Posts from — October 2009

This weekend we ended up visiting sand dunes in Southern Colorado. Remarkably, this was the first time I had the opportunity to think about my sand dune stats. Two Continents. Three Countries. Four States. While not huge numbers, I was impressed, and when asked if I’d ever romped in and on sand dunes before, I could respond confidently.

Great Sand Dunes National Park

These dunes however were, are, and will, likely continue to remain quite different. For instance, Mexico puts their dunes by the beach and California where ever they damn well please. Michigan put them off to the side where people could go and not bother The Industry, but Colorado, they put their dunes right in a pocket of the majestically massive Rockies. At the edge of a vast open valley. Just past the official Alien watch tower, and beyond the crocodile petting zoo. Around the corner from the Dune View Pool and before you arrive at Mac’s Ranch House. It’s conveniently distanced from most centers of civilization, but annoyingly close to high winds. Several signs indicate it’s existence, and yet visually it’s somewhat hidden from view by it’s towering compatriots. However, once close enough to discern detail, they obscure the details of the tree line and it become evident what you’ve been shooting for since you left the house several driver rotations ago.

The road still drives straight and the grey turns into defined mounds. Then the road gives you a little teasing swerve and the mounds become textured and layered. You make a turn and a sign indicates distance from your goal, plus or minus. Deer ponder the vitality of grass and photographers ponder the vitality of deer while you ponder the vitality of your bladder. A small hut is stationed in the middle of the road and pushes you aside with an abrupt indication to STOP, but nobody is home to collect your alms and it’s easy to ignore the entire event. However, one sign ignored is all signs ignored and you forget to heed the sign that states proper vehicle preparations. Not once, but three times signs indicate proper attire and still you forgive their intrusion into your life. It’s dark now and there are no more signs, or at least none that you can read. Besides you’re having fun and signs are no fun anyway, so who invited them in the first place. Your overloaded vehicle, which needed a coat and tie to even get into this buffet of excitement, makes a rude comment and the whole scene goes quiet. Who knows what was said, or how wrong it was, but fact is you were never invited in the first place and now you’re in a pickle.

Though you’ve rudely invited yourself someplace you shouldn’t have, the low point of your evening comes and goes as you invigorate the happening with a bit of slap-hapadoodle. New friends are made and someone suggests a different party. You share, you laugh, and you stand by and watch happily helpless and likely drunk. And so goes the global ritual of being at the dunes. A place so desolate, so obscure, so remote, and so undeniably odd that the only condiment surely must be booze.

…That being said, that’s YOU and not me.

We arrived Friday evening and after some vehicular adjustments made our way to our campsite, ate some dinner, enjoyed a nitecap and then promptly fell asleep. Waking up in the morning we ascended to the crest of the tallest sand peak in North America and planted our flag, flew our kite, photographed ourselves and strangers, and generally enjoyed our new found status as masters of the dunes. Then it was a foot race down the hill to enjoy lunch and then back in the cars and back on the road. Phew. An enjoyable day.

I’m searching, but I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for…

A month ago I walked into the Rainbow Sandal Factory in San Clemente, California and felt my heart break and a deep resentment settle into the pit of my stomach.  Rainbow Sandals, forever made in my local burb of San Clemente, had finally completely sold their soul and began producing the bulk of their products abroad.  I couldn’t believe it.  As they moved their products onto boats we found their home grown customer service of friendly, casual, surf-reporting sandal sales people had also been shipped out and replaced with a haughty, arrogant, ill-informed, and generally distasteful bunch of hooligans who cared little for the vitality of life.  I declared I would no longer buy the simple home grown sandal ever again.

As Dan and I cycled through South East China this past August, we saw mills and factories that poured out water in colors you couldn’t imagine possible, we breathed in smoke and fumes from industries that we Americans buy from every day, and we suffered physical injuries from this degree of heavy environmental pollution. While I’ve long believed that a global marketplace is the only viable option to international peace, this imagery and sensation has provoked me to yearn to buy from manufacturers who produce goods which adhere to standards of not only quality, of which we experienced very little while abroad, but also of responsibility.

Buying American is all well and good, but often we find ourselves stuck in some trap of buying only gigantic vehicles or worthlessly regionalized nic-nacks.  Buying Responsibly can perhaps expand your options and massage your soul.  Further, we see tags and stickers on our products that proudly proclaim “Made in the USA.” However, we don’t know how deep that extends, and I would venture that it typically does not include the textile, the plastic, or the components, rather it includes the manufacture of the end product, the assembly, or simply the design. While this is supportive of the American economy and beneficial to many, pushing jobs here and there isn’t the pain that I experienced, it was pushing the pollution, pushing the problem.  I would like to seek out a collection of businesses whom derive all their parts, components, and pieces from places with environmental standards, believing that my dollars go to producers, companies, and firms that use prudence in manufacturing.  This, for me, is best done by evaluating the nations which maintain strict environmental policies and regulatory groups who are competent at reporting and enforcing those standards and policies.   I don’t support endeavors that pour paint down the drain in the US and I don’t support them abroad. I am challenging myself and others to consume little and consume responsibly.

More Information on the Subject:

• A nice blog about Made in Pennsylvania
• Oregon Made Moccasins
• All American Clothing Company
• (Carhartt continues to produce garments in the US, however they do not differentiate between their domestic and foreign made products – tricky, eh?)
• New Balance Shoes (Word Doc for Products)
• .
• .

*I am truly interested in finding outdoor companies who use appropriate materials in their goods and have found few that do.  Brands including Patagonia, Smart Wool, Black Diamond, Marmot, Mountain Hardware, and North Face typically manufacture their products abroad in countries with very loose environmental regulation, unfortunately.  I hope to find some good manufactures (or lists others have compiled) soon and then add them to this very short and incomplete list.

Friday: Becoming an REI Member

$20 in and 20% off.  Now I’m entitled to all sorts of good stuff.  Hooray!

Saturday: The Pikes Peak Hike, 14,110 ft

Kira and I woke up at 3:30 AM and pushed ourselves over to the lodge where the rest of our nine had gathered, shoved ourselves into the minivan, and zoned out until we arrived at The Craggs trail head at the base of Pikes Peak on the West side.  Dark and cool we lifted one foot in front of the other up the trail in soft whispers and the burgeoning dawn.  Soon the night lifted, the morning broke, and we anticipated the arrival of solar warmth as we watched the shadows recede across the panoramic of the Rocky Mountains toward our trail.  Patches of snow turned icy dotted our route and every pause between steps debuted a glorious one hundred and eighty snowcapped shark-tooth horizon.  It was breathtaking.

Our companions were of various ages.  Twenty-two was the low bar while the oldest hailed from the low altitude of Michigan and celebrated sixty-five years of  vigor.  As our pace was slow and steady and breaks were frequent, several of us had much too much energy in our legs.  However, we maintained our patience.  And as the day wore on and the peak grew closer, our compatriot grew weaker and weaker to the point of anxiety.  As we stepped across fields of ice and tip-toed through small boulder-scapes, we held our breath as steps became harder to take and balance more difficult to maintain.  Water was shared mercifully and snacks were eaten vigorously.  However, the time finally came when, only one more bound from the top, no more than two thousand feet above, that the group split into two, those who would eat lunch in the wind and those who would begin to descend.  Kira and I, being representative of youth and strength, continued on with several others and finding nothing but a heap of boulders leading to the top, scampered quickly from icy rock to snowy hole to glorious cairn pointing the way in the last one hundred meters.

To the delight of all but us hikers, the small two lane road ends here at the peak and atop it rests a restaurant and souvenir stand, a US Army building, a parking lot, view point, and the end of the line for the Cog Mountain Railway.  So as we stood and enjoyed our lack of three hundred and sixty degrees, a group of men dug their raised Ford F-350 out of some ice they’d tried to run through, and an old man threw a snow ball at his grand child, then laughed.  An overweight family fell out of their oversized SUV, and a middle aged hiking couple remotely locked their Subaru.  Several other hikers had ascended with us and had retreated from the wind into the cafeteria, so we followed suit in order to enjoy the relief of sitting in a restroom for a few moments.

After some pictures with the freshly painted “Pikes Peak, 14,110 ft” sign and enjoying a some slices of guda we’d carried up for the occasion, we turned our noses and toses down the hill and began our decent.  It was now close to 3 PM.  We had left the parking lot at 6:30 AM.  It had taken us eight and a half hours to climb the mountain, only to find it heavily populated and significantly lacking any sort of complete view.  There was some serious disappointment as we reengaged the icy rock for our departure.  But as we reemerged on the West side of the mountain, and the panoramic of the Rockies presented it’s self once again, one couldn’t help but smile and keep on trucking.

By 6:30 PM we had reached the cars at the parking lot of The Craggs campground and we easily slipped back into our seats which we had occupied twelve long hours before, celebrated our accomplishment and then went silent.  It was cold and dark again.  What an ordeal.

Sunday: Pikes Peak Road Runners Trail Race, 4.8 miles (Fall Series Race #2)

Kira and I woke up late on Sunday, about 9:30 AM, to the sound of movement upstairs and my mind raced with enthusiasm for the race!  I threw the covers back and then put all my strength into jumping out of bed.  My back screamed and my thighs winced.  My fists clenched and my body threw up the middle finger.  I paused for a good several minutes, standing next to my bed, fearful of the next steps, fearful of the next event, fearful I’d done a terrible thing to my body.  However, with a few stretches and some slow movements I made it to the shower where the warm water medicated my body and soon I was upstairs and energetic.

MORE PHOTOS FROM THE RACE

We drove out to the park where the race was being held and checked in, stretching and doing a bit of a jog I was mentally convinced I was prepared.  I stepped in line behind Christopher for the start and made a deal to never leave his heels.  The pack was tight and keeping up without edging someone out was difficult, but with some ziggs and zaggs and a bit of some pace adjustment I was stuck to him.  After one loop about the grass the trail started, and the group thinned to a manageable density.  Strong and energized as I had started, I stuck with him, however as the hills kept going up and up and as my body began to recognize the endeavors of the previous day I began to slow more and more.  Christopher left my toes and moved forward.  Relentless I managed to change my goal and defend against any other competitor running between us, with the distance between as no object.  Through a few splashy creeks and up a set of stairs my heart was pounding and I felt the drive of collapse catching me, however every moment before I was about to give up, my pace setter slowed his speed and the hills pointed downward and the ground got softer and someone handed me some water and I relished in some sense of relief.  The last portion of the trail contained a set of ropes leading up an embankment, at this sight and with the cheering of a massive crowd I found the energy to leap across the creek and find the rope and with full force and vigor pull myself to the top passing my trail mentor.  With a lunge I was over a small fence and could see the finish only meters away.  However as I put feet in front of feet I found my energy registering a payment due and I slowed myself to a crawl.  Several others passed me, then Christopher reclaimed his position before my nose.  I put some force through, promised myself some rewards, and struck out to the end to enjoy only 3 seconds behind my leader.

Exhausted and satisfied with my weekend’s exercise I devoted the remainder of the day to successful living and a restful night.

RACE RESULTS

3rd of 16 in my age group, 39th of 203 men, 41st of 347 racers

Monday: Root Beer Floats, Hagandaz 5 and Mr. Thomas Kemper

Delicious and rewarding.

My love has accepted my proposal and I’m Engaged!

From Colorado, of course it’s not real unless you’ve got a GPS location associated with it right?

COengagement

It’s not enough that the government’s TSA is a bunch of fear mongering, power hungry, jack-asses, who recently mandated I preregister my name, DOB, and gender with airlines in order to “cooperate with the TSA to introduce Secure Flight, a federally mandated program designed to help enhance the security of domestic and international commercial air travel through the use of improved watch list* matching.”  A benign program that effects my life little, but affects my psyche greatly…

… But once again, the major airlines are coordinating their price increases and policy changes in a manner which is harmful to the consumer. En mass, they’ve added ‘fees’ to high traffic travel days. That, to me, feels a whole lot like collusion.
AP Article
While this isn’t new news per se, it is just one more example of a sick sector of business.  While I can’t support a general socialization of the industry, I can’t believe that these companies are functioning under honest practices and someone should effectively bitch-slap them, be it government or consumer.  I suggest the latter. You don’t need to fly, and it’s just one more reason why I’ll refuse to fly.  Instead get to where you’d like to be comfortably and without hassle, fly Amtrak.