Adventure from the Past: The Middle Sister Challenge

Oregon is great state for climbers. The Coast Range, Blue Mountains, the Steins, and of course the great Cascades all offer opportunities to climb.

One of my favorite places to climb is the Three Sister Wilderness. Two of the mountains, South and Middle Sisters, are pretty easy climbs. They’re hikes really, no ropes, no cramp-ons, no technical skills needed. With some endurance and some common sense mountain navigation, you’ll find yourself at the top of a 10,000+ ft peak!

I’ve summited Middle Sister twice now, and South Sister once. Very nice.

For me and some of my friends, the “hike” to the tops of these peaks was a good time, but not a great time. We needed something more, but there were many of us not ready for or committed to becoming technical climbers.

Enter Corley M.

Corley M. is called many things, but “Sane” is not one of them. Corley, who may or may not have had help, conceived the Middle Sister Challenge.

Don’t get this confused with the Easy Cheese Challenge. The Easy Cheese Challenge involves summiting one (or multiple) peaks on a diet of nothing but water and easy cheese.

The Middle Sister Challenge, fortunately, has no dietary restrictions. It is a race, actually, between two teams. One team starts on one side of the mountain, and the other on the opposite side. They race to the peak and then back down the opposite side, ending at the other teams starting point.

A group of six of us formed two teams. Myself, Tim, and Blair on one team. Aaron, Lexi, and Corley M. on the other.

And so it began.

My team started out at a great pace, we quickly reached the base of the mountain and started the steep ascent. At this point we were all feeling well, except for some minor blisters that had been opened up for various reasons. We covered the wounds with duct tape and continued.

The ascent started to take its toll on me. I started to feel crummy, a mixture of what I can only guess dehydration and altitude sickness. Tim charged on like a mountain got shot full of PCP. Blair and I slowly followed.

I started to cramp up in the legs, but pressed on. Tim tried to kill me with a rockslide he started. I pressed on. We summited. I was in quite a bit of pain, but managed to snap some pics and eat some food. We spent a quick 10 minutes at the top and then started down the other side.
I realized around this time that I was in fact dehydrated. We stopped about an hour later at a small mountain creek. We filled up the water bottles and bladders. I drank a bunch. I felt better. The other team (coming up the mountain) spotted us at this point and came over for a quick visit. There was much rejoicing.
We parted ways and pressed on. The sun was now set, and it started to get dark.
The next several hours were a crusade of pain and suffering. I’ll give the highlights in a bulleted list here to save time:

-We decided to leave trails behind and “bushwhack” in order to try and cut off a couple miles of distance.
-We found some neat waterfalls in the drainage system we were walking down.
-We climbed down some steep rock faces that, had we fallen, would have meant certain mutilation or even death.
-We didn’t know where exactly we were on the map after about the first hour of “bushwhacking”.
-I lost the map. We were forced to use only a compass to find the trail we had been heading for.
-We walked through marsh and got our shoes and feet soaked.
-Blair claimed several time that he wasn’t going to make it, and to leave him for the cougars. We ignored him.
-We found a trail.
-We followed the trail to the trailhead where the other team had (supposedly) parked their car.
-The car wasn’t there.
-Using Blair’s GPS, and a bit of sleuthing, we found the car.
-We drove to the other side of the mountain to where the other team was camped; I fell asleep behind the wheel as soon as we arrived.

The actual hiking part of the journey took us over 13 hours. We had gone 19 miles, with 2 extra miles of vertical thrown in for good measure. We started at about 1 in the afternoon and finished sometime around 3am.

The other team had finished with a much quicker time, and there was no question that they had won the event, no contest.

However, my team still thinks that in our bumbling, we created for ourselves an epic adventure, never to be repeated. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Blair will probably not agree with me on that part. We did almost die,…
This last picture is from a different climb that I did with Tim and two other dudes. It is unrelated, but is good picture of our South Sister summit, with Middle and North Sister behind us.

The Porter Experiement Continues

Well, the Porter survived it's first transfer from bucket to carboy.
Blair can be seen sticking strickly to Homebrewing Rule #3 (tacky footwear).

A few more days and we commence bottling!

Adventure from the Past: Soulard Mardi Gras, 2004

2004 marked my second year of Soulard Mardi Gras. I had told so many friends about the crazy antics I witnessed the year before, that my friend Sean decided to travel all the way from Oregon to join in the festivities. He was not disappointed.

There’s really not too much to the story. What I do remember is standing in line a lot for the potty. This is standard practice, except this year I had misjudged my bladder capacity, and I was in a bit a pinch. The pain was making my eyes water. As I waited in line, I realized I wasn’t going to make it. I was desperate. I left Sean and ran down the alley.
I knew full well the penalty for public urination. I was told the police keep a strict watch out for people breaking this rule. I was petrified of this as I entered the alley, thinking that I might just have to pay a ticket if it came to that.

But as I rounded the corner, my fears left me. Everywhere I looked, there were people relieving themselves. I would have problem blending in. Even if the cops showed up, they couldn’t catch us all!

So entered the back of somebody’s property, where there was actually some vegetation and dirt to soak things up. I was doing just fine, until some girl came RIGHT up next to me and squatted. That was unexpected. Her boyfriend came up on my other side and started up conversation. Unreal.
The photo above shows the parade itself. You might be able to make out a figure dressed in blue and red marching along in some 5 inch platform shoes. That is Baton Bob (the Ambassador of Mirth as he likes to call himself), local St. Louis legend and hallmark figure of the Central West End (the area of town I lived in). I acutally have an autograph of Bob, signed "The Ambassador" on the front cover of the Riverfront Times. The Riverfront Times is a local alternative newspaper that had recently chosen to photo Bob for the front cover of an issue. I think the autograph will be worth money someday when black men wearing tutus and twirling batons becomes a big thing. Check the Ambassador out at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ambassadorofmirth/

An simple internet search will also provide all sorts of stories about him.

By the end of the day, Sean had started to feel his oats, and was last seen walking down the street spreading some sort of gospel to “his subjects”. It was a fine show.
As suspected, the event turned out be just as filthy and grotesque as the year before. Sean was totally satisfied.

Adventure from the Past: Soulard Mardi Gras, 2003

It was Mardi Gras in St. Louis, Soulard district, mid February. The usual suspects were involved: Myself, Dan, and the Ill-Side crowd. The only additions to our regular group were Dan’s brother, and Trutman’s sister. Their names are omitted to protect the innocent, although I certainly don’t remember meeting any “innocent” people at Soulard Mardi Gras.

My instructions from Dan were relatively simple. Wake up in the morning, and make my way towards Soulard. I would be contacted by cell-phone sometime in the morning. I showed up in Soulard at a pretty respectable time, and decided to start my own party right away. I bought a beer from a local vendor at about 9:15am.

It was snowy and cold out, as you can tell from the pictures. That didn’t stop people from losing their minds.
Cell phone contact was initiated at about 9:20, and I was given an address to go to. It wasn’t that far away, and by 9:30 I was seen approaching the rendezvous point.
The group assembled, and after a short walk we entered somebody’s apartment. I didn’t know the owners, but I think they may have been related to Trutman in some form or another. Regardless, we jammed into the place and took advantage of whatever booze and food we could find. There were already about 20 people partying in this house, so we were barely noticed. Heavy drinking commenced about 10:00.
We hung out at this house until just before 11:30. At this time, we decided it was time to go join the madness down near the official area designated for Mardi Gras.
We arrived at the parade route and merged with the wild crowd. Mr. Jim can be seen above, hoisting Trutman’s sister onto his shoulders to aid in her view of the parade. What a noble gesture it was,…
One might think that we had no access to booze at this point. Not the case. Dan’s brother kept a steady flow of some brown poison flowing into our cups. I don’t remember where all the other booze came from, but I do know that there was no shortage.

The parade was winding down at this point, so we started to wander the insane streets to look for trouble and restrooms. This must have happened around 1pm, as I can be seen above escorting our young lady friend down the street away from the parade.

Some time immediately after this, I met my friend Mary wandering the streets of Soulard. I waved goodbye to my friends as I left to hang out with Mary.
I cannot write with any accuracy about what happened to Dan and crowd at that point, so I will leave that part alone. What I do know is that sometime later that afternoon, Dan’s brother finally decided to “pull the trigger”. It is grotesque to be sure, but I decided to show the picture anyway, as a tribute to Dan’s fine photography skills. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

So there is your whirlwind virtual tour of the Soulard Mardi Gras. What cannot be accurately conveyed with these pictures or text, is the absolute insanity of this entire event. It has to be experienced to be understood. Make no mistake, if attend this event you will see some of the most vile, attrocious, nastiest acts ever performed by human being. It is RADICAL to watch!

Hippie Stuff: #1

http://finance.yahoo.com/columnist/article/futureinvest/1282

Yahoo has some hired a gang of pretty smart people to write some articles for it's Finance section. I think they are pretty good. I don't really know who this guy is, but he has some interesting things to say about recent high oil & energy prices, and how it all affects our economy in the short and long term.

Adventure from the Past: Lake of the Ozarks

It was Memorial Day, 2003. I was still on my tour of duty in St. Louis. Co-worker Dan and his posse from the “Ill-side” (this is one of the many St. Louis terms for great state of Illinois) were getting restless. It was time for an adventure.

Solution: Lake of Ozarks. Dan had told me some stories of this place, especially about special part of the lake, called Party Cove. His stories involved drinking, motor boats, jet-skis, nudity, white trash redneckery, and human excess in every possible form. I was frightened, but intrigued. I was all in.

Dan and crowd began the planning. Dan’s friend Ben had a boat, named “The Pony”. They washed her up, performed a tune up, and stocked the cooler with beer. On a parallel to this, Your Buddy (see my post on Bourbon Missouri for more on this colorful character) was shining up his boat to make the trip with us also. All in all, there were about 14 of us willing to put our lives at risk that weekend.

Dan and I left straight from work on a Friday (in my rental car, as was typical for our mutual adventures). Before hitting I-70 and heading west to meet our friends at the lake, we stopped at a Dirt Cheap Cigarettes Beer & Liquor store. We picked up some supplies, including a palette of Dirt Cheap Beer. The name tells the story, so I won’t even try to explain.

We had secured lodging at a hotel right on the lake, with slips to dock the boats no more than 70 feet from our hotel room door. It was a neat little setup. There was even a pool. It wasn’t quite as warm as we would have liked, so Trutman, renowned heating and cooling specialist, rigged the heat pump to kick on, unbeknownst to the owner of the establishment. Well done Trut. He also “fixed” the AC unit in our hotel room. I’m not sure what sort of benefit his constant tinkering provided. All I know is the damn thing was tore to hell the entire weekend as he tweaked it, but it was certainly in no worse shape when we left. Maybe.
That was always one of my favorite things about this group of dudes. If ANYTHING mechanical or sturctural broke down or had problems, chances were one of these guys could fix it or new somebody who could:

-Car broke down? Please, that’s an easy one. These guys could build you a new car with the crap they find in your trunk.

-Need to drive something with more than 13 gears? One of these guys probably does it for a living.

-Trying to do a project with concrete? Don't touch anything without talking to one of these guys first.

-Hotel room AC not quite powerful enough? Nothing a slight adjustment won’t fix.

-Need to pull Your Buddy’s truck out of a creek? Start the timer on your watch, and see which one of these guys shows up first with a tractor, grader, or backhoe to pull the truck out with.

In the famous words of Vanilla Ice, “Got a problem? Yo, I’ll solve it.” That was these guys. It's like hanging out with mutated versions of Luke Duke mixed with McGyever.

Back to the story.

Party Cove: Gateway to Hell. I think I was pretty accurate when I termed it, “Mardi Gras on the water”. Just like Mardi Gras, the beads-for-boobs policy is in full effect. Except here it apparently goes on year round. Don't expect any pictures here though. I've got standards. If you really want to see what this place is like, I'm sure a quick internet search will point you towards what you want to find.
The whole methodology around Party Cove is this: Boats come from all over and line up side by side in two, seemingly endless lines parallel to each other. In between these two rows of boats, other boats and jet-skis “cruise”. Water spraying, drinking, showing off one’s privates,… these seem to be the popular activities. You ask if this is a family establishment? Sure. The couple parked next to our boat brought their three young children and cooked hotdogs. It’s just good clean family fun.

“Daddy, Mommy lost her shirt!”
“Just eat your hotdog Bobby”
“But you spilled cigarette ashes on it Daddy,…it tastes like Mommy’s breath”
“Here, have some of Daddy’s beer to wash that out with,..”

Random Note: To the right you will see a photo of a man we called "Stuke". I think his last name was Stukenberg or something like that. I have no idea what his real name is. There is so much to say about this picture,... I will just let you think of something for yourself.

The water itself in and around Party Cove could probably have eaten through stainless steel. It’s not so much water as it is a mixture of oil, gasoline, vomit, booze, cigarette butts, and urine, with a thin layer of pride floating on the top.
Pride you ask? That’s right, because most people that come to Party Cove leave what little pride they had behind when they leave.
Below the water? It’s not pretty. If you could actually see through the oil slick, you’d find smashed jet-skis, sunken boats, beer bottles and cans, and bodies. Oh, and probably some catfish. Catfish can live in anything I think. Just getting to the Cove can be a challenge for some. On our cruise to the Cove, The Pony had some trouble navigating some wake of another boat at one point. We took on some water. Dan was at ground zero of the water coming into the boat (see above). He was a bit chilly for a few minutes, but he rallied like a trooper.

Aside from the insanity of Party Cove, we did have some other good times. We grilled brats and corn on the cob one afternoon, drove some go-karts at three different places in town, and enjoyed a night out at some bars that you could drive your boat to. At one of the bars (above) you can see Chris, Dan, and Trutman looking sharp and sipping some drinks. Trutman can be seen flashing some sort of Ill-Side gang symbol.

It was a weekend packed with excitement (danger) every single second. I was just happy to live to tell the tale.

197 Miles, Chocolate Kisses, and a Blowup-Sheep

Once a year in late August, 12000+ runners gather at Timberline Lodge, on the edge of Mt. Hood, the tallest mountain in Oregon. Over the course of more than 8 hours, 1000 teams, each with 12 members, embark on a 197 mile relay race ending at the beach in Seaside, Oregon. This is the Hood to Coast Relay.

Each person gets to run approximately 16.5 miles on three separate 5.5 mile runs. This is a race of epic proportions, no doubt about that. If all the numbers sound big, it’s because they are.

You’d better bring your A-game kiddos. If you slacked on your training or push it too hard on your first leg of this race, get ready to play the pain game. I’ve managed to pretty much cripple myself in the race on a couple of occasions. The adrenaline got to me, I went to fast and too hard, and I was (for all intents and purposes) paralyzed for three or four days following the event.

But the reward is always worth it, despite any temporary paralysis one might suffer. You get a keen little medal, photos with which to re-live the glory, and some radical memories. I have seen some crazy stuff in the race, and something new and unexpected happens every year. I once saw Robert (below righht) run his third and final leg, walk 30 feet, spy a bratwurst stand, and immediately consume TWO onion laden dogs. He may not clock the quickest mile time, but that is impressive.

For the last few years, I've run with a group of people from work. Our team name is “CH2M Hill Free Chocolate”, and we live up to the name. Hershey’s Kisses fly from the windows of our vans at runners, spectators, volunteers, and anybody else within throwing range. Nobody gets away from us without at least being offered some chocolate goodness. You can see from photo below that we even fastened an enlarged Kiss to the top of our vans this last year so people could recognize us. Thanks for the craftsmanship Robert,.. We are becoming quite famous it turns out. Teams recognize us and remember the free chocolate we handed out in past years. Some people see the van and come running for their free chocolate handout.

Speaking of famous, Kerry (above left), was quite popular during this year's race, as she was found to have a sizeable male entourage following her along the course. We kept track of her suitors on the side of the van (below). Rest assured the tick marks numbered well into the double digits by the end of the race.

And you would be surprised how much free stuff people want to give to us in return for chocolate handouts! I have personally received a water bottle, Frisbee, Rockstar energy drink, friendship bracelet, and my personal favorite, a Corona. And our “Kiss for a Kiss” policy is always in effect. You give us a kiss, and we give you one in return, *wink*. No takers yet, although we get closer each year as our reputation grows.

A big part of the race is van decoration. Each team has two vans, 6 runners per van. Sometimes similar decorative themes on the two team vans can help with identification at major exchange points. Mostly the artwork is just to get attention. The amount of explicit van decorations (blowup dolls, blowup sheep, undergarments, prophylactics, suggestive material, and flat out nudity) got to a bit much a couple years ago, so race officials had to tone it down this year. This was disappointing to some, but ultimately appropriate. Although I will miss that blowup sheep. Two years ago I deposited a Kiss “in” the sheep (it was strapped to the top of another team's van),… you know, anatomically correct and all that. This year, the same team (with the blowup sheep once again riding high atop their van) spotted our van and figured out that the Kiss from last year must have been our doing. I confessed to the whole thing; Everybody found it very funny. We laughed, told stories, and then continued on our death march towards the coast. See how blowup sheep and chocolate bring people together?

This is a strange race for sure. It takes it's toll on people. Below, one of our teamates, Bill, catches a few moments of sleep in a field. Make no mistake, he is a tough runner, and a champion swimmer I've heard. Even he gets beat up in this trek.

But if you can finish this thing, a massive party awaits you Seaside. Live music, food, ceremony, awards, the exciting nightlife of downtown Seaside, etc. Below, you can see Blair enjoying some much deserved brew after completion of his very first Hood to Coast. The stoic Chris Burr sits next to him, enjoying the sunset from a perch in the beer garden.I have run in the Hood to Coast Relay four or five times now. My first race was in 1998, and every year that I am in Oregon, I try to do it again. In fact, I just sent out our team's $1080 entrance fee check to sign up again for 2006.

So if you have the guts, the grit, and the desire to abuse your body for 24+ hours, I’ll see you out on the open road in late August. Just ask around for free chocolate and people will point you my way.

Blog Expansion

I was forced to return to the dreaded world of HTML today, as I explored the source code for the template upon which this blog was created. I only wanted to add some links, but quickly realized there was so much more to be tweaked. Writing code is the reason I dropped computer engineering back in college, opting instead to pursue regular old power electrical engineering, rife with hippie delusions of alternative energy and saving the world,.. but that's another story.

So keep on the lookout for some streamlining and tweaking of this site. In the meantime, check out my modest list of links to the right.

carobert - What's on this guy's mind? Find out at carobert.com. Don't miss his song of the day, especially if there are downloads available. It's one of my main sources for new and interesting music to sample.

Uncle Bomb - His brilliant mind collapsed on itself. See the genious he left behind here.

Darkside - My new cinema of choice in C-town.

Danya Ozmore - Stepsister veteran turned writer.

I'm hoping my brother will soon start to post some of his thoughts and comedy on the web for us all to enjoy.

Bless the little man

Tarika and I went to see movie tonight. We saw "March of the Penguins", a documentary of sorts, narrated by Morgan Freeman. It was cute, educational, and brilliantly filmed in my opinion.

We didn't go to just any cinema to see this film. We went to the Darkside.

No,… I didn’t have to join Vader on this one. My light saber is still green.

The Darkside's name is probably one best explained by its owner, a local entrepreneur, but I’ll give it a shot. Basically, it is right across from an older, closed down theater called the Whiteside. So as a tribute to that historic venue, and no doubt to reel in a few Star Wars geeks (myself included), the Darkside was born.

How exactly the Darkside fits into the movie business is beyond me. Basically, it plays really obscure films that generally aren’t showed at the big Regals, Carmikes, and the like. Once in awhile you will see some crossover, that is, the same movie played at the big cinemas and the Darkside, but the owner of the Darkside previews and handpicks every movie that gets played there.

To be honest, this is the first time I have been to the Darkside. I’ve known about it for over a year now and have been meaning to go, but,….you know. There is even a similar theater in town, the Avalon, owned by the same guy. It was a cozy little place, only four screens. There are funny signs and decorations all around, and a definite, counter culture/liberal college theme going on. I liked it.

I have to applaud the owner/operator of Darkside. He plays what he wants, charges what he wants (it is a fair price), does what he wants, lays on the sarcasm real thick (see the websites), and makes a clean getaway. And the films he is showing are GOOD, I think. None of the spoon-fed drivel that is being slung at you at the big cinemas.

So if you are ever in Corvallis and want to catch a flick,..

Come to the Darkside.

I am your father. We can rule the galaxy together.

http://www.darksidecinema.com/

http://www.avaloncinema.com/index.php

Adventure from the Past: Chicago

I was working in St. Louis in October of 2003. I got bored one weekend. I loaded some pals up in the rental car and went to Chicago. It was just that easy.

Ok, it wasn’t THAT easy, but it was close. There were engineers involved this adventure, so in reality a spontaneous trip to Chicago was never going to just “happen”. This three day, two night trip required weeks, if not months of careful planning.

But the day arrived, and we took off. Three of us drove my rental up: myself, Dan (above), and Mr. Jim. Chris and Trutman joined us at the downtown motel on the second night.

We arrived at the windy city and set up shop. We crashed at an inexpensive, cozy hotel downtown. It was more than adequate. And the view wasn’t so bad either. There was a spa and sauna that we took full advantage of.

Before we hit the sack, we tried some pizza at some famous place named Gino’s. I don’t know why it was so famous, except for maybe an incredibly long wait for our one, expensive, mediocre pizza.

Chicago Cool Factor: -1

The first full we day we had was packed full of site seeing. We first rambled toward Navy Pier. There was a plethora of photo opportunities on the various landmarks, statues, exhibits, and oddities. One such photo can be seen to the right.

Chicago Cool Factor: +1

Inside were many restaurants, and even more art, mostly relating to Chicago history. There were also some shops (lame) and a mini carnival type environment on the lake side.

We began our stroll south, with some vague destinations in mind. It started to rain. We continued, winding our way underneath interstate highways and the fascinating multistory street system that exists in part of Chicago. After wandering through a construction site, and getting lost in a parking garage, we emerged in the back of some sort of bank, and quickly escaped out the front door, amid the sceptacle eyes of employees.

After emerging from the underworld, we were treated to a fantastic facade of buildings lined up in row. Above, Mr. Jim and I look between some of the buildings.

We found the fountain featured in the intro to the “Married with Children” sitcom. You can see it below.
Chicago Cool Factor: +1

We went to the aquarium next. It was neat, but the biggest exhibit (featuring a killer whale or some such monstrous sea creature) was closed.

Chicago Cool Factor: -1

Next was some sort of museum with lots of dead animals. It was nominally entertaining. No cool factor points here, but none subtracted either.

Dusk was approaching and we made our way back to the hotel. The beer supply was tapped, and tapped hard.

My sources tell me that we went to get some food at some point. Dan ordered a cheeseburger for me. I was having trouble reading and talking.

After waking up in the bathtub hours later, I found that Chris and Trutman had arrived. We left the hotel and hiked around looking nervously at girls and puffing our chests out. We arrived at a bar at some point and I think we played some pool. Trutman may have been cougar hunting.

After some much needed sleep, we began a new day of adventure.
First, it was up to the top of the Hancock building, the second tallest building in Chicago next to the Sears Tower (which can be seen above, in the photo taken from the Hancock building). It was a grand view. I couldn’t believe how many buildings had a swimming pool on the roof!

Chicago Cool Factor: +2
Then, we walked down the shore of Lake Michigan for awhile. It was pleasant.

Chicago Cool Factor: +1

We then hopped the “L” to travel south towards the Museum of Science and Technology. Navigation was sketchy, but after traveling through some rough looking neighborhoods, we figured it was time get off.

We had gone too far south. We were in “South Chicago”. We were the only white people around. I tried to maintain my cool. My friends looked horrified and frightened out of their minds.

Chicago Cool Factor: -1

A plump local asked Trutman if we were lost and where we wanted to be. We told her we were going to the science museum. She said we were pretty far away. I think she was hitting on Trutman. She gave us directions. We ran in the direction she pointed (not my idea).

After at least a couple miles of running/walking through some dilapidated neighborhoods, we arrived at the museum. There was lots of cool stuff, including a submarine. My friends’ favorite exhibit was the one focused on agriculture, with a massive combine and tractor type device as the centerpieces. We frolicked for about an hour on the equipment, like little kids at the playground. Chris and Dan get their kicks in the picture above.

Chicago Cool Factor: +2
We boarded the “L” and headed back towards our hotel. Lunch/dinner was at Ed Debevic’s, a retro 50’s style place where the help is known for their in your face attitude and wild antics. There is music and often dancing. The waitresses/waiters were clever indeed, but I feel we matched wits with them pretty well. Nonetheless, the food was good and atmosphere was fun.

Chicago Cool Factor: +1

After a regrouping at the motel, we boarded the train again and headed to Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs.

We wandered around the stadium (the Cubs were playing the Florida Marlins that night I believe) and by the time we had made a complete the circle, the Cubs had lost. We bar hopped for awhile and then returned to the hotel, exhausted and satisfied. I was amazed at how hard so many people partied after the Cub's loss. It is scary to think what they would have done if the Cubs had won,... maybe burn a building down or flip some cars over?

Chicago Cool Factor: +1

The next day we did some other minor exploring and then drove back to Southern Illinois and St. Louis. Mission accomplished.

Total Chicago Cool Factor: +7

Adventure from the Past: Bourbon, Missouri

Bourbon, Missouri. The name is enough to keep the respectable, God-fearing people away. I went there with some friends from southern Illinois during my tour of duty in St. Louis.

It was Spring Break, 2003. What was the motive behind this mission into the backwoods of central Missouri?

Answer: It was in the middle of nowhere, so there were NO rules.

The plan was to stay at a friend’s (Tim) cabin, on a huge hunk of land his family owned. Above, Tim eyes me suspiciously as I strum my lute, no doubt wondering what kind of hippie he had let come along. In the picture below you can see the cabin itself.
There would be beer, and many, many all-terrain vehicles. That was about the extent of the plan, and my friends were almost losing their minds for the anticipation. The plan didn’t impress me too much to be frank, but I'm not one to miss adventures, so I whole heartedly signed up. Thankfully the rednecks that showed up performed some of the most self-destructive acts I have ever seen. That made the weekend interesting.
I won’t go into too many details on the weekend. You’ve heard all the stories before anyway.

But,..

The highlight of the adventure was when a certain individual, who I will call “Your Buddy” showed up about 10:30 pm the first night. Those of us already at the cabin could here them coming for miles. Screaming, honking, engine reving,… I could almost smell the alcohol on their breath wafting down the valley.

We saw the headlights turn down the “driveway” on the other side of a creek. Then, we saw the headlights go INTO the creek. Your Buddy was attempting to make the most grand and redneck of arrivals at the party by driving down the shallow creek bed. Oh, he was also hauling a trailer loaded down with three ATVs. No big deal.

Long story short, he didn’t make it too far in the creek, and the truck had to sit in the water all night till we eventually got it hauled out the next day.

The only other eventful thing for me that weekend was a new drinking game I learned. Power Hour. First you make a mix tape of some good drinking songs. AC/DC is a favorite of mine, but anything that people can sing along with works well. Each song only plays for a minute. At the end of each minute, you take a gulp of beer. It’s a great game to play if you want to jump around and sing songs like a crazy, which I did that night. A perfect collaboration of beer and music in my opinion.

The night after the Power Hour adventure, I am seen below munching my Cinnabons and tending the fire. If I look pretty rough, it's because I was. You have to pay to play.

Finally, some talk about beer

Blair (roommate) and I had a conversation recently concerning the fact that there isn’t enough beer in the world. Fortunately, Blair had realized this atrocity years ago, and had attempted to put things to balance by making his own beer.

However, in recent years his motivation had been waning, partially due to some brewing projects with poor outcomes. His most recent solo attempt, Goat Scrotum Ale (all homebrewed beer has weird names,… more on that later) was only mildly tolerable and lacked “that certain special something”. It was later discovered that the “something” was flavor and any sort of distinguishable character. It was beer, but just barely. I tried one of the last bottles of the GSA. I didn’t think it was as bad as Blair claimed it was. In fact, it was just good enough (i.e. had enough alcohol in it) that I reckoned we could at LEAST recreate a beer of similar quality,… maybe even better.

Charged with the enthusiasm of youth (me), we agreed to concoct a mutual batch. Blair decided that summer wheat/ hefeweizen ale was the way to go. It was also decided that local ripening blackberries would be introduced into mix.

So Blair dusted off and bleached down all the old equipment: Buckets, Carboys, percolators, thermometers, strainers, tubes, tubs, etc. Whilst he did most of the actual work at the start, I started to think about what we might name this beast of a brew, which leads us to,..

Homebrew Rule #1: All beer is given a clever and meaningful name.

As far as I know, this rule came from my dad, but he may just be carrying on some ancient tradition that I’m not aware of. Regardless, it is absolutely critical that the brew have a clever name, at least to those involved in the creation.

Blair soon acquired the necessary ingredients, and we set about the brewing.

I had no idea what was going on. I told Blair as much.

So he stepped me through it, one hazy, ill-interpreted instruction at a time. After each step I would ask Blair what we did next. There was usually a long pause, a swig of beer (previously bought or made), and then some sort of answer that was clearly made up on the spot. Which gives us two more rules,…

Homebrew Rule #2: It takes beer to make beer. No beer shall be made without the consumptive sacrifice of other beer. (All this fancy wording really just means that you drink beer while you make beer)

Homebrew Rule #3: No two beer making processes shall be the same, even if the exact same beer is being made. Those who break this rule will end up with a consistent product, which is boring and ridiculous.

It was clear to me that we were following Rule #3 to the letter. I know this because I came up with some ideas on how to do certain things, (like this crazy rig to the left) and Blair would say, “Hey, that sounds good. I never thought of that.” It was kind of scary, but thrilling at the same time. Two engineers proceeding with no real set plan in the beginning would normally lead to a coma-resultant panic attack. Thankfully, the beer input into our systems was allowing us to hold it together for now.

Then, disaster struck.

In one part of the process, you have to throw a bunch of malt (grainy looking stuff) into water and let it boil for awhile. Now, you don’t really want this chunky stuff in your final product, so you can put it in a mesh bag and “dangle” it into the boiling water. Think of a teabag going into tea. Same deal. You want the flavor of the tea leaves, but not the chunks.

Sadly, our mesh bag “dangled” a little to low in the tub, and eventually a hole was burned through the bottom of it. Malt grains permeated the mixture.

This wasn’t the end of the world it turned out, just a massive pain in the rear. After the boiling stage, we had to double and even triple filter the entire batch through tiny screens to get the slop out. You can see Blair accomplishing that exact task, which took about an hour.
The major work was done now, so we sealed up the would-be brew and let it “do its business”. A couple days later, our wounded mesh bag temporarily repaired, we “dangled” a couple pounds of fresh blackberries into the mix. After a few days of that, we extracted said berries and let the brew fester for a few more weeks. Finally, we bottled the lot and let it carbonate.

At this point, the name of this beer came to me: DangleBerrry Blowout.

Why? Because we “dangled” “berries” into the sauce at one point, and we had a “blowout” of the mesh bag at one point.
Also, the word “dangleberry” closely resembles another, not so pleasant word,…and that is just funny.

Here is something else funny,..

Homebrew Rule #4: Tacky foot apparel is a must for homebrewing.
Just look at the pictures. It’s pretty obvious that we took this rule seriously. In fact, Blair earns bonus points in my book for wearing the strangest boots/slippers/galoshes I have ever seen.

I am happy to report that we recently sampled the experiment, with good results. Blair seemed very surprised that it turned out so well. I was pleased we hadn’t ruined it with our antics, but vowed to do better. We both agreed it was better than GSA.

So, with enthusiasm high, we started a second batch this weekend. It will be a Porter, yet to be named. This time, an even more complicated brewing process seemed to go a little more smoothly than the first round, so maybe that is a good sign.
I hope to learn many of the brewing secrets from Blair in our time together, and maybe someday do my own homebrewing. It just seems like a cool thing to be able to do. And I’m a cool guy, so it just seems like a good fit.

Adventure from the Past: Alaska

I went to Alaska in the summer of 2005. I traveled with my girlfriend Tarika and her family. We drove all the way from Milton-Freewater, Oregon to Fairbanks, Alaska and back again, with many detours along the way. The trip lasted for three weeks. Tarika’s parents purchased a used RV just for the trip.

There were six of us total, and two dogs. In the picture above, we are, from left to right: Me, Tarika, Mike, Mars, Bogey (dog), Graham, Django (dog), and Jill.

We climbed into the mountains, swam in the lakes, paddled canoes and kayaks in rivers and oceans, rode mountain bikes on trails, fished, hiked, and more. It was a non-stop outdoor experience. With the exception of a digital camera, I was able to totally unplug and unwind.

On a warm bike ride one day outside of Valdez, (notorious for the massive Exxon oil spill) we stopped and played in this waterfall and pool below.

I ate wonderful food the entire time (as I always do when I’m with Tarika’s family). Those that know me well, know that I enjoy to eat. One night in Valdez, Alaska, we caught some pink salmon (with our bare hands!), and had it in our bellies (via fish tacos) only 45 minutes later. Doesn’t get much fresher than that eh?
Tarika’s parents own and operate a small wine grape vineyard on their property in Milton-Freewater, so naturally they come stocked with a pleasant blend purchased wine, and a some wine that is made from their grapes. That, and a constant supply of Busch, kept the party going non-stop. Below, you can see us sipping some fantastic red wine along with our dinner of Putaneska.
Ryan’s favorite foods of the trip:
-Polenta (ground corn cooked to an oatmeal-like texture) and eggs.
-Lentil soup with seasoned oyster crackers.
-Homemade Chex mix
-Sausage, cracker, and cheese lunch
-Putaneska (sp?)
I can only show a handful of pictures here, and you will notice they are mostly of me. There are two reasons for this.

1. If you want to see GOOD pictures of Alaska/Canada and its wildlife, you can just find them on the Internet. I won’t waste too much of your time here with that stuff. Just enough to prove to you I was there.

2. This is my blog, and if you are reading this, I am assuming it is because you are interested me. Narcissistic? Vain? Probably.
I was impressed with the amount of wildlife we saw. Stone sheep, moose, caribou, bear, fox, birds, deer,… and mosquitoes.I didn’t really expect to actually be able to view all the fauna that we saw. What luck!
Traveling in summertime in the North Country was meteorologically fascinating to me. We didn’t have to get too far north until it never quite got completely dark at nighttime. The days got longer and longer. We eventually reached nearly 65 degrees north latitude near Fairbanks, where the sunset and sunrise seemed to each last for an hour, and the night was no darker than an average dusk. It was also warm, a steady 70 deg F everyday it seemed. You can see from the picture below how comfortable I was with no shirt. This was taken at Flower Springs Lake, at 5000 ft elevation in BC, on a cloudy day.
I took a lot of pictures, so make sure to check my artsy fartsy picture blog entry at a later date. There are some that are really neat. I’m sure everybody will love them!

Adventure from the Past: Baja, Mexico

I went on a trip to Baja once. It was near Spring Break in the year 2003. I went with friends from college. Corley and Tim the kiteboarding duo, Danielle, Corley's significant at the time and general good time party girl, and Doug and Carmen, the adventurous couple with so much cool, they could sell it on the streets.

In the first picture above, we are: Tim, me, Corley, Danielle, Carmen, Doug.

We packed up in a Ford Ranger and a Honda Passport and drove south. Sacramento, San Fran, LA, San Diego, US/Mexicoborder, and then Baja, wide open in front of us. Our plan was to camp the entire time, mostly on beaches, and reach the southern tip of Baja (the infamous party town, Cabo San Lucas), and then make the round trip home.

Danielle had spent some time in Spain, which automatically qualified her for the position of communications officer. Carmen and Doug knew enough to be dangerous, so that helped too. Tim, Corley, and I were helpless. I relied heavily on good looks and booze to aid me in foreign relations.




So many adventures were had; it would take months to catalog. We kiteboarded in E. Coli infested waters, did some scuba diving, paddled around to different islands in the Sea of Cortez, drank steadily, dominated the beach volleyball scene at Cabo, ate like local kings at every meal, and even met a bona fide working girl! Tim remembers how soft her hands where when she introduced herself. Never trust a girl running down the highway in the middle of the night in heels.

There were constant federal checkpoints along the highway, about every 80 km. Each one was the same, a small horde of short men in camo, literally dragging M16 machine guns along the ground behind them, asking the same questions. Where are we going? Where did we come from? How much marijuana do we have? This last question was always asked once they got a good look at Tim and me. Tim and I had decided buy all new clothes for the journey. It was all purchased as Goodwill, with a $45 self imposed spending limit. We looked pretty rough. The infrequent showering may have also contributed to our gruesome demeanor.

The total trip involved over 5000 miles of driving over the course of thee weeks. It was an epic endeavor.

I would love to go back to Baja someday on a similar adventure, but with so many other places to go, who knows if I will ever go back? Has Baja seen the last of me? At least with these pictures, I haven't seen the last of Baja,...

I leave you with this last picture, a spectacular kite jump I performed in front of a crowd of local children (not seen here) along the Sea of Cortez, near La Paz. I have never been so popular.