The real Alaska Day 7

Miles: 2,715.7
Average MPG: 19.3
Gallons: 140.71
Bears and Wolves: 12
Alaska Beards: 7
Miles Hiked: 22.6

Present Day:
So I was planning to lead a small tour of Seattle last night where Peter (not sure if I mentioned that I have a genuine German Mars Hill Church Intern living at my house...well I do and his name is Peter) and his girl friend Amy  (also from Germany and also interning at Mars) could be properly introduced to their new home of Seattle (for the next 13 months at least).  Yulia also agreed to come along as well, she has not spent much time in the city, so she wanted to learn about it too.
But in God's providence, my plans were smashed in a beautiful way.  God's plan was better.  Some generous person bought out the 345 section of Safeco Field and gave all the Tickets to Mars Hills Proxy.  So Amy decided to join them with Peter.  So at 1PM I looked for an alternative activity.  After chatting with Kelsey via Sidney on "FacheBuuk", I was given the amazing gift of two free tickets to the game.  Yulia hadn't ever been to a Mariner's game so it worked out. The four of us enjoyed the game, but Peter and Amy were still baffled by many of the mechanics and arcane rules by the end.   Baseball (don't get me wrong, I love to play and occasionally watch) is weird, it just is.  The whole game is between two guys and they take a lot of time staring longingly into each others eyes until every once in a while one of them throws a ball by the other who tries to stop it from being caught by another guy who is dressed up like Optimus Prime. It was a fun night and the conversation was great.

A few weeks ago...in Alaska:
Previously on "Alaska: a Josh's Road Trip Expeience"...
Josh drove a large SUV then didn't sleep, then he hit a bird, then he didn't sleep again, then he got on a bus, then he got off a bus, then he got back on a bus, then he got off a bus, then he bought some tickets, then he kinda slept...
Day 7 YEAH I GOT MY DAYS ALL MIXED UP, thanks Yulia for providing me with your notes about the trip!
So we woke early and Yulia, Nick , Tina, and I all packed up and distributed our gear and headed out:

We left Mirella and Josue at Reilly Creek for one night and two days (with a can of bear mace, 1 Tim 5:2) so the four of us could go backpacking in Denali!  Yeah actually going off the trail across country and camping in the last great American Wilderness.
We sat through the educational training film on how to not die in the back country, packed up all our food into two Bear Cans (designed to keep anything the bears might be interested in out of their grasp behind some stout black plastic), and got on the 2PM Camper Bus.  We were let off the bus at the Teklanika River Bridge in Sector 29 of the park.  We off-loaded our packs from the back of the bus and strapped up as the bus rolled away.  We were left on the dusty road with the roar of water and the whipping of the wind as the reality of our loneliness hit us.  Were were going to be on our own for the next 25 hours.  Remember that the day before we had seen 6 Grizzly Bears and 5 moose (which are more dangerous that the bears) just yesterday, in fact two of the bears we saw were within 4 miles of where we got off the bus.  In Denali, the average concentration of bears is about 0.35 bears or wolves per square mile in the sub-alpine areas.
I don't know if all that data went through Yulia, Tina, or Nick's mind, but it sure as hell went through mine. As an aside, I got a chance to sit down for a Thai lunch with Nate B, he is on staff with Mars Hill this Thursday.  We talked on many subjects, but one thing that came up when I switched seats during the meal is that I try to always see the door when I sit somewhere.  I find all my exits, and I evaluate each person who enters.  This is all automatic, I have just trained myself to process people and locations and evaluate danger.  I don't try to start any aggression, but I try to be ready to respond if necessary.
So I had SO much fun on the approx. 7.4 mile hike into where we camped.  No! Really! That's not sarcasm!  I really had a lot of fun scanning all visual quadrants for any sign of predators, pit falls, or other dangers.  I looked for tracks (I am NOT a skilled tracker, I just know some minor principles of the trade and kinda what to look for) and watched for "animal sign", umm "animal sign" is kinda a euphemism for poop. I don't know why, but it is.  I was just "on" the entire time.

We started on the left from the bridge and completed this circuit.

Anyway, we headed north parallel to the Teklanika and made good time on the sand bars.

Bear Print

Wolf Print

Caribou and Wolf Print

We turned off the river and entered the tree line.  In Denali, the trees are not large (the Pines top out at 70 feet) due to the brutal winters and paucity of winter sun light. We faced our first river crossing and all four of us escaped with dry socks.

We existed the line of woods and entered rolling hills over fresh Tundra. Its composition was 30% wild blueberries, 20% moss, 30% low assorted brush, 10% Crow berries, and 10% grass. Basically when you walk on tundra you are walking on top of plants,about 6-10 inches off the ground.  We crested three rises and gained our first territorial view of our goal.  We actually stopped a mile and a half short of our goal but day light was fading. Our conversations ranged wildly, and slowly waned as energy and terrain took its toll.

 The land was full the sounds of flowing water and the call of small birds, the smell was that of fragrant fruit mixed with fresh wet earth, the taste was that of delicate berries blended with moist clean air, the touch was that of soft ground and pliable flora with the brush of gentle leaves on the palms of my hands, and the sight, the sight was that of yellow purple peaks with blue green creeping forests yearning for the heights they will never achieve and the spring green tundra with blue tasty dots of delight as far as the eye can see.
In a too trite word, beautiful.
We made camp on a ridge in the wind and Nick and I lashed the lady's tent to our tent tying everything down tight.  We ate MREs and stored our food 120 yards away. I placed a branch on the bear can and checked it the next morning, nothing had been disturbed.
I slept for two hours until 11PM then lay awake until morning.  The others slept well and hopefully dreamed of wide open lands and lush hills rolling beyond sight, beyond mind, beyond every fear and every anxiety.

VERY special thanks to Ratatat's "Nostrand" for it's incalculable contribution to this poor excuse for a Blog post. Also Marshall you helped too, you better love Hailey with all that you are.

Alaska Days 3-4

A little update from my life, Peter has moved into my house. Very exciting.  He flew in last night from Stuttgart, Germany and will spend the next 13 months as an unpaid intern for Mars Hills' West Seattle Church. He is a nice guys and he seemed excited when I invited him and Amie (sorry if I misspell that) to go out shooting this Saturday.

Miles: 2,548.3
Average MPG: 19.3
Gallons: 136.04
Bears and Wolves: 4
Alaska Beards: 3
Miles Hiked: 0

So I believe sufficient time has passed to continue to write about Alaska. I am not a historian, I really don't need to wait until all the participants' grandchildren die of old age before enough distance has passed to yield sufficient perspective.
So we drove on to Denali from Fairbanks. The rolling hills of the plains slowly gave way to the more rugged and more lush landscape of the highlands.  As we entered and cleared Healy the massive peaks of Denali National Park came into view. Clouds hovered ominously not unlike the fly-in scene in  Jurassic Park. We cruzed into the park and hit the Mercantile.  I booked 6 nights in Reilly Creek Campground. Unfortunately there was not an open site that night (total fail on my part, I should have called ahead).  So we packed ourselves back in the Traverse and headed South were there was sure to be a good campground.  There was it was called Grizzly Bear Recreation Area and RV Park. Think about that for a second...a recreation area for grizzly bears.  Hmm most folks might realize the not-so-subtle implication about staying at this place, but that didn't phase us.  After some shenanigans, we got a remote campsite over-looking the Nenana River and setup the mondo-tent (Thanks Erik) and a smaller tent.  After we all had our showers, we retired. I failed to sleep in the Traverse that night.

I woke first and started cooking some Bisquick pancakes and some bacon.  As we all awoke, we found the previously mentioned hood ornament (see the song bird). After leisurely packing up, we drove up to Denali NP and picked out our campsite for the next 6 nights.  We reset our tents and decided we needed to go out and buy some tarps since the weather forecast called for rain for the next week.
So I asked for any volunteers to go help me find some tarps.  Yulia stepped forward, so the two of us struck out. I drove past Healy AK without even noticing it and we ended up in the city of Anderson. As I look at Google Maps to assist my memory, the military base near Anderson looks suspicious. A large gravel mine, few barracks, and one heck of a radar array and some odd looking buildings, LINK. So the tarps, the poor navigation, and clandestine facilities aren't the point. The point is that I had the chance to share my whole messy story with Yulia. All the sin and my odd and resistant journey to Jesus. She asked probing questions and showed me grace when I named my sin and described who I was before Jesus. As an aside, I don't like to share my story, but I hate living in secret, so I pursue transparency, even though it feels like being stripped naked before a stranger as I hear the accusations echoing through the long abandoned corridors of my memory.  If I don't reject the lie against my identity in Jesus, then I spiral into despair.  But the truth is that I am forgiven, adopted, and cleansed and all my sins have been taken away.
So as Yulia (and Tina too) later told me my story sharing prompted them to share their own struggles and their own story.  Yulia is a woman who has been through hell, but knows her identity. I admitted I gritted my teeth as she shared, nothing gets me angry like foolish men who are dishonorable. So I eventually admitted my own folly as we looked at the map.  We swung back to Healy, bought two inexpensive tarps and roared back to Denali.
Nick had already been busy with some 550 cord (parachute line, and the exact same line that I used in my little picnic several weeks later). We ended up covering the picnic table and laying tarps under the tents. We had a lazy night as we cooked some of our beef in a A-1 and Ketchup sauce with some instant mashed potatoes.  We totally feasted on some s'mores.  We retired early-ish, and I tried to sleep again the the Traverse, but only managed a few hours.

Neurons and Necrobiosis

Miles Run:80.82

Miles Biked:85.99
Total Miles:166.81
Stadium Stairs Run*:2244
Steep Steps Run*:1340
Days to Rainier:131
Summit Team:9.55
Aspirin Tablets:42

Some philosophers have speculated that heaven is only the brains oxygen-deprived neurons firing and the mass release of serotonin resulting in euphoria and random visual free-associations allowing the soon-to-be deceased to accept the end of days. That's of course retarded[1]. But perhaps these scholars are partially right. Perhaps when the brain is dying it fires everything it's got, throws the rum and gunpowder and cannons and the livestock and the 2nd lieutenant[2] all overboard and runs the sails to the braces.

To me running is dying, at least it feels like that. Could be why I hate running... I have had an occasion or two in my life where death was certain yet failed to materialize and running brings those to mind.

So I just got back from my longest run yet (8.77 miles) and it came 40 hours after my previous longest run ever (8.61 miles). By sheer force of God, I managed one leg of continuous running that spanned 4.71 miles.

So in light of nearly two hours of an oh-so-lovely semi-hypoxic brain (where philosophers speculate our heaven-halucinations are manufactured), what did my 2.9 pound lump of spongy mush spit out?

• "The enemy's gate is down"
• "Will the real John Galt please stand up, please stand up, please stand up..."
• "Bonfire...with friends...that dude rocks...cheers mate, enjoy your beer"
• "I wonder if I could kick Benjamin Franklin's butt in a chess match?"
• "I always voted at my party's call, and I never thought of thinking for myself at all, I thought so little they rewarded me, by making me the ruler of the Queen's Navy!"
• "Where did Fermat's logic break down in his correct yet blind assertion that (a^n)+(b^n)=c^n for all integers greater than 2?"
• "If an arrogant man is humiliated in the forest, does someone somewhere laugh at him?"
• "Whatever doesn't kill you only makes you weaker, so the next thing can"
• "Is there a file on me with the USSS over that little Romney 22lr incident?"

Ain't neuron necrobiosis grand?

________

1 - Please forgive my crude insult to men educated beyond their own intelligence. They are making a blatant mistake by relying on blind faith that they own collection of neurons is a trustworthy tool for proper perception and analysis. It ain't.

2 - Often seen as the least desirable military officer by the enlisted, the 2nd Lieutenants know enough tactics to get their men into trouble, but haven't had the same level of field training as the average grunt. As such, they tend to be outcasts from both the enlisted and higher ranked officers.

Inception

So today I had the privilege of spending time with some great folks from the West Seattle Campus of Mars Hill. We all went out to the U. District Campus to enjoy the Movie Inception and Cinemagogue's theological take on this fine piece of cinematic philosophy. The metanarrative master's (Pastor Harleman) discussion of subjective reality explored the very curious yet blatantly obvious fact that the question "Did the top stop spinning?" is totally irrelevant. Here are some of my subjective recollections of Harleman's main points:

(1)Viewed from another perspective, one can see that Saito was actually breaking into Cobb's mind. Notice how Saito just happens to appear in Madras with the rescuing car, he has seemingly unlimited power to but an airline in the middle of a conversation, and he is the cause of Cobb's catharsis with both his children and his dead wife.

(2)Without an external and infallible person who knows all, there can by definition be no truly objective reality. Christopher Nolan (the director) focuses all his films on this premise. There is no objective reality, or at least no one can access it. In Memento, Guy Pierce's character has no short-term memory, so he relies on tattoos and photographs to interpret his perceived reality through. The story shows how fallible even relying on hard facts can be. Inception takes that idea and goes 10 steps further. What if you were able to enter someone's dreams and interact with them? What if you did such a good job of this that true life outside of the dream (we'll call this "reality") became hard to discern? What if you lost track of what was real and what was a dream? In many ways that gray area is precisely where we live everyday. What is objectively true? Does you spouse really truly love you? Or are you making a best guess based on your experience and what they have told you? Are even your memories of life trustworthy? These sorts of questions build a healthy paranoia don't they?


(3)In the Prestige (another Nolan Film), Michael Caine's character (Cutter) says, "Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called "The Pledge". The magician shows you something ordinary...Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course... it probably isn't. The second act is called "The Turn". The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled." This reaction in each of our minds pulls us toward an idealized (or perhaps more palatable) reality where "truth" is forgotten. We all yearn for a subjective reality...Christian's call this original sin. We all want to live in a world where we can be our own god; where we have monopoly on what is real and what is not. For me, that is why I love to dream. As an amateur lucid dreamer, I have enjoyed the subjective reality of my own semi-conscious mind and the seeming omnipotence it offers.

(4)Cypher in the Matrix decided that whatever feels real is real. "If I have to choose between [reality] and the Matrix, I choose the Matrix." Some folks recognize that objective reality depends on an external hero but say that subjective reality is more than enough to live a full life. Cypher agrees.

There were many other intriguing insights from P. Harleman but you guys should have attended if you wanted to hear them. Too bad for you.
One final note before I try to sleep. A friend of mine who you can read about HERE recently renewed a debate I have had within my mind regarding a grand unified theory of everything. (No not quite the GUT) rather a consistent view of my own life, economic theory, and a more general sociological theory of mankind. She pointed me to a man by the name of John Robbins. He launches a fair-minded attack on my favorite economist Ludwig von Mises (coincidentally I have spent dozens of hours in Mises personal library whilst at Hillsdale College). Robbins points out the difficulty acknowledged by Misses, "Those divines [Theologians] who saw that nothing but revelation could provide man with perfect certainty were right. Human scientific inquiry cannot proceed beyond the limits drawn by the insufficiency of man's senses and narrowness of his mind." (He then goes on to explain causal indeterminance and all the annoying things in economics which have caused me to slam my head against my keyboard through the long nights of grad school.) The admission that those folks with a red line to the man upstairs seem to own objective truth seems hollow. I mean in mathematics there are such things as a limiting argument where a function never reaches a given threshold. Couldn't humanity be similar under a purely subjective world view, each day getting closer to objective truth but never reaching it? I appreciate Robbins views but dang guy. Maybe I have been to well indoctrinated by my Austrian professors. I want to be both a Christian and an rationalist economist.

Oh and Read Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged and Fountainhead y'all. She is a fascinating story telling and straight-up Austrian (maybe).

Vegas Blog - Day 4 - Part 2

Miles: 1286.4
Gallons Burned: 29.7
Elvis Sightings: 11
Total Miles: 15922.6
Total Gallons Burned: 530.4
Total Caffeinated Drinks: 90
Total Gigabytes of Pictures: 33.77

So like I said we got on the bus to Fremont Street (about a 18 minute ride). The buses were clean and you could tell they were all freshly mopped due to the inevitable mess created by inebriated late-night passengers.
Par and I sat on the second level of the bus. Par had just made an observation about the lack economic development in the space between Fremont Street and "The Strip". I changed the subject by drawing a parallel between the people we had seen so far and the run-down appearance of the City.
Whenever I enter a new town, church, restaurant, bank, home, or grocery story I first tactically evaluate the environment (search for concealed weapons, chart the quickest escape route, identify any police), second evaluate the people (are they emotionally unstable, are they generally happy, are they hopeful, are they uneasy, etc.), and third look for the angles. I'm not saying that this is the right way to approach a new situation, I'm only saying it's what I automatically do (you can imagine how fast my mind was working in the highly secure casinos). So anyways I told Par that I noticed a general sense of unhappiness in Vegas. Walking down the street I noticed very few people who were smiling (maybe 1 in 20), and quite a few who looked genuine irked (about 1 in 5). He said he hadn't noticed. I continued that it felt worse that Seattle in the middle of winter when no one has seen the sun in 50-60 days and depression peaks. I wondered aloud why in a place where the sun is ever-present people were so unhappy, Par thought it might have something to do with the money-centric idolatry that is constantly exposed when people lose at a casino.
My mind then jumped to roses. A young lady in the seat in front of us had a dozen blood-red roses. I asked Par what the colors of roses meant. He didn't know. So I, the rude out-of-towner, asked her what the color's meant; she graciously shared that red=romantic love, yellow=friendship, peach=sympathy, and pink=gratitude.
I congratulated her on the dozen red roses and the affection they implied; blushing she said a client from her job at the Aria C&H had given her the roses. She then asked me to explain why I thought Las Vegas folks seemed depressed (she must have overheard my conversation with Par), and mocked me politely when I revealed that I was staying at Circus Circus (the worst fancy Casino Hotels according to locals). With my pride pricked Par piped up by asking how old she was and then if he looked liked Elvis (I had been keeping track of all the Elvis impersonators and Par thought he should count as the Sikh version of Elvis). She again politely told him that she was 22, and he didn't look like Elvis. Then she said turning to me, "But he has Johnny Depp's eyes." I immediately said, "No. No. Brown is just brown" trying to hide my embarrassment. So my one interaction with a real native Las Vegan ended awkwardly as I said, "Nice to have met you" and got off the bus with Par.

Aside number two:
This short encounter relates to something that I have been convicted of as of this Sunday. Pastor Mark as he preached through Luke 11 asked, "Where do you believe that if you ask for something good that God will punish or hurt you?" A strange question don't you agree? I was immediately hit in the gut. I was convicted that I have not asked God for a wife because I fear that he will curse me, hurt me, bringing death and horror to my (future) wife, my (future) kids, and myself. That's pretty jacked up, huh? By not asking God for a wife, I am basically saying that I don't functionally believe that God is good.
That nice, polite young lady was used by God to convict me that I don't trust him. I could have asked her to join us for dinner or asked for her contact info, but I chose not to.
End Aside

Par and I picked out three more Elvis impersonators bringing the total to 11. We returned to the Fremont Street buffet place for a second meal and reveled in all-you-can-eat prime rib again (only $11.99!!). Derek, Roland, Par and I caught some live music and headed back to Circus Circus. I stayed out later (since this was my last night in Vegas). I walked 10 miles up and down the Strip alone spending time with God, and looking the porn huckster's in the eye as I passed them. Half of them looked away, the other half met my gaze with glazed emptiness. I prayed for them that hope and knowledge of life would reach them. Then I slept.

New Developments and Old Recollections

I haven't posted here in a long time and I honestly can't give a reason why. I had many more adventures after my time at the Wolf Ski Resort yet I have not put the proverbial pen to paper.
Just to get myself going, I'll recount all the events since my triumphant return to Seattle.

1. I resumed serving at Mars Hill Church both on Sunday and during the week. As of right now I am responsible for leading a 16 member team that serves communion to about 900 people every Sunday during the 7:15pm service in Ballard. I am also responsible for running the Thursday night Campus Cleanup where I lead a variable size team (as few as 8 and occasionally as many as 20) in the task of cleaning a 50,000 sqft building, so that it is all ready for weekly events. These two tasks are immensely stretching for me. I am a quiet and self-absorbed anti-social guy who is totally at home in the corner of a coffee shop. Instead God has called me to lead people in a way that glorifies Christ. I feel like I don't do this very well (or as well as I should), but for whatever reason both those teams are doing rather well. I also serve on Security at the West Seattle Campus of Mars (I dig a church that has bouncers...so that all the little kids are safe and the body is protected).

2. I built a deck and now am finishing up by laying the decking material and railings. The project passed inspection so an underpaid overworked city of Seattle building inspector thinks I did a decent job (for whatever that's worth).

3. I house sat for my grand parents and enjoyed the resumption of my road trip's near constant isolation for a mere 7 days.

4. I have been training in earnest for an upcoming Mt. Rainier Hike and a Mt. Adams Summit. 20 mile sprints in the saddle out to Alki and back (420ft to 0ft and back up). Man I remember Dave's sweet bike and am filled with an envy as I chugg along with my 21 speed mountain bike. Calisthenics have help too and I'm in great shape as I look forward to summer.

5. I have geared up by buying an ice axe, new mountaineering boots, and gaiters.

6. I have played tour guide to some Mars Hillians from Albuquerque and my Buddy Andy from Portland.

7. I have read by the pound: Anathem by Neal Stephenson, Adventures with Charley by Steinbeck, Thinking Beyond Stage One by Thomas Sowell, Doctrine by Mark Driscoll, Luke (4 times) by Luke, On the Road by Kerouac, and the 9-part series by Orson Scott Card (Ender's Game, Ender's Shadow, Shadow of the Hegemon, Shadow Puppets, Shadow of the Giant, Ender in Exile, Speaker for the Dead, Xenocide, Children of the Mind)

So I have been busy, but I feel idle. That makes me feel uneasy. I can't rest. Sabbath is not my normal state.

Ok now I've shaken off the hesitation in writing so now I'll write about what happened after the Wolf. Excuse me let me turn on Mogwai, so my mind is clear...

Wolves, small children, and insanity

I guess I'll post the trip stats even though this road trip is concluded.
Miles: 14704.8
Gallons Burned: 484.1
Caffeinated Drinks: 88
Gigabytes of Pictures: 33.5

I also feel compelled to admit one thing before I continue, I have been reading "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac for the first time so I may exhibit a certain violence/exuberance in my writing; you all have my apologies.
After catching up with my aunt and uncle and eating an amazing squash dish that kept getting better as I had it for leftovers, I slept poorly waking often to odd and unpleasant dreams.
I was determined to catch a little skiing on my road trip as it had been 20 months since my last alpine adventure involving rapid descent (rather different from my long and grueling hikes up Mt. Rainier to Camp Muir at 9,550 ft).
Zoom out to see just how awesome it really is:

View Larger Map
Anyhow I set out back up I-26 toward the Appalachian "Mountains" (Honestly these hills are often given far too much credit. They are nice for a Sunday drive but surely do not bear the one critical element that makes a mountain a mountain, namely the tendency to create widows). I await Jen or Alicia's rebutal, you see they have done something like 1,500 miles of the long Appalachian trail and they can tell of the extreme exertion required to defeat such terrain. Check out their cool story, it's the last link in my "Websites!" section.
Oh right! So I drove north but due to my lack of intel, I didn't know exactly where to go, so despite "the" stereotype I stopped and asked for directions to Sugarloaf Mountain. The oldtimer at the gas station looked at me confused. He asked if I wanted directions to skiing. I answered in the affermative, he relaxed as said why not go up to the Wolf? "It's only 15 minutes away."
Excited to be so close to powder I thanked the man and left with after purchasing a sandwich for later.
Much later I realized that Sugarloaf is actually the best skiing in Maine, not North Carolina.
So I valiantly drove north up to the Wolf. I drove a slow road into the mountains that dead ended in a resort community, back tracking I found my error and returned to the correct path. I skidded into the parking lot of a ski rental shop my parking was as follows (Notice the precision of my diagram):

The whole lot was covered in about 6 inches of snow, so I just rammed the car into the lot and let her be where she stopped. I grabbed some shorter skis (its been a little while so cut me some slack).
I managed to push my Jolly Green out of the lot with only 15 minutes work.
Once at the lifts, I paid for the really cheap lift tickets and hopped up the mountain on their one working chair lift. On my second lift ride I met a middle aged man on the lift who was an executive for some southeastern grocery store; then I met a pair of giggling stoners. The next ride was taken alone as were the next three rides.
After getting my snow legs back, I felt like a break was called for. I pulled over here and unpacked the back pack that Uncle Steve let me borrow:

I ate a fine roast beef sandwich, two Hershey bars, two wheat and cheese cracker packs, a quart of water, and some raisins all while enjoying the view.
After the next run, I joined a solo skier who was in line for the lift. His name was Tristan. He came out to ski with his mom, but she didn't want to ski so this 10 year old kid was braving the slopes alone even though this was only his second time skiing. I felt a kinship with this kid; we in our own unique ways were loners experiencing the purest form of solitude: being alone in a crowd (okay second purest form of solitude, the purest being locked away in your car for 12,404 miles to wrestle with your true self, equivalent to two weeks of solitary confinement in prison). So I hung out with Tristan. He was a great kid. I would be proud of my son if he was half the young man Tristan is at the same age. He held himself well and was fearless, he took on the steepest slopes with a thirst for speed paralleled only by my own. He wanted to push the envelope on his ability on skis and he visibly improved with each run. I never had a little brother (that I grew up with), but Tristan would be awesome as a little bro. With his mother's permission here is Tristan:

After I had sharpened my ski skills, I filmed a long clip of me skiing down from the top of Wolf Mountain to the bottom. It is the last clip in this little video project I made from my time on Wolf Mountain. Feel free to leave feedback(much love to the Go! Team who provided the music):

Next time I'll share more from Asheville...

Storming Castillo de san Marcos in St. Augustine

Miles: 10335.6
Gallons Burned: 340.2
Caffeinated Drinks: 65
Gigabytes of Pictures: 27.9

I'm in New York. It's awesome. People from everywhere, culture being made everywhere, life in every stage, movement, constant movement, basically a taste of heaven. I don't know how to articulate what I feel here in the Big Apple. I just stood in Time Square for over an hour watching all the faces stream by, wondering at their existence, imagining how beautiful their stories must be...Why is she smiling?...What makes them looking into each other's eyes like that?...Why is that blond gal looking so sad and standing in the middle of so many just to be alone?...What brought him to the place where he hands out fliers to a strip club?
This city is devastating. I couldn't deal with this place for an extended period, there are just too many stories, too many lives to constantly wonder about. I am too curious for this city. I can't be like the wall of people who don't so much as turn to look when a man screams in agony after being clipped by a cab or at the screaming prostitute led away by New York's finest.
I am glad I leave tomorrow. I love this city, its the greatest in the world, but I can't handle it. Maybe I'm just too small for it.
Seeing the acid-worn statuary in Washington Park made me think about my time in St. Augustine Florida, so let's step back.
I got to Augustine at about 11pm after a slow drive up from the Miami Area. Parking was easy in old town and I (being an obsessive walker) headed in search of adventure before the engine had stopped settle into stasis. I walked through the Plaza de la Constitucion into the old retail district:

Then I saw the oldest wooden school house in N. America:

I ease-dropped on a ghost tour discussing the city wall watchman's daughter who is said still stand at the wall and wave at drunk people. Here is her wall:

After that I started looking for some coffee, failed, started getting cold and thought about going back to the car and abandoning my quest for the castle. I'm glad I didn't. Instead of getting warm I drove on quickening my pace to stay warm. I found the famous Castillo de san Marcos. It was closed (obvious I know by then it was 11:50pm). However I felt that I had a moral obligation to breach the wall being a loyal subject of her majesty the Queen of England. Oh yeah! Didn't I mention it? I am a dual citizen of both the United Kingdom and the United States. Wierd huh? Email/call me and I'll explain if your interested in another piece of my story. Anyways, when the Spanish held this historic fortress the British tried several times to take it. They were repelled each time. The Fortress is imposing to be sure, but couldn't the British ships blast a hole in the wall and storm the castle? Well no. One reason is that the fortress is built from Cantila (a locally hewn sedimentary rock that is very porous). When a cannon ball strikes this it doesn't crack/shatter the bulwark, rather the ball is "absorbed" into the wall. It just gets stuck inside of the stone. So this fort was never defeated in battle.
I am British. So I mounted a night-time assault. It helped that I was dressed entirely in black (I can't help that it is my most flattering color). So I snuck past a young star-gazing couple and a bored looking guard and into the grounds of the National Monument. I jumped down into the fort's moat, this is what I saw:



The lack of light made any longer range photos a study in black shadow.
I ran into an official ghost tour of the fort and I blended into the group. That's when I saw this cannonball furnace. What the defenders would do was heat a cannon ball until it glowed red and then drop it into a cannon and shoot it into a ship starting a fire:

Oh and this store's sign reminded me of Phil's upcoming clothing line:

One final anecdote. As i walked back to the car around 2am I approached a ghost tour from a dark alley. One of the tour participants looked down the alley and violently grabbed his buddy and pointed at me. I stopped and stared the wide-eyed men down...What was the big deal? They eventually moved on whispering to each other. This was my wardrobe for the evening:

Was I really that "ghost like"?
Next time I'll tell you about a church that made Mars Hill look like a preschool...

Florida's Eastern Coast

Miles: 9624.3
Gallons Burned: 316.8 (total gas mileage is 30.377 so far)
Caffeinated Drinks: 59
Gigabytes of Pictures: 26.8

I'm sitting in Scoop Beauregard's Ice Cream and Coffee Shop. Enjoying a nice Latte. Contemplating a book. Yep life is good. Here in Falls Church the weather is cloudy and there are piles of snow everywhere...It's almost like there was a big storm here or something.
I just had this little blond-haired kid come up to me and say "Excuse me mister. But your computer is really cool my uncle has one just like it." All in one breath, then he turned away before I could even say thanks. Man, I clearly remember being that awkward yet bold and honest all at the same time. It was like a week ago! He just wanted to tell me exactly what he thought and that's all. Why do I feel self conscious and so often don't say what I think with boldness like that kid did? We should be more like that kid.
The odd and fantastic people I have run into on this trip have helped me to see why is is so stupid to live as I do: Self absorbed. From those kind folks at St. George's, the great young guy from the Alabama fireworks store, the kid from Wolf Mountain, the snow bird down in the Keys, the friends from school that I have seen, a fellow blogger from Bowling Green, the wonderful couples in San Antonio and Dunedin, all the people that have been there and been harsh or encouraging, the nice and cruel, the needy and the generous, all of you have been agents showing me how small my perspective has been. So thank you. So much.
Now that I have "introspected" a little how about we talk about what happened after my adventure in the Keys.
I slept that night at a rest stop on the Ronald Reagan/Florida's Turnpike. The next day I drove up the east coast of Florida on FL-1 and FL-A1A. I pulled off A1A at Patrick Air Force Base's Beach. There was an amazing beach with no wind and 8 foot waves that dozens of surfers were enjoying. Since this coast is open cold ocean, they were wearing wet suits. I'd love to learn to surf, maybe some day I'll head out to the Washington coast and give it a shot.

I made it to Cape Canaveral about 4pm and drove out to the Kennedy Space Center.



I bet you think I went into the visitor center...Well...No. It was late in the day and it cost $38. But I took pictures of the outside of the center!
On the way out I notice this place:

I guess NASA has its own nuclear reactor across the inter-coastal waterway.
I continued north to New Smyrna Beach and enjoyed seeing the cars out driving on the sand.

Next time St. Augustine and my night time shenanigans at Castillo de San Marcos...

For-Everglades

Miles: 8197.4
Gallons Burned: 279.3
Caffeinated Drinks: 46
Gigabytes of Pictures: 18.2

This Latte is great here at Fido in Nashville. Josh and I enjoyed the Opryland Hotel & Resort and the Nashville Parthenon...Yes it exists. I'll post pictures when I get caught up in posting. Until then let's go back to the Everglades.
At a place like to the Everglades, biodiversity is the most amazing thing...No. Actually the sun is. In Seattle we get 8 months of gray cloudy drizzle 2.5 months of cool partly cloudy Fall and 1.5 months of Sun. The lack of sun makes Seattle known for its high use of anti-depressants and caffeine. So as the typical moody Seattle guy, the Sun in Florida's southern extremes is amazing.
Fist I'd like to talk about the Fauna.
Did you know there is an American Crocodile? (Yeah Alicia and Jen you know but how about other people?) I had no idea. Turns out there are between 1600-2000 adult Crocs in Florida and the Everglades is the only place on Earth where Crocs and Gators coexist. They can be clearly differentiated using three basic characteristics:
1 - snout shape - The Crocs' snout is narrower than the Gators'
2 - teeth - the Crocs' teeth upper and lower teeth are always visible, whereas only the Gators' upper teeth are visible
3 - color - The Gator is darker than the Croc
This little guy was hot so he had his mouth open to cool down. He and his bigger friend looked chill, so I walked up (ready to sprint away if he/she so much as flinched) and took this:

This little guy was next to the Crocs above:

Just like in Seattle this "Laughing Gull" is fearless and begs shamelessly for food:

I was hiking toward Snake Bight when I ducked off-trail and wandered for a 100 yards until I ran across this Snowy Egret and his with reflection.

While on the Bight path I found the secret spider that bit Peter Parker.

At Snake Bight there were no snakes but there were these neuts (or non-specific lizards). This littl eguy is about 3 inches long:

Here we see a Great Egret, notice the distinctive beak that differentiates it from the Snowy Egret. he was sunning himself, so I used my old trick to get close to him so I could get this shot. Oh what's my trick? Hmm... I don't want to tell you otherwise you tell a cat or bird and they won't fall for it anmore.

My only shot of Manatees, you really need a boat to see them well and Jolly Green wouldn't stand for the injustice of having to wear that hat (cars with kayaks on top look like the "cool" kids with their fancy hats).

I made a friend! "Tony", an adolescent Brown Pelican, hung out with me for 45 minutes when I wrote those blog posts from Flamingo Bay. Again the trick worked!

As I stalked an egret to get a great shot, I saw this little fellow.

The rare and illusive "Bowen".


Moving on to the glade part of the Glades
As a registered "amateur, amateur botanist" I feel qualified to use the Latin classification of genus and species when referring to the flower below: Prettius Flowerus

See how dense the undergrowth and Mangroves gets.

Again this "amateur, amateur botanist" will use my massive knowledge of plants to classify this little fellow: the Parasitic Aloe. Actually my mycologist friend Josh informed me it is a Bromeliad.

Josh couldn't ID this one so I'll call it a Lilly.

Yeah, they have palm trees everwhere.


I really enjoyed the Everglades and the whole experience of seeing this sub-tropical nirvana.
Next time the Keys...

Dunedin Flor and Chess' Core

Miles: 6460.2
Gallons Burned: 221.4
Caffeinated Drinks: 36

I am sitting in George and Catie's (Alicia's parents, thanks so much to the three of you) living room at about 11:30pm while I listen to The Mountain goats (Thanks Joe!). Dunedin Florida (pronounced "done-eden", huh reminds me of Seqium, WA which of course is pronounced "squim") is a neat city outside of the Tampa Bay Metro-plex. George took me on a great evening tour of the city and allowed me a glimpse into his illustrious chess career.
Here we go again...another Aside! Are you serious?!
George has beaten Masters and even a handful of Grandmasters! He has played in the Canadian Open and many regional and national US tournaments. George's highest rating was 2250 USCF. He has a second edition Nimzowitsch's "My System" and a book published in 1848 that has games recorded with white starting first as well as games with black starting first! He has a beautiful ivory whale bone chess set that is all hand-made and might cost as much as $200-$400 per piece to replace!
So...why do I care so much about finding someone who is passionate about those 64 squares and 32 pieces? Glad you asked! My dad loves the game, and he imparted his love to me. I played in my first rated chess tournament when I was four-and-a-half years old and won 3 games out of 5 (I think, is that right Dad?). Over the next 14 years I played more than 480 rated tournament games, more than any other player in Washington State scholastic history (there is one seventh grader who is on pace to play 510 if he sticks with it as long as I did). With my dad's help, I traveled to Canada and 13 states (and DC if that one counts for anything) to play in all kinds of events ranging from an international match to the US Open.
I guess I am sort of bragging...oh wait...no. I'm a chess player. We are a peculiar folk, not mainstream, so there is not much to brag about.
When you would have been playing PeeWee football or staying after school to work on a play, I would sit alone memorizing famous games and endgame tactics or hidden in a little room with a couple of other not-so-cool kids practicing opening strategy.
My dad shelled out a lot of cash on lessons from an International Master and on plane tickets. I won a couple of state championships and some national honors. But why Chess? All those hours, days, months, dollars...
The game is ancient and has been played from India to Iceland in people's basements and in Cold War international matches between superpowers. It is kinda "the" game. For those who are new to the topic of Chess, it is an exercise in spatial pattern recognition blended into a psychological interrogation of your opponent wrapped neatly in 64 squares with the brutal soundtrack of a ticking binary clock.
I have made people cry in frustration and defeat. I have been offered bribes to throw games. I have seen and executed checkmates 12 moves into the future. I have broken down others and been broken.
To answer the why question, I need to have another Aside. (Seriously can you actually have an Aside within an Aside? A digression to a digression?)
I was home schooled (No not like that...well sort of). My mom and dad didn't want me (the tiny Josh, lowest 2 percent of elementary boys in height) in school. Problem was they weren't teachers. They did their best, but what it came down to was me and a bunch of books. I taught myself math, history, science, and cursive writing. I didn't always do a good job (just look at my cursive writing, I sort of made up my own letter style which is not correct by anyone's standard, I still use them today).
So my mind was formed into a almost totally analytical computer. I looked at everything in terms of protocols and decision trees stretching into the future...even people. That makes me a horrible person in many ways, but ideally suited to Chess. I am still trying to add the whole empathic, artistic, and "fuzzy" sides to my character (hence the road trip and forcing myself to write this journal, but I still get to use Excel so I am in in my emotional happy place).
To summarize why I love chess:
I enjoy chess because I wired my brain to love systems and incremental analysis, both of the board and my opponent's mind, and because it allowed me to have an identity as a kid and adolescent.
When I went into a chess slump, I felt terrible and my identity as a chess players (and as a person) was rocked.
Don't tie your identity to something transient like I did. It sucks.
Basically, it was a treat to meet someone like George who shares an obscure passion and interest.
Tomorrow, February 9th, I'll be heading south to see Fort DeSoto, the Sunshine Skyway, Myakka State Park, and the Everglades.

Long days and Not-so-Plesant Nights

Miles: 4134.2
Gallons Burned: 135.1
Caffeinated Drinks: 29

I'm here in San Antonio TX with Roger and CJ and their great kids Joshua and Caleb.
A quick note, I have been nursing a nagging injury to my right leg for 4 days now. My Soleus Muscle in my right calf has been hurting so if you guys could keep me in your thoughts and prayers, I'd be hugely appreciative. Julio thanks for the bottle of aspirin! Roger gave me some IcyHot, and if that doesn't work, I'll get some medical advice.

So now my latest brush with excitement...
I awoke to about 6 inches of fresh snow my last morning in Joshua Tree NP and this hungry coyote.

My original trip plan included a stop near Wilhoit AZ with Beverly and Jim but many towns like Wenden AZ were buried under water and mud. So under the wise council of Beverly I chose to not head to Wilhoit but rather detour South. The goal was to avoid all the Snow and flooding; well at least I avoided the flooding. Unfortunately I relied on my GPS unit to calculate a detour. It was less than successful. The two day trip:

View Stuck on a Mountian Pass 1/22/10 in a larger map
The road to Phoenix was mildly ominous as the side of I-10 was lined with 30 foot trees that had been pulled up by the roots. Once in Phoenix, the only hassle was some light traffic. The GPS told me to take SR-60 East to Show Low AZ. It did not mention the mountain passes. In case you wondered, the name of that stretch of road is "the Superstitious Highway".
I made it over a low pass and entered the sunny town of Miami AZ only problem was it was actually snowing. Snowing quite heavily. The roads were bare and wet inspiring confidence in my choice to go on, as daylight faded to black and the longest night of my life began.
Um so a typical author or poster...No scratch that, let's go with "spammer" would follow this ominous sentence with a tale of terror, suspense, excitement, or inspiration. I will instead show you a seasonally appropriate captioned picture of a silly cat!

Source.
Back to the story, I continued east passing several signs warning "Drive with caution Extreme Winter Conditions". I watched my GPS's altimeter tick from 3,000 feet to 5,000 feet in the course of 15 minutes as the visibility halved and then halved again. I passed two State Troopers assisting a U-Haul in the ditch, their lights fading in the rear-view mirror like memories of daylight.
At this point, I was concerned. My speed was a cautious 20 MPH, my horizon only 40 yards, and my tank down to 5 gallons. Four-wheel drive trucks and SUVs passed doing 50 and I shook my head in envy and disgust. I pressed on as a Snow plow blazed a short-lived trail of good traction for oncoming vehicles. I thought, "The plows are out how bad could it be?"
As my altimeter reached 5,300 I noticed the road pitch tenuously downward. The Colorado River canyon switchbacks began. By the second sharp bend my visibility was at 100 yards and the snow was a mere dusting with none on the road. The time was 8:40pm.
At the bottom of the canyon, the river roared so loudly it was clearly audible over the engine and Decemberists. At 3,200 feet I felt exultant my GPS showed a straight road ahead and the snow had completely stopped. I said a silent prayer of thanks and drove past an RV stopped in a pullout. I immediately noticed that the road slopped upward. The road was soon covered with snow and visibility was down to 20 yards. I slowed my progress to a crawl. I decided to slip into a pull off and wait for a snow plow to wander by so I could drive behind him. I got stuck. The wheels spun to no avail and I was left immobilized in the dark. Right then, the snow plow roared by. Twenty minutes of effort yielded 10 feet of progress toward the road, soaked boots, soaked gloves, and soaked pants. Then an SUV drove by. It stopped (probably to see the spectacle of the stupid guy from Washington "playing" in the snow). Three guys jumped out and helped me get unstuck. In the twenty minutes that had passed the snow plow's trail was filled with 4 fresh inches of snow. So I decided that since things weren't getting better, I was going back the way I came over the mountain pass I had already crossed. On my way back everything looked different. The previously bare road was caked in 5 new inches of snow, the RV was frosted and the formerly clear switchbacks were now practically a bobsled run. Another snow plow must have come through recently because the oncoming lane looked less snow covered than my lane, so I used it. My knuckles were not figuratively white as I climbed the perilous road and turned up the music to hide the sound of my heart in my ears. I clung to the steering wheel like a drowning man would a life saver; my eyes intent on the blind corners searching for oncoming headlights. I stopped next to a jack knifed tractor-trailer and asked the driver if he was okay. He was, and asked if I had any cell coverage. I didn't, so I drove on. There was so much snow. Falling, swirling, waiting for me like quicksand.
On a fresh switchback, I felt the right side of the car lose traction, so I counter-steered left, but then the left side lost purchase too. I went into a slow 90 degree spin as the car's momentum drove uphill. I went sideways, headlights to the rocky mountain wall. instead of breaking I tapped the accelerator and the left front tire caught traction forcing the car into a sharp 180 degree counter-spin. The windshield's view went from a charming view of a rocky facade to the empty space of the canyon. As the car's momentum carried it uphill, I saw the cliff's edge approach. I tapped the brakes with religious fervor not thinking, not feeling, yet understanding. I stopped 12 inches from the edge.
I am sideways on a steep, snow-covered, two lane road, at night, but not dead.
I won't tell you how I got the car pointed down hill, but I did. After failing to escape my white prison I headed down to where I had seen the RV to wait things out.
I slept (no sleep actually occurred I am just using the euphemism) in my car for the fourth consecutive night, ate an MRE, and got very cold (using the car's heater was out because I needed to conserve gas). The trooper who showed up after midnight said that it was best for me to stay put, but warned that the snow was not stopping until 8pm the next night. Fortunately he was wrong. My mind drifted as I tried to force sleep but, none was possible. I felt on edge, being cut off in the dark. My predicament (or maybe the hydrogen gas from the MRE heater) somehow made my meal hilarious, so I took this pic of a MRE's label: "Don't eat the chemical heater?!"

The next morning I manned-up and got out of that beautiful but dangerous canyon:


I learned that I really thrive in adventure even if cliffs and sudden death is involved. I wonder how I would fare in a real catastrophe (like Haiti) not just an uncomfortable night on the road.