Days of Yore

The summer after our junior year, specifically June of 2007, Brandon, Alex, and I loaded up the 'Burban, strapped our bikes to the rack and headed to paradise: Moab, Utah. As I recall, the trip cost $170/per person for everything: gas, food, lodging, fees, and a daily Wendy's frosty after a ride. For a week, we camped in an RV park downtown, drank 3.5% beer, and woke up at the crack of dawn to avoid the intolerable 100+ degree heat of the early summer. A side note: Utah liquor stores don't stock domestic brews like Budweiser, so any beer purchased in a liquor store is imported, and subsequently expensive. Even six-packs are priced by the bottle; it's total rubbish. As a result, we were forced to purchase beer in the supermarket: the highly inferior 3.5% near-beer. In spite of the absurdity of Utah's liquor laws, the trip was a hoot. We rode Poison Spider and descended the death-defying and infamous Portal trail (walking, mostly, although the author endoed on that stretch), Slickrock Trail, Porcupine Rim, Kokopelli Down, and Klondike Bluffs in a lightning storm.

For you non-bikers, an "endo" may require some definition. The term is a combination of the words "end" and "over." Basically, this maneouver requires that while moving, the rider completely stops the front tire of the bike. This can be acheived artificially by braking exclusively with the left hand, but it is more commonly acheived by stalling the tire in front of a root, rock, or other protuberance in the trail. With the front tire frozen, the rider's momentum will pitch him headlong over the handlebars, arms flailing and mouth wailing. It is a traumatic endeavor, due in part to the certainty of landing on rocks, a cactus, etc. To make matters worse, in 90% of endoes, the bike will continue its trajectory and land atop the battered rider, or worse, entangle itself amongst his legs, preventing him from standing without stretching his depleted epidermis into any number of painful positions. Endoes are generally a result of riding too slowly, or being overly-cautious on a difficult section. Oh, the irony. After all, "speed is your friend!"

Here's a case in point. We arrived in Moab around 3pm, set up camp AFAP (As Fast As Possible), and rushed to the Slickrock practice loop, a 2 mile sandstone sampler designed to deterr the woefully unprepared from committing themselves to a 23-mile circuit of impossibly steep grades, furnace-like temperatures, and the innapropriately named "slickrock," which is more aptly described as a 50-grit sandpaper that eats bike tires and human skin cells as an appetizer. Falling on slickrock is like spooning with a belt sander--not in your best interest. Near the end of the practice loop, we halted to examine a particularly tricky section where the trail plunged down into a sandpit--a sure invitation to endo. Our valiant guinea pig, Alex, was determined to avoid the catastrophic end-over, and took the descent with speed, popping his front tire at the last second so as to land level on the sand below. The maneouver was executed perfectly, but mother nature had other plans. Luckily, Brandon captured the moment on video and it remains as a priceless testament as to why we always let Alex go first.

He was cleaning sand out of his bike, ears, nose and Co. all week. Here is a small sampling of photos from the trip.

Welcome to the Portal Trail. Even sucididal Moab-ites won't ride much of this section--it's just stupid. One slip of the tires and you're falling 20 stories to your death, no ifs ands or buts about it. Click to see the full version, but the sign reads: "DISMOUNT NOW! Not suitable for biking! 200 FOOT CLIFF. Three riders have died here." We only rode sections of the trail.

This gives some perspective on the consequences of a fall while riding the portal trail. That teensy white ribbon next to the river is a highway.

Brandon, meet slickrock. Slickrock, meet Brandon. Battle scars after a week in Moab. Kids, just say "No" to sandstone.

I didn't fall.

Taking a 200' whiz, looking down over the town of Moab. What a life.

Wedgemount Lake

The hike to Wedgemount Lake (left) was a little brutal. From the trailhead the hike is 4 miles one-way, with a vertical gain of 3608 feet. I crunched the numbers, and assuming an 18-inch stride, for every horizontal step, 3 inches will be gained. In your house, this trail is would be stairs. It had no switchbacks, either. It was a grind. I hiked with Kim, a self-proclaimed computer geek from Sweden. The pictures were taken with her camera.

The trailhead was a 7 minute drive from the house, and we started hiking at 8:45am. It was a chilly morning, 33*F, but we quickly warmed up as we climbed. After two hours we hit snow, and the ascent to the lake took 4 hours.

The hike was beautiful. The lush damp undergrowth, towering trees hanging with Spanish moss, and the occasional frozen mushroom were a welcome change of pace from bone-dry CO hikes.

The final stretch of the hike rates a mention as "sketchy." It was the part of the hike Madeline would have hated. Basically, the trail followed the perimeter of a boulderfield, and a stream ran down the trail. The water had frozen over the rocks, creating what amounts to a high-alpine luge course. This, coupled with the 2-3 inches of snow, made for a wet, slick, steep scramble to gain the last 500 feet to the lake. Thanks for the gaiters, mom.

We ate lunch at the lake (peanut butter and honey sandwich, pumpkin seeds, chocolate, block of aged cheddar cheese), snapped some photos, and we headed down. All told we saw 6 people on the hike.

Kim had a bit of a rough day. In the first 10 minutes of the descent, she tore an 8 inch hole in the backseat of her trousers, right next to the center seam. I haven't posted a picture of he rip due to it's unfortunate location and her request that I not. Every time we ran into someone, she had to face them so they wouldn't see the hole. Thankfully, we had some duct tape. She also fell hard twice during the long, steep, slippery, icy descent, bruising her hip and shoulder in the process. I fell also, but I picked a good location and went down smoothly.

After we arrived home I watched "Miss Congeniality" while eating ice cream cake, played guitar for an hour, then watched "Grease," which was a kick. Here's some photos from the day. As always, click to see the full-size photo.

Me. The glacier behind my head can be seen from our house in Emerald Estates.

Kim.

I really miss Fort Collins beer. Really a lot.

Kim, in a giant hollow tree.

I went out on a limb for this photo op.

Me Andrew. Me sell boots.

Today I sold my first pair of custom boots. A gentleman from Vancouver bought 2 pairs of custom insoles, a custom liner, a custom boot, and a pair of socks. All things considered I felt I did very well for my first time. However, this particular gentleman, I'll call him Ned, had very short, VERY wide feet (257mm foot, 110 mm wide, if that means anything you to, great). Basically his foot is the length of a 7, and the width of an 11 or 12. This creates problems.

The downside is it took 4 hours to get his boots perfected. The upside I learned a ton of stuff and reviewed all the things I already knew. The process went like this:

Ned enters store.
I greet Ned.
Ned says he wants new boots.
I say great, take off your shoes.
I measure Neds foot.
I take the impression for the orthotic.
I take the impression for the orthotic 7 more times because I'm not practiced at it.
Ned is very patient.
I am very grateful.
I make the orthotics.
I help Ned into the boots, I foam the liners (foaming the liners is a story in and of itself)
Ned tries on the boots.
(elapsed time to this point 1.5 hours)
Ned says the boots hurt.
I think "no small wonder." It's like shoving a hamburger into a hot dog bun.
I tell Ned a width expansion will take 2 hours.
I learn to do a width expansion.
I do a width expansion.
I eat lunch.
Ned tries on boots.
(elapsed time 3.5 hours)
Ned says there is pressure over the instep.
I tell Ned it will take 30 minutes to fix.
I learn how to fix this problem.
I fix this problem.
Ned tries on boots.
Ned is happy with boots.
Ned pays lots of money for boots.
I am told by manager that that was a very tough fit, possibly one of the toughest for the year.
I am happy.
I go home and eat pumpkin ice cream cake.
I am even more happy.

As you may have deduced, I made pumpkin ice cream cake from the pumpkin goop I stewed last week, and it is de-licious. My only complaint is that it has an icy texture, not smooth and creamy. I don't know how Janey got it to re-freeze and be so smooth. The cake makes for excellent currency in the house. I came home today and Rico had made an amazing lamb roast with a garlic onion wine sauce. I traded him a piece of cake for a juicy slice of lamb. Oh yes.

Tomorrow I'm hiking Wedgemount Lake in Garibaldi National Park. The lake sits just below Wedge mountain, which is the peak directly north of Blackcomb mountain. It should be brutal and beautiful. I'm bringing a camera so I'll have a full entry tomorrow complete with photos.

An Epic Journey

Today I spent in the kitchen. Well, mostly. First I made a gigantic batch of Granola which turned out really well. I made half the batch per the traditional Sky Ranch recipe, and to the other half I added peanut butter. They are both delicious. Then, I set out to carve the giant pumpkin I bought in Vancouver last week. While carving it, I salted and baked the seeds, and took some of the pumpkin meat to make into soup. At least soup was what I intended.

After boiling the pumpkin for awhile, It had a consistency closer to pie filling than soup, so I added sugar, cloves, cinnamon and ran with it. I boiled the concoction for about 2 hours, then baked it for 40 minutes. What I wound up with was a not-pie, not-soup, not-quite-pudding substance. It tastes quite good, but it has a very strong flavor. I think I'm going to buy a gallon of ice cream, melt it, stir the pumpkin into it, re-freeze it and have pumpkin ice cream (Thanks for the idea Janey).

After all that cooking and washing of pots (it doesn't sound like much on paper but I cooked straight from 12pm-4), I decided to take a bike ride. I headed south towards the village, and took bike trails down towards Green lake. I had hoped there was a trail following the far shore of the lake, but to my dismay the bike trails dumped me on the Nicklaus North golf course. Undeterred, I discovered that the railroad tracks ran on the far side of the lake. (Walking on railroad tracks is something I do not recommend. As you will see, my cerebral function is not quite up to snuff.) I saw a large coyote on the tracks, but was unable to take his picture.

I followed the tracks for about 30 minutes. Riding one's bike on a railway line is more similar to the way a farmer rides than the way a lady rides, FYI. Stick to trails and roads and your prostate will thank you. But, the woes of my buttocks were forgotten as I looked across the lake at the hanging glaciers to the west.

It was nearing dusk, and I needed to get back to the road, which follows the opposite shore of the lake. As I reached the north end of the lake, I came to the realization that there was likely to be a large river exiting the north end of this gigantic lake, blocking my path to the road. Crap. The tracks didn't cross the river, so there was no bridge.

I decided I'd have to cross the river. Turning back would have meant riding an extra 1.5 hours in the dark, and I had no lights. Unfortunately, the river we're talking about is fast and glacial blue. Kind of intimidating, in other words. To top it off, I had with me Kim's camera. In my life I have owned two cameras. I have systematically destroyed both of them, one by dunking it in a river, and the other by dunking it in the ocean. I did not want to destroy this camera.

So, I wrapped it in my gloves and hat, then put it in the hood of my raincoat and cinched the elastic tight to hold it in. I laced my shoes, shouldered my bike, and stepped into the river. Thankfully, the water never got deeper than my bellybutton. 2/3 of the way across, I hit a sketchy section. Fearing I would fall, I took the camera (it was very well padded for just this reason) and threw it across to the opposite shore. Several minutes later I made it safely across, hopped on my bike and rode the 10 minutes home. Apparently the curse of the camera only applies to cameras I own. Thank God.

This is a shot looking South across Green Lake at Whistler Mountain. To take this photo I am standing with my back to the road. The tracks are on the opposite shore, and the golf course sits over there somewhere.

"Let me see yo' grill, yeah yeah, yo' grill"

A sweet old truck I found between the railroad tracks and the river.

Same truck.

This is the 8th hole of the Nicklaus North golf course. That is bear scat. Whister has a bear problem. Kim, one of the housemates, was late getting home this evening because there was a bear between the exit and the car. It was sitting directly outside a glass door, and hung around for 30 minutes before sauntering off. The same bear actually got inside a building the other day, so i'd say its life expectancy is plummeting.

Thanks for reading!

Places

Here are a few photos of Whistler, I'll try to keep getting photos up since my entries have been a little "textually inappropriate" of late.

These are the stairs of the house, I liked the artistic quality of the photo.

This is the kitchen. Rico and I built the shelves for the microwave yesterday, and it looked Good.

The view from my daily commute. This is looking North/West ish. The only peak I know is Wedge peak and it's the one to the far right in the photo.

This tree sits just in front of the house.

View of Blackcomb mountain from Whistler village.

People

So you can put faces with names, here's some photos I took with Kim's camera. These photos were taken when we went out for 80's night at Tommy Africas. Rico doesn't usually rock the mohawk.

Click on the photos to see the full-size version.

Left to Right: Jee Hoon, Michael, Hiromi, Rico, Lars in the back of the bus.

Kim and Alicia.

Left to Right: Alicia, Mette, Kim, Jee Hoon, Michael, Hiromi, Rico, Lars, Sung se, Me

Lars-tastic.

Rico Rocks the 80s (and the Smirnoff).

Sung se, Hiromi, Jee Hoon

Mette, making the most delicious bread ever.

Toilet water

Andrew: "Mette, I thought you were going to bed."

Mette: "I had to fill my water bottle, and the toilet water tasted like crap."

Andrew: "Well yeah..."

Mette: "No! No, I meant the water from the sink in the bathroom."

Ants on a Log

Peanut butter is the most convenient calorie. It can be put on any dish to up the caloric/fat value, and applying it to almost any food makes that food better. If you live in the US, you already know this.

But my habit of liberally applying peanut butter to 35% of the food that enters my mouth has been raising eyebrows in this international house. Out of 8 people, only one had tasted peanut butter before. Consequently, my practice of smearing it across everything from peanuts to almonds to celery arouses curiosities.

So I made everyone try ants on a log, which to me is the most normal and delicious thing a person can make if all the ingredients are handy. Reactions were mixed. Rico loved it, Mette spat it promptly in the trash, Jee Hoon was lukewarm about it, Lars and Michael liked it, but they're garbage disposals anyway.

Phew...

For those of you who haven't heard me whine about it, I've been working on a scholarship application. What I'm applying for is called a Fulbright Teaching Assistantship, and the location to which I chose to apply was Madrid, Spain. If I get the award, it will pay for me to travel to and live in Spain for 9.5 months, beginning September 15 of 2009. My responsibilites would be to help teach English in a public school in Madrid.

The application was quite intense as the award is understandably competitive. Anyway, I finally turned it in today, so for the first time in several weeks I can take a deep breath. Phew. The application requires two essays, a statement of purpose and a personal statement, both of which were brutal to write. Pretty much the last thing I've wanted to do the past week is sit in front of the computer and type. Long story short, I'm planning to post quite a bit in the next couple days to make up for it.

As for now, here's a little sample of living in an international house. Let me set the scene: Rico, (you'll remember he's the German fellow I met in the street who told me about the house) has taken it upon himself to make small but important renovations to the house. Today he built four extra sets of shelves in the kitchen, and it looks great. I helped him a bit this evening. He's a very good carpenter, but the tools in the house are crap. So, after he finished sharpening the rusty old hand saw with a file, he began to saw through a piece of wood to make a shelf. In doing so, he cut himself. These are his exact words.

Rico: "I saw me in the leg" (pointing at a bleeding gash on his lower right quad)
Andrew: (cracks up laughing)
Rico: "This is not funny." (pours alcohol on the cut)

This episode made me vow to always keep a pad and paper in my pocket. No more english blunders will go undocumented!

Thanksgiving photos

I pulled some photos from MF's profile (thanks M).

Classic.

Jammin'.
"Rocky Mountain High" sounds AWESOME with a banjo.

This is the very beginning of the sweat lodge. The blue tarp covers the wooden frame, and was further insulated with the white plastic in the background. The fire was built just to the left of the lodge, and all the wood to the left of the people was burned, plus some more. It was a big fire.

My aunt and two bocce balls. The author has no further comment.

Where the gold Chanterelle grows.

Chanterelle

Here's a photo of some Chanterelle mushrooms I harvested from a Google images search. Also, I had misspelled the word in my previous entry. The proper spelling is "Chanterelle" not "Chantrelle."

Today was our first official day of staff training at the shop, so I finally got to meet all of my co-workers. Among them, four are 6+ year veteran ski instructors with credentials coming out their ears, one is actively competing on the freeskier championship tour, one is an ex-racer who was injured last year or would be living off earnings solely from racing, others have lived and worked in Whistler for 10+ years, etc. etc. etc. It's ridiculous, really. I mean, I feel like the country bumpkin in the big city. But I'm stoaked because I'll have the opportunity to learn a lot this winter.

Contact Info

I have obtained a Canada phone number, and I have a shipping address. Some of you have this information already. If I did not send you this information and you would like it, and possibly feel slighted that I didn't call you straightaway to let you know, I'm very sorry. If it's any consolation, I only sent it to my mother and people who have asked for it specifically.

So there's no need to get your knickerbockers in a frenzy over the matter, just fire me an email and if you're not one of my many stalkers I'll send you the info.

Cheers from the North,

Andrew

Alright....Who put Canada Sauce on the Turkey?

Sorry for the lag in entries, but this weekend I was occupied celebrating my first Canadian Thanksgiving, which takes place today, the 13th of October. The weekend was spent in the company of twenty wonderful people who's names I will not mention for purposes of anonymity. You know who you are. A comprehensive description of the weekend would be long indeed, but I will try to convey the look and feel of things as succinctly as possible.

Friday morning I took Hwy 99 south to Horseshoe Bay and met S and R at the ferry terminal (scroll down to read the previous entry if you have not already done so). We took a boat to Langdale and then drove about .5 hour to the site of the festivities. We arrived, were fed, and left immediately in search of the prized Chanterelle mushrooms, an elusive fungus that requires a very specific set of environmental conditions to germinate (ask MS if you want to know exactly what it takes to farm them). While the Chanterelle may be a delicacy fit for royalty, the crew that set out to find them was quite the opposite. A historian might describe the quest for Chanterelles as such (imagine British accent):

"The ragged assortment of twenty-somethings will clamber loudly into a truck, bringing with them only the barest of essentials: baskets in which to place the harvest, knives to cut the stalks, barbecue-flavored sunflower seeds, and a case of Kokanee, which will be consumed at any available interval between searches, and sometimes during the hunt itself. The activity, in its purest form, involves blundering through a dense wet forest with an unsheathed knife in one hand and an open beer in the other, all while intently scanning the undergrowth for the smallest patch of orange. If, at the end of such an ordeal, all participants are not exhausted, muddy, mildly inebriated, and elated at the finding of several pounds of the precious commodity, something has been done incorrectly."

The mushrooms were used in several dishes including a soup, a sauce, and a salad. They were delicious. (No surprise, as G was cooking.) The next event of importance was dinner and the Canuck's game, followed by a rousing game of "Celebrity." Certain people (most notably the author) were absolutely useless at this game and will need to study up on Canadian celebrities, certain hockey goalies, and singers to avoid future embarrassment.

Saturday morning signaled the start of the "Thanksolympics," engineered chiefly by JT. Four teams were created to compete in six events throughout the day, including ping-pong, croquet, entertainment, golf, centerpiece-building, and bocce. The events were a riot, the entertainment hysterical, and the day was a whopping success.

Sweat-lodge building, which has not yet been accepted as a Thanksolympic sport, was the main extracurricular activity of the day. Building a sweat lodge is a long standing tradition with this crowd, and can be highly entertaining and rewarding if done properly. It is also a first rate excuse to drink beer. Construction begins by building a frame from limber branches. These branches are used to form a dome structure which should be no more than 4 feet high. After building the frame, a tarp is placed over the structure as the innermost layer of insulation. For this sweat lodge, cardboard and sheets of plastic were used to insulate the structure: at some parts of the lodge insulation was 6-10 inches thick.

The next step is to find several volleyball-sized rocks (rock selection is crucial--sedimentary rocks or rocks with air pockets are liable to explode or simply disintigrate when they are heated to extreme temperatures). These rocks are placed into a fire which, to acheive maximum effect, should be stoked until it has assumed the dimensions of a Clydesdale. The rocks are heated until they are red hot, then placed in a hole dug in the center of the sweat lodge. After the rocks are in place, 6-12 grown men clad only in shorts should crawl in, each clutching as many beers as he can carry. The door is closed and water is poured onto the rocks to heat the lodge. When a lodge has been well constructed, it gets really hot. Generally, this causes the occupants to sweat profusely, hence the name. In these circumstances it is important to keep your wits about you, so remember to drink your beer quickly before it becomes warm. If this all sounds like a bad idea, sweat-lodging is probably not for you. Also, as R commented while we were sitting in a small enclosed space throwing cold water onto red-hot rocks sitting inches from our feet: "We threw safety out the window a long time ago."

I would like to extend a thank you to J & J T, and to all cooks, dishwashers, musicians, and everyone who pitched in to make it a great weekend.

If anyone has them, I would like to post pictures from the weekend, especially of the following: sweat lodge, music/singing/entertainment, food, ping-pong and anything else I'm forgetting. Thanks!!

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

A Bum, aThumb, a Plum

I’ve gotten in the habit of picking up hitchhikers. Technically, it's illegal to hitchhike or pick up a hitchhiker in BC, so it’s crucial to check for cop cars before stopping. But, having hitchhiked several times myself, it is always amazing how few people will stop, even if you are well-dressed and not at all questionable-looking. When and if someone does stop, it’s never the loner in the Suburban. Rather, it’s usually someone in a VW rabbit purchased used in 1984, who, to accommodate a passenger, is forced to throw approximately a cubic yard of garbage, unpaid parking tickets, clothing, books and other miscellanea into the backseat.

So I stop. Many Canadians I’ve met are quite critical of the good old US of A, and citizens of said country are guilty by association; so I’d like to think I’m making the most out of my Colorado plates. Also, it’s always interesting to hear the stories of the folks you pick up. On my way south from Whistler on Saturday, I picked up a gentleman bound for Squamish. He was about 45, if I had to guess, and had a large, really beat-up backpack—probably the reason he had been waiting over an hour in the 40° weather. Apparently he had been biking up in the hills above the highway and had flatted his front tire (don’t know why he didn’t carry a spare, or patch kit), and was forced to hike out to the road for a lift. He was a very talkative fellow, and for the 20 minutes he sat in my passenger seat, regaled me with the annals of his soon-to-be business selling organic liqueurs made from local fruits (cherries, blackberries, plums etc.)

Using a process he claims to have invented, he achieves an alcohol percentage of 33% without distillation. If and when he wished to distribute his product, this would allow him to circumvent BC’s laws specific to distilled spirits, even though the alcohol percentage is the same or higher as many distilled liquors. (Nothing like a good loophole, eh?) As a side note, alcohol percentages higher than those of wine, so 12-15%, are typically not attainable via fermentation due to the nature of the fermentation process. This gentleman claims to have invented a process by which the alcohol is concentrated via freezing. Presumably the process involves lowering the temperature of the mixture until it forms a slushy-consistency. At this point, the water would be frozen but the alcohol would not, and by skimming off the ice he could concentrate the alcohol. That’s complete speculation on my part, of course. He wouldn’t go into specifics.

In essence his business plan is to market these liqueurs as organic, locally produced, and rich in antioxidants. He also claims that because he does not use any additives, the product won’t give you a hangover. Fat chance. I wished him luck, and we parted ways.

So technically I picked up a bootlegger who had stayed the night in an abandoned cabin in the woods and had only a semi-plausible story as to why he was standing on the side of the road twenty miles from anywhere.

But it’s all about how you frame it.

Nothin' like a 9 to 5.....sort of

Well, as you might have guessed I worked a 9 to 5 shift today, which, now I think about it, is probably the first time I've ever worked that shift in 22 years. But I can't really say it was a typical day at the office.

After I got to the store, the manager told me to take off my shoes so they could make me a pair of the "Thotic" orthotics that are their trademark. To make the Thotic, a person stands with his/her foot partially weighted and in its neutral position. To acheive the desired and critical "neutral position," the salesman (me) digs his fingers into your ankle joint to feel the location of the tibia/fibula, and then positions the knee and foot accordingly.

The next step is to map the contours of the foot. This is done by several hundred plastic "pins" (they're not sharp) that raise up until they touch the underside of the foot, then lock in position. When the foot is lifted, these pins show the contour of the foot. Data is collected from the height of the pins and transmitted to a computer, where the data is shown as a contour map of the foot, with .1mm intervals (really precise).

It's actually something of an art to get the foot in the proper position, especially when the person has a flat foot and tends to pronate. Interestingly, I have a flat, narrow foot that pronates. Both of my coworkers, each of whom has done hundreds and hundreds of these readings, struggled mightily to get a good reading. I think between them it took 18 attempts to nail it down. Both said they get it perfect the first time 90% of the time. So I have difficult feet, which I knew.

After the foot is mapped, the orthotic is milled from a blank of the proper size. The blank is placed in a machine that mills it in about 10 minutes. After the machine is finished, the tech mills down the rough edges and sticks on a topsheet. The process takes 15 minutes.

Putting these orthotics in my shoes was the Whistler version of "Pimp my Ride," minus Xzibit. I mean, these are $8.00 black dress shoes I had purchased from the Reuse-it-Center in Function Junction and all of a sudden they're rockin' a $235 custom orthotic. Wild.

The other cool thing I saw today was a custom foam-injected liner being made. But, that's another story for another day.

As I was leaving, I was introduced to a former employee of the store, named Brett. After he went back in the shop, T, my co-worker, said "Oh yeah, he's the current Freeskiing champion of the world. He doesn't have to work here anymore." I gather things like that happen quite a bit. There's a poster on the wall of a guy dropping a 140ft cliff, which was a world record at the time. "Oh, he used to work here too."

For the first time in my life I'm a little concerned I won't be able to keep up. Just a little.

Anybody need new boots?

Well, I'd say my ship's come in, but it's more of a canoe maybe, or a rowboat, or a dinghy that needs some patch work and a bucket....anyway I got a job!!!

So the business is called Surefoot, and it's a company that sells extremely high-end custom ski boots and custom orthotics. I've gotten a job as a salesman, and it pays rather well, so I'm psyched. Even more important, I start work at 9 tomorrow. Basically, things are looking up. I'm gainfully employed, I have a home, and I'm going to my first Canadian thanksgiving this weekend.

The funniest part, though, is that the company is sending me on a staff training trip during the third week in November. The location? Aspen, Colorado! Oh, the irony. A canadian company is paying me to go home for three days. Wicked.

Hot Soup! Hot Soup!

Whistler, in case anyone was uncertain, is very expensive. It is arguably the most expensive place in Canada. For instance, if you pay between 500-600 dollars per month in rent, you're getting a good deal. If you pay that per month, it is likely that you share a room with someone. Groceries are also expensive. For instance, a bag of spaghetti that would cost $0.99 in Fort Collins costs $3.99 in Whistler (for some reason the grocery store charges WAY too much for pasta--perhaps they sell a lot of it because people can't cook anything else). Unfortunately, I am one of those people (sort of). So I'm learning to cook.

I went to the store today with the intention of making something healthy and affordable. Soup, I thought, sounded delicious. To that end I purchased 2 large potatoes, 2 small onions, 6 carrots, and a can of cream of mushroom soup. The carrots, onions and potatoes I cubed and threw in a pot with salt, pepper, and an indeterminate amount of water--maybe to the halfway mark. I put this to boil, and after ~20 minutes I added the cream of mushroom soup.

Much to my surprise, the soup turned out really well! I wound up with a stew of sorts, because the onions and potatoes boiled down mostly to mush, and the cream of mushroom soup concentrate was pretty thick. But the soup was really really spicy--like Grandma C spicy. I can only imagine it was a result of putting the pepper in at the very beginning, or possibly something from the onions.

Anyway, I've got about a quart of stew in the fridge for a rainy day (so, tomorrow).

Actually the weather today was beautiful. Fifty degrees and sunny, you could see the peak of Blackcomb and Whistler mountains, and they are spectacular. As a result, I'm getting that jittery, pre-season twitch that can only be cured by snow, high speeds, and expensive waxed planks that one straps to his/her feet. Hee hee.

Narcolepsy

So I've moved into this house occupied by eight other people. I had assumed that it was more of a dormitory-style building because I was told that there will be 18 people living here starting Dec 1. But, it's just a house and 18 people will be a serious squeeze. I'll be leaving before Dec 1, however, and will blissfully avoid the sardine can/disease breeding ground these quarters will become. The house is run by an exchange program out of Vancouver, so it's quite international. I'm the only American, and there are people from Germany, Denmark, Japan, South Korea, Sweden, and of course, Australia. It's a pretty fun crowd so my time here should be entertaining.

Last night we were playing cards and got onto the topic of narcolepsy. I remembered a clip I'd seen on the internet a while ago. It involves a narcoleptic dachshund, so it's worth watching.

The next clip is of a breed of goat that suffers from the disorder Myotonia Congenita.

"Myotonia congenita is an inherited neuromuscular disorder characterized by the inability of muscles to quickly relax after a voluntary contraction. The condition begins in early childhood, but symptoms can be mild. Most children will be 2 or 3 years old when parents first notice signs of muscle stiffness, particularly in the legs, often provoked by sudden activity after rest. The disease doesn’t cause muscle wasting; in fact, it may cause muscle enlargement as muscle strength is increased. There are two forms of the disorder: Becker-type, which is the most common form; and Thomsen’s disease, which is a rare and milder form. The disorder is caused by mutations in a gene responsible for shutting off electrical excitation in the muscles. Source."

So they've got that going for them, which is nice.

Carwith to Homeful!!

Although going from "Carwith" to "Homeful" in Whistler is an arduous task, it can be done. The instructions are relatively simple.

Walk to the Day lots at Whistler. Accidentally fall into step next to someone. Since this is awkward, say hi and introduce yourself. The man's name will be Rico, and he will be pulling on a cigarette like his very life depends on it. He is from Germany and will be lamenting his recent failure to pay his car insurance, resulting in a fine. To boost his spirits, mention that you are homeless. At this point he will give you a number to call in Vancouver. Call this number from a payphone while standing in the rain. Be very courteous, and the man on the other end will grant you a bed to sleep in until Dec 1. Do not have a heart attack. Calmly hang up the phone, then jump up and down and scream like you just won the lottery, because you did.

Finally you can take the skis and bike off the roof, pack up your sleeping bag, and spend a few months in the company of eclectic foreigners who, for the most part, speak English. But make sure to find a place from December onward, because carwithness in the dead of Canadian winter is a grim prospect indeed.

Yipee!!!

How to be Homeless Part 2: How to manipulate Public Resources

Welcome to Part Two of the series, How to be Homeless. In this section we will discuss how to best utilize free and very cheap resources. However, I have reconsidered the term "homeless" and have decided it is not in line with today's high standards of Political Correctness. Homeless, therefore will henceforth be referred to as "carwith" and homelessness as "carwithness." Thank you for understanding.

The library will be considered first, it being the most obvious public service available if you find yourself carwith. Here you will be able to get out of the rain, make phone calls, use the internet to find a home, read books, upload free CD's to your computer, watch DVDs, and much more. In the whistler library, I have discovered that hot water from the coffee machine is only twenty five cents. Add 2 packets creamer and 5 sugar cubes, and you've got yourself a nice cup o' tea.

Another great way to score a drink or even free meal is to get a job interview. This requires a bit of finesse. For obvious reasons, many employers will decline to hire (or interview) you if you list your address as the public library. The trick is to look sharp and then lie and say you have a home. The morality of the situation is irrelevant--you 're carwith and can't afford to be scrupulous. Personal hygiene is somewhat problematic, and employers are disinclined to offer an interview to an interviewee who smells as though he/she has just finished a shift mucking out stalls. At the very least, you must wash your hair, brush your teeth, and liberally apply deodorant. To wash your hair, I recommend gas station bathrooms, a river, a water bottle, etc. Do not use the library facilities--you must not abuse that resource, and librarians can be tempermental and high-strung.

At least once every three days you should shower. If you have no qualms about having an indecent exposure arrest on your record, you can strip down and shower in the rain. I, however, recommend making a friend for this one. Simply strike up a conversation with everyone you meet. After you have established rapport with someone, ask if they have a room to rent. If they do not, ask if you may use their shower.

Once you've scored the interview, simply show up and order the biggest sandwich on the menu.

Other options and resources will become apparent as you adjust to your state of carwithness and you will quickly become wise in its ways. Good Luck!

How to be homeless, Part 1: Live from your car

Welcome to Part One of my new series: "How to be homeless." If you find yourself without an abode, a crash pad, a flat, quarters, residence, address, roof over your head, lodging, accommodation, a room, etc., read on.

Part 1: Live From your Car

First you'll need a car. If you own an RV, VW van, or truck with a topper., you are not really considered homeless and this article is not for you. This is how to live out of a car. The model vehicle for this study is a '99 VW Passat . The most important matter, of course, is how to sleep in this car. Clearly, for an extended bout of homelessness, sleeping in a reclined front seat will not suffice. Horizontal is the only way to go. The best option available is to fold down one of the backseats and sleep with your feet in the trunk and your head behind the driver's seat. Depending on the make of car, this will be uncomfortable due to the incline of the seat above the level of the trunk. To fix this situation, simply place bulky articles of clothing, a backpack etc. in the trunk underneath where your feet will reside. Once you have managed a 0% grade, cram your sleeping pad through the opening in the backseat and inflate it. Place your sleeping bag in the tunnel, and you're all set.

Step two is to find a place to park. Location is everything. Start looking for a place while it's still light out. If you choose a parking place under cover of darkness, it is possible that you will wake up in front of a preschool with concerned mothers peering in the window, then dialing 911. This is embarassing and dangerous, so scope your options in the daylight. The place you are looking for is within sight of a major thoroughfare. Take if from me (or ask my siblings, or Natalie): if you choose a place that is remote, dark and spooky, you will "wig out" immediately after nightfall. So, find a place just off a major road. The trick is to find a spot where cars won't necessarily see you from the road but where you can hear the traffic. Being out of sight is best because you might find yourself speaking with a frustrated mounty who doesn't like you vagabonding around the outskirts of his town.

After you've found a suitable spot and made your bed, get settled in! Make sure to leave the windows cracked (even if it's raining), and lock the doors. If you like, leave the keys in the ignition in case you are wakened by the prase "Cleetus, ge'on an' grab mah hatchet," or the rumblings of a curious bear sniffing the food in your trunk.

Enjoy your night! In the morning you will want to get up relatively early, unless you have found a particularly ideal spot and your presence will not arouse suspisions in the morning light.

Stay tuned for Part 2: How to manipulate public resources

Hasta entonces...

Rain, Rain, go away, come again....when it's Winter, dammit!

You guessed it, it's still raining in Whistler.

Hopefully this is an omen that the gods of snow plan to send legendary amounts of fluffy white vomit puking down on this burlacious resort all winter, covering the sickest lines on the hill with epic freshies so that we may lace up our "gnar boots" and shred the burly, brah.

But we'll be doing snow dances anyway...the snow gods are fickle.

Sorry, just trying to get the feel for this ski town lingo. You'll understand, eh?

Cheers!

Whistler!!

Well, I'm here! And it's raining. Interestingly enough, I've never been here a day when it wasn't raining. On my scouting trip in mid-September I was here for three days, and it rained steadily from the moment I arrived until the moment I left.

Whistler is prepping for the 2010 Winter games, and you can't spend more than 5 minutes in Vancouver, Whistler, or anywhere in between without being reminded of it Most notable is the ambitious task of widening Hwy 99 (the Sea to Sky Highway which runs between Vancouver and Whistler) from a two-lane to a four-lane road. It is one of the most daunting road construction tasks I've seen. The road is built into a very steep hillside, which means that adding two lanes forces road crews to a) dynamite huge sections of hill resulting in 5 story cross-sections of the mountain b) build massive retaining walls on the downhill side of the road or c) both. At any rate, the entire section of interstate is under construction. Indeed, the road is closed tonight from 10 pm to 2 am, then again from 3 am to 5am.

Thanks for tuning in!

The Journey is the Destination

CANADA!! After many tribulations I finally made it to my temporary home and non-native land. The drive was long, but I enjoyed myself and everything went smoothly. Rather than write a drawn-out entry about the trip, you can browse this list of trip statistics:

• Total Distance Driven: 1567 miles
• Cost of Gas: $229.36
• Days on the road: 3
• Nights spent in the car: 2
• Number of backtracks: 1
• Number of roadkill deer in Wyoming: 26
• Strangest roadkill seen: porcupine
• Coolest animal seen: a small fuzzy owl
  
• Stretches of river I would have love to have stopped and fished: 9
• Stretches of river I did stop and fish: 1
• Number of times this was illegal: 1
• Number of fish I caught: 0
• Percent more I believe in karma now than before: 30
• Number of biscuits served at the Mom and Pop cafe in Pateros, Washington at the confluence of the Methow and Columbia rivers : 4
• Amount of gravy on these biscuits: approx 1 liter
• Percent coverage of my ski rack with dead insect remains: 90
• Percent this grosses me out: 30
• Number of creeks crossed named "Damnation creek": 1
• How fun that word is to say: 10 out of 10
• Cost of a hostal in downtown vancouver for 1 night: $25
• Cost to park my car in downtown vancouver for one night: $25
• Clearance height for parking garage: 6' 6"
• Height of my car with a bike on top: 8'
  
• Difficulty out of ten to shove my bike in the backseat: 8
• Percent of readers wishing that last bullet point had read "Amount of embarrassment I sustained from forgetting I had a bike on the roof ": 95

I would like to extend a thank you to the taxpayers of the USA for providing rest stops, the First Methodist Church in Pateros for letting me sleep in their parking lot, Grandma and Grandpa for $20, and my parents for everything else.

I'm heading up to Whistler this afternoon so wish me luck!!