The Year Ends Quietly and Slips Away

I've posted a few times with retrospective-ish thoughts on the progress of this last year, so I won't belabour the point. Even so, a lot has been surfacing for me the last two weeks--I guess because it's finally been a little quiet. All the stuff, the reactions, the emotions that I shoved to the back of my consciousness because I didn't have time to deal with them because we were Moving On™ have been quietly pushing themselves to the forefront and demanding their moment of attention.

So beyond the obvious of what a year of incredible accomplishment it has been, it has also been one of great sadness for me. I don't think it really hit home until I got, well, home, and my grandmother and grandfather were both glaringly absent. Especially my grandfather, because my grandmother had been so withdrawn and frail for the last 2 years of her life. But in a way, my grandmother too, because she told my father before she died that she didn't want a service. He honored her wishes, but it was hard to not have some way to ritualize saying goodbye and acknowledging the whole of her life, either. And then there was Gibson. What can I say but I my heart aches missing his sweet face and six-toed feet clicking their way through our tiny home?

There were other heartbreaks and disappointments along the way too, which I didn't get to grieve or resolve because, well, it's complicated. And I had board exams to pass and a life to pack up and plunk down in a new place. I'm just finding it hard to be fully at peace about it without at least looking at what is gone, let alone acknowledging that I had to say goodbye to some things way too soon, way before my heart was ready, way before it could accept that some things will never change or be what you want them to be no matter how much wishing and hoping you twist yourself up in doing. It helps me understand those realities intellectually, which I grasped nearly instantly, but it doesn't make me feel any less sad, and the sadness can't be gone over or under or around, only passed straight through.

This has been a year of great happiness too--I saw a 4-year project of incredible effort and endurance culminate in a master's degree and the crushing of my state and national board exams. I've met some incredible new people and reconnected with countless old ones I thought I'd never see or hear from again. I live in view of some of the most beautiful mountains and wide open skies on earth. For the first time in almost 20 years I get to see my brother nearly every day and be a part of his life. I finally found a field I love that helps people and communities heal, whether I end up going to PA school or not (Dude, I KNOW.) And all of these things are in the end separate from the sad and setback things. It is not a zero-sum game. It is possible for my heart to exult and grieve, to love and to lose at the same time. Indeed, it is the only way it has ever known how to be.

Occasionally you listen to an old song and the lyrics jump out in bold relief at you because they ring so true. Here's one from Kate Wolf sung by the incomparable Nanci Griffith and Emmylou Harris--which I particularly love these days because I am at a literal and figurative crossroads, looking simultaneously backward and forward. I am far enough along in life that I have a bona fide past while still having a bright and promising future, and because I am literally on a Great Divide mountainside where the rivers indeed change directions. I keep the last stanza close when the sadness and uncertainty seem intolerable and endless:

The finest hour that I have seen
Is the one that comes between
The edge of night and the break of day
It's when the darkness rolls away

All of the lyrics are here.


This second one is about the return of light after darkness, covered by Nina Simone whose styling suits my bittersweetness.


Enjoy. And gratitude to all who have made this year what it was for me, for showing me all you have shown me and taught me all you have taught me. Mahalo to you and to 2008.

Project Tamale '08

15lbs chicken, 10lbs carne, 32oz mole paste, 400oz crushed tomatoes, 60oz ea of black beans and corn, 22.5lbs masa harina, 96oz shortening, 320oz vegetable broth, 60oz corn husks, 15lbs cheese, plus amounts of carrots, roast peppers, onions, squash, and red/green food coloring to dye the raffia strips that tie it all together, so to speak=about 400 tamales. New this year were vinyl gloves from my med kit so that my hands weren't also dyed red and green for a week.

This year I really, really tried to find local and organic everything--did reasonably well, considering I had no idea where to go for anything. The project completely overwhelmed my tiny kitchen. I listened to endless amounts of NPR. Even the boring BBC stuff. If it was on last week, I heard it. Several times.

At least Zooey had some fun.
And I was able to use the garage for extra cold storage since it was so stinkin' cold--seriously, it was colder outside than inside the fridge. Once I get them all distributed, I'll stash a bag in my freezer for myself--it should be about 4 months or so before I'm able to look at them again. I know I say it every year, but next time I am seriously recruiting help. The happy looks I get when I give them take some of the weary ache out of my neck and shoulder muscles too...

See the whole process, including Zooey's invaluable oversight here.

Project Tamale Update

The finish is in sight! 120 veggie and 180 chicken so far, likely 130-150 carne by the time I have to cram some clothes into a suitcase and light out and hop a plane tomorrow to Sacto for the family holiday thing. Pictures to follow soon.

Conchords News!

New season starts in just 30-something days!! To herald, there's a lip dub video submission contest, and the best will be cut together and aired on the show. Here's one submission I found on Youtube:

I think his Jemaine is a dead ringer, don't you?

I Wanted the Opposite of LA and I Got It

I'm impressed that at 2:35 in the afternoon I still have ice on the indoor side of my windows. Allegedly out at DIA the windchill is supposed to give one the impression of having been knocked out and kidnapped to some undisclosed location in Saskatchewan. It was nearly 14 below when I went to bed and according to the news it got down to 20 below. It's in the mid-teens at the moment. It's a record! Yesterday was a record too! And I was here!! We are supposed to get a teensy bit of snow tonight, possibly teensy bits every night through Thursday. The highs are never expected to much top 32. But at least the sun is shining bright! Ahem.

I guess indoors slaving over a hot kitchen making 300 tamales is as good a place as any to be this week, no?

The rest of the park at sunset series can be seen here--taken when it was a balmy 41 out. I hear that's shorts and teeshirt weather in Antarctica...

Thank-You to Gabby Johnson, For Saying What Needed to Be Said

I could watch this all day. Via Petulant at Shakesville who came up with the best-titled post ever.

To see the original song from the Liam Show and one of the most incredible homages to shoes ever click here.

Rocky Mtn Rox

At least I think it does. It hinted at scenery and vistas--Dr. Ken swore up and down on a stack of Bibles it was there, but I kind of had to take his word for it. But hey--his word is good, no reason not to assume he's not good for it. And what little we were able to see when the snow and wind calmed down was compelling enough to make me drive straight home and buy an annual pass to find out more. Okay, not quite straight home--after the mandatory pint of beer and plate of eats, then.

Oh....speaking of eats...my belly feels vacuous and is making me feel a bit peevish. I'll be right back.




So much better! I continuously underestimate the power of low blood sugar to make one feel crappy. And may I gush for a moment about how happy I am that it is pomegranate season? I don't care if pomegranate-flavored/juiced foods are so totally last year, it will always be one of my favorite fruits, filled with those succulent garnets as they are. Tonight they went on my barley and wild rice pilaf. For the last 3 days they've gone in kale salads. Tomorrow, I don't know. I need to roast the butternut squash I bought last week, make pumpkin bread, and shop/cook all the tamale fillings and sauces. I know! Maybe I'll make pomegranate molasses and incorporate it into the sweet tamales...and I'm totally blogging that stuff this year--way, WAY too much of a 3-4 day process not to.

So yeah, RMNP. About the same distance from Denver as some of the trails in the Angeles high country, of which I thought nothing when going for a hike or monster training run. I find that I'm needing to put distances in terms of LA equivalents because everything feels so much further here I find I don't want to drive--nah...too far! Drive to Boulder for a road ride? Or even the foothills for a 10k? I'm having a hard time, but Wash Park is beginning to get very tiresome. Anyway.

I set out early after getting way too little sleep staying out late and Craig and Jen's holiday sweater party. But it was worth it to catch the sunrise hitting the Flatirons--holy nature show! And it was already in the high 30's in Boulder. As I rolled through Lyons, however, the bright sun disappeared. As I climbed higher still, so did the mountains. As I got to Estes, I could see furious maelstroms of snow blown off the Divide whipping around the ridgelines. On getting out of the car I discovered the wind was an icy knife as well--nothing but the snow pants I haven't worn since 2000 would do, and on they went. I really, really need better true coldweather gear, btw.

Ken and I set out and ditched my car at the visitor's center, which was near empty. Apparently in the height of summer you have to be in by 6AM or so if you want a spot. Which, I guess if you're going to be bagging peaks or otherwise climbing up high you need to be up and below treeline by the time the storms come in around 1, so... After a brief start up the trail we decided to go back and retrieve the snowshoes. Which turned out to be the call.

Fortunately, we stayed in among the trees most of the time and there wasn't much wind. I was temporarily fooled into thinking the temp wasn't so bad. Ha! As soon as we got to the frozen lake, I discovered my folly. We paused long enough for Ken to point out some of the ice hanging off some frozen slabs in the rock above us where ice climbers go to play. It's still wild to me how gigantic icicles can get, or that gushing, unruly waterfalls can be tamed into silence when they freeze solid. We pushed on toward Black Lake. I began to feel sparkly, either from not enough food or altitude or both. We got close to the lake, but decided to turn around (ok, I decided, Ken kept shrugging good-naturedly and saying he was fine with "whatever") when it got too blustery--the kind that stings your face as the snow scours off the top layer of skin.

We headed back, and found the downed tree on which we rested before, to eat lunch. Ken brought hot chocolate. I have GOT to replace my thermos--I have no idea where it went but a thermos of hot tea or soup or something is mandatory gear when it's cold like that. I also learned that you should pack a down jacket for when you sit down to eat or rest for more than 5 minutes. Before too long we were back at the first lake, looking up at the ice climbing formations underneath the lacy veil the snow makes as it fills in the cracks of the rock wall. Ken swore the ice was in enough to walk on, and we still had the snowshoes on so we opted to take the shorter route across the middle. I didn't fall flat this time (man, the stuff is !) and it's totally neat-o how the bubbles freeze in the very thick layer of ice--like you're going factor five in space when you look straight down into it. Anyone who gets that reference award yourself 500 bonus nerd points.

At the fork in the trail we took the fork untaken to a small, frozen waterfall. Not big enough to climb on, but interesting nonetheless. You could hear the water running under the ice in the creek, too. Yeah, so I'm easily amused in wilderness. There are way worse things to be, right? Right. Before we knew it we were skittering across the icy parking lot to the car, and my indecisive fingers which had been thawing and refreezing the entire time were grateful. My frozen behind was sorry, however that Ken's car had no butt-warmers. Butt-warmers are the business. There's something about radiant heat that just makes you feel safe and happy. And whatever they don't take care of the post-outing beer and eats will. Unfortunately, my fingers were too cold to feel like whipping out the camera and taking lots of pics. Or any, for that matter. Not that there was that much to see vista-wise. You'll just have to trust me that it was awesome in the purest most slang-free sense of the word.

So yeah. I finally got out since that embarrassing ride up Lefthand in October. I remembered why I moved here, why I fell in love with this place at first sight. Why I would be perfectly content to call myself a near-lifelong Coloradan.

Whirlwind, or What's a Lazy Blogger to Do?

I can't believe it's been almost a month since my last post. So much has happened, so much is still on the horizon. I think I might have to break this into a few posts, before it turns into a 10-pager.

To start with, I'm a hobo no mo. I found a nice little finished basement with tons of storage for bikes, gear, etc. I even have a garage, which now that it seems like it's snowing once a week at least, is nice. Zooey is not always happy with the smaller space--I think she got spoiled at Craig and Jen's spacious house. She also definitely does not like being alone--getting a kitten (or at least broaching it to the landlord) is definitely on the agenda for next year, once I finally start working. Whenever I come home from being away she meows incessantly for the first 30 minutes, when she's not fiercely rubbing her forehead into me or literally running after me when I change "rooms" (this place is really more of a studio) to make sure I'm not going to abandon her again. I'm finally unpacked, mostly arranged, almost entirely furnished.

So far, the weather has been making me really happy. I went for another semi-slippery run in the park, where the slush that got tamped down from the runners yesterday froze overnight. But, that park is gorgeous at any time of year. I love it covered in snow--it made me so happy to look down and see exuberant dog tracks dotting the trail. There is now a thin layer of ice that covers the entire pond--it was fun watching the geese walking on the water instead of swimming in it. And it is just wide open and peaceful. As long as have to live in Denver, having this within walking distance makes it not so bad. I did discover yesterday that what I thought were my cold-weather tights were really only mid-range--my entire backside was completely numb by the time I was halfway around the park, and it was only 28º when I went out (which don't get me wrong is cold, but not as cold goes, you see.) Today (like yesterday) there is not a cloud in the sky and the sun is blazing brightly. They said it was only supposed to get to mid-40's, but it's at least low 50's. I shucked my long-sleeve and ran in the tank top before I even got out of my neighborhood.

We have had our first bona fide storm--and 2nd and 3rd, really. We've had our first night of authentically butt-cold (10º qualifies, no?). The day of the 10º night I believe the high was only about 19º, and it snowed off most of the day. I thought I was being smart scheduling all my errands/meetings (including up in FC) for one day, but it turned out to be that day. Have I sung the praises of my little Saabaru lately? And if I had a dollar for everyone I saw slid off the road along I-25 I could have taken my self out to a very nice lunch when I finally got to Fort Collins. And yeah, I know I'll be sick of it by February, but it's barely December and we got off to a late start...first time in years the kids had Halloween with no snow, they say!

And now, since I have to come up with a superbill form by tomorrow and because the incessant cigarette smoking at the next table is driving me nutz (the only thing I don't like about Stella's...besides not much in the way of eats and sometimes too noisy). Off to try Pajama Baking instead...

I haven't had much chance to get to explore trails and rides yet. I had an embarrassing ride up Lefthand to Ward in October. Yes, I didn't eat enough, yes I was not used to the altitude (Ward is up at 9K at least) but still. That ride was not that steep. At least I beat the guy in the shorts full of holes--no one wants to ride behind that if they can help it.

And I'm finally getting up to Rocky Mtn this weekend for some hiking/running with my new friend Ken the Hand Surgeon! He lives up near Horsetooth in FC, and rides and runs all the time. He even did a 100 mile ultra last year. Talk about living the dream. Trip report to follow.

I also had a fantastic week up at Ortho Center of the Rockies. I got to meet and watch some wonderful docs, including Dr. Ken Duncan (the hand guy), my physio friend Nik, and a non-surgical ortho guy who used to be a family doc named Dr. Steve Yemm. Both Drs. Duncan and Yemm were great, and taught me a lot. I also got to see lots and lots of xrays. I spent a few hours in clinic with a spine surgeon, and I got to spend two mornings in surgery (in the OR!) watching knee replacements and foot/ankle repair/osteotomy stuff. It seriously made me bummed I didn't go to med school first. I was very interested to chat with Dr. Sobel's (total joint replacement guy) PA, Jason. He was Dr. Sobel's right hand, and all the other docs in the group that I met spoke very hightly of him. He got to do a lot. First Marcus and now this guy--perhaps PA school is in the cards after all. I know, I know--MORE school?! But hey--at least I know now that I love medicine of all kinds, so it's not like I'm totally switching fields...I don't know if there will ever be a job there, but there may at least be a referral list someday. Keep your fingers crossed!

And speaking of jobs, I've been shmoozing up a storm trying to get something going. I'm working out particulars with the pain clinic, which will hopefully be unbelievably awesome and shortcut 80-90% of the headaches and pain new acupunks go through when starting out. I've met with a bunch of acus and chiros here and in Boulder and up in the 970. I also got a tip-off to go get on the list for shifts at a local rehab drug/alcohol rehab council, which would be good experience and good connections too. Since my dream of a community-style clinic will have to wait for now, this may be the next best thing. Other than that, everyone's freaking about the economy and holiday craziness in general. Good thing there's always stuff like applying for EIN's and insurance credentialing and work comp training to keep me busy in the meantime.

And the wild and woolly world of work comp! I can now do impairment ratings (even though technically I can't sign my name to a report as an acu. Yet.) There's a whole boatload of potential patients and fun with paperwork and endless tables and figures I could delve into. Dr. Lerner's position is of course that we should--that it pays well compared to what we earn as acus, but it pays crappy compared to what docs can earn as surgeons, so there's our niche. Speaking of which, the Whole Foods thingey is rolling right along, even though some of the regional managers are being curmudgeonly. I will fly out to San Francisco in January, after my ortho test for the orientation and to hopefully meet someone in CO who can help me get it going here. I wonder if Fred would be interested in having me teach some courses out here...

Fina

Hobo Blues

Yeah, I'm kinda getting 'em. It has been months officially, but it feels like longer from all the time I'd been spending in June, July and August traveling. It's been a nice break, but I think I'm ready to plug in again.

So much has happened--my already late JMT trip got pushed another week for my grandfather (and oh, my grandmother is so scrappy, I just love her so much!). I spent a fantastic few days in Yosemite hiking up from the valley, taking my sweet time, climbing Half Dome, meeting cool people (none of them going my way though, not a single one!), and then once I got to the high country my enthusiasm just kinda evaporated. And it was starting to get really cold--much colder than I thought it would, about as cold as my ultralight gear would allow. I was nervous about the isolation, and the potential for weather with temps that low, and having to march 16+ miles/day whether I felt like it or not since my ortho class couldn't be missed...long story endless, I punted at the base of Donahue Pass, and headed back to Tuolemne. I met a couple of super cool guys just out for a relaxing, lazy trip, and hung out with them for a couple of days, and then they were kind enough to cram me into their 2-seater pickup and give me a lift back into the Valley, since the hiker buses had stopped running 2 days before. It was a nice trip all the same, and I can't wait to go back and start the Tuolemne to Portal section next year! I heard, after I got back to LA, that 4 guys who hiked up from Onion Valley got caught in a bit of a storm--they got some high winds, snow, ice, thunder/lightning etc. around Muir Pass. They were fine, but I was glad I quit when I did, since surviving that shit solo can get ugly pretty fast, especially that cold. Sometimes my risk aversion really does save my ass. And I will probably get around to putting up the journal at Summit Post or something. Photos are up here.

And really, I was feeling awfully lonesome and hankering for some nice mellow company, moreover I could NOT stomach the thought of blowing a week of vacation in LA, so I went up to Bellingham to visit my friend James. Now that I'm in Colorado I'm sad James is no longer in Boulder, but he's happier in Bellingham, which is a pretty lovely place I have to say. I spent a couple of days bumming around by myself in Seattle, found another Hostel From Hell™, and rode some ferry boats. Once with James we got to take long lunches messing about on the waterfront, play in the park, give ourselves sushi belly, try new beers, watch the veep debate with an unruly crowd of Bellinghamsters (they really call themselves that, I'm not making it up), and go hiking near the base of Mt. Baker and begin to plot our summer adventure traversing Ptarmigan Ridge. Oh, and I got to see the Fremont Troll on the way out of town. Photo record of that is here.

I swooped back into LA in time to make the ortho weekend, and here is where it gets sad again. I made arrangements with the wonderful woman who took care of my cats while I traveled to pick them up Sunday the 7th, or whatever the date was. Sunday morning she called me and said that Gibson was very sick and needed to go to the vet, so I said please take him. They called me in a couple of hours and told me as near as they could tell he had a stroke, and was pretty bad off. Somehow I made it through the rest of the class and went over there as soon as I could, knowing what I would probably have to do. I was fine (mostly) until I saw him--he was so skinny I almost didn't recognize him--he had evidently all but stopped eating, and was severely dehydrated too. He couldn't stand up, or hold up his head, or see too well, and he was scared out of his kitty mind. It was awful but I knew the kindest thing to do would be to let him go, he was so far gone. Dr. Jones was very kind, and let me stay with him, and even passed me a box of tissues when my blubbering was beyond control. I got the tiny little box of cremains in the mail yesterday. So now I can mix them with Pearl's and scatter them somewhere nice, I suppose.

By the time it was time to pick up Zooey I was somewhat composed. I did a championship cramming job of stuff into the car, and off we went. Zooey hated the box, and as I was pulling off the highway to get gas in Victorville I realized it was perhaps time to clip her leash to the door handle and let her find her own favorite place. Victorville was a little scary--this guy was roaming the parking lot back and forth across the road, and finally ended up dropping a dollar bill on the ground and convulsing himself with peals of hysterical laughter. We stopped again in Baker so I could get something to eat, and the nice lady at the drive-thru window gave me a small bowl and some water for Zooey. Naturally, she didn't want any of it, or the extra-stinky special wet food I brought to try and get her to eat. She ended up crawling behind my headrest and draping herself over it and falling asleep until we got to St. George, where I gave up and got a hotel room for a few hours. A few of her favorite hiding places are here

The next day was more of the same, but I was glad I stopped in St. George and got to see all of southern Utah by daylight. It was pretty incredible. The dry plains east of Grand Junction were nice too, but Summit County was the best (duh!). The aspens are brilliant gold and just shimmer against the dark evergreens. There was a little snow in the high country even, and the air was clear and crisp and not too cold. I landed at Craig and Jen's awesome little house in Platte Park around 5PM, happy to be there at last.

So far I've just been trying to get my bearings and get organized. It's hard to start your practice when you don't completely uproot yourself and move to a place you hardly know anyone, this is adding a few more wrinkles. But I don't care--I'm so SO happy to be here, I love it already. Even if I do have to stay in Denver for a year or two, since my strongest job prospects so far (super hot one tomorrow morning at an integrative pain clinic, stay tuned!) are here. I did meet a fantastically awesome physio who is the director of rehab at a large ortho facility up in Fort Collins this weekend, which was a nice surprise. I will go up there later this week or after I get back from LA in a couple of weeks to do some observation), and who knows? I'm also trying to figure out how I can make a connection at Boulder County Hospital, because it would be entirely possible to practice 2 days a week up there to start, as long as I have something busy down here. And, this morning I had coffee with a DNBAO from Fred's class 2 years ago who turned out to be so generous and kind and filled with heaps of useful information. I will observe at his office and possibly at the pain clinic where he started a month ago. It really is all about affinity.

I feel very lucky--I've hardly started asking around for help and already I've gotten so much. I try to remember that when I'm feeling scared, nervous, or lonely, and that if I found this much in 3 weeks hobo-crashing with my brother, surely in a few months once I have my own community life will be pretty good. And none of this I could have foreseen a month ago, let alone a year ago when I was struggling hard to answer all the questions about what was I going to do to make this work, to make it work for me, to get the life I wanted out of it. I still don't have all those answers, but I'll figure it out by the time I need them, I think.

The Year of No Middle Ground

It's either way, way up, or way, way down, or just way, way milestone/watershed/sea change either way. No wonder I'm ready to head for the hills for a while.

No sooner did I pass that stinkin' herbology exam and thus complete my nationals OM cert than my aunt and brother called on Sunday to tell me that our grandfather had died in his sleep earlier that day. Like with my grandmother's death (not his wife, my other grandmother is still doing remarkably scrappy and well) earlier this year, it wasn't really a surprise and it was a fair amount of relief, as neither of them had been feeling particularly well, but it's sad in the end when it finally comes. All four of my grandparents mean a great deal to me, and I felt lucky to have them and grow up near them so I could be with them often. I would not be the person I am today without them, that I know. I'd like to write a longer post but I'm having trouble collecting my thoughts. Now that I can finally sit down, so to speak, I feel like I never want to move again.

(Finally) A Bona Fide Acupunk

I got the news late Saturday night, as I was gathering the pizza box and beer bottles (I goat-roped my friend Chris into coming over to help me carry the table and bed into the alley for Salvation Army, then fit my new bike racks to the car) to take the the recycling box and put myself into a hot epsom salt bath and subsequently pass out. My dad called and told me I had a notice from the CA acupunk board, so I took a deep breath and told him to open and it and give me yea or nay. I exhaled when I heard him say with a bright voice it was yea. I gave a happy little exclamation when he told me I passed by a wide margin of 20 points, and resolved to name my next-born kitten Kokko or Bina, or at least send them a nice note thanking them for the tireless hours of painstaking work they did to get us all ready for that heinous exam. The next day I gleefully tossed out my flashcards and exam prep papers, and reflected that if I had gotten the news the day before I could have bundled my box of study binders and books in with the storage carton now bound for Denver instead of schlepping them around with me. Oh well. w00t! I say.

I'm officially a hobo now, without a home to call my own. Cleaning out a place you've lived in for 7 years is a job! Even when it's the size of a hotdog stand. But I finished cleaning and loading the car and dropped the keys in the mail slot at exactly 8:04PM on Sunday night, thus ending my stay at Chateau 2513. Kinda weird, doesn't seem quite real. I'm staying with a friend in the 818. The kitties are staying with a wonderful cat lady for September (endless thanks to Brady for the referral!!) and then I'll take them out to Denver with me in October to stay with my brother until I find work, a home, a life, etc.

This week is consumed by studying for my last NCCAOM exam (which I don't need to practice in CO, it's purely for my own ego because I like letters after my name, and because I put in the time to learn all those formulas and herbs, I'd kinda like the credential), taking my #8 ortho class, and getting packed and off to Yosemite to start the JMT on Monday. I'm looking forward to living in the land of post-card ready scenery and peace-n-quiet, but getting there and getting the permit isn't going to be fun. Sort of like any trip, I guess, or at least like any race. Getting to the start line is the hardest, most stressful part.

I'll try to make a post at VVR (the relative halfway point, depending on how fast you hike) but I will definitely post links to pics and trail journal when they are up, likely in early October. Here's to some of the finest true grime around!

TCM Fried Brain: CALE Edition

Well, it's over. At least for this go 'round. Hopefully, this is the last go 'round ever for all this world and the next, as far as the CA licensing exam is concerned. It made me very tired. About 25% why-are-you-guys-wasting-my-time, 25% waltz-tango-foxtrot-are-you-talking-about, and the rest somewhere in I-think-I-know-what-you're-driving-at-but-not-totally-sure...in other words, I have no idea how things'll shake out. Won't be surprised if I don't make it, will be relieved if I get the envelope with the yellow piece of paper in it after all. Nationals start day after tomorrow, but somehow those aren't as scary. The sitting in that chair in that cold room completely undid the good work of the Harbin Hot Springs yesterday.

For now, I'm content to pour myself another glass of wine and dissolve into Daily Show reruns I've been missing since I've been away at the library.

Travellin' Blues

I totally <3 the new Saabaru, but goddamn I'm over the moon to not have to drive it for at least a couple of days. In 48 hours I've been from LA to Denver then up to Cheyenne, over to Salt Lake, Reno, Sacto, and finally back in SF. I can't remember the last time my eyes were so tired! And 6AM is coming early tomorrow, so off I go. 'Nighty-nite!

TCM-Fried Brain

Oh kittens. This adventuregrrl is worn out and so very, very looking forward to two weeks from now when board madness is at least temporarily over, and hopefully over forever. My brain is so unruly and tired, the stuff I have left to learn is just resisting being crammed in, kind of like when I try to put kitties in the box to take them to the vet and they splay their legs out in all directions so I can't fit them through the little wire door. I know this is the biggest exam I've ever faced in my life, and so none of this is really a surprise...just...damn I'm tired, and stagnant, and antsy, and drained all at the same time.

The traveling isn't making things easier, but hopefully they will help ensure a good score in the end. The mock I took in LA on Sunday didn't go so well as I had hopped (even though it was ridiculously hard, with plenty of terrible questions that are apparently par for the course). It scared me sufficiently to figure out how to get myself up to the Bay for Kokko and Bina's review intensives for the next 2 weeks, coordinate couch-surfing and hotel rooms, craigslist rideshares, etc. I'm feeling a bit better now--Kokko and Bina are amazing, and I almost wish I had made the trek up to Berkeley every Sunday for the regular review class. Oh well. I took another mock in SF last weekend, and did considerably better (the questions were clearer too...). I've been doing well on case studies and other practice tests too...I just can't seem to make myself care about arcane pointless crap like crossing points that have no clinical significance whatsoever (then again, does knowing that a surging pulse is a yin-within-yang pulse help me not harm the public? but I digress...). I'm working on needling depths, precautions, techniques and the like, since I know that will feature prominently (and it should--that's the whole point of a board). This weekend's ortho madness will be a nice departure, as Dr. Neil has promised to teach us cool stuff like some kind of super cupping and whatever else he's picked up in his nearly 30 years of practice. And it will be nice to see the little whiskered ones again, and hug them and kiss them and generally squish them good.

The car thing is also semi-sorted out, which makes me feel semi-better. I fly out to Denver on Monday morning to pick up my little blue prize and drive it straight back to SF for one more week of review, and then a week of national boards and general relaxing in sweltering fire-smoked heat up in Redding afterward. Lars still sits awaiting his fate in a tow yard in SLO, waiting for an adjuster to go and tell me what I already know, that he's a total and he's only worth his salvage value plus whatever repairs I've made recently. Sigh. Blink. Sigh. Stagnant liver qi much? Should I be dreaming of volcanos or all my teeth falling out apropos of nothing or none of the above? Groan. No wait, groans are kidney...

Then there is figuring out moving without having a definite destination or end date in mind, as I need to go on ahead and look for work and see what happens where before I plunk down the money to lease an apartment, drag the kitties with, etc. And of course my JMT epic. I do believe I have everything except the wool undies for camp, the water tx tabs and the food. And renting the Bearikade from Wild Ideas. The Jetboil goes to 9 levels of awesome--I've been cooking stuff on and off for the last 2 weeks to avoid eating out, and it's been great. The tent weighs a mere 1.5 pounds--I think I'm going to seam-seal it and try it out in my dad's back yard while I'm up there. Maybe even a trip to Marble Mtns or Warner Wilderness is in order, if I can get James on board. Shasta has no snow, and Craig's transfer to the law school in Denver was accepted so he and Jen are scrambling to get their stuff out from Vermont and settled in ready to begin L2 in about 3 weeks, so climbing Shasta or Rainier is out this summer. I'm happy they are moving though--hopefully I'll be in Boulder or Fort Collins soon and then we can play together again!

And now...back to crossing points.

Shameless Proud Mama Moment

My good friend and pro photog Leila shot this when she came over for dinner last week, and I just love it! Of course, it's small pommes de terre for Leila--if I ever get married she's definitely my go-to, and she should be yours too!

Ok, imitating the cute sleepy kittens now.

Why I Keep the Cuteness Blogroll Handy

So the rest. Class was good--Bina and Kokko were awesome. I especially appreciated the case study practice. It's anathema to me to not read a question carefully from top to bottom, but with these that's the worst thing you can do--you're guaranteeing you'll fuck your shit up. Some questions I didn't even read--I could eliminate 3 choices with tongue and pulse alone. I couldn't believe I was about 92% right in the end. So, some more confidence that I sorely need right now.

I found my way to Monterey, and met my dad and Sharon at the same place they took us for dinner last year. We were even at the same table. No, I didn't order the same dish. I'm not that boring and predictable. It turns out that their rental broke a pipe or something the day they were supposed to arrive so the rental company put them up in the most ridiculous house off 17 Mile Drive for a week gratis. 4 bedrooms, 4 full bathrooms, not much living space, but a back deck to die for that looked out over the steeply dropping and forested hill toward the ocean. Definitely less worse than the hostel. We spent Monday messing about at Point Lobos, where I learned that whales have really, really big vertebrae and if you were to plow up the land around the whaling cabin you'd dig up all kinds of cool artifacts. There was eve a coal-mining operation for a brief time. Who knew?

The next morning I hit the road early, got to SLO in time to study for a bit and have a coffee before meeting a friend for lunch. Almost home, or so I thought. I got on the freeway innocently enough, I checked my rearview and blindspot to change lanes, when suddenly the girl in front of me lost control and was swerving all over the place. It happened in about a second or maybe two, I really didn't have anywhere to go but straight into her passenger side as she slid around. Neither of us was hurt, but oh, poor Lars is gone! Hemorrhaging antifreeze, not drivable at all. Apparently there was a delivery truck in the #1 lane that started to veer into her and she cut right to get out of his way. He didn't stop, but presently a guy pulled over and said he had seen everything and gave us a plate number. We hugged him. Then the CHP arrived, took statements, we called insurance, and all that rot. They asked me where I wanted to have Lars towed. I told them I was 200 miles from home and I had no idea. The tow guy was really nice and said he could hold the car for 24 hours at the yard with no storage fee for me. I had an inkling that I may never see Lars again so I had to get all my stuff out, and the girl offered to drive me back into town so I could try and get my shit together at my friend's office.

Which took hours. And I was hot and tired and cranky and hungry and I ended up having to spend a night at a hotel because all the rentals cars were "sold" for that day. Argh. I must have looked pathetic with my little hobo pile of luggage, books, maps, acupuncture travel kit, emergency car tools, etc. My friend had plans with his girlfriend (did I mention it was his birthday the next day?) but was kind enough to send a friend of his who I had met once out to meet me and entertain me and generally keep me company while I had dinner and a few beers. And a scotch at this lovely and quiet bar we stopped in on the way back to my hotel. After chiding me for keeping him out late on a school night and making sure I got in ok he rode home and I swallowed a handful of Ping Wei tablets and went to sleep.

The next morning I picked up my rental, headed over to the tow yard to take pictures and sign over the papers (it's totaled for sure and I'm not paying $2500 to tow it home or storage to figure out what to do with it even if it won't be). It made me sad. I love that car, and I wasn't ready to say good-bye, and I'm definitely not happy about having to figure out how to affect a replacement all of a sudden with everything else that's happening. So it goes, I guess. Lawyer Mark is going to help me put my claim to the girl's insurance together, and he thinks it should be pretty open/shut as far as getting it paid. I sent away for the CHP report on Friday, we'll see if it turns up anything on the plate search.

On the other hand, I got my nationals go-ahead to test, ortho is more than half over, my Jetboil and new GoLite bag came yesterday, and I got the contact info for Dr. Jeff Spencer, (yeah, that Dr. Jeff Spencer) from Dr. Lerner this weekend, and my classmate Mikel was offered a job at both the ortho group and pain clinic where he observed this month (they basically told him, "Where have you been all our lives?!") which made me happy because I like Mikel and hopeful because Dr. Lerner says it happens a lot, if we acupunks would just come out of our shells and connect with other docs already.

So, maybe things are looking up. And these really are some of the cutest things I've seen in a while...

Picaresque

What a... mixed bag this week has been. This really should have been put into about 5 posts, but time is not my friend lately so the smooshing commences of past posts and present observations.

7-5-08

I'm having this weird reaction. I drove up to Berkeley for class tomorrow. As I started heading west toward Altamont Pass, and seeing the vast open expanse of rolling golden hills studded with dark green and grey oak, I started getting all sentimental about leaving. Not about leaving SoCal. Just Cali in general, I think. I mean, it's pretty uniquely cool to live in a place named for a warrior queen. Even so, I can't really think of any place I'm burning to go to live. I found myself wishing as I was bumping along the margin of the Oakland Hills that I could want to be there, but I just felt weary and overwhelmed, and like I arrived to the party about 40 years too late. As usual. Am I really this old?

I found my hostel soon enough. I even got rock star parking right in front. The beautiful 3-story Craftsman with garden in front and big porch to the side looked so inviting; I walked inside, and... kind of a dump, really. I mean, I've stayed in plenty of hostels and I certainly wasn't expecting the Ritz. But for what they were charging I was hoping for a place where I at least didn't have to unscrew the light bulb to turn off the lamp and the trash was more than a plastic grocery bag lashed to the door handle, half full of previous tenants' trash. Oh well. I found my check-in slip and discovered that my room was directly across from the front door. This would become infinitely more annoying late into the night when every late arrival woke me up from my tenuous slumber. But the place has potential, as all old houses that have been uglified to make cheap rooming houses do. The woodwork has miraculously not been painted over, the hideous oilcloth carpet covers what could be lovely wood floors, and I have one half of a once-magnificent boarded-over stone fireplace in my room. The artist and mother in me wants to undo it all and restore it to its original splendor, not for vanity but for love.

Other than that, the management is too stereotypically Berkeley for words. The check-in slip exhorted that my stay in Berkeley (and my life!) be "filled with joy and purposes." Boy is it ever. Pass boards, move, find new car, get new life. But I'll get to that later. The best part was the contact info in case of problems, reprinted here exactly except for area codes 'cuz publishing cell #'s without people's permissions is rude:

Jian (555) 464-9828
Justin (555) 849-4800
Dearl (***) ***-**** (telepathy)

I thought, if they are serious, that's pretty dorktastic. On the other hand, if they are being ironic, that's pretty brilliant. After the frat party incident though, I'm leaning toward dork.

Ah, the frat parties--goddamn kids are annoying and get the hell off my lawn! I came home from walking around at 9:30, everything seemed quiet. I got hopeful. I thought maybe since it was summer and most of the kids are gone...and maybe that giant chalk drawing of male genitalia (not to scale!) on the sidewalk (and helpfully labeled for the anatomically illiterate) was from the previous night's bacchanalia in honor of the 4th, and everyone was out late getting totally fucked up and tonight they are quietly wallowing in their own crapulent (it doesn't mean what it looks like, look it up!) wages of last night's many sins...

Sadly, no.

Around 11:30 it began with a bang and devolved from there. The most precious part by far was the withering rejoinders of the hostel staff to the oblivious reveling next door, like repeated (repeated, I say!) shouts of, "It's a quarter past Sh-h-h-h-h-h, PLEASE close your door or keep it down!" Um, yeah. You can guess how effective it was. I thought of the scene in Canadian Bacon where Rhea Perlman's character is up in the CNT with an automatic rifle and the mounties are buzzing about in helis begging her to please put away her gun and come down. Fortunately all things are impermanent, and I think most people were passed out by 2:30.

Now I am drinking a pint of coffee (that's right, served in a bona fide pint glass) with my bagel for breakfast. I love that we are listening to Bach's B-Minor Mass, one of my favorite oratorios ever. And there does seem to be a preponderance of ridiculously cute puppies here. My favorite so far is the little black lab mix who couldn't have been more than about 3 months who has tied a pretty sound tournequet around the tree to which his leash is girthed while waiting for his human to get coffee.

The Onion, Je T'adore!

Usually funny, but every so often they come up with something that blinds you and gives you vertigo with its unbridled awesome:


Bush Tours America To Survey Damage Caused By His Disastrous Presidency

Descend Into Madness

See the album here

It began innocently enough. Long ago when I first moved back to LA I began perusing guidebooks of local mountains that I had been too busy racing my bike to pay attention to the first time I lived here. And, those who know me know that I love a challenge, and that if you tell me something is really hard you'll make me want to try it even more. When I read that Iron Mountain was "the hardest climb" in the San Gabriels, I was totally in. Just a matter of when.

But life happens, and there are many, many other adventures to be had. Also, the route I wanted to do required a shuttle (I was pretty sure--and after having done it you have no idea how grateful I am that I didn't try to do a yo-yo) and I usually end up going solo on my rides and runs. However, my time to pull up stakes from SoCal is really drawing nigh, and I've been making a real effort to cram in all I can while I'm still here. At June's ortho class I brought maps and such to dinner with my friend Steve, who thought it sounded like a good enough time. We made the plans for after I got back from Colorado.

I at least had the presence of mind to set an early start time, which is good because I ran a little late, then the car shuttles took longer to set up than planned, etc. But we stepped off the chair at Baldy around 10:30 and thought we'd be fine. Off we went up the rude beginning that is getting onto Devil's Backbone. Every time I do that route I see how people get themselves into trouble in winter--windy, icy, and dangerously exposed, sometimes on both sides. We clambered onto the top and discovered the usual hordes at the summit--fortunately, Baldy has lots of stone windbreaks to accomodate them.

We didn't tarry long, and we struck out for West Baldy which we could see. I missed the use trail to the summit of West Baldy and I'm glad I stopped a hiker coming up when things didn't seem right--turns out we were headed down to the Village via Bear Flat. That would not have done. We turned right and scrambled straight up the hill onto the top and looked around. On the map it seems fairly obvious which is San Antonio ridge. In the field, in retrospect, it was decently clear, but we wanted to be dead sure--ending up on the wrong ridge would have been worse than ending up in the Village and having to hike 4 miles up the road. There are no trails from West Baldy, so we were on our own. We scrutinized the ridge to our left, and shot bearings off what we thought was Baden-Powell (it was) and at least I still remember how to do that...

Still not 100% certain, we agreed to hike to the first peak on the ridge and turn around if it seemed...not right. As we started down the steep shale slope, we found a faint use trail, and as we continued slipping and sliding down we began to see cairns and figured we must be on the right route because there was nothing else out here to get to. We had a bit of trouble keeping to the ridge to find the saddle because we kept having to dip below the edge to avoid thick stands of pretty vicious chaparral. We were averaging about 1 kph, and figured we'd get to Iron around 6 or 6:15. We downed some chow and set off again. The chaparral was harder to avoid in this section, and after crashing through a short stretch we decided to don pants--stinging nettle my ass, we saw none. But I'm oh so glad I thought there might be and insisted be both bring pants.

We kept making our way along the undulating ridge, and finally around 4:30 found ourselves staring at Iron Mountain's fabled arete. If you don't know an arete is a rugged, rocky knife edge in mountains. It was class IV for sure, but even if we had ropes the rock was so loose and crumbly it wouldn't have held. We eyed it and got spooked--it looked sketchy. We discussed alternatives: we could try to go back the way we came and suffer back up all the loose crap and chaparral we descended, we could try and descend into the Alison Gulch drainage and find the old mine trail to the car, or we could try and descend into the drainage on the other side and pick up the Fish Fork canyon and hike out via the narrows to the car. All of them involved hours of grueling work we didn't have, and only bail-out #1 was a known quantity. We gulped, took deep breaths, and decided to try the aretes and hope it looked better on the other side.

The rock was loose, but if you were slow and careful and tested all your holds before weighting onto them, it was ok--not quite as scary as it looked, but a screw-up would have meant serious injury or possibly death, so it was a little tense for me. Even while it was tense, it was still kind of fun--I pretended I was Jamie and thought of how much fun she would have been having. It took a while, but we finally made it to the top at 6:30PM. What a relief! I signed the register, we had a quick bite, and 10 minutes later we were headed down an obvious use trail down the south ridge. The light was beginning to turn golden, but I figured (based on what I know about my pace) we would be at least down onto the properly built trail that made up the bottom 4 miles to the car by 9, if not at the car by 9. Unfortunately, I didn't figure Steve into that. Poor Steve!

He was strong the whole way to Iron, and was doing better than me on the arete being a better climber. But by the time we got to the top he was out of water (we both were) and tired, and had blisters on the pads of all his toes which made his descent pure and slow misery. Add to that that while the "trail" was better than nothing, it was steep hardscrabble in many places and studded with yucca onto which you could impale yourself if you weren't careful. I agonized over our slow pace, watching the sun drop lower and lower and the light turn redder and redder until it was going, going, gone. I forgot to pack my headlamp--I never dreamed I'd need it. I didn't think Steve had one either and was getting really nervous because we were still on that shitty trail in the dark. There was a point at which I squatted down on my heels and "glissaded" down that way. It turned out to be the safest and most expedient way down in many places. I tried to keep my panic at bay and told myself that we were ok, we were safe, we were on trail and headed down, all we had to do was keep moving, even slowly and eventually we'd get to the car.

Fortunately Steve had a headlamp and fortunately (did I also mention it's about new moon time so that was no help?) the trail was still fairly easy for me to see in the dark, with no confusing forks or treacherous sections. I also happened on a white manzanita bush as it was getting dark and flashed on when I went to ecology camp in 5th grade and they taught us that if we were thirsty we could suck on a manzanita leaf (the white works best since it's bigger) and it would help us salivate and feel less thirsty. Damn if that shit doesn't work! Thank-you Whiskeytown Environmental School!
I kept leading the pace, and I could hear an occasional moan or mumble from Steve behind me. I felt wretched--I know how much he was suffering and it was all my fault (I warned him that this was an untested route and anything could happen, but still...it's my nature to feel responsible). I have been in many an adventure race and felt just like him--blisters, thirst, hunger, nausea, exhaustion, etc.--just wanting to curl up and not move another inch for a week. It's then that you rely on your teammates, and I tried to be a good one. Towing was not an option, and he wouldn't let me take his pack. So I tried to keep calling out our elevation as we dropped to try to keep his spirits up. Every time I checked in with him he quoted the episode of the Simpsons where Homer becomes a missionary and shouts "Get me off this damn rock!".

By this time we were at least onto better trail, but around 10PM we came to a clearing and Steve lay down and curled up like a shrimp. He was officially miserable. I ticked off our options: we could both stop and sleep in the dirt, I could leave him and hike to the bottom to get water and hike back up, or we could keep going. They all sounded pretty hideous, but Steve opted for the last and hauled himself up. He kept telling me how hardcore I was but really, he was. I know how hard it is to dig beneath that suffering and keep going when every fiber of your being is shouting "Fuck this!" and wills you to quit. And for the record I was better off than he was, but I was pretty done too.

At last we saw the lights of the campground below, and popped out. We headed over to the nearest one where people were still up (it was nearly midnight) and asked for water. An older man was nice and gave us some ice and his last small bottle, but this younger sketchy dude walked up to a tree in front of us and pulled out 5 knives that had been thrown into the trunk, and then crawled into a tent and made some strange crashing noises. Steve and I thanked the nice man and headed out the last half mile to the car. 12:15 was the official finish time. Except that we still had to drive up to the ski lift to get my car. 1:30AM then. That bottle of gatorade that Steve left in my car for the finish sure tasted good. I led him down the mountain and onto the 210 while I took the 10 and jesus h. christ on a raft that was one of the scarier parts of the outing. I drew a grateful breath as I exited onto Cloverfield. I hobbled into home and texted Steve I was home safe. He did the same. I had to extrasuperduper scrub myself to get all the grime off--it was like patina! I think I crawled into bed at 3:30 after drinking another pint of water.

And damned if I was just wired! Could not sleep. Decided to get up and go to review class with Kirsten (it was pretty excruciating) like a good kid. I drank another pint on waking and it was still a few hours before I had to pee. Cripes. Today my quads are screaming at me and my whole body is so tired it's hard to concentrate, but I'm still glad we went and did it. I got my wish. And even Steve agrees. Yes, he's still talking to me and seems like he still wants to be friends. We survived the gnarliest hike I've done outside of racing. Fair play to you, Steve.

Engineer's Guide to Cats

Jen sent this to me last week so I am using this study break to put it up here, especially for Karen! The corporal cuddling technique made me laugh, but the cat yodeling made tears come out of my eyes.

Happiness Is

Watching the sun set and listening to the birds conversate while reading the Mountain Gazette with a Mothership Wit in hand. That is all.

Colorado My Home

6-22-06

Yeah, finally getting around to finishing this. The internet tradishunz are unreliable here at Chateau LoLo this week, what can I say? I’m back in LA now, and not exactly happy about it. Would you believe I cried actual, real tears as the bus pulled out of the Boulder park/ride? Yes, I did—I didn’t want to leave that much. What a life I can see for myself there and then some—the only hard part is trying to choose between Ft. Collins and Boulder. I see why some people say that Ft. Collins reminds them of SLO—it’s similar, a smallish college town with bikes a-plenty (almost a 1:1 bike/resident ratio) and more delicious beer than you can shake a growler at, and some killer housing stock to boot, trails and climbing areas right next to town, with proximity to more if you want to venture into Rocky Mountain National Park or go the other direction into southern Wyoming.

I did finally get to visit New Belgium (they were closed on Monday after I finally found it) and it’s a pretty neat model of business and sustainability—they even give you a cruiser (many people have been enjoying Fat Tire Ale, a flagship beer, for years) after a year of employment and a trip to Belgium after 5. I also had plenty of time to wander around town on foot and explore, and even run some trail around one of the local reservoirs, which kicked my ass since I haven’t been running and it was hot and dry as a bone that day. I also got to spend many hours with my brother’s girlfriend’s mom Mary, who was kind enough to put me up and feed me and let me watch her garden while picking her brain about all things Ft. Collins or Colorado. She has a beautiful old house about 100 years old right in Old Town, adorned with prayer flags her friends bring her when they vist Nepal and a garden (she is an amazing gardener/farmer and even does work professionally) filled with baby herbs and veggies just starting to grow in the ground. She rides and hikes and backpacks and skis and shoes. She co-founded an outdoor school with her ex-husband. I’m really quite in awe of her. She also dos indeed make a killer pesto from the basil she grows, which we sampled on pizza with pignolas for dinner. People rode by on bikes day and night—students, cyclists, commuters, you name it. Seriously, I think I might have to flip a coin.

Jamie’s birthday on Tuesday was also lots of fun—she is gorgeous no matter what she wears or how grubby she gets but damn that girl is exquisite when she dresses up! We met some friends at the sumptuous Med for dinner and drinks and I had a nice time getting to meet even more of J’s very wide circle of friends. One of them was a cyclist (one of the few—most of ‘em just climb) so I made sure I got some beta on the local riding scene. It sounds agreeable, to say the least. Wednesday was more of a lazy day—we met Jamie’s lovely LA friend Donna for coffee at Amante (seriously amazing) and then I tried to motivate to go to the school and poke about but lagged and then it looked like rain (it didn’t much). I did get to have dinner with my old classmate White Eagle and catch up with him on the personal and professional goings on, which was no end of fun because we each keep in touch with different people. He had a rough first year owing to joining a practice full of dishonest douchebags, but he’s on his own now and doing fine. I also had an interesting (and tasty) beer from Left Hand out of Longmont called Juju Ginger which tastes like, yeah…ginger. It was really quite good. If it sounds like I’ve done nothing but drink beer and eat pizza for two weeks, that’s about the size of it, btw.

Thursday was my last day in town. We met Donna on her way out at her beautiful hotel for breakfast, and then bought tickets for a ride on Banjo Billy’s Bus Tour of Boulder—we just HAD to. In the mean time, we resolved to…laze on the couch and watch a beautiful little film called Once. I have the soundtrack in my head to this day (when it’s not playing the Decembrists, that is). We got downtown in time for lunch (yeah, you guessed it—pizza at Old Chicago’s and a local micro called Hazed and Infused (very good!). We found a bunch of older ladies sporting red straw hats in front of the Boulderado hotel and figured this must be the place.
We got on the bus that was built to look like a log cabin but came out looking like a hillbilly shack (read the whole story by clicking on the link above) and set off to hear tales of ghosts, suicides and sex scandals that are the stuff of legend. We even got mooned by 3 frat boys as we drove through the CU neighborhood known as The Hill. The stories made Jamie sentimental and not want to leave Boulder for even a little bit.

The final adventure was a bbq on a farm east of town where Shala (who wasn’t able to take me skiing that day but promised she would if I ever came back) does some work. The ramshackle barn was full of cool old stuff, including a very old-timey sleigh and piles of old skis. Even the gates were made out of skis. Soon a few of Shala’s climbing buddies showed up and we started in on the food and beer. A couple of groups each showed up with a dog, one of which was an adorable 4-month black lab/border collie mix that I just wanted to scoop up and take home. He had fun nipping the heels and trying to herd the other dog (a chow mix of some kind) until the chow put him in his place. A few of us played on the swing hanging from a giant oak tree until we realized we were getting eaten alive by mossies. There was even a guy who grew up in Santa Rosa so we had fun picking each others’ brains and comparing California with Colorado. The sunset set the clouds over the mountains on fire, and then a large moon came up and lit up the place almost like it was day. Lightning split the sky a few times in the east and thunder rumbled but no rain came. They say that’s pretty typical. What an awesome way to spend a summer evening—I am totally signing up as soon as I figure out where.

Alas, Friday morning dawned and it was time to stuff everything back into the suitcase and pack (how had I ever gotten it all in to begin with?) and head on over to the bus stop to come back to LA. Jamie and I laughed as we hugged good-bye and promised to keep in touch (neither one of us really has any idea where we will be or what we will be doing in about two months) and that was it. I really did cry for a few minutes as I left—just welled up and got all plum-pitty and sad as the bus pulled away. I guess I should pay attention to those heart strings—they grew like honey-suckle vines around a Kentucky barn in those two weeks I spent there. It's been so long since I could make a choice about my life from my own heart I've almost forgotten what it feels like. The other song I’ve had stuck in my head since I’ve been back? Colorado My Home from The Unsinkable Molly Brown.

3 Days in Snowmass

6-16-08

In Ft. Collins now, waiting for lunch to arrive. Now I’m confused, because so far I really like this place too. I’m also fairly certain that when I visit Bend I will like it, and if I go to Utah to hang with Jamie in October I will find that agreeable too. I have a distinct pain about leaving California too. I just handed over my driver’s license to get a beer (Skinny Dip from New Belgium, simply divine!) and thought that if I move here I will have to give it up and get a Colorado one. Which shouldn’t be giving me this much anxiety because all I have to do is return to California and apply for one and I’m a Cali girl again. Totally silly. I think too about what if I stayed in northern Cal, and while part of me really wants to, another part of me would feel like I was missing out, settling for the comfortable and the known rather than seize this opportunity to start over in every sense of the phrase and explore part of the world I have never before seen. It is clear that that would be the best thing for my adventuring…I would pretty much have to learn how to climb and backcountry ski to live here, and I’ve wanted to do that for years so what is my problem exactly? Separation anxiety, I suppose. And because I really do love California with all my heart and soul, it is a hard place to leave. But opportunity is deafening…

So I’m going to wander about the town and see what’s here today, and then have dinner with Jen’s mum who apparently makes a mean basil pesto. More on Ft. Collins later.

The backpacking though! Just wow. Eye-popping, jaw-dropping beautiful those Elk Mountain are! The driven-too-hard-for-my-own-good part of me is a wee titch disappointed that we didn’t get all the way to the top, but most of me is just slap-happy I got to see what I saw. And I got to meet Jamie’s friend James who is seriously good people and might even take me up Rainier in August after my boards!! It deserves some exclamation points—if I get to do Shasta with Craig in August and the JMT in September this is going to be the best year of adventure I’ve had in a long, long time. And that’s not even considering canyoneering in Utah in October with Jamie…

So, we got to the trailhead around 1, after lunch in Glenwood Springs and finding Jamie an Ensolite pad at a local army surplus store. Even without the polarized glasses, everything looks riotously green and blooming and…the prodigal summer, I guess. Get it while you can, ‘cuz life (or at least the growing season) is kinda short. My new pack is awesome btw—totally comfortable. And while I will always love cooking in the backcountry, I may have made at least a partial conversion to dried food that cooks in a bag from Mary Jane’s Farm, especially for days of long hiking when all you want to do is eat and not wait half an hour for dinner to be ready. Anyway.

Everything was going swimmingly until we hit our first creek crossing. We could scooch across a log over a very cold and fast-moving snowmelt runoff, or find a better ford. We opted for the ford and hiked back downstream a ways, nearly got attacked by a mean dog belonging to some douche who was camped WAY too close to the creek, and found a spur trail leading down to…the best place to cross. Which wasn’t great, but…James went first, and toward the far side stepped in some holes up above his knees (he’s 6’1”). Jamie and I cast side-long glances at each other and I set out, trying to position myself so my knees wouldn’t get buckled by the current, and was quickly in so much pain from the frigid water I just crashed through to the other side as fast as possible. James and I surveyed the wet hems of our shorts and ruefully joked that we had wet our pants. Jamie made it across, and we prepped feet and changed back to hiking shoes, and soon encountered another trib that wasn’t as easy to cross as James had remembered. We hopped across rivulets and threaded our way upstream, and finally decided to build a bridge from some deadfall. They said it was an easy crossing, but it looked sketchy so I opted to go back down and wade. After that the bushwhacking along an intermittent game trail into our Camp 1. It wasn’t the traditional Camp 1, but we were tired and it was getting late. We found reasonably flat spots with good access to Snowmass Creek and a relatively bare spot for a camp fire. James was a champ and volunteered to pump water both nights (about 7 liters at a time!). Jamie and I set about trying to find firewood.

We discovered that even though it hadn’t been super warm, the marshmellows had glued themselves together in a morass of sugary, bleached goo. The chocolate shattered like glass. The graham crackers weren’t much better off, but we made due and they were delicious. The temperature also dropped precipitously, and I was grateful to be able to dry out my shoes and socks (too bad one sock got a little too close to the heat and burned…at least it was an old pair). I slept ridiculously well, considering it was my first night out. I think I finally crawled out of my tent at 8:30, about 2 hours after I normally get up. The sun was melting off all the ice crystals from the leaves on the ground, and as soon as the sun came up it was HOT.

More creek crossings and cow path scouting awaited us. James found a bunch of vertebrae in the debris of a slide area. The trees were bent over at a steep angle to the slope and the uprooted fir trees were obviously from much higher up. I discovered the joy (and by joy I mean ouch) of stinging nettles that, while not too high were stingy enough if you dragged your flesh through them just right. We reached the traditional Camp 2, had lunch, then set down packs to cross the talus slope toward the waterfall. I wanted to try to get all the way to Pierre Lakes at the top, but the trail was anything but clear after we came to another snow-covered slide, and we opted to turn around there after taking some awesome pics of Jamie frolicking. Jamie added that she wanted to try to hike back to trad Camp 1 in the interest of less trail time the next day, and we had a lot of daylight left so off we went.

We found tent sites that were a bit downhill. Jamie said the next day if the tent door hadn’t stopped her she would have slid down into the creek. We woke up to the most amazing vista right outside the door. Have I mentioned that Mary Jane’s Farm is the best? We made short work back to the car—the slowest part was opting to scooch across the creek on a log that was a LOT rougher on actual contact than it looked from the shore. Foolishly, I opted not to don pants. James says he got some pretty great shots of me making painful grimaces as scraped my tender inner thighs along that damned tree.

The next few hours were a most wonderful sightseeing tour of Colorado. We headed toward Aspen for lunch, and then drove up Independence Pass where, upon getting out of the car we were accosted by a woman who wanted to know if we had “any beers for sale” that she could purchase to take the sting out of waiting for someone to come and tow/fix her car so she could get home to Leadville. It was chilly and windy at 12-something thousand feet, and I reflected that I shouldn’t be wearing sandals until I saw the woman ahead of us hobbling through the slush in wedge-heel sandals and gave her the award instead. We did the obligatory pictures at the vista deck, and spotted two really hot guys and skis getting ready to head up to where a few people on snow mobiles were already towing skiers. Jamie swears one of them was Bear Grylls. God I love this state!

After that we sped through Leadville and on to Idaho Springs, where we sat in an expensive and over-chlorinated hot spring tub that wasn’t nearly as nice as Avila but felt good all the same. Then, on to Beaujay’s for pizza and beer. I had a Skinny Dip (summer offering from New Belgium) and Odells 90 Shilling (do click through on the link and read the side bar where you can actually take classes in brewing science and the best master's project in the world), both awesomely delicious. We even got back to Boulder in time to upload pictures and watch The Flying Scotsman with Agnes draped over the top of the teevee. The pack, btw, performed brilliantly--light and so comfy--I can't wait to add ultralight bag, shelter, and cookset to the mix for the JMT in September. What a brilliant trip!

Soundtrack of Boulder Part 1

The Decembrists are coming!

Boulder Dispatch #1

So, I've been here for about 3 days now, and I really, really don't care if I never go home, other than to collect my kitties of course. I would have to get really, really good at riding bikes and climbing rocks and mountains, and running them, and wouldn't that totally suck? I can't believe how clear and clean everything looks, and just...uncrowded. I'm sure this town has its share of ass-hats as well, but so far everyone I've met (and Jamie knows LOTS of people being the beautiful and charismatic social butterfly that she is) has been pretty cool. And I know that I'm still in the throes of novelty as when anyone goes to any foreign country, and in about a month I'll probably be crying for the familiar (although not all of it, I guarantee). But still. What an awesome town this is!

I got in Monday night, and headed over to South Sun brewery where Jamie works to have a beer and wonder what to do with myself until she got off. As it turns out I didn't need to wonder much--I had hardly started my fragrant and herbaliciously hoppy FYIpa when a friend of hers who works at the legendary Neptune's Mountaineering walked in with a friend, so the 3 of us sat and ate and drank together. Shala is going to take me on my first backcountry ski adventure next Thursday before I go home! We got to go in and see Neptune's today, which has a climbing museum with some pretty amazing old gear and some quirky gross stuff like a preserved frost-bitten toe off one of the local mountaineers. They also have a bench made entirely from ice axes, with which I fell in love with instantly and want one for my future porch for sitting in with someone special after a long day of adventuring with dogs at our feet and beers in our hands and a setting sun in front of us.

Tuesday was kind of an overview day--we wandered about downtown, got some coffee, wandered some more, saw the exquisite Shambala Center, wandered some more, then when Jamie left for work I hiked back into town and saw Blindsight and bought a couple of books I'd been wanting. Yesterday we did mostly trip errands, and spent some time lusting after stuff in the Montbell store (especially these quilted down skirts. We did get to go to the local community acu clinic and have treatments, and the acu was very nice and very cool when I told her I was a newly minted grad and wanted to work/open a CA clinic of my own someday. Plus, since the insomnia is back it really really helped me sleep the last 2 nights. I did another monster urban hike around the south/east part of town. I was fairly knackered by the time I got home, and after washing dinner down with another fantastic beer offering from New Belgium (which we are going to visit in Ft. Collins next week--yay!) I was all in. I think I woke up with drool on my face this morning.

Now, we are putting the finishing touches on our packs to be ready for when James picks us up in the morning to go to Snowmass for 3 days of backpacking. We had a great day--breakfast at Lucille's complete with beignets, sealing James' tent, an intensely beautiful hike to Mallory Cave (closed for bat nesting at the moment) in which we fortunately discovered that the soles of my boots were ready to peel themselves almost completely clear of the boots within 2 miles of hiking (guess I get my wish and don't have to hike in heavy boots after all...hope it's not TOO snowy up there...). We finished by giving ourselves sushi bellies for dinner in town and then dispersing to pack. I'm excited to take out the new pack--I wonder how it will feel after a few miles on the trail? Stay tuned...

I Finally Saw Blindsight!

So last night I hiked into town to catch Blindsight at the Boulder Theater, and words can't express how glad I am that I did--it was beyond awesome, for so many reasons. I really needed to see this right now as I'm trying to figure out just what getting off the sidelines and becoming engaged will look like in my new life as an acupuncturist. My favorite part, other than the kids playing in the ice palace near the top of the peak, of course, had to be Sabriye, the German woman who funded her own way to Tibet after being told by her country's peace corps that they couldn't place blind people in the field, and founded Braille Without Borders, a school for blind kids in Lhasa. She was simply. totally. luminous. I wish I had $20 to go see it again tonight...


The film closed with this--there was a point on the climb when one of the girls was singing this song softly along the trek, but this guy is truly awesome. He got the biggest cheers of just about anyone, I think:

Music For a Wednesday

Not the least of which has been happening this last week, but I feel like I really need these right now.

Farewell to the Angeles 2-Fer

It may or may not have been my last trip to the Angeles--I'm hoping to do an awesome x-c route linking up Iron Mountain with Mt. Baldy and maybe some others, and I still haven't done the Bridge to Nowhere and the Fish Fork Narrows. Perhaps later in June when I'm back from CO. Brock wants to do Sans G and Jac, but that can be a Farewell to the San Bernardinos.

7AM came early on Saturday after a late night for both of us. Chris confessed he was about a hair's breadth from texting me that he was bailing--he said he almost called Brock and asked him to come along but was so afraid he'd want to bail that he didn't. But he rallied, because if he hadn't I don't know what I would have done. Maybe I'd have gone, maybe I'd have done something else, I don't know.

It was a perfect day, though--bright, not too warm, not too windy. The lot at Icehouse was its usual jam-packed self, but most people don't seem to make it up even as far as the Saddle, so I wasn't too worried. We set out at our usual brisk pace, and began catching people group by group. Somewhere around the 2 mile mark we came on the first group of what must have been a huge Scouting trip--I swear we must have passed nearly 30 of these guys by the time we got to the Saddle. What we immediately noticed was how. much. stuff. they were all carrying. Not only were the packs huge but they were also hill-billied out with all kinds of stuff festooning the outsides--stuff I'd never seen on a backpack, like full-size lawn chairs, hack saws, and the like. Turns out the were heading over the Saddle to Comanche for one night only...I remember backpacking through there on my way up from Lytle Creek and about losing my shit because the little gnats kept getting into every conceivable facial orifice as I crawled up that drainage trying to catch up to my group that had left earlier that morning.

Onward we sped with our feather-light daypacks until we reached the Saddle, where a stiff cold wind was screaming through the gap. We found a spot in the lee of a tree to stop and refuel, and then on up the Cucamonga Trail to our destination. The backside section of that trail is really fun--mostly undulating sidehilling that goes fast. There was almost no one back there either...so quiet! We passed that creepy mine opening, and soon we were at the second saddle that put us onto the final ridge we would be climbing. Up, up, up...at least a mile of those switchbacks and damn we marveled how quickly they get you up or down! Before we knew it we were at the fork. Where most people went right, we went straight onto a much less-traveled trail that would take us over to Etiwanda.

Etiwanda isn't labeled on most trail maps, including the USGS quads, but it IS on the Sierra Club 100 Peaks list. It doesn't see much traffic. As we contoured around the ridgeline, we got to cross more small snowfields...snowfields that had NO tracks at all, so we knew that no one had been there at least since the last snowfall. We had a bit of uncertainty deciding which of the little bumps on the ridge was the peak, and got to do some steep x-c exploring to figure it out (it's not marked on the map, right?). The climbing register nestled in some craggy rocks gave it away. The last entry was 11/27/07. We added ours and spent a few moments looking about at the stark and fire-scarred landscape. A look over the ridge down into the valley lands to the east below showed that the fire had burned all the way up to this point, had probably burned over most of Cucamonga or at least around it and up the east side of Ontario/Big Horn.

We found the use trail going to the peak immediately, and tromped happily along the main trail until we lost it--easy to do when trails don't get used much. We kept walking through virgin snowfields and knew that we had not come this way before. We sought higher ground, and there it was...which we followed until we lost it on the backside of Cucamonga again. Except for no water it would have been an awesome place to camp...perhaps a winter "expedition" when there is snow to melt? We opted to just charge straight up onto the peak rather than try to find the trail, follow it all the way around the frontside and then take the fork back to the top. What I like about Cucamonga is that there are so many nice open sandy spots relatively protected from wind that you can stretch out in and relax before the descent. Chris started talking to a guy who had recently moved here from Kazakhstan while I made a sammich from my last bagel and some swiss cheese. After signing that register and taking some more pics, it was time to head down to the car.

The descent dropped us as quickly as it had pushed us up. Before we knew it we were at Icehouse Saddle and amazed to still find people coming up from below (it was about 2PM at this point). Around the 2 mile marker we caught up to these 2 high school kids who decided that they would rather descend in front of us than behind us, except that they weren't particularly faster than us, but not really slower either. The kid in the lead kept a fairly steady pace to keep away from us I think, but his buddy kept lagging, and Chris was having a lot of fun picking up the pace until the kid would hear footsteps behind him and start booking again, without ever looking back. It may sound stupid here, but it was pretty funny there, and I was laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to trip and fall.

It made the descent go all the more quickly, however. Soon we were at the cabins and after than we were spit out into a now pretty deserted parking lot. As always, it felt good to put on sandals and head for home. We'll see if it was good enough training for Snowmass or not...

Not that I didn't LOVE Dr. Hardy's address, but god damn--take Samantha Power's address to Pitzer's class of 2008 and imagine turning our health care delivery system on its head and the importance of Chinese medicine and Community Acupuncture to serve as alternative ways of thinking, being, doing it...

Yet Another Milestone

I did it. I passed that stinkin' test. Not quite as ably as I had hoped, but decently nonetheless. Boy do I need to review techniques and CNT...in everything else I fared pretty well. So, it's on to the two Big Boards--nationals and state, in August.

I paid my $1 outstanding library fee and they ordered my pretty diploma suitable for framing on the spot. Tomorrow I sit in my last 3 hours of Yo San classes ever. It's really, really weird after going someplace day in and day out for 4 straight years to not be there any more. It's weirder when I do go back to have an appointment or something, and the lounge and classrooms are full of people but none of it is mine any more. Time is marching on, my time here is winding down.

No real grime this week, except for riding downtown tomorrow to volunteer at LACBC again. Last week Jen dragged me out to the Tuesday Night Special ride out in the 818, which was actually really fun. She and I were the 2nd and 3rd oldest riders, and there were only 4 of us over the age of 30. Highlights included tooling around the empty Valley boulevards at 11PM, holding a hobo picnic of chocolate cake, ice cream nuggets and spiced rum in the parking lot of the Sherman Oaks Ralph's, and urban sledding on road construction sandwich boards down the spillways of the Sepulveda Dam. We agreed we felt 17 again.

Hopefully there's another monster adventure in the Angeles brewing for the weekend. Now Zooey is reminding me it's time for sleep, something I have not been able to get much of until the last 48 hours in which I've done little else. Is kitty snoring not the cutest snoring there is?

Sublime Grime

Finally finally FINALLY! So tired and sore, but so worth it--at least my outsides feel exactly like my insides for a change. The test was a mix of ridiculously easy and quite awful. I feel ok about roughly 75%, but you never know. I've been driving myself off a cliff ever since agonizing over stuff I already know I got wrong, etc. so it has been nice to keep non-stop busy. I had hoped that yesterday's monster (for being on the couch, so to speak, for about 3 months straight) hike would wear me out so I would finally sleep, but not so much. After tonight's full moon paddle I feel quite spent however...something about the water always makes me tired.

And I didn't even have to go alone! I had partners in this grime--friends of my neighbor were possibly more enthusiastic than I was to go on this crazy outing, and they are some of the most consistently funny and entertaining guys around. Plus Chris climbs and promised to take me to run some slots this fall and begin my canyoneering addiction in earnest. My time here is fast drawing to a close and it was high time I got out and did some new trails, so I decided to cross one off the list I've wanted for a long time: Mt. Baden-Powell, jewel in the boy scout Silver Mocassin Trail crown. Most people climb from Vincent Gap, the shortest and therefore steepest route. However, with the 2 closed at Islip and no one wanting to go around through Palmdale, we decided to start at Islip and make it a 16 mile day. Brock and Chris told a funny story about being "chased" by a bear near the trail on their hillbilly piñata camping excursion. The weather was perfect--warm but not baking, breezy but not too windy, and pretty clear unless you tried to look too far in the distance. The firesmoke from Baldy must have been blowing the other way. It was gorgeous!

About a mile in we passed a scout troop, all resting except for two who hiked stubbornly on and would NOT be caught. The kid who was following kept asking the leader to slow down who kept telling him to keep up. About 2.5 miles in we passed a couple with large packs coming the other way...and I had a feeling so I asked them if they were coming from Campo, and they were! It turns out that they were from the same small town in Michigan (still lived there) where Brock grew up, and they knew someone in common. We ran into a few other groups of PCT-ers, and I was instantly envious and inspired and maybe I'll do that next year too...or the AT...or the CDT...or heck, make it a Triple Crown!

From there we began running into small snowfields on the north-facing sides of the mountain, which provided some ammo for ambushes and slip'n'slide and fall-on-ass fun for every one of us on the way back down. The last 3 miles or so it seemed like we slogged straight up the ridge to stay out of the snow, and suddenly the monument was in view and we were at the top (or so it seemed...the return trip seemed like it took forEVER.) There was a cool pair of dogs at the top, one who enjoyed playing in the snow and getting dirty and the other one who kept running over when his humans weren't looking to eat at a spot by us where someone had scattered some penne in marinara. The 3rd time someone came to carry him away he growled as he was picked up. A pair of birds and a pair of gliders circled overhead, playing in the thermals. Other than the sound of wind in the trees there was silence. We all marvelled at how awesome it was to be out, just out. The sun was warm and the bone-dry air smelled like dirt and pine bark, and I reflected that this is what life is for.

The sleepy monster began to attack, our cue to start back down before we wanted to hike back even less. We signed the register, the guys credited me with breaking the metal box that contained it but it was SO already broken long before I got there. Climbing registers are always good reads, and this one did not disappoint. The first half of the descent was fun, but I think by mile 12 we were all beginning to feel it. By mile 14 we were openly barn-sour and practically running to get back to the car. Then it was down the mountain to Pasadena for the mandatory recovery meal at Doña Rosa's, and home to clean our dirty, stinky selves and rest up for a follow-up trip another day.

Today was another review class, of which the biomed module was pure, unalloyed crap and the afternoon formulas module was test prep gold. Even so, when my friend Jason called and asked if I wanted to come out and paddle with him and some buddies to Venice Pier and back and watch the full moon come up I was all over it. I've missed paddling a lot too--this was going to be the year I raced outriggers too! Oh well. If I don't leave Cali (or if I go to Hawaii) there's always next year. Being out on the water at night is another kind of magic, another kind of peace. I wish it were the sort of thing I could do solo. I have fantasies of someday owning a folding boat and backpacking and paddling all over the world, or at least parts of it that would be suited to that sort of thing.

It's good to have goals, right?