Rock Climbing with the Lads

This May saw the 2012 Orthopedic Big-Belly Hillbilly Climbing & Beer Drinking Association Cragfest. It was held at Smith Rock, OR and in Mt. Shasta City, CA. This was the 9th sort of-annual gathering in the last 13 years for our little band of over-educated, misshaped, crippled, wannabe climbers, profound thinkers and powerful drinkers. We spent a long week climbing, eating & drinking hopped beverages (I gained 6lbs!!), there were murderous 6-8 mile hikes up to crags, some nudity, 5 snake sightings (one reptile death), no broken bones, some quality routes climbed, limited blood loss, heavy rocks snuck into packs, laughter, video games, gas, Squid Billies, more laughter, and quality time spent catching up on each others’ lives…. A fine week off with buddies and away from the J-O-B.

This year’s cast of characters included:

Taint: A native son of Southern California. Strong climber, but easily confused by tri-cams and large hexes. A world traveler and new father who needs 11 hours of sleep a night to function and has absolutely no short term memory – none. An easy target for pranks and very poor at retaliation. Had to cancel his participation on an OBBHC&BDA trip two years ago because he had 2nd degree burns on the soles of his feet after helping with/leading a fire walking “class.”

Dr. Strippy-Socks: A writing, climbing, painting, fiddlin’, designing, and docterin’ polymath who was gracious enough to open his mountain home up to our little band of miscreants. A man who has an amazingly talented and giving spouse that allows him out of the house in polyester shirts, a visor, short-shorts, tall socks and sandals. This in an individual who in the course of a conversation will quote bolt torque specs, reference an obscure Ska band, outline the ideology of specific band of Orcs, and review the symptoms for early onset CHF in middle aged men.

The Bridesmaid Whisper: A bright, smart, medical resident with a dry sense of humor that borders the Sahara. The strongest climber of the trip, a man who developed the definitive definition of a #2 Pencil and made me tinkle myself a little while laughing hysterically in my sleeping bag. He is a man that can walk into a wedding reception and in short order has to wade through a throng of drunken bridesmaids who need his body like the Pope needs Jesus.

Smooth&Boney: Is a man who can sit on the couch for years, then walk outside and send a 5.12 sport route. Any mention of Jessica Alba will send him into smiling, wild-eyed fits of joy, followed by some alone time. Poor at hiking with a pack and once cried when his belayer tooted on him a little, has gear that predates Columbus, his favorite outdoor technical fabric is jean denim, and is the father to three adorable girls – the middle one loves me more than her uncle Rosy! When not climbing or wading through the estrogen that fills his life, he is a Designer/Engineer/Manager for the snazziest tool corporations in the world, but has yet to pass any cool shinny metal stuff on to his friends.

The Lawn Enforcement Officer: Father to two pale yet happy children and husband to a wife he doesn’t deserve: a mix of Betty Crocker/Belladonna/Ellen Page. I am the short, fat, balding, yard-obsessed, hairy, practical joking chronicler of this tale who now lives in Seattle in a 1928 house that is forever under reconstruction. The winner of The Deep Belly Button Award this year – A prize given to the fattest climber in the group for a given year.

Not-A-Biker: A great climber, brother to Smooth&Boney, and a generous friend who looks more like his father with the passing of each day. A man about to embark on an odyssey that will take him and his sweet southern, gvn-toting bride into the wilds of Philadelphia for a 3 to 29 year medical residency. He is someone who will freely give prostate exams to his friends (perfect strangers too…), has a questionable web search history, and who should never be allowed to even sit on a motorcycle. Was pantsed (sic) this year in full view of the entire group.

Missing this year was THE Mark Flood. Mark is the only man that Chuck Norris masturbates to. He is the strongest climber and hiker that any of us know, a gifted engineer, a good natured friend and drinking companion, and one of the toughest people you will ever meet. I have seen him drink from green stagnate pools one the sides of cliffs without any intestinal backlash and there have been things that have gone into his belly that would make a billie goat puke.

He has become a whispered legend in some circles after snatching falling climbers out of the air – mid fall – and saving them from a quick brutal death – truth. To punctuate the description/picture of Mr. Flood: He couldn’t join us this year because while hiking out of what was surely an epic day of climbing, he fell on the steep trail and a piece of iron rebar was shoved into his knee joint!! He tied a hankie around it and finished the walk out… His presence was duly missed this year and we all pray that he will be there for the next gathering to keep us all honest and safe.

Drinking the black stuff in Ireland

I resolved not to travel as much in 2012 as I did in 2011 (over 150K air miles), but I am not off to an auspicious start: by January 17th, I already had just over 9,000 miles and I am booked for another British/European tour in March,  but I can say for a fact that 2012 has started off with much sweeter miles,  My J-O-B sent me to England and Ireland for 8 days and my sweet little wife, Stamps-With-Foot, got to tag along for the first time in years.  I can’t tell you how great it was to have her the with me!  I slept great, I didn’t miss her when I saw some new or interesting site since she was right there.  I had a dinner date every night and it was guaranteed that would be invited back to her place…

We had a day off in London and a night out in Dublin and we made the most of our time seeing old friends, visiting the V&A, taking the Globe Theatre tour, wandering through the Sherlock Homes “Museum”, visiting favorite shops, drinking Guinness, ogling the floor at Christchurch, more Guinness, and listening to Irish trad music on the top floor of Gogarty’s in Temple Bar.  It was a really nice mid-winter diversion for us, though there were some tears shed over Brodie, my wife’s puppy/fur-baby, not being there to snuggle her to sleep…

Spring in Belfast, Northern Ireland

One of the reasons my J-O-B pays me the medium bucks is because I will travel anywhere in the world with little to zero notice.  I again proved that last week when, with two hours notice, I hopped on a plane from Seattle to Northern Ireland two days before the Memorial Day weekend.  Stamps-With-Foot was none too happy.  I bought her shiny objects while there to quell the violence in her heart.  Man, she really likes shinny stuff because I haven’t heard one more cross word from her about my trip and I am starting to wonder if she relishes when I travel so that she can display annoyance and mock anger to receive sparkly bobbles and guilt-heavy jewelry.

Some rough initial, unedited opinions of Belfast:

  1. Strong northern winds blowing when I arrived brought in the smell of cattle and pastures – the sweet decay of manure and decomposing grass.
  2. Road right-of-way here is on the left side of the road.  This makes me a hazard to curbs, rental cars and living beings.  I also noticed after repeatedly walking against the flow of foot traffic on the street that people here walk on the left of sidewalk and escalators are left-flow as well.  It’s the little things one notices.
  3. There exists a weird pocket version of adolescence rebellion Northern Ireland: lily-white 12-18 year old boys who are overly groomed, cell phone to ear with hip-hop blaring, trying to look tough – Impossible when one is wearing his collar popped and has his feet shod in white leather slip-ons.
  4. I went on a hop-on hop-off city tour that included drives down the Falls Road and Shankill Road areas of town were 40’ high barriers, blast walls, bullet scarred bricks, and where victims’ and martyrs’ murals take up the entire sides of buildings and.  There is not an inch of street in those neighborhoods that doesn’t hold some palpable sad memory for some.  It was spooky and sad and made me say a prayer of thanks for my lower-middle class childhood.  Growing up in Belfast during The Troubles, in a constant state of fear and vengeance would have probably led me to a very angry and short life.
  5. This land is a sea of red hair. Most of it real, some from a bottle, one 20-something lass walked into view with natural ginger roots and pink/red tips. An Asian teen and a black girl with red dos also strolled by my people-watching perch – Were they red-headed just to blend…?
  6. I happened to stop in at a mass at St. Mary’s (walked out of Kelly’s Bar and there was a church, what do you do?) and police had to be called because of drunk/high/ crazy lady (maybe she was all three) interrupted mass and tried to take over the microphone at the pulpit.  – High drama.
  7. Traveling without my wife is lonely and sucky.  The sharing of things and people seen, food eaten, and the smell of the flower and grocery markets is a thing not to be trivialized.
  8. Every third word I here is “fock” or “focking.”  Spoken with gusto by men, women, teens and kids (one lad with spiky hair, maybe ten, at an international food market said today: “Ah fock this ma, I wanta go home”). It seems that the Northern Irish have such a great affinity for this word and use it as much as possible in an apparent attempt to claim it as their own.
  9. I went to Madden’s Bar to drink a pint and listen to the advertised Irish trad music. Walked in for the last 30 minutes of the Champions League final between FC Barcelona and Manchester United. As I sat down, Barcelona scored (final was 3-1 Barcelona) and the crowd cheered.  Apparently, I was in a Nationalist/Republican Pub…  I kept my United love to my focking self and drank my focking Guinness as focking quietly as focking possible. Music was great though.
  10. For some reason biking in Belfast is not wide spread. It can’t be due to a northern Irish aversion to 2 wheels:  I arrived on a Thursday afternoon and the roadways between villages were packed with road bikers all kitted up in multi-colored spandex.  Really, hundreds of them, but in the city it seems like almost no one rides.  I went out walking on a mostly sunny afternoon in the central part of downtown and saw maybe 15 people riding all day.  There was only one fixed speed wonder and only 1 guy on a trials bike (Danny MacAskill fan I would bet) out hopping on to park benches, walls, and planters.  It is not the weather – London and Hamburg are full of bikes. The Belfast streets are broad and flat.  It must be something left over from The Troubles, I don’t know and didn’t get a chance to ask.
  11. As discovered when Stamps-With-Foot and I were in Dublin – Guinness is better in Ireland!

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C&P Coffee is where they will find me

C&P on California Ave. is now my coffee shop. I have never had one before, just this or that shop that I would stop into IF I happened by.  Well, the courting is over and while some may rave about Tea for Two and Hotwire, I now have a one true coffee home.  When a certain Ex decides to put that hit out on me, I have a feeling that an overly muscular and black-suited gent with a thick accent will find me hunched over a book, in the faded high-backed chair, coffee in hand and ¾ eaten cookie on the table.

Not only does C&P serve great coffee, they are also purveyors of fine wine and good beer.  There is live music 3+ nights a week, Mexican Coke bottles sit snugly in their fridge, the Wi-Fi is free, their croissants are both flaky and buttery, and our badass dog is always welcome.  In the summer, one can sit outside on the large patio area that is raised above the sidewalk and has views of the Olympic Range and Puget Sound.  Who can say ‘NO’ to setting outside on a calm sunny PacNW day, enjoying a great cup of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie?  There is a sign on the door saying that C&P is a place reserved for “Service Animals Only” and apparently the fact that our puppy makes my wife so happy and is so damn cute, means he provides a service, so….

We stopped in today after a walk at the beach was aborted by a downpour and Peter (who is the “P” and his wife Cam is the “C” in the business name) poured us a great cup of Joe, BS’ed a bit, and hooked us up with a wonderful bread. He had an extra loaf because “…the local bakery guy has a thing for my wife…”

St. Paddy’s Day/Anniversary

I can’t be the only man to notice that instead of just one anniversary he has to remember 3-5:  the day we met, our first date, the first weekend away, engagement, wedding, ect…  All this on top of birthdays, Valentines, Christmas, Easter and all those other occasions when your wife expects acknowledgment, a card, a gift or all three.   I see a conspiracy here…

It just so happens that I can never forget the day we met as it was St Patrick’s Day, which means one less chance for me to forget something and get in trouble.  I really like not getting in trouble at home.  My day was thus:

Alarm at 7:15
Shower and dressed by 7:45
Laurel made coffee J and cereal
Told each other “Happy Anniversary”
Smooched
Took truck to work
Listened to NPR on way to work
At my desk at 8:30
Pinched for not wearing green
Revised drawings
Submitted change orders
Refilled my coffee
Pinched again
Work on 3 quotes
Went to lunch
New battery for watch
Bought 2ga green ear plugs
Ate chicken strips
Called wife on break to say ‘love you’
Back to work and meetings
Revised another drawing
Had more coffee
Lots of e-mail
Had apple snack
Pinched again – they didn’t see the green plugs
Chased the assailant down/exacted revenge
Worked late
Got home at dusk
Went for a walk with Laurel and the puppy
Ended up at the pub
Had a pint with Laurel to celebrate anniversary
Puppy got into a fight
He won
Walked home
Realized I left debit card at pub and tab open
Went back to pub…
Downloaded a couple of iPhone Apps
Came home to home to happy and slightly tipsy wife
Turned in early
Cuddling
Up at 2:30am – puppy snoring like a grown man…

SOLD!!

Ha!! Our home loan funded and was recorded today and we are now the proud owners of a GREAT Jewel-box house!! Our agent handed us the keys just after 6:00 and let us wander around our new place unmolested. I unloaded four boxes from the car, we let Brodie sniff all the corners, Laurel started a load of clothes, we ate our first meal in the dining nook, and explored every room of what we hope will be our home until we are both old and bent.

We are now officially Seattle residents, no longer denizens of the soul-sucking ‘burbs in Kent. Nope, we are living in a hip and trendy walking neighborhood with public transit, a fantastic public park, a NEW library branch, a local coffee shop house in a huge Craftsman bungalow, and a neighborhood pub where dogs are welcome and where the bartender knows what sort of glass to pour a German Weiss Bier into. I have a green yard that I can obcess over, Laurel has a vine-maple tree to sit under, we have a dedicated office, Brodie has cats to chase out of the yard, there are 6 coffee shops within ¼ mile, a grocery store almost next door, and we get views of the mountains, city lights, and the Puget Sound.

Ich Liebe Weißbier

As I live in the beer capital of the world and great beer swirls all around me, I feel that there is no reason to drink sub-par beer. As my particular favorite fermented beverage is wheat beer, I thought about having a blind taste test that included a group of multi-national friends to see which of the most popular and available brands I should buttress with my patronage and financial support. The Beer Fairy (we are big buds – exchange Christmas cards and all that) stopped by our flat this past weekend and left eighteen (18) different quality brands of Hefeweissen (or just plain “weisse Bier” as we were repeatedly corrected by a German participating in the event). My darling bride graciously volunteered to be the beer wench/test focal for the evening along with another friend – both sporting dirndls, making for an authentic German beer drinking atmosphere (they are both getting some good stuff for this added and appreciated surprise detail). The tasting was loosely organized along the lines of a blind taste test – very loosely.

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All 18 Hefeweissens we tested and a few other kinds of beer consumed after the testing. This shot was taken on the way to the recycling center the next day. I know my neighbors looked out their windows as I lined up the bottles for the picture and thought, ‘Crazy American, what is he doing now…

It wasn’t a test that would hold up to scientific peer review: Pallets were not cleansed before and after tasting, the beer was swallowed after the tasting (spitting good beer in my house unless you are having a heart attack will get one unceremoniously booted out the door!), the participants were seated together and were allowed to talk about the beer and/or each other’s mother if they so desired, food was served with the beer, there was not a control group given the same beer each time, no random sampling of participants from the overall beer drinking population was used. Multiple tests were not conducted under exacting standards, etc… This was a gathering of like-minded friends who just like beer. So, if you are reading this and you work for one of the companies that we decided sucked – sorry, but it is going to be real hard to sue me for posting an OPINION on my VERY obscure, almost NEVER read (…save for a couple of friends and a crazy English woman…) website/blog.

Just before 7:00pm on Friday, guests started showing up and we sat down for an evening of semi-scientific research. A few were late and a couple had to leave early, so the testing had to accommodate this flow of testers. All counted, there were three Americans, one Scot, one Swede, an Englishman, and three Germans who participated as testers and a good number of significant others and onlookers drinking wine and the hard stuff for the duration. Of those who participated in the actual testing: two were women, seven were men, and we ranged from twenty-two to thirty-six years old. Our dirndl-clad test administrators kept us well stocked, washed glasses between rounds, and delivered mini-pizzas and other snacks fresh from the oven. We had music playing in the background and a slide show of 350+ beer and weisse Bier related images scrolling on the big screen throughout the evening.

Going into this test I just knew that my personal favorite, Franziskaner Hefeweissen would come out on top and that my second favorite, Franziskaner Weissen Dunkel, would place well (I am brand loyal). Though, I was open to try other options to see how they faired against mein Lieblingsbier. I picked regular Franziskaner out the minute it touched my tongue and it was the only beer I gave the top score to, but I was somewhat surprised by the overall result. Here is a link to the results of the overall test and scorecard templates if you are interested, but the top five beers we tested, listed in ascending order, were:

#5: Franziskaner Hefeweissen (I was appalled!)
#4: Edinger Weisse
#3: Schneider Weisse
#2: Franziskaner Weissen Dunkel
#1: Paulaner Hefeweissen Dunkel

As you can see, the Dunkel Hefe’s scored the highest marks and that could either be because of the group of testers selected or because it just tastes better – not real sure… One thing to note though was that although Paulaner had the #1 beer, the brewery also produced the beer that came in second to last: regular Paulaner Hefe Weissen. Odd…

In dead last place was Schoefferhofer Hefeweissen. It wasn’t drinkable (one of the testers scribbled “never again” on his score card as a comment for this beer) and one would think that production of such a concoction would have already ceased due to an angry pitchfork wielding Bavarian mob storming the gates of the brewery.

The evening was a rousing success: lots of beer and food was consumed, there were no fights or broken furniture, no one got sick, no hookers showed up, not one person was locked out of their house by an angry wife/girlfriend, and we agreed to do this again in six or eight weeks to test the quality of local Pilsner (though I might expand the rules to include Czech beers as they are the ones that invented Pils…). Most of the credit for the successful evening goes to Laurel and Megan, who were so gracious to us all, even after we got loud – and I need to give a special note of thanks to Karin, who made all the yummy snacks and testing glasses possible.