Yesterday was a pretty mild kind of day: walked a bit in the city center, looking, listening, and stopping occasionally to read a bit and enjoy the sunshine. Happened to encounter a promotion event for an upcoming boxing match, complete with a ring and an announcer set up in King George Square. That was – to a person who has absolutely no interest in boxing whatsoever – interesting to watch. I was in the square to visit the Brisbane city museum in the City Hall building. I think it’s the only one called a city hall, whereas all the other capital city municipal buildings in Oz are referred to as town halls. Point of trivia that, if true, is useless and of interest to probably only me. I would be curious as to why the originators deviated from the norm, though. Possibly just to piss off someone. I can see that scenario playing out for sure. The museum itself was low key and pretty small, though. It took me all of about 30 minutes to do it all
 
Food vendor stalls were set up along my path south across the river. I decided to splurge and hit up a bratwurst wagon for a spicy New Zealand cheese and jalapeno brat. It was tasty to be sure, but I didn’t get even a hint of the cheese. I skipped the sauerkraut, too. That stuff just is (a) too strong a flavor and would dominate the experience, and (b) yucky regardless. At $12 AUD, it was reasonable, I guess. Made for a tasty lunch.
 
I revisited the Queensland Museum, dodging groups of young kids. I didn’t ask to find out if they were in school this time of year, or if it was more of a camp experience. I’m leaning toward the latter, though given the quasi-harried herders looked more like college-age and not professionals. Purely speculative on my part, though.
 
Upon my return to the hostel, I bought soap ($1 AUD) and a token good for a load in a washer ($4). I went all out and went for the dryer too – another $4. All told for a wash & dry cycle: $6.50 US. I feel I’m über rico, since most folks air dry. I’m not only mixing the languages I've heard here, I'm doing my bit for the economy. While I was hanging about in reception where I bought my soap and tokens, Alejandro (from Chile) came by and invited me to join him…somewhere? All I understood was “friends” and “want to come”, so of course I did.
 
It turned out to be a free market event in a space down the road where a charity sets up and distributes food to people in need. He, and a fair number of other hostel residents lined up to participate in the distribution. I felt odd being in my financial position taking free food, so I excused myself from Alejandro and wandered to the front of the line. I’m sure I got some weird looks along the way, but I wasn’t going up there to jump the queue, I went to ask if I could help. I met Mark, the man who runs the operation every Wednesday, and explained I didn’t need free food, but could I offer a cash donation (I had some in my pocket) and maybe help on the other side of the tables.
 
He eagerly accepted both offers. It was a very rewarding experience handing out yogurt, tea, watermelon, and shots of milk (the ones for coffee) to those who needed/wanted it. Down the row was some pretty good looking fruit and veggies. It’s a pretty good operation. It was fun to see the expressions on the faces of the other hostel residents when they saw me on the other side of the tables. Afterward, I told Mark (and Carl, who was next to me) that I would be happy to help another time when I was in the area on a Wednesday. It feels good to do good.

I gave the Goat beer a go. Go Goat. I liked it. As it says on the can, it's a very enjoyable beer. It's low in AVB, which is just fine for me. It – and several of its friends – would go down great on a really hot day. Three other shots are from my visit to the museum. The last two are of a regular visitor to the hostel, but I don't think he pays, and the dawn as I wrote this post. I couldn't pass up adding it. So beautiful.

After giving the hostel experience a five night go, I’m going to pronounce it successful, even if it’s not quite as comfortable as a hotel, and not quite as flexible as an AirBnB (where I have a place to myself). But, in counterpoint, it’s a less-expensive option than either of the others – especially when I add in the fees of AirBnB that don’t show up until I complete the purchase. Damn. Those can add about 20%-30% to the cost displayed when shopping for a place to place my head at night. This stint has been in a room to myself with an en-suite bathroom. Next up, in Cairns, is my own room with a shared bath. I’ll let you know.
 
There is coffee (it’s instant, but OK with me) and tea available in the kitchen that is open 23 hours/day, so bonus there. Trying to use the knives though, is like trying to cut something with a water-rounded rock. They’ve gone far, far past the point of a sharpener being effective; they all need a grinder. The only exceptions are the serrated ones.
 
Last night there was a BBQ here hosted by the hostel. Sausages and onions on white bread. Nourishing (for the most part) if not especially tasty; the sausages weren’t spicy brats or anything. There was catsup (ketchup?) and plain, dull, yellow mustard available to brighten the look, if not the flavor profile. Fuel definitely for the 20-somethings that are the largest share of the population. I question the choice of several of them to have white wine as an accompaniment. Beer was pretty good to wash it down, though.
 
Speaking of beer, and I know I’ve made this point before, but damn, it’s pricey! I bought a sixer at the local BWS (Beer Wine Spirits) shop, and the cheapest I found was 22 AUD (about 15.5 USD). It’s called GOAT and how can I pass up the Greatest Of All Time when it comes to beer? No, I don’t think I bought the Natural Light of Australia, it was the lowest price simply because it was on sale. But, maybe I did. You’ll never know... But, I didn’t need to crack open one of the GOATs, since the French/Moroccan guys I met and were chatting with offered me one of theirs.
 
So far at the hostel, I’ve talked to people from France, Morocco, Germany, NZ, Scotland, Sweden, Switzerland, Chile, England, Italy, New Caledonia, the US, and, of course, Australia. There are people from Japan that I know are here, but I haven’t spoken with. There are probably other countries represented too, that I’ve forgotten, or haven’t met yet. Everyone has a story, and I really rather enjoy listening to them. As long as I don’t have to share a dormitory-style room with a bunch of snoring and farting 20-somethings whose circadian rhythms are significantly shifted from my own, I think it’ll be a good time. 

Pretty nice sunrise this morning. I thought I'd share.

​I’ve decided to hang out in Briz for another week, staying in the same place. I’ve found a great microbrewery called the Brisbane Brewing Company that serves up a quite tasty stout (among other nice selections), with a friendly tender who’s been here for only a couple of years from England. Dominic and I, and a “local” (from up country) named William shared a few yesterday. I’m possibly going to meet up with William tonight at a place called The Burrow (really eclectic mix of furnishings, but less good beer than BBC), where there is going to be live music tonight. Looking forward to that.

​I went for a run yesterday for the first time since I left FoCo. It wasn’t great, but wasn’t terrible. The river trail is quite popular, and there were a lot of others out running, walking, riding E-scooters and cycling. It struck me that the folks on bicycles are either in a group riding nice, lightweight bikes or are on e-bikes, with the E-bike crowd outnumbering the “serious” cyclists. I’m beginning to wonder how close we are coming to the tipping point where electrical assist will outnumber personal transport without it. I saw a number of electric Segway-like contraptions, with only one wheel. One guy had a baby strapped to his back while riding one of these.
 
I also walked through the Botanical Gardens and through the city center to the north. I stopped at a Walgreens for chicken fingers, Doritos and cookies: lunch of champions! While eating in the park between the court buildings, I was accosted by an Australian Ibis who, when his begging from the front failed, quietly circled around, jumped on the bench behind me, and started poking into my stuff with his twelve inches. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like getting poked from behind by twelve inches, at least not without warning. Sneaky bastard.

Today's forecast is for rain most of the day, so I think I may use it to suss out where to go on the 21st. North to Cairns, west inland for a bit, or south towards Sydney? Regardless of direction, I plan to take a train whichever way I go to see more of the country. Maybe I’ll see a roo.

I've been here now for one full day in Briz. And first reactions are…I like it. The hostel (Somewhere to Stay) is quiet (for the most part), and I’ve met a few interesting people. I find it somewhat amusing that I’m kind of looked at like an interloper, since I’m not sporting dreads, my socks match, my laptop isn’t an Apple and I don’t have a fog of weed smoke or vape following me around. Or, it could be that I’m old and the rest of the residents are as young as my kids.
 
I’ve heard at least three languages other than English, and I haven’t heard a North American accent yet. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any staying here, though. Overall, after the first two nights, I’m inclined to extend my stay here for another week or so before moving on – to either another place in Briz, or to another city. I’ve not yet discovered buses, but I do know where the train station is.
 
If I do say so myself, I think I did well with selecting the location. There are at least three breweries within 1 km, a multitude of restaurants, and I’ve sussed out a decent running route that I’ll give a whirl later today. Even with the close proximity of the retail, the hostel is definitely located in a residential area. There is a meter that measures the sound levels. I spoke to the night guy, and he said they use it to monitor the activities so as to not annoy the neighbors. Perhaps my “it’s quiet” declaration may not survive the weekend. I shall see.
 
My plan to identify birds got off to a rollicking start with a magpie, and a magpie-lark. The magpie-lark is the one in the photo. However, I am disappointed not to have seen a single kangaroo or other marsupial yet. I can’t believe there aren’t herds of them roaming the city streets like thugs. My disappointment has been attenuated, though, by the five month old puppy named Roo that I met at The Bearded Lady. Roo was stretched out and sound asleep on two sisters’ laps. The music must have put her to sleep.
 
That’s it for day one. Enjoy the photos.

Odd title, but surprisingly apt. When I left Ft. Collins, I had been surrounded by cats. There are six living in the house, with five of them having free rein. Of those five, three were regular visitors to my room, and all of the black and white variety. Floyd, Basu, and Sheo would run, and pounce on me in the bed. In some respects, I was okay with leaving them behind. It’s an, shall I say, abrupt awakening when a ten pound kitty pounds his paws into my crotch.
 
On with the story. I started a timer when I left the house to board the shuttle. I was curious just how long it would take for me to get through five airplane trips visiting six airports, a shuttle ride at the start, and a planned train ride, and hike to my final destination. On I go.
 
The trip, despite the remarkable number of legs (I blame the bait and switch tactics of the ticketing company: Crystal Travel. I’ll never use them again even if they show as the cheapest on flights.google.com), went smoothly. I had a couple of delays, but nothing egregious, and with layover times pretty spread out, it simply meant I would have to cool my heels in the plane, rather than on the concourse. Though I did splurge and get all hoity-toity and book the trip from LAX to BNE as business class, and the time in the lounge at LAX was nice. Beer and food were plentiful there and on all the flights.
 
Legs? Did I mention legs? Since I had booked from LAX, I had to get from Denver to LA, and instead of booking the entire trip through Crystal, I decided to get my ass to LAX on a different carrier. So, I booked it via Southwest. As anyone who flies Southwest, it’s a rarity to have a trip of more than two hours on a direct jump, so I guess I added a stop on my own, traveling from DEN –> LAS –> LAX.
 
I arrived at LAX without boarding passes. Crystal had, when they changed my ticket in the bait and switch, issued a new confirmation, which they didn’t share with me. This made it so I couldn’t do the online confirmation or seat selection. Bastards. I called a couple weeks prior and got seats using my 13-digit ticket number, but after that, I didn’t think to check in until it was time. When I did, all I got was “Online check-in unavailable, check in at counter.”
 
OK, fine. I can do that. I arrive Southwest at the farthest terminal from the Bradley International. I sling my backpacks front and back, and hike to the terminal. It’s warm and when I get to the counter, I’m already sweaty. When the agent said she couldn’t check me in, I got just a bit more sweaty, this time with flop-sweat. What? Oh, shit. Those bastards have taken my money and left me sitting. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. What did happen is that they neglected to mention that even though I was simply passing through New Zealand, staying only a few hours in the terminal, I needed a Covid-declaration.
 
I step out of line, and download the app. Ten minutes later, flop sweat subsiding, I’d applied. I told the agent, and she said it might not be approved for up to 72 hours. Open the flop-sweat spigots. Before they really had a chance to get flowing, I got the email saying I’d been approved. Sweet. Back to the agent, and minutes later, I had anachronistic paper boarding passes in hand, and a ticket to the Star Alliance Lounge.
 
From that point forward, it was just a matter of flying from LAX –> NAN (Fiji) –> AUK (in New Zealand) –> BNE. Customs was a breeze and passport control was a self-actualized process. That was kind of a bummer, because I didn’t get a stamp. I wanted the stamp! Maybe it’ll happen when I leave? Hit up the ATM for some plastic Australian currency, and off to the train. Along the way, I checked the cost of an Uber. It was only 28USD to get to the hostel, and one was available in 2 minutes. The train wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another 28, and that would only get me to within 1.5 miles of the hostel. I made the executive decision to take the Uber.
 
Checking into the hostel was easy, and I get to my room. Much to my surprise, there is a cat curled up on the bed. A black and white cat. Did I travel half way around the world, and bring a cat with me? She got up, stretched, generously allowed me to give her a few scritches, and regally exited the room. I found out later that she is the hostel cat, and typically doesn’t allow anyone to touch her. I feel honored that she both graced my bed with her hair, and allowed me to give her a few pets.
 
That, my friends, is how I came to title this post.

The time has come to go. I arrived in the USA this time on the solstice – June 21 – and it’s now definitely time to be on my merry way to…elsewhere. I mean, I can’t be here for the equinox or my birthday – both are too far into the future. I’ve accomplished what needed accomplishing. I’ve done my stint at the race, which was ostensibly the reason for my return, and done my share of visiting friends and family. I took my sixteen year-old Volvo that already had almost a quarter of a million miles on it over the threshold of having more than a quarter of a million miles on it. On the whole, the Swag Wagon did the job not only adequately, but amazingly.

I averaged nearly 30 MPG for the trip. Given the cost of fuel (ranging from $3.75 to $5.79/gal, I am not unhappy with that. The Swag Wagon’s only drawback is its tired air conditioner that pretty much could only handle taking the temperature down about eight degrees Fahrenheit. Given that there was a heatwave pretty much shadowing my travels (up to 111°F (44°C)), I would have appreciated a greater effort. Unfortunately, that was not forthcoming. But driving down the interstate with all the windows down, my foot out in the breeze, and the music blaring, I channeled my younger, earlier, larger capacity bladder 80’s self and drove for hours on end. It was easy. It was therapeutic. It was fucking hot. The driving wasn’t terrible, but stopping was. Rest stops when it’s hot enough to cook on the radiator, aren’t restful. Don’t take my word for it, try it out for yourselves.

I experienced some great things while here, and some things less than great. Those that fall in the latter category know who they are, and are persona non grata from this point forward. Life is far too short to deal with people like that. There are a lot of things that happen that are out of our control, but who we have in our lives is definitely something within our control. I choose to do so.
​
So, now it’s off to Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. I’ve a one-way ticket departing Monday, and a four day reservation at a hostel in the middle of the city, waiting for me for when I arrive. I’ll figure out the rest when I get there.

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.