Santa Barbara...Why Would You Live Anywhere Else?

Sorry for the break in posts, it has been hard to find time.

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.

The first place we rode was the Santa Barbara Mission, which had this awesome festival going on called I Madonnari. 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. 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." 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. 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. 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. 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.

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.

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.

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.
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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

VEGA$

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.

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.

Blair was down for the count within the hour.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Scene at Grand Canyon

After 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

Today, we plan to bike around on the rim and then head for Vegas. Thanks for reading.