Scorcher

Portland is known for many things, rain, smelly hippies, spandex clad assholes, i can go on all day, but what Portland isn't known for is stifling heat. That could be because Portland is supposed to be a temperate locale. Now. . .i could join my fellow left-minded, grass burning, bike riding thinkers and go off on a 6 1/2 page rant pointing out all the degrees of separation that can be linked back to Global Warming and Capitalism (aka George Bush). I seriously think that everything bad that happens, people, out here at least, blame good ol' Georgie. Dan and i were discussing, after watching Bob Costas's interview of our ill-famed leader, which president we would like to party with the most. Dan, being a Canadian, has a far better understanding of our presidential history (go figure). I threw out Billary and George W. While i think Bill would make for more stimulating conversation, George W. would be my man, a true drinking buddy. And if i had to guess. . .he's probably packing some Xanax in those cargo shorts of his.

After being on the move nearly the entire month of July, i've been aching to settle back into the Portland scene, local hikes, bars, bike rides, waterfront festivals and the like. My first weekend back in town presented me with just about all the above activities. The Red Bull Flugtag, an event that takes crafty soapbox derby like flying machines and hurls them (that is if they don't fall apart before they reach the end of the runway) off a 30 foot high runway built in the Willamette river . I found out that weekend that showing up to festivals "fashionably late" doesn't work so well. Fortunately, i had a co-worker who set up camp at 5am. I grabbed and ass sized square on the blanket and sat back to enjoy the festivities. There was a wide variety of flying machines but my favorite by far was the Spaceballs Winnebago. Mostly for nostalgic reasons but also for the costumes the participants were sporting, full Spaceballs garb. They even included a reenactment of the Schwartz battle between Dark Helmet and Lone Starr. A real classic. Most flugtaggers plummeted nose first into the river. The more creative types, i.e. chips and salsa, used hang-gliding (the chip of course) type "technology" to attempt something that could be considered flight.

The SpaceBalls Winnie just before "lift off."

The Lego Jet.

Post-launch carnage. Lego's everywhere.

This weekend i moved from aerial soapbox antics to the real deal, the Annual Mt. Tabor Soapbox Derby (sorry no good links with info or pics). My friend Matt had just bit the bullet and picked himself up a fancy new single speed rig for tooling around the city. I figured, what better way to make him question his decision than a ride up our local volcano. We parked at the foot of Mt Tabor and walked the course up and scouted seats along the way. The thing about the soap box derby is that the rides are homemade. This means that the safety equipment, brakes and steering, aren't always up to modern standards. It's wise to always leave an escape route just in case the Optimus Prime soap box car runs astray. I haven't been to the event before but it appears to be an all day affair. We stayed to watch a few runs and then it was off to slurp down some margaritas before our ride to the west side for a Timbers game.

Our view from turn #1.

This guy was cruising. I think he put a bit of effort and engineering into his rig.

This participant decided on a the classic all wood approach. Another speedster.

I have no clue what this is supposed to be but they seemed to be having fun.

A view across the reservoir and onto the finish line. You can also see the cityscape through the haze.

I managed to escape the urban jungle for the real deal last weekend. At the beginning of the summer i decided to do my best to explore my surrounding wilderness. Aside from trips southward, i have stepped foot on a new trail just about every weekend this summer. This past weekend i took a trip back up to Mt. Hood to explore the flame roasted, old-growth forest of Burnt Lake. Apparently, many years ago, the woods leading up to Burnt Lake were the victims of slow moving forest fire. Most of the carnage has long since fallen to the ground or been taken over by new growth but there are still some remains of the historical damage. After my trip in the Olympics, the 7-mile hike seemed like a casual stroll. The hike starts with a winding trail through a dense clover field and moss-lined trees. As i worked my way further into the wilderness the woods became more dense and the toasted douglas firs started to appear. The trail took to a steeper grade as i got closer to the lake and exposed some hints of the magic mountain. I had never understood the reference to Mt Hood before this trip. It's amazing how a 11,000 foot snow covered mountain can appear, disappear and reappear as much as Mt. Hood does. Once i got up to the lake i was ready for a swim. After my 40 degree bath in the White Salmon a few weeks ago, i have been weary of just jumping into unknown waters. I tested the temp and decided against an afternoon swim. I was happy with my decision as, like it often does, the wind kicked up a cool breeze that would have stiffened my nipples to a point of discomfort. Instead, i scrambled out onto a downed log and enjoyed a snack. After taking advantage of a few photo ops and a quick nap in the sun, i headed back down. The downhill grade was perfect for a quick walk/light jog and for some sick reason, i decided to do just that. I was pretty beat by the time i got back to my rig but it was all worth it (if by worth you mean i still had 90 minutes of football to play later that night).

Some clover.

Me in a burnt out tree. I nearly broke my leg trying to get this damn picture.

Same tree, without me, and some sunshine peeking through.

Mt. Hood trying to push through its clouds.

Burnt Lake in color.

Burnt Lake in the absence of color.

So it's back to work for another 5 days and then off to find another place to play. I hope everyone is in good health and taking advantage of whatever living is giving you.