The beautiful thing about Portland is. . .

The easy answer would obviously be the surrounding natural beauty; the 30 minute drive into the Columbia River Gorge, the 60 minute drive to the year-round snow capped Mt Hood, the 90 minute drive to the rocky Oregon coast, or any of the undulating forests in between. But those answer are all to obvious and thus. . .to easy. The real beauty about Portland is. . .it's women. Just to clarify, it's not all the woman in pdx but rather a specific sub group. Not the hipsters on Alberta street, the Pearl girls, or the dreaded, unbathed hippies of the southeast. . .but the lovely footballing chicas of the north. Portland is home of. . .University of Portland. U of P has been known to produce some of the finest women footballers in American women's footballing history. Well. . .guess what. . .i have been fortunate enough to play with several of our local products. I am currently playing on three teams, all of which have superb talent. My Tuesday team, Smut Koala (a name i wished i had come up with myself but apparently there are others just as creative in this city), has the privilege of our goal being tended by one of the best. But seriously, where else would you expect a woman of this caliber to go after returning from training with the US Women's National Team but our very own Smut Koala? To put things in perspective, she's not an indoor keeper and it was obvious in her first game playing with "Smutty." She charged hard out of the area and plowed a few players down in the process. In her second game she took to the new venue and, although we lost, frustrated the opposing team's strikers. All i know is. . .i'm in love with footballing women. Not in the biblical sense because. . .let's be honest, they are a typically a little too "sturdy" for my taste. But damn if i don't love them anyway.

Speaking of love. . .have i mentioned how much i love being able to travel by bike in this city? I must have mentioned this once or twice. I sometimes find myself suffering with bouts of schizophrenia. When driving, i hate all bikers, they are brazen and most of them have a death wish. When i'm biking i hate cars, pedestrians, and even a lot of my fellow bikers (typically just those in spandex, the slow movers in yellow rain gear don't bother me so much). Just today, on my ride home, i had a woman (not a footballer obviously) stop her car and shake her finger at me. That's right mom. . .this woman had the nerve to shake her finger at your baby. Some people. The story goes: I was nearing a traffic circle and per standard biking protocol, rolled through the stop sign (which if you ask me, traffic circles were designed so that you didn't need a stop sign in the first place). Surprisingly, she saw me coming and stopped her car before i ever reached the intersection. I just smiled and waved as i took advantage of her courtesy. Hell. . .she didn't even have a stop sign but she let me go anyway. Maybe she was too busy worrying about that twitching hand of hers.

So while i'm spilling all these loving feelings i get an ache in my stomach. I can only be complimentary for so long. . .right? As many states are diligently enforcing rules about using cell phones while driving (honestly they'd be better off making public places smoke free), Stumptown is a cell phone users paradise. Not only can you chat away while driving but you can text too. Better yet. . .i've seen people riding their bikes and talking on their cell phone. Even better than that (but wait there's more!), in the past week i have passed two (count them, two) people texting and biking at the same time. No hands on the handlebars, no eyes looking ahead for stop sign running cars (because bikers never run stop signs. . .oh wait) but just sheer, mindless texting. Now that's what i call freedom. By the way, Portland has passed a smoking ban this will take effect Jan 1, 2009.

That's it. short (i think) and sweet. I needed to get that all out of my head before i could get some sleep. Sorry i don't have any pics to post but it's hard to ride and shoot at the same time but i'll work on it.

Patience? What Patience?

If anyone has ever told you that it takes patience to learn a something new. . .they are a lying s.o.b. I am making great progress in my desire to learn to ski. And just look how little patience i have! This video and several of the photos listed in this post are proudly brought to you by the hands and eyes of Charles R. W. , aka Deputy Picaboo. Thankfully, his digital equipment does not record sound so we can keep this blog safe for all viewers, even Fiona.

Ryan flew into stumptown Valetine's night and we've been destroying Mt. Hood ever since. The weather deities unleashed the sirens for his visit. Uncommon to PDX this time of year, the skies were clear, the rains ceased and the temp even raised a bit. And. . .today is your lucky day, i'm not in the mood to write, so all you're going to get out of me are pics and captions. Here you go. . . enjoy!

But first. . .some words of caution.Couldn't have said it better myself, "You or your heirs."

So Ryan helped me figure out why i have such a hard time reading maps. It's upside down, stupid!

Here's Ryan trying to make some folks jealous. Ahh, what did we do with ourselves before the camera phone?

I think it's safe to say that we've had a few inches of snow this year. You can see it piling up to the third story of Timberline lodge.

This is only one of many reasons for hitting the mountain on a clear day. That's Mt. Jefferson in the distance. More to come.

Here i am skiing back down to the tree line. Just part of the 1 1/2 mile run we attacked all day.

Here's Ryan trying to keep momentum along the flat lands. All the more reason to ski, poles seem to help in these situations.

No good deed is left unpunished. This is what he gets for all his efforts.

From the top there is only one direction to take. . .it's that way.

Here's the camera man du jour preparing for another downhill photo shoot.

Check out the technique. Not bad for only my 3rd day on the hill.

Some more action shots of Brody doing some serious shredding.

It's pretty easy to get caught up in trying to find the meaning of life. . .i think we found it this weekend.

After a hearty lunch in the lodge the clouds tried to punish our beloved mountain. Everyone was a winner.

Catherine joined us on our 2nd and even more spectacular day. The snow was just right, soft, fast and plentiful.

The mountain rats take a break for some tasty grocery store sandwiches, kettle chips and pop (yes, i said pop).

"Dear Video Diary, Day Two, Portland Oregon. . ."

On our way home my "patience" paid off again. Too antsy to sit in the typical Mt. Hood downhill traffic jam, we took the "long" way around the backside of the mountain. After a quick pit stop in Hood River for some replenishing goodies, we headed back through the Columbia River Gorge and into Portland. No trip through the gorge is complete without a stop at Multnomah Falls. We jumped out to strecth our legs and let Ryan shutter shake off some of its dust.

Vital statistics.

The low light give the picutres a "dreamy" look, according to the photagrapher. I would have to agree.

A whispy shot of the lower falls.

As the cliche states, "All good things must come to an end." And so this trip did, although our successes on the mountain made it very tempting to spend the sabath celebrating the great weather and spirits.

I hope this post finds you all green with envy. If i were you i would be. Although i lock my door every morning when i leave and before i go to bed each night, it's always open. Bring your wax, boots, hat, shorts, gloves, sleeping bag, and of course. . .your camera.

Spank Me

A snow covered Pacific Crest Trail. Nothing is better.

Sorry i've been so bad about posting the last few weeks. I wish i had a good excuse but i don't, although i was nearly abducted by hippies (another day friends). I took a break from the left coast and shot across the country to visit the ol' fam. Going home is always a tale of two trips. Since i moved to Portland i have been telling my mom and willy that they screwed up (i know, i know, it's obvious enough, i don't need to rub it in) and raised me in the wrong area. Hell. . .i think the whole family would have loved growing up out here. But it is always easier to say that if you don't know any different. Spending time in VA makes me miss the people i left behind. I miss spending time with my family and some of my long-time friends. I even miss the pets that live there. Despite the people, the connections and furry critters, i belong here and it's a challenge to find peace with the distance between me and my kin.


Amazingly, there are tones of home in pdx. Christina, for example. I went to high school with Christina and she just so happens to live down the street (for now, she's moving to N. Portland). It's nice having at least a few people around who understand where i come from.


A few weeks ago Christina and i went for a snowshoe trip. I probably should have been up on the mountain working on my 1080 jackaroo tail grab but even Brody needs a break every once in a while. It wasn't the best day for shredding; in fact it was a pretty bad day for snowshoeing. We left Portland with the standard precipitation falling. I think we had both hoped that it would turn into the white fluffy stuff once we started gaining some elevation but we weren't so lucky. We choose the Twin Lakes loop trail which turned out to be a pretty good idea. What really turned out to be the good idea was to leave at 8 am. We headed up the trail and didn't see another soul. Made a quick trip around the lake, plopped our asses in the snow banks and ate some lunch (pb&j on jewish rye and some potato salad from New Seasons). A few sips of whiskey would have been nice to thaw the bones before we started back downhill but SOMEone didn't think ahead (so much for being raised by a boy scout). On our way back to the parking lot we passed about 3 groups of 15+ people. That's where leaving at 8 am pays off. I snapped a few pics of our adventure.

Here's Christina standing next to the snow pole. It shows a solid 6 1/2 feet of snow are below her feet.

This is the view as you decend onto the first lake. The fog made for a nice setting.

Here we are looking at a rather soggy map trying to figure out where we are. I've never been much of one to know how to read a map. I certainly didn't learn this day either.

What the map didn't show or i couldn't read (you be the judge) was this kick ass rope swing.

I will have been living in Portland for 3 years this April and in my short time here i have seen and heard many things, outrageous, hairy, smelly, funny, unbelievable things. I may venture to say this one takes the egg, milk and butter free cake. I was informed by a co-worker or friend, i can't remember, that a new strip club opened in town. This isn't news i typically receive seeing as there are about 500 strip clubs in the metro area and they are opening and closing all the time. But this strip club is a noteworthy strip club. Now. . .i'm all for the liberal, love everyone and everything mentality of the Pacific NW but this strip club takes it to the next level. No, there aren't any donkey shows. This place is Portland's first, one, only and most likely last (and short lived) strip club of it's kind. And it figures it was opened by a Californian transplant. It's our very own vegan strip club. Some may ask, "Scott, what exactly is a vegan strip club?" Well my friends, i will tell you. As disgusting as it may sound many strip clubs in this city serve food (pervs have to eat too). The Acropolis on 99 south is known for it's $5.99 16oz NY Strip steak special, Mary's Go Go conveniently has a back door to El Grillo (Mexican food and strippers, ummmmmmm). This new joint, instead of steaks or chicken chimichangas, serves vegan only fare. Now vegans can enjoy rump shaking while they eat their Tofurky Melts. I hear the strippers still follow standard upkeep rules but many are vegan or vegetarian themselves. I have gotten to know a few vegans in my time here and trust me. . .the last thing you to see is a vegan naked on a stage next to a pole. Okay, maybe the last thing you want to see is a naked vegan walk behind the pole, they would disappear all together. All jokes aside, my mom always told that you shouldn't judge people until you have a chance to know them. So. . .i'll let you know what i think. Maybe i'll have some more pics to post next time.

That's about all the energy i have for now (really i'm splashing on some cheap sage oil cologne, my hemp shoes and headed out to the vegan joint). Keep it clean.

Baby Blues

Today was probably the best Sunday i have had in some time. Really, the whole weekend was pleasant. And now i'm topping it off by putting up a few pics of my recent antics with the wee man sitting in my lap purring away. Ahhhh, life is good.

Nothing beats a yota in the snow, plus it makes for a great staging area.

The morning started off with quick jaunt up the hill with Catherine P. for some powder tossing. I say morning but we didn't really leave town until 10. We scooped up our 12-4 passes and headed to our alpine chariots. Our first run was designed for the crawlers and bawlers (i was neither, thank you). We took it up a notch and moved onto "Easy Street," a nice winding green with some good pace and even better snow. Things got a little crowded on the greens so there was only one option, Blue, baby blue. "Mt Hood Lane" started with a step drop and nothing but butter the rest of the ride down. I took a few "soft" spills, not even enough to pop my planks off. After that i was juiced on the blues and left the softer greens for the snowplowing kiddies. I must give thanks to Catherine for the motivation and taunting that got me over that first edge (thanks).

This is the face of one happy lad.

A lonely chair has its moment in the sun, a brief moment but sun nonetheless.

We decided on Skibowl per Dan's suggestion and the financials of the whole thing. The cost for a 4-hour ticket is softer on the pocket than at any of the other spots on the hill. I had heard grumblings of a "Warming Hut" mid-mountain. I didn't really know what to expect but what we found was a real gem. This "Warming Hut" is an old and apparently sturdy, wooden shack. But this isn't your everyday shack, they have exactly what ever good carver needs, beers, a nice big fireplace and. . . sausage. What more can you want to break up a long day of running the groomers?

Liquid warmth awaits!

This is the face of an even happier lad about to get his beer and sausage on.

The face of a happy lass that doesn't know that sausage awaits (easy pervs, it's not like that)!

After the beers and sausage we had to pick a few last runs to round out the day. We decided on another run down "Dog Leg" and transitioning over to "Fire Hydrant" to take us back to the Cascade lift. After that it was back up the hill down an uncharted blue "Middle Reynolds" to the Multorpor Lift for another shot down "Mt. Hood Lane."

Map reading 101. Be sure to have the right equipment; a map. . .and a beer.

The plan was perfect and would have been executed to the same perfection but we didn't calculate for the 3-Close skiers to swarm the lifts. When we got to the foot of the Cascade lift the line was large and far from in charge. By the time we got into our chariot, our chances for another two runs were slim. We settled for another trip down "Dog Leg" and "Fire Hydrant." No complaints here. It was a great day to be on the mountain and i'm happy i had the company to nudge me over that ledge.

To round out my pre-blogging evening, i played a little co-ed indoor football (the real stuff). I expected to be slow and uselss but i think the skiing did something to my legs because they moved gracefully and led to a hat-trick. I ripped of a beauty of a side volley from about 20 yards out that slammed off the top corner and deflected itself into the unsuspecting (lucky son of a bitch) keeper. So close!

Peace and fresh powder grease!

Gone Shreddin'

A picture is worth a thousand words.

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.