Happy H'Days

I hope everyone had a good holiday, whatever holiday you happen to celebrate during this time of the year. My extended weekend was mostly spent chillin' on the sofa and debating whether or not to release Brody into the wild. Unfortunately, i didn't actually do anything exciting enough to warrant pictures but i promise i will take some this weekend. This is the weekend of the Brody. The skis are waxed, boots are snug, poles are straight (for now at least) and the goggles are anit-fogged. Mt. Hood is in for a world of hurt.


On the winter extreme sports tip. . .i actually headed up to the mountain xmas day to spend a little time in the snowshoes. Little did i know. . .Oregonians are all satanists. The mountain has been getting pretty steady snowfall for the last two weeks. I thought, what better time to thrash around in some fresh, untouched, trail powder. Apparently everyone in the Portland metro area thought the same thing. I got to the trail head of Mirror Lake and struggled to find parking (not a good sign). Determined to get out and into the white fluffy stuff, i hopped out of the truck, threw down the tailgate and got ready to put on my snow flippers. I looked to my right, toward the trail head, and saw a mother (a milf if you will) putting snowshoes on her 3 darlings. I thought, "I can deal with that, nothing a brisk pace can't get around." I made the mistake of looking to my left, where a big F350 diesel had pulled in to the last remaining spot. I don't know if i'll ever recover from what i saw.


Now, i think it is safe to say i love Oregonians. They are a kind hearted bunch, animal lovers, environmentally friendly (green), love thy neighbor and pass the doobie type folk. But i was not prepared for this. I have jumped in puddles of urine, been yelled at by men in spandex, even given away my gourmet pizza to unappreciative bums (we all know the truth) but this, this was too much. It almost made me crave the 'burg and that takes a lot, a lot. Okay, are you sitting down?


I looked to my left, where a F350 had just taken the last remaining parking spot and what did i see? I see a woman in her late 40's maybe early 50's walking toward me. Her male counterpart was following close behind. At first everything looked normal but then, then it happened. As the woman walked closer to me i saw it, poking from the top of her nearly fully zipped parka. It was a head, the head of a chihuahua, yes a chihuahua! Can you believe that. Now, for those of you who knew Annie, you know i never left for a hike without that dog but she could walk herself. She didn't need to be bundled into my ski jacket and carried up a hill. Hell. . .the dog carried her own food and my booze. The chihuahua was so cold, the jacket was zipped nearly all the way to the ladies chin. The woman's chin rested on the poor, ugly thing's head. The experience was so traumatizing i had to return to my truck and drive away. I drove as fast as the line of families in their snowtired minivans would allow. Needless to say, there was no snowshoeing that fateful day.


I figured even though i didn't make my trip up to Mirror Lake Tuesday, i'd throw up some pictures from my last trip up there. So here you go. . .

Here's a picture of Greg, Russ and me (and a real dog) on the backside of the lake. Hey sexy.

I think you should all know what that is. . .it's a mountain (in case you've never seen one).

That's it for my evening of blogging. I will be sure to get out this weekend and give you some fresher pics. I'll try and get a picture of Brody pulling off the first 900 triple tail whip mcflip. More to come. . .

We all know what they say about assumptions

I will apologize in advance for the lack of photos. This past week hasn't been too photogenic. The weather here in Portland has proved to be fitting for the title of this blog. Actually. . .drizzle isn't what i would use to describe the recent precipitation levels. I don't know if what happens out here on the frontier makes its way to any national news channels but there has been some pretty crazy flooding going on along the Oregon and Washington coast. I don't know about our neighbors to the south (for those who failed US geography, including me [but what didn't i fail?], that's California) because it seems no body here really cares about them.

The Oregonians i have met, minus spandex clad, biking, feminine hygiene products like my friend from a former post, are pretty friendly people. Almost too friendly at times. I am surprised by their reactions when i tell my soon to be fellow Oregonians (they say you have to live here for 7 years to be considered one) that i grew up on the east coast. I am even more surprised when i tell them i hail from Death Star otherwise known as Washington, DC (metro area). People seem to be very accepting of my "roots" and usually respond with, "I've never been to the east coast and honestly don't have any interest." Coming from an Oregonian i don't take it as an insult. They typically follow that comment with what brought you out here. My standard response is, "Washington DC." We both just smile and nod.

What i find more interesting that when someone says they are from California there is no response, dead silence, sometimes followed by a bitter beer face. I think to myself, "Wow! I'm cooler than a fellow west coaster." It seems Oregonians view California and it's recent transplants as just a burden on the "live free for free" mentality (i made that up but it seems fitting for the current posting). I think some of that is due to the fact that Californians sell their 1 bedroom beachfront condos for $1/2 million and move to Portland and buy up all the shiny Pearl condos with a few hundred thou to spare on Hummers and Beamers. Not exactly what i would call the Oregonian way. Buy who am i to say anything, i'm from the east coast and live with a Canadian.

Let's dive a little further into my east coast, near country boy naivety for a bit. I'm sure at one point in my life some crabby teacher from the LC public school system told me, "you know what happens when people make assumptions?" My reply probably went something like this, "Hunh?" I won't insult anybodies intelligence by finishing that statement. But what i will do is prove the that crabby bitch right.

Last night i was out having pizza at the famed Apizza Scholls with my friend Christina (a fellow east coaster). We both had a few winter brews (Willy, remember those? I know you miss them.) and a couple of slices of white truffle oil pizza (get over it! it's damn good). When we left the joint we came away with four slices to split. Being an advocate for those willing to "live free for free," i passed a gentlemen i ass-u-me-d was subscriber to such philosophy. The dude had a beard that put Saint Nick's to shame (black though), a flannel shirt that would have made Curt Cobain's look like a tuxedo shirt, and a wool blanket bundled and tossed over his shoulder. I called out to my soon to be fellow Oregonian, "Hey brother. . .you hungry." This isn't the first time i have offered my leftovers to a puddle maker. There was something different about this guy though. He took a few steps and realized i was talking to him. He replied with a grunt and turned back my way. He asked me what flavor the pizza was and i kindly informed him it was white truffle oil pizza (classy shit). He takes the aluminum foil wrapped slices from me and continues on his way. No thank you, not even another grunt in recognition of my kind deed (not that i was looking for it).

On the way back to the truck Christina asked me why i gave my food to him. I told her i was in the habit of giving food to those in greater need than myself (i'm such a saint). Thinking no kind deed goes unpunished, i was taken back when she starts laughing at me. "He was on his way to the laundromat, you must have looked like such an ass to that guy. No wonder he seemed so confused."

Laundromat? What? Homeless people don't go to the laundromat. They beg for food why the hell would they wash their clothes, especially in a city that spends four months under a constant shower head. Now, i know i should never apply logic to the homeless but come on!

Christina proceeded to tell me that she didn't think he was homeless and that just because someone wears flannel and doesn't shave, it doesn't mean that they are homeless. Looking back on it, his beard wasn't too wild, i couldn't smell him, he actually looked dry, and his shirt was probably eddie bauer. Not to mention there was laundromat just a few doors down from the pizza joint. You know what they say about assumptions. That damn assumption didn't only make an ass of me (something i'm very used to) but it cost me two slices of white truffle oil pizza from the highly acclaimed Apizza Scholls. Son of a Bitch!

After my last phone call with brother he called back and requested another "bum" special (pre-blog). Believe it or not, this is total coincidence. I don't think it will make "puddles in the summertime" notoriety but the legend will live on in my heart of hearts. That's the last time i give my pizza to a well groomed man in a LL Bean flannel. Damn pseudo-hippies.

Well i'm off to scan craigslist for some bomber skis for Brody. The snow's a fallin' and Brody is itchin' to shred. I'm in the need of something that's durable enough to tear it up O.B. style but still afford me the rigidity to grind some steel. Peace and almost homeless, bearded hippie grease.

Getting Fat with Strangers (to most of you)

I hope this thanksgiving found all of you spending time with the people you care about most. Although i did not make it back east for turkey day, i was fortunate enough to be invited to Stu and Katherine's for a thanksgiving feast with their family. I wish i had some pics of the festivities but i left the shutter at home. Stu fired up "mr twister" a home made (from the guts of a rock tumbler and some freshly welded cogs) rotisserie. Three hours and several libations later Stu presented the group the most gorgeous turkey in all of Oregon (so we claim). Katherine threw together some, soon to be, world -famous stuffing, not designed for the herbivores of the world. All-in-all i was grateful to spend time around a loving family, even if it wasn't my own. I felt quite welcome and just about at home.

Despite a chill in the air most of the weekend was spent outside the confines of the craftsman bungalow. After a late wake-up call on Friday (too many Brandy Alexanders) some of the G-clan, Katie, Bray, Cousin Steve, the new roomie and I all went out to Pier Park for a heated (actually pretty chilly) round of disc golf. When the Frisbees were done flying Dan and i tied for 1st with the rest of the field just a few strokes behind.

Here's Stu letting one fly on the the 3rd hole. Don't let that pink hat fool you, he's a fierce competitor. He was even wearing golf shoes.

Dave hucks one on the classic Pier Park 6th hole. A challenging, downhill dog leg right that leaves you searching for your disc under a large stand of Doug Firs.

Dan lets one rip on the 10th, wishing he had a pair of shades. That's what i call a tight fairway.

The 8-some heads toward the light to find the stray discs floating about. Follow the light and you will find the way. Dan busts out with his Canadian L.L Cool J impression (Yea B-oy)

Saturday morning, feeling fresh and not hung-over, Dan and i went into the gorge to attempt the infamous Eagle Creek Trail. Upon getting to the trail head we were heeded to not forge ahead by pink tape strung across the trail. Since when has some flimsy caution tape stopped an everline? Survey says. . .never. We ducked under the tape to only have our path impeded again. This time the park service had hung a 10 foot section of chain link fence across the path. In my old age and profound wisdom i have learned that somethings just aren't worth pushing. We turned back and headed for a new trail. I was a little disappointed because i've been aching to do that trail. Instead we took a less scenic uphill jaunt to Wauna Point (or something like that).

Eagle Creek Rec Area is the home of a fish hatchery. This time of year the salmon are still swimming home. Unfortunately, when they get there they swim to their deaths. Crossing the footbridge over Eagle Creek we saw several hundred salmon mindlessly swimming. These weren't small fish. Most of them were close to 2 1/2 feet long.

A view looking back toward Portland via Columbia River Gorge. The weather was cool and obviously a little overcast. Not the best day for taking vista photos. I hope you get the picture.

In an attempt to make someone jealous i snapped a few photos (2) of my daily views. The first is a picture of my ride across the Hawthorne bridge. I was hoping for a rainy day so people would feel sorry for me.

Instead it looked like this. . .

The good thing about it not raining in the morning (other than not getting soaked on my ride to work) is that i get to snap pictures like this from my window. Ahhh, life is rough.

I hope this post finds you all well. Enough for now. More to come.

Getting Moist in a Wet Place

Sorry for the new blog but for those who don't know there have been some changes here in PDX. I promise to keep up with this one a little better than the last. Life here is beginning to settle down a little bit. That may have something to do the start of the rain for the season. The fall has been pretty dry up until this last weekend. It looks like the rains are here to stay, minus a daybreak here and there. It serves me right. I've been complaining about how nice my bike commutes have been.

Speaking of bike commutes during my time in the saddle i've seen a few car/biker altercations, hell i've even started a few myself, both as a driver and a biker. Bikers in the city are feeling pretty sassy because a well known loved cyclist was killed when a dump truck took too wide a turn and crushed him under the rear wheels. This was only two weeks after another biker was killed in just about the same fashion. Needless to say bikers are on high alert. I am a different story. I've never been a reckless rider (in my opinion) but i guess fellow rider (it pains me to say that because he was commuting in his spandex and fancy racing jersey [douche]) took exception to my riding. We were sitting at an intersection and the light turned red, in all four directions, as it often does and after looking both ways several times, i rode through the intersection. A biker behind me yelled, "the light's red, the light's red." Knowing this already i kindly thanked him for the information. I guess my appreciation wasn't enough so he rode up next to me at the next light and told me, "i don't appreciate you riding like that. We all have to deal with the fallout of your actions." Okay? I thought. The only fallout of my running a red light would be ME getting hit by a speeding car but maybe i'm missing something. After his brief lecture he tore off ahead of me. I took full advantage of his draft and kept him in my sights and enjoying the free ride to work. So captain bike safety decides, instead of merging, to jump a 2 foot curb into traffic and cut across three lanes. Going in the same direction i, the reckless, fallout creating rider i am, signal and blend into traffic to get to the outside lane. We merge onto the next street and the bike Nazi jumps onto the sidewalk to speed around a delivery truck taking up a lane in the roadway. I ride up next to him and kindly suggest there may be some fallout from his actions. I guess the spandex was a little too tight because he just stared blankly. Moral of the story. . .don't wear spandex if you are going to lecture people about bicycle safety.

Feeling outdoorsy and having plenty of time on my hands, i decided to take a hike this weekend. I think i partially did to remind myself that life goes on, even in a downpour. I have just gotten a new pair of hiking boots and wanted to keep the trip relatively short to avoid blisters. I drove about 40 minutes into the gorge (Columbia River Gorge, that is) and stopped off at Wachlella Falls It's a pretty nice hike on any given day. It was a perfect Pacific Northwest day for a hike but not so good for taking pictures. I thought i would be the only one on the trail that day but i actually saw a few people out. In typical NW form, i even saw a lady packing a baby in on her fancy kiddie backpack.

Here i am standing on one of the many bridges that cross Tanner Creek. It doesn't the the falls any justice but the lower section is about 80 feet and from where i was standing you could feel the wind rushing from the flow of the water.

I stopped off under a little overhang to grab a snack and get some break from the rain. I snapped this photo of some ferns that were growing on the ceiling of the cave.

I think that's about all the energy i have for now. I hope you enjoyed the pics and i'll try to keep up with this. I plan on spending a fair amount of time outside of the house this winter. Hell. . .you may even see the official release of BRODY, boy-stud turned professional winter sport athlete (if you're lucky).

I hope everyone is well and wish you all a good t-day, even you veggies and your tofurky.