Frisbee

Mo says:
I forgot how much I love frisbee! Momma bought me a new frisbee on the road, so now we play frisbee all the time. I like it best in the desert...the sand is soft and I can stomp on the frisbee after it lands. And when I get tired, I just take the frisbee into the bush and take a nap. Life is simple, and good!

A Quarter Century Old

She says:

I think at one time or another everyone imagines how they would act if they met their favorite famous person. I, of course, have imagined that when meeting said person I would be calm and collected, compliment them very casually but with heartfelt sincerity and then maybe woo them with my charm and convince them to join me for a spot of tea or a pint (depending on the temperament of the famous person)... that last part I never really saw myself going through with but I did love imagining that I could be so urbane.

I did not imagine that attending Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Cafe concert in Seattle, WA would give me the opportunity to actually meet someone I idolized. Nor did I imagine just how mortifying my actual interactions could be in comparison to my calm and collected fantasies. But first I would like to give you some background on the events at hand.


Originally, Jeffrey and I were to be working in Alaska until October 5th, returning back to the west coast only days before my 25th Birthday and coincidentally days before Stuart McLean, host of the Vinyl Cafe Radio Show on CBC radio (the Canadian and much better version of Garrison Keillor) would be hosting a concert in Seattle, WA only a short drive from Portland, OR (where our return flight was schedule to land.) I dropped hints with decreasing tact for about a month, doing everything besides making a huge poster telling Jeffrey to buy tickets and tape it to the toilet. After a month I was pretty certain Jeffrey had gotten the message loud and clear until on a drive home he asked,
“Hey, you know we get back to the lower 48 right before your birthday, is there anything you want to do?”
“You’re kidding, right? This is a set up?”
Jeff answered with a very blank stare, I couldn’t believe it, I had been so obvious, how could he have missed the signs, “You’re joking” I said once more in a hopeful voice before I exploded into a monologue about all the clues I have been dropping for the past month.

Well the hints didn’t work, however the rant did and the next day Jeffrey forwarded me a copy of the ticket order. I was going to see Stuart McLean for m 25th birthday! I was so excited.

And now that excitement has only been mounting since May, and since we left Alaska earlier than initially planned we have had to plan our entire Western tour around this concert, which has made it all the more exciting. Since I don’t receive Canadian Radio Stations regularly I download Stuart’s show weekly and listen by podcast.

I discovered Stuart while in high school, I had purchased a Christmas compilation CD and Stuart’s stories about Polly Andersen’s Christmas Party was the last track on the album. The story was heartwarming, comical and reminiscent of a lost time in American History. A time I dreamed of experiencing, a more wholesome time when family’s crammed together in living rooms around the country to listen to their favorite storytellers or huddle around to hear a presidential address or news from around the world. For some reason the radio era seems so much more romantic than the TV one, maybe because it fostered imagination and aloud its listeners to visualize the scenes described. Anyway, I am a notoriously bad story teller so the way Stuart’s words captivated me furthered my love of his stories and his fantastic storytelling ability.

It took quite a few years before I thought to look him up online, only to find he was a radio host in Canada and had a slew of stories on CD, a minor hint to my mother and for Christmas, I received all of his recorded work, (apparently my mother and I speak the same hinting language, be it a female or family thing)

I think of all the music and other auditory medium I listen to, Stuart might be my favorite and I dreamed of seeing him in concert, however since he was Canadian it was rare that he performed in the U.S., even rarer that he traveled to the Northeast. So when I realized that I was going to be out west when he was performing I was determined to go.

The concert was everything I dreamed it could be, complete with quaint stories that tickled my heart and funny bone. Stuart’s stories had me leaning forward on the edge of my seat, eager to hear the next line, but trying to preserve the bubbly feeling of seeing Stuart live. Stuart told stories of Dave (owner of the Vinyl Cafe) his wife Morley and their two kids Stephanie and Sam, read a story form the story exchange about a pastor being initiated into a new parish full of rugged fisherman. He shared bits of his own life story with us, interacted with the audience calling out children and the elderly to receive free CDs or his newest book. The concert also included multiple Canadian singers who were phenomenal! Two girls whose combined talents formed the likes of Dala, a piano player that cleverly combined classic composer favorites with popular tunes from modern times and a renowned Blues singer, whose grey hair, leather vest, cane and gravelly voice made you think that maybe this man didn’t just sing the blues, but he was the blues.

It was a wonderful evening and at the culmination of the concert I wasn’t disappointed it was over, because I was told Stuart always stays after the show to greet the fans and sign autographs. As I stood on the long line I kept trying to figure out what one-liner to say or how to act to give off that calm and collected air that I imagined. But Stuart has been such a big part of my life (especially this trip as I have really looked forward to listening to his podcast each week) part of me wanted to do something so he would remember me and I would not just be another dweeby fan. As I scrambled to come up with something, Jeff was slowly becoming convinced that I was actually crazy. I decided to have Stuart sign a specific chapter of the book instead of just in the front, and asking him to wish me a happy birthday via autograph would be enough distinction without being crazy and that I would rely on my charisma to do the rest.



Oh god, the butterflies were flying full speed in my stomach as the fans in front of me thanked Stuart and were on there way. “Oh dear, it’s show time” I thought, I sheepishly said hello; Stuart asked me my name as I hand him my book. “Elizabeth,” Jeff snaps a picture, “And what’s your name?” Stuart directed his question to Jeff, I interrupt, “Elizabeth” I realized my mistake, nervously laugh and then stayed awkwardly quiet while Jeff told Stuart just how much I liked him. My hands are sweating and after a quick posed picture, I grabbed my book and tried to discretely leave the theater so Stuart wouldn't realized just how overwhelmed I was by our meeting. I barely made it out the door before I start to cry and laugh hysterically. Jeff documented my failed attempt at being suave and as tears stream down my face I’m was disappointed by my dorky interactions but elated at what a wonderful evening it was.

If all this talk of Stuart has peaked your interest you can find more information about him and his show here:  http://www.cbc.ca/vinylcafe/

So my mother knows Jeffrey is treating me right: Jeff also took me out to a scrumptious dinner in Seattle, including Red wine and chocolate cake! Treated me to a very entertaining college football game between the UofO Ducks and the UCLA Bruins in Eugene the night before my Birthday AND woke me up with Balloons, breakfast in bed, (pancakes topped with singing candles) and finally a book about how to live a self sufficient life on a farm! (An idea I have been talking about this entire trip) So in short, my 25th Birthday was fabulous, thanks to my fantastic boyfriend! Yikes 25 years old I’m half way to 50! Ahhh!

Cheeseburger in Paradise

She says:
So since first strapping on the alpine harness at Smith Rock and climbing up the nubbiny routes on the welded tuff rock, i’ve climbed on Basalt Columns in Eugene, OR and Bishop, CA, and Granite cliffs and domes in Lake Tahoe and Yosemite National Park.

I have really grown to love to sport of rock climbing, the continual set of challenges and with each new skill set attained, a new set of challenges presents itself. Owen’s River Gorge is fabulous sport climbing, the gorge has relatively moderate temperatures (as long as you stay in the shade) and the routes a surprisingly steep and long. They allow for a great workout and a chance to exercise your problem solving skill as your muscles become fatigued. One of the benefits of Owen’s River Gorge is though it’s steep, the rock has surprisingly fantastic hand holds or jugs which make you feel like a rock star as you ascend the routes.


Up until this point Jeffrey has done all the leading, which means he ascends the rock first, clipping into the bolts or plugging in gear and then clipping in (on traditional routes). Lead climbing adds a whole dimension to climbing, as there is greater fall potential from a lead climb. Generally you lead a climb below your skill abilities so that you can safely place the protection gear needed, without being in a place where you become so strained physically or mentally that you might fall. Anyway, taking the step into the leading world was a step I was nervous about. It’s demands a level of comfort and confidence with climbing that I was not sure I had attained. But in order to continue to push myself and grow as a climber, I need to start to lead routes.



So I found a rather inviting looking 5.5 sport route to lead and after warming up seconding Jeff on a few trad and sport routes around the side of the arete, It’s time to take the step into the leading world. 5.5 routes are pretty easy climbing (thought, leading it does and additional challenges). I tie in to the sharp end of the rope feeling calm and confident in my abilities. During the climb I actively remind myself of the advice and techniques that Jeff has shown me, but more than anything I try to enjoy this new type of climbing. For your first lead, you should climb an easy enough route so you don’t have to think about the climbing and instead you can focus on the new tasks of clipping in properly and protecting the climb. I climb the route confidently, posing for victory shots as I reach the anchors. With the completion of my first lead my tummy starts to rumble for the victory dinner Jeff has promised... Big juicy cheeseburger & ice cold brewski here I come!


My friend Mandy has been reading this blog about our climbing adventures, and she was inspired to write a poem. Jeff and I were so moved that we wanted to share her beautifully written poem:

A Huge Smile

With a huge smile extending across the desert sky,
I hang from my fingertips and feel alive.
I have all that I could want,
And I risk everything for this moment, every chance I get.
The bigger the better,
The toughest the best.
I've seen but a fraction,
but could fill the voids in many minds,
with the images I have captured with my open eyes.
I have felt, seen, and connected with her,
Our Mother - most others have forgotten.
She is here with me waiting,
Her patience unmatched.
Who will join me in knowing,
How many are capable of surviving.
As I learn from our Mother,
As I harden outwardly and inwardly,
As I rise to the challenge,
I become that which I have always known I am:
A woman - capable, confident, compassionate...
Or some might just call me tough.

Bishop for all Seasons

She says:

As the sign says as you enter the city limits, “Bishop for all seasons.” The town has a short main street, peppered with outdoor gear shops, home furnishing stores and a few eateries and coffee shops. It's a town with a whole lot of character, and it seems to be rapping on the walls of my heart, hoping to be added to the long list of things I love about the west. With its easy access to outdoor activity and the charm of the small town, I’m in love. Jeffrey and I typically climb in the morning till we are fatigued and then head into Bishop proper for some internet surfing at the Looney Bean coffee shop. After we get our internet and caffeine fix we roam the streets of the small town, window shopping, as I mentally make a list of all the things we must experience before we leave this town. We stop into the local grocery to get to some fresh produce and indulge in a redbox movie rental for a $1.50 a night!!! Cheap entertainment, I love it!

One of the big highlights of Bishop for me is the Eric Schat’s Bakery. A bakery that looks like it was plucked from Epcot Center’s Holland section. There are figurines and plywood cutouts of bakers and Dutch woman with braids and wooden shoes. There is an old fashioned car outside decorated to the nines with advertisements for the bakery. The entire bakery looks like it was transported straight from Disney world, straight down to the stained glass windows and the woman who greets you with here lace hat on. Once in the store there is a bounty of bread that almost makes me fall over there are so many delicious looking options including an Eric Schat’s original, “Sheepherder bread” the only thing that can compete with the abundance of bread choices is the copious bakery selection, including apparently the award winning, best glazed doughnut in 1998! I can barely contain my excitement, I feel like I am floating around in store in a cloud of confectionary goodness. Jeff decides we should get a loaf of bread. I agree and secretly decide that we also need to sample a pastry... or two!!!! Come on this place is a baker’s dreamland. 

We decided on Rosemary sourdough bread and then I sneak over a purchase an apple fritter and pecan cinnamon roll. As we sit outside and partake in the confectionary and savory bread delight, I honest start to daydream about living here. Drugged up on sweet bakery treats I think of working in the bakery and mastering the varying baking techniques and with every day of heading straight to Owen’s River Gorge to get my climbing fix... I would be in heaven.... **sigh** it's good to dream.

Climbing Like a Warrior

he says:

Climbing is a physically demanding sport. We all wish we had stronger forearms, longer arms, and delicate footwork. Close to the ground or below an anchor, we’re all heroes.

Climbing is a psychologically demanding sport. We all wish we had nerves of steel, control of our fears, and trust in our pro(tection). Close to the ground or below an anchor, we’re still heroes.

While the physical aspect of climbing receives most of our attention, it is the other side that has captured my interest lately. We can train our physical systems: muscles; tendons; fingertips and toes; balance and flexibility. But what about our heads? How do you push your limits physically when our heads are telling us to be careful, cautious, and conservative?

A warrior seeks challenges not for easy wins, not to pump up his ego, and not for the admiration of others. A warrior climbs to learn about himself, to immerse himself in a challenge so complete that fundamental questions are revealed and answered definitively.

Challenge, Focus, Commit.

So we’re back at Smith Rock, and we are climbing harder than ever. My goal is to lead .10a trad this summer... that is, a traditionally protected (trad pro) 5.10a rated (hard) route. So, I’ve been leading a lot of 5.8 and 5.9 routes to gain strength and experience protecting routes and bouldering to build confidence in my ability to think through difficult sequences on climbs.

In addition, I need to coach Elizabeth as she gains confidence and skill. She is climbing so well, and I want to gradually increase her exposure to complicated climbs as she improves. I’m sure she will be able to 2nd the .10a’s I’m leading!

Lions Jaw 5.8 trad
Great crack route, good protection. The crux is a roof sequence about 80’ off the ground. It goes, and I enjoy watching Elizabeth work through the problem without any help or advice from me. She is so strong!

Out of Harm’s Way 5.8 trad/sport

Toys in the Attic 5.9 trad
A crack pitch that is characterized by pigeon shit and straw for the first 30’ feet, all of which makes the climbing slippery and the protection non-existent. After that, the route steepens to a committing overhung lie-back that ends at a roof, followed by a 10’ traverse in a finger crack. I protect the traverse and finish pumped and weary. Elizabeth finds difficulty and challenge at the roof, and discovers that my pro will prevent a serious fall. She also learns the importance of protecting traverses!

The Outsiders 5.9 sport
Ancylostoma 5.9 sport
Phoenix 5.10a sport
Light on the Path 5.10a sport
Hesitation Blues 5.10b sport
More or Lester 5.10c sport

New Testament 5.10a trad! (a potential first for me!)
After climbing several hard routes today, I spend 20 minutes at the base of this route assessing the climbing, the potential rests, and the pro. Even though I am a bit tired, I decide that today is the day. The climbing goes well, the protection is ok. The hand crack flares inward, making cam placements difficult... they can ‘walk’ into the crack, mushroom open, and fail if loaded (short story, they won’t hold a fall). After 70’ of climbing, I am starting to get pumped. Hands are not working as well as they should.

The route gets harder, steeper and more exposed. I sink two good chocks that settle my nerves and boost my confidence. Only ten feet to go, and my forearms are flooded! My hands will barely respond to my requests for finger locks and hand jams. I am hoping to lock joints into cracks, using my anatomy to hold me instead of coordinated muscle action. I down-climb about three feet and rest, shaking out my forearms one at a time as I eye the rest of the route. The final push. I climb the last steep section without placing additional pro, knowing that a fall will be arrested by the chocks below. I execute the final moves with what little hand strength I have left. I reach the anchors and clip. I am there.
A light rain is now falling, so I clean the route on the lower-off, and we pack up for the hike out.

What did I learn? Endurance is what keeps us alive between rests. Good pro allows us to manage fear and keep the mind focused on climbing. An honest assessment: I should have tackled this climb fresh. I was fatigued at the start, which made it more difficult than it should have been. I let my ego dictate the decision to climb New Testament, a 5.10 trad route, on this day... I am happy to have completed the route, but I have so much to learn.

700 Billion Reasons to Not Believe in the System...

“In for a penny, in for a pound”...
he says:

The US congress is currently debating the future of our nation (not any more...they just killed us all). Not the nature or quality of our future, but the very future (or not) of America. The corporate stock of the US, the greenback, is balanced on the edge of a knife, and with it the US itself. We are facing something much like Germany experienced in the 20’s... or what modern economists like to call a “currency crisis”. Read about Argentina or the Weimar Republic of Germany to get a sense of what lies down this road.

It is a choice. Let the dopey wall street magicians take the beating they so richly deserve, perhaps destroying up to a quadrillion dollars of notional wealth in the process. Or, socialize the losses by destroying the currency and bailing them out. The latter, of course, will destroy your savings and mine, and will wipe out the financial prospects for our kids, and theirs, and theirs...

What they are trying to do is hold together the financial system itself, and a few ex-Goldman Sachs employees have convinced them that for $700 billion, it can be done. First rule: double any number the gov’t quotes to you and me. Second rule: Quadruple or quintuple the number if it is a taxpayer bailout!

So, what can we expect from a $3.5 trillion bailout, paid for by you and me? Here is my guess:

• The national debt, at $9.6 trillion (on-budget that is...) before the Fannie and Freddy debacle, will likely ballon to roughly $15 trillion once those losses are realized. Another $3.5 trillion some time next week will put us $18.5 trillion in the hole. So far, so good.
  
• This number, as huge as it is, does not include “off-budget” items. The current administration is especially fond of the off-budget spending gimmick. Afghanistan? Off-budget. Iraq? Off budget. Katrina? Off budget. You get the picture... A hundred billion here, a hundred billion there, pretty soon we’re talking about real money! A low-ball estimate of $10 trillion of additional debt, since 2001, has been accrued in your name and mine, “off-budget”.
  
• Current estimates of the future social security and medicaid liabilities in the coming decade are staggering. How does $4 trillion a year, every year for the next 10 sound? That is in excess of all “revenue” paid into the system. So, in the next decade, the first squirt of baby-boom retirements will tack an additional $40 trillion (minimum) of debt onto the balance sheet.
  
• Ok. $70 trillion of DEBT, assuming all goes well, by the end of the next decade. This number is not a figment of my imagination. David Walker, former comptroller of the US (GAO) agrees. So what? 
  

Unfortunately we’ve gotten used to big scary numbers from our government. But there are consequences to this kind of debt. It was a huge pile of war debt that drove the Weimar republic to the printing presses in the 20’s. When governments can’t pay their debts, they print extra money... to pay their debts. Cool, huh?

But the first phase of the great global de-leveraging is asset price deflation. People will sell things of dubious value... particularly stocks and bonds, but commercial and residential real estate will get hammered too. This will have the effect of boosting the value of the dollar (when you sell a stock, it is redeemed for dollars). The recent surge in the value of the dollar is evidence of this... but it will not continue. It can’t continue.

Soon, smart foreign central banks, investors, and sovereign wealth funds will dump the dollar. Would you hold a dollar that you knew was getting printed into existence by the trillions? Probably not. You’d spend it now, while it still holds some value. And that is precisely what is about to happen. The tidal wave of dollars will wash into this country, into every stock exchange in the world, looking for something of real value to buy. Real things. Oil, Natural Gas, Food, Minerals.... and prices will react, by shooting skywards. The Dow will explode... but your purchasing power will go away at the same time.

This chain reaction is called Hyper-Inflation. Prices move up fast, daily, hourly. Paychecks are issued twice a day. Meals are paid for in advance, because the price will rise significantly during the meal. Eventually, the largest denomination bill ($100) will be worth more as functional toilet paper.

So, as the debt grows out of control (...and the current debt is uncontainable. If the US gov’t confiscated every last dollar of wages, a 100% tax rate, it still could not pay off the debt) it is important to realize that those bills will come due. The US will pay. And in doing so, the treasury and federal reserve will print every last dollar required for the job.

But, to this congress, this outcome is better than watching their friends on Wall Street take a loss, miss a Christmas bonus, or God forbid... reap what they have sown. This is not the first bail-out, and it won’t be the last.

Our nation has been taken hostage by international banks, just as Thomas Jefferson warned it would, if we were ever so foolish as to relinquish control of the currency to private interests. So we did, and so it has. God help us all.

A Year Ago Today

he says:

The great socialist republics were (in)famous for many things, but my favorite was the five year plan. The planned society, the planned economy... It implies so many things. Such that one is thinking ahead, that one can foresee the unforeseen, and that one is capable of shaping the future.

Ha. Where were you a year ago? That is the mental game I like to play. Think back to where you were a year ago, then ask yourself if you are now where you thought you’d be 365 days ago. My guess is that most of you are not doing what you thought you’d be doing, where you are doing it, with whom you suspected. Only 365 days have passed, yet life has brought an unknowable series of choices and outcomes in just one short year.

A year ago today, Elizabeth and I received a phone call from a production company in L.A. The call was shocking, and it prodded us to ask our employer for a four month leave of absence. They obliged, and we began packing and organizing and disconnecting from the civilized world for an unforgettable odyssey in the Alaskan bush. A life changing experience in so many ways.

Just 367 days ago, I never would have guessed it. One of life’s little surprises. Any sort of five year plan would have melted in the face of such radical input. Even a one year plan would have gone out the window.

So, I ask you. Where will you be in a year? What constructive changes are you willing to undertake to make it happen? And when life throws you a meatball, are you ready to forget about the conservative double you were preparing for, and to slug this pitch out of the park?

Life is about choices, big and small. The answer is that you do not know where you will be, and neither do I.

Dream big, dream small. Prepare.

Now make it happen.

Ode to Watson

She says:

So I know that this blog is suppose to be about the great adventures that Jeffrey and I are currently indulging in... However I am hurting and I have the desire to write, so bare with me, though these words aren’t wild tales of adventure, they are words of a beloved friend with a tail who was an unlikely adventurer.

Watson, the 16 year old golden retriever who I loved with all my heart moved on to heaven today. He was not always my puppy to love, as the first 5 or so years of his life he was owned by one of my childhood friends. Watson, who was the product of a mishap between a pure breed golden retriever mother and her son, a dog who made up with his heart what he lacked in IQ.

A dog who escaped regularly from his home and even made his way to the train platform in Sayville, boarded a train to NYC and was going to be let out by the conductor in Jamaica before a fellow train rider informed, “Wait that dog got on in Sayville, you can’t put him off in Jamaica!” and with that this kind patron of the LIRR took the day off from work to escort the lovable Watson safely back home to Sayville.

Watson, who loved to run, (especially away) and though we provided a good home for him he would still occasionally take off down the street. Though he always seemed to find the kindest of folks to take care of him until we were contacted and he could be brought back home. 

Watson, who’s eyes twinkled right before he bee-lined it out of the yard. I even mentioned the twinkle to a friend who was watching him for me, “Be careful” I warned, “if he gets that look in his eye, he’s going to make a run for it.” Only to have my friend inform me as I picked him up, “You wouldn’t believe it, I thought you were kidding about that twinkle in his eye, but I was outside with him and he did, he gave me a look, distinctively, right before he went barreling down the street.”

Watson who you could lock in a car with bags of doggie kibble, fresh cut meat from the butcher and Italian bread and every single time you would come back to the car with a very moist and crumbled bakery bag with no bread in it, the meat untouched and a very guilty looking Golden.

Watson, a dog who like so many Goldens craved attention and just wanted to be loved and caressed. A dog who craved being pet so much he didn’t care what appendage was touching him and how and so if you became tired of scratching his ears with your hands you could instruct him to walk down to your feet which were conveniently perched at the edge of a foot rest and he would happily stand there and let you rub his chest with your feet...  as long as it was human contact he didn’t care what the form was.

A dog with such a kind soul that our cats would often seek shelter between his two front paws and snuggle up under his chin as he lied down, or rub their faces in figrue 8's around his legs as he stood or do tumble saults over his head as he slept. A dog who never showed his teeth, not even to our bully, Lhasa apso -Cocker Spaniel, Missy though he was 5 or 6 times her size. A dog who you had to give permission to before he would eat.

A dog who was repeatedly told he was the handsomest boy in Sayville with the best velvet jowls in all the world. A dog who would squeeze himself into the two passenger kayak with my mother in the stern and Missy, the beast, in the bow and would sit patiently for hours as my mother and I explored the canals of our neighboring towns. A dog who loved all creatures. 

A dog who would never think of grabbing a tennis ball out of your hands and would very tentatively place his mouth slowly around it when you offered it to him. A dog who always came and sat next to me when I was upset and let me give him hugs when I needed them. A dog who though I have moved far away from and I wasn’t there with him in the end, will always hold a place in my heart. A companion and a friend.

I love you Watson and I always will. You are now in a land where your legs will support you again and you can run free. You can indulge in endless amounts of Italian bread and there will always be a warm hand to caress your velvet jowls. You will be in my heart until I join you again.

Bishop...and Owens River Gorge

he says:

The climbing has been fantastic in so many ways. I’ve always loved to climb, but felt that it was a discipline that required a serious level of effort. This trip has provided the time necessary, in my mind, to develop as a climber. Different kinds of rock, different styles, and ever increasing difficulty and length to stretch my comfort zone and my abilities.

Owens River Gorge is a deep, steep gorge lined with hundreds of established sport and gear routes. Vertical to overhanging welded volcanic tuff provides interesting, pumpy problems to keep us busy. Good hands, good feet, and great anchors make for safe, fun workouts.

We’re currently camped in the high desert, at roughly 6,000’ msl. Sage and pinion pine dot the landscape. The white mountains to the east, and the big granite spires of the high sierra to our west. The sunrise washes the high sierra in a pink glow, and the sun immediately warms my face. Elizabeth is still sleeping as I make a pot of turkish coffee and write, sitting in my lawn chair, bundled in down and fleece. Another beautiful morning.

Today we run. A hundred minutes on winding dirt roads in the national forest. A long, slow run. Afterwards, we’ll hike into the gorge to climb a few routes, depending on how our energy levels hold up. Then into Bishop for a little laundry, and to return the movie we rented last night (Dan in the Real World) to the red box.

This place is very comfortable, especially when compared to Yosemite NP. I am finding the NPs to be very onerous with their need to post rules everywhere, collect fees everywhere, and to generally prevent almost every kind of human activity that comes naturally to you and me. The average stay at the national parks in the early 20th century was 30 days. Today, the average stay at a national park is 3.5 hours. If you ask me, the park service is a massive failure, based solely on that single statistic. People would stay longer if they felt welcome, if they felt ownership, and if they felt comfortable. But most do not.

The park service makes the public feel as though they are trespassing on their own land. Twenty bucks for a primitive campsite in a national park, which is free everywhere else on public land. Ten bucks to walk into the park... no car, just to walk in. No dogs on any trails anywhere in the parks. Why? Actually, it is to prevent very small breeds from training the predators to seek out trail snacks! (seriously, that is what we were told). So, no dogs of any kind. That was easy. Why not just ban kids, the frail, elderly, and waifish fashion models too?

I digress. The sun is up and warming the valley. The gray peaks of the high sierra are illuminated, and the breeze has picked up. Another cup of joe, a bowl of cheerios with powdered milk, and I’ll be ready for the day.