tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80762829077220981142024-03-05T05:01:57.538-08:00Road ChroniclesMichael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-86241173323799457732008-06-25T18:39:00.000-07:002008-06-26T10:44:18.089-07:00The Ride: Phase 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVzDJBUwVhTc8x0ZcdsixiLSPd1dM2JCUOXiEp7rpWutyWowGl3AJO5L9L5FyboPK-4mr3nufnYE8ZGnLEmyotq2S-UQfEOF4MseagUX1acMd121eF1wXHSoXv6LNUsR5pSigXk50RWqj/s1600-h/IMG_1525.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVzDJBUwVhTc8x0ZcdsixiLSPd1dM2JCUOXiEp7rpWutyWowGl3AJO5L9L5FyboPK-4mr3nufnYE8ZGnLEmyotq2S-UQfEOF4MseagUX1acMd121eF1wXHSoXv6LNUsR5pSigXk50RWqj/s400/IMG_1525.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216246898223142194" /></a><br /><br />From Goodell Creek, we began the first and most grueling climbing session of the trip. That day, Wednesday June 4th, the itinerary called for roughly 4500 feet of elevation - up to Rainy Pass at about 4800 feet, followed by a devilishly heartbreaking descent for 1000 feet, and then the final grind up to Washington Pass at 5477 ft. <br /><br />Of course it was still raining when we awoke the morning of the 4500 ft. climb. This did wonders for our spirits. There were no services for 75 miles, so we pulled into the final convenience store before the pass and ate stale corn dogs and taquitos for breakfast. Our shoes were damp from the day before and still the mist and rain saturated our weary bodies. But we had to press on. Early on, we passed through two dark, humid tunnels that bore through gnarly rock faces in the lower Cascades. We had to press a button at the tunnel entrances to trigger flashing lights, indicating to automobiles that there were bicycles present in the tunnels. The first few miles were irritating. I kept shedding and then donning different layers of clothing in hopes of reaching a comfortable core temperature, but my efforts were in vain. Gradually we got used to the steady grind uphill at a difficult, but possible grade. <br /><br />The scenery was breathtaking. All around us towered snow-covered peaks and waterfalls of snowmelt cascading down hundreds of feet of mountain. It was cold but we couldn’t feel it through the sweat and toil of the ascent. We stopped frequently to rest and take pictures of the range, and marveled at the beauty that formed as we climbed higher. We passed a dam and kept climbing. It felt as if we would never reach the top.<br /><br />Sometime during the early afternoon, the sun poked through for a brief time, and we actually started going down. We knew in the back of our minds that we couldn’t possibly have made it to the pass yet, so each mile of coasting downhill was a dagger in that we would have to make it up eventually in reaching the pass. Even so, I had the distinct naive feeling that maybe we made it to the top already and were truly on the way down. I became giddy with the idea that we had crossed the Rainy and Washington Passes without realizing it. My heart shattered when we began to climb again several miles later and the sun vanished again. <br /><br />I began to get nervous as we climbed higher and higher, since the number of cars on the road seemed to decrease. It got to the point where we’d see one car every half hour. What if something went wrong and we couldn’t continue? We’d surely freeze to death up here! These were some of the scenarios that played out in my head as the grueling ride ground on. Finally we reached the first desolate pass – Rainy Pass. The name said it all. It was definitely still raining. I dismounted my bike and looked around in all directions. It was silent. The mountains really have a way of making you feel insignificant and helpless in the scheme of things. We took in the vast hills of snow-covered pines, inhaling deeply the scent of pristine forest. The first pass gave us a sense of great triumph. We slapped hands and became confident with our progress thus far. Sure, it wasn’t the high pass, but it was a pass labeled on the map nonetheless. Our brief moment of celebration quickly passed and it dawned on us that we still had a ways to go before the downhill coast. I don’t think we even took pictures at Rainy Pass, since we knew what heartbreak loomed ahead. <br /><br />From Rainy Pass, we descended rapidly at a very steep grade. Our sweat froze to our bodies as we cut down the mountain. My teeth were chattering and morale was very low. We knew when this downhill section ended it would be followed by another 1000-foot climb. I became angry at the world during this final stretch. It felt as if the pass would never come. The trailer began drag mercilessly, like a pallet of bricks with no wheels. I had serious doubts about my ability to pull it the rest of the trip. Here we were, not even three full days into the 2-month tour and I had doubts. <br /><br />Blair and I yelled, no, screamed encouragement to each other as we churned our legs slowly, like pistons up to Washington Pass. This was the true test. Could we handle it? We would not face a more difficult stretch on the tour. After awhile, we began to be certain that every turn would produce the Washington Pass elevation sign. We prayed for a leveling and drop-off of the road, and it seemed like it would never come. We waited for the final turn, the green sign – and finally it came. “Washington Pass: 5477 ft.” We made it. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyvI-expMv8w_yb-ypLOg5CKHZ6xWs79IU42I8UGCsgIk6b0dRfXrZR0A-esx6d7qan_o_GpOfqKP8XbY0k0Sl20Ik5PcBKTDo7aWgLLmmhbhYiGvSW1Gfhg9xBv9CTaWaJ8muTCVn7uA/s1600-h/IMG_1554.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHyvI-expMv8w_yb-ypLOg5CKHZ6xWs79IU42I8UGCsgIk6b0dRfXrZR0A-esx6d7qan_o_GpOfqKP8XbY0k0Sl20Ik5PcBKTDo7aWgLLmmhbhYiGvSW1Gfhg9xBv9CTaWaJ8muTCVn7uA/s400/IMG_1554.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216246339892222114" /></a><br /><br />We took turns photographing each other under the Washington Pass sign until we got cold. It is important to keep moving all the way down, to keep the blood flowing and the body temperature up, we learned later. But now we were too exhausted to try and pedal down. We threw on every layer we owned in the forty-degree temperature and mist, and bombed down for at least 30 miles – which took about an hour compared to the 6-hour climb. Too exhausted and cold to enjoy the descent, we concentrated on getting to the bottom as fast as possible, to the nearest hotel. Both of us hated the idea of having to resort to a hotel, but we agreed at the pass that tonight was as good a night as any to cave in. <br /><br />Signs for the Mazama Country Inn popped up as we zipped down the mountain and it was mutually understood that we would be spending the night there. I reveled in the thought of a hot shower and warm bed. We were 13 miles short of where I hoped to be that night, but we were more than pleased with what we’d accomplished. The Inn had a restaurant that was still open, and we quickly tossed in our orders. I wanted the biggest cheeseburger the cook could make, along with a cold Guiness and one of the local Fishtale Pale Ales for good measure. Blair ordered a massive Asian chicken salad and a beer as well. The cook got to work on our meal and we were shown to our room. The food would be ready in 15 minutes so we threw down our stuff and changed out of our spandex. The desk lady informed us that there was a hot tub and I almost kissed her. We got back to the restaurant and devoured our meals like ravenous wolves. After dinner, Blair went to lie down, and was feeling a bit under the weather. I took the rest of my Guiness and had a long soak in the hot tub. My muscles relaxed as I slouched as low as possible into the spa. The tub was outdoors so I was able to breathe the thick, cool Montana air. The worst was now behind us, but there was still the other three passes in the next three days. <br /><br />...While recounting this leg of the journey, I am sitting comfortably in a blue armchair in the corner of Dave and Brittany’s cozy bungalow in downtown Missoula. But that's another story for another post. Thanks for reading.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-27002737940067381302008-06-25T10:35:00.000-07:002008-06-26T10:16:46.417-07:00The Ride Itself<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVQKn6GBtx-5suLm1qLj9agkIAi5Xs4xyBV-cGJtc1gtCn6w_b8sPfOyM-8UpRXazBjBp85Nemehh_zyFMPUqn9SRtmgq31Zu4sHJITh9GMouG4DTvqiOyIb8HvLL7gfLguuHOTdZY8Tn/s1600-h/IMG_1487.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVQKn6GBtx-5suLm1qLj9agkIAi5Xs4xyBV-cGJtc1gtCn6w_b8sPfOyM-8UpRXazBjBp85Nemehh_zyFMPUqn9SRtmgq31Zu4sHJITh9GMouG4DTvqiOyIb8HvLL7gfLguuHOTdZY8Tn/s400/IMG_1487.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216235831623992130" /></a>Thanks for your patience. I will now recount the beginning of the ride. <br /><br />Day 1: Monday, June 2nd.<br /><br />We planned to hit the road at 9am, to safely avoid the morning rush hour. By the time we mailed post cards and packed everything, it was more like 11am. We didn't care; we were finally on the road. It was decided that I would pull the trailer the first day, and we would alternate every other day thereafter. I was nervous as hell dragging that thing through downtown Seattle, praying we would get going without a hitch. The magnitude of the madness on which we were embarking had fully set in, and it was exciting to know we were carrying everything we needed to survive by our own power. <br /><br />I stopped at a starbucks on the way out of town and picked up some grounds for my new coffee press - the dark, rich product of which has become a tenacious addiction each and every morning.<br /><br />We continued north, battling construction and narrow bicycle lanes, eventually meeting highway 20 - the rode that would take us over the North Cascades and into Idaho. We made 20 miles before stopping for lunch on the lawn of some suburb. Everything was perfect. The bikes were performing well under the load, as were our legs. Our destination for the day was Sedro Woolley, 80 miles north of Seattle, where we would hook up with the Northern Tier Route that would take us to Glacier. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtK7qeYZQLV8ud0fw08MmOFd8xK3B88IyoJ1yMv7GDgPuxBDARUcIML-o5WhcAbjUWyCowZ2KVQHBKRK0qDcyti-WHIym7sBQoFgiuslBtN1-puyRGJ4tZ805JBSSKoB0V8R7KgC0u557p/s1600-h/IMG_1485.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtK7qeYZQLV8ud0fw08MmOFd8xK3B88IyoJ1yMv7GDgPuxBDARUcIML-o5WhcAbjUWyCowZ2KVQHBKRK0qDcyti-WHIym7sBQoFgiuslBtN1-puyRGJ4tZ805JBSSKoB0V8R7KgC0u557p/s400/IMG_1485.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216235806956992754" /></a><br />We set a steady pace through green, wet, rural Washington pastures and lush forests. Dense, green foothills began to spring up in front of us, and we became nervous about the days to come. We would face four mountain passes in four days - the most brutal climbing stretch of the tour. The climbing would begin on the third day, giving us little time to prepare. But the current focus was on where to spend the night once we reached Sedro Woolley. Northern Washington stays light until almost 10pm, so we had plenty of daylight if we could only find the campground. Approaching Sedro Woolley, we came to the Skagit River. There was a bridge across to get into Sedro Woolley, but our route remained South of the river, on a road that runs parallel to it. There was a campground marker on the map, but the wonderful folks at Adventure Cycling placed it at the exact center of the river, brilliantly failing to denote whether it was north or south of the river. The next bridge over the Skagit was 40 miles east, so we needed to make a crucial decision – To cross the bridge now and possibly miss the campground if it is south of the river or risk missing it by taking the south road if it was indeed north. <br /><br />At this moment of momentous decision, Blair had the first of many "educated guesses," which I would soon discover are not educated at all. From what I could tell, there was no rhyme or reason for Blairman choosing one option over another, unless he is privy to some higher source of intuition to which I am unaware. So Blair guessed the campground was south of the river. "It has to be," he said. So we rode past the only bridge for 40 miles in search of our campground. After two miles of nothing, I said there's no way in hell there's a campground on this side of the river. Blair agreed and we turned around and crossed the bridge into the town of Sedro Woolley. We asked around and found the campground on the NORTH side of the river. The campground host informed us that it would cost $10 for a site for the night. In all of our packing frenzy that morning, we had completely spaced o obtaining cash from an ATM. Between the two of us we scrounged up $7.93, and she reluctantly gave us a site. Oops. We set up for our first night in the tent and everything was beautiful, until it began to pour at 4am. We stayed dry thanks to the excellent tent provided by Blair's dad - (Thanks Glen!) <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGG-Y9YlS59kJk4-5_iJsZrBnFMJZLbjkAu6MEB7qi0y-XAMNAXLS1kzWcK-o93qKjD39P1IVkqXfGnuzI7P1LoE5u7LmAMHLscbsaEnY6fOgAaq-b9iVgwjRLqsr7izdGcPEpwfQmqk_D/s1600-h/IMG_1486.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGG-Y9YlS59kJk4-5_iJsZrBnFMJZLbjkAu6MEB7qi0y-XAMNAXLS1kzWcK-o93qKjD39P1IVkqXfGnuzI7P1LoE5u7LmAMHLscbsaEnY6fOgAaq-b9iVgwjRLqsr7izdGcPEpwfQmqk_D/s400/IMG_1486.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216235256873139010" /></a>It was still raining when we awoke, and we dried things as best we could on the picnic tables at the camp shelter. The sky showed no sign of letting up, so we donned our rain gear and set off for Newhalen - The base of the North Cascades Range. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfm9mTPB7xu_1BIenEZt9PmnghhCPvz8ihY3PWZvo8ag6Ub1t-Wblkj0OhZlYCvSunUwagFMFj2qzXo3fcg5wR_Lu8EfaHn1pcpMYbTB2tKT6fow48JO-fZspWT3q6OdrqSyVUdqQ7EB1H/s1600-h/IMG_1494.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfm9mTPB7xu_1BIenEZt9PmnghhCPvz8ihY3PWZvo8ag6Ub1t-Wblkj0OhZlYCvSunUwagFMFj2qzXo3fcg5wR_Lu8EfaHn1pcpMYbTB2tKT6fow48JO-fZspWT3q6OdrqSyVUdqQ7EB1H/s400/IMG_1494.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216236813791822434" /></a>It rained steadily all day long, with no pause as we set up the tent in Goodell Creek Campground, just inside North Cascades National Park. Somehow Blair got a fire going, (I am repeatedly amazed by his woodsmen skills), and we attempted to dry our soggy shoes and gloves near the blaze. We eventually warmed up thanks to Blair's fire, and cooked spaghetti for the second night in a row. I was astonished at how much we were eating. We cooked everything we had and were still hungry. It was then that I realized how many calories we must be burning riding all day. <br /><br /><br />The Goodell Creek campsite was beautiful, even in the rain. Our site was on the creek, which was more like a raging river due to the influx of spring snowmelt. It was densely covered by all sorts of foliage and had a huge redwood near the back of the site. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnNw8JYiDsg9U_OixVkvK6WzCVSeudv8BicuiNi8mFCyO08TLQY5WdawFWY_saE-hn5oKc_seJ-aefd51ei2H9UvkrqF4pxEpNsMvWrQ10_Hbh9E8znXRbkTwRLAxD41kv4KnSzVFXmXj/s1600-h/IMG_1500.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnNw8JYiDsg9U_OixVkvK6WzCVSeudv8BicuiNi8mFCyO08TLQY5WdawFWY_saE-hn5oKc_seJ-aefd51ei2H9UvkrqF4pxEpNsMvWrQ10_Hbh9E8znXRbkTwRLAxD41kv4KnSzVFXmXj/s400/IMG_1500.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216236814695233442" /></a><br />We loved the site, but the rain was really putting a damper on things. We met a father and daughter who had been kayaking in the San Juan Islands near British Columbia, and were driving home to the Midwest through the Cascades. They were very friendly and gave each of us a beer before we retired for the night. We would see them again several times during our passage through the North Cascades. It was nice to have someone who knew we were out there and could direct rescue teams to our general vicinity if the need should present itself.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-43959315264059872522008-06-13T10:52:00.001-07:002008-06-13T10:52:53.625-07:00Check out New Sequoia Pictures Below!Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-30792783068321482432008-06-13T10:41:00.000-07:002008-06-26T10:38:04.083-07:00Seattle<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkiRkQysm8bqFduDei-KebcrybaxXwJWcvnPo14pFeHU4plUldN0xt3y6IYV4V55_Z2ZuFd9hTUaADoIDB1WIhZhwaqCPvhjeosKJIFiMnnRe0-R2vzpvAGvzw5JuDquvg9vrrslY7AZJ/s1600-h/IMG_1428.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkiRkQysm8bqFduDei-KebcrybaxXwJWcvnPo14pFeHU4plUldN0xt3y6IYV4V55_Z2ZuFd9hTUaADoIDB1WIhZhwaqCPvhjeosKJIFiMnnRe0-R2vzpvAGvzw5JuDquvg9vrrslY7AZJ/s400/IMG_1428.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216242478824171650" /></a><br />Blair took the first shift at the healm, and managed to get us lost 30 miles outside of Pine Grove. He straightened out after an hour and blasted off toward Seattle on a 14 hour drive. Not much of note happened on the drive, and we were both eager to see Seattle and embark on our bike trip. Finding cousin Maryanne's was easy. We parked the car and went up to the roof of her condo and talked to her and boyfriend Mike over beers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmipNsl4eMZe7f1Jp2EqzmxQzYTu4rPNrIm__dYcufTakVfZU3kI3lErPHqqK_LWO7YUKbYhRvQew80HxX46WT0z6diL_JERcUEOgxkf5h2p-B5b1xiZxjfkXJYbNYYtcH2ZNoc4cxu1/s1600-h/IMG_1427.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZmipNsl4eMZe7f1Jp2EqzmxQzYTu4rPNrIm__dYcufTakVfZU3kI3lErPHqqK_LWO7YUKbYhRvQew80HxX46WT0z6diL_JERcUEOgxkf5h2p-B5b1xiZxjfkXJYbNYYtcH2ZNoc4cxu1/s400/IMG_1427.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216241927231018402" /></a><br />Talk about great location - Maryanne lives right downtown, almost directly under the 605 ft. Space Needle, and a short walk from the famous Pike's Place Market and both the Mariners and Seahawks stadiums. <br /><br />We went to breakfast the next morning at the 5 Spot Cafe, a Seattle must. I had a shrimp and Avocado Omelette and about 6 cups of delicious, Seattle coffee. To be continued, I am being kicked off by the mean Library Nazi! In MT, more soon...<br /><br />Thanks to the help of a wonderful angel who works at the Libby, MT chamber of commerce, I am able to resume my blogging from the chamber office. I stopped by to ask if there were any internet cafes in town. She said there were none, but I could use her computer here in the visitor's center. How nice. <br /><br />Back to Seattle... So after stuffing ourselves and filling our nervous systems with caffeine at the 5 Spot, Maryanne drove us around the different Seattle neighborhoods, stopping at parks and overlooks, and of course the city-famous Troll Under the Bridge, some community art project my cousin Lucy would really dig. It was very cool. The huge sculpted troll has a real volkswagon beetle in his clutches and is raising it to his mouth to consume. This whole scene takes place under an overpass. <br /><br />We spent the afternoon wandering through Pike's Place Market. What a vibrant, exciting place. Young men at fish stands throw the freshest fillets back and forth, chopping them up to be sold to gawking tourists. Rainbows of fresh fruits and vegetables line the aisles. Indie girls with short hair and thick rimmed glasses walk around in khakis and chacos searching for organic produce. I watched Blair take it all in. He was loving the different people and panhandlers playing instruments for change. Other cities may try to do the whole market thing, but none will ever hold a candle to Seattle's. The vendors continue outside for blocks and there was a truck full of black gospel singers in pin-stripe suits, belting out soul. It was a Saturday afternoon and the place was crawling. You could hardly walk. We ducked into Kells Irish Pub for an afternoon Guiness, and Maryanne and I discussed respective futures and the states of our parents, etc. We made big plans to rally the entire family for the Waupaca Triathalon next summer, and assigned different legs to different aunts, uncles, and cousins. Hopefully we'll be able to work it out and make it happen. If you're family, take note. The triatholon is next August. Better start training now. Maryanne and I were in the midst of discussing this when Blair ordered two shots of Bushmill's Irish Whiskey - one for him, one for me. He toasted to the trip and we had whiskey at 2pm. I said I don't know if that was entirely necessary at this point in time, but then again, I've never been one to look a gift drink in the mouth. We walked back to Maryanne's condo and planned to go to Mass at 5pm, after Blair and I went to the Seattle REI store to see about some last minute camping odds and ends for the trip. Suddenly everything we saw, we needed. We gradually got over the excitement of wall to wall camping gadgets and focused on items we actually needed. Thinking ahead to Glacier and Yellowstone, we picked up some hiking packs for backcountry hiking. I also picked up a French-press coffee mug that I use every day. We threw the packs on and hiked back to Maryanne's to get ready for church. <br /><br />After church we drove around until we found Laurelhurst Park, which Blair was dying to see. One of his favorite authors, Don Miller, spent a lot of time in the park, apparently. We walked around the park and caught a glimpse of Lake Washington, and drove to Mike's house (Maryanne's Mike) to pick him up. Mike's garage door was open when we pulled in and my jaw dropped as I stared at his silver Porsche Carrera. I thought Mike was really cool before I saw his car. Man! nice catch Maryanne! We went to dinner at a pizza place called Serious Pie, and it was seriously good. From dinner, we walked to Fado's Irish Pub, where members of the Brazilian Soccer team were hanging out after a game in Seattle. I have no idea why they were in Seattle. Haven't seen sportcenter in awhile. Usually I have a strict policy against establishments that want me to pay a cover charge, but I ponied up the 5 bucks to see some live local music. We got in and ordered beers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmJgVeaCfhVa8gsQezneJMiVNlutRcsUyttZO3MQm8n8x-IfieFFM4nwF7idJ8BwQvFD68OONOjgNxzTHm7a5u_m7LTe8qUGJk43o0tioR-LGZvtwxshP8LLnfmvym2ld9TK72oeR1ke2/s1600-h/mikesnider+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmJgVeaCfhVa8gsQezneJMiVNlutRcsUyttZO3MQm8n8x-IfieFFM4nwF7idJ8BwQvFD68OONOjgNxzTHm7a5u_m7LTe8qUGJk43o0tioR-LGZvtwxshP8LLnfmvym2ld9TK72oeR1ke2/s400/mikesnider+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211425271180876450" /></a><br />The band was called "The Boys of Greenwood Glen" - a drinking band with an Irish problem. They played terrific old Irish drinking songs and the bar filled up with dancing Seattleites. Mike and Maryanne left and Blair and I eventually made our way back to the condo after walking down to the pier to take pictures of the skyline.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEsR-EY-8Q7iQMLevpwM286TOSx5lBV-wSceoLH2voDBZGGm02pP5OI7sKJrQul7yiRU95Zm3Y_9h2bN9anT7juZ-v5Aju6mRTae6axTO15_csEMakH8DQtwHeaSLL93HvjCjGL1WyDWq/s1600-h/IMG_1457.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEsR-EY-8Q7iQMLevpwM286TOSx5lBV-wSceoLH2voDBZGGm02pP5OI7sKJrQul7yiRU95Zm3Y_9h2bN9anT7juZ-v5Aju6mRTae6axTO15_csEMakH8DQtwHeaSLL93HvjCjGL1WyDWq/s400/IMG_1457.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216244258978469138" /></a> Everyone slept in the next morning and we walked to an afternoon Mariners game at Safeco Field. It was no Miller Park, but we did eat sushi at the game. Safeco is the only ballpark in America that sells sushi, and it was sure good. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3fGsjg3UCirz8StGqCfthmPp9Mu2nmQj1QqN0jAHFD3Q2cRLMglTntoyZuc-tDfif23O4Qt1xKugczCIo0R36F_aDNzKYF_lxoGKf9X6_KqJJZlv7-_JIXtCpTpEWQwF3YaeD7ZmUBNh/s1600-h/IMG_1467.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3fGsjg3UCirz8StGqCfthmPp9Mu2nmQj1QqN0jAHFD3Q2cRLMglTntoyZuc-tDfif23O4Qt1xKugczCIo0R36F_aDNzKYF_lxoGKf9X6_KqJJZlv7-_JIXtCpTpEWQwF3YaeD7ZmUBNh/s400/IMG_1467.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216244704773081442" /></a>We had fish for dinner at this place on the water called Ivars Salmon House. I had the most delicious halibut. After dinner we drove to Gastworks park and then went to bed early since Blair and I planned to leave at 9am the following morning. <br /><br />I had a blast with Maryanne and Mike. It was so nice of them to take a weekend and show us around their cool city, picking up meals and drinks left and right. I am truly blessed to have such fine relatives. <br /><br />After Seattle, my contacts had run dry. From here on out it would be just Blair and I fending for ourselves on the open road. We were very excited, yet nervous to begin.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-45989943139210889272008-06-13T09:01:00.000-07:002008-06-13T09:47:03.513-07:00Rental Car Trouble and Pine Grove, CAThe day after Sequoia, great uncle John drove us to the Fresno airport to pick up our rental car, which I had reserved to drive to Seattle. I was worried there would be some sort of hassle with the company because I am under 25 years of age with no major credit card. Boy was I right. The agent on the phone said I could use my debit card, but the agent behind the desk had a different opinion. I gave her my card; she arbitrarily typed a few numbers into the computer, and said "the computer won't let me process your order because you're under 25." One of my greatest pet peeves is when humans use computers as an excuse to deny people service. I mean really, you have no power over that plastic box in front of you? You're completely enslaved to its processes? Of course there is no manual override in which an actual human being is forced to make a rational decision. Where's the man behind the curtain!?! Sorry for the rant, but that is the weakest excuse a person can give. Realizing there was no way we were leaving the airport in the car I reserved, we tried the next desk over. Luckily Hertz rents to 22 year-olds with no credit, so we said goodbye to Uncle John and sped to Pine Grove in our Nissan Xterra, which cost an arm with the added underage fee. (I thought once you turn 21 there are no more underage fees.) <br /><br />We made fantastic time to Pine Grove as we blew by acre after acre of meticulously cared for wine-grapes and other California fruits. Sean and Michelle both work at school, and their two kids Derrick and Natalie were not playing hooky that day, so it was no surprise that no one was home when we arrived an hour before school let out. I attempted to gain access to the house, but re-evaluated after Sean and Michelle's dog Abigail threatened to tear me limb from limb. Okay, maybe we'll just hang out on the driveway and tinker with our bikes until they get home. Michelle's folks live right down the street, and Bonnie stopped by to welcome us. A bit later, Michelle's dad Roy came over to hang out for awhile and let us in the house. We talked about where we'd been and where we were going. Roy offered us a beer from Sean's fridge - not yet, but he looked up at the sky, stated that it was after noon, and cracked one open. I liked Roy. He showed us the outdoor kitchen he and Michelle were working on. It looked like a great place to throw a packer party. I'll have to return during football season. Soon Sean and family got home from work/school and Sean and I drank Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and caught up on his deck. Derrick did back flips on the trampoline and tried not to land on his little sister bouncing below. Sean told me how it happened that he became a permanent resident of California - taking a year's hiatus, bartending and substitute teaching, when the local school district offered him a full time position. He accepted, took some administrative courses on the side, and is now Principal of Sutter Creek Elementary. <br /><br />After we chatted for awhile, Sean started the grill for the delicious tri-tip dinner. If you've never had tri-tip beef, marinated perfectly by a California meat market, this is reason enough to take a trip west, for tri-tips are only available in California - to my knowledge. Sean grilled a mean tip, and Michelle cooked delicious potatoes and sweet corn on the cob! This was a feast fit for a king and we thoroughly enjoyed it. I had a really nice visit with Sean, Michelle and the kids, and am very glad we had the opportunity to stop. We spent the night and left with them in the morning, taking the leftover tri-tips for road sandwiches.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-5853588608566238082008-06-09T11:11:00.000-07:002008-06-13T10:41:06.538-07:00Sequoia National Park<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzH88Y8Zbs-2ggTJ7vNIIP8eZ-ht7QpbdfrF-triYOHdv25viU8WAeIVx1RXxyQKARznkO8-zRPg0s-4EMAhcjO0d1wgGXOqK1E0QRBzbzF6X1ouHUWNimo-_SUHjQ-8yIenw-4D5yNHFp/s1600-h/tomme.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzH88Y8Zbs-2ggTJ7vNIIP8eZ-ht7QpbdfrF-triYOHdv25viU8WAeIVx1RXxyQKARznkO8-zRPg0s-4EMAhcjO0d1wgGXOqK1E0QRBzbzF6X1ouHUWNimo-_SUHjQ-8yIenw-4D5yNHFp/s400/tomme.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211419686794570994" /></a><br />As I said in the Tulare Post, mom's cousin Tom Greisbach was nice enough to take a day off work and drive us up to Sequoia National Park in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Tom picked us up at Mike Lampe's at noon on Wednesday May 28th, and told stories about his side of the family the whole way there. I discovered how extraordinary my great-grandparents were - with Grandpa Lampe starting the Lumber company and grandma keeping the books but still finding the time to teach young black girls in a time when that was mostly unheard of. A few of her children and grandchildren have run into former pupils who still sing grandma's praises, saying if not for her they would never have gone through college. I had no idea about all this rich family history out west, and am glad to have had the chance to learn all about it. <br /><br />After stopping at Fr. Johnny's retreat center, we continued through the town of Three Rivers at the base of the mountains, where supposedly some movie stars have secluded vacation homes, and gradually made our way up the winding road to Sequoia. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcvfqqz4ofjoPX4OdhfLKy5pJkQc2QjpNiVHD3J-ZpuhGpLbncLF_btRdPWwiz501mpbKqqfKLcdQu-c3-seJQ6cj16s6NDB83TMysw7O-8ic05rY8lCLmbg6Ud_HSkNu5pQ0da1-Ko35/s1600-h/fog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcvfqqz4ofjoPX4OdhfLKy5pJkQc2QjpNiVHD3J-ZpuhGpLbncLF_btRdPWwiz501mpbKqqfKLcdQu-c3-seJQ6cj16s6NDB83TMysw7O-8ic05rY8lCLmbg6Ud_HSkNu5pQ0da1-Ko35/s400/fog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211417431762912114" /></a><br />It was beautiful. The higher peaks were covered in snow, and Tom explained the different seasons of the different elevations. It could be late spring at the bottom of the mountains, but winter and early spring the higher up you get. The vegetation changes depending on the elevation and there are many different micro-climates, each supporting an array of different species. We drove up and up, looking out the window at green, jagged mountains. The first stop was Hospital Rock, an Indian pictograph site in which Indians nursed a white explorer back to health. The red ink figures are still fully visible on the side of the huge boulder, which had come to rest thousands of years ago. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAs8l0Kw6V_jp0yyaM8Uz6zMl_EtstL0hlHF89CVsbEO_NmCdbRGYXWiuk5jxaXITJGEl-neHsXds9dj9W3PdlE5Tqt3Y2tD7BbW7ufEEMOZ8Yyv0MS9MjEXklku9eiMJkSn-iVT905pMq/s1600-h/pictos.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAs8l0Kw6V_jp0yyaM8Uz6zMl_EtstL0hlHF89CVsbEO_NmCdbRGYXWiuk5jxaXITJGEl-neHsXds9dj9W3PdlE5Tqt3Y2tD7BbW7ufEEMOZ8Yyv0MS9MjEXklku9eiMJkSn-iVT905pMq/s400/pictos.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211417312789959250" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2q7Dt-fWlP9CWdWxZESjM7Vl6IWfgtzG3Xe3Qcl44KLTyrNgcCTqpwCXCIUaG7RPtQBDm_uESyIuRbR4zhQrBl_9H7OLeb-PEQm6Z7Nkw1bVP4SGbUMNSHrPvivudwB76qxl35wLnYqz/s1600-h/sky.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2q7Dt-fWlP9CWdWxZESjM7Vl6IWfgtzG3Xe3Qcl44KLTyrNgcCTqpwCXCIUaG7RPtQBDm_uESyIuRbR4zhQrBl_9H7OLeb-PEQm6Z7Nkw1bVP4SGbUMNSHrPvivudwB76qxl35wLnYqz/s400/sky.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211417061694932514" /></a><br />We continued the ascent until great Morrow Rock came into view above us, with clouds fragmenting upon contact and drifting over the top. We elected to come back to the rock later in hopes of the fog clearing for a better view. Soon we entered the Giant Forest, which is the exact elevation and climate for monstrous redwood trees. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieBa4rU0YkCM9_Dpwtvpxxuhb_-v6mVL_o-EUP1PYxNwppbPpqq4SBin67fsIucaTRgaQYV5Gnrl7tRGyr6t9YpqTrUKDZh6fHMWXxY3ttQYJXcZTc2sp68wAUSWLionphRElZSgimIvJ/s1600-h/bigg.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieBa4rU0YkCM9_Dpwtvpxxuhb_-v6mVL_o-EUP1PYxNwppbPpqq4SBin67fsIucaTRgaQYV5Gnrl7tRGyr6t9YpqTrUKDZh6fHMWXxY3ttQYJXcZTc2sp68wAUSWLionphRElZSgimIvJ/s400/bigg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211418831665237810" /></a>Sequoia is home to the largest trees in the world and I couldn't believe the size of the small ones! Most of the trunks are charred and split at the base of the trunk, evidence of the trees having survived various forest fires over thousands of years. The spongy bark can be two-three feet thick and is fire-retardant, which explains why these giants are still standing. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmESyGfDDT80pMZ4rwKLLX0AG07tq0pdjG1ybBcrWE0l5qXzapDxt63Bl3S-XFh4p56v5W-dkTdD65RfKU9mQ2MfO_5bSukXP2iukJcw8LAn4cKAoRFR-HsUOA3Nu_Vb-RteH4HcgkTdn/s1600-h/muir.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmESyGfDDT80pMZ4rwKLLX0AG07tq0pdjG1ybBcrWE0l5qXzapDxt63Bl3S-XFh4p56v5W-dkTdD65RfKU9mQ2MfO_5bSukXP2iukJcw8LAn4cKAoRFR-HsUOA3Nu_Vb-RteH4HcgkTdn/s400/muir.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211419509504050018" /></a>We parked and walked the trail to General Sherman, the largest tree and living entity on the planet. There are taller trees, but nothing rivals Sherman in mass. Neither words nor pictures can describe the magnificent presence of Sherman. The size and beauty of these leviathans must be experienced in person. Sherman is over 2200 years old, and over 100 feet in circumference. It is 36.5 feet in diameter and 180 feet tall. The largest Branch is 6.8 feet in diameter. We took pictures in front of Sherman, marveled at him, and piled back in the truck to go climb Morrow Rock. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP90KnpKZrqmw0eb4IUNM2O1bsj0HaAwz0Z15XQ98Mj04j3nONueepKUskoxrxSuW17swI_cQLOU2O4aIWre-JPbsaJiPqkkfDUc7aucpwY1-o4N6cqwpExKIT3pQgh7ALWw4ZjpcDjGVw/s1600-h/morro.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP90KnpKZrqmw0eb4IUNM2O1bsj0HaAwz0Z15XQ98Mj04j3nONueepKUskoxrxSuW17swI_cQLOU2O4aIWre-JPbsaJiPqkkfDUc7aucpwY1-o4N6cqwpExKIT3pQgh7ALWw4ZjpcDjGVw/s400/morro.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211418243977409938" /></a><br />As we climbed the rock stairway, we felt the clouds rushing through us. It was cold and misty, yet soothing as I breathed in the moist, mountain air. Every so often, there would be a break in the clouds and we could see the valley and road on which we came up. It was too foggy to see the 14,000 ft. high peaks across the way, but it was still incredible to stand out on the cliff and peer over the edge. The final stop in Sequoia was Crescent Meadow, which John Muir called "the gem of the Sierras." Sequoia is full of John Muir quotes and stories. The naturalist and writer once climbed to the top of a tall tree in a thunderstorm to revel in the natural beauty of the wilderness around him. Madness - I had found a new hero. Anyway, the meadow marks a break in the forest roughly the size of a football field, in which lush, emerald grasses grow out of saturated swampland. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVnRcP1X7-rjgvOGIjF-H53FRLEvNEe1XuQx7N9UoWqoQ_IqIA7UCM6CtjtqOCYEZs-4O1jtgcIM0V9MXYEagi-CW9P7K93mCuhY1-KjCXvqirhVZYMvYKeLfMqGCEs08atYjRb9uZMZd/s1600-h/mikesnider+040.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVnRcP1X7-rjgvOGIjF-H53FRLEvNEe1XuQx7N9UoWqoQ_IqIA7UCM6CtjtqOCYEZs-4O1jtgcIM0V9MXYEagi-CW9P7K93mCuhY1-KjCXvqirhVZYMvYKeLfMqGCEs08atYjRb9uZMZd/s400/mikesnider+040.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211421643208507346" /></a>Across the middle lies a giant fallen redwood, where my great-grandfather had his picture taken decades earlier. Tom took my picture at the same spot so we could send it to Grandma Griesbach in Wisconsin. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4GyMsQykt7vYdhKZhWQX4F_gLUgXKWWygzaWNSg6bYrmgViHN9YzmOg7y6zjHkEAhfzVzoYReo9Eps33dYEBv3-jQ-8fgZvJVU99bOXgKAFXFVfIAHmbdFVmMdxC90xXix5B7P4ybCmP/s1600-h/mikesnider+036.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4GyMsQykt7vYdhKZhWQX4F_gLUgXKWWygzaWNSg6bYrmgViHN9YzmOg7y6zjHkEAhfzVzoYReo9Eps33dYEBv3-jQ-8fgZvJVU99bOXgKAFXFVfIAHmbdFVmMdxC90xXix5B7P4ybCmP/s400/mikesnider+036.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211422348122490098" /></a>The afternoon sunlight struck the meadow producing electric shades and colors. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVbH-VOOUOiD53NSaH58TJksj7t9L1fAoW1yQk6ZDuS1qxduFyto1OY8Ln4aoMp07TRak_HKJes96iErginnxlHaXS3pF5Unj5NW9TU_X_82xhQXVAYexaMn9N1-Uh71NYzvWxH7lV8LO/s1600-h/mikesnider+039.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVbH-VOOUOiD53NSaH58TJksj7t9L1fAoW1yQk6ZDuS1qxduFyto1OY8Ln4aoMp07TRak_HKJes96iErginnxlHaXS3pF5Unj5NW9TU_X_82xhQXVAYexaMn9N1-Uh71NYzvWxH7lV8LO/s400/mikesnider+039.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211422002784219490" /></a><br />Tom said the Sierras were called the "range of light." I fully grasped what he was talking about. We walked around the glowing, heavenly meadow and paused at a trout stream where Tom used to fish. Small speckled trout still fought against the current under the small bridge. Blair vowed he could catch one with his bare hands, but Tom and I were too hungry to wait around for such a futile exercise. <br /><br />Starving, we began the long descent through the park, stopping frequently to examine beautiful dogwood flowers and rare, red snow flowers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTAHaPu5lw6cV7kflUgAhX8XoINCuRa5A7LjSwD8Z8yS-TZ73mBoH1mZHGICQjyAkITsGboumgw00U0Py-_n9NO5MFhyphenhyphenwWXjJuluVtP8mh0N9M_-Xg26R09zcA8IhLYvfXsiedh_rJSlW/s1600-h/macro.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTAHaPu5lw6cV7kflUgAhX8XoINCuRa5A7LjSwD8Z8yS-TZ73mBoH1mZHGICQjyAkITsGboumgw00U0Py-_n9NO5MFhyphenhyphenwWXjJuluVtP8mh0N9M_-Xg26R09zcA8IhLYvfXsiedh_rJSlW/s400/macro.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211419069604866594" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gh6kMWPGN2bSvsbsE496_kEl7y2973wNbHL406fUwHP2vIkXIGCko31GW9UDbcDYExuSd4Q2BV53SXszTaUa9w384-ZZGm5h9tlSHuOnGMPIriTT8nlZAvlnGlzqAA9vca-9vERmtLsQ/s1600-h/snow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gh6kMWPGN2bSvsbsE496_kEl7y2973wNbHL406fUwHP2vIkXIGCko31GW9UDbcDYExuSd4Q2BV53SXszTaUa9w384-ZZGm5h9tlSHuOnGMPIriTT8nlZAvlnGlzqAA9vca-9vERmtLsQ/s400/snow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211419263154482226" /></a>Tom was close to entering forestry school some time ago, so he was able to tell us the names of every plant species we encountered. We stopped to photograph a black bear, a mangy coyote, and a half- dozen mule deer. Tom took us out for a delicious, fancy dinner at the Gateway restaurant in Three Rivers. There was outside seating on a deck that was perched over one of the three rivers, and I ate sautéed scallops as it rushed below us. It was so nice of Tom to take a day off and show us the beautiful park where he spent so much time growing up. When he explained things, his face would light up with joy -making it easy to tell how much he truly loves this place. His kindness and generosity will never be forgotten.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-88694375237002373752008-06-01T23:58:00.000-07:002008-06-02T01:25:33.458-07:00Tulare and Visalia<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6jMU64lG9hyphenhyphenmSyH7aPtDIKLEkjww1-29x00cePMil7yehx0nJQwL4pJ5pLo4NRbqtJg2JGA3t5oDKHQh9vJZndfOHpDm5sLSDAhRYcWzhmOEkpCgWmZ1YfoHfCE6qs0sgGKTbmIuK3M4/s1600-h/IMG_1167%5B1%5D"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6jMU64lG9hyphenhyphenmSyH7aPtDIKLEkjww1-29x00cePMil7yehx0nJQwL4pJ5pLo4NRbqtJg2JGA3t5oDKHQh9vJZndfOHpDm5sLSDAhRYcWzhmOEkpCgWmZ1YfoHfCE6qs0sgGKTbmIuK3M4/s320/IMG_1167%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207197396824251426" /></a><br />Mark drove us to Paso Robles to meet my great uncle John Lampe, who would drive us two hours to his home in Tulare, CA. It was here, in the denny's parking lot that we would say goodbye to Mark. Having crossed the country twice with Mark and his trusty Ram pickup, I can confidently say there is no better road trip companion. I'm going to miss him. <br /><br />My grandma's family on my mothers side were Okies who moved to Tulare, CA in 1937 seeking a better life after the depression - straight out of a Steinbeck novel. My great-grandparents started the Lampe Lumber company and most children and grandchildren worked for some time at the saw mill. My grandma came to Marquette University by train when she was 16 years old to study journalism, and ended up staying. Th rest of the Lampe clan remains on the West coast. Great Uncle John, my grandma's brother, hauled lumber from the Sierras to LA for over 50 years. On the ride home he told stories of spending an entire day cutting down one giant redwood, making a soft bed for it to fall on, and quartering the fallen tree lengthwise in order to load it onto the trailer. I liked uncle John immediately. He was in excellent health for 80, except for an absessed tooth for which he would have to see the "god-damned dentist" the following day. He told us about his children, and riffed about the mass ammounts of wine-grapes we drove past in the central valley. John argued that there is no difference between a $6 bottle and a $60 bottle. He said his son Mike thinks he knows a lot about wine, but he's really full of shit. I liked uncle John. <br /><br />When we arrived at John's house, his sweet wife Joyce opened the door and immediately offered us a beer. It was almost 3:00pm, why not? Joyce had arranged for most of the family in the area to gather at her home to meet me, one of the long lost relatives from Wisconsin. Great Uncle Tom and Aunt Joan soon arrived followed by their son Paul, and John and Joyce's daughter Susie, with two of her kids. My grandma's sister katie married my grandpa's brother, so there is a line of double cousins. Tom Griesbach is one such cousin. He told stories of hiking with my Wisconsin Uncles in the mountains. Tom arranged to take us up to see Fr. Johnny the next morning - another of my mom's cousins who had become a priest and director of a beautiful retreat center in the foothills of the Sierras. We visited awhile and ate a couple pizzas with Uncle John over an intense conversation about politics. <br /><br />John and Joyce drove us 10 miles to Visalia after dinner to stay with their son Mike, who has plenty of room for an army in his family's enormous home in a gated community. Uncle John told the security guard at the gate he had to drop off a couple jailbirds. Blair and I both got our own rooms and bathrooms, and marveled at the beautiful home. We were introduced to Mike Lampe's stepson Nick who was a Junior at Fresno State, and his younger son, Caihlen. Nick took us for a pontoon boat ride in the man-made lake behind the home that was more like a canal offering views of the other ridiculous estates in the neighborhood. Mike and Cindy were away at a concert, so we had the place to ourselves. We had a couple cocktails with expensive rum and talked to Nick. Mike and Cindy didn't get home until after we crashed, so I had yet to meet our host. <br /><br />The next night we returned home late after seeing Sequoia and eating a delicious dinner in Three Rivers. That expedition is deserving of its own posting, since it is so beautiful and magnificient. Mike and Cindy were in bed when we got in, so I met Mike Lampe for two minutes when he let us in, and that was it for the two nights we stayed at his house. Uncle John picked us up the following morning and drove us to Fresno to pick up our rental car. I'm very glad I had the opportunity to meet my Grandma's family in California. They were extremely kind and generous.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-76992443223436536132008-05-28T10:14:00.000-07:002008-06-02T02:08:44.841-07:00Santa Barbara...Why Would You Live Anywhere Else?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi023TTdEMWtWP2Mu4v8KQymgYio-dIXRt4ypavD0XSV-cmD7VWla2GoDDZd_uBbpw74NZ61nlprUDOrvxHBVCeIZys8v3OUzs0uH1D78DZyBQlNuYChEYfvlyh-IMcaI-1jQXPTbxhtmAm/s1600-h/IMG_1139%5B1%5D"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi023TTdEMWtWP2Mu4v8KQymgYio-dIXRt4ypavD0XSV-cmD7VWla2GoDDZd_uBbpw74NZ61nlprUDOrvxHBVCeIZys8v3OUzs0uH1D78DZyBQlNuYChEYfvlyh-IMcaI-1jQXPTbxhtmAm/s400/IMG_1139%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207199590859273762" /></a><br />Sorry for the break in posts, it has been hard to find time. <br /><br />The next morning we were supposed to go fishing, but I awoke to a call from Mark's buddy Andy saying the weather was not right for a fishing trip. The backup plan was a bike ride all over Santa Barbara. We got up and had some coffee cake and fresh squeezed orange juice from Mark's backyard and prepped for the ride. Blair's wheels were all screwed up (you might know), so we spent 2 hours replacing spokes and truing them. It was a good learning experience, in case we face similar problems on the tour home. <br /><br />The first place we rode was the Santa Barbara Mission, which had this awesome festival going on called I Madonnari. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzUeS_0rfWeXn-PMb3vJC133zj-bolngI5gEcsLBxXfsdt2eA8FWGmnLoinxaeHSvy1gS73469MF7-cy2G3W69ebS_GT1PyLUbiAKg2qKR5xzp3Cpo0DWfQsEhd1QAtVfoPOQYogOpQV8/s1600-h/IMG_1050%5B1%5D"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzUeS_0rfWeXn-PMb3vJC133zj-bolngI5gEcsLBxXfsdt2eA8FWGmnLoinxaeHSvy1gS73469MF7-cy2G3W69ebS_GT1PyLUbiAKg2qKR5xzp3Cpo0DWfQsEhd1QAtVfoPOQYogOpQV8/s400/IMG_1050%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207202945146340098" /></a>It's an annual Italian festival in which local artists use sidewalk chalk to paint beautiful pictures on the street in front of the Mission. We dug it and Blair and I jumped into an all-Asian group picture, sticking out like sore thumbs. Mark took pictures and said we would be famous in China. I sure hope so. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPEzms86IcaIVhXe2seIxtSh3Vdq45BaJQtFyiGKOgpxigwfSp3vE8vaqvNqMIO2X-jWOxJ5kdC_8rMlbgT0I5C2lych3yqeCJKGbw51r8kn-dCvxqwX75Nmn4I7DTu-pzJAk8HPe8N-T/s1600-h/IMG_1062%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPEzms86IcaIVhXe2seIxtSh3Vdq45BaJQtFyiGKOgpxigwfSp3vE8vaqvNqMIO2X-jWOxJ5kdC_8rMlbgT0I5C2lych3yqeCJKGbw51r8kn-dCvxqwX75Nmn4I7DTu-pzJAk8HPe8N-T/s400/IMG_1062%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207207236311744066" /></a>We continued to Old San Marcus Pass, which was one hell of a climb. We passed a broken down cyclist on our way up, and I said it was a bad omen. We should have turned back then. When we got to the top of Old San Marcus Pass, the plan was to turn around and ride toward Goleta Beach, a nice level route. I looked up at the road ahead, Painted Cave road, and wanted to keep going. Blair and Mark said, yeah, I guess we could keep going if we want to. I said "we HAVE to." <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Ot7Ll9zKqg2M6gGtovQ6iB5Wz0tfMZ_akp9ErJYgplRvYvXgyPJ-WYAGqfpTqdoQipp5_YB0x60GsdnlOAdqLyCYXtEMcasPKlccDhW7mx6eGp8DesxuNYjZBgII1JV640AXnjSVU8Uv/s1600-h/IMG_1072%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Ot7Ll9zKqg2M6gGtovQ6iB5Wz0tfMZ_akp9ErJYgplRvYvXgyPJ-WYAGqfpTqdoQipp5_YB0x60GsdnlOAdqLyCYXtEMcasPKlccDhW7mx6eGp8DesxuNYjZBgII1JV640AXnjSVU8Uv/s400/IMG_1072%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207204413838817170" /></a>What followed was the most bad-ass ride of our lives. Painted Cave road went up and up and up in endless corkscrews and narrow curves. Finally we made it to the ridge and took a right on El Cielo, which was closed to automobiles. Mark was cramping up already, and we weren't even halfway done. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Rjx1VtK0Xu4kHNamjo2t-LYOvrXIp-QOunqy5e9fLOAmqamYWCoMaG6G3FQ4uwGk_7Q5p3PXGMyBlNAxVIU25Q1GXGakkb1uu9CElh56xjcva5sou8JKiZQAs9-F8h9gYLM1uLRyR4X8/s1600-h/IMG_1084%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Rjx1VtK0Xu4kHNamjo2t-LYOvrXIp-QOunqy5e9fLOAmqamYWCoMaG6G3FQ4uwGk_7Q5p3PXGMyBlNAxVIU25Q1GXGakkb1uu9CElh56xjcva5sou8JKiZQAs9-F8h9gYLM1uLRyR4X8/s400/IMG_1084%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207207230747459890" /></a>He was not in a good mood, and made several threats on my life that would be carried out if I did not stop chattering to him. We went up and over various mountains on the Santa Inez range, culminating with one last climb to La Cumbre Peak. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpRiOMmfM2FutEeg3CiMmX3Tf4SGbpryeP6BYc8rjDPNibYxNeAkqbXfGdGpo_swVicZoP5UkXt3ccvFpGbamDTEIVD50kfE_efHZETgv_Fe-CHdVBpY-i8-cVOrF-t6ojouOz3SM9SHxQ/s1600-h/IMG_1101%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpRiOMmfM2FutEeg3CiMmX3Tf4SGbpryeP6BYc8rjDPNibYxNeAkqbXfGdGpo_swVicZoP5UkXt3ccvFpGbamDTEIVD50kfE_efHZETgv_Fe-CHdVBpY-i8-cVOrF-t6ojouOz3SM9SHxQ/s400/IMG_1101%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207207244048214386" /></a>I beat Blair and Mark there by a good 20 minutes and laid down in the sun to rest. I was out of food, nearly out of water, and FREEZING. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbA6vHrXMzx3xhKr2bt5WHLeiVfNdvGjnM5WyE38W3Rco76g6Wd9lQI-qVlSbXB8e2IAIHlOnttjrT1baMk9r6QcoS9GeGrNugEo0Q9nRgpYBlKA6ME2Mv1KR3HWUG9IAGWR2rrfQtHvvD/s1600-h/IMG_1103%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbA6vHrXMzx3xhKr2bt5WHLeiVfNdvGjnM5WyE38W3Rco76g6Wd9lQI-qVlSbXB8e2IAIHlOnttjrT1baMk9r6QcoS9GeGrNugEo0Q9nRgpYBlKA6ME2Mv1KR3HWUG9IAGWR2rrfQtHvvD/s400/IMG_1103%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207203661503051490" /></a>The temperature at the bottom was a warm 77 degrees, but it had plummeted to 46 at the peak. Soon Blair reached the top and I demanded a cliff bar, which he graciously gave me. It was apricot flavored and nasty as hell, but at that point I was looking for plants on the side of the road that I could eat that I had seen on the discovery channel. Mark caught up on his hard-tail mountain bike, which weighed probably 20 pounds more than my road bike, and whizzed off the peak. We talked briefly about how much this ride sucked, and elected to get off the mountain as soon as possible. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpOKh83V426iZ0RFOVfDwUpiIymrZKjIgM6LRbLEhWhhAVIJtFi6luUwLak49tdCJmH6_EUwCVrl7syUuj9MEdy39hEckE9ikJNUctgWFIa4bFr_boX8ItoAIx-kACk1aEuAGqAQcBjoC/s1600-h/IMG_1104%5B1%5D"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpOKh83V426iZ0RFOVfDwUpiIymrZKjIgM6LRbLEhWhhAVIJtFi6luUwLak49tdCJmH6_EUwCVrl7syUuj9MEdy39hEckE9ikJNUctgWFIa4bFr_boX8ItoAIx-kACk1aEuAGqAQcBjoC/s400/IMG_1104%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207200613237171474" /></a><br />We bombed down El Cielo until we reached Gibraltar, and bombed down that road as well. We passed a makeshift shooting range, and feared for our lives. Mark said there were a lot of crazy assholes in the mountains. He was right. A little further down, I was leading the pack, and there was a dirt biker coming the opposite direction. I moved over to the side of my lane, expecting him to do the same, but he crossed lanes and sped straight at me. Terrified, I pulled my bike off the road with inches to spare between my left handlebar and the crazed dirt biker. I yelled "dude, what the f#$*!!!" and stood shaking by the side of the road until the others reached me. I was in shock. And I was angry. In utter disbelief over what had just occurred, I grasped for an explanation. Mark told me the dirt biker community does not take kindly to "roadies," which is apparently what I was. Unless you have thick tires and can go off-road, you are an enemy. This jackass wanted to play chicken. I wanted to spill his blood. I cannot think of a time in my life when I was angrier than that sadistic bastard made me on the mountain. If I had a gun, I would have killed him. I scanned the road the rest of the way down looking for a truck that was equipped to transport a dirt bike. It's good I couldn't find it, because I would have broken every window and taken off as much paint as humanly possible. My blood boils when I think about that event. I calmed down on the rest of the beautiful descent, and enjoyed the cool breeze as we flew down the mountain. We had gone from about 30 feet to 4000, and almost lost our lives in a few different ways. We returned to the Von Dollen's and had bbq chicken and magic potatoes, with steamed broccoli and asparagus on the side - Another award-winning meal expertly prepared by Karen Anna Von Dollen. <br /><br />After dinner, Mark built a fire in the outdoor fireplace, and we lounged in the spa for the rest of the night. The hot water soothed our aching leg muscles, and the only complaint was that there were three guys in the spa. We grew tired of sitting near each other, and went to bed.<br /><br />For breakfast on Sunday May 25th I had the best omelet ever to have graced a frying pan. Karen Anna packed these things full of cheeses, peppers, ham, mushrooms, etc, and tossed some hash browns on the side. The omelets were almost too much to handle, but we ate up to prepare for the days hike. Santa Barbara has the most trails of anywhere I've been. You can take a trail anywhere you need to go. We decided we needed to go up to Montecito peak. I insisted that Mark's dog Wanda came along, so we loaded her portable water bowl and a few biscuits and drove to the trailhead. Wanda dumped twice in the first hundred yards. Mark picked it up with a plastic bag. I laughed. Mark told us about a waterfall that was supposed to be a few miles off the main trail. We set out to find it. We hiked toward the sound of rushing water, and followed one fork of Cold Creek Springs up and up until the terrain became too difficult for 7 year-old Wanda to traverse. Mark stayed at the base with Wanda and told Blair and I to scout ahead. We climbed some enormous rocks and finally glimpsed the magnificent Tangerine Falls. There was a couple eating lunch below the falls, and I'm sure they loved it when Blair and I popped up right in front of them and climbed around taking pictures. The 200 foot waterfall was sublime. You can see the ocean from it between the ridges of green mountains. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_51KsB_XUrLxmyXjLQwd6Svq1hQ6xnR5N1vOEgsQutqwIW8xMLpG-7yy2G3_32kVapd4grd7o12JYrzog_QGAnZBCaDT7kHQ_IxRJm6nZFHb5YiYyOY_w4_5htSfr9StGF7ffUqBEQY1N/s1600-h/IMG_1126%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_51KsB_XUrLxmyXjLQwd6Svq1hQ6xnR5N1vOEgsQutqwIW8xMLpG-7yy2G3_32kVapd4grd7o12JYrzog_QGAnZBCaDT7kHQ_IxRJm6nZFHb5YiYyOY_w4_5htSfr9StGF7ffUqBEQY1N/s400/IMG_1126%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207207258004905730" /></a>We took it all in and climbed back down to meet Mark and Wanda. Mark said he'd wait to see the falls till some brothers were home to see it with him and we pressed onward and upward toward Montecito Peak. We encountered a dead rattlesnake that was 10 years old. It was covered in rocks indicating someone stoned it to death. Mark was astonished that no one took the buttons, so he whipped out his Leatherman and severed those babies. Next Blair spotted a nest full of infant birds - possibly grouse or quail. They were pretty damn cute and we had to tear Blair away to continue the hike. Wanda was getting tired during the final section to the top - a heart-breaking climb straight up at a nasty angle. We made it to the top and it was cold but beautiful. The whole city was visible between us and the ocean. We could see little white triangles in the harbor. We ate our picnic lunch on top and soon began the hike down before Wanda decided she was done for the day. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEsiHLs_J6rny2chEdrWjq3voS5qtimtu8uLm58UT1bffOoTep8X96XktutJJCJh4IL7ZUEHRlD31jRTm2GzKjrID5Om6z6aoZu8Yadb_RS4yWdg1ddFt9z_G74Az2edPqTOU2xFiPe15R/s1600-h/IMG_1121%5B1%5D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEsiHLs_J6rny2chEdrWjq3voS5qtimtu8uLm58UT1bffOoTep8X96XktutJJCJh4IL7ZUEHRlD31jRTm2GzKjrID5Om6z6aoZu8Yadb_RS4yWdg1ddFt9z_G74Az2edPqTOU2xFiPe15R/s400/IMG_1121%5B1%5D" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207207255424240546" /></a>She was panting like crazy on the way down, and we made frequent stops for water. We finished the 10 mile hike and got her in the truck just in time. Mark drove us home along Mountain Drive, one of the most beautiful drives in Santa Barbara and hence one of the most beautiful drives in the world. We drove past Jeff Bridges house, and countless other monstrosities teetering on unstable cliffs just waiting for a landslide to make toothpicks out of them. The pickup wound around the narrow roads and I scratched Wanda's head and belly the whole way home. The minute she entered the house, she lay down on the kitchen floor and didn't move for 6 hours. We enjoyed Fajita Burritos for dinner, and played Eucre with Karen Anna. We turned in early because there was a great chance of fishing in the morning. <br /><br />We awoke to a gorgeous Memorial Day, and to Karen Anna's blueberry muffins. I proposed again. Mark and I had to meet Andy at Goleta Pier at 7:15AM, so we ate some muffins, drank fresh squeezed orange juice, packed the cooler full of sandwiches and water, and took off for the coast. I read an article from the LA times on the way about the awful water situation in Northern Mexico. An Indian tribe there is forced to illegally fish up the Colorado River because by the time the river reaches the delta, there is not enough water to sustain the valuable fish they sell commercially. There were photos of the Mexican Indians with boats so full of fish that they frequently capsized - losing the entire day's catch. It is so sad that 100 years ago 30 ton steamers had no trouble reaching the gulf from the Colorado River, but now at Low tide, you can't even swim it. The article made me think seriously about environmental law - specifically water law. It doesn't seem right that US cities along the river and further away can water a gulf course in the desert, while some villages in Mexico often don't have enough water to bathe, drink, or wash clothes.<br /><br />Anyway, we got to Goleta Beach and Andy was getting the boat ready to be lowered in off of the pier. The craft was an 18 foot Boston Whaler. We left Blair in town to get his bike tuned since the boat wasn't comfortably big enough for four of us. We dropped the boat in and sped to Naples point, north of Goleta, to try and catch some sea bass. I caught the first fish, an ugly, prehistoric-looking ling cod. Andy caught one too. We gave up on sea bass and cruised out a mile and a half to catch some rock cod. Andy showed me how to bait the string of 5 large hooks with sections of squid, and we dropped the lines down 320 feet. Fishing over 300 feet deep means when you feel the slightest vibration on your pole, you must rip it up to set the hook. First cast, Mark reeled in an enormous rock cod, ugly as sin. We each went on to catch a few, and I brought in a 32 inch ling cod to end the day. It was exciting to have no idea what you're fighting 300 feet below you. We saw whales and seals and basked in the warm morning sun. At about 12:30PM, we cruised in and Andy's dad met us to clean the fish. This man is a Pro. He quickly carved out succulent fillets from our keepers and gave the heads of the fish to some Hispanics who would make soup from the cheek meat. We followed Andy back to his house and cleaned the hell out of the boat. His dad instructed us to wipe gasoline on the outside of the vessel to get rid of the oil stains. Nothing like a good ol' driveway toxic fuel spill. Mark and I cringed and did what we were told. <br /><br />We met Blair back at Mark's place and rode downtown to check out a couple bike stores. I was in the market for a new saddle, because I was afraid the one I had would make me impotent. The guy at the bike store assured me that my seat was fine, and that he had been biking for 30 years and had 4 kids. We rode back to Marks to make brick oven pizzas.<br /><br />Mark constructed a brick pizza oven when he was in eighth grade. We made 8 pizzas to celebrate his parents homecoming from their 10 day trip to various graduations across the country. The pies were amazing as usual and we even grilled the fish for an appetizer. Delicious. We crashed early in a food coma. <br /><br />This is a good place to highlight the fact that we consumed not a drop of alcohol in the four days we were in Santa Barbara. It felt great to be in such a beautiful place and be completely lucid to experience it all. I look forward to the rest of the summer being the same way. But first I had to meet the Lampes in Tulare.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-19657598280335057522008-05-23T22:06:00.000-07:002008-05-23T23:50:53.001-07:00VEGA$As I was finishing the last post, snow flakes began to fall in the canyon and the temperature plummeted. We decided to pack up and head for Vegas at once. We drove at top speeds to leave the blizzard behind us. We stopped briefly at the Hoover Dam to take some dam pictures and discuss the engineering feat. <br /><br />We checked into our soundproof suite at the Tropicana at approximately 7pm, bringing everything we couldn't fit into the cab of the truck upstairs to avoid theft. They shoved us through the turnstyles and turned us loose on the inside. We scoped out a 2 for 1 steak and seafood buffet and had some refreshments in the room before going down. It turns out one needs to be a member of the "winner's club" in order to redeem the buffet deal. I said we were winners but the hostess wouldn't budge, so we waved her off and started back toward the room. On the way up, we bumped into some engineering girls Mark knew from Marquette. We chatted for a minute, said we'd meet up later, and returned to the room for more refreshments. <br /><br />Blair was down for the count within the hour. <br /><br />Mark and I made him comfortable and decided to play poker. We scoffed at the $100 minimum buy-in at the Tropicana and elected to play at the Luxor since we knew they only required a $40 buy in, and because I've had good luck there before. It was a short walk down the crowded, electric strip, and the warm breeze felt nice on our greedy faces. We registered with the same nice man as last time and soon after my name was called. I was under the impression that we signed up for limit hold'em, but the first hand taught me this was 100 percent no limit. Some girl across the table took me all in, but I had the cards to back it up. 2 pair before the turn killed her pair of kings, and I won $40 in 5 minutes. I got up and left, having made enough already to cover my share of the room, refreshments, and breakfast in the morning. Mark broke even since he never got the chance to play. I love the Luxor. <br /><br />Blair was as we left him, snoring like a freight train sprawled out on one of the beds. Mark and I were starving since we still hadn't eaten, so we dug out the camp stove and cooked grilled cheeses on a section of a beer can. They were delicious, and we didn't burn the place down. Nourished, we had more refreshments and planned the next step. We agreed to meet the girls at the jacuzzi, and brought a few for the road. The first spa we saw was overrun with dude-bros except for two 30-something ladies, and the girls were no where in sight, so we opted to swim in the main pool that was most definitely closed for the night. Within 30 seconds, a brisk-walking female security guard informed us of what we already knew. The pool was still closed. We reluctantly climbed into the sausage fest hot tub and started making friends. There were two guys from Hawaii who were really cool, and three bros who sucked. I talked to the Hawaiians about their continental US experience and told them of Blair's and my bike trip. They thought it was cool and wished us luck. I proposed that everyone in the tub should go to the Wyn, which we agreed would have the most bad-ass spa in Vegas, but no one else thought it possible to sneak into the pool of the nicest place in Vegas. We soon grew bored and spotted the engineering girls at a spa across the main pool. <br /><br />Our beer reserves were depleted, and seeking more, we gave Blair a call up at the room, not hoping for much. Much to our delight, Blair not only answered, but arrived at the spa in double-time with reinforcement beers. We were thrilled to see him. <br /><br />Mark dared me to do a cannonball into the closed pool, and I accepted the challenge. The cool water was a shock to my system and I quickly exited the main pool in fear of the female security guard. My fear was realized when she threatened the entire group that if anyone stepped foot in that pool again, everyone would be eighty-sixed from the pool level. We all moved to the spa Mark and I started out in, which was free of bros, and talked awhile. We said goodbye to the girls and hung in the spa for awhile longer. It was 3:30am and I decided I was ready for bed. Blair agreed. We tried to convince Mark to come up to the room with us, but he insisted on sleeping on the deck with his legs half in the spa. We dragged and pleaded, but he would not be moved. I said forget it and went up to the room alone. Blair has more patience than I do. He found the security guard, and told her of our dilemma, and she called another security guard who brought a wheelchair. I was sitting alone in the hallway outside our room during this spectacle, because my key failed to function as a result of close contact with my cell phone in my pocket. I made up my mind to wait and possibly sleep in the hallway while waiting for my friends to return. After about 20 minutes, I hear the elevator doors close, and witness one of the funniest things I'd ever seen. Blair is pushing Mark down the hall in a wheelchair, accompanied by a Tropicana security guard . It looked like a scene from a retirement home - The orderly pushing the senior citizen who had a warm towel around his neck. But when this senior citizen saw me, he had a huge grin on his face and two thumbs up. The security guard let us into our room and Mark explained that apparently when you fall asleep half in the pool, they give you a free wheelchair ride up to your room. Blair was starving for a sandwich, but I convinced him to wait till morning, and we went to sleep. <br /><br />The next morning we woke up and met the engineering girls for breakfast. We annoyed them with our stories, said our goodbyes, then packed up and checked out. <br /><br />It seemed like the drive to Santa Barbara took forever, but when we arrived, Mark's saint of a sister, Karen Anna, had a huge pan of lasagna and a three layer cake waiting for us. We inhaled lasagna and I asked Mark if I could marry his sister. Tomorrow, we're up at 6:30 to go deep sea fishing with Mark's buddy Goebel. Hopefully we catch some lunker sea bass and rock cod and grill them up for dinner. I'll let you know how we do.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076282907722098114.post-82282267304337166802008-05-22T07:43:00.000-07:002008-05-28T22:49:03.822-07:00The Scene at Grand CanyonAfter driving for 30 hours straight, Mark, Blair, and I arrived at the South entrance to Grand Canyon National Park. Since my cousin Matt works for the trail crew here, we waved off the ranger asking for $25, and headed to market plaza, where we purchased a 6 pack of schlitz for under $4 and waited for Matt to meet us. It was 7pm local time. The plan was to hike down to phantom ranch on the bottom of the canyon, but it was getting dark. <br /><br />Matt rolled up in his pickup and jumped out to greet us. He looked about the same as the last time I'd seen him in WI - outdoor to the core, looking every bit the part of someone who's climbed El Capitan in Yosemite, fought fires on Mount Ranier, and hiked rim to rim to rim in the canyon. Matt was lean, red, with a grizzly, canyon beard and a recent mohawk - a sabotaged haircut by park service friends that he decided to live with. <br /><br />We followed Matt back to his house in the park, where we geared up for the hike. We drank the shlitz pack and filled up our packs with water, sleeping bags, food, and more beer. It was now dark, so we wore head lamps. The trailhead was about two miles from Matt's house, so we decided to walk it. Besides, Matt had to stop by a going-away party for one of his friends. We passed around a beer on the way to the party, and observed an adolescent elk no more than 20 feet ahead. I said it was huge, Matt said it was a little one. We got to the party, threw down our packs, and helped a man and his little girl find her bike helmet with our lights before going inside to greet 20 lean, leathery, laid back park service employees. Everyone was wearing patagonia and looking like they hadn't showered in a week. We met the host, Matthew, who was moving to Mount Ranier. Someone offered us a beer. People were drinking Miller High Life or Longboard Microbrew. Mark and I said we'd take anything, but Blair ordered a longboard "because he'd never had it before." The beer fetching guest arrived with 3 high lives and a longboard for the host. Blair grabbed the longboard, leaving a can of high life for the host at his own party. The guest who brought the beer said the longboard was for Matthew, but he played along and said Blair ordered it. We all laughed, but Blair didn't get it. He just popped the cap and put it in his pocket. He told us of his dream to have a wall in his house covered with bottle caps from all the different beers he'd ever sampled. Blair was a little behind, having been locked away at a dry christian college in Indiana for the last 4 years. We said our goodbyes and continued to the trailhead. <br /><br />Closer to the trailhead, we crossed a small bridge Matt had spent two months building last summer. It had big shaved logs for railings and support, and was fashioned as close as possible to those built 100 years ago. It was fascinating listening to Matt describe how he built different sections and fastened them together. The Snider half of the family often jokes about Matt being a free spirit, and he even says he's the black sheep of the family. This bridge was truly impressive and he should be respected for his craftsmanship. <br /><br />Soon we reached the Bright Angel trailhead and began our long descent. It was pitch Black except for the faint lights of the Grand Canyon Lodge on the North rim, exactly 10 miles as the crow flies, but 24 miles to hike there. The moon was full, but it was heavily shielded by clouds. It was 9pm and we had 7 miles to the bottom, so we decided to spend the night at the trail crew house in Indian Gardens halfway down. We made our way down the switchbacks and Matt pointed out sections of the trail that he maintained. Since we could only see about 10 feet in front of us, I had yet to experience the magnificence of the grand canyon in a visual sense. The night hike was still incredible. It was comletely silent, except for the erie "hoos" of far off owls. Matt and I caught up on our way down. <br /><br />The trail crew house in Indian Gardens was classic. There was bunkhouse with 8 beds in back and a sizable living room and kitchen in the front. Enormous pots and cast iron skillets were housed on top of the cabinets to help feed a dozen hungry and worn out trail crew workers who spend 10 hours per day in the canyon, which gets to be well over 100 degrees. The bunkhouse was empty tonight, so we had the place all to our selves. The four of us sat outside on a picnic table drinking beer and playing eaucre with our head lamps on so we could see the cards. I felt completely engulfed by the walls of the canyon, but very at peace. We were having a great time until a ranger with his shirt tucked in crept up and began reeming us out for waking him up. (It was only midnight). There was a ranger station about 30 yards from our place and I think we just assumed it was empty. It was so quiet we thought we were the only human beings in the canyon. The ranger was hopping mad and we all just sat there at the table listening to him lecture on how he would probably have 5 med-evacs tomorrow and ask rhetorically what we had to do tomorrow. Matt quickly responded that we would wake up at 6 and hike down to phantom. This infuriated the ranger even more. He threatened to "push all the paper he could Matt's way," which did not sound good. I can't speak for everyone, but I've never been yelled at with a level of harshness and ferocity approaching that of the ranger in my entire 22 years. I won't even communicate what he said he would do to us if we woke him up again because it was so malicious and evil I dare not repeat his words. We went inside in a state of shock and sat at the kitchen table staring at each other. We were all worried for Matt, and he was worried about the repercussions. I think I have a pretty good sense of crime and punishment, and the thought of job action being taken against Matt because we woke up a foul-tempered ranger at midnight seemed to me to be an overreaction. We tried to comfort Matt and tell him not to let this guy ruin his day off. Soon we got back to the cards and beers and stayed up till 2:30 playing eucre and cursing the ranger. Blair and I won the card game. When it was time to go to bed, Matt picked up a pad and headed outside to sleep. The rest of us chose bunks and drifted off with the windows open feeling the swirling breeze of the canyon. <br /><br />I awoke no more than four hours later to hear Matt on the phone with his boss giving him a heads up about the ranger wake-up incident. His boss Billy got the whole story and laughed out loud. He also thought it was ridiculous and told Matt not to worry about it since he didn't have to talk to us again. Billy even asked Matt whether, if the ranger called, he should tell him to go fly a kite, but he didn't say fly a kite. I walked out the door and took in the beauty and gradeur of the canyon. It was truly amazing. This made Matt feel better, and soon we woke the others, ate a piece of kiesh, and continued down to the bottom. The ranger was still in bed when we left, and stopping to talk to a park worker named Jerry of Native American descent, conirmed Matt's identification of the ranger as one of the two gay rangers - not that there's anything wrong with that. His husband was the man at the party trying to find the little girl's helmet. Matt sad they were married in San Francisco. This being said, the husband at the party was much more pleasant than the husband in the canyon. We would spend the rest of the day making gay ranger jokes. <br /><br />We flew down, according to Matt, making great time to the phantom ranch bunkhouse. The weather was perfect, not to hot on the way down. Matt made us breakfast burritos and we chowed them down. The phantom ranch bunkhouse had the same setup as the Indian Gardens trail crew house. Phantom Ranch is rich with history. Theodore Roosevelt used to stay in it during hunting trips. We toured the grounds and went swimming in the Colorado River, which was colder than lake superior. After the bonechilling dip, we returned to the bunkhouse to crash for two hours before the hike out. <br /><br />Rejuvinated, we began the hike up the South Kaibab Trail, crossing a 100 year old bridge whose winds claimed Blair's hat. It was another 8 miles out of the canyon and Matt led us at a brisk pace. I looked with awe over the chasms and cliffs. I thought about the millions of years it had to have taken to form all the different layers of rock. This deep scar in the earth should make people believe in God. We took a few short breaks to take pitures, but never sat down. It was a fairly quick climb. Matt warned us about the final thousand feet, called the chimney. It felt like it sounded. We reached the top in just over 3 hours and took a shuttle back to Matt's place. Exhausted, we cooked some frozen pizzas, inhaled them, and were comatose before 10. Last night's sleep was the most I had gotten in the last 3 nights. Matt woke us up and said goodbye (he had to work on the South rim) and the rest of us slept a bit longer. Everyone was sore as hell, Mark's quote while shuffling to the bathroom was "I feel like C3P0 in the desert."<br /><br />Today, we plan to bike around on the rim and then head for Vegas. Thanks for reading.Michael Sniderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02259559388735325761noreply@blogger.com0