5.11.2010
5.10.2010
Avalanche Zone
To be fair, so far Southern Oregon has had the best weather we've seen. But knowing that this is Oregon and it does have a propensity to rain here, we were prepared for and even expecting some nominal amount of precipitation. We are such n00bs; who would have thought that 'roads closed for snow' in mid-May still meant actively snowing with banks topping 10 feet abutting the roadside? I was unfortunately naïve enough to make sure my snow boots were buried completely inaccessibly last time we re-packed the car (somewhere in New Mexico), not expecting to need them. This is yet more (unnecessary) proof that I am terrible at packing.
On the bright side, I learned some important facts. Crater Lake gets an average of over 40 feet of snow per year. When it's foggy and snowing, you can't really see the lake. I am far better at snowball-throwing than Dan is. (This is, by far, the most important new piece of knowledge.)
It has also been decided that any future trip to Crater Lake must take place either in the summer or, if during inclement (read: snowy) weather, fully equipped with recreational snow gear (i.e. snowshoes and cross country skis and avalanche gear). It should further be acknowledged that we are really terrible at finding good weather. Upon retrospection, the barista at the coffee shop in Santa Fe had the right idea; go to Arizona, pretend to be foreign, and get deported to somewhere nice and sunny, like the Caribbean.
On the bright side, I learned some important facts. Crater Lake gets an average of over 40 feet of snow per year. When it's foggy and snowing, you can't really see the lake. I am far better at snowball-throwing than Dan is. (This is, by far, the most important new piece of knowledge.)
It has also been decided that any future trip to Crater Lake must take place either in the summer or, if during inclement (read: snowy) weather, fully equipped with recreational snow gear (i.e. snowshoes and cross country skis and avalanche gear). It should further be acknowledged that we are really terrible at finding good weather. Upon retrospection, the barista at the coffee shop in Santa Fe had the right idea; go to Arizona, pretend to be foreign, and get deported to somewhere nice and sunny, like the Caribbean.
5.09.2010
5.08.2010
This Rock Slide Is Pathetic: Or, The New Theory of Relativity
I've become very skeptical of road signs. Rock Slide Area, Falling Rocks, Road Damage, Uneven Road Surface, 35 M.P.H. Curve, ICY, Speed Enforced By Radar, and Narrow Road - to name a few - have all lost some of their urgency.
Your Road Damage is a crack. I think. I can't really find any. Where's the two-inch gap between lanes from snow melting and freezing for months, making even the most innocent of lane changes a lesson in disaster avoidance? Your Uneven Road Surface is repaving over old yet perfectly smooth asphalt. Where are the potholes and loose rocks? This 35 M.P.H. Curve is built for bumbling RVs, not nimble hatchbacks. 50 mph, easy. I haven't seen a single cop in your desolate wastelands, and to me narrow means "space for two, only if mirrors are scraping", not an imperceptible decrease in shoulder width. And where's all the ice? It's been sunny and above 50 for days - and to top it all off, none of these so called "passes" are above 7500 feet.
Your rock slide is a gently sloping if possibly somewhat chunky hill subtly approaching the roadside, not overhanging cliffs of loose sandstone. Semi-truck sized hole possible? I think not.
If you don't mind - this is our road trip, DOT - we've seen worse and more precarious roads than your RV-driving, fanny-pack-wearing, upside-down-map-toting, slow-and-cautious target audience will ever hope to.
Thanks, but no thanks.
Your Road Damage is a crack. I think. I can't really find any. Where's the two-inch gap between lanes from snow melting and freezing for months, making even the most innocent of lane changes a lesson in disaster avoidance? Your Uneven Road Surface is repaving over old yet perfectly smooth asphalt. Where are the potholes and loose rocks? This 35 M.P.H. Curve is built for bumbling RVs, not nimble hatchbacks. 50 mph, easy. I haven't seen a single cop in your desolate wastelands, and to me narrow means "space for two, only if mirrors are scraping", not an imperceptible decrease in shoulder width. And where's all the ice? It's been sunny and above 50 for days - and to top it all off, none of these so called "passes" are above 7500 feet.
Your rock slide is a gently sloping if possibly somewhat chunky hill subtly approaching the roadside, not overhanging cliffs of loose sandstone. Semi-truck sized hole possible? I think not.
If you don't mind - this is our road trip, DOT - we've seen worse and more precarious roads than your RV-driving, fanny-pack-wearing, upside-down-map-toting, slow-and-cautious target audience will ever hope to.
Thanks, but no thanks.
5.07.2010
Cuincy, Qalifornia
7 May
My chamomile tea and pumpkin bread was just proffered to me in the most quaint and ecologically sound of manners; a small ceramic pot of tea, a glass mug, plate and fork on a wooden tray.
That about describes this coffee shop and this town; taste and kitsch meet in the walls of the coffee shop - covered with cuttings from canvas coffee bean sacks and an endless collection of coffee pots of various shapes and sizes and vintages - and in the streets of the town, with its opposing one-way streets which collectively make up Main Street, small cafés, and more consignment, vintage, and thrift than is strictly necessary for a town of 5,000.
Quincy has been the seat of Plumas County since the county was officially established around the turn of the 19th century, and as such is steeped in the West Coast stylings of history. Chinese, Native Americans, the White Man, and a freedman named Jim Beckwourth all came together in various roles to develop a rich culture of basketry, beading, mining, logging, transportation, and agriculture.1
Aside from being the closest "real town" to our free campsite, it provides the indispensable benefit of providing free wi-fi in cutesy coffee shops, as well as excellent eavesdropping involving cow health and blurriness.
1All this information thanks to the $2 admission-fee Plumas County Museum, which has more pictures of people in the old days than anyone should ever care to see, but also has extensive collections of heavy instruments for agriculture, mining, trains, blacksmithing, of Maidu baskets, of porcelain dolls, of Boy Scout patches through the ages, and of empty one-quart whiskey and bourbon bottles presumably guzzled by grizzly miners during the gold rush. Unfortunately for those drunk bastards, Plumas County was only lucky to have copper, quartz, and the like.
My chamomile tea and pumpkin bread was just proffered to me in the most quaint and ecologically sound of manners; a small ceramic pot of tea, a glass mug, plate and fork on a wooden tray.
That about describes this coffee shop and this town; taste and kitsch meet in the walls of the coffee shop - covered with cuttings from canvas coffee bean sacks and an endless collection of coffee pots of various shapes and sizes and vintages - and in the streets of the town, with its opposing one-way streets which collectively make up Main Street, small cafés, and more consignment, vintage, and thrift than is strictly necessary for a town of 5,000.
Quincy has been the seat of Plumas County since the county was officially established around the turn of the 19th century, and as such is steeped in the West Coast stylings of history. Chinese, Native Americans, the White Man, and a freedman named Jim Beckwourth all came together in various roles to develop a rich culture of basketry, beading, mining, logging, transportation, and agriculture.1
Aside from being the closest "real town" to our free campsite, it provides the indispensable benefit of providing free wi-fi in cutesy coffee shops, as well as excellent eavesdropping involving cow health and blurriness.
1All this information thanks to the $2 admission-fee Plumas County Museum, which has more pictures of people in the old days than anyone should ever care to see, but also has extensive collections of heavy instruments for agriculture, mining, trains, blacksmithing, of Maidu baskets, of porcelain dolls, of Boy Scout patches through the ages, and of empty one-quart whiskey and bourbon bottles presumably guzzled by grizzly miners during the gold rush. Unfortunately for those drunk bastards, Plumas County was only lucky to have copper, quartz, and the like.
Little House in the Big Woods
6/7 May
The square root of 41 miles (as the crow flies) southwest of Quincy, CA on a gravel Forest Service road, a small group of campgrounds are nestled around a waterfall and rushing stream. The sites are not maintained (and therefore free), save for fallen trees being cut to make roads just barely passable. Abandoned picnic tables and fire puts dot the clearing, and an aged sign warns of rotten tree dangers. The restrooms - rather, outhouses - are decorated with cobwebs and tree crumblings. No other cars pass on the road, if it can indeed be seen from here. The stream cuts a deep gash through the wooded landscape, providing a just-accessible source of fresh water, if you're willing to brave the narrow path trodden into the 75˚ hillside.
These trees are tall, and sporadically drop pine cones as big as my face. The air is of dust and pine needles and is swollen with the cleanliness of a fresh breeze.
Part horror-movie opening, part pristine solitude. It instills a sense of wonderment at the vastness of lands yet to be seen. This is a place where you realize important things: the value of company and the value of solitude.
(Two ducks - male and female - mallards - just came swimming downstream - saw me - paused - and through their wordless lover's communication took off in a flurry of splashing and feathers. This is not my stream.)
The sense of life, sustenance, and survival. The influence of and on one person. Encounters. Observation. Wonder and why.
The square root of 41 miles (as the crow flies) southwest of Quincy, CA on a gravel Forest Service road, a small group of campgrounds are nestled around a waterfall and rushing stream. The sites are not maintained (and therefore free), save for fallen trees being cut to make roads just barely passable. Abandoned picnic tables and fire puts dot the clearing, and an aged sign warns of rotten tree dangers. The restrooms - rather, outhouses - are decorated with cobwebs and tree crumblings. No other cars pass on the road, if it can indeed be seen from here. The stream cuts a deep gash through the wooded landscape, providing a just-accessible source of fresh water, if you're willing to brave the narrow path trodden into the 75˚ hillside.
These trees are tall, and sporadically drop pine cones as big as my face. The air is of dust and pine needles and is swollen with the cleanliness of a fresh breeze.
Part horror-movie opening, part pristine solitude. It instills a sense of wonderment at the vastness of lands yet to be seen. This is a place where you realize important things: the value of company and the value of solitude.
(Two ducks - male and female - mallards - just came swimming downstream - saw me - paused - and through their wordless lover's communication took off in a flurry of splashing and feathers. This is not my stream.)
The sense of life, sustenance, and survival. The influence of and on one person. Encounters. Observation. Wonder and why.
A Tale of Irony, Greed, and Betrayal
6 May
Ma and Pa Donner set out for the West sometime in the 1860s. They were accompanied by 25 of their nearest and dearest.
Sometime in the spring, they stopped to fix their wagons (presumably their oxen did not successfully cross the Snake River - FAIL) in the mountains on the west side of what was someday to be called Lake Tahoe. Evidently, they also neglected to sufficiently stock up on spare axles and wheels and, frankly, whoever it was really sucked at Oregon Trail. In any case, their wagons became mired in the ungodly marshes of the Sierra Nevadas (damned mud puddles). Without spare wagon parts they proceeded to fell trees to build their own. Several party members forgot to move and got squashed. During this feat, which took a good while since they had chosen the ubiquitously useless careers of teachers and lawyers, a snowstorm befell them.
Woe unto the Donner Party! Stuck in a bog on a mountain in a snowstorm, they slowly began to get very hungry and cold. Here, the story becomes a tad sketchy (I swear to this point it's the truth). Common knowledge asserts that they all turned to cannibalism and went up in pillars of smoke and flame. Ish. Alternate renderings suggest some profound sacrifices on the part of the mothers, all to save their children.* Hopefully, this sacrifice involved their own blood and flesh because that's the only good part of the story anyway. Only eleven members survived.
In any case, the "Donner Camp Picnic Ground" (oh, it hurts) graces the side of CA Rte. 89 somewhere north of Truckee. Its plaques commemorate the bravery and pioneering spirit that made California what it is today: the land of saintly cannibals.
*This is the National Park version of the story. Wimps.
Ma and Pa Donner set out for the West sometime in the 1860s. They were accompanied by 25 of their nearest and dearest.
Sometime in the spring, they stopped to fix their wagons (presumably their oxen did not successfully cross the Snake River - FAIL) in the mountains on the west side of what was someday to be called Lake Tahoe. Evidently, they also neglected to sufficiently stock up on spare axles and wheels and, frankly, whoever it was really sucked at Oregon Trail. In any case, their wagons became mired in the ungodly marshes of the Sierra Nevadas (damned mud puddles). Without spare wagon parts they proceeded to fell trees to build their own. Several party members forgot to move and got squashed. During this feat, which took a good while since they had chosen the ubiquitously useless careers of teachers and lawyers, a snowstorm befell them.
Woe unto the Donner Party! Stuck in a bog on a mountain in a snowstorm, they slowly began to get very hungry and cold. Here, the story becomes a tad sketchy (I swear to this point it's the truth). Common knowledge asserts that they all turned to cannibalism and went up in pillars of smoke and flame. Ish. Alternate renderings suggest some profound sacrifices on the part of the mothers, all to save their children.* Hopefully, this sacrifice involved their own blood and flesh because that's the only good part of the story anyway. Only eleven members survived.
In any case, the "Donner Camp Picnic Ground" (oh, it hurts) graces the side of CA Rte. 89 somewhere north of Truckee. Its plaques commemorate the bravery and pioneering spirit that made California what it is today: the land of saintly cannibals.
*This is the National Park version of the story. Wimps.
5.06.2010
The Roadblocks to Progress
I thought we were finding sunshine, warmth, and happiness. Instead all we seem to be able to find is more snow and closed campgrounds. Not to be a Negative Nancy - Tahoe is absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Dan likens it to Geneva, and even though I've never been to Geneva, the accuracy of the analogy seems probable. Now I want to go to Geneva. Damn it. Sidetracked.
The previously sort-of-tried-and-kind-of-true method of driving around and finding somewhere to sleep failed - utterly and almost completely - last night. Everything in Nevada was hot and dry, and eminently camp-able. Lake Tahoe is not frozen, the city of South Lake Tahoe is not ice-covered and there is no snow in sight. Assuming this trend would carry over into the peaks surrounding the lake - which are also necessary to cross to get anywhere else - several wild goose chases ensued. Silly us, lakes surrounded by somewhere in the neighborhood of eight ski resorts which obviously still have snow on them probably do not have open campgrounds nearby. It's practically winter - mud season - here, too. Luckily the city of SLT operates a recreation area which includes a library, ice arena, lake shore access, and a campground (with running water! and trees! and shade!) for the whopping fee of $26/night. But this, being the only option, was the only option.
Henceforth, today's project has involved five hours in a coffee shop updating the world on our progress and actually planning (for a change) the next couple of nights. As much as nights spent camping in national forests and wilderness areas can be planned. Unfortunately, we have also realized that mountains in the rest of the country behave much like mountains in the Front Range in Colorado in that they are still snow-covered with roads and campgrounds closed for the season, in some cases until early June. Again, whoops. Woe unto us and our youthful naïveté.
The previously sort-of-tried-and-kind-of-true method of driving around and finding somewhere to sleep failed - utterly and almost completely - last night. Everything in Nevada was hot and dry, and eminently camp-able. Lake Tahoe is not frozen, the city of South Lake Tahoe is not ice-covered and there is no snow in sight. Assuming this trend would carry over into the peaks surrounding the lake - which are also necessary to cross to get anywhere else - several wild goose chases ensued. Silly us, lakes surrounded by somewhere in the neighborhood of eight ski resorts which obviously still have snow on them probably do not have open campgrounds nearby. It's practically winter - mud season - here, too. Luckily the city of SLT operates a recreation area which includes a library, ice arena, lake shore access, and a campground (with running water! and trees! and shade!) for the whopping fee of $26/night. But this, being the only option, was the only option.
Henceforth, today's project has involved five hours in a coffee shop updating the world on our progress and actually planning (for a change) the next couple of nights. As much as nights spent camping in national forests and wilderness areas can be planned. Unfortunately, we have also realized that mountains in the rest of the country behave much like mountains in the Front Range in Colorado in that they are still snow-covered with roads and campgrounds closed for the season, in some cases until early June. Again, whoops. Woe unto us and our youthful naïveté.
The Loneliest Road
5 May
Highway 50 follows for some time the Pony Express Trail. I can envision messengers riding through in the days of the Wild West. The trail is very straight - riding west, into the setting sun. Until, of course, you run into these hills...mountains? And the endless range of peaks ahead must have been daunting. To be honest, I can't imagine riding this trail. Long, straight, dry, hot, spliced at intervals by 10,000 foot ranges. No easy feat, it seems. Dried lakes brew into dust storms with standing pillars of sand clouds. These valleys should be more fertile given the prolific snowfall still evident in mid-May. As lonely as this road is today at least there's a promise of something to come - thanks to a map, or simply the infinite extension of asphalt ahead of you. But to be a pony express rider with only a dusty trail ahead of you, mountains ahead and behind, flatness all around, and a pack of messages, must have been unforgiving and never-ending.
Highway 50 follows for some time the Pony Express Trail. I can envision messengers riding through in the days of the Wild West. The trail is very straight - riding west, into the setting sun. Until, of course, you run into these hills...mountains? And the endless range of peaks ahead must have been daunting. To be honest, I can't imagine riding this trail. Long, straight, dry, hot, spliced at intervals by 10,000 foot ranges. No easy feat, it seems. Dried lakes brew into dust storms with standing pillars of sand clouds. These valleys should be more fertile given the prolific snowfall still evident in mid-May. As lonely as this road is today at least there's a promise of something to come - thanks to a map, or simply the infinite extension of asphalt ahead of you. But to be a pony express rider with only a dusty trail ahead of you, mountains ahead and behind, flatness all around, and a pack of messages, must have been unforgiving and never-ending.
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| From RoadTrip10 |
Another World
5 May
It's always bizarre to wake up somewhere so completely different from where you went to sleep. The shock of snow covered peaks in the near distance was a welcome surprise and much appreciated by my newly clean hair and body. Sayonara dusty desert sand! Unfortunately this haven in the middle of nowhere (at the junction of highways 93 and 50) is nothing if not smotheringly Republican: "Elect Anyone BUTT Harry Reid." (He is evidently blamed for the recent demise of Ely's coal mining industry. I still don't get it.) A couple steps out of their oversized Ford pickup: he in a "You Need Jesus" t-shirt, lighting a Marlboro - oh, the all-American boy - she in too-small jeans, flip flops, and a pink camo tank top. Pink. Camo. Tank top.
Our waitress at the Big Apple Restaurant? Diner? Eatery? was eboulliantly cheerful in a Midwest meets Pacific Northwest kind of way. Her infectious cheery earnestness went even farther when she told me I had beautiful hair. (See discourse on curly hair - it's in particularly fine form today.)
Departing the Big Apple establishment we discover Dan left laptop, cord, and sandals on top of car. Oops. That;s what happens when low blood sugar kicks in. Discovering this faux pas with a delectable mix of incredulity and hilarity - it's a miracle the laptop stayed during the quarter mile drive - and one sandal was missing, easily recovered in the Motel 6 parking lot. All errors rectified, back on the road. None other than Hwy 50, the infamous Loneliest Road. More never-ending scrubby sandstone desert. Impatiently awaiting the granite - and water! - of Tahoe.
It's always bizarre to wake up somewhere so completely different from where you went to sleep. The shock of snow covered peaks in the near distance was a welcome surprise and much appreciated by my newly clean hair and body. Sayonara dusty desert sand! Unfortunately this haven in the middle of nowhere (at the junction of highways 93 and 50) is nothing if not smotheringly Republican: "Elect Anyone BUTT Harry Reid." (He is evidently blamed for the recent demise of Ely's coal mining industry. I still don't get it.) A couple steps out of their oversized Ford pickup: he in a "You Need Jesus" t-shirt, lighting a Marlboro - oh, the all-American boy - she in too-small jeans, flip flops, and a pink camo tank top. Pink. Camo. Tank top.
Our waitress at the Big Apple Restaurant? Diner? Eatery? was eboulliantly cheerful in a Midwest meets Pacific Northwest kind of way. Her infectious cheery earnestness went even farther when she told me I had beautiful hair. (See discourse on curly hair - it's in particularly fine form today.)
Departing the Big Apple establishment we discover Dan left laptop, cord, and sandals on top of car. Oops. That;s what happens when low blood sugar kicks in. Discovering this faux pas with a delectable mix of incredulity and hilarity - it's a miracle the laptop stayed during the quarter mile drive - and one sandal was missing, easily recovered in the Motel 6 parking lot. All errors rectified, back on the road. None other than Hwy 50, the infamous Loneliest Road. More never-ending scrubby sandstone desert. Impatiently awaiting the granite - and water! - of Tahoe.
The Loneliest States
4 May
Jeff got wilderness permits for Coyote Buttes, the site of "the Wave," an impressive sandstone feature lost in the no-man's land between Utah and Arizona. Unfortunately, having a fever gets in the way of being a happy hiker, as does a distinct lack of iron and protein. Whoops. Also, crab-walking down desperately steep sandstone almost-cliffs means you get tons of sand in your underwear and then all you want to do is get the hell out of the desert.
Zion NP: Very pretty. Fun road, except for the idiot ahead of me trying to take pictures out his window while driving. A river! Flowing water! Hallelujah! And the National Park pass comes in handy because you have to pay the entry fee to drive through the park on UT 9.
St. George, UT: evidently one of the fastest growing metropolitan areas in the country. All because of cotton. Which failed. This led to lots of wikipedia searches on Mormonism and Brigham Young and Joseph Smith, all leading to the conclusion that it's insanity. However, dinner was delicious: cupcake bakery slash restaurant. REALLY good cupcakes: sorry Daddy. Continuing the hunt for better weather, or at least less harsh terrain, here we are in Ely, Nevada - just a place to lay the head in the midst of elk-hunting territory. Ah, the life of a nomad. Cheap hotel rooms and extra long showers but the shower head is shorter than I am. Searching for greener pastures. The sunset was pretty but as far as I can tell all these states look the same as each other.
Jeff got wilderness permits for Coyote Buttes, the site of "the Wave," an impressive sandstone feature lost in the no-man's land between Utah and Arizona. Unfortunately, having a fever gets in the way of being a happy hiker, as does a distinct lack of iron and protein. Whoops. Also, crab-walking down desperately steep sandstone almost-cliffs means you get tons of sand in your underwear and then all you want to do is get the hell out of the desert.
Zion NP: Very pretty. Fun road, except for the idiot ahead of me trying to take pictures out his window while driving. A river! Flowing water! Hallelujah! And the National Park pass comes in handy because you have to pay the entry fee to drive through the park on UT 9.
St. George, UT: evidently one of the fastest growing metropolitan areas in the country. All because of cotton. Which failed. This led to lots of wikipedia searches on Mormonism and Brigham Young and Joseph Smith, all leading to the conclusion that it's insanity. However, dinner was delicious: cupcake bakery slash restaurant. REALLY good cupcakes: sorry Daddy. Continuing the hunt for better weather, or at least less harsh terrain, here we are in Ely, Nevada - just a place to lay the head in the midst of elk-hunting territory. Ah, the life of a nomad. Cheap hotel rooms and extra long showers but the shower head is shorter than I am. Searching for greener pastures. The sunset was pretty but as far as I can tell all these states look the same as each other.
The Hunt for Better Weather
2 May
Chaco: HailSnowSleetSlushRain. We woke up with accumulation - ACCUMULATION - on the tent. Driving in clay = not easy. Bloomfield, NM: Sonya's Cookin' USA; Truckers Welcome!: this is what happens when you forget to pack food. Oops. Learned that lesson. Farmington, NM: Republican Headquarters of San Juan County.
State Border: AZ. Navajo Nation to Page. Alfonso's burritos: cheap and delicious, hiding near Safeway somewhere. Finding Jeff on a random side road in Southern Utah, camping on Bureau of Land Management lands for free. Wind and dust. Dust and wind.
Chaco: HailSnowSleetSlushRain. We woke up with accumulation - ACCUMULATION - on the tent. Driving in clay = not easy. Bloomfield, NM: Sonya's Cookin' USA; Truckers Welcome!: this is what happens when you forget to pack food. Oops. Learned that lesson. Farmington, NM: Republican Headquarters of San Juan County.
State Border: AZ. Navajo Nation to Page. Alfonso's burritos: cheap and delicious, hiding near Safeway somewhere. Finding Jeff on a random side road in Southern Utah, camping on Bureau of Land Management lands for free. Wind and dust. Dust and wind.
A Past
1 May
May Day! And no maypoles in sight.
Chaco Canyon
Once upon a time, about 12 years ago (a lifetime), I was here. Not necessarily here exactly, but pretty close.
When I was 10, I committed the number 41 (or was it 37?) to memory. Although it seems like everything here has changed in the last 12 years (how can ancient preservation sites change?) here I am again nestled in the fallen boulders against the cliff above campsite 41. I glanced around for the teardrop shaped rock behind which hides the secret cave in which I lost my Lion King watch. It was purple. I can't find it. Maybe a rock fell on it, or a pile of dirt in a torrential downpour. (Highly unlikely in such a desert.) I hate to think my 10-year-old's memory and the years since have become warped in some way.
This is a rediscovery, it seems, of parts of me, and I've already realized how much I've changed in 12 years. I've developed a sense of fear, and I've become a bit more jaded.
What happened to the little girl I was when I was 10? Maybe I'll find her here, where I left her.
May Day! And no maypoles in sight.
Chaco Canyon
Once upon a time, about 12 years ago (a lifetime), I was here. Not necessarily here exactly, but pretty close.
When I was 10, I committed the number 41 (or was it 37?) to memory. Although it seems like everything here has changed in the last 12 years (how can ancient preservation sites change?) here I am again nestled in the fallen boulders against the cliff above campsite 41. I glanced around for the teardrop shaped rock behind which hides the secret cave in which I lost my Lion King watch. It was purple. I can't find it. Maybe a rock fell on it, or a pile of dirt in a torrential downpour. (Highly unlikely in such a desert.) I hate to think my 10-year-old's memory and the years since have become warped in some way.
This is a rediscovery, it seems, of parts of me, and I've already realized how much I've changed in 12 years. I've developed a sense of fear, and I've become a bit more jaded.
What happened to the little girl I was when I was 10? Maybe I'll find her here, where I left her.
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| From RoadTrip10 |
New New Mexico
30 April
Santa Fe -> Los Alamos -> Jemez Valley
Santa Fe: Est. 1608-ish (memory hardly serves) and is therefore about the same age as Jamestown. Wow! History outside the East Coast! Since 1610 it's been the capital. Of whatever. It has lots of old buildings, like "the oldest house," which has also been standing since 1610. Middle-aged white women like Santa Fe. They're the only thing to see there other than fake adobe architecture and lots of silver, turquoise, and tacky western stuff. Vaguely redeeming quality is that I actually like turquoise, and there are a good number of non-western themed art galleries and boutiques. Positive points: cheap burritos and cheap hostel and a Whole Foods and Trader Joe's within a block of each other, Frito pie.
Los Alamos: National Laboratory, atomic bomb, very confusing road through town.
Jemez Mountains/Valley/NF: River oasis nestled between big hills. Bright green trees turn to scrubbiness, boulders, rockslides, and parched desert clay. The earth is red. Clear skies make for excellent stargazing but excessively layered sleeping arrangements.
Santa Fe -> Los Alamos -> Jemez Valley
Santa Fe: Est. 1608-ish (memory hardly serves) and is therefore about the same age as Jamestown. Wow! History outside the East Coast! Since 1610 it's been the capital. Of whatever. It has lots of old buildings, like "the oldest house," which has also been standing since 1610. Middle-aged white women like Santa Fe. They're the only thing to see there other than fake adobe architecture and lots of silver, turquoise, and tacky western stuff. Vaguely redeeming quality is that I actually like turquoise, and there are a good number of non-western themed art galleries and boutiques. Positive points: cheap burritos and cheap hostel and a Whole Foods and Trader Joe's within a block of each other, Frito pie.
Los Alamos: National Laboratory, atomic bomb, very confusing road through town.
Jemez Mountains/Valley/NF: River oasis nestled between big hills. Bright green trees turn to scrubbiness, boulders, rockslides, and parched desert clay. The earth is red. Clear skies make for excellent stargazing but excessively layered sleeping arrangements.
4.29.2010
Phase One: Leave This to the Roaches and Mice
I woke up this morning to what looked like a harmless yet annoying couple of inches of snow. Lo and behold, when I went outside to start packing the car, at least twelve inches had accumulated on its roof overnight. Oh, Winter Park.
Thankfully, CDOT informs us of gnarly weather conditions...chains chains everywhere and roads farther west were closed. Original plan of going westish-southish? No more. Getting out of the snowstorm as soon as possible was the new mission.
Out comes the map. What'll we hit if we drive straight south? Why, Santa Fe, of course! Off we go...taking the more inefficient but generally less snowy route (and cross the continental divide only once, rather than three times, in a day).
Somewhere in the black mining hills of South Dakota there lives a young boy named...wait, that's wrong. Somewhere in the almost-in-New Mexico part of Colorado is a tiny little town on Route 285 called Antonito. This town is a ghost town. What seems to once have been a semi-luxurious hotel is now boarded up, as is almost every other store front along the main (read: only) drag in town. Stuck somewhere between mining territory, agricultural land, and better days, had there been less wind across the Southern Colorado prairies you might actually have seen the tumbleweeds rolling through town as neglected doors creaked and banged. As it was, the wind was whipping far to quickly for any such nostalgia.
Continuing on...detouring to Taos, lots of fake adobe-pueblo architecture, but the old stuff was cool. The artsy area seemed interesting, except being a semi-ski town it was "mud" season there too and everything was closed, like it is in Winter Park. It started sideways snowing so we had to leave. Stat.
Victory! Santa Fe! Found a hostel for $35 for the night, plus a $2/person/day internet use charge. And chores. Oh well, it's not like I haven't been cleaning for two days...besides, it's cheap, and it's all so Dan can do work and earn $$$ which will come in handy some day.
Thankfully, CDOT informs us of gnarly weather conditions...chains chains everywhere and roads farther west were closed. Original plan of going westish-southish? No more. Getting out of the snowstorm as soon as possible was the new mission.
Out comes the map. What'll we hit if we drive straight south? Why, Santa Fe, of course! Off we go...taking the more inefficient but generally less snowy route (and cross the continental divide only once, rather than three times, in a day).
Somewhere in the black mining hills of South Dakota there lives a young boy named...wait, that's wrong. Somewhere in the almost-in-New Mexico part of Colorado is a tiny little town on Route 285 called Antonito. This town is a ghost town. What seems to once have been a semi-luxurious hotel is now boarded up, as is almost every other store front along the main (read: only) drag in town. Stuck somewhere between mining territory, agricultural land, and better days, had there been less wind across the Southern Colorado prairies you might actually have seen the tumbleweeds rolling through town as neglected doors creaked and banged. As it was, the wind was whipping far to quickly for any such nostalgia.
Continuing on...detouring to Taos, lots of fake adobe-pueblo architecture, but the old stuff was cool. The artsy area seemed interesting, except being a semi-ski town it was "mud" season there too and everything was closed, like it is in Winter Park. It started sideways snowing so we had to leave. Stat.
Victory! Santa Fe! Found a hostel for $35 for the night, plus a $2/person/day internet use charge. And chores. Oh well, it's not like I haven't been cleaning for two days...besides, it's cheap, and it's all so Dan can do work and earn $$$ which will come in handy some day.
4.28.2010
My Only Friend, The End
So. Our apartment is brand-spanking clean (or possibly sterile), clothes are packed, food and dishes are scattered about the kitchen for last-minute tending to, and I'm trying to read as much of my book as possibly before the car sickness sets in for the next seven weeks.
The plan is to leave at some ungodly hour of the morning (though still after the sun has risen, thank the lord) and drive in the general direction of Telluride, CO, i.e. southwestish. A new, possibly joint blogging venture should commence in the not to distant future and I will keep this updated as to how that can be found.
It's been real, Colorado.
The plan is to leave at some ungodly hour of the morning (though still after the sun has risen, thank the lord) and drive in the general direction of Telluride, CO, i.e. southwestish. A new, possibly joint blogging venture should commence in the not to distant future and I will keep this updated as to how that can be found.
It's been real, Colorado.
4.26.2010
On the Road to Nowhere
When I woke up this morning I had in my head the idea to go on a grand adventure. Where to? Why, into the wild, of course! Several topographic maps and a cup of coffee later I was out the door with naught but hiking boots, a pair of jeans, my camera, and a couple of layers for warmth (the thermometer did read 40).
By my not-so-expert reading of the topographic maps, I could essentially walk straight up the road, and keep going, and keep going, and I would somehow or another reach the top of the continental divide. Quite the ambitious plan for it already being 10:30 am, but what the hey, not much else to do. To avoid being stuck in the woods forever with nothing but a Sigg full of water and some dried fruit (and a headlamp, just in case), I gave myself the turn-around time of 1 pm. If I couldn't reach the divide by 1, I'd turn around. At least I'll have had a nice long walk.
Two hours later, after much trudging through the fresh snow of the last three days on Forest Service roads (thank god for Smartwool), I reached the Vasquez Peak trail head and the entrance to the Vasquez Peak Wilderness Area. Further exploration would have eventually led me to my goal, but it was almost one and I was hungry. I turned around, leaving the peak to be conquered another time. Possibly with snowshoes. And definitely with food.
Sometimes, I guess, you don't know what your destination is until you get there.
Total elevation gain: Almost 2000 ft.
Total time: 4 hours
Total distance: I have no idea, I was walking through snowy woods.
By my not-so-expert reading of the topographic maps, I could essentially walk straight up the road, and keep going, and keep going, and I would somehow or another reach the top of the continental divide. Quite the ambitious plan for it already being 10:30 am, but what the hey, not much else to do. To avoid being stuck in the woods forever with nothing but a Sigg full of water and some dried fruit (and a headlamp, just in case), I gave myself the turn-around time of 1 pm. If I couldn't reach the divide by 1, I'd turn around. At least I'll have had a nice long walk.
Two hours later, after much trudging through the fresh snow of the last three days on Forest Service roads (thank god for Smartwool), I reached the Vasquez Peak trail head and the entrance to the Vasquez Peak Wilderness Area. Further exploration would have eventually led me to my goal, but it was almost one and I was hungry. I turned around, leaving the peak to be conquered another time. Possibly with snowshoes. And definitely with food.
Sometimes, I guess, you don't know what your destination is until you get there.
Total elevation gain: Almost 2000 ft.
Total time: 4 hours
Total distance: I have no idea, I was walking through snowy woods.
4.25.2010
A Misguided Rainstorm
"And in Winter Park today, 34 degrees and sunny."
Then what's all this white stuff coming down from the sky? Did the sun turn into particles and is collapsing to Earth? Is it opposite day? Is this about relativity, like it's sunny here compared to, say, a hurricane? Because that's certainly true. Thirty four is no lie - these sun particle flakes are fat and wet and cushy and the roads are clean, if wet. But I've yet to see the clear blue sky and ball of flaming gas and mountains on the not-so-distant horizon.
These poor rainclouds, they think they're going to be spitting rain every once in a while and then moving on but "oh no, we can't have that," says the Continental Divide. "Your rain will turn to snow and we will trap you here for days and days on end." It's very Winnie the Pooh and he's just a little black raincloud.
Then what's all this white stuff coming down from the sky? Did the sun turn into particles and is collapsing to Earth? Is it opposite day? Is this about relativity, like it's sunny here compared to, say, a hurricane? Because that's certainly true. Thirty four is no lie - these sun particle flakes are fat and wet and cushy and the roads are clean, if wet. But I've yet to see the clear blue sky and ball of flaming gas and mountains on the not-so-distant horizon.
These poor rainclouds, they think they're going to be spitting rain every once in a while and then moving on but "oh no, we can't have that," says the Continental Divide. "Your rain will turn to snow and we will trap you here for days and days on end." It's very Winnie the Pooh and he's just a little black raincloud.
4.23.2010
Onions Have Layers
So far today I have:
Gotten a car stuck in the snow, and almost gotten stuck a multitude of other times.
Almost spun off the road.
Thrown a cord of wood off a third story porch into a foot and a half of snow, and it was buried again half an hour later.
Baked a dinner-plate sized chocolate chip cookie. And a couple dozen normal-sized cookies.
Learned that Indians still lived in the Fraser Valley until the 1880s. Also, lots of different Indian tribes used to fight over this land. I love non-PC pamphlets from the 70s.
Read a book written for ten year olds about Rockett and her friends ... replete with flashbacks from middle school when we played Rockett's New School every day.
Hibernated. Ah, how I love snow days.
Gotten a car stuck in the snow, and almost gotten stuck a multitude of other times.
Almost spun off the road.
Thrown a cord of wood off a third story porch into a foot and a half of snow, and it was buried again half an hour later.
Baked a dinner-plate sized chocolate chip cookie. And a couple dozen normal-sized cookies.
Learned that Indians still lived in the Fraser Valley until the 1880s. Also, lots of different Indian tribes used to fight over this land. I love non-PC pamphlets from the 70s.
Read a book written for ten year olds about Rockett and her friends ... replete with flashbacks from middle school when we played Rockett's New School every day.
Hibernated. Ah, how I love snow days.
4.22.2010
Climb to Safety in Case of Floods
This is the bizarre, fickle nature of mountain weather: one minute it is clear, sunny, and warm, half an hour later it is cloudy, and an hour later it is pouring rain. As soon as you reach an altitude of 8000 ft., this summer rainstorm has become a blizzard whose clouds shroud the mountains around you. Yesterday I sat outside in a bathing suit and today there were at least three inches of snow accumulated. It's not winter but it's certainly not summer. I guess spring is just the catch-all for everything in between.
4.21.2010
Strawberry Fields Forever
It almost might be spring. That mecca of delicious produce, Safeway, wants us to think so anyway. Two pounds of strawberries for $3.49 (with the Safeway card, of course) and two pounds of rhubarb for $5 (with the Safeway card, of course) in the end managed to wrest several dollars from my wallet with the hopes of ushering in the change of seasons in style.
Naturally, something in the spirit of the not-yet-season had to be prepared and, imagining myself in July, it seemed the best option was strawberry-rhubarb shortcake. Unfortunately, it isn't July, and we're not in Maine with Gillespie's strawberries and rhubarb from the garden. But it is what it is and anyone who knows me knows I can never get enough of strawberry-rhubarb anything even out of season...especially if there are shortcake biscuits involved.
On a side note, trying to empty the house of perishables, this afternoon's activities involved guacamole, tomato-cucumber salad, mango-tomato salad, buttermilk rye bread, oatmeal wheat bread, and the crown jewel, a round loaf of cinnamon raisin that could punnily be called cinnamon raisin' after it took over half the oven. I don't think we'll starve anytime soon.
Naturally, something in the spirit of the not-yet-season had to be prepared and, imagining myself in July, it seemed the best option was strawberry-rhubarb shortcake. Unfortunately, it isn't July, and we're not in Maine with Gillespie's strawberries and rhubarb from the garden. But it is what it is and anyone who knows me knows I can never get enough of strawberry-rhubarb anything even out of season...especially if there are shortcake biscuits involved.
On a side note, trying to empty the house of perishables, this afternoon's activities involved guacamole, tomato-cucumber salad, mango-tomato salad, buttermilk rye bread, oatmeal wheat bread, and the crown jewel, a round loaf of cinnamon raisin that could punnily be called cinnamon raisin' after it took over half the oven. I don't think we'll starve anytime soon.
Long-Range Weaponry
So the upside of having geeky boy roommates is that they come with cool gadgets like projectors.
The downside to this situation is that they demote the TV and DVD player to closet-status because, according to boys, everything worth doing can be done from a computer.
Luckily projectors connect to computers which play DVDs, so movie problem solved.
Also luckily, geeky roommate #1 has a TV feed that goes into his all-powerful computer.
Unfortunately, silly girls like me don't know how to use such things. All this new-fangled technology has me in a tizzy. And all I wanted to do was watch some TV. Tough luck, Audrey.
The downside to this situation is that they demote the TV and DVD player to closet-status because, according to boys, everything worth doing can be done from a computer.
Luckily projectors connect to computers which play DVDs, so movie problem solved.
Also luckily, geeky roommate #1 has a TV feed that goes into his all-powerful computer.
Unfortunately, silly girls like me don't know how to use such things. All this new-fangled technology has me in a tizzy. And all I wanted to do was watch some TV. Tough luck, Audrey.
4.20.2010
Nothing Against Texans, But...
"Isn't there another way to get to Boulder? I don't like all that going up and down and up and down."
"Well, you have to cross the Continental Divide no matter what way you go...Boulder's on the other side."
"Well, you have to cross the Continental Divide no matter what way you go...Boulder's on the other side."
Bruce, Part II
Scene 1
The clouds are dark and the sky is stormy. The wind is fearsome; it is alternately snowing and raining, the rain drops cold and the snowflakes huge and wet. It might be snowing up top but at the base it is miserably pouring wetness from the sky.
Foot traffic through the village is slow. Chance is on the bar and I am on the register. Bruce enters through the door, his usual "OW" and love of life a bit tempered by the heinous conditions outside.
Bruce asks for a double.
Bruce: I got money, honey, I got money.
Audrey: Are you sure you don't want a triple? To get you through that rain?
Bruce: Give me whatever you want, honey, I got money.
We give Bruce a triple. Hey, he deserves it.
Chance: Hey Bruce, did you do a rain dance or a snow dance last night?
Bruce: I don't know, man, it was so wild I couldn't even tell.
The clouds are dark and the sky is stormy. The wind is fearsome; it is alternately snowing and raining, the rain drops cold and the snowflakes huge and wet. It might be snowing up top but at the base it is miserably pouring wetness from the sky.
Foot traffic through the village is slow. Chance is on the bar and I am on the register. Bruce enters through the door, his usual "OW" and love of life a bit tempered by the heinous conditions outside.
Bruce asks for a double.
Bruce: I got money, honey, I got money.
Audrey: Are you sure you don't want a triple? To get you through that rain?
Bruce: Give me whatever you want, honey, I got money.
We give Bruce a triple. Hey, he deserves it.
Chance: Hey Bruce, did you do a rain dance or a snow dance last night?
Bruce: I don't know, man, it was so wild I couldn't even tell.
4.17.2010
The MJ Mystery
Who is Mary Jane? Why does she have her own mountain? Why does she have her own ale?
Mary Jane Ale - found only on tap and only in select locations on the resort itself, is a complete enigma. Legend has it - well, from the mouth of a Pepperoni's bartender - Mary Jane is brewed by Coors (semi-local, although macro) especially for, well, Pepperoni's and other mountain establishments. Anxious to find information on the elusive ale, local web wizards have googled near and far for more. No luck...until now.
About a week ago, Denver Westword's blog had a short piece on beers brewed by Blue Moon, evidently a subsidiary of Coors. Apparently, bartenders lie (sort of).
That same post, as well as other blogs and not-necessarily-reliable internet sources also attribute the delicious Jane Ale to Sandlot/Blue Moon/Coors. Neither the Blue Moon nor the Coors website mention anything about their special mountain ales (Copper, Vail, and Aspen also have their own). But hearsay and the technology revolution all seem to agree on this one fact - do we take their word for it?
Further investiagtion is obviously called for.
Mary Jane Ale - found only on tap and only in select locations on the resort itself, is a complete enigma. Legend has it - well, from the mouth of a Pepperoni's bartender - Mary Jane is brewed by Coors (semi-local, although macro) especially for, well, Pepperoni's and other mountain establishments. Anxious to find information on the elusive ale, local web wizards have googled near and far for more. No luck...until now.
About a week ago, Denver Westword's blog had a short piece on beers brewed by Blue Moon, evidently a subsidiary of Coors. Apparently, bartenders lie (sort of).
That same post, as well as other blogs and not-necessarily-reliable internet sources also attribute the delicious Jane Ale to Sandlot/Blue Moon/Coors. Neither the Blue Moon nor the Coors website mention anything about their special mountain ales (Copper, Vail, and Aspen also have their own). But hearsay and the technology revolution all seem to agree on this one fact - do we take their word for it?
Further investiagtion is obviously called for.
4.15.2010
Night
It was as if I had just jumped back a year in my life. Flashing lights, a DJ spinning and pumping bass, high heels and designer handbags coming at you from every direction. Techno remixes of Pink Floyd were interspersed with MIA and Lupe Fiasco. What is usually the favorite local hangout - $2 PBRs, pool tables, live bluegrass/rock most nights - had all of a sudden become a scene out of the collective past life. Except for the familiar grungy basement surroundings, our beloved mountain bar was nearly unrecognizable for its astonishing similarity to a metropolitan dance club. We could have been in New York or Philadelphia, Madrid or Montreal - for the music and the chaos but also the unusually equal male-female ratio. Something about two free drink tokens tends to draw the girls out of the woodwork, apparently.
4.14.2010
"Can You Tell Me Where There's a Store?"
"What kind of store?"
"I don't know, just, like, a store, with stuff."
"Well, I'm not really sure what you want..."
Working in retail, ludicrous comments are far from rare. Attempting to save ourselves from the mundanity of our jobs, over the course of the season (particularly the latter half, when absurdity becomes more apparent) we have compiled a delectable selection of Quotes of the Day. While complete understanding probably requires a more indepth knowledge of the complexity of Starbucks's1 inner workings than the coffee layperson possesses, the hope is that each reader finds something to chuckle at in our anthology.
While not a comprehensive collection of every ridiculous thing said this season (I wish), it will certainly give a taste of the idiocy - and hilarity - that retail employees all over the world deal with on a daily basis. And don't worry, I won't do it all at once.
As Bruce would say, "that's what makes the day go round...OW!"
1See The Elements of Style for the reason behind this grammatical choice vis a vis pluralization.
"I don't know, just, like, a store, with stuff."
"Well, I'm not really sure what you want..."
Working in retail, ludicrous comments are far from rare. Attempting to save ourselves from the mundanity of our jobs, over the course of the season (particularly the latter half, when absurdity becomes more apparent) we have compiled a delectable selection of Quotes of the Day. While complete understanding probably requires a more indepth knowledge of the complexity of Starbucks's1 inner workings than the coffee layperson possesses, the hope is that each reader finds something to chuckle at in our anthology.
While not a comprehensive collection of every ridiculous thing said this season (I wish), it will certainly give a taste of the idiocy - and hilarity - that retail employees all over the world deal with on a daily basis. And don't worry, I won't do it all at once.
As Bruce would say, "that's what makes the day go round...OW!"
1See The Elements of Style for the reason behind this grammatical choice vis a vis pluralization.
4.13.2010
Another One Bites the Dust
We've now entered that period of time fondly thought of as the waiting period. Today is the Sunday of my first real weekend in months, and after today there are only five days left to the season. Yesterday's 60 and almost sunny has morphed into today's 30 and snowing. Road trip preparations are starting to get underway, by which of course I mean there is a plethora of lists taking shape. Bring, do, buy, send home...it's too early to clean and pack but too late to keep grocery shopping and stocking cupboards. Bare-dom is impending. Over the last seventy-two hours, a loaf each of wheat and rye breads, pita bread, buttermilk chocolate chip cake/cupcakes, and apricot almond muffins have taken shape. (Sorry Daddy.) Rice is gone, semolina flour almost so, no more lentils, the barley's almost out. I am left with, as always, more tea than I know what to do with and three different varieties of dried beans. I suspect I will become an expert at cooking beans on a campstove. Mmm, delicious.
4.06.2010
Road Snowpacked and Icy - Slower Speeds Advised
Five inches of fresh (heavy) powder reported at 5 am this morning. At 11 am, it was still snowing. Trees were silent and the snow was dense. Snow flies in your eyes from every direction. Thirty-five mile per hour (35 mph) winds thrash your face. Zero visibility up, zero visibility down, and forget side-to-side. Fly off the chair to avoid its whip. It's possible you just might make it, skating uphill into brutal headwinds. Trees come out of nowhere and all of a sudden you're safe. That is, until Travis starts mini-slides at you from above. A gust of wind comes at you and the white-out is blinding - quite literally - until it subsides. The trees protect; the trees hoard. Exposed, the wind blows you uphill; up and over the ridge, down into the bowl, cutting the only tracks through knee-deep snow you plunge back into their embrace. Four hours of mind-numbing, bone-chilling wind are made worthwhile by endless stashes hidden deep in the forest. Ah, springtime.
4.04.2010
Bunnies and Eggs
Weirdly enough, this is the first time I've ever lived anywhere that people care about Easter. Never before, in my whole life, have I been wished a Happy Easter. Little kids, big kids, old men, resort hosts, everyone seems to be into it. What is this holiday, anyway? Resurrection or chocolate rabbits? I know I am lamentably ignorant in this matter, but is it my fault that I've never been exposed to the (believing) Christian majority that makes up this country?
On a happy note, two guys from New York came in and it was discovered that they were Jewish. We exchanged a joyous "Happy Passover!", and I was relieved to be within such close proximity to other Jews after living in such a void for so long. Speaking of Passover, I'm getting pretty sick of rice and curry since that's all I've eaten for the last three days. Thank god for following Sephardi Pesach - otherwise I would be oozing grease from all the fries I would have had to have eaten.
On a happy note, two guys from New York came in and it was discovered that they were Jewish. We exchanged a joyous "Happy Passover!", and I was relieved to be within such close proximity to other Jews after living in such a void for so long. Speaking of Passover, I'm getting pretty sick of rice and curry since that's all I've eaten for the last three days. Thank god for following Sephardi Pesach - otherwise I would be oozing grease from all the fries I would have had to have eaten.
3.30.2010
Ruminations on Philadelphia
The peaks of Center City plunge deep into the raincloud.
I hustle-bustle through the busy city puddles in my drug-induced stupor with a soundtrack of Nouvelle Vague. Leggings and chucks: I am the (spitting) *image* of hipster. Damn.
Airport to 30th Street: Coming in from the southwest. Urban wasteland, cloudy skies, trash and tires glowing by the railroad tracks. Beautiful. Where is my camera when I need it? Why did I see the city like this before? Is this my city? It's so natural, it's as though I never left.
My life always comes and goes in circles; a classmate neighbor from four lives ago boards the train "all aboard to Trenton" with me. Not even a double take. Completely natural. I can even remember his name, no hesitation.
Has the demise of Philadelphia progressed, or have I become spoiled and accustomed tot he *pristine* (untouched) wilderness of Colorado? Twelve hours ago I was crossing a mountain pass - marvelous feat of engineering. East Coast rainy spring green grass humidity trains trash Trenton Makes the World Takes - marvelous feat of engineering.
Lonely traveler alone with the thoughts of a life gone by that isn't yet over. Coming home to a home that isn't quite home but is one of many. Nothing. Ever. Changes. She finds comfort in that thought. Same café, same pretzel, same SEPTA conductors. One, two, three, four, five years running. R1 to 30th. R7 to Trenton. This place is dynamic and unchanging. I can come and go as I please, beginning and ending new lives, but here I will always find a part of me.
I hustle-bustle through the busy city puddles in my drug-induced stupor with a soundtrack of Nouvelle Vague. Leggings and chucks: I am the (spitting) *image* of hipster. Damn.
Airport to 30th Street: Coming in from the southwest. Urban wasteland, cloudy skies, trash and tires glowing by the railroad tracks. Beautiful. Where is my camera when I need it? Why did I see the city like this before? Is this my city? It's so natural, it's as though I never left.
My life always comes and goes in circles; a classmate neighbor from four lives ago boards the train "all aboard to Trenton" with me. Not even a double take. Completely natural. I can even remember his name, no hesitation.
Has the demise of Philadelphia progressed, or have I become spoiled and accustomed tot he *pristine* (untouched) wilderness of Colorado? Twelve hours ago I was crossing a mountain pass - marvelous feat of engineering. East Coast rainy spring green grass humidity trains trash Trenton Makes the World Takes - marvelous feat of engineering.
Lonely traveler alone with the thoughts of a life gone by that isn't yet over. Coming home to a home that isn't quite home but is one of many. Nothing. Ever. Changes. She finds comfort in that thought. Same café, same pretzel, same SEPTA conductors. One, two, three, four, five years running. R1 to 30th. R7 to Trenton. This place is dynamic and unchanging. I can come and go as I please, beginning and ending new lives, but here I will always find a part of me.
3.29.2010
The Air Here is Heavy
"He's never missed a seder. He's 88 years old and he's never missed a seder."
Funnily enough, things change. My aunt pointed out to me earlier today that if/when I move to Israel in July, I'll miss yet another Thanksgiving. That makes three in a row. As depressing as it is, it becomes somewhat normal.
A 26-person seder has dwindled to 24...and then 23...and then 21. When the grandparents don't come, is it still a seder? We won't get matzoh brei in the morning (woe is me...). The debauchery is outrageous already, and it's only 4 o'clock in Colorado. True Farber family style.
(DAN: my dad's drink is DELICIOUS.)
Funnily enough, things change. My aunt pointed out to me earlier today that if/when I move to Israel in July, I'll miss yet another Thanksgiving. That makes three in a row. As depressing as it is, it becomes somewhat normal.
A 26-person seder has dwindled to 24...and then 23...and then 21. When the grandparents don't come, is it still a seder? We won't get matzoh brei in the morning (woe is me...). The debauchery is outrageous already, and it's only 4 o'clock in Colorado. True Farber family style.
(DAN: my dad's drink is DELICIOUS.)
3.24.2010
Things Fall
Berthoud Pass has signs for every non-catastrophe that can possibly occur on a mountain pass:
Road May Be Icy In Areas
Avalanche Danger
Road Damage
Avalanche Area
Snow Slide Area
Rock Slide Area
And even on a beautiful, sunny, 40 degree day like today: Danger Fallen Rocks
Can't it ever just say "Beautiful Day Enjoy Your Drive"?
Then there's the perennial favorite:
(Warning Back Country Skiers Avalanche Blasting At Any Time Using Long Range Weaponry)
Road May Be Icy In Areas
Avalanche Danger
Road Damage
Avalanche Area
Snow Slide Area
Rock Slide Area
And even on a beautiful, sunny, 40 degree day like today: Danger Fallen Rocks
Can't it ever just say "Beautiful Day Enjoy Your Drive"?
Then there's the perennial favorite:
(Warning Back Country Skiers Avalanche Blasting At Any Time Using Long Range Weaponry)
3.21.2010
What Was Once
The former glory of a deserted train station, high wooden benches as long as the room are empty save for a couple of bums. Abandonment, echoes, arched windows and vaulted ceilings towering over decades of history with nothing to show for it. Underground, the doors locked or nonexistent. Trains hundreds of people must once have ridden to all points. Chicago! Los Angeles! St. Louis! Portland! All aboard! And now, nothing. St. Patty's Day revelers seem not to notice the heavy heart of the vast hall. A plaque outsides marks the historical landmark - 1881! - and inside a security guard sits a card table with his feet up reading the funny papers. Beware! Memories of the ghosts of travelers past haunt all ye who dare enter here.
 |
| From Wild Wild West |
3.20.2010
Never-Ending Flour Parade
Something about living with boys. I make two challahs, gone in 36 hours. I make four baguettes (small, to be sure, but still...), gone in 24. Due to guilt laid on me for my neglect of Pi (3.14) day, an apple pie cools on the stove. I wonder how long that's going to last. Considering the amount of anticipated alcohol consumption, I will be surprised if there's anything left for breakfast. (Don't take this seriously, parents), but if I have boys as children just shoot me.
3.18.2010
3.16.2010
Good Day Sunshine
Waiting for the bus this morning, the product of a cloudless night, I was freezing. Six hours later when I left work (Hallelujah!) at 1:30, I could walk around in a t-shirt. The bus ride home was flooded with daydreams of the epic mason jar beverage I would consume upon arrival at my home while sitting outside soaking up some long-awaited Vitamin D.
Aviators, iPod, nail polish, bathing suit, and a mason jar filled with a delicious blend of juices, soda, frozen fruit (we are out of ice, sadly), and the rest of a bottle of Goslings accompanied me for my three and a half hours of no-atmosphere Colorado winter sun. Yes, a bathing suit. Yes, I have a sunburn. Yes, it was awesome. No Mom, I don't have any sunscreen.
Hey, if you can't ski...
Aviators, iPod, nail polish, bathing suit, and a mason jar filled with a delicious blend of juices, soda, frozen fruit (we are out of ice, sadly), and the rest of a bottle of Goslings accompanied me for my three and a half hours of no-atmosphere Colorado winter sun. Yes, a bathing suit. Yes, I have a sunburn. Yes, it was awesome. No Mom, I don't have any sunscreen.
Hey, if you can't ski...
3.09.2010
What NOT To Do On a Powder Day
Catch an edge.
Catching an edge on skis, much like on ice skates, leads to outside forces pulling on your extremities in terrible ways. This is especially true when going fast, and is especially easy to do in powder. Well gosh darn it, I should have known. It is also a particular threat when old injuries are still nagging, and is rather embarrassing when the little gaggle of nice people stopped to help REALLY want to call ski patrol. Well, we all know that would never fly.
Skiing bumps on one leg is also rather precarious and inconvenient, as is trying to carry a helmet and poles while doing so. Perhaps I have learned my lesson, at least until tomorrow when I am sure to do this whole thing all over again.
Catching an edge on skis, much like on ice skates, leads to outside forces pulling on your extremities in terrible ways. This is especially true when going fast, and is especially easy to do in powder. Well gosh darn it, I should have known. It is also a particular threat when old injuries are still nagging, and is rather embarrassing when the little gaggle of nice people stopped to help REALLY want to call ski patrol. Well, we all know that would never fly.
Skiing bumps on one leg is also rather precarious and inconvenient, as is trying to carry a helmet and poles while doing so. Perhaps I have learned my lesson, at least until tomorrow when I am sure to do this whole thing all over again.
3.08.2010
That Most Decadent of Winter Treats
Hot Chocolate
2 Tbs Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa
1 Tbs brown sugar
Milk
A splash...or two...or three...of Bailey's
Top with a dusting of ("true") cinnamon. It's spicier and accents the chocolate better.
I might need a second cup, and we all know how I can never actually finish a hot chocolate.
Inspired by skiing through falling snow and a crackling fire.
2 Tbs Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa
1 Tbs brown sugar
Milk
A splash...or two...or three...of Bailey's
Top with a dusting of ("true") cinnamon. It's spicier and accents the chocolate better.
I might need a second cup, and we all know how I can never actually finish a hot chocolate.
Inspired by skiing through falling snow and a crackling fire.
3.05.2010
1001 Nights
Sitting on a couch, drinking a bottle of Sangiovese-Merlot-Cabernet Sauvignon (imported from Italy), listening to Surrealistic Pillow. Homemade pasta with we-don't-have-a-food-processor pesto. It's snowing outside. Or at least it was.
Complete albums are perfect. Cuddling with an empty bottle nearly so. I can still remember the day when he first won my heart, on the hillside where we lay he said we never would part. So says Grace. Empty white wall, a canvas for this story. Real life is so beyond everything else. An experience. Visionary, the future. But somehow this feels like the past. Totally retro. "Hippie drug music."
An hour and a half of flashbacks to a time I never lived. Sometimes, everything is exactly right.
Complete albums are perfect. Cuddling with an empty bottle nearly so. I can still remember the day when he first won my heart, on the hillside where we lay he said we never would part. So says Grace. Empty white wall, a canvas for this story. Real life is so beyond everything else. An experience. Visionary, the future. But somehow this feels like the past. Totally retro. "Hippie drug music."
An hour and a half of flashbacks to a time I never lived. Sometimes, everything is exactly right.
3.03.2010
3.02.2010
Toys Aren't Just for Boys
Yesterday disappeared somewhere in between sixteen inches of fresh snow and demoing skis all day. It must be karma that the powder always comes in time for my days off.
I went into it with the intention to, if not buy, at least pick out the exact skis I wanted when I could find them for cheap at the end of the season. As luck would have it, a pair of 164 cm K2 MissDemeanors were hanging above the demo desk, marked down not once, twice, or three times, but four markdowns to $143. In between demos I stealthily asked what the deal was. Oh, one or two seasons old? Retails? Never been skied? I demoed the men's version and loved them; they take powder, quick turns, solid edges...exactly what I was looking for. I wouldn't have been able to find a better deal. On sale bindings and a 15% discount later, at the end of the day I walked out the proud new owner of a sweet $209 pair of skis, mounted and ready to go.
So of course, despite the paralyzing pain my muscles were in after five hours of powder, I somehow managed to make it out of bed this morning because I just HAD to ski my new skis. And they are awesome. I don't think I can wait until tomorrow morning to ski.
I went into it with the intention to, if not buy, at least pick out the exact skis I wanted when I could find them for cheap at the end of the season. As luck would have it, a pair of 164 cm K2 MissDemeanors were hanging above the demo desk, marked down not once, twice, or three times, but four markdowns to $143. In between demos I stealthily asked what the deal was. Oh, one or two seasons old? Retails? Never been skied? I demoed the men's version and loved them; they take powder, quick turns, solid edges...exactly what I was looking for. I wouldn't have been able to find a better deal. On sale bindings and a 15% discount later, at the end of the day I walked out the proud new owner of a sweet $209 pair of skis, mounted and ready to go.
So of course, despite the paralyzing pain my muscles were in after five hours of powder, I somehow managed to make it out of bed this morning because I just HAD to ski my new skis. And they are awesome. I don't think I can wait until tomorrow morning to ski.
2.28.2010
Dealbreakers (for Starbucks Baristas in the Fraser Valley)
Initial Criteria
1. Must have a car.
2. Must have a full set of teeth.
Dealbreakers/makers; beyond initial criteria, dealbreakers will, of course, break the deal.
1. Listening to Creed or Nickelback: dealbreaker
2. Being arrested more than once: dealbreaker
3. If you're Lindsey's age and you live with your parents, deal's off
4. Illegitimate child: you're done.
5. Chance likes interesting teeth and Mary likes interesting noses.
6. Overbearing and jealous: dealbreaker
7. If, as a male, you have a Starbucks order that takes more than 10 syllables. If you have to explain to me how to make your drink while listening to Nickelback, it's over.
8. Cargo pants (no one's gotten laid in cargo pants since 'Nam)
9. Pics of Paris Hilton and you on your computer, we're done.
10. You must be able to grow facial hair. Otherwise, you're not a man.
11. Jam bands can go either way, but if you'd rather drop acid and float around in skirts we're probably not down.
12. If you do or have slept with a girl more than ten years younger than you, get a reality check. You're a sugar daddy and a pedophile. Get over yourself.
13. Something about the color yellow
14. As females, we have the right and prerogative to take longer to get ready than you.
15. No public ear, bellybutton, nose, or toenail picking.
16. Can't talk with your mouth full, and should take at least two showers a week.
17. "Control freaks are totally out." - Starbucks patron
18. Musicians, especially those who play the piano, are particularly sexy to Lindsey.
19. Is willing and able to buy a lady dinner
20. You must be taller than we are. Preferably by two to three inches.
21. Must engage with us on our intellectual level which is, inevitably, higher than yours.
22. Park rats, skittles, hipsters, hippies, metrosexuals, cowboys, douchebags, diehard hunters/fishermen, ravers, assholes, commitmentphobes, squares, junkies, gymnasts, ice dancers, ski school instructors, dependants, trustafarians, and types of many other varieties NEED NOT APPLY.
Compiled by Lindsey, Mary, and Audrey.
1. Must have a car.
2. Must have a full set of teeth.
Dealbreakers/makers; beyond initial criteria, dealbreakers will, of course, break the deal.
1. Listening to Creed or Nickelback: dealbreaker
2. Being arrested more than once: dealbreaker
3. If you're Lindsey's age and you live with your parents, deal's off
4. Illegitimate child: you're done.
5. Chance likes interesting teeth and Mary likes interesting noses.
6. Overbearing and jealous: dealbreaker
7. If, as a male, you have a Starbucks order that takes more than 10 syllables. If you have to explain to me how to make your drink while listening to Nickelback, it's over.
8. Cargo pants (no one's gotten laid in cargo pants since 'Nam)
9. Pics of Paris Hilton and you on your computer, we're done.
10. You must be able to grow facial hair. Otherwise, you're not a man.
11. Jam bands can go either way, but if you'd rather drop acid and float around in skirts we're probably not down.
12. If you do or have slept with a girl more than ten years younger than you, get a reality check. You're a sugar daddy and a pedophile. Get over yourself.
13. Something about the color yellow
14. As females, we have the right and prerogative to take longer to get ready than you.
15. No public ear, bellybutton, nose, or toenail picking.
16. Can't talk with your mouth full, and should take at least two showers a week.
17. "Control freaks are totally out." - Starbucks patron
18. Musicians, especially those who play the piano, are particularly sexy to Lindsey.
19. Is willing and able to buy a lady dinner
20. You must be taller than we are. Preferably by two to three inches.
21. Must engage with us on our intellectual level which is, inevitably, higher than yours.
22. Park rats, skittles, hipsters, hippies, metrosexuals, cowboys, douchebags, diehard hunters/fishermen, ravers, assholes, commitmentphobes, squares, junkies, gymnasts, ice dancers, ski school instructors, dependants, trustafarians, and types of many other varieties NEED NOT APPLY.
Compiled by Lindsey, Mary, and Audrey.
2.27.2010
A Terrifying Sign of Maturity
Tonight is 80's night at our favorite local bar. How can I say no? Leggings, big hair, tacky sweater...sounds like my kind of evening!
Drawbacks: Compounded lack of sleep and the beginnings of a cold and the daunting 9-hour day (again) at work tomorrow and the newly discovered $5 cover charge. HECK no.
Decision: Probably not tonight. Bummer!
The clincher, if I am to tell all, is really because I want to ski on Monday. My plan is to demo skis because I want to buy cheap skis at the end of the season. I will be TERRIBLY upset if I am sick or overtired or hungover on Monday and cannot ski. Such is the life of a ski bum.
Drawbacks: Compounded lack of sleep and the beginnings of a cold and the daunting 9-hour day (again) at work tomorrow and the newly discovered $5 cover charge. HECK no.
Decision: Probably not tonight. Bummer!
The clincher, if I am to tell all, is really because I want to ski on Monday. My plan is to demo skis because I want to buy cheap skis at the end of the season. I will be TERRIBLY upset if I am sick or overtired or hungover on Monday and cannot ski. Such is the life of a ski bum.
2.26.2010
I'd Rather Be Bouncing a SuperBall
Dedicated to Mary, the future chief of the Cherokee Nation.
Random thoughts on curls:
We are more resilient.
More creative.
More wild.
More likely to bounce superballs at work and lose them under the giant fridge. And crawl on hands and knees and dig through months of dirt and dust to find it again. Anything for the superball!
Working silly jobs is worth it when you wake up to views of the snowy continental divide, knowing you can play hooky and ski all day if you (really) want to. Don't worry, I haven't. The point is, though, I could.
We are smarter than you. We are happier than you.
Random thoughts on curls:
We are more resilient.
More creative.
More wild.
More likely to bounce superballs at work and lose them under the giant fridge. And crawl on hands and knees and dig through months of dirt and dust to find it again. Anything for the superball!
Working silly jobs is worth it when you wake up to views of the snowy continental divide, knowing you can play hooky and ski all day if you (really) want to. Don't worry, I haven't. The point is, though, I could.
We are smarter than you. We are happier than you.
2.21.2010
Liquor Up (Mature Audiences Only)
I have just been told that I am a better drinking buddy than baker. Not sure how to take it. I did just make some more fabulous brownies. Threw in a little coffee and Aleppo pepper for good measure; I feel like I make brownies every other day now.
On the other hand, we did create a fabulous cocktail* for which, as Dan says, the technical name would be a "Perfect Rum Cocktail"; half each dry and sweet vermouth, simple syrup, Gosling's, Angostura bitters, and a grapefruit peel. "You forgot the 'how awesome of a drinking buddy Dan is part'." Thank goodness we stocked our "liquor cabinet" last week; $150 worth.
*Cocktail: Liquor, Sweet, Bitter. The End.
On the other hand, we did create a fabulous cocktail* for which, as Dan says, the technical name would be a "Perfect Rum Cocktail"; half each dry and sweet vermouth, simple syrup, Gosling's, Angostura bitters, and a grapefruit peel. "You forgot the 'how awesome of a drinking buddy Dan is part'." Thank goodness we stocked our "liquor cabinet" last week; $150 worth.
*Cocktail: Liquor, Sweet, Bitter. The End.
2.12.2010
Shred the Gnar
All of a sudden people have decided to go skiing, which in turn means I've been exponentially (or perhaps linearly) more busy with work. I'm currently operating with one day off a week, although next week I've swung having two in a row. Unfortunately Monday is President's Day so that's out for skiing. Tuesday will have to be epic.
As far as skiing goes, although my skiing-all-star friends don't believe me, I've gotten far better at it. You can pretty much put me anywhere on the mountain (again, except the Cirque) and I'll be fine. It might take me a few minutes but I'll make it. A good example of this is Trestle.
Trestle is a pretty gnarly, long, mogul-studded black diamond on the Jane side of the mountain (best bumps in North America!). After a foray through some trees the other day I was unexpectedly shot out at the top of Trestle and Roundhouse, a blue groomer. Boo, hiss. Being by myself with no one to judge or laugh, I decided Trestle it was.
And it was awesome. February has been a bit improved over the last few months as far as snow, so the few inches of fresh powder felt awesome under ski. When I reached the bottom after several teasing flat spots I was high as a kite. It was by far my best run of the season up until then, and a major confidence booster. Take that, naysayers!
A few days later, I brought boy with me. Taking the same indeterminate route through the trees we ended up at the Roundhouse/Trestle split. My disclaimer: "I know I talked a big game about Trestle but it's still really hard. I'll probably fall a lot. But we're doing it anyway."
And of course I didn't fall a lot. Two hours later he turns to me and says, "It was about halfway down Trestle that I realized that's what 'shredding the gnar' really means."
Yeah, we shred that gnar. Shred some serious gnar.
As far as skiing goes, although my skiing-all-star friends don't believe me, I've gotten far better at it. You can pretty much put me anywhere on the mountain (again, except the Cirque) and I'll be fine. It might take me a few minutes but I'll make it. A good example of this is Trestle.
Trestle is a pretty gnarly, long, mogul-studded black diamond on the Jane side of the mountain (best bumps in North America!). After a foray through some trees the other day I was unexpectedly shot out at the top of Trestle and Roundhouse, a blue groomer. Boo, hiss. Being by myself with no one to judge or laugh, I decided Trestle it was.
And it was awesome. February has been a bit improved over the last few months as far as snow, so the few inches of fresh powder felt awesome under ski. When I reached the bottom after several teasing flat spots I was high as a kite. It was by far my best run of the season up until then, and a major confidence booster. Take that, naysayers!
A few days later, I brought boy with me. Taking the same indeterminate route through the trees we ended up at the Roundhouse/Trestle split. My disclaimer: "I know I talked a big game about Trestle but it's still really hard. I'll probably fall a lot. But we're doing it anyway."
And of course I didn't fall a lot. Two hours later he turns to me and says, "It was about halfway down Trestle that I realized that's what 'shredding the gnar' really means."
Yeah, we shred that gnar. Shred some serious gnar.
2.04.2010
Mundane-ity
Excellent skiing today, all things considered. The one inch of reported powder turned out to be closer to 4+ and it kept snowing all day. Low point: white out at the top of Panoramic and strong winds. High point: basically everything else. Trees, bumps, it was all soft and fabulous and the silence of the falling snow...
...which, all told, made it an excellent night to make some bread. And realizing it was Thursday and tomorrow is Friday (hey, you never know) I have also set my first high-altitude challah to rise. I think it should be delicious, but then, is challah ever not?
...which, all told, made it an excellent night to make some bread. And realizing it was Thursday and tomorrow is Friday (hey, you never know) I have also set my first high-altitude challah to rise. I think it should be delicious, but then, is challah ever not?
(Pretentious) Existential Angst
Consider yourself warned.
Excessive mental angst and waffling about the path I want my life to take. But do I really have any control over that?
A few phone interviews for "opportunities" in the Middle East and I have been philosophizing about this whole way of life. Of course, taking the "real" job at the do-gooder organization is nothing to sniff at, and certainly something that interests me and I would like to do in theory. But when I think about it practically, I don't want to start over so soon, I don't want to sit at a desk, I don't want to follow the path for which most of my socio-economic and intellectual class is destined. On the other hand, I feel as though I have to put my college degree to use, and as one with the opportunity to help in ways I do feel strongly about, I can't fully get behind this "selfish" way of life I've adopted. On the other other hand, I know I wouldn't be happy, at least right now, making those choices, and isn't that worth something?
This mountain life takes a certain kind of person. Most people I've known wouldn't thrive in these conditions; most out here make their livings in trades specific to a resort and tourist town - no consulting firms or I-banking. "Ski bums," for lack of a better word, at least those of us who are highly educated, have made the conscious decision to reject the conventional and opt for something outside-the-box. It will be interesting to see how many, if any, of us go on to stay for longer than a year or two. I can't stay here forever, but it's certainly not a bad way to spend some time. And who knows how I'll feel about my "future" after that?
Excessive mental angst and waffling about the path I want my life to take. But do I really have any control over that?
A few phone interviews for "opportunities" in the Middle East and I have been philosophizing about this whole way of life. Of course, taking the "real" job at the do-gooder organization is nothing to sniff at, and certainly something that interests me and I would like to do in theory. But when I think about it practically, I don't want to start over so soon, I don't want to sit at a desk, I don't want to follow the path for which most of my socio-economic and intellectual class is destined. On the other hand, I feel as though I have to put my college degree to use, and as one with the opportunity to help in ways I do feel strongly about, I can't fully get behind this "selfish" way of life I've adopted. On the other other hand, I know I wouldn't be happy, at least right now, making those choices, and isn't that worth something?
This mountain life takes a certain kind of person. Most people I've known wouldn't thrive in these conditions; most out here make their livings in trades specific to a resort and tourist town - no consulting firms or I-banking. "Ski bums," for lack of a better word, at least those of us who are highly educated, have made the conscious decision to reject the conventional and opt for something outside-the-box. It will be interesting to see how many, if any, of us go on to stay for longer than a year or two. I can't stay here forever, but it's certainly not a bad way to spend some time. And who knows how I'll feel about my "future" after that?
Steamboat Things
Excuses: losing my phone, working crazy hours, and sketchy wireless.
But at least life is *exciting*! On Tuesday, a collective day off, a few of us went to Steamboat to check out another mountain. As much terrain as Winter Park has, it was nice to be somewhere different. At least that's what I thought until we started skiing. The front side of the mountain was a legitimate ice rink, worse than anything we've had here all winter. After lunch we headed to the backside of the mountain (haha, backside) where the powder was deep and the trees were plentiful. Those few runs in and of themselves were worth the trip out. And it's quite a lovely drive. Sadly, though, I was as excited by the "big" town of Granby as a Kansan in New York for the first time. That's what a small town will do to you.
But at least life is *exciting*! On Tuesday, a collective day off, a few of us went to Steamboat to check out another mountain. As much terrain as Winter Park has, it was nice to be somewhere different. At least that's what I thought until we started skiing. The front side of the mountain was a legitimate ice rink, worse than anything we've had here all winter. After lunch we headed to the backside of the mountain (haha, backside) where the powder was deep and the trees were plentiful. Those few runs in and of themselves were worth the trip out. And it's quite a lovely drive. Sadly, though, I was as excited by the "big" town of Granby as a Kansan in New York for the first time. That's what a small town will do to you.
1.26.2010
Brownies
Considering our lack of bread flour, my supreme laziness as far as grocery stores, and my need to bake something, it seemed like a perfect night for brownies. Luckily Dan has the Joy of Cooking since my cookbook collection is stranded in Maine.
They look a little souffle-esque but hopefully will taste delicious. Still cooling.
I went skiing today...on another note. We got 8.5 inches over the last few days and it started snowing towards the end of the afternoon, so negligible though that may be considering how far behind we are, it definitely felt like it helped. I might be fooling myself though; brown spots were nearly as numerous as lofty powder.
Post Script: Moist, airy, gooey, chocolatey...altitude what?
They look a little souffle-esque but hopefully will taste delicious. Still cooling.
I went skiing today...on another note. We got 8.5 inches over the last few days and it started snowing towards the end of the afternoon, so negligible though that may be considering how far behind we are, it definitely felt like it helped. I might be fooling myself though; brown spots were nearly as numerous as lofty powder.
Post Script: Moist, airy, gooey, chocolatey...altitude what?
1.25.2010
Something
Apologies for no updates recently. Life has been busy, I've been lazy, and our internet wasn't working for a few days.
A few important updates since the last post:
-I got crust on bread! Yay science!
-I made apple pie with really good crust.
-I haven't forgotten how to drive in the snow.
-I got a second job.
I think those are all the important points. So as not to bore you with the details and unnecessary stories since nothing is new and fabulous anymore, I will just throw up some pictures of my culinary achievements. Is anyone surprised that this has devolved into majority summaries of food-related exploits? Because I'm not.
A few important updates since the last post:
-I got crust on bread! Yay science!
-I made apple pie with really good crust.
-I haven't forgotten how to drive in the snow.
-I got a second job.
I think those are all the important points. So as not to bore you with the details and unnecessary stories since nothing is new and fabulous anymore, I will just throw up some pictures of my culinary achievements. Is anyone surprised that this has devolved into majority summaries of food-related exploits? Because I'm not.
1.17.2010
A Little Slice of Heaven
As legend* will have it, two Italian men from Staten Island relocated to the remote haven of Fraser, Colorado and found it lacking in suitable pizza joints. So what would two entrepreneurial gentlemen such as themselves do? Why, start their own, of course!
This venture took the form of DeAntonio's, a strip mall hole-in-the-wall New York style pizza place that serves up 16" and 18" pies, as well as slices, garlic knots, and various pasta dishes that will satisfy the cravings of any thin-crust loving New York pizza eater. Thin, crispy-on-the-bottom crust (exactly how I like it) topped with delectable sauce in the right proportion with the cheese - as well as pepper flakes, parmesan, and garlic salt on each of the four or five tables squeezed in alongside the counter - this pizza gets the nod from three North Jersey-raised pizza connoisseurs and an Italian Rochester-ite with a history as a pizza shop employee. What higher praise is there?
*Most of this story is cobbled together from bits and pieces of hearsay and my own imagination.
**Added bonus; it even reheats well, for pizza two nights in a row!
This venture took the form of DeAntonio's, a strip mall hole-in-the-wall New York style pizza place that serves up 16" and 18" pies, as well as slices, garlic knots, and various pasta dishes that will satisfy the cravings of any thin-crust loving New York pizza eater. Thin, crispy-on-the-bottom crust (exactly how I like it) topped with delectable sauce in the right proportion with the cheese - as well as pepper flakes, parmesan, and garlic salt on each of the four or five tables squeezed in alongside the counter - this pizza gets the nod from three North Jersey-raised pizza connoisseurs and an Italian Rochester-ite with a history as a pizza shop employee. What higher praise is there?
*Most of this story is cobbled together from bits and pieces of hearsay and my own imagination.
**Added bonus; it even reheats well, for pizza two nights in a row!
1.15.2010
Alternatively, It Might Be Butter
Really, we could use some snow. Not that I'm complaining; I mean, that 0.00001" we got last night is clearly going to make for some sick powpow. Whatever, I'm over it.
In other news, I finally bought laundry detergent (Leah was there, she can vouch for me) so my clothes will actually be clean rather than simply rinsed. She and I ventured into the Winter Park Market (unassuming name, most fabulous find ever), a gas station natural foods store and sandwich shop. I was totally kvelling over the sheer number of herbal supplements and organic vegetables and bulk grains and herbs and biodegradable cleaning supplies and real milk and Amy's pizzas and Yogi tea and Fage greek yogurt and lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Forget you, Safeway, and your fluorescent lighting (the Communist plot!) and homogeneous produce and your pasteurized, homogenized milk and your overpriced Tillamook cheddar and your tootling the multitudes and your preservative-filled breads and your feedlot corporate death meats and your national chain soccer mom minivan conformity. We are OVER!
In other news, I finally bought laundry detergent (Leah was there, she can vouch for me) so my clothes will actually be clean rather than simply rinsed. She and I ventured into the Winter Park Market (unassuming name, most fabulous find ever), a gas station natural foods store and sandwich shop. I was totally kvelling over the sheer number of herbal supplements and organic vegetables and bulk grains and herbs and biodegradable cleaning supplies and real milk and Amy's pizzas and Yogi tea and Fage greek yogurt and lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Forget you, Safeway, and your fluorescent lighting (the Communist plot!) and homogeneous produce and your pasteurized, homogenized milk and your overpriced Tillamook cheddar and your tootling the multitudes and your preservative-filled breads and your feedlot corporate death meats and your national chain soccer mom minivan conformity. We are OVER!
1.14.2010
In the Black
Because it's been so slow, all of our hours have been cut. No, that's not drastic enough; they've been slashed.* The upside of this is that I unexpectedly had the day to ski, despite the less than optimal conditions and lack of ski buddy. But I couldn't see what else I was going to do with my day, so my iPod and I sucked it up and hit the slopes. While not the most legendary of ski days, I feel as though I made some progress nonetheless. I skied a black diamond all by myself and only fell twice! It was the upper half of a lift line trail (the bottom half is blue) and was kind of steep and kind of bumpy. But it was my first full black and I survived. Then, joining Stosh on his ride break from work, we rode Outrigger, a fairly long black bump run speckled with little baby trees, grassy spots, and rocks, but altogether in decent condition. I lost a ski, but whatever, I made it down in one piece and I'll blame my slowness on physical exhaustion. So clearly I am becoming a sicknasty skier since I can "ski" blacks and live to tell the tale. Vasquez Cirque, here I come!
*Don't worry parents, my 401k will kick in soon. Just kidding - I am hot on the trail of 2nd and possibly 3rd jobs.
*Don't worry parents, my 401k will kick in soon. Just kidding - I am hot on the trail of 2nd and possibly 3rd jobs.
1.10.2010
Youth Is Not Wasted
Someone once told me youth is wasted on the young. It might have been my father.
I must, at this point in my life, respectfully disagree. While our current pursuits may not be the most fulfilling, the most meaningful, or even the most productive, they are inherently enjoyable. We are here because we enjoy the outdoors, we enjoy the winter, we enjoy the freedom of this lifestyle. At what other point in my - or your - life have I been able to ski just two runs during an hour lunch break and be only glad that my life allows me to do so? Coming off the mountain I surprisingly did not feel that I had wasted that time - all I could think was "youth is not wasted on the young, not here."
I must, at this point in my life, respectfully disagree. While our current pursuits may not be the most fulfilling, the most meaningful, or even the most productive, they are inherently enjoyable. We are here because we enjoy the outdoors, we enjoy the winter, we enjoy the freedom of this lifestyle. At what other point in my - or your - life have I been able to ski just two runs during an hour lunch break and be only glad that my life allows me to do so? Coming off the mountain I surprisingly did not feel that I had wasted that time - all I could think was "youth is not wasted on the young, not here."
1.07.2010
This is probably TMI, but I have nothing else to write about.
Being sick is kind of a bummer. Tuesday was arguably the worst day of my life; body-wracking fever pains combined with sporadic yet heinously intense stomach spasms is not a recipe for a pleasant day. 800mg of ibuprofen, two Nyquil, and thirteen hours of sleep later, I was feeling worlds better but apparently still not well enough. I managed to eat breakfast and make it to work, only to have a recurrence of the stomach death which got me sent home after an hour. Probably a good idea, considering I didn't feel like doing much all day, and was somehow still sick enough to sit through all of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, possibly one of the most plot-absent movies of all time. That's when you know it's bad. Another twelve hours of sleep later (yes, I have sleep for more than half of the past 72 hours) and while my stomach still can't tell if it's hungry or hurting, at least food doesn't make me want to puke anymore. Baby steps, right?
Probably the biggest bummer in all of this is that we got nine inches of snow yesterday and last night, I don't have to work until one, but I am clearly not up for skiing. I think the gods are against me. What did I do to deserve this?
Probably the biggest bummer in all of this is that we got nine inches of snow yesterday and last night, I don't have to work until one, but I am clearly not up for skiing. I think the gods are against me. What did I do to deserve this?
1.04.2010
Cheers to Days Off
I semi-accidentally ended up on a 'gnarly' blue-black run today. Trying to stay together through trees and on unmarked trails is evidently quite difficult, and in the midst of the attempt I decided I would rather follow the lift line, despite huge bumps, than end up dead in the trees. I feel that was a prudent decision. However, it definitely took me upwards of ten minutes to navigate the daunting terrain and I spent a good portion of those sitting in nice powdery bumps. I guess that's the good thing about real snow, even on hard(er) trails - falling just doesn't hurt.
The Year of the Bread
Sometimes I feel like every time I have a free minute I'm proofing yeast, mixing dough, setting bread to rise, feeding the world. Now that we have our fourth roommate, the amount of bread to be consumed is going to be significantly increased. In 2010 alone I think I'm already on my fourth or fifth loaf. First was a regular half-whole wheat, nothing to write home about but definitely delicious, as is all homemade bread. The other night I decided a beer bread was in order (with innumerable gallons of beer at all stages of brewing in this apartment, I might as well take advantage, right?). I helped myself to a portion of Jeff's chocolate stout and used it instead of the water that goes into the dough. As the bread rose and baked, it let off an aroma of the rich, chocolatey libation inside. I have never seen a loaf of bread disappear so fast. It lasted 24 hours at the most. Dark, rich, almost sweet, this experiment definitely counted as a success. On the heels of the last rind of crust disappearing under butter and homemade jam (thanks to Dan for contributing to the bread-fest), I received swift requests for another loaf. After the success of the chocolate stout bread, I am now about to bake off a loaf made with Jeff's pale ale. Not too hoppy, it has strong citrus and herbal notes, and we suspect it will make a delicious loaf of bread. Not that it won't get eaten anyway.
On top of all these beer experiments, I mixed my first sourdough starter the other day, and so far it is going along swimmingly. Stay tuned for more on sourdough experiments. I also decided the time was ripe for homemade English Muffins (missing Standard much? Definitely.) and so have a rich, soft dough rising in the fridge to be made fresh tomorrow morning. Don't worry Daddy, I'll try to save one in the freezer for you.
On top of all these beer experiments, I mixed my first sourdough starter the other day, and so far it is going along swimmingly. Stay tuned for more on sourdough experiments. I also decided the time was ripe for homemade English Muffins (missing Standard much? Definitely.) and so have a rich, soft dough rising in the fridge to be made fresh tomorrow morning. Don't worry Daddy, I'll try to save one in the freezer for you.
10
So far the New Year has brought all kinds of excitement. Sort of. As much excitement can be had in life.
Yesterday brought the first day of normalcy in a long while - the busiest week of the season had passed, and with it the gaggles of Texans and Denverites that had been plaguing our slopes. After two weeks of nonstop work and chaos, we snagged this opportunity to get out on the hill, and the three and a half inches of fresh snow Saturday night didn't hurt. Still working on my mogul skills (taking a lot of work...ouch), Jeff decided he would give me a little coaching. Of course, he and Dan, expert skiers that they are, weren't super keen on sticking to "colored" runs with me. "Let's take either Retta's or Outrigger," Jeff suggested, referring to two long, steep, bumpy blacks. Ha. Right. Of course, anxious for whatever help I can get, I followed along. So here I am, probably not more than twenty five days of skiing under my belt ever, staring down a steep pitch pimpled by thigh-high moguls. I wanted to cry. But I didn't.
I made Jeff stay with me as I took it two, three, four at a time, fall. No big deal. About half way down it got steeper and Jeff directed me towards a cutoff path that brought me to a neighboring friendly blue. Sigh of relief. But I skiied a black! And his advice helped; the rest of the day all of my bumps felt better. Not that I'm a pro, and I still like runs with some kind of color in them (blue, blue-black), but hey, one step at a time, right? On top of that, it gave me the push I needed to take Panoramic (highest lift in the country...or something) to the highest point in the resort, 12,000 feet above sea level. Amazing. Above the tree line, real snow, fresh powder, completely free-form. LTD.
Yesterday brought the first day of normalcy in a long while - the busiest week of the season had passed, and with it the gaggles of Texans and Denverites that had been plaguing our slopes. After two weeks of nonstop work and chaos, we snagged this opportunity to get out on the hill, and the three and a half inches of fresh snow Saturday night didn't hurt. Still working on my mogul skills (taking a lot of work...ouch), Jeff decided he would give me a little coaching. Of course, he and Dan, expert skiers that they are, weren't super keen on sticking to "colored" runs with me. "Let's take either Retta's or Outrigger," Jeff suggested, referring to two long, steep, bumpy blacks. Ha. Right. Of course, anxious for whatever help I can get, I followed along. So here I am, probably not more than twenty five days of skiing under my belt ever, staring down a steep pitch pimpled by thigh-high moguls. I wanted to cry. But I didn't.
I made Jeff stay with me as I took it two, three, four at a time, fall. No big deal. About half way down it got steeper and Jeff directed me towards a cutoff path that brought me to a neighboring friendly blue. Sigh of relief. But I skiied a black! And his advice helped; the rest of the day all of my bumps felt better. Not that I'm a pro, and I still like runs with some kind of color in them (blue, blue-black), but hey, one step at a time, right? On top of that, it gave me the push I needed to take Panoramic (highest lift in the country...or something) to the highest point in the resort, 12,000 feet above sea level. Amazing. Above the tree line, real snow, fresh powder, completely free-form. LTD.
1.02.2010
Plodding Along
I feel as though I should have lots of fabulous things to write about considering I have been MIA for almost a week, but no dice. This past week is the resort's busiest and it's all I could do to keep up with work, sleeping, and eating. Forget blogging, forget free time, forget a social life. I did get a chance to ski for a few hours yesterday morning and I'm definitely making some progress on those bumps, but it will be nice when the mountain empties out a little and we have time to ski and some fresh snow to do it on. Today's mini-snowstorm treated us to white-out conditions for about fifteen minutes, but we could use many many more. Hopefully I'll get out there a few times over the next few days, as right now begins my three day weekend. Hoorah!
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