Right now, a good percentage of the taxes we pay at the pump go toward road maintenance in the city/county in which we purchase the gas. What will happen when the revenues for road maintenance drop significantly as a result of our inexorable move to electric vehicles? The wear and tear on the roads won't change, but the revenues used to maintain them will. 

There needs to be a way to identify and extract the funding from the users of the roads. The existing paradigm of gas tax made perfect sense when a person needed to buy the fuel necessary to operate the vehicle on the road. Even if the purchase was made in one county, and the driver immediately left the area on the freeway, it was balanced by another driver essentially doing the opposite. Everyone got their fair-ish share of the taxes, and the roads were maintained. (Some much less so than others, I agree.)

​So what to do now? With the move to electric, and plugging in your car at home, the need for stopping at a gas station is dramatically decreased. Even hybrids, which still use gasoline, don't use much. My solution is technologically feasible, but probably will not appeal to a lot of privacy advocates.

My solution is to equip all new all-electric cars with a transponder that activates when the car is moving, and tracks and reports miles driven and where. Using GPS, every mile driven on every road in every county is tallied, and a "use tax" can be applied to that car. I see the DMV tracking the data, and apportioning out the funds to each county on a monthly or some other regular pay period. Agreements would necessarily be established between states (or set it up at a federal level) so that interstate trips would be accounted for as well.

As a user, I would be making regular payments to my road-escrow account, similar to how I pay for gas now. If I don't have any money in the escrow account, the car gets bricked - unable to move. Much like the situation now if you can't afford to get gas. Yeah, about that privacy thing. Everywhere you drive will be tracked and logged. It'll be a treasure trove for law enforcement (Who was in the area at a particular time? Subpoena the database.) Though if you currently use a cell phone, it already can be.

I'm sure someone smarter than me will figure out something better, or ways to improve on this, but hey, let the mind wander when out running! 

Friday night, pre-race. On a recommendation from a local, I got an awesome burger at Munchies, then hopped over to Copper Club Brewing for a couple of carb-load hydration packs, often referred to as “beers.” I was sipping and enjoying the music. Didn’t really register until he started jamming a Stevie Ray Vaughn tune. Damn. The guy was good. I turned to see him and I’ll be honest, I was surprised. He looked like he’d have been quite comfortable sitting and crooning at a campfire.

The best part was after the race. My college roommate from decades gone by Mark came over from Denver and we demolished a huge pizza from Hot Tomato, while swilling beer after beer in Copper Club (yes, again!). Such good pizza and such good beer. And such a good time with such a great friend. (Thought I was going to continue with the “goods”, didn’t ya?)
After whiskey into the night, we capped the visit with an awesome breakfast this morning at Camilla’s Kaffe. Sooo good.

The memories of that morning came back.
​On April 30, 1995 (I had to look up the date), I toed the line for the very first time since a middle school half mile race against the clock. (Back then it was called junior high.) That one was required to pass the phys-ed class I was in; this one was purely voluntary. I don’t remember exactly why I signed up, but I’m pretty sure it was a result of peer pressure from a dark-haired beauty I was dating at the time. (History shows I’m a sucker for that kind of pressure. And dark haired beauties, too, apparently.) I do remember the race was five miles, and my goal was 40 minutes. Pretty sure I didn’t make it, and I felt absolutely wiped out the rest of the day, but hey, I got the shirt!

Soon after that race, I stopped running, stopped seeing the dark-haired beauty, stopped working at my job, and stopped living in Colorado. It took seven years, and a gain of twenty five pounds before I tried running again – to resounding failure. I couldn’t even make it a mile. I was fat and over forty. Like a lunatic, I signed up for the now-defunct Silver State half marathon in Washoe Valley. I survived, and soon after, discovered trail running and have never looked back.

Fast forward another fifteen years. I lost the twenty five pounds (and more). I’ve lost my youth and the feeling of invincibility that goes with it. I’ve lost some relationships – losses which haunt me nightly. But, I’ve gained two great kids, and a healthy lifestyle on the trails. I’ve gained some pretty amazing trail companions, and a renewed connection with the natural world. And since every run could be my last, I strive to enjoy every step – even the ones that hurt, though they far outnumber those that do not.

​Sir Elton may be still standing. As for me? I’m still running. Running like Jackson Browne.

After two days of visiting the valley floor and heading up steep trails with unending switchbacks, I decided to change things up a bit and start in a different place — and go up a steep trail with unending switchbacks.

The trail from Tenaya Lake to Cloud’s Rest was on my shortlist, and when it was recommended by someone (who hasn’t done it yet, I might add.) I figured What the hell? I’ll likely die on a trail anyway. Why not today? Why not here in Yosemite?

i haven’t felt that horrible during a run in I don’t know how long. Dizzy, light headed, I couldn’t control my breathing nor my heart rate. I hurt from my head to my ankles. And I was only a mile in. This is going to suck. It was so hard for me to keep going, but I am nothing if not stubborn. Obviously, I made it there and back again. (LOTR reference for geeks.)

Final weekend tally: three days, three runs, 36 miles, 12K elevation gain. I think I’ll rest tonight; I may even sleep.
​
And now, videos and moar pictures!

Today was my second and last day in Yosemite Valley. It’s unclear, but I don’t foresee coming back. Not to say I won’t visit Yosemite, it’s huge and amazing, I just don’t foresee returning to the valley.

Why? Because reasons. I don’t want to elucidate, and you, Gentle Reader, don’t care: “ Blah, blah, blah. Bring on the pitchurs!”

​So, without further ado:

I’ll find someplace to go tomorrow. My legs are fried, but whatever. Maybe there’s another double digit run still in them for this weekend.

The demons came on Sunday. Familiar enough that they all have favorite places to hang out in the condo, but they didn’t bring snacks, the jerks.

They have a pretty solid bead on where I live, so to escape them, I leave. Monday morning I looked ahead and saw the three-day weekend opportunity. I saw that Tioga Pass had not yet closed for the season, and couple that with the fact I’d never been to Yosemite before, my weekend was settled: road trip.

Made it to Yosemite Valley in about 4.5 hours. The entrance booth to Yosemite from Tioga Pass was unattended, so free visit! Saved $30; I’m sure I’ll spend it on dinner and alcohol.

My plan was to head up to Sentinel Dome, and hit Glacier Point on the way back. Thirteen tough miles. Cold, windy and fog on Sentinel.

By the time I’d made it off and back to Glacier Point, though, it had cleared and was spectacular.

All the usual pains kept me in SUDS* mode on the descent. Guess they’re here to stay. Or until I find a new hobby!
Tomorrow I’m eyeballing the other side of the valley and go up the Yosemite Falls Trail. Sunday is still up in the air. This is a spectacular place, though it’s kind of sad I’ve nobody to share it with. Other than my readers, that is!

*Same Uphill Downhill Speed
​In this case: slooow…

All good things must come to an end, and this trip is painfully approaching its inevitable conclusion. Yesterday was my last big adventure on land, and today in the water.
Yesterday was a trek across the island. Ostensibly, there was a trail, but in all practicality, it was a 6+ hour bushwhack. By the time I finished, the 11 miles felt like an ultra marathon. I was either ducking under a branch or three, or crawling over a deadfall, or winding my way around another. And all the way, I was a hunted man.

some men are chick magnets. Some may even be money magnets. I, mis amigos, am a leech magnet. Glamorous, I know. Ladies, calm yourselves.

And not just on my feet. On my stomach, and less public places, too. Mosquitoes, I don't mind. Leeches on my balls? Yeah, no thanks. TMI? You don't know TMI until you see the little fuckers attached.
Otherwise, I saw a bunch of nature. All cool.

After spending half the night drinking Chang beer in a beach bar during a deluge with an Australian couple solving the world's problems, nothing exciting to report for today.

A bit of breakfast, then hopped in a kayak to investigate the mangrove estuary to the ocean.
​I think I'll go the other direction tomorrow.
​Damn I look old and decrepit. Glad I don't have any mirrors!

Then it was beach time. Had to share it with the Beach King.
(Side note about dogs. They are ubiquitous and in reasonably good health. The ones in Bangkok all look like small akitas, in Chiang Mai, they look like narrow-muzzled, small labs, and in Koh Chang, they nearly all have the ridgeback fur of a Rhodesian.
In all locations, there exists definite local hierarchies, and I noticed cooperative grooming behavior in the Chiang Mai cohort. I found that interesting.)

No, I don't go for the Chicken Ass on a stick - I'm not that brave.
Spicy basil chicken and a beer on the beach. Nearly perfection.