day. We did some real sailing, got close to a humpback whale and even closer to a large hammerhead shark. We went to two snorkeling sites, including one right in front of the Captain Cook Memorial, where the famous explorer was killed by the natives when they discovered that he wasn't one of their long-lost gods. The captain of the charter boat was giving me a little history lesson and informed me that even to this day, the memorial site is actually sovereign British territory.

I think the girls have been more or less enjoying themselves, though finding some place we all want to eat is a challenge. Tiana likes the buzz on the main street and last night she actually ran into somebody from Ballard High School. Both girls have been doing a ton of snorkeling, which has been a great activity. Today I think that Savi and I are going to try to find a beach where we can do some body surfing. We have to be careful not to get too much sun. Tiana hasn't had any problem--she's getting a very nice, very dark, tan.

That's it for now!

My Mom and Dad's Honeymoon Cottage?

BIG ISLAND VACATION, PART ONE: So we've settled in for a three night stay here in greater Volcano Village, a small town just outside the entrance to Volcanoes National Park. Elevation here is 4000 feet and it's been heavily misting off and on since we got here last night. Spent most of today exploring the easily accessible areas of the massive park, including visits to numerous steam vents and lava tubes, the Visitor Center and a run down to the ocean.

A highlight (for me at least) was a visit to Kilauea Military Camp, which was set up almost 60 years ago as a rest camp for military personnel. The significance is that my Dad spent his honeymoon in one of the many cabins, all of which are still standing today. (Sidenote: Mom and Dad's honeymoon was in February, I was born in November of the same year. Could I have been conceived in this very cottage?) Through a little research and some help from Dad, I think we were able to locate the exact cabin in question (see photos, which upon close inspection show that the chimney stones are identical, though the cabin exterior has changed), which was very cool. The whole complex seems caught in a timewarp, with the original PX, theatre, bowling alley, chapel and cafeteria still in good condition and still being used on a regular basis.

The big news on this side of the island is a new, and very powerful, vent that has opened nearby, that is emitting a great deal of sulphur dioxide, threatening an evacuation of the Village if the prevailing wind changes.

The temperature at this elevation has been in the 50s and 60s, the house we're in is very comfortable with 3 bedrooms and 3 TVs and wireless Internet. The property is very lush, almost jungle-like with numerous birds (including the goose-like Nene, Hawaii's state bird) and other critters roaming about. There is still quite a bit of visible snow on the top of the volcanoes, which I'm told, is unusual for this late in the season.

We'll be leaving for a 6 nite stay in a waterfront condo in Kona on Saturday. We'll go to the famous lava flows tomorrow.

Ultimate Season Starts with Double-header

The Ballard High School season got off to a fine start Saturday morning March 15th, with decisive wins over Everett High and Garfield. Marymoor park was cold and wet but there was no wind and the Field Turf made playing conditions excellent. Savanna started both games and played well, throwing several scoring points, including one that she curved well out of bounds to get around some sideline defenders, only to come back into play for a nice point. The team is led by some excellent junior and senior boys, but Savanna and her best frisbee friend and fellow freshman, Sarah, more than held their own.

Rock Climbing in Upper Yakima Canyon

It's been a while since I've done any real rock climbing, and though the little 700' scramble I did yesterday in the upper Yakima Canyon probably doesn't really qualify as real rock climbing, it's close enough for me and makes for a better headline.

Between Cle Elum and Ellensburg, along the beautiful Yakima River, runs highway 970, a lonely but well-kempt stretch of roadway where in the space of 25 miles the landscape goes from alpine forest to arid plain, with a knockout, but compact, bit of river canyon thrown in for good measure. Along this mini-canyon, which stretches in its truest form for no more than 10 miles, you'll see bald and gold eagles, hawks, turkey vultures and all sorts of land creatures from elk to marmots, who love living in the sunny, south-facing broken rocks just north of the highway.

To the south runs the Burlington Northern train tracks, the river, and over the southern ridge, just out of sight, the busy I-90 freeway. But in the canyon, all is quiet, excepting the wind which generally blows west to easy, bending the pines in distinctive arches and blasting the ridge tops free of virtually all vegetation.

Most of the land to the north is undeveloped, private ranchland, into which it's probably not recommended to venture too deep. But the land adjacent to the highway is pretty much a free-for-all, with the best rock mounds and the best views from the steep, rocky ridges, intersected with plenty of interesting ravines and gulches.

I found a likely looking spot on a lonely bit of highway, where the ridge summitted in an interesting point of large boulders, and where adjacently laid a narrow ravine where the going might be a little bit easier getting down. I visualized a path to the top and worked my way up through loose, rotten rocks, the way never getting dangerously steep, but steep enough and tricky enough to be challenging, even a little frightening. A mis-step might not have meant catastrophe, but easily could have resulted in a nasty fall. Handholds and footholds could not be trusted, and as so often is the case, after getting about three-quarters the way up, I realized there was absolutely going to have to be another route down.

Amongst the sun-flooded, wind-blasted rocks, bits of dirt showed some Spring Beauty flowers emerging, but otherwise all was still sterile on this late winter afternoon. After a little more than an hour, I made it to the top where the wind nearly blew me down. I sat on the precipice of the rock-stack for a few minutes, just to catch my breath and then headed west along the ridge to the ravine, where I founded a spring issuing forth a healthy bit of clear, cool water, which shortly thereafter was swallowed up by the dry earth.

I worked my way down the gulley, fighting through all manner of bushes and short trees, until I reached the base of the cliffs and the short walk back to the car.

Chilly Hilly 2008

Well, here it is Monday evening, the day after Chilly Hilly 2008 and my riding partner, Greg, has to burst my balloon by reminding me that two years ago we averaged a pace that was nearly 10% fast than this year's. And I thought I had done so well yesterday.

Started out at the traditional meeting place (Romio's pizza on Dravus) at 7:15 and by a little after 7:30 we were firmly in line at the ferry dock, along with well over a thousand others. We always joke that they try to segregate the classes of riders into different lanes. It's all a big joke--nobody pays much attention to the recommended speed groupings when they first arrive, and by the time the ferry is being loaded, it's an absolute free for all, with no organization. But that's part of the fun.

The weather was reasonably warm, though there was an ever so slight drizzle trying to make its presence felt. We offloaded onto Bainbridge Island on dry roads, however and within minutes, the weather wasn't a factor as we weaved our way through the myriad of bicyclists in the opening frenetic miles of the ride. Greg found the crush a bit much; I enjoyed it greatly and thought it wasn't as crazy as years past. I did think it took an unusually long time, however, for the crowds to thin out.

The first 10-15 miles went quite well, and then I hit a bit of a wall as the adrenalin wore off and we cruised past the first official rest stop. I was being passed left and right, especially on hills, and was very frustrated. When I started getting passed on the flats, I knew something was wrong. I blamed it on a slightly flat rear tire which I didn't want to take the time to pump up, for fear of being passed by even more riders. I also began worrying about the infamous Baker Hill, which was coming up in a few miles (and which proved to be anti climactic).

We finally made it to the next rest stop, and actually did stop and rest for a few minutes. I felt much better after changing my sweaty shirt and gloves and pumping up both tires to maximum pressure. Baker Hill soon followed, and by then 80% of the ride's elevation gain was over. The remaining miles had their moments, but nothing that slow and steady couldn't conquer. We just missed the early ferry, so we didn't get back to the Seattle side until around 1 pm. It was then a terrible grind home, dead into a strong north wind. As Greg said, not a pleasant way to end the ride. I was cranky the rest of the day and well into Monday--these rides are so brutal, mentally, when you don't put in the proper training....

For the record, our average speed was 13.1 mph compared to 14.38 mph in 2006.

January 30 CSR Ski-In

In one of the craziest snow days of this or any other winter, 8 proud members of the CSR crew, including yours truly (far left) had an epic ski day at Stevens Pass. With 15" of new snow in the previous 12 hours (and over 3 feet in the last several days), there was light uncompressible powder everywhere you looked. With plenty of untracked snow and no lift lines, it was an amazing day.

After battling up Highway 2 in heavy snow, overcast skies were somewhat clearing when I got to the lodge. I hooked up with my friend Randy and we immediately headed to the backside of the mountain, where pretty much I found way too much snow for my liking. Managed to fake my way down a couple runs (thanks for your patience Randy!), and then headed to the front side where the groomed runs made things a little easier.

Conditions on the hill varied from no or very light snow with good visibility, to an absolute white-out. Temps were in the mid-20s and I was talking to a regular who said it hadn't gotten above 25 for the last couple weeks, making for pristine snow. Deep snow was everywhere and indeed the Cascades have just been hammered: Snoqualmie Pass has been closed for two days and now I hear that Steven has been closed for most of today.

No aches and pains either, even though my thighs were absolutely on fire at times yesterday. It was a very fun, but somewhat expensive day and I'm looking forward to going again.

Destination: Dayton WA

My long-planned but oft delayed visit to Dayton finally came to fruition a couple days ago. I've had an ongoing fascination with this small, southeastern Washington town for years, due in large part because of it's history, which goes back to the very early 1800s. Indeed, Lewis and Clark made several camps in the area (most of which are well-documented) on their return trip to St Louis in 1806. Missionaries, miners and other settlers followed shortly thereafter.

Dayton is located 30 miles north of Walla Walla at an elevation of 1700'. It lies at the southern extremity of the rolling Palouse hills, just north of the Blue Mountains. It is prime farming country, with lots of water and, and, for the elevation, a relatively dry and temperate climate. Three streams, all of historical significance, run through or near Dayton--the Touchet, The Tucannon and Pattit Creek. The town was founded in the mid-1800s and has an expansive, and full, cemetery to prove it. It has the oldest standing train depot in the state, restored as a gift shop/museum. The history of the town is perhaps it's biggest selling point, now that the infamous Green Giant asparagus canning plant has shut down.

After the 3.5 hour drive from Cle Elum, I checked into the Blue Mountain Motel at 3pm, where the manager readily accepted my $5 request for a quiet room, a request, by the way, which he honored by not booking the room next to mine, even though the motel became nearly full later in the evening.

It was nearing dusk, but before it went completely dark, I walked down Main Street to the central part of town, where I visited the requisite small-town gift shops, art galleries and thrift store. I walked past the town bar and the town sandwich shop. The real estate offices had already closed for the day. I was entrigued by the Skye bookstore, as it was also home to the local brew pub. With Scottish music playing in the background, I enjoyed a pint of Johnson Hollow Amber Ale as I browsed for some reading material.

Down the street, an Italian restaurant was just opening for the day's business. The building had all the charm of 60's burger joint, but as they were advertising homemade lasagna, I went in and wasn't disappointed. The lasagna was perhaps the best I ever had, mildly sweet with large bits of crushingly flavorful tomatoes and onions.

I returned to the motel and had a couple more beers which I had brought from home (both of which I had to open on the bathroom's towel hook, as I had no opener) and spent the rest of the evening reading.

I awoke early the next morning and went to the only place in town that was serving breakfast. After that I drove 20 miles up the valley into the Blue Mountains, to the Bluewood ski area, which at well over 4000 feet, has the second-highest base elevation of any Washington resort. It also gets plenty of snow, averaging 300 inches per year, mostly, I don't doubt, nice powder. This morning it was snowing hard, and cold, and windy. I would not want to have been on the top of the highest chair--it no doubt would have been bone chilling.

I drove back to town on the narrow Forest Service road and spent some time visiting the cemetery and walking the quiet streets looking at the many homes that were for sale. Finding nothing of particular interest, I checked out of the motel at noon and started the long drive back to Cle Elum, taking mostly the quieter highways through the snow covered hills of the Palouse, making several stops along the way, arriving home to a terrific snowstorm at about 4pm.

Jungle Creek

Well, I had ambitions of leaving Seattle early Saturday morning, December 1, driving to our cabin in Cle Elum, suit up for a winter hike, drive up to the Teanaway valley, climb to the top of the Jungle Creek trail and get back to civilization before it got dark. It didn't quite work out that way, but was an enjoyable day nonetheless.

After a sleepless Friday night due mainly to the unfathomable exploits of our 16-year old daughter, I left Seattle at about 830 and was in Cle Elum a little after 10, where I found about ten inches of snow and a freezing cold house. After warming up the house a little and having a quick breakfast, I jumped in the car and half an hour later I was on the Jungle Creek road near the north fork of the Teanaway River. The road had not been plowed and with about a foot of very light snow I was able to get within a mile of the trailhead. Not another soul was in sight--it's slightly too early for snowmobiles and too late for most hikers. Perfect conditions for an early winter hike.

I slogged up the road, taking nearly a half hour to get to the poorly marked trailhead. Was hoping that once I got into the trees, the snow wouldn't be so deep, but that didn't prove to be the case. Very hard going for the first half mile or so with the snow deep and the trail crossing the creek several times. The temperature was probably near 20, but I was down to just a sweater as the sun was trying to come out and there wasn't a breath of wind.

After a mile and a half the trail became steeper and the snow deeper. It was farther into the woods I had been on a winter hike in a long, long time and being alone added to an eerie feeling of being totally cut off from the real world. With the flat light and snow starting to fall, it was a totally black and white world, with the only color being the pale, pale green moss hanging from the fir trees.

But the wind soon started and tons of snow was being blown off those same trails, most of it finding it's way down the back of my neck. The steepness of the trail was discouraging and I knew there would be no payoff in terms of a view if I continued to the top, so I did the sensible thing and headed back down. Good thing I did, as I became extremely tired upon reaching the road and was hard-pressed to make it back to the car before dark.

Annette Lake

Let the I-90 hiking season begin!

47 miles outside of Seattle, less than 2 minutes off I-90 is not a recipe for success if you're seeking a hiking trail with any degree of solitude, especially when the destination is a pretty little sub-alpine lake, nested cozily between high ridges.

Yet that's the dilemna of Annette Lake, which for 6-8 months is roughly the hiking equivalent of 520 at rush hour. But beginning sometime in November, after the temperatures drop, the first snow flies and ice forms in the moist shadows, one can enjoy a bit of privacy on this admittedly average trail, well under an hour from Seattle.

Wanting to work off some holiday meals and anticipating chill temperatures and possibly a little snow to scare off the masses, I left Ballard Saturday morning at 11am and was on the trail by noon. There were just 7 cars on the strip-mall sized parking lot, one of them belonging to a single woman backpacker who had just spent a very cool night at the lake, with temps in the upper teens.

The trail starts off modestly switching back through a fairly open forest of fir with a stunning lack of undergrowth. After about a mile, the way crosses the Iron Horse Trail and continues up, sometimes steeply through groves of dark fir and the occasional cedar, with the freeway's faint roar mixing with a plethora of small rivulets casdcading down from the eastern ridge. At about 2500' fresh snow appears and the trail ices up, testing the grip on your boots and making one lust after those hikers coming down with walking poles.

After a little more than 2 hours, the trail flattens out and dead-ends in a picturesque bowl under snow-capped pinnacles, with the rather circular Annette Lake resting at their base. At around 2:30pm, the temperature was around 30 and there was not a breath of wind. A small waterfall was feeding the lake on the opposite shore and you could almost see a thin film of ice spreading across the water.

Soon enough some other hikers showed up, then some more and then some more. But for twenty minutes or so, plenty of time to eat lunch, all was quiet and peaceful and very, very worthwhile.

Skiing Stevens

So back in early December of last year, I was finally talked into going skiing with several friends at work. It had a long while since I last skied, but the timing finally seemed right and everything would have worked out great except that was the the particular day that Mother Nature chose to unleash one of the mightiest windstorms in years. After a couple very shaky runs on the easiest chair lift, the resort was closed for the rest of the day. Wind speeds were reported at 100mph at the top of the mountain.

Fast forward nearly three months later to March 8, when I finally had a chance to go back to Stevens Pass and redeem the lift voucher I got for the aborted attempt in December. My friend Randy and I took off from work for the afternoon and hit the slopes at about 130pm under fair skies, 28 degrees and no wind.

It felt great to be on the slopes again and though I probably haven't skied more than 10 times in the last 20 years, I did OK, all things considered. My thighs burned like fire during the first few runs, but eventually settled down to just a semi-crippling sizzle. One of the highlights of the afternoon was recovering some stashed beers and watching the boarders go through the terrain park as we chilled out on the sidelines. Never did the once-laughable bottle opener feature on my jacket seem quite so brilliant.

I think we took every lift on the mountain, save for the single most difficult and the easiest. Randy didn't let up on me at all, and by 6pm I was wiped out and ready to head back home. I only fell once the entire afternoon, but it was a pretty bad event, being a combination face plant, knee and ankle twister, sliding down the hill, totally out of control sort of thing. That was one fall where it would have been real nice if the bindings had released.

Neverthless, I survived and it was all good.

Time standing still

One more thing I want to mention regarding the fall off the ladder is how long the time seemed from when I first realized that I wasn't going to catch my balance until I was picking myself up off the concrete. I remember several distinct phases to the fall, including the thought that I surely was going to regain my balance, to definitely thinking I'd be able to jump away from the ladder and somehow land on my feet, like a two-legged cat. When those scenarios didn't pan out I knew immediately that it going to be a bad thing, the landing part, and I went over in my mind if I was going to land on my head, or which bones I might break, if anybody was watching, how much it would hurt, if I'd have to go to the hospital, if I'd be able to drive the car and so on, all in the space of a couple seconds, at most. Still, I was frightened or angry at my bad fortune, but just felt acceptance of whatever might happen.

It is truly amazing how the mind works and while this concept of time standing still during an event like this is certainly not original, I can definitely now validate that it is true. It does make you wonder about such things as near-death experiences and other traumatic events where one's consciousness feels truly altered.

Sonics Game

A friend gave me a couple tickets to the Sonics vs Blazers game last night so at around 6pm Savi and I jumped in the car and headed downtown to Key Arena. Of all the events we've been to, food has always been the prime motivation in her going, and last night was no exception. But she's always such great, great company that I've never minded indulging her with a pre-game burger and fries, popcorn and soda at the game, and of course whatever candy bars and other goodies we can sneak in under our coats.

We had a quick dinner at a burger place near the Arena and got to our seats a little before tip off. The game itself was uneventful, as are most NBA games, with a steady stream of turnovers by both teams and continuous breaks in the action for TV timeouts and free throws. The halftime, however, was great, as they retired the jersey of Spencer Haywood, one of my all-time favorite players from the early days of the Sonics.

We left the game a little early, played leaf tag on our way back to the car as a light drizzle fell and got home at around 9:30.

Sitting here in bed, semi-conscious...

...so I thought I'd resurrect my blog with a few random thoughts.

First of all, I'm sitting here with nothing to do because about an hour ago, while trying to install a new basketball backboard for my daughter, I fell off the topmost step of a 6-foot stepladder, landing flat on my face on the concrete, smashing the backboard and ladder to smithereens, in so doing. I'm still in a bit of shock, and wonderment, at the fact that I apparently did not break anything on my personal body, though my pride was severely bruised. I think the problem was, besides stupidly standing on the very top of the ladder, that I had my body half way through the actual basketball rim, trying to reach a screw at the topmost part of the backboard. That sort of prevented me from catching my balance when the ladder started to wobble, and worse yet, stopped me from jumping clear when I started falling. I had not finished securing the backboard, so that came loose when I pulled away and in some weird way I think it actually cushioned the impact. Of course, a car was just driving past when I fell, but it did not stop.

Anyway, to console myself a little bit (after I confirmed there were no fractures), I finally ordered a new digital camera. I just couldn't stand the research and the waiting for new models to come out, so when Costco.com today posted a good deal on a Canon a710 with a 2gb memory card, I jumped on it. It's not the dSLR type camera I initially wanted, but will probably be much more practical and hopefully something everyone can use.

The big Chilly Hilly bike ride is tomorrow and I was looking forward to spending a couple hours this afternoon tuning up my bike, but I'm hurting to much to do that right now. Hopefully I'll feel good enough in the morning to go on the ride, though my left wrist and the left part of my jaw are in considerable paint, at the moment.

What else has been going on since my last posting way back in October? Not that much really. I survived the holidays, in an uneventful, though somewhat melancholy, fashion and have been struggling a little bit to get traction in the new year. Did try downhill snow-skiing for the first time in several years. Unfortunately, it was in the midst of possibly the worst blizzard in a decade, and the resort was subsequently shut down after my third run. I got a credit for the cost of the lift ticket, which I'm still waiting to redeem....

I'm still working at the boatyard and that subject is probably deserving of its own posting, which I will try to do sometime in the near future. Suffice it to say that since late last September, when the office manager suddenly quit and I had to take over, it has been extremely challenging, and not necessarily in a fun way. But it has kept me on my toes and put me in an environment where I have to deal with people all the time. I'm happy to say that I have succeeded to a certain degree, though I admit that I have not totally committed to the idea of being in the marine repair business, especially with the prospect that my brother is going to retire in a few years.

So now it's later. 6pm the next day, to be exact. I diligently got up this morning for the bike ride, checked the weather, checked the ferry schedule, packed up my little collection of energy bars and packed away nearly two litres of PowerAde. I was totally convinced that my wrist was going to hold up but I thought it worthy of the attempt, inasmuch as I had been looking forward to this event for months. Though the entire left side of my body ached from yesterday's fall, I curled onto the bike and headed downtown.

It was an achy, uncomfortable ride and when I got to the ferry dock I knew there was no way I could deal with a 4-5 hour ride in my condition. By the time I got back home I could barely squeeze the front brake lever and nearly crashed into the garage door. Anyway, it was a good try.

I thought I'd better do something to be somewhat productive, so I ran to the store, got some fixins for a stew and got that started. Afterwards, I went to the garage and began resurrecting the old backboard, which mainly included some cosmetic fixes, including a new coat of paint. I'm sure Sav will be disappointed when I put it back on, but it served me faithfully for nearly 20 years and I don't really want to spend another $100 for a new one.

After lunch, I ran over to the Guild 45th Theatre to watch Peter O'Tooles new star vehicle, "Venus." Loved it. Though I don't really see an Oscar for O'Toole, it was a great performance, certainly worthy of a nomination. The film was touching, a bit sentimental, and for anybody over 50 years old or so, a potent reminder of our mortality.

That's it for now--back to the Oscars. By the way, the stew was great!

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.

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.

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.