I made it to Seattle just in time for a nice heat wave. It seems the heat is either following me, immediately preceding me, or tagging along in the back of the Volvo. So far, it hasn't been really an issue until the first night here in Seattle. Spencer's apartment has west-facing windows, marginal Levelor blinds that do nothing to keep out the heat, and no real opportunity for cross ventilation. Sleeping on a couch that will be perfect for curling up on a cold night didn't make it any better. I ended up on the throw-rug on the hardwood to try to get some sleep.

I've had a really nice time with the man-cub. We've gone out to meals and drinks and rooftop chill-in-the-heat sessions with a bunch of his friends. They all are a bunch of smart, aware and fun twenty-somethings. If this is the future, this is okay. Toss a run in the mix (thanks guys for setting the pace where an old man can keep up!) and it's been quite the time.

I was a little disappointed with the Museum of Popular Culture. I don't think it's worth the $34 entry. Good thing Spencer had discount tickets, so we were able to get in for $24 for the two of us. Frankly, I'm not sure it was worth that. Sure, they had some famous musicians' guitars, and some props from a few good movies, but the homages to Pearl Jam and Jimi Hendrix dominated the square footage and aren't my cup of tea. 

Heading out again in the morning, on the road, heading toward MoCo Colorado to visit with some more family. T-1 week or so before I fly away again. Seems to be time to do so.

Almost exactly 10 years ago (August 13th to be exact), I went out for a bike ride. It’d been a rough day at work, and as I pushed down toward Old 395 in Washoe Valley, I thought, “Friday the thirteenth has got nothing on Monday the thirteenth!”

I figured a good 20 miles or so would be a good way to work off the frustrations of a less than stellar day. As I pedaled down the last bit to the valley floor, I noticed a car coming up. It looked like what my friend drove, and I looked a bit harder to see. It wasn’t her, it was her husband, and as I turned my head back to what’s in front of me, I distinctly remember thinking, “ Get your eyes on the road, idiot, you’re moving pretty fast!”

That’s the last thing I remember before waking up on a stretcher with some EMTs and my wife looking at me. One EMT asked me who was president. I confidently answered, “Ford!” My wife got a horrified look on her face and asked if they were going to put a cervical collar on me. They said they would if I – an obviously addled crash victim – wanted it, and looked at me. I nodded, mimicking the movement of my wife. I was soon strapped, and trussed, and off to a short stay in the hospital. My garmin read 31 mph, 0 mph, then 70 mph.

I escaped with 3 broken ribs, bruised lung, dislocated clavicle, some glorious road rash, holes in my shoulder, and a significant concussion, that to this day, I think caused some changes in my personality. I’m much more sparkling now, obviously.

Fast forward to this week, when my brother said, “Pfft! That’s nothin’! Hold my beer!” I was coming this way to enjoy some trails and beers ( in Oregon, that’s “hookers and blow”), when I get a text from him saying he’s had a bike crash on Sunday. At the time he sent it, he was at home, but moving slow. That was Monday. Tuesday morning, while I’m on the road, I get an update that he’s in ER and getting admitted. Apparently, he really wasn’t okay.

Turns out, his list of injuries is: 6 broken ribs, bilateral hairline pelvic fractures, and both a pneumothorax and hemothorax. Oh, and a glorious bruise! Good thing his face wasn’t scraped like mine; he’s already ugly enough. It is unfortunate that he and I won’t be spending any time on a trail together, but I do get to sit with him in his hospital room, when I’m not sampling the excellent beer Bend had to offer.

I’ll hold his beer, when he can hold it himself.

I spent the last few days with my daughter at her mom’s house in San Diego, while she’s on her summer break from NYU. I get along very well with my ex, and it was generous of her to invite me to stay at her place while I was here. Even without the current inflationary movement, this area’s lodgings are pricey, and not having to pay the big bucks for a bed was definitely a boon. Food costs aren’t terrible, which was a pleasant surprise. That contrasts nicely with Carson City, where restaurants are, IMHO, price gouging.

I finally got some tentative miles in on my feet, and that felt pretty good. The she-cub and I visited Balboa together and caught the recent Top Gun movie – which had a lot of parallels to the original. Anyone else notice the female lead in both movies drove a 30 year-old (at the time) Porsche? Jennifer Connolly has a big edge over Kelly McGillis, though in my book. Someone let her know I’m available, mmmkay? But back to the movie: fun plane stuff, too.

Sunday, the she cub wanted to go lift weights. I thought, “Why not?” and went along. Well, Dear Readers (all ones of ya), she humbled me. She’s remarkably strong, and crushed my efforts like crushing a paper cup. And it was leg day! Ostensibly, as a runner, I’m supposed to have strong legs. But, as it happened, the only body parts that lived up to the masculine Dad-contract of Must Be Stronger were my calves. The baby cows are the only ones where I could keep up. Squats? Crushed. Extensions? Crushed. Bulgarians? Crushed, Hatch? Crushed.

I’m semi-thankful I’m driving most of the next two days, as I’m wending my way to Bend (or am I bending my way to Wend?) and on to Seattle. Walking is going to be painful for a bit.

It's been a bit of time since my last post, and that's likely because I haven't done much of note. I worked the Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run for (I think) the 12th year at the finish line, helping with the timing. This year the carnage was epic. Temperatures hovering around 99 both days and not really cooling down overnight resulted in what seemed to me a significantly higher number of drops. I didn't hear of any significant health issues, though there were a lot of folks that we trundled right through the finish chute into the med tent. 

Of note this year was the bottle of mighty fine rye that Katie the finish line captain used to entice me back. Also, the ribs that Jesse brought for us at the finish. OMG, that spicy dry rub was amazeballs. Both have indicated that similar enticements await next year, should I return. I think I will, because I've already made a dental appointment.

I met some fantastic new friends; trail running is such a great community. I can't wait to get my fattening ass back out running somewhere.

Next up for me is a visit down south to San Diego to see my she cub, then north to Seattle to see the man cub. After that...who knows. I hear Australia calling pretty hard.

Though I – not unexpectedly though some uneducated may think vaccination confers invincibility – did in fact get caught in the Covid trap, my symptoms were extremely mild. So mild that I barely slowed my typical exertions. Yes I got out and about, and yes, I stayed away from others. Doing so is easy to accomplish sleeping in my car and avoiding people on the trails.

Speaking of trails, I was fortunate enough to visit some spectacular ones in the stretch of the John Muir Wilderness between Mammoth and Bishop, CA. Enjoy the photos, though I enjoyed the experience much more.