Yo, Ho the Rattlin' Blog

Fixie

2011-10-11T23:13:00.006-06:00

My only regret about this project is not taking before/after photos. When I first got the bike, it was in pretty bad shape. It had been left outside for the better part of a year, and needed a lot of work.

I started by removing all the components, then stripped the original paint off the frame. I had been warned this would be difficult, and it was. Getting the frame completely bare took me ~25 hours. I went through a can of paint stripper, a lot of steel wool, and a circular wire brush (I used a drill to get paint out of the the nooks and crannies.

After setting up a studio, I got to work painting the bike. It took about a month of actual painting to finish this stage (somewhere in here I stopped entirely to study for the MCAT).

I was able to conserve some of the original components including the cranks, the handlebars, and the seatpost. I polished the aluminum with steel wool for hours to restore some shine to the metal. I ended up replacing both wheels, the fork, the brakes, the bottom bracket, the tires, tubes, saddle, etc. etc.

Here's the few photos I do have. Enjoy!

This is the only original photo of the bike. Without the close-ups, it is pretty difficult to see just how gross and dilapidated this bike was. We're talking chipped, rusted, spider-infested, greasy...the seat foam was rotting...etc.

Anti-thematic, to say the least

2010-10-18T03:03:00.004-06:00

Today I had an epiphany. On second thought, "epiphany" connotes some sort of productivity--a moment of truth in which something pivotal and previously unnoticed betters forever the life of the "epiphant." (Epiphant being the receiver of an epiphany.) As you will see, definitions and new words have overwhelmed my day. But I'll come back to that topic.

For those who don't know, I'm living in Berkeley, unemployed. In a valiant quest for gainful employment, I sat down at around eight o'clock with firm intentions of continuing my job search. Sunday evenings, however, are an insidious foe.

It started innocuously; I opened a new browser window to re-read the job requirements for a position I'm applying for, then started punching out a cover letter. The words wouldn't behave themselves, so I set the cover letter aside.

I opened another tab to look at graduate fields of study at UC Berkeley (yes, I'm still trying to figure out what to do with my life). The PhD in Linguistics caught my eye, so I opened that link in a new tab. Dutifully reading the website, I realized I had almost no idea of what Linguistics was.

This called for a new tab! I googled Linguistics and wound up at the Wikipedia article on Linguistics. After scanning the article, I clicked the external link at the bottom taking me to the "Language Log."

New tab. The language log has a worthwhile youtube vid with the audio by Stephen Fry. I watched it, then wondered who Stephen Fry was, so I clicked his weblog.

Tab #5. Stephen Fry, it turns out, is one of the principal actors in "V for Vendetta." (If you haven't seen it, do so immediately, before the 5th November.)

I mentioned this tidbit to Kelsey, who was reminded that we must observe "Guy Fawkes Day," November the 5th to most of us, which is to drink 40's, eat cupcakes, and watch "V for Vendetta."

Wittily, I responded "cupcakes, 40's and V for Vendetta? That's kind of anti-thematic, don't you think?" I wondered aloud whether anti-thematic was a word.

Three tabs later I had checked the google news site for instances of "anti-thematic," as well as dictionary.com and the urban dictionary. It was present in none of these.

Excited, I opened tab #9 and began to compose an urban-dictionary definition for my new word. I had never written a definition before, and the task was more complex than anticipated. I found myself opening tab #10 (online thesaurus) and #11 (another urban dictionary window to cross reference words in my new definition). Tabs #12-14 followed with several additional dictionary and thesaurus sites.

I finally worked out this definition:

Anti-thematic:

the deliberate or accidental absence of any common theme among a group of objects, ideas, events, etc.

Example

Despite his fondness for malt liquor, Andrew didn't attend the "Cupcakes, 40's, and Guy Fawkes" party on the 5th of November, declaring the combination "inappropriate and anti- thematic."

Flushed with success, I submitted my definition.

At this moment my inverse epiphany struck. Dumbfounded, I stared at my formerly innocent, productive browser. In front of my eyes lay a fully intact chronology of corruption. From job search to...making up words?

And that's how Sunday evening had it's way with me.

Tune in!!

2010-05-27T20:57:00.002-06:00

Here's something you won't believe. Steamboat has radio stations (notice the plural) that you actually want to listen to.

It's amazing. First off, the narcissistic self-promoting Front Range stations don't broadcast up here. Second, the advertisements are local. All of them. It's unreal. Finally, they play good music!

It's a refreshing change from Whister. Someone told me, though I never verified it, that 20% of the content broadcast by canadian stations must be of canadian origin. While I'm not sure of the social and economic impetus behind that particular legislation, I am sure that it resulted in me shouting "THATS ENOUGH ALANIS!!" at the radio on a bi-weekly basis. Plus BC has a strange fascination with B-side 80s music--you know, things you never heard when they were popular, and for good reason.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Why don't you just buy a mattress?

2010-05-25T23:11:00.004-06:00

"Why don't you just buy a mattress?" It's a legitimate question. But I do tire of repeating myself to legions of bemused bystanders. Maybe that's why I like writing: question deferrment. Write it once, then reference.

"But seriously, there's a bed in the other room. You can use it." So I must explain, again, the pile of raw lumber in my tiny room. I hate bad mattresses. Had one in college. Couldn't tolerate it. I slept on the edge of the mattress to avoid the super-saggy black hole. There was no way to sleep on my stomach either--didn't fancy a career as a contortionist.

The standard-issue box spring/mattress combo with a basic metal frame has several shortcomings. It’s too low to store anything underneath. When your living space measures 12' by 15', storage is vital. A decent mattress (one that doesn't double as a hammock) is way out of my price range.

I want comfort. I want utility. I want spatial maximization. I want cost effectiveness. I decide to build a bed. This is problematic; I have no tools. And by no tools I mean absolutely zilch. No hammer, nails, drill, saw. Nothing.

So I headed off for the lumber yard. This is a place where serious men do serious business, like operating forklifts, driving giant diesel trucks, and pointing huge meaty fingers at lumber piles then grunting formidably. This is not a place for punk-assed, Passat-driving, flip-flop wearing, 24year olds with kiddie sunglasses. They should have a sign posted. "This is not the Home Depot. We will not be happy to assist you. As a matter of fact, if you have to ask, we will actively despise and belittle you. When you know exactly what you want, we will get it for you. Grudgingly."

I was swiftly passed from employee to employee. It's the workplace version of hot potato: pass the obnoxious customer. James, the forklift driver, drew the short straw. A disclaimer: I am not pleased to share a name with this man. He was unpleasant, rude, and made it clear from the outset he would have loved to run me over with his forklift. Or possibly skewer me with the prongs and deposit my shish kabobed corpse atop a pile of 5/8 inch plywood in the far corner of the warehouse. Either way, he was not at all happy that I needed "One 14’ section of 2x4, one 10' section of 2x4, both cut into 50" segments, one 14’ 2x4 cut into 80" segments, an 8' 4x4 cut into 2' segments, and a 5/8 sheet of particle board cut into two 48x40inch segments." He informed me repeatedly that he was not a carpenter and that cutting the lumber for me would forever negate the possibility of building anything with it. He threatened to loan me a circular saw and make me cut the planks. I declined. He claimed he would have to use a chainsaw. Seeing the precision table saw mounted on the far wall, I called his bluff.

Once James had suffered the indignity of making ten easy cuts in 4 small pieces of lumber, I paid and loaded up the car.

Lacking a tape measure (remember, no tools) I had hoped a 40x48 inch particle board would fit into the trunk. It did not. Nor, with the particle board jammed unceremoniously into the backseat, did the 80" 2x4s fit into the trunk.

The end result was questionable at best. The particle boards only fit into the backseat with the windows rolled down, so the corners could poke out. Even then the rear passenger door refused to shut. I remedied the situation by looping the seatbelt out the window and tying two half-hitches around the exterior handle. I drove home with 2 of 5 doors open.

Thankfully I did not encounter any police cruisers.

Epilogue

I borrowed a drill from a friend of a friend, bought some wood screws from Ace, and the bed looks great, despite premonitions of grouchy forklift operators.

Blogged Anew

2010-05-25T22:51:00.002-06:00

I guess we're off to the races again, and by “we” I mean “I” since I’m pretty sure no one reads this blog anymore.

Near the end of April, I went heli-hutting in the Tantalus range, near Whistler. It wasn’t heli-skiing, because we didn’t get dropped off on any peaks. Instead the chopper drops you at the hut, and from there you climb whatever peaks you desire.

Skinning up to the saddle after a particularly exhausting day, we crested the ridge and were greeted with a vista spectacular by any standards. Inspired, sentences began to form in my mind, and I raced to the cabin, grabbed a pen and paper, sat down, and BAM. Nothing. Pen and paper is my kryptonite.

My solution? I bought a palm-powered device, called a DANA. It has a full keyboard, long battery life (AA powered), and it’s designed for use in public schools--hence, durable.

The idea here is to write every day. I'm hoping to take this nifty device with me wherever my travels may lead. What you’re reading now is the fruit of those labors.

Poof!

2010-03-01T20:47:00.002-07:00

Just like that, it's over. The village is deserted. The broadcasters have left, taking with them the screaming throngs emblazoned with red maple leaves on their foreheads. There are traces that the olympics were once here, but the metamorphosis has been swift and unforgiving.

I can't speak as to what happened in Vancouver during these past two weeks, but I will say this. Whistler was a dreamland. To all those Whistler locals who, poisoned by the whining of naysayers complaining about lack of parking and the inconvenience of the games and the incompetence of VANOC, abandoned their hometown during the Olympics: you missed out. Big time.

For those who stayed it was magical. We were there when thousands turned out to watch the torch come thorough Whistler, there when Canada won its first gold medal on home soil, there when the village had 4 concerts daily, at the sliding center when the USA took gold in the 4 man bobsled. We perched on the hills above the Dave Murray downhill and watched the world's best skiers pit themselves against our home mountain (making us look like chumps in the process). And most importantly, we saw Whistler at its all-time best.

Its all-time best.

Hockey and Salt.

2010-02-23T03:02:00.002-07:00

I had no idea so much hockey was played during the Olympics. The difference in coverage between US networks like NBC/ABC and Canadian ones like TSN and CTV is both remarkable and telling. In the states, hockey is practically an afterthought, whereas in Canada, hockey carries as much weight as all other sports combined.

The US defeating Canada somewhat resoundingly comes then, as a huge blow to the Canadian ego. Not that it stopped me from jumping up and down screaming "U S A! U S A!" in the middle of Whistler square surrounded by legions of maple leafs and dumbstruck faces, but I do find it inappropriate to rub more salt in the wound. Any self-respecting Canadian feels the sting far too acutely, and strolling down the village walk after the victory singing "America the Beautiful" at the top of our lungs was probably sufficient.

The Olympics continue in spectacular fashion. The weather has made every effort to bolster the party atmosphere. February the 23rd feels like spring. The temperature was a balmy 50 degrees--and warmer in the sun. We sat on the deck in Tshirts eating ice cream and pondering going swimming. But I'm not ready for spring just yet. Hopefully the winter hasn't burned itself out too quickly.

Hasta entonces!

The Olympics, In fact.

2010-02-20T00:48:00.004-07:00

The Olympics are, quite simply, too big to touch. The village seems to vibrate with all the events.

In fact, 2010 has given me the most wicked FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) I've ever had. I want to be everywhere all at once. Between work, skiing, events, concerts, world-class DJs, and general craziness of the village, I've hardly slept in a week.

In fact, in fact, I've never seen such a large, diverse group of people SO ECSTATIC and SO HAPPY to be part of something. Everyone is smiling and friendly, never in a hurry, gracious in defeat and exuberant in victory. On Saturday, two competing drum corps (French and American?) ran into each other in the village and blended their acts for a solid 15 minutes, blocking the entire village stroll in the process. Yet nobody got peeved about having to detour, and the crowd was SO STOKED to see the musicians in action. It was quite a scene.

In fact, in fact, in fact, people love to be on TV. The CTV broadcast booth in Whistler was constructed right in front of Surefoot. Anytime they go live to the Whistler studio, the crowds go wild behind the camera, jumping up and down, screaming, then checking their phones to see if some acquaintance saw them on TV and called. We can hear the racket from the shop. In related news, I will be attending the 4 man bobsled finals on Saturday the 27th. I will try to stand in front of an NBC camera, if I can find one. Hypocrite.

In fact, in fact, in fact, in fact, never tell the Swiss "more cowbell."

Granola a la Slantz

2010-02-20T00:24:00.005-07:00

OK, for all you CO hippies out there.....here it is, the coveted granola recipe. Well, technically it's not Emily's recipe. I made a few modifications, like cutting the grape nuts (since they seem to be about as expensive as regular nuts), eliminating the butter (health!), cutting the sugar (more health!), increasing the oats (oatey oat oat oat, oatey oat oat, look at all these oats!), adding banana chips (for the monkey in us), and changing the baking directions slightly.

I think that's a wrap. Click on the picture to blow it up. Click, Click, Boom.

Let the games begin!

2010-02-14T00:30:00.002-07:00

I watched only snatches of the opening ceremony. I was working. What I saw left a less-than-favorable impression. Apparently, the 900 million dollar security budget doesn't account for hapless drunks stumbling out of bars on Granville street to find The Great One clutching some jury-rigged roll bar on the back of a pickup while holding a large incendiary device (aka Olympic torch) whose resemblance to a giant blunt is bettered only by the 4 massive doobies surrounding the Olympic flame. Guess they weren't kidding about the "Green" Olympics.

But, the games have begun! Whistler is thumping. The village plazas are crammed, it's impossible to find a seat in a bar during any event in which Canada has a remote chance of victory, and by all reports the luge track was a massive party this evening. Throngs of crazed tourists crowd in behind the tv cameras in the hope of getting their face, however fleetingly, in front of the nation.

As for me, I went skiing in 10 inches of fresh snow today on deserted slopes. Presidents day weekend what?

A view from below

2010-02-07T22:20:00.004-07:00

First things first. If you are looking for updates on the Vancouver 2010 games, turn on the TV.

I'm here to give you the down-low on the "underside" of the games--the oft disgruntled peasants who have been flattened by the 2010 stampede.

Saturday, Feb 6th was a glimpse into the near future. The torch procession arrived in Whistler at 6:30pm. Thousands upon teeming thousands crowded Gondola Square. And this was just for the torch ceremony.....

Also flooding the village are VANOC workers, police officers, security personnel, transit authority workers, athletes, and Olympic volunteers. The latter are as numerous as New York rats, and rate about the same. Their bright blue suits have earned them the not-so-endearing nickname of the "Smurfs," though my favorite is "the Na'vi." Either way, they bobble about the village doing absolutely nothing but being blue, so far as anyone can tell.

Slowly but surely the village continues its "Olympicafication." On-site TV broadcast studios, tents full of exorbitantly expensive technical equimpent (and requisite 5-man security detail), and nightly ski-jump exhibitions involving fire have begun to change the colors.

Friday is gonna be very, very interesting.

Let the Confusion...er....Games begin!

2010-02-01T23:25:00.003-07:00

It began today. The parking lot closures in Creekside and Whistler village, checkpoints on the highway, and the new bus schedule.

Lets use the bus schedule as our mineshaft canary. A bit of background info. To ease congestion on the Sea to Sky Highway (the road between Vancouver and Whistler), personal vehicle traffic is being regulated through several checkpoints which require a "local vehicle permit". In addition, almost all the public parking in Whistler will be closed for the entire month of February. This means that everyone in town will be taking buses for the next month or so...which has caused a lot of complaining, mostly from permanent-Whistlerites. Most of us "peasantfolk" take the bus anyway (I'm an exception).

Because of the massive influx of people, and the fact that people can't drive, Whistler has increased bus service exponentially. Where one bus usually comes to Emerald every 1/2 hour, there is now a bus every 7 minutes and a new route that runs into Emerald, instead of just along the highway.

The new regime kicked in today. I parked the Passat hound and walked 10 mins down to the bus stop, waited 5 minutes at which point 2 buses showed up simultaneously. Interesting. At least my bus driver knew where to go. It appears that everyone else who took a bus today had to give the driver directions. Where is Spruce Grove? Left? Also, they changed all the routes so I waited at two different bus stops on the way home only to discover that the new route didn't pass by that way.....

so we'll see. Hopefully the bus chaos is an exception to the rule, not the rule.

Whether we like it or not, February is here to stay.

Breaking the Silence

2010-01-30T19:14:00.003-07:00

Welcome back! I figured it best to wake my blog from it's slumbers with a little time to spare before the Olympics, giving it time to rub the sleep from its eyes and grab a cup of coffee.

Lets see...quite a bit has happened since November, so I'll keep this brief. It has continued to snow consistently, giving good ol' WB over 3 meters of base!! Work has been steady, and we will be moving to a new location next week. It's a smaller space, but only a 15 second walk to the gondola and much more visible, so business should pick up. Things are well in Deerhorn place. We currently have 19 people, but it doesn't feel too crowded and we've had a lot of fun so far. The owners have chosen to re-carpet, re-linoleum, and generally overhaul the house to sell it in April (of course they couldn't have done this in July when the house was empty), so we've been mildly inconvenienced for repairs. But we do have new carpet...

So my close friend Polek made an epic video of the pre-olympic Whistler winter. Be warned, the soundtrack is explicit (but an excellent song I must say; he has good taste in music). The footage is superb--try not to be too jealous of all the snow. Included is footage of a tour Paul, Polek and I took up the Duffy Lake road earlier this month. Also, watch the movie in full screen HD! It makes a huge difference.

Stay tuned!!! I plan to continue writing throughout the games, and lord knows I'll have plenty of material to keep things interesting!

Hope all is well,
Andrew

Snooooooooooow!

2009-11-18T23:39:00.003-07:00

Let me give you a small idea how much snow we've had this November.

Whistler is reporting 84 inches of snow in the past 7 days (that's right, one a foot per day)
There is a 75 inch base (a landmark we didn't reach until March last season)
I got face-shots. (Plural. Face-shots.)
Nothing above treeline can be opened until it stops snowing (ski patrol was triggering 3 foot deep slabs quote "with certainty")

I came home from the village today at 4pm. The roads were wet, but clear. At 9.30pm I went to shovel the driveway. It took over an hour. The snow in the driveway is knee-deep. Knee deep!!! In the Driveway! I was whooping and hollering so loud I probably woke all the neighbors.

My forecast for tomorrow?

Epic with a chance of legendary.

Awkward....but successful...and with dry legs

2009-11-17T00:45:00.003-07:00

First day on the hill!!

I'd like to say it was picturesque and sunny and I slayed everything, but it wasn't quite that way.

First off, I showed up at the shop at 8am (a stretch to be sure), because I was meeting friends and my skis are in the shop. Problem: Sam has decided not to open until 10am until business picks up. So instead of skiing I went to two coffee shops and read two newspapers and waited two hours to get my skis out of detention.

Second, it was pouring down rain until one reached the roundhouse, where it was dumping snow and extremely windy. There is a lot of snow....about 3 feet in the past week....(yes)....but it's pretty wet. Which, actually, is fantastic because it makes for great base to cover the rocks. But it's heavy and not that great to ski. Especially when, at the end of last season, you turned your DIN settings to 6 and forgot about it, then tried to ski two feet of liquid concrete and double ejected facefirst into a snowbank. Fantastic.

Also, one should scrape summer wax from the bottom of one's skis so they can be expected to slide. Finally, don't ski in the rain. The only part of me that stayed dry was my legs, thank you sweet patagonia pants. Everything else was completely, wring-me-out, sodden.

The good news?

It's puking right now, there will be at least a foot of fresh snow in the morning, and the temperature dropped so it will be nice and fluffy. Also, it's supposed to keep snowing all week.

As for my skiing abilities, well, it's a work in progress. It took a couple runs to get the feel for the sport again, and at first I felt extremely awkward with two giant semi-slippery planks bolted to my legs. But I started to flow a little better towards the end of the day, so things are looking up.

Oii!

My Life as a Clock

2009-11-09T20:01:00.003-07:00

I left Fort Collins one week ago today. Since then, my life has ticked like the smoothest of chronometers.

The drive was uneventful. I slept in the car only once, visited Alex and Lily in Portland, then cruised up to the border on Wednesday--an event I approached with some trepidation. Thankfully, my work permit was approved without hassle. After a brief victory dance in the parking lot, I proceeded to Vancouver where my visit to the city coincided with that of my mother, aunt, and uncle. This slice of serendipity resulted in a superb gourmet dinner, good company, and a 23rd floor suite at the Fairmont.

In addition, I got the job as the house manager. That means not only a place to live but discounted rent as well. Best of all, the house is currently empty, giving me the chance clean, organize, and generally prepare for the winter. It also means I get to indoctrinate all incoming housemates so things get done my way. Hehe.

This weekend I'm going hot-springsing with Mark and Meg and Co, and I start work next week. There's only 5 of us this winter, as opposed to 13 last season when I couldn't get enough hours. On top of that, I ordered the skis I've been dreaming about all summer, sold my snowboard to fund said purchase, and finally found some ski pants that fit to replace the ones I destroyed last season (see archives "R.I.P, R.I.P.").

But most importantly, it has snowed all week with no signs of stopping in the near future. Which means the resort may open as early as next week.

I hope last week was as good for you as it was for me.

Whistler, Round 2

2009-10-30T21:49:00.003-06:00

Well, here we go again!

After much ado, I've secured a work permit to return to Whistler for one more winter.

I return this time under much different circumstances than my carwith, penniless, lonely, debut of last October. This time:

I have a job that I love.
I have a place to live.
I have friends.
I have ski pants which repel water and have not a stitch of duct tape on them.
I know exactly what I'm getting myself into.

Well, sort of. See, the Olympics are in Whistler this year, which adds an incomprehensibly large variable to this already-unstable town. So I don't entirely know what I'm getting myself into. I'd be bored otherwise.

I'll also have a few more responsibilities this season. I may be managing the international house (hopefully), and i'll probably be working more hours. I want to volunteer for the Olympics if there are opportunities, and generally life will be a bit more chaotic than last year.

That said, I don't know yet if I'll be blogging as regularly as last year. But tune in occasionally.

My verbosity comes in spurts.

Mouse-ion Impossible.

2009-08-13T20:30:00.009-06:00

Your mouse-ion, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate the government facility we call "Volkswagon." Once inside, you must disable the windshield wiper aparatus. In incliment weather this should effectively immobilize the vehicle and the mouse nation can operate un-threatened.

So, last night the fam headed to a natural area just south of Wyoming to watch the Perseid meteor shower. The shower itself, while beautiful, wasn't particularly noteworthy, unless you consider small extraterrestrial chunks of debris making very temporary and ill-advised incursions into the earth's atmosphere to be noteworthy.

I should mention that this open space is in the middle of nowhere--about a 45 minute drive from Fort Collins--hence its selection for star-gazing. On the way home, after watching the stars for several hours, Cliff, Madeline and I headed back in the trusty VW Passat Hound. Becoming lost on the return trip, I stopped the vehicle to perform an "about face," when, unannounced, a mouse popped up from under the hood and scrambled on top of the windshield wipers! Now, a crueler person might have promptly wipered that mouse off into the heart of darkness, but, being the compassionate soul I am, I decided to remove the mouse more humanely.

That was before he decided to take up residence on my engine block. After the wily bugger slipped back under the hood and remained undetected during 5 minutes of flashlight searching, we gave up and, hoping not to smell fricasseed rodent wafting in through the vents, resumed the drive. Well, 30 minutes later, I slowed down to make a left hand turn, and, sensing the decrease in velocity, the mouse reappeared!

This time, I was ready. Having mulled over the damage small mousey teeth could do to the more sensitive components of my vehicle, I was feeling considerably less compassionate. So when this, the boldest of mice, decided to step onto the hood, I tapped the brakes.

Imagine if you can (and I doubt you can, unless you dream far more vividly than I) the terror, the unfiltered panic of sliding helplessly into a dark abyss; picture the frantic scrabble of impotent mousey claws against an unyielding metallic veneer as faster and faster you plunge off the brink into nothingness.

Now try to express those emotions of terror, disbelief and betrayal on a tiny, brown, whisker-bracketed face. I swear to you, it's possible. Only the Tom Cruise of mice could so accurately convey emotion.

Now please don't fret; we stopped and shooed the dazed mouse off into the bushes, so today he's fine (though no doubt massively inconvenienced).

Counting backwards....49th to 48

2009-08-06T12:44:00.007-06:00

Without question I will return to Alaska to fish, climb, or hopefully ski, but for now, the 49th state is behind me and I return to the familiar, crowded and tame lower 48.

The summer was spectacular. As of our departure on the 1st, it had been the hottest, driest summer on record in at least 20 years. Needless to say, we lucked out. Of the forty-some odd days we spent in and around the Juneau area, I used my rain pants a grand total of once. The statistic may be slightly skewed since the pants self-destructed after a 2 mile hike, but the salient point is this: we visited a rainforest and had stunning bluebird weather.

I wish that I could describe to you how wonderful the summer was--full of laughter, adventure, hard work, music, and gorgeous sunsets amongst other things--but I simply cannot. Many of my stories involve students, and for privacy's sake I cannot tell them here. Also, being an employee of Overland puts a certain restriction on what I can publish in this blog. But in large part I simply feel I cannot accurately convey the experience of the summer.

My stories, at least for this chapter of my life, must remain unpenned. My photos, however, I will happily share.

Shank the cameraman!

Virgin Islands? Nope. Glacier? Check. Must be Alaska. Sweet!

God-ray sunset near Haines.

My feet are freezing in this picture. This lake is pure glacial runoff. It is so cold that swimming just makes you angry. Augh! (Swimming = 10 second endeavour + cursing)

Dinner. Point Bridget State Park, near Juneau.

Section of trail the group built in Point Bridget State Park. Trail is a boardwalk for much of its length, and we spent many hours carrying planks, pounding nails, and leveling boards.

Sunset near Haines.

Southeast of the Northwest

2009-07-11T18:06:00.004-06:00

Point Bridget at Sunset.

Alaska is not as expected. At first blush, all seems as it should. The landscape of Southeast Alaska is drastic; the sea gives way to dense forest, leading upwards to enormous peaks jarring the skyline, punctuated by hundreds of glaciers. But get up close and personal and the ecosystem seems incongruous. First off, the forest isn't a coniferous forest as I would have expected this far north. Its a rainforest, plain and simple--a humid jungle minus the heat. To my eye it is an ecosystem more comparable to Costa Rica than anywhere else I've travelled. While there are conifers, other vegetation like the giant skunk cabbage, towering deciduous trees, and spiny and poisinous Devil's Thumb smack of a jungle. Above treeline things become decidedly more predictable. It is cold, windy, snowy and steep, and the views are as gaspingly intense as a plunge into one of Juneau's many iceberg-riddled lakes.

Insert into this dramatic landscape all the animals you've always wanted to see but never, or rarely, found--Mountain Goats, Bald Eagles, Grizzly Bears, Humpback Whales, porcupines, native Alaskans in brown rain gear and gumboots. I mean, imagine meeting a Grizzly in a Costa Rican rain forest. Weird.

But I'm accustomed to all that by now, and after three weeks Laura and I have the drill down pat. One thing is slightly unsettling. Our first day, we both bought bright yellow rubber rain suits in anticipation of the 90inches of rain Juneau receives annually. Since they were purchased on the 20th of June, they have been used exactly: never. Contrary to all probablities, the past week has been sunny with record-setting high temperatures reaching into the 90's.

Perhaps the next three weeks will make up for the lack of rainfall we've had, perhaps not. Either way, the next group will be hard pressed for a better trip than the one we've just finished.

In the past three weeks I've been reminded of how difficult and frustrating and exhausting this job is--how all-consuming and energy-sapping it is to reign in 11 energetic teenagers 24 hours a day. But I've also been reminded why I do this job; moments when 11 ex-strangers raft their kayaks together at Seduction Point near Haines and sing Billy Joel's "Piano Man" at the top of their lungs, while rare, make your heart glow.

Our next group arrives tomorrow, and I expect the first few days to be equally as taxing as they were with the previous group. But I know and remember now how big the payoff can be, and I am ready.

As for me, I've had some incredible experiences. I saw a Grizzly bear and her three cubs and saw 28 mountain goats, both firsts, as well as some of the most spectacular scenery of my life. I am loving every minute, and while I must cut this short (7 minutes remaining!), know that I am having a blast here in AK.

Me, Eagle Glacier lake.

The Group

Point Bridget State Park, 11pm.

Me, about 1 hour's hike from Downtown Juneau.

Kayaking near Haines.

Endless supply of skipping rocks.

Part of the group, Point Bridget.

Massachusetts!

2009-06-18T12:39:00.003-06:00

Our flight to Juneau departs at 2:32 pm from Newark Intl airport. After one connection in Seattle we will arrive in Juneau at 9:32 pm (Note that there is a 5, count it 5, hour difference from ET to Alaska time). After one day of frantic prep and scouting, our kids will arrive!!

Staff training has been just as I remembered. We start at 6:45am and work nonstop until dinner, then fall into our tents at 11, not to move again for seven hours. It has rained all but two days since we've arrived, which has left our tents, sleeping bags, clothes, shoes and in my case an Amtrak boarding pass for my return trip, completely sodden. Also, after talking with folks who led trips in Alaska last year, I went and purchased a real raincoat. Apparently it rains pretty much nonstop all summer. The coat is bright turquoise blue, and I love it. I intend to purchase glaring yellow rubber rain pants in Juneau and look like a layered Slurpee.

Any time spent in the company of 120 high-achieving 18-27 year olds is bound to be excellent, and the past week has not disappointed. We've hiked the AT, played frisbee, given speeches, memorized information about our kids, and worked our tails off to prepare as fully as possible for the coming summer. Now, wet and tired, we are so excited to part ways and begin the summer's journey. In six weeks we will see all the friends we have made back in Willamstown and tell our stories of the summer.

Each night this week I have tried to write a journal entry to capture the essence of the Overland staff training, and each night I have fallen asleep and drooled on a blank page of my notebook. This entry, therefore, is a shallow representation at best. Maybe the slobber on the journal pages says all that needs to be said. With that, I bid you

Adieu!!

Juneau

2009-06-09T17:23:00.006-06:00

*Click to enlarge

Having procrastinated all manner of packing until the day before my flight, I can be found on this 9th day of June running around like a headless duck (why let chickens have all the fun?) hastening to compile the necessary supplies for my Alaska excursion.

Alas, the "procrastinate" part of my nature is somewhat unfortunate for a venture of such magnitude. Yesterday my all-knowing father (the "all knowing" may be redundant as I have recently come to the realization that once you become a dad you automatically know everything) mentioned that it might be rainy in Juneau, something my Colorado-tuned cerebrum hadn't even considered. I looked it up, and yes, Juneau averages 90 inches of moisture each year (compared to a paltry 14 inches for Fort Collins). Thankfully, the driest months are June, July and August, so hopefully my trusty, although no longer fully waterproof, orange jacket will see me through.

I very dearly hope to update the blog after staff training, which produced enough material for a small novel last time, but I may not be able to find the time. I will surely post several entries from AK at different intervals at the very least.

Wish me luck, and may adventure find you!!

Desert Desserts

2009-06-05T11:33:00.007-06:00

I've got Moab pegged--though I will admit a bit of luck goes a long way when one chooses to venture into rugged desert terrain on two wheels of mechanized confusion.

Our week in Utah was a smash success--six days of biking, gourmet cooking over a fire, swimming, hiking national parks, and afternoon naps for less than $200/person, all expenses included.

In honor of the venerable Rider Mel (author of our sometimes questionable guidebook) I have composed a list of things that ROCK and things that SUCK, according to us.

Things that ROCK:

Anything cooked on a fire, especially corn, steak, chicken legs, and marshmallows
Eating the aforementioned with your hands
Gnarly intimidating descents on which inspire fear of death
Shredding gnarly intimidating descents and cheating death yet again
Going fast (Speed is your friend!)
Barefoot night hikes
Perching on massive cliffs
Poison Spider, Amasa back, Kokopelli Down, Flat Pass, Slickrock, Schumann's Gulch
Not getting a single flat tire or breakdown in 100 hours combined riding!!!
Wicked technical ascents
Yelling battle cries when charging wicked technical ascents
Cramming 4 people, 4 bikes, and gear into, onto, and around an '02 Outback Sedan
Blasting Hip-Hop when rolling into the campground
99 cent cones at McDonalds
$1.09 cent cones that are twice as big
20 foot cliff jumps into a swimming hole
Zaks pizza
Singletrack!!!
The La Sals
Battle wounds from high-speed endoes
WANTING IT ALL!! (See playlist)

Things that SUCK:

High-speed endoes resulting in dirt-eating and facial scarring
Throwing Romaine lettuce onto hot coals
Black Widows the size of ping-pong balls
Bear cubs on the trail
Jeeps
Dirt bikes
Throwing other people's little brothers off ten foot drops into water
Troop 191
Rider Mel (that bastard!!!)
Riding in sand
Riding uphill in sand
Twenty year-old kids from the UK who sit in the pub all day
Losing "the stoke"
Sweaty old men who ride slow
Fat guys who act surprised when Mads and Nat throw down on burly ascents
Portal trail
Hike-a-bike

May Madness

2009-05-27T18:02:00.005-06:00

Going back to Sky Ranch for three weeks felt a bit like going home. It was, for the most part, a cold, crisp and refreshing spring at 9200', and the mountains were just as beautiful as I remembered. For a while, I was "concernicus" that Colorado would pale in comparison with BC's Coast Range, and while it is less formidable, it is no less picturesque. Please note the bias.

For three weeks I taught Environmental Education to 3-6 graders. My class was trees. This involved discussing the plague of the Rocky Mountain Pine Beetle and waltzing about in the woods. I myself learned a great deal about the Pine Beetle as well as how difficult it is to get ten 8 year olds to plant 4 inch saplings in a neat 12 x 12" grid without trampling existing trees into oblivion.

Graduation was spectacular, we had live jazz at P/M's grad party (which was a smash hit in spite of the downpour), and it was an excellent time. My cibs are cool.

After the commotion, Dad, Paul and I escaped for two nights to Delaney lakes. We caught lots of little rainbows, I caught a big cutthroat/rainbow (cuttbow, see photo above), and we had an excellent time. Paul and I discovered that sleeping next to an open fire under the stars isn't as romantic as it sounds. Between being woken up by the moderate asphyxiation of inhaling smoke while sleeping due to changing wind direction, and waking up with one's pillow/hat/sleeping bag covered in a heavy frost, I think next time I'll simply brave the cold and nix the fire. Also my sleeping bag smells like beef jerky.

Tomorrow PMN and I are of to Moab to brave the desert heat in search of hardcore mountian biking, slot canyons in which to hike, and cool oases in which to soak our soon-to-be battered bodies.

Hope all's well!

To the Future and Beyond!!

2009-05-03T12:14:00.002-06:00

Whistler is over and done with, at least for the time being. Unfortunately, during the next few months of my life, access to a computer will be more sporadic. Here are my plans for the summer.

May 2-May 22: I will be at Sky Ranch, CO helping the camp get up and running for the summer season.

May 22: My brother and sister graduate from high school.

May 26-June 5: Several trips including fishing at Delaney Lakes and Biking/hiking in Moab UT.

June 11-August 5: My real job for the summer is with Overland Summers, leading the Alaska Service trip. I worked for Overland during the summer of 2007 in Costa Rica, and it was an incredible experience. I cannot wait to get started in Alaska this summer, and it should be very rewarding.

Mid-August: The PMN trio (of Whistler Fame) and I are planning a trekking excursion to southern Colorado. Ideally we will make about an 8 day hike into the wilds where we will fish, peak 14ers and camp in the largest Wilderness area in the state. It should be incredible.

So, although entries will be more scarce, don't stop reading!!

I will be journaling/writing most of the summer, and when I have access to the web I will post a glut of entries all at once. Expect plenty of stories from Massachusets, Colorado, Utah, and of course Alaska. Hopefully the latter does not involve any Grizzly Bears.

Whistler on Faith

2009-04-27T12:03:00.006-06:00

I took Whistler on faith—its reputation needed no up-sell. Vodka fueled and red-bull propelled, Whistler was all the adrenaline you could handle and a dance party to boot. It was bigger, steeper, deeper, and more badass than anywhere I’d skied, and it was mine for the taking.

Of course you’ve got to eat a little cockroach to enjoy a Snickers bar, and like any resort, Whistler has its flaws. With all the sick and gnarly we must swallow rent prices that would make a Saudi prince choke on his Al-Kabsa, beer prices that sting even after a few rounds, roommates that would incite Gandhi to violence, and shucks, you might as well just throw your wallet at the grocery store. Powder, when it comes, gets chewed up faster than a pig’s ear at the pound. It’s not just the runs that get tracked out—it’s the tightest trees you could possibly ski, the landings below any cliff, rocky chutes, pillows, hike-to terrain—Whistler’s skiers and riders put lines where they simply don’t belong. Forget scoring freshies by ripping a tougher line than the dude before you, because the dude before you could probably take you to school.

Yesterday was my last day on the mountain. As I blasted huge GS turns down the hill, reveling in the absence of the Mountain Safety Stooges while doing “Mach Rabbit” and whizzing past tourists like tortoises, I reflected on the season. How had 88 days of skiing changed me? For one thing, I tried my old skis the other day, a pair of 175cm Armada ARVs. It was miserable. They were too soft, too light, too squirrelly, too forward, too slow. I’d loved those skis with my heart and soul. They carved, jumped, and bumped— everything I’d ever wanted in a ski. Now they’re just frustrating.

But more than my abilities as a skier changed. In college we’d chase powder, borrowing the old Suburban (God rest her) every time winter storm warnings flashed on the TV. The only way to cure Powder Fever is to die (it infects the soul), so I’ll still ditch my grandma on a powder day, but I’ve also realized that there’s more to skiing than chasing hip-deep fluff. No matter how bad the snow, how flat the light, how tired your legs, or how crowded the hill, every day skiing has something unique to offer. Whether it’s the new trick you mastered, the stranger you met on the lift (thanks Grandpa!), or simply the time spent with all the incredible people you’ve met in one short season, climbing out of bed is all it takes for an exceptional day on the hill.

So was it worth it? Was cramming all my earthly possessions into the “Passat Hound,” and voyaging north without so much as glancing at a Whistler trail map worthwhile? Unconditionally, yes. I learned this year what four years of university never taught me, and collected two fistfuls of exceptional stories along the way. But most importantly, Whistler made me a skier. And I’m damn proud of it.

Ozomatli

2009-04-20T16:04:00.002-06:00

At the end of each season, Whistler hosts the Telus Festival--a huge blowout party to end the winter season and kick into summer. It started Friday and will run through Sunday--10 days of events, bands, competitions, and myriad other goings-on.

Saturday night was the Big Air competition. Whistler Parks crew built a truly massive booter right next to the gondola above skier's plaza. Held under the lights, it was a perfect showcase for talent from all corners of the world--Japan, Colorado, California, Idaho, Norway, and of course some of Whistler's local talent. Simon Dumont even showed up to compete. The competition was sick. The winner threw a switch 1440 (that's 4 complete rotations while taking off and landing backwards), and made it look like nothing.

To my delight, Ozomatli was also booked for the festival. Ozomatli is one of my favorite bands. They hail from LA and their music is a mix of Latin, Hip-hop, funk and reggae. They rock., and they've got the Grammys to prove it. I saw them live at the Aggie in Fort Collins a year ago and it was spectacular.

They didn't disappoint. I saw them perform 2x in 1 day--first at the outdoor venue in the afternoon and then in a tiny bar that night, front row both times. It was pretty epic. I've put up a playlist of their music, so listen if you like!!

Shutter (Shudder)

2009-04-16T20:53:00.005-06:00

I took pictures on Tuesday: pictures of moss-covered old-growth trees backlit by the early morning sun, a lone skin track cutting through a glittering snowfield of the most dreamy fluff imaginable, slices of the 360* panorama of the coast range mountains in their intimidating glory, profiled shots of the krummholtz trees, their backsides encrusted with wind-etched snow, their frontsides dressed in the purest shade of green.

I deleted every single picture. In my mind's eye they were shots worthy of National Geographic--fit to impress my friends and neighbors with the sheer majesty, the raw beauty, the pristine serenity of the journey. Instead, each photo was a shadowy imitation, totally unrecognizable as any place I had ever traveled.

I had a crisis. What have I done? Have I converted my entire life's story into a collection of half-truths and second-rate landscape architecture? All my adventures, all my journeys, all my fondest memories of nature's most beautiful moments I have reduced to a shabby aggregate of pixels and zeroes.

I remember the Dorado--possibly the most beautiful fish I have ever seen. Sleek and powerful, the fish wears an incandescent skin: golden, now pink and red, then green and blue, sparkling in the brilliant Mexican sunshine. It is a marvel, and it is fleeting. A dead fish does not glimmer; its metallic skin shows the pallor of death.

The metaphor is fitting. The passing moment of regret from killing the fish is redeemed in the eating. The meat of a Dorado is a delicacy: firm and moist, yet flaky. Likewise, snapping a photo is redeemed months or years later. For those who found themselves in that time and place, the photos tickle dormant neurons, bringing back the sights, sounds, smells and exhilaration of the moment. Yet perhaps the image is a crutch, something to show our friends and family, to relieve us the duty of describing in full account the moment encased in that frame.

My most beautiful memories have no pictures.

The Chief (El Jefe)

2009-04-08T21:15:00.004-06:00

The Chief is a massive rock face that towers over the town of Squamish, BC. The rock face and surrounding boulder fields are a mecca for world-class climbers who travel to scale the massive face and tackle smaller challenges in the surrounding area.

Polek is a climber, and he gave me a tour of the area. He mentioned one route in particular, called the Dreamcatcher, which was first climbed by Chris Sharma several years ago. We scrambled the boulders up to the route, and saw the carabiners left in place from the climb. The line is ludicrous. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, to hold onto. The initial pitch alone is a sheer face--it'd be like trying to climb the dining room wall using the texture sprayed on before the paint.

I also recommend this video which I stumbled across while viewing the previous clip. It's pretty amazing as well, if you've got a couple minutes.

Though the climbers made my efforts seem somewhat mundane, we did hike to the top of the Chief. The hike, known as the Stairmaster, was very steep and involved a fair bit of scrambling, but the view from the top was spectacular.

Polek, Garibaldi Peak in the background.

I scared myself silly doing this--that crevasse would treat my body like a pinball for about 500 feet before it got completely wedged. But seeing the mountains on the opposite side of the valley upside-down while so precariously perched was quite a trip. Check out the size of the cars below to gain perspective.

Seated on the edge of nothing.

I threw a bunch of snowballs down--average fall time was 7-9 seconds. You do the math.

Fall time was 7-9 seconds for other things as well.

Cool perspective shot by Polek.

Brandyw(h)ine

2009-04-08T00:36:00.005-06:00

It was a long day, by the end of which Polek and I were spectacularly slap-happy and so completely exhausted that I fell asleep at 6:30pm trying to watch "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" (my quest to watch the trilogy in three days, needless to say, failed).

There were plenty of early signs it was going to be a trying adventure. The crusty, grouchy miser in charge of collecting the day fee for the parking lot really cheesed me off--not that irritating me at 7:00am is difficult--but this guy really rubbed me the wrong way. Polek had to deal with him to keep me from getting my car towed.

Then I had to take an emergency dig. Blissfully, there was plenty of snow around (thank you natural alternatives to toilet paper!), but doing a 2 minute wall-sit in a mossy tree well with your pants around your ski boots isn't the most auspicious way to start any adventure.

The chafing started around the same time as the hunger pangs and the realization that I'm not in nearly good enough shape to be undertaking massive 10-hour, 2500 vertical foot treks with a 20lb pack and no hope of a quick and painless ski-out. It was a really unfortunate chafe, the one that makes you pick from the following a) keep your self esteem and cherish the sensation of having a sheet of sandpaper wedged amisdst your buttocks or b) a humiliating-duck waddle that would be cause for any self-respecting human to give a prompt "about face" and head down.

The blister on my right heel started about an hour later, and though it wasn't painful enough to eclipse the burning of The Chafe, came close. Oh, I nearly forgot. Both my hip flexors were incredibly sore as well, something that usually happens when I skin. (Vocab check: Skins are something one puts on the bottom of skis to stop them from sliding backwards. They make skis a much faster and more efficient form of transport than the other thing that lets you walk across the snow: snowshoes. Plus you get to ski out.)

Salt in the wound: snowmobiles. More on these irritating contraptions later, but suffice it to say that it isn't good motivation to have some punk-ass snowboarder with baggy pants whizzing by at 40mph and spraying you with snow while you slowly plod, plod, plod upwards.

Anyway, lunch couldn't come soon enough. I plopped straight on my backside like an indignant 5 year old, and busied myself eating two tortillas with tuna salad, chased by a Snickers and an immense gulp of water. Ah.

After lunch we quickly broke treeline and the woes of the hike in were quickly forgotten. The view was absolutely spectacular. The brilliant sunlight showed the surrounding peaks in all their glory, and I found myself stopping frequently to gaze in wonder at the 360 degrees of beauty in which I found myself. I took pictures until my camera died.

Backseat landing!! Had to give the Pollinator a little grief for this particular splash. If you look closely, you can see Whistler in the background.

Polek broke out the beer at the top--it was a remarkable morale booster. I was a little apprehensive when he told me to close my eyes (thought I'd get pushed over), but then I heard the sweet "chh" of the cap opening. I've drunk beer in worse places.

Tour with a view.

It was the perfect shape!

So the ski/hike out was long and arduous--the spring slush bogged us down making what would have been a 20 minute zip into an hour's slog. But, we made it through ok and got McDonalds ice cream cones to top off a whine-derful day.

Check in the Box

2009-04-03T22:36:00.005-06:00

Tonight I can't even put together a coherent sentence. Since everything I have tried to write in the past 10 minutes has been backspaced into nonexistence, I'm just going to put up a few pictures with the hope that captions will prove manageable.

It would be a blatant lie to say I'm not proud of this picture. I am. This was the last item on my unwritten list of "Things to Jump Off This Season." Paul has seen this particular cliff in person (bottom of Bushrat) and I promised him I would do it before I left. Check. Polek snapped the photo with my wicked new camera!!

P.S. Don't jump cliffs with your sunglasses in your front coat pocket. The pair of sunglasses I found in the gondola several weeks ago were reduced to 8 pieces. Oops.

Whoosh.

This is Polek jumping off a cliff in Spanky's. It took me about 10 minutes to get into position for this shot because I had to bootpack up underneath the cliffband. Polek and I each hit this cliff several days ago, and he really wanted a photo of it, so we came back.

What for a Tuesday

2009-04-01T17:48:00.002-06:00

I have never seen Whistler look so beautiful as it did Tuesday morning. Poleck and I got up the mountain just as the sun was cresting over the Horstman Glacier. The 10cm of snow that fell overnight was followed by brilliant blue skies, and the morning sunlight was fitting of a Warren Miller ski film.

Skiing down to Pakalolo, I had one of those moments that will last a lifetime--the snow was consistent and grippy, perfect conditions to make those huge fast sweeping turns that send powder arcing to the side, instantly turning golden in the sunlight. It was one of those rare moments when I was able to ski the way I picture myself skiing, the way I would want to ski if someone were filming. Fortunately, I have no photos of the day, and forgetting my camera was an excellent accidental decision. The pictures would have been a cheap imitation at best.

Spankys is a gonzo dream. Three bowls, each as steep as the next, a veritable patchwork of rocks, cliff bands, narrow chutes, straightlines, cornices and trees. The lines you can ski are limited only by your "skier's vision" and guts. The morning cold kept the snow light and fast, before the sun could warm it to a heavier paste. We made two laps, stopping briefly to jump a cliff I've been eying all season (PMN: it's the big one to skiers left of Paul's cliff near the top of the bootpack).

In the afternoon we headed to Whistler. The most memorable (and scary) event was watching a skier fall down Air Jordan. Air Jordan is a highly technical double-stage cliff drop. Skiers enter from the top, and jump a 25 foot cliff onto a small patch of snow, the only exit from which is jumping a 40-foot cliff below. A fall on the first stage sends the skier tomahawking at top speed over the lower cliff band. The skier jumped the first cliff, but was bucked to the side. Losing a ski, he flipped twice before falling 20 feet onto a vertical rock face and bouncing off the rocks onto the snowfield below. It was brutal to watch, but thankfully he was OK.

It was one of the best days of the season, and also my last day at Surefoot. My visa expired yesterday, so I had to stop working. That means the month of April will be dedicated to a) skiing and b) all those things I've been meaning to do but haven't had time to accomplish.

Flute Cliff Sesh

2009-03-27T01:38:00.008-06:00

Polek and I hiked Flute and stumbled across a cliff so fun and zesty that we just had to spent the entire morning hitting it. We set a boot pack and took turns photographing each other, each hitting the cliff 4-5 times. Consensus opinion was 20 feet, but we eventually decided the size was irrelevant. It was "honest."

The photos are not so honest. The light was pretty flat, so I spent an hour of my life playing around with photoshop to give them a little more punk and spice. Blow 'em up for the full experience.

Polek.

Sunset? Or is it....

Polek, sending.

Photoshop autofix gave me these colors. I went with it. Me.

Me.

R.I.P., R.I.P

2009-03-25T20:21:00.005-06:00

Rest In Peace (alt. Rip In Pants)

Nine short years ago I purchased a pair of Bonfire snowboarding pants on clearance in a Grand Junction store during the annual family spring break exodus to Powderhorn. More accurately, my parents bought me the pants, my 14 year-old checkbook not being flush with cash. Since that day, those trusty pants have since seen me through nearly a decade of many (mis)adventures. First, they watched over my sorry wet tuckus during a 6 year stint of snowboarding. That era over, the seat of the old pants already worn from years of the snowboard butt-check, I switched back to skiing and began to trash the cuffs with my razor sharp ski edges. The gashes from the skis cut through the stitching of the lower leg, and the pants developed a habit of gathering snow between the layers of fabric, so that when I walked into the lodge I could make about 4 snowballs from the snow encased inside my pants. And, as I sat eating my lunch, the snow would melt, soaking my socks and boots and allowing them to freeze into solid blocks of ice by the end of the day. Thanks to my wonderful aunt Denise and her excellent skills as a seamstress, this problem was solved for several years. After the stitching failed (again) I resorted to duct-tape to see me thorough my junior and senior years of college. Finally, this season, I ironed on some cambrelle in place of the duct tape, which, remarkably, has held out thus far. But, all good things must come to an end.

Yesterday I went skiing with Manuel, Sievert and Domenic. We had a great day riding Blackcomb's secret tree stashes. Unfortunately, I got a little too cozy with one tree in particular. We found a sweet snow stash off of one run...tons of pillows and drops and we were the first people to ski it. The second time in, I came shooting in to the trees when some sadistic druid hit me in the left quad with a baseball bat. Or that's what it felt like. Domenic, Manuel and Sievert were just up ahead and kept asking why I was howling like a birthing hippopotamus. I groaned some profanities and hobbled over to their location, cursing the low-lying tree branch I hadn't seen. Looking down, I realized that the branch had torn and ruined my pants. I finished the day with the ripped pants, and repaired the damage with more duct tape to get me through the season. With any luck, I'll get a full decade out of the old tried-and-true pantalones.

Demolition of the pants.

This is a picture of the most incredible phone in the world. It was in the pocket that got demolished by the tree branch (which was the diameter of a baseball bat). When I pulled it out of my pocket, it was bent at a 30 degree angle. I was sure it was spent. After pulling out the battery, and bending it flat (with a disconcerting "crack"), it works as well as the day I bought it. Unbelievable.

Demolition of the leg, 30 hours post-impact. I can't imagine what this would look like if my phone hadn't been in my pocket to protect me.

A Storm and a Swarm

2009-03-22T19:29:00.012-06:00

It took some convincing to get blog entries out of P and M. Nat was down from the getgo. Although it took some persistence to get text squeezed out of them, I'm glad I had help portraying the sheer excellence of the previous week. I simply can't cram such a frenzy of excitement and activity into a three-inch column.

PM and N took to Whistler like ducks to water. Not only did they immediately earn the affection and respect of my 15 housemates, they were never treated as guests in this house. From the moment they arrived, they were as much a part of our community as I am. On top of that, they skied the mountain in true style and left no gnarly lines untouched. I take no responsibility for any of the three dropping out of school and moving to Canada. None whatsoever.

They also picked a good week to come. During the EXACT 7 days PMN skied Whistler, the resort received this much snow:

149 cm
1.49 meters
4.88 feet
.815 fathoms
58.7 inches
14900000000 Angstroms
.0074 furlongs
14.67 hands

Hands down it was the best week of the season.

Paul left his poles on the car overnight...the straps froze.

Our last day, I took everyone into lower VD trees, a steep tree run accessed by a somewhat questionable goat's path and a 5 minute hike. After finally arriving above a steep, powdery pitch, we couldn't find Natalie.

Turns out her crappy Salomon binding had magically made itself two sizes too big, and would no longer hold her boot in. (Something it took a large flathead screwdriver to fix). The solution?

Natalie falling/rolling/somersaulting down a steep tree run.

Then, I gave her one of my skis and skied to the lift bottom on one leg. Skiing on one leg turned out to be hugely entertaining and one of the day's highlights.

Mix-n-Match skis

If you blow up this picture and look closely, you will find me and my one-leggedness.

I've been waiting all season for the right day to hit these cliffs. It's a bit intimidating because the lift line of 200+ people has a direct view of the cliff band. So if you wipe out, everybody goes "oohhh." (not in a good way). My track is the lone one down the middle.

And How Many Flights Must a Man Postpone...

2009-03-20T20:58:00.004-06:00

....Before he can journey home.

Guest author: Paul

Everyone knows us pretty well at the Surefoot shop by now. We trudge in through the front door every morning and make ourselves right at home, tossing our ski gear into the corner, acting like we work there or something. "The Fam"(Paul, Madeline, and Natalie that is)has become something of a permanent three-sided fixture in the back of the shop, an obstacle that is always moving yet always in the way. In the morning we arrive tired with plenty of gear, and in the afternoon we return wet, tired, and with plenty of gear. Usually, Andrew finds some way to hook us up with free gear and solve the baffling foot problems that plague the Sprowell-Geise crew. For Madeline, it was two hours of work and a free $235 custom foot orthotic, a free $200 liner and 1.5 hours of labor at $1/min. Unfortunately for Natalie, we had no throwaway orthotics in her size.

The back of the shop needs a little explanation for the full effect, so I will do my best to provide you with my impression while still maintaining the inherent "bro" vibe that defines a Whistler boot fitting company only too well. To reach the "Employee only" zone of Surefoot, one must squeeze around a hairpin corner laden with shoes, jackets, and other miscellaneous ski gear that has accumulated from a lot of people who came to ski Whistler and never even bothered to come back to get their shoes (I think most are customers, but it is frightening to imagine the number of employees they have lost to the inevitability of ski-bumming). Around the corner, the cabinets are overflowing with ski boots, liners, and bits and pieces of soon-to-be custom orthotics, but the work zone is narrow and surprisingly tidy considering the less than hard-working mindset of most of the employees. There are always more employees in the back of the shop than there are helping customers, so it isn't surprising that the unwelcome threesome can never find solitude. After hours, the dudes and dudettes of the Surefoot Bootfitting Co. crack out a few alcoholic refreshments and chill man. But don't question the efficiency of the business--orthotics are made, boots are sold, and customers leave satisfied. If you do decide to ask, they are liable to reply, "Hey man, it's Whistler," as if that explains everything.

We have now made several dramatic exits from the Surefoot shop: one on Wednesday, another on Friday, and from the looks of it, again on Saturday. Since now we have postponed our return flight not once, but twice in order to add on three more days shredding the gnarly pow-pow on Whistler's steepest and deepest, we have successfully fooled the entire Surefoot staff into thinking we are gone. For example, as we prepared to leave Whistler forever the second time, the staff wished us the best for our flight home (again), and Andrew's coworker Tim looked particularly pleased as we gathered our soggy gear for the last time: "Have a safe flight home!" He will be glad to see us tomorrow morning.

Pakololo

2009-03-18T22:09:00.006-06:00

Guest Writer: Madeline

Despite Andrew's generally quite spectacular ability to lure unsuspecting siblings and cousin into ridiculously sketchy and most likely death-threatening situations, he has, to this moment anyway, been very trustworthy and helpful. Luckily, Paul, Nat and I have managed to elude one of his death traps, and are all greatly enjoying having a spectacular local guide showing us the best pow on the hill. Today was, of course, another spectacular day on the mountain. Since we skied Whistler yesterday, we decided to hit Blackcomb and head straight to the highest peak to try and catch some fresh tracks. We were shortly joined by one of Andrew's coworkers, French Paul, who we quickly discovered is quite the character. Upholding the reputation of a traditional Whistler local, French Paul is phenomenal skier and we all, Andrew excluded of course, had quite the time trying to keep up with him. Never satisfied with the average lift-accessible run, we decided to traverse a slope and head to the Pakalolo chute, which according to French Paul is "just steep and deep, steep and deep." Always weary of Andrew trying to coax me into suspect situations, and slightly worried by the words of a man who since the age of one, has been skiing the couloirs of France I was a little worried. Nonetheless, I was extremely excited to have some fresh tracks, and decided to follow the advice of Andrew and French Paul. As we headed to the chute, the conditions were quite windy and the visibility extremely poor. As expected, the mouth of the chute was a huge wind-tunnel, which made standing up quite difficult, but also made for a pretty cool experience. Turns out, all my worry was needless, and as usual, Andrew was right--the powder was fantastic, steeps were great, and the experience exhilarating.

Looking up from the Pakololo chute at Natalie.

Me, standing in Pakololo.

Looking down the entrance to the chute, aka wind tunnel. Nearest to farthest: Natalie, Madeline, French Paul.

The Chronicles of Natalie, By Natalie...Guaranteed, Actually.

2009-03-17T20:22:00.003-06:00

Guest writer: Natalie Geise....otherwise known as 'the cousin' at the International House in Whistler, BC.

Today was the usual. Andrew was hucking major, major cliffs. He continually sent himself off twenty foot rock faces and didn't think twice about it. As we were standing a healthy 10 feet away from the massive cornice, Mad and I were saying that someone would have to pay us seriously 16 million bucks to throw ourselves from that ledge. Paul had his jaw dropped watching the feats of his brother. I was shaking my head in awe. Mad was so enthralled a bit of drool was spilling from the sides of her mouth.

Other than watching Andrew's incrediskiing, Paul, Madeline, and I are being spoiled rotten with the amount of powder we ski through every day. I don't know how I'll ever go back to the subpar snow back in Colorado. We skied a run called 'Spanky's' yesterday and were the 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th people to fly down the run. The powder was like none I've ever skied and was probably the best I will ski until I come back here, which better be pretty soon. Some of Andrew's coworkers have thanked us for bringing the snow with us to Whistler because the day we got here was the day it started to puke snow...and it hasnt stopped since :)

I have learned quite a few things during my stay here:
1) I am, no doubtedly, possily THE worst skier on this hill
2) Whistler breeds people to be extremely intense. Psycho intense. Example One: Mad and I were hiking up to 'Spanky's' and were a sustantial bit behind the nearest hiker, Paul. We were both stubbling andd tripping up the mountain and the people behind us were obviously annoyed. Mads even said that some especially frustrated skier yelled, "COME ON, Girls!!!" Thanks for the encouragement! Example two: On St. Patty's day, at the usual resort in America, there would be a lot of weird leprechauns and people in crazy green outfits skiing around making fools of themselves. Not at Whistler. People are down to business here. They fight for the untouched, even if that means sidestepping a holiday (or stepping on two teen girls to get to some hip deep pow)
3) Living in a house with 18 people is quite fun
4) Don't ask about mystery substances in the piles of dishes you wash every night....you probably don't want to know
5) You're laughed at if you have skis that are under 6 inches across in width
6) Never follow Andrew into trees. Never. If you do, be prepared to haphazardly fall into tree wells face first, get knocked in the head by tree branches, do the splits, get closelined by tree trucks, fly off unsuspected cliffs, etc, etc.
7) I am like my sister, Crystal in many ways
8) But most of all, I learned that skiing is the basis of all good times in life

Whistler Blackcomb spring break 2009=yet another adventure to add to the list of the Sprowell-Geise 4.

It's not Andrew swearing in the background.

We had a few difficulties getting the timing right for film.

Adjective-Noun-Verb

2009-03-16T23:29:00.003-06:00

Today was Rad. And we've got the videos to prove it.

Before we jump straight to the video, I've composed a brief dozen phrases to characterize the day. I made these by asking Nat, Paul, and Mads for 12 adjectives, 12 nouns and 12 verbs. I then placed an Adjective Noun and Verb in each phrase in the order they were given (adj #1, noun #1, verb #1). With no further ado...

Today was,

Epic Tree Well Flying
Deep Cornice Sending
Cake-batter Cliff Powder Skiing
Like Really Freaking Fun Huck Eating
Huck-worthy Stomp Sitting
Rad Wipeout Pounding
Fluffy Lineups Feeling the Burn
Face-Shotty Moss Keeping Up
Whoopful Sweat Going Down Stuff that Andrew thinks You Can Do
Holleresque Spankys Getting Yelled at by Locals
Cotton ball-filled Fields of Bliss Getting Intimidated by Freaking Locals
Exhilarating Paul Being the Worst Skier On the Mountain, guaranteed, actually

Hah. The PMN trio is excellent at skiing, and we spent the day on Whistler's most difficult runs. Bushrat, Spankys, Diamond Bowl, Jersey Cream Trees, Seventh heaven trees, the Peak to Peak Trees, etc. It was fantastic! Madeline and Natalie filmed (after some technical difficulties) and we plan to wake up and do it again tomorrow. They're calling for another 25cms of snow by morning...ah, what a life!

Madeline and Natalie struggled with the video...make sure your volume is turned up.

This is a story. I went into great detail describing where the filmer should stand to take this shot. Once everyone was finally in position, Paul and I breezed down. The trees were extremely tight and we only had a small window through which to ski. To my dismay, Natalie, the camerawoman, was standing directly in my path. I had to destroy a small dead tree with my quad to avoid obliterating my cousin from existence.

We skied the natural forest (hasn't been thinned, cleared, cut ever) below the peak to peak Gondola. Paul was killing the tight trees...

Me skiing under the Jersey Cream chair, trying to showcase the powder. Our expert camerapeople held the camera sideways, so you'll have to tilt your head 90 degrees counterclockwise to watch it.

Howl at the Moon: Act 2

2009-03-13T01:02:00.001-06:00

Well, walking home on Sunday night, I noticed that the full moon would come on Monday night. True to form, I walked into the house and scared the bejabbers out of the 6 people sitting at the table by howling at the top of my lungs. I decided we should mark the occasion by having a fire.

"We should have a fire, guys!"
"Where?"
"The deck."
"Nah"
"The driveway?"
"Better..."
"Green Lake!"
"Awesome. I'll buy marshmallows, we'll load the sled with firewood. Who's in charge of paper and matches?"
"Ok, see you all here at 9 tomorrow."

So, in the space of 3 minutes we planned the excursion. Amazingly, almost the entire house turned up for the event, even though it involved a 1/2 mile trudge across a frozen Green Lake through the punchy snow.

We were worried about the legality of having an open fire on a protected lake, so we decided to venture to the far shore of the lake next to the train track. After some postholeing through the trees on the far side of the lake, we found a perfect spot. Enclosed on all sides by trees and invisible from the houses and road on the far shore, this small circle in the trees was picturesque.

The moon lit the scene bright as day, and we couldn't have asked for a prettier spot amongst the tree shadows cast across the snow. We sat for hours roasting marshmallows, sipping our drinks and chatting. Slowly, our numbers dwindled to a last 5 survivors who rounded out the night by burying the fire in the newly melted 3 foot hole in the snow. We picked up our trash (Leave No Trace) and then chased each other across the lake, tackling another person at any opportunity.

Lounging by the fire. Actually, I had to lie uncomfortably close to the fire so the light would illuminate my face. (The pictures never look as romantic with the flash on) So close, in fact, that I singed my eyelashes in the effort. It made them much more noticeable.

Manuel's handiwork--tying the sled to my roof rack.

Crossing Green Lake, firewood and marshmallows in tow.

The train cruised by. It reminded me of that children's book about the Christmas train that comes at night across the snow...can't remember the title.

The gang, living it up around our (exceptionally well-built) fire.

Delicious Eats and Bagel Treats

2009-03-04T01:37:00.004-07:00

I seem to have a penchant for cutsie blog titles that rhyme. If an entry has a boring, non-poetic title, it's probable that I sat staring at a blank screen for fifteen minutes before throwing in the towel and posting the lame-sauce one.

Last night was Rico's going away party. You may remember that Rico was one of the very first people I met here in Whistler, and the coincidence of our meeting may have been the best thing to happen to me in this crazy town. Unfortunately, he hurt his back and isn't able to ski at all, so I can't blame the man for leaving. It is extremely disappointing, however, because he is one of the most interesting people in my day to day existence, the life of the party, and a very genuine guy.

I was so moved by his leaving that I spent 5 minutes writing a song in his honor, which I sang at the going away party. It's funnier if you know him, I suppose, but I'm putting it up nonetheless. A few things to know: he's the house manager, so he collects rent and makes sure the cleaning etc. gets done; he makes lots of soup and banana bread; and he always naps from 6-8 pm then can't sleep at night.

Anyway, at around 3:30am Manuel, Kim, Lissie and I found ourselves craving pizza. Since getting someone to deliver pizza can be problematic at 4 am, we decided instead on bagels. Having Manuel (He's mexican) around the house is awesome for a number of reasons. Most importantly, I get to practice my Spanish and learn Mexican slang, but he has also introduced me to a number of tasty Mexican foods to which I am already addicted. Mysteriously, the level in my Valentina bottle has been dropping much faster since he moved in...

Dish 1: Bagel with cream cheese and jalapeños. At 4 in the morning, there's nothing so good as ruthlessly and methodically burning one's mouth and esophogeal tract with canned mexican jalapenos on a bagel with cream cheese. I'm not talking about the sliced pickled jalapeños, but some funky mexican variety that come in a small can with carrots.

Dish 2: Of my own invention. Toast a bagel. Place 3 slices of tomato across it. Squeeze 1/2 avocado onto the tomatoes, and mash down. Cover liberally with lime juice (crucial!) and large-grain salt (mexico style). Next, put crumbled blue cheese atop the avocado and re-apply lime juice. Repeat for other half of bagel.

I know those recipes may sound like something only I'd eat(a certain person I know called me Dagwood for this tendency), I recommend you try it.

Snowlellujah!!

2009-02-27T14:23:00.006-07:00

Well, Mother Nature really came through on this one. The 30cm of heavy wet snow was immediately followed by the same volume of light, fluffy Colorado-esque powder. It was far and away the best day of the season. It was anywhere from knee to stomach deep, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that I was making turns with snow flowing over both shoulders. In addition, the light snow on top of the heavy snow plus a bluebird day on Thursday made for perfect "sending" weather. People were jumping off 30-40 foot cliffs with no hesitation. Oh what fun.

I've always been envious of those photos in the Ski magazines where the snow is so deep all you see is two ski poles and the top of a helmet. I've come to realize, however, the only reason there isn't a photo of me in snow that deep is that I don't have a friend with a $7,000 camera and the willingness to sacrifice ridiculously deep powder turns for a photo. It actually doesn't take that much snow to get a shot like that, but to nail the photo it takes a camera which can snap many frames in a matter of seconds. So I take consolation in the fact that although I have no proof of these powder-swallowing endeavors, I too have known that feeling.

Basically what I'm saying is that for all intents and purposes, this photos was taken of me.

Actually it was taken of Johnny Law, a sponsored ripper and Whistler local who happens to work for Surefoot. Photo was taken by professional ski photographer Jordan Manley.

Snow??

2009-02-24T19:20:00.002-07:00

Well, it finally snowed again. It basically hasn't snowed since mid-January, and Febuary has felt like March is supposed to. Matter of fact, today was the first day in almost three weeks that hasn't improved my all-too-impressive goggle tan. I'm not exaggerating when I say that we've had three weeks of beautiful bluebird days, not a cloud in the sky. It's all been rather depressing...watching the little snowpack we have recede closer to the dismal state of November when the resort opened sporting a 30cm base.

But all that's behind us now, I hope, until April . The past two days have brought 40 cm of heavy coast-range snow to Whistler. The snow made for excellent skiing near the peak where colder temperatures made face shots and cliff drops plentiful. Lower down, the storm turned to rain later yesterday and the snow was very heavy.

Thank you sir, may I have another?

Lonely Lonely Hot Pot

2009-02-22T11:49:00.004-07:00

Friday was spectacular. I met up with Poleck at 8:15 at the Whistler gondi and we skied Peak to Creek with Adrienne to kick off the day. It was the first time I'd skied with Adrienne, and she just got a pair of B-squads (fat, very stiff, very fast). My Gotamas also like to charge, and Poleck rides a pair of 193 planks (long, stiff, fast), so we were really booking down the freshly groomed runs.

As it turns out, the cat drivers at Whistler have a bit of a sense of humor. The top section of Peak to Creek was fresh cord, so we were flying. There are about 6 steep pitches, punctuated by small flat sections. On a day like Friday, when the run is empty and freshly groomed, there's only one way to ski it. It sounds like this:

"Crrrrrrshrrrrrrshrrrr.....(silence).....Crrrrshrrrshrrrrrrr...(silence)....Chrrrshcrrrrschrrrr"

So that translates to "bigfastturns...airtime....bigfastturns....airtime." Super fun.

Anyway, Poleck was flying, and I mean flying. He came off the last roller and nearly cleared the entire pitch, landing about 40 feet below the lip. Midair, he realized that the lower section of peak to creek was ungroomed, which left him with two unpleasant options: fly straight into the mogul field doing mach chicken, or veer left onto a catwalk. He opted for the latter, and would have suceeded had his bindings not failed, sending him flying off a snowbank and rolling to a stop off the side of the run.

After charging all morning, we took a break for Caesars (the canadian bloody mary--delicious) and lunch at Dustys. After lunch Poleck and Adrienne headed home and I skied the rest of the day alone.

I had been contracted as cab driver to take Helle's parents and brother to the airport for an amount of money that I'm somewhat ashamed to admit (Helle's father insisted on paying me the rate that a cab would charge) so I picked them up from the hotel at 5pm. After running into some horrendous traffic at Lions Gate I got them to the airport hotel around 8pm, said farewell and went to find some asian food. I'd been fantisizing about sushi the whole way down and I was starving. There was a plethora of asian restaurants near the hotel, so I walked into one that looked busy and asked for a table.

Those of you who have been to a hot pot restaurant will probably be laughing at my naivetee right about now, but I was hungry and wanting to try something new. The hostess at the first restaurant told me "Sorry, we have no tables for one." Dejected, I walked back to the street and tried another restaurant, called "Sun Tung Kee" which was slightly less busy. The host looked suprised when I said I was alone (Yeah, I'm a loser, I get it already!) and said "Perhaps you'd like to see the menu before you sit down?" I consented and he led me to a booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant, leaving me with the menu and a lot of questions.

Basically you start by ordering what they call a "soup base." This is served in a giant vat which rests on a boiler in the middle of the table. Then you choose from various entrees which are served raw. These entrees are to be placed in the vat of boiling soup, cooked, and eaten on the spot. Within 5 minutes, I found myself faced with apporximately four liters of boiling soup, an intimidating platter of raw chicken, 12 assorted meatballs of unknown origin, four dipping sauces of unknown constitution, several ladles, a small plate and a pair of chopsticks.

Sweet.

It became quickly obvious why the hotpot restaurant was reuctant to serve singles. It is quite a social affair. After uncerimoniously dumping the meatballs and chicken into the soup vat, I sat in silence and waited for them to cook. It really was an outing suited for the company of the PM and Nat crowd. With someone else to share the hilarity of the situation I might have ventured to order any number of the dishes not containing the words "chicken." Even by my lonesome the experience was quite pleasant. I think the entire restaurant staff felt pity for me, because they all stopped by at least twice during my meal to chat, fill my tea, adjust the temperature of the burner to keep the soup from boiling over, or ask if it was too cold in my lonely corner and would I like the thermostat turned up.

The waitress gave me a business card for the restaurant, telling me to stop by one of the other two locations next time I'm in Hong Kong.

World Class Lugers

2009-02-22T11:12:00.003-07:00

Around two o'clock on Saturday, two athletic-looking young men walked into Surefoot wearing Canadian Luge Team vests. Knowing the Viessman World Cup Luge finals were that same day, I asked them "Hey, don't you guys have somewhere to be right now?" "Not until five," they replied.

Long story short, one of the athletes named Jeff Christie needed ski boots. Fitting his boots was dead easy. For instance, to scan the foot to make the orthotic, the ankle has to been in the "neutral" position. Since the neutral position is not the normal position for most people's feet, it is difficult to hold the foot in neutral. Normally, I put the foot in neutral, have the person put equal weight on both feet and securely hold the knee to keep the foot from collapsing when they shift their weight. They simply aren't strong enough to hold their foot in that position when the foot is weighted. Wih an athlete like Jeff, it's a different story. I put his foot in neutral once, and it stayed there, rock solid. On consecutive scans he put his foot in neutral without me having to do anything. I find that most athletes, even non-professional ones, have a much better awareness of their bodies than non-athletes.

Jeff was a very nice guy, and incredibly attentive. He followed all my directions to a "T" and it made things run very smoothly. After he put the boots on he looked like a kid in a candy shop. He even commented "to heck with the race, lets go skiing now!" Presumably, he's out having the time of his life today.

When I walked to the till to have Jeff pay for his boots, Sam was trying to figure something out in the POS. At this point it was around 3:30pm. He said, "it'll only be a moment," to which I quickly replied "yeah, it's ok. These guys don't have a World Cup event in 1.5 hours or anything." Sam quickly rescinded control of the computer, and Jeff said "I guess it's not too often you get to use that line!" Too true.

I got off work at 3:40 with full intention of going to see the race and cheer on my boy. However, around 4:30 I felt absolutely miserable and ended up taking a much needed two-hour nap instead. I'm a little under the weather today as well which is the only reason I'm not skiing as we speak. It's a huge bummer to miss a day of skiing, but there is snow in the forecast for next week so I need to get healthy, fast.

I looked up the race results and Jeff finished 13th out of 30 athletes, .89 seconds behind the leader. 5 of the top 7 spots were taken by Germany, and the top three finishers were Germany, Italy, Germany. Full results are available at www.fil-luge.org.

Arg...I'm turning right!

2009-02-17T22:59:00.002-07:00

Well, the long weekend has made for a frantic couple of days and long hours at work. In fact, I haven't worked this hard since Christmas. No, let me rephrase. I haven't worked hard since Christmas. In fact, prior to yesterday, I occupied 20% of my time at work playing a version of Scrabble someone downloaded to the back computer. Consequently, having the shop crammed full of people was quite a shock. Quite a shock indeed.

I've gotten in the habit of arriving in the village every morning by 8:00am (shocking, I know) whether or not I'm working. That way, even if I have a 10-6 shift I can catch 2-3 hours of skiing in the morning before work and wear the corduroy off the hill before the tourists rouse themselves. As a result of my new routine I'm logging many more ski days that I was during December/January when my working, sleeping, and partying were only occasionally punctuated by ski days. I think today was my ninth consecutive day of skiing.

Anyhow, you'll be wondering about the title.

French Paul was the first to notice. He was giving me some tips for telemark and commented on a very unusual and characteristic feature of my skiing. I wish I had a photo but, had i waited for a photo of this particular phenomenon, I would probably never get around to writing about it.

So Paul was at the bottom of a hill watching me me make my very best tele turns. I pulled to a stop at the bottom and he said "Hey Captain Hook!" Apparently, when I turn right, my left elbow floats skyward, pushing my arm into a hook-like shape. lIt happens most often when I tele, but it was quickly noted by my peers when the trait carried over into the alpine arena. I'm starting to take note of it and keep my elbow next to my side, but sometimes it gets away from me and lurches skyward, unbidden. This has earned me a lot of flak. A lot of flak indeed. Typical comments include "Hello Captain Hook," "Yargh matey," "I'm a ski pirate, arg," and "Yarg...I'm turning right. Turning left. Yarg, I'm turning right. Turning left. Yarg, I'm turning right!"

Corona

2009-02-13T18:13:00.004-07:00

No, it's not the beer. It's the skiing! Today Sam, Paul and I hiked out to Corona bowl to find some fresh tracks. It was a beautiful sunny day and the mountains were spectacular. Since I had a camera I got to ski the line first and Paul and Sam followed.

The very tight linked tracks through the middle are mine. Sam and Paul opted for bigger turns. I counted and I think the ratio was 17:4.

Here are a few more photos. The full-size versions are much more interesting to view, so click!

Sam

Paul

World Cup Bobsled 2009

2009-02-06T23:34:00.002-07:00

Today was installment #2 in my introduction to the 2010 olympics--the 2 man bobsled. I jetted work a couple hours early and headed up to the Sliding Center to watch the race with Rico and Mette. Inexplicably, once we arrived at the entrance we were informed that tickets were only available in the village. A 5 minute car ride later we were informed that tickets were sold out.

Well. I don't take no for an answer that easily.

With no further ado, we ventured back to the sliding center and schemed to sneak into the event. This involved several crafted lies by yours truly, a bushwack/posthole through the woods, a nonchalant walk, and a quick skip/jump that forced me to jump into the bobsled track itself and over a fence while the security guards' backs were turned. It was quite a rush, I must say.

Mette and Rico didn't brave the jump into the bobsled track so I ended up by my lonesome for the event.

It was really neat. The track is much smaller than I imagined, so it was easy to get a fantastic view of the sleds. On the banked corners, the far side of the track was probably only 10 feet away from the viewing area, and the sled would whip past with a massive rumble right at eye level. I took several video documentaries to save myself typing a drawn-out entry. I hope you enjoy them!!

So the Germans took first, the Swiss second, and the Canadians placed 3rd and 4th. All in all it was well worthwhile, and next year when I watch the olympics I'll be able to say "I was there once."

Employee Ski Day

2009-01-30T00:07:00.004-07:00

Ok, sorry for the lapse in entries. However, I had an incident involving an external hard drive and all of my photos (ugh...) so I'm starting from scratch. I was planning to post a few pics of my new skis (thanks mom and dad!), a couple videos, etc, which for the moment is unavailable.

Unpleasantries aside, today was spectacular. Using money from the occasional cash sale and tips, we bought "First tracks" tickets and the whole shop went for a day of skiing. It was spectacular. In spite of a serious snow deficit (whistler, I've discovered, is a snow vacuum) we had a blast. Again, I think pictures tell the story well, so here they are.

Umm, Whip cream and hot chocolate, I think.

Early morning gondola ride.

Attempt at creative photography.

Matt, Dave.

Matt stomps a log drop.

The good life

2009-01-14T00:00:00.002-07:00

Three unknown snowboarders, livin' the dream. Top of 7th heaven chair, Blackcomb mountain.

Crazy Whistler Cloud Photos

2009-01-12T20:57:00.004-07:00

I snowboarded for the first time this season. It was fun, but not particularly noteworthy. In fact, I don't know that I'll snowboard again for the rest of the season. I simply find that on any given run in any given conditions, I'd rather be on my alpine skis. They are more versatile, more fun, and I'm better at it. Ok, now that's out of the way, I'd like to mention that Whistler has the strangest weather/cloud patterns I've ever seen. This makes for excellent photo opportunities.

Today, it was raining and overcast in the village, and a brilliant sunny day at the peak. Somewhere in between rested a layer of clouds which made for some pretty cool light/cloud interactions. Several times I found myself frantically scrambling for my camera, not wanting the opportunity to pass. I'm no photographer, but here's what came of my desperate-pocket searching. As always, click to see the full-size image. Also of note, if you ever see a photo you'd like to keep, use as a desktop background, etc., open the full-size image, right click on the photo, and select "save as." You can then save the photo to any location on your hard drive and have it to keep.

This photo was taken at the top of the Creekside gondola. It looks like a black and white picture, but in fact this was taken in color.

Around 3pm the clouds and the sun conspired to make a hologram-like formation that was quite breathtaking. The photos, as usual, fail to capture the full effect.

See above caption, these two shots were taken in sequence.

Michael, my housemate, taking in the view of Blackcomb mountain.

Second shot in the Creekside gondola sequence.

Goings-on

2009-01-11T18:47:00.003-07:00

While I haven't found anything particularly noteworthy about which to write lately, I'm sure there's a few new things in my life. So, I'm simply going to start writing and see what comes out.

Today was day three of my four-day mini-vacation. For some reason, the schedule worked out that I've got 4 straight days off. This is fantastic because I've had three excellent days of skiing and I think I'm going to snowboard for the first time this season tomorrow (gasp!).

The avalanche conditions are the worst they've been since 1976, the result of an ice layer underlying the snowpack which can rip off at any moment. This layer is buried so deeply that it will persist for the duration of the season, becoming problematic again in the springtime when melting snow lubricates the sliding surface. Unfortunately, this means that almost half of the terrain on the resort is closed, un-skiable, or out-of-bounds. Agh. Also it means that any backcountry travel is extrememy hazardous, which further limits the amout of skiable terrain. This is frustrating because I left Colorado to avoid unstable continental snowpack conditions, and this year and this year only, Whistler is worse than good old CO.

The good news is we're still finding good snow and having a great time. I laughed harder this morning than I have in a long time, compliments of Dave, Paul, Tanya, Tara, and Tim.

I successfully replicated dad's amazing chili. (Insert pat on the back here.)

I bent my skis. Both of them. Basically when i put the skis together, the tips bend backwards starting about a foot above the binding. Essentially I've created a mini-rocker on my ARVs. That's the bad news. The good news is now they double as a mogul, park, powder, and rock ski, and I used my birthday money to buy a new ski/binding setup. (Volkl Gotama 183 cm, Jester binding.)

So that turned out sounding somewhat negative, but in reality life is good. My house is great, my roomates are awesome, and I'm having the time of my life. Here's a few more pics from the last couple days.

Sidestepping up to ski a covert tree run on Whistler mountain. The snow was fantastic in here today, so we skied the run three times. This ascent was kind of cool--the path was hardly wide enough so your skis would stick off the edge.

The Danish eat their cheeseburgers with a knife and fork. I find this ridiculous beyond all sense of reason (and told them so) but if you travel to Denmark, bring some utensils.

This is the view from the peak-to-peak gondola, looking at blackcomb mountain. I realize as I type this caption that I may have already posted this pic, but oh well.

View of whistler mountain over a frozen Green Lake.

A Face-shot a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

2009-01-05T23:33:00.005-07:00

Epic, sensational, unreal. Today was a spectacular day of skiing. Today I learned that I ski with my mouth wide open. I learned that today because I spent all morning coughing mouthfuls of snow out of the gaping orifice which occupies the lower third of my face. And no, it wasn't because I did a double-heel ejection header into a 4 foot drift (although I did). Rather, it was a result of back to back to back to back runs during which my face averaged more contact with snow than it did with air.

Whistler reported 35cm of snow at mid-mountain, almost all of which fell between the hours of 2pm-10pm last night. 35cm doesn't actually sound like that much, but whoo! It was enough. My day started at 5:30 in Dave's pickup headed to make First Tracks. We rode the gondola at 7:30 with several hundred other powder fiends, ate a huge buffet breakfast of sausage, bacon, eggs, granola, pastries, orange juice, and pancakes faster that I thought humanly possible, and waited for the go-ahead to shred.

By 1pm my legs felt like Jell-o. I had to take the cat-track down--I simply couldn't safely make a real turn to save my life. It was an amazing feeling. Unfortunately neither myself nor my friends could be bothered to snap a photo of me buzzing hip-deep down powder lines, so there are no photos of skiing. But I did take advantage of the down time on the lifts to snap a few photos which I hope you'll enjoy.

That, believe it or not, is my assistant manager. It's 6:15 am and he's crammed in the backseat of a pickup, gondola-bound.

The mob, waiting to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting powder. Behind is the Whistler alpine, which is not yet open because of severe avalanche hazard. The day the alpine opens, it will be neck-deep. I will be there. When they dropped the rope it was total chaos: crashes, cursing, anger, war whoops. I really really wish I'd been taking video--it'd have been hysterical.

Reflective lenses are BA.

Whistler alpine, shrouded in clouds. View from Red Chair.

Powdah....It's like Chowdah' for your FEET!

2009-01-04T21:17:00.003-07:00

Today the sky got queasy, felt naseous, and PUKED on Whistler. In fact, it's still snowing very, very hard. I dug my car out from underneath 10" of the lightest fluff (I have yet to see the heavy snow everyone keeps talking about), and had to put chains on my tires for only the third time since being here.

By the time I had finished clearing the snow from the windows, the windshield already had about an inch of new snow. It was ridiculous. Unfortunately, the driveway at deerhorn place is relatively massive. After shoveling for an hour, Rico and I finally cleared all the snow, only to find that several inches had fallen in the meanwhile and we had to shovel the first part all over again. Rico had shoveled 2 hours previously, to boot.

As the aussies would say "Tomorrow is meant to be epic." I'm planning on an early morning. Whistler has a program called "First Tracks," which lets the first 650 people in the gondola line up the hill for the first run down. There is a huge buffet-style breakfast, and then you get to cruise down the mountain for untouched turns, then jump back on the gondola before the masses to get a second, epic run.

This means I'll have to get up around 5:30, so my bedtime was half an hour ago. See you bright and early!

A few photos

2009-01-02T22:27:00.003-07:00

Well I've now got a camera (Thanks crystal!), so here's a few photos I snapped today.

This is me, standing on Whistler at the top of the Garbanzo lift. Blackcomb mountain is the backdrop for this pic. I have drawn a black arrow pointing to DOA, the chute I skied a week ago with some friends from the shop. Unfortunately, the avalanche danger is super-high so it'll be a while before we are able to ski it again. Click to enlarge.

Riding the chairlift on blackcomb mountain with some friends.

Breakfast of Champions, and those who know they won't eat another meal until 4pm when the lifts close.

Yours truly at 8am, feeling loaded after eating said breakfast of champions.

Happy New Year

2008-12-31T21:55:00.002-07:00

I received my parents' christmas card in the mail today and was pleased to find a plug for my blog in the midst of the news about my family. Powder and work, however, have conspired to make my blog entries increasingly sporadic, so I thought I'd update for those who may be first timers.

I'm living in Whistler BC, working as a bootfitter at Surefoot, and skiing every spare moment. Currently, it is peak season and Whistler is working its tail off to ensure that all the tourists have absolutely no trouble spending every dime they've got during their vacation. To top of the holiday season, mother nature has decided to give us some much needed snow, at long last.

Today, for instance, has been spectacular--a truly auspicious start to the new year. Some friends and I awoke early to catch the first chair up the mountain to make tracks through the 10-odd inches that fell on Blackcomb mountain last night. It was an incredible morning of skiing--the only time I stopped smiling from 8:30 until 11 was to whoop and holler or wipe snow from my face. Let me illustrate.

The trees under the Jersey Cream chair were seriously wind-loaded. That is to say, the wind had scooped the 10" from other places on the mountain and dumped it in the Jersey Cream trees. So instead of 10" there was 40+ inches. One moment in particular made my day. I was skiing under the lift, trying to find a powder stash I had seen on the ride up. I found the spot with little hassle, and prepared to ski. Upon entry to the small chute I realized there were several large ugly rocks that would "dead-end" my line and wreck my skis. Unable to stop, I jetted sideways through a small gap in two trees and jumped off a small cliff of maybe 4 feet. Basically I was praying there was enough snow coverage on the landing to make this maneouver pay off.

It was the face-shot to end all face-shots. Imagine jumping into a pool of down feathers--you feel the soft, silky white slip underneath your skis, and as you plunge downward a feeling of total weightlessness envelops you. As you descend, this soft blanket covers your head and for a moment everything is dark. Time and space pause allow you to better savor the moment, this single second that fulfills your deepest desires and reaffirms that powder-fever which brought you to Whistler in the first place. Then from the darkness you emerge, reborn. Speeding forwards into the light, golden-silver fluff flying from your jacket and helmet, a breathless whoop escapes your lips and you continue onward, exhilarated as never before.

All that before work.

Best wishes to all for the new year--I hope it treats everyone spectacularly well.

Happy New Year!!

Holly Jolly/The Grinch

2008-12-26T00:42:00.003-07:00

Alternately this christmas has felt like a "Holly Jolly Christmas" and a "Christmas the Grinch stole." By that I simply mean it's been a holiday of ups and downs. Here's a list of each that I'm writing down to get it off my chest.

All things Grinchy

Annie breaking her tibia/fibula while skiing on Christmas day
A seriously bad run of unreasonable customers on Christmas day wanting to return boots leading to Andrew feeling discouraged about his job
The ice scraper in my car won't scrape ice
There is no snow
My skis have no edges even after being tuned--too many rocks
I'm working nine days straight and won't have a chance to ski for over a week
I cut my finger with a razor blade
The 2nd degree steam burn on my wrist
Missing out on Mexico
Living with 17 people and 2 roommates
Hide's alarm clock
The water pipe freezing in the kitchen and having to hand-wash all the dishes
2 in-bounds fatalities at Whistler Blackcomb this season
The Excalibur gondola crash
The recession
A general feeling that the karma in Whistler seriously bites right now

All Things Holly and Jolly

The massive Christmas dinner was a whopping success--pretty much the best time ever
Getting a call from the Mexico crowd on Christmas Eve
Drinking a glass of wine with dinner for the first time in months
I got lots of compliments on my pumpkin pie
Playing guitar every day
Working at a shop with really cool employees
Drinking Irish Coffee at work on Christmas morning
Drinking Rum and Egg Nog at work on Christmas morning
Drinking Brandy and Egg Nog at work on Christmas morning
Making double commission and double wage on Christmas day
Christmas day dinner with Adrienne, Shawn, and Poleck
Playing Band Hero 2 at said dinner (yeah, I've still got it)
Living with 17 awesome people
Getting a Christmas present from Mom and Dad
A forecast that calls for a week of straight snow!!

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....that's my Christmas season.

Christmas Plans

2008-12-24T01:50:00.002-07:00

The deerhorn house is hosting a massive dinner party on Christmas Eve--36 people are expected to show. Granted, 18 of those people live here, but it's still a big deal. Also, the hot-water pipe to the kitchen froze several days ago so we don't have a dishwasher or hot water in the kitchen....we'll see how things go.

Everyone is contributing a food typical of their country, so we'll have Korean, Japanese, Swedish, Danish, German, Australian, , etc. I'm spent part of the evening making several pumpkin pies, and I've seen Swedish meatballs being made, as well as Japanese pudding and a strange dish made from massive amounts of red cabbage (that'll be the German, of course). It should be a fun evening.

Christmas day I've been invited to dinner at Adrienne's house after I get off work, so it'll be two days of feasting for me.

Tomorrow marks the first of 9 straight days of work, including 6 days straight of 8-4 shifts. I'm gonna be worn-out and itching to ski two weeks from now. Hopefully I'll be a little richer too.

Best wishes to all for the holidays!! May the cookies be succulent, the pies symmetrical, the trees dusted with snow, the carols in-tune, and the company cheerful, well-fed, and entertaining.

Merry Christmas to all!

D.O.A.

2008-12-24T01:09:00.004-07:00

In all honesty, the approach to the large couloir affectionately known as D.O.A (Dead On Arrival), was more dangerous than the skiing itself. The 40-minute bootpack to access the out-of-bounds chute ends in what today was a somewhat hairy traverse. Right above the entrance to the couloir, the sun had baked the snow to an ice-slick so firm it was nearly impossible to hold an edge to traverse the 20 feet to safety. Had the consequence of a fall not been a 500 foot slide punctuated by rocks and ice, we probably would have skied across. However, we had to pop off the skis and use our boots to punch through the icy sun-crust to the soft snow below. The three of us, Chelsea, Paul and I, got across safely and clipped into our skis to begin the descent. Paul chose this moment to tell us a story about the ice we had just crossed. He started off "I saw a man die once in this situation. He slip and fell maybe 500 meters down the slope." This, as we're about to enter a couloir named DOA.

I had no intention of skiing hard today. In fact, I slept in till 10, ate a leisurely breakfast and meandered over to the ski hill around noon. I planned on skiing alone for a couple hours, just taking it easy. Imagine my suprise when I showed up at the shop and Paul and Chelsea were ready to shred. So we skied DOA.

Skiing the couloir mandates some caution. The chute isn't all that steep, maybe between 35-40 degrees; nevertheless, a fall is dangerous--it would be easy to slide onto the rocks. Sideslipping is a no-no because the fresh snow can sluff on the lower icy layer and knock you or your companions over. At its narrowest point, the couloir is maybe 8-9 feet wide. Basically you just jump-turn your way through the narrow section until it opens up a little. Overnight wind had deposited about 1-2 feet of snow, which rested on an icy base, making the conditions a little tricky. On any given turn you were thigh-deep or on ice. In other words, it was really fun.

Unbelievable, really. By the time we reached the bottom, the big goofy grin stretched across my face was in danger of becoming permanent. After a week of skiing bulletproof, overcrowded groomers, this reminded me why I love skiing. Ah, it was spectacular!! We had sunny skies and knee deep snow, 20*F on the thermometer and good company.

Gondi-Tastrophe

2008-12-17T21:19:00.003-07:00

Apparently the news of the Blackcomb Gondola crashing to the ground has reached ears around the world, so here's the local account of the story. Tuesday afternoon I was skiing with my boss, Sam. We rode the Blackcomb gondola around 12:00pm and took lifts to the Horstman Glacier near the summit of the peak. From there we hiked for 45 minutes to ski a chute in the Blackcomb backcountry. After descending the chute over wind-crusted quad-burning snow, we took a narrow cat-track back to the frontside. As a side-note: there isn't even enough snow here at the moment to ski to the bottom of the hill. Instead, one must ski to the gondola and ride the lift down. It's severely anti-climactic. Anyway, there was a long line to board the gondola, so we decided to descend to the mid-station of the Blackcomb gondola and download from there.

Skiing the rock-littered descent, although bad for our skis, probably saved us from sitting in a gondola car for upwards of two hours. Basically, one of the lower gondola towers cracked in half. Here is Whistler/Blackcomb's account of the incident. They sent this email to season-pass holders.

WHISTLER BLACKCOMB OPERATIONS TO RESUME FOLLOWING BC SAFETY AUTHORITY SECONDARY INSPECTION

December 17, 2008 – The British Columbia Safety Authority (BCSA), BC’s independent auditor on passenger ropeway systems, has given approval for Whistler Blackcomb to continue regular operations on its mountain lifts, with the exception of the Excalibur Gondola.

“Preliminary inspection by BC safety officers has determined that this was an isolated incident of water contamination in a tower tube which caused a tower joint flange to fail due to ice jacking,” said Greg Paddon, safety manager from the BC Safety Authority. “There is no justification at this time that other installations operating at Whistler Blackcomb have been effected by a similar failure; the BC Safety Authority does not anticipate rescinding operating permits on any lifts currently operating at Whistler Blackcomb other than the upper and lower Excalibur Gondola. Investigation into the incident continues on both the lower and upper Excalibur Gondola; these installations will not return to service December 17, 2008.”

Tuesday afternoon at approximately 2:30pm, a structural failure on tower 4 of the Excalibur Gondola caused the gondola to cease operation. All gondola cabins remained on the line; however a number of the cabins dropped approximately 30 feet with the sagging span, and two cabins hit the ground, injuring several people. Twelve guests were treated at the Whistler Medical Clinic and all walked out on their own accord later that evening. A total of 53 people were evacuated off the affected lower line of the gondola. The evacuation was completed by 5:51pm.

Several factors converged to cause the tower failure. The structure of the tower is such that two parts are spliced together. Water had seeped into the tower which had turned to ice with the recent extreme cold temperatures. The ice build-up caused the tower splice to rupture, an extremely unusual situation referred to as “ice-jacking”. Further investigation by a team of lift manufacturer and independent engineering experts will take place early afternoon today.“

As always, our top priority is for the safety and well-being of our resort guests and employees,” says Doug Forseth, senior vice president of operations. “Whistler Blackcomb delayed opening some of our lifts this morning until the BCSA confirmed our findings from last night. After the work conducted throughout last night by our own lift maintenance team, and a secondary inspection that was completed by the BCSA, access to all our operational lifts, with the exception of the Excalibur Gondola, is expected to be available by midday.”

Following BCSA’s inspection, the following lifts are now clear to open: Emerald Express, Big Red Express and Franz’s Chair, in addition to the Whistler Village Gondola and the Creekside Gondola on Whistler Mountain. Wizard Express, Solar Coaster and Excelerator on Blackcomb. Crews have now moved to the Jersey Cream Express and Glacier Express on Blackcomb and both those are expected to be cleared shortly.

The Excalibur Gondola is a Doppelmayr lift, and was installed in 1994. A world-leader in lift design and manufacturing, Doppelmayr lifts are in operation throughout the world and their safety record is excellent.

Right Foot, Cold Foot, Blue Foot, Oh S*^$

2008-12-16T20:05:00.006-07:00

This week started off on the right foot. Unfortunately, Monday's bitter cold made it near impossible to tell which foot one was standing on, them being completely numb and all. The cold is ironic, actually, considering that for so long we were plagued with warm temperatures that sent rain to the highest elevations of these costal mountains, obliterating the little snowpack we have and sending skiers and snowboarders alike into spiraling waves of depression and negativity. Ironic because, at these temperatures, it's too cold to snow.

Cold and Dark, that's my December. The sun hasn't even seen fit to rise properly like it should. Instead it just lolls indolently amongst the craggy peaks that form the Whistler horizon, like an insolent child who's been sent to his room peering around the door down the hallway to make sure his mother isn't watching. When the sun does decide to show its face, it casts that crisp low-angle light that highlights even the most subtle contours of the slope. The lines between light and shadow are mathematically precise--majesty reduced to numbers. It's as if one were skiing through an Ansel Adams photo revamped in Technicolor and remastered with THX digital surround sound (wwWWWaaaaaAAAAAAAAA). Aesthetics aside, this is no Colorado-esque sunshine that browns the face and whisks away the chill of winter. The warm tones of the orange-tinted light are a clever disguise for the bitter cold of midwinter.

Make no bones about it--December has been cold. It's the kind of cold that crackles when you walk through it, like you're shattering microscopic layers of the finest frozen vapors suspended in the air. It's the kind of cold that makes you wish you could make like Michael Jackson and temporarily relocate your nose to your pocket so that it not be frosbitten into oblivion by the biting wind on the chairlift. It's the kind of cold that makes you second-guess the desire to whiz in the woods--accidents can and will happen after all. Better to head for the lodge to ensure everything runs smoothly. It's the kind of cold that prevents the removal of ski boots pending a 10 minute warming cycle in the restaurant. It's the kind of cold that makes you wish you could grow a beard like Grizzly Adams', instead of one that resembles Havarti cheese (in pattern, not texture). It's the kind of cold that is very, very cold.

Even the cold air has its perks (nipples not excluded), and the cold front has brought remarkably clear air. The visibility from the peak is unparalleled. In all directions, glacier-encrusted peaks yearn skyward, begging to be climbed and skied, pleading to have their avalanches triggered and their crevasses inadvertantly explored, their powder stashes pillaged and their itchy couloirs scratched by the steel edge of a ski. It is little wonder to me that so many young, driven, idealistic young people fall hopelessly in love with these mountains. Litle wonder, indeed. Don't worry though, mom; I'll come home someday.

Glitch

2008-12-13T00:21:00.001-07:00

Ok, I have fixed the glitch with the movies from the "Lawn Aeration" entry, so everyone should be able to view them now. Sorry for the hitch.

Free lawn Aeration???

2008-12-11T13:29:00.005-07:00

One fall day during college, Alex and I were bored. Boredom being a totally unacceptable state of existence, we invented a new sport.

At one point, the Shamrock house had 12 bikes stashed in the garage and on the back porch. Probably 4 of these bikes were in some level of disrepair. With so much raw material, I guess what happened next was probably inevitable. We took an old ski I had salvaged from the trash, and placed it on the ground. The ski kept the forks from burrowing into the soil at takeoff. Then we took the front wheels off two bikes, rested the forks on the ski, and popped a wheelie for as long as possible. When the wheelie ended, you endoed. Simple as that. In actuality it was quite difficult to pop a wheelie without a front wheel, the handlebars being so close to the ground and all. But, we eventually got the hang of it.....sort of.

That's all folks!

BORED?

2008-12-10T00:31:00.002-07:00

Here are a few YouTube clips I've found interesting in the past month. Enjoy!

Impressive young Skywalker.

My parents forwarded this to me.

Sweet.

And an old classic.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

2008-12-10T00:13:00.002-07:00

And it's about time, too. It's mid-December and it's finally beginning to snow. Until today the mountain was basically barren of snow excepting the three groomed runs filled with man-made snow. So far this season I've skied 8 days - 4 on alpine and 4 on telemark. Of those, two have been blower powder days, five have been on the worst snow I've ever skied, and one has been above average.

Just to get this off my chest, let me list several adjectives describing my feelings for man-made snow. Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, crowded, scary, awful, sketchy, awkward, brutal, harsh, painful, like a sheet of glass, let's play hockey, rubbish. After the rain saturated the opening-day mind-blowing fluff, my ski days have been limited to one of three blue or green runs which are described by the aforementioned adjectives. I quickly came to understand the full extent of how spoiled Colorado has made me. Last year I skied 25 days, at least 20 of which were full-on powder days. Frankly, I didn't know snow could get so hard. I'd simply never seen it.

So, the past week has been interesting. It has been excellent for my technique, leg strength, and in spite of itself, quite entertaining and rewarding. I've gained confidence skiing impossibly bad snow on both my alpine and telemark equipment, and when the resort opens fully I will be strong and ready to rip. Also, my co-workers are, as I suspected, exceptional skiers and wonderful people. I have learned tons from them already, and if skiing this crappy snow can be so much fun, I can't wait till the mountian opens.

That said, today was spectacular. I skied with French Paul. French Paul is one of the three most interesting people I've ever met. He does and says things that I would never in a million years ever conceive of doing. He is an exceptional, and I mean exceptional telemark and alpine skier (he's lived in the French alps for four years so he'd better be). Needless to say, he's fun to ski with. Today we rocked the teles from 9-2 until our legs were screaming and we could scarcely walk to the gondola. It snowed all day, and FINALLY this is beginning to look like a ski resort. I finished the day feeling confident on my skis, and utterly worn out. SNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOW!!!!!

Ok, it's for real this time, I swear. No, really, it is!

2008-12-07T13:57:00.002-07:00

I moved again. I know I previously said I was done moving and settled in to the White Gold place, but now I'm out. In fact, last night I moved back into the deerhorn house where I was living before. The story reads as such:

I was sitting at home (in White Gold) watching the Simpsons when my phone rang. It was Kim from the Deerhorn house, asking me if the rumors I was moving back in were true. Having heard nothing of this I said "well, that would be news to me." Apparently, the exchange program that runs the house rented a second house in Bayshores, which freed up space in the Deerhorn place. Rico had given me a good reference and Chris had invited me to come back. He told everyone but me I was moving back in.

The good news is I like it here and it's good to be back. Also, the rent is substantially cheaper and they have a dishwasher. Also a sauna. The bad news is I share a room again and I'm 10 minutes driving from the village, 30 minutes on the bus.

Best be off!

Yes, I'd like a '99 Passat with a side of Quirky, please.

2008-12-05T21:35:00.002-07:00

So in the six brief years that my car and I have been acquainted, she has shown me more quirky personality traits than I thought any vehicle could conjure. Quirky is definitely the proper word. I'm not talking about the type of heavy-duty baggage that could spell the end for a quality six-year relationship. Things like head-gasket failure, smoke from under the hood, the clutch burning out, the transmission exploding, chronic backfire, etc.--those are real deal-brakers. But the sheer number of subtle disfunctionalities is quite impressive.

I suppose it's kind of endearing really....someday I'm sure I'll miss the visor mirror covers that fall off every time someone tries to pop a zit in the passenger seat (and the duct-tape holding it in place), the CD player in the trunk that doesn't play CD's, the short in the dashboard that cuts the backlight to the temperature controls so that when I drive at night I can't see whether the defroster or the AC is on, the temperamental right-rear passenger-side window that only rolls down when it's warmer than 90* or when you stretch waaay back to use the control on the door itself, the emergency brake cover that comes off in your hand if you pull too hard, the cupholders that don't hold anything other than a can of beer or a child-size frosty, the driver's-side front speaker that must be thwacked soundly every Thursday at noon for it to continue to fulfill it's duties as a sound-emitting device, the volume control knob that occasionally BLASTS the volume when you try to turn the volume down, the passenger-side seat that is never quite comfortable, the random spring I found floating under the seat four years ago the function of which I have still not figured out, or the metal kabob skewer I rigged to hold the glovebox shut because one day the handle came off in my hand when I tried to access my drivers manual. I guess someday I'll miss those things. But for now, I'm just impressed with her newest trick.

This one really takes the cake. It first happened about two weeks ago, when it got really cold for several days running. I walked up to my vehicle in the parking lot, and inserted my key into the driver's side lock (I never use a remote--both because it takes up too much space in my pocket and because it got wet two days after I got the car and hasn't worked since). Anyhow, the key wouldn't go in. I tried flipping the key, jamming the key, the bit. No matter what I did, it would not go in more than halfway. Stumped, I walked around to the trunk and unlocked the car from there.

Two days later the lock started working just fine. In the following weeks, I tracked this phenomenon and have discovered the following: the problem only occurs when the temperature drops belos 32*F. Basically my car attempts to lock me out anytime the thermometer dips below freezing. It's accurate--I'd say within two degrees +/-. Of course, my point of reference for all this is the thermometer built into the car itself, which, for some inexplicable reason umbeknownst to me, I'm still disposed to trust.

Ski Lingo for Dummies

2008-11-29T02:24:00.004-07:00

OK, I couldn't let this one pass. On my birthday I received an email from my grandparents (thanks for the gift!) wishing be a happy birthday. Included in the email was the following sentence:

"We've been reading your blog. You have a whole different vocabulary than we speak!!!!"

Now that the resort is open my entries may trend towards ski-talk, so it is of the utmost importance that we're all on the same page with the vocabulary. I visited a Ski Bum site for a starter list, and then added some definitions of my own. Sentences or words in [brackets] are my own additions.

May this entry act as a tool for those that struggle to decipher my slang/ski lingo.

Types of Runs

Bunny Hill – the area of any ski mountain that’s specifically set aside for beginners. It’s
always got a very slight incline, and lots of extra room for everyone to fall down without
any worries.

Backcountry – the unmarked trails that are beyond the areas of the mountain that are
accessible by the lifts. Only the most expert skiers and riders should ever explore
backcountry areas. They go through extensive avalanche survival training, and carry
special gear. If you’re the sort of skier or rider who’s reading this vocabulary list, don’t go
into the backcountry. [True Dat]

Groomed run (or “groomer”) – a run that’s been combed over by grooming
equipment, resulting in a smooth, wavy surface that some folks will call corderoy [it looks like the fabric]. A
groomed surface is the easiest surface to ski or ride on. Most grooming is done overnight,
so the best time to enjoy groomed runs is early in the day.

Bowl -- a large, open, bowl-shaped area of a mountain, usually with few trees and lots of
snow. More common out West than in the East. [Think Vail]

Mogul run – a run that’s got big bumps, which are particularly challenging. Sometimes
these bumps are the natural byproduct of a fresh snowfall that’s been churned up by a
day or two of skiers and riders, and sometimes they’re moguls that are shaped by special
equipment. Most mogul runs are black diamond runs. [Knee cartilage is overrated]

Chutes – extremely challenging trails that dodge between trees or rocks, usually at the
top of a mountain. These are often marked with double-black diamonds. [see also couloir -- a subcategory of chute characterized by steep rock walls on either side, almost universally narrow and steep]

Cat tracks - a very thin trail that cuts across a mountain, usually connecting one part of
the mountain to another, with a very slight incline. Snowboarders often dislike them,
because the slight incline makes it difficult to maintain speed.

Traverse – verb: to ski or slide-slip against the fall line, to move sideways across a
slope, instead of down. If you suddenly discover a field of moguls below you, you might
traverse across the slope to get to an easier area of the run. noun: a path that cuts
sideways across a slope.

What's a Line?

Lift line – the line of people waiting to board a chair lift.

Fall line – the imaginary line down the natural slope of a trail: if you allowed a big ball to
roll down a hill, that’s the fall line. [good definition--if you know this one people will think you're good]

Line – the particular path that you take down a run, most often used when skiing or riding
in an open bowl. Skier 1: “I’m going to head out left, then head straight down.” Skier 2:
“Yeah, that’s a great line.”

Types of Snow

Powder - fresh snowfall that's low in moisture content. Powder is the best snow to ski or
ride on. In the West, some resorts (particularly in Utah) have fluffy powder with
extremely low moisture content, which they'll call champagne powder.

Crud – powder that’s been skied over. It looks like cookie dough; it's chunky looking, but
still soft. Crud is a preferred snow texture.

Corn – hard re-frozen pellets of snow – a preferred snow texture.

Grapple – like very small hail pellets, or like sleet, but rounder and thicker. Grapple isn't
the best snow, but it's not the worst. It doesn't stick to your skis or board.

Groomed - see "groomed run" above.

Crust - hard packed snow that's frozen, but not icy. [wind crust - layer of hard, windblown snow with soft powder underneath - notoriously difficult to ski]

Mashed Potatoes [slush] – warm, melting snow, most common during the spring at the base of
a mountain. It's notoriously slow to ski or ride in.

Types of Conditions

Bluebird day – The most gorgeous day imaginable. A bluebird day is a bright, sunny day
after a fresh snowfall the night before.

Vertigo – foggy conditions, which make it very easy to lose your sense of balance.

Flatlight – a cloudy day, which makes it hard to perceive definition on the snow surface,
and can easily trigger a headache. A yellow-lens goggle will often help the best.

Andrew's Additives

Gnarly - Line or run which is intense, steep, rocky, or otherwise dangerous and risky. Syn: burly Var: Gnar, gnarilicious, tasty, burlicious, beefy, sick Usage: "Lace up your gnar boots, this could get sticky!"

Sick - Adjective describing something amazing, spectacular, intense, skillful, ballsy, unbelievable, etc. Syn: Ill, wicked, rad Usage: "That footage of Hugo Harrison sure was sick!"

Blower - Adj describing absolutely spectacular powder conditions Usage "Today was blower man, I can't believe your sorry ass had to work."

Epic - Unbelievable conditions, perfect day skiing, etc.

Huck, Drop, Send - All terms for skiing off a cliff. Usage: "When there's more snow, I'm gonna send that cliff."

Amped, psyched, pumped - Charged up, ready to go, excited etc.

Face Shots - A "Face shot" occurs when a skier (snowboarders don't get face shots) skis through such deep powder that the snow is pushed up and splashes the skier in the face, temporarily blinding him/her. This will nearly universally elicit war whoops, yells and shouts of ecstasy. The face shot is the holy grail of powder skiing.

Stomp - To stick a landing, to land soundly without thrashing about or nearly falling.

Yard Sale - This occurs when a skier falls at high speed and items such as poles, goggles, hat, gloves, boots, skis etc. become strewn across the slope. Self explanatory, really.

Sketch - Verb, transitive. To "sketch" something is to very nearly mess it up. For example, "Ferdinand sketched that landing" would indicate that Ferdinand nearly fell while landing. Adj - Sketchy. Indicated a high degree of danger, unknown consequence or risk. Also a person of questionably character or judgement.

Gaper - (GAY-per) A person who is not an experienced skier. Hallmarks of Gaperdom are a complete inability to carry skis, dated clothing, rear-entry boots, a complete inability to walk in ski boots, anyone from Texas, etc.

Goggle Gap - The space between the top of the goggles and the helmet. There should be no space between the goggles and the helmet, as snow and wind will otherwise freeze your brains. Goggle gap = major gaper.

Rip - To ski/snowboard very well. SYN - "To shred" Usage "Jolene was a real ripper. Did you see her shred that line?"

Kill, Slay - To ski/ride something exceptionally well. Usage "Ronaldo slayed [killed] that line."

Well, I could keep writing but I think that's enough working vocab for the time being. If I think of any crucial words I have forgotten I will post them at a later date. Happy reading!!

Rockcomb

2008-11-27T18:17:00.003-07:00

Blackcomb mountain opened today. Pollack and I walked onto the gondola at the crack of 9:35 only to find that Blackcomb was fully living up to it's derisive moniker: Rockcomb. There really wasn't enough coverage to ski, and after hitting a few rocks we called it quits.

Instead, we headed up good old Whistler mountain and hiked to Harmony bowl. I made tracks down a narrow chute in knee to thigh deep powder and Pollack hit a good line as well. The snow was so good we decided to spend 25 minutes bootpacking back to the top to ski new, equally epic lines before heading down. Our descent featured endless powder, no tracks, and I even skied some trees where I found more deep snow. Bottom line? I'm exhausted, exhilarated, and fully ready to work for a couple days to let my legs relax.

Pollack was skiing a narrow, center-mounted Volkl park kski that was about a foot to small for him (his skis are not yet mounted) so it was a feat to ski such deep snow. The highlight may have been his accidental 180 reverse-somersault maneuver that left me doubled over with laughter and him with powder in his pants.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!!

WoHOO!!

2008-11-26T18:36:00.003-07:00

Whistler mountain opened today, and I cannot adequately describe to you how phenomenal it was. The skiing was absurd. Really, it was just silly. November 26 has never slid so well--at least for yours truly. I showed up at the gondola line expecting a Loveland-style opening with one run and tons of man-made snow. Well, the man-made snow part was partially right. But I get ahead of myself.

I stashed my ski gear at the shop last night, so I walked over at 8:30 this morning to suit up. Sam took several hours off from work to ski, and the two of us headed to the gondola line. The line stretched almost 200 yards from the loading station, after going through the turnstiles. Fortunately it went quickly, and we were on the mountain by 9:15. We quickly discovered almost a foot of snow and spent several runs investigating this unexpected surprise.

We soon met up with some other skiers and decided to hike up to Whistler bowl. I must add two things here 1) I had no idea what was happening, I simply followed the locals and tried not to fall onto rocks 2) these people are a different breed of skier. (The terrain we skied is normally accessed via lifts, but they weren't running. By hiking, we managed to pillage the best lines on the mountain, untracked.) After about an hour's hike, Luke marched up to scope an intimidating line. Shadowed by a cornice with unknown coverage and exposed rocks to cushion a fall, it looked questionable at best. Truth be told, we couldn't really see more than the first 50 feet--it was too steep. I was a little nervous--after all this is my 3rd run of the season for pete's sake--but we all ended up skiing it. THe snow was good, knee deep, and the run was probably a 40-43 degree pitch. Super-fun, in other words.

We skied, hiked, skied, and hiked all day long. Our last run again mandated the hour-long hike to the summit where we skied a narrow (two ski-lenghts wide) chute at a 40* pitch (approx). Again, gnarly powdery fun.

Now that the resort is open, the true character of this town is beginning to shine. Instead of melancholy downtrodden folks struggling to exist in this overpriced fantasy world, we are united as skiers, each as psyched as the next to rip turns every day. The change happened overnight and Whistler feels like a new town.

As we were hiking up to take our last run, I met Hugo Harrison. As far as celebrities go, I'm not one to raise a ruckus, but it took me by surprise. Paul, Andre and I were just clipping in to ski the couloir when Hugo walked by. He had a pair of beefy 195cm Kastle skis with a huge Helly Hansen sticker plastered across the front (one of his sponsors). Andre knew him, so he stopped to chat for several minutes before slogging upward towards the summit. It was great to see one of the best skiers in the world just out doing what he loves to do--no helicopters, film crews, nothing. Just Hugo with his giant skis strapped to his pack. I would have loved to watch him ski, but that's just not a reality. There's no way to keep up with this guy. For those of you who don't know him, here's some ski porn to give you an idea of how good he is. We had a large poster of him at Outpost; I may have given it to my bro. Click the square at bottom right to watch the full-screen version.

My legs are exhausted, so I think I'll take the advice of French Paul for the evening. "There is nothing so good as your ass for resting your legs."

Where the beer flows like wine....

2008-11-26T00:00:00.002-07:00

ASPEN!!!

I just returned from our staff training trip in Aspen Colorado. We took three flights into the Aspen airport on Wednesday the 19th and returned on Sunday the 23rd. The trip was all-expenses paid, and we were treated very well A full entry would be overwhelming so I've compiled a highlight reel.

Wednesday we woke at 3:30 am after two hours of sleep, traveled 18 hours on three flights, and arrived in Aspen at 8pm. I called Amanda, and Luke, Paul, Amanda and I dove straight into the hot tub, then went to the Double Dog Pub for Guinness, followed by beer and pizza at 1am.

Thursday I walked around the village for several hours, saw Kelsey, and went to the training in the afternoon. I learned more about boots than I ever thought was possible to know, and then we headed to dinner at "Gusto," a nice restaurant off of Main street. The meal was paid for by Surefoot so we all ordered Filet Mignon, wine, beer, shots--whatever we wanted, basically. It was the best meal I've had in months, and the steak was Argentine-esque (ie unbelievable).

Friday was full on training. We had to find our own dinner so we went to Annies, a sweet bar with cheap food and cheaper alchohol. (You may be noticing a trend here.)

Saturday was full on traning as well, followed by dinner at the Cantina, a Mexican restaurant. Again, the bar was open. All Surefoot employees were entrusted to eat and drink as much as possible, and we did not take this duty lightly. After the restaurant we went to several clubs and stayed out till 2am. I saw a crack dealer get busted, and found some rocks on the floor of the bar afterwards. (Yes, I threw them away.)

Sunday is worth mention. Here's a timeline of the day.

8:40 am - 10 employees meet at the front desk to catch a shuttle to the airport
9:30 am - 10 employees board a prop plane to denver, ginger ale in hand, heads down.
9:40 am - Cabin pressurization makes one employee vomit in a bag.
9:45 am - Severe Turbulence makes two more employees vomit in a bag.
9:46 am - flight attendant refuses to let anyone out of his/her seat to use the bathroom
10:00 am - Even more severe turbulence makes several more employees vomit
10:05 am - We arrive at DIA and part ways

Basically, the flight was painful and hysterical all at once. People looked like death, and I mean absolute unfiltered pain and agony. It was really pitiful. After the flight I went and apologized to a couple with an infant who had been sitting in front of one guy (R) who puked the whole time and looked as pathetic and hurting as any human can look. The couple laughed and said "no, it was nice. It reminded us of when we used to have a good time." Ugh. I'm not so sure R would have shared that sentiment. Anyway, it was the most eventful flight I've been on in a while. And for the record, my vomit bag remained dry.

"Aspen, where the beer flows like wine and the women flock like the salmon of Capustrano." --Dumb and Dumber

There's no place like Foam

2008-11-25T00:40:00.005-07:00

Today I had my custom liners made. We refer to the practice as "foaming" because the liners are made from an expanding chemical reaction that forms a dense foam once inside the liner. Previously I had performed this peculiar and somewhat esoteric practice on unsuspecting customers in spite of never having had it done to me.

The principle is as follows. Ski boots need to be made of a stiff material in order to drive the ski with sufficient force. Due to it's weight, relative flexibility, price, etc, plastic has been chosen for the manufacture of ski boots (polyether to be precise). Plastic, it turns out, is not the most comfortable footwear in the best of conditions. Now take this vise-like, generic plastic hull, shove your foot into it and subject yourself to subzero temperatures, water in all forms, and high-force impacts. No small wonder skiers' feet aren't happy at the end of the day. Traditional liners are basically layered foam that breaks down quickly (pack-out) and do little except keep the foot warm and protect it from the nefarious plastic. The foam liner is custom-made to the user's foot, allowing the material to be more dense, last longer, and actually improve the performance of the boot. Because the liner contours to the foot and holds it snugly, energy is transmitted rapidly to the ski. OK, now for the fun part.

The un-injected custom liner looks like a mutant octopus--no fewer than 6 plastic tubes protrude from it's surface (see photo below). Two tubes run into the liner just above the ankle near the achilles, one runs into the tongue, and three exit tubes run from the top of the foot where the tongue of the liner meets the foot. Foam runs into the top tubes, fills all the empty space in the boot and exits through the tubes at the bottom.

Succinctly, the process of foaming is medieval. It's painful, involves brute strength, severely decreased circulation, pliers, hair-pulling, sweat, physical exertion, and a highly exothermic chemical reaction (explosions are highly exothermic, fyi.) People pay lots of money to have this done.

Step 1) The bootfitter places very sticky pads over the ankle bones (if they're hairy prior, they won't be afterwards). The pads are followed by a sock, then a toe cap, then a plastic bag. The toe cap keeps the heel pushed back in the boot (ie crunches your toes) and the plastic bag protects the foot from the foam if something goes wrong. The pain begins here.
Step 2) The bootfitter yanks on the liner with pliers to remove wrinkles, then buckles the boot to obscene tightness. On top of this, a strong velcro strap is wrapped around the tongue of the boot as tight as it can be pulled. This keeps the tongue from getting too fat with foam and doubles as a tournakit.
Step 3) The game of seconds begins. The bootfitter mixes the chemicals and shakes for 15 seconds. Too long and the bottle will explode--make no doubt about it. After 15 seconds the lid is removed and QUICKLY screwed into the injection tubes on the tongue. At this point the customer feels as if all the blood is being pushed from his/her lower leg (it squeezes like a blood pressure test on 'roids).
Step 4) Buckles are tightened even further, more chemicals are mixed and the heel section of the liner is foamed. For two minutes the customer is asked to pull downwards against two steel bars positioned on either side of the foaming stand. This is crucial to keep the heel set firmly in the boot. The foam pushes with enough force to move the foot if the person does not pull hard enough.
Step 5) The process is repeated for the other foot.
Step 6) The customer stands in the boots for five minutes before the buckles are loosened and circulation can return to the feet.

Bottom line? I will be much more sympathetic when customers complain that the process is uncomfortable. It is.

The sock, the pads, the toe cap, and the plastic bag. Have fun!

This shot is taken by a customer of someone using pliers to remove wrinkles from the liner.

Here is a boot with the custom liner in it. The foam is visible flowing into the tongues of both boots. Notice the exit tubes coming from the toes and the tubes at the rear of the boot. The chemicals can be seen in the background. The small dark bottle is poured into the large pink one before shaking.

Howl at the Moon

2008-11-18T05:27:00.001-07:00

November has been a rather uneventful month. Turns out, life is significantly less interesting once a person is gainfully employed and has a place to live. Carwithness, it seems, makes excellent fodder for writing.

As for the photo, yes. That is me, in my underwear, jumping into a glacial lake in the dead of night under a full moon in Canada. Let me explain. In mid-October I took a run down towards Green Lake, and in doing so discovered a lovely swimming dock. Upon returning to the house, I proposed that all the roommates (now former-roommates) should go swimming in the lake under the full moon. Unfortunately the full moon had just passed and the next was on the 12th of November. "Well, we'll do it then," I said, making everyone promise to join me on the mission.

The matter stayed under the radar until the 12th of November. This was my intent. I've discovered that people are much more apt to act rashly when they haven't had time to think something through. My recruiting scheme depended on three elements. 1) I had made everyone promise in October they would come (helloooo guilt trip) 2) they wouldn't have time to wimp out if I didn't remind them in advance 3) peer pressure. This strategy has served me well for seducing hapless friends into ditching class to go skiing, taking massive hikes up Colorado peaks in the dead of night, running off for last-minute fishing trips, etc. Things this important should never be left to chance.

So, at 8pm on November the 12th, under a clear, moonlight sky, I burst into the house howling like a werewolf and generally making a ruckus--making damn sure everyone knew exactly what was up (no excuses, remember?) By 11 o'clock pm I had convinced six other foolhardy souls to jump in the freezing glacial lake with me, in the 40* weather. We piled 14 people into 2 cars (my Passat has never held 8 people before) and drove to the lake. We stripped down to the skivvies, posed briefly for a photo, and before you could say "if-all-your-friends-jumped-into-a-freezing-lake-would-you-follow?" bodies started hitting the water.

Before.

Immediately before.

"Get me (*gasp*) outta here!!"

We chased our cold water experience with hot chocolate and movies, as well as a German-style sauna experience. Actually only Rico and I went for the German sauna which consisted of three sessions, each hotter and longer than the last. For the final session, Rico instructed me that we must cover our entire bodies with salt, and cover our faces with syrup. I can now definitively say that sweat tastes much better when it's mixed with syrup, and that my skin was silky smooth. Hope everyone's November is going well, please pray for colder temperatures in Whistler!!

New Home

2008-11-08T20:45:00.002-07:00

Well, I've moved again. This time, I should be set for the season. I'm now living about 10 minutes walking from the village (as opposed to 10 minutes driving), and I have my own room. Basically I'm renting a room from a family who are renting the ground floor of a house. There are 2 other sets of people living upstairs: a couple and a group of guys. I haven't met any of them yet. The room is quite nice with plenty of space for my things. I've got a window, a closet, and I sleep on a futon which doubles as a couch. For this 10X10 foot area, plus internet, utilities, and use of the kitchen/washer/dryer, I pay $800/mo. Yeah.

The family is Brendan (12), Dan (16), and Lisa (?), and they're very nice people. I don't think living with them will be a problem. So I'm happy and Finally settled in for the winter. Whew.

I haven't written much lately because there's nothing happening. I've been working only 2 days/week and spending the other 5 sleeping, watching movies, cleaning my car, running, playing guitar, walking around, cleaning my room, cooking, brushing my teeth, playing guitar, cleaning my room, watching movies....you get the picture: anything to fill my time.

Yesterday Lars, Michael, Sungse and I went on a mission to Squamish seeking more affordable groceries, and we had a blast. We each bought massive amounts of food and crammed it into the trunk of the Passat. None of them had ever eaten Wendys, so I made them all purchase a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger and a Frosty before we headed back up to Whistler. I also splurged and bought new guitar strings (yes!).

Tomorrow Lars, Michael and I are headed to Rainbow Lake for a hike. It should be interesting since WHISTLER GOT SNOW ON THURSDAY!!!! 16" OF IT!!!! and there's a 60% chance of rain showers. Hopefully one of the boys will bring a camera. Also when I get a camera I'll post more pics of my room etc.

November 4th, 2008!!

2008-11-04T22:36:00.005-07:00

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. --Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government."

Sorry to break my self-imposed ban on political commentary, but I just couldn't keep silent on this particular occasion. I've also added several very select songs to the playlist which I find inspiring, fitting, or patriotic. There are 6 new songs total. Click "Play," and then use the "forward/back" buttons to hear them all. !Disfrútense!

Days of Yore

2008-10-27T23:18:00.008-06:00

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

2008-10-27T16:45:00.008-06:00

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.

2008-10-26T01:47:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-23T01:45:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-23T01:09:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-23T00:37:00.007-06:00

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

2008-10-23T00:36:00.004-06:00

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

2008-10-23T00:17:00.002-06:00

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...

2008-10-20T21:28:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-15T23:03:00.003-06:00

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

2008-10-14T18:11:00.004-06:00

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

2008-10-14T18:03:00.002-06:00

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?

2008-10-13T21:43:00.005-06:00

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

2008-10-13T21:04:00.003-06:00

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 12-14%, are not attainable via a typical fermentation due to the nature of the fermentation process. Yeast cells, for example, will sense the high levels of alcohol in the medium and either inactivate themselves or switch to another metabolic pathway whose end product is not an alcoholic compound. So all spirits with an alcohol percentage above 14% are either distilled or have had alcohol added. 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.

His business plan was actually quite good, and I think that he will probably establish a legitimate and profitable operation. In essence he planned 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. I wished him luck and we parted company.

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

2008-10-10T19:14:00.002-06:00

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?

2008-10-09T20:45:00.006-06:00

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!

2008-10-09T20:20:00.002-06:00

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

2008-10-09T12:30:00.002-06:00

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!!

2008-10-08T18:34:00.002-06:00

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

2008-10-07T13:11:00.003-06:00

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 corner of E. Cambie and Main or 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. If you must, lie and tell them you're french and are a concientious objecter to showers. You should probably speak French if you plan to use this tactic. If you are female, do not shave either. 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 are 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.

After all that, if 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

2008-10-06T18:11:00.003-06:00

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!

2008-10-04T15:46:00.002-06:00

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!!

2008-10-02T19:26:00.002-06:00

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

2008-10-02T11:38:00.003-06:00

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!!

Off to see the Whistler, the wonderful Whistler of Oz!

2008-09-29T11:43:00.002-06:00

Well, I'm off! It's about noon on Monday September 29th, and my car is loaded with everything I think I might need for a winter of ski-bumming in Canada: 1 pair alpine skis, 1 pair telemark skis, avalanche gear, 1 snowboard, 1 bike, 1 guitar, 2 bags of clothes (this is all the clothes I own anyway), 1 fishing pole, 1 tent, 1 pillow, 1 sleeping pad, and a cooler of food. Also an atlas. Hopefully my oxen don't die while fording the river.

I'll be heading north up through Montana and then west through Idaho and Washington. I plan to reach the Canadian border south of Vancouver on Wednesday. My work permit will be issued at the border (a little nerve racking) and then I'll be on my merry way.

Best wishes to all, and remember you've got a friend in one of the most beautiful spots in the world! Feel free to drop by anytime, and expect to sleep on the couch.

I'll try and post another entry about the trip as soon as possible, so check back!