Morning comes all too quickly considering passing out does not count as sleep...Anyhow, we grab some beers to go (after finishing a few in the room while getting ready) and head out on the town around 11am. We realize very quickly that we had not had food since returning to Lone Pine at lunch the day before. And before then we did not eat much because of the altitude. And before that morning, we had drank all night. Our tummies were upset with us, mostly due to our choice in first calories of the day: beer. The motto for the day quickly became "Food. We have to find food."
We were looking for the cheapest food in town, but kept getting sidetracked by the many, many sights and sounds of Vegas. The fountains of the Bellagio? Awesome, but afterwards we needed food. The casinos Cesar and Flamingo? Awesome as well, but still no cheap food. Back to the Bellagio, where we encountered a group of about 8 men that looked like they could help us. Tom approaches and asks if there is any cheap food around. No one helps out at first, but then the man of the hour speaks up, "Uhhh, there is a dog and a beer for $2.50 down the street"
Bingo. We descend onto the bar like it was a wounded animal, and we were a pack of wolves midwinter. It is my kinda bar: 80's rock, cheap beer (in every way), and a decent looking bartender who gave us shit for being "lightweights" in her eyes. Well, needless to say we fell in love with the place fast. After our dogs and beers, we bought "roadies" (God I love Vegas!) and hit the strip again. From there the drinking started to take its toll. We were at the Flamingo and Tom needed to use the restroom. Jeff and I stayed right outside the bathroom for what was surely an hour, when I gave up and went into the bathroom and could not find Tom anywhere. We called him, but his phone was dead. So, at this point Jeff and I continued on for a while, hopping casino to casino, getting our drinks and moving on for two hours or so, until finally I call Tom once more, and lo and behold, he had gone back to the hotel and charged his phone.
Well, by this time we were at O'Malley's or O'Charlie's or O'Henry's...doesn't matter, cause there was beer pong there. I waited outside for over 30 minutes for Tom to arrive, then he and I had to go find Jeff, who also did not have a phone. We walk into the Irish Bar and Casino, find the beer pong tables, and take a seat at the bar. Right way we observe some terrible beer pong technique that these women are using that are apparently playing two-on-one against this guy, and I start to make my opinions heard about their elbows and arc. They may be bad, but not deaf, and catch on quick, asking me if I am criticizing them. "Yeah, I am talking about you two" I say matter of fact, and before they can show how offended they are, Jeff walks out of nowhere and joins the other side of the table, grabs a ball, and throws. Tom and I are speechless that not only did he walk right by us, and not only is he playing on the table against the women I was badmouthing, but he took a pee break? Well, that was too much. "Jeff!!!" Tom and I yelled out. He jumped two feet in the air and spun around to see us sitting right behind him.
Well, the afternoon from there went swimmingly. Jeff got laid and Tom and I tried to learn how to play craps. However, Tom and I each took a pitcher of beer with us out of the Irish pub to the next casino, so we are not reliable witnesses as to how to play craps. There are dice, that's about all I can recall about it. I think I made money...
So Tom and I walk back to the hotel, where Jeff is busy so we finish our now-warm pitchers by the pool. After that we rejoined our conqueror, Jeff, in the hotel room to pound some alcohol and take a nap....
So from here it is hard to tell where I should finish Today's commentary, considering it is today and tomorrow and the next day all at the same time during this period....So I will add it to "Tomorrow's" day.
Day Seventeen: The Highs and Lows of It...
So sleeping at 12,000ft is tough to do when two days before you were at sea level. The full moon and no clouds does not help as well. Being dehydrated is probably the worst thing you could do to compound the situation...however, knowing all this did not help prevent all three of us from succumbing to the side-effects of AMS. We all had a very restless sleep, I personally ended up getting perhaps 3 hours of sleep, 2 of which were good, solid hours. Unfortunately, those two hours started at around 2:30am, which means I woke up at around 4:30, about 30 minutes later than we wanted to be hitting the trail. So we break camp as fast as possible, and hit the trail at 5.
"What happened to the food?" you ask? Well, nothing at all. No marmots, bears, or other mini-bear critters got a hold of it. Of course not, it is us we are talking about...right? Nothing bad ever happens to Team Smell Bad.
Only two groups were ahead of us (from our side of the mountain), and we could see the winding trail that led up to the pass via headlamps of the other groups. As the hike progressed, pre-dawn light made it possible to hike without headlamps. We had to stop a few times for drink and food breaks...well, and for air. It was like we were swimming underwater and holding our breath: there was just no air. Every time we would stop it seemed like we could not catch our breath. This had a lot to do with being out of shape, a lot to do with being dehydrated and succumbing to AMS, and even more to do with there being no air at 13,000ft.
Sunrise was the most spectacular thing I think I have ever seen. Just rows and rows of mountains stretching out as far as the eye can see. The sky was blood-red, foretelling a hectic afternoon, so after a few pictures we pressed on toward the summit. After passing one of the two crews in front of us, we hit the pass, located at 13,600ft. Fatigue was really setting in, and I realized I had not eaten enough food, nor drank enough water because I was feeling too nauseous. This was obviously a sign of AMS, but I have too much pride, and shoved down a few granola bars and Slim-Jims with a few swigs of water and braved the sickness. Jeff, on the other hand, could not brave the sickness and yaked all over the trail, leaving a strong doubt in Tom and myself whether or not Jeff was going to be able to continue.
Well, he toughed it out, and soon enough on the 2 mile traverse to the summit, the end was in sight. It still took way too long to get there, but we summited at 8am. No one spoke for a while up at the summit, just trying to take it all in, both the view and the air. I laid down and took a 5 minute nap on the freezing cold rock right on the summit. It was glorious. After 30 minutes (which passed in seconds, it seems) we realized we needed to start moving down. Here is the view from the Top:
"What happened to the food?" you ask? Well, nothing at all. No marmots, bears, or other mini-bear critters got a hold of it. Of course not, it is us we are talking about...right? Nothing bad ever happens to Team Smell Bad.
Only two groups were ahead of us (from our side of the mountain), and we could see the winding trail that led up to the pass via headlamps of the other groups. As the hike progressed, pre-dawn light made it possible to hike without headlamps. We had to stop a few times for drink and food breaks...well, and for air. It was like we were swimming underwater and holding our breath: there was just no air. Every time we would stop it seemed like we could not catch our breath. This had a lot to do with being out of shape, a lot to do with being dehydrated and succumbing to AMS, and even more to do with there being no air at 13,000ft.
Sunrise was the most spectacular thing I think I have ever seen. Just rows and rows of mountains stretching out as far as the eye can see. The sky was blood-red, foretelling a hectic afternoon, so after a few pictures we pressed on toward the summit. After passing one of the two crews in front of us, we hit the pass, located at 13,600ft. Fatigue was really setting in, and I realized I had not eaten enough food, nor drank enough water because I was feeling too nauseous. This was obviously a sign of AMS, but I have too much pride, and shoved down a few granola bars and Slim-Jims with a few swigs of water and braved the sickness. Jeff, on the other hand, could not brave the sickness and yaked all over the trail, leaving a strong doubt in Tom and myself whether or not Jeff was going to be able to continue.
Well, he toughed it out, and soon enough on the 2 mile traverse to the summit, the end was in sight. It still took way too long to get there, but we summited at 8am. No one spoke for a while up at the summit, just trying to take it all in, both the view and the air. I laid down and took a 5 minute nap on the freezing cold rock right on the summit. It was glorious. After 30 minutes (which passed in seconds, it seems) we realized we needed to start moving down. Here is the view from the Top:
Going down always proves to be much faster than going up, but no less pain. The pain is different, but just as bad. Our legs, knees, and feet start to ache maddeningly with each step. We want to stop, but would rather stop at the bottom, where there is no more hiking to done. As the hike progresses, the switchbacks never seem to end, and the heat just rises and rises as we descend into the desert and into the afternoon. Once back at the car, packs drop, legs drop, and altitude quickly drops on the way back into Lone Pine.
The usual Double Cheeseburger and soda were awaiting us at McDonald's (I hate the food and the company, but dang they are cheap!). Into Death Valley we sped headlong, until we hit mountain range after mountain range in my badly wounded vehicle. The car had not had an oil change YET on the trip, which put around 6500 miles of really hard, overloaded, rough driving on the engine with no lubed relief. Oh, and did I mention it was driving through Death Valley? So after we passed our lowest point in the trip (altitude-wise) at -190 ft below sea level, the car could not negotiate the mountain ranges and the 120+ degree heat...and the needle began to rise. Immediately the AC was turned off. The air was being circulated in the car, so it stayed cool...for about 4 minutes. As we climbed higher, the temperature inside the car also rose, and the speed of the vehicle dropped inversely to the temps, and was peaking at around 25mph. Finally we topped a pass, and it was all downhill into Vegas...
But not without a stop in Paducah. That's right, Paducah, NV: a small, quaint desert town that has too many rednecks and not enough cowboys (that are sober). As we roll in, the decision is made to put at least 2 quarts into the engine, which is undoubtedly running on sand as lubricant at this point in time. At the first gas station we encounter, oil is purchased, and the restroom of the adjacent bar is utilized. Inside which, I found all the cowboys in the town (it was 5 o'clock somewhere, I am sure), and as I left the following scene played itself out:
A woman was on her cell phone near a broken-down camper. A truck pulls into the parking lot squealing like a bat out of Hell. A man and a woman jump out of the truck, inspect the camper, and then the man approaches the woman that was on the phone. The exchange heats up quickly, fingers are pointed, obscenities are yelled, and something about "knowing where you live" was shouted. During this, the other patrons of the gas station had stopped pumping their gas and were just watching the scene unfold. We were doing no such thing. As soon as the conversation became audible to us, we moved like a fine-tuned machine to get the oil in the engine, gas topped off, hood closed, and car out of the lot in 20 seconds flat. There was one unifying thought that was running through all of our minds: I do NOT want to die in Paducah Nevada. Well, we didn't.
A little while longer and the Vegas skyline came into view. We drove right onto the Strip, jaws on the floor as we ogled the shear extravagance of the city. Before we knew it, we were checked into our hotel, beer was purchased, and we were already hitting the town. However, because of all the excitement of the day (summit, desert, Paducah, Vegas!), we neglected to eat any food. This will continue well into the next day...
So we go to the first casino we see and order a round of Jager Bombs. Jager for two reasons: One, it is the best liqueur ever made. Two, we needed a little wake-up after the drive. We were also under the impression that it was cheap to drink in Vegas. Well, when the bartender said "that is $11 apiece" we thought we must have truly misheard him. Apparently not. Well, we coughed it up and hit the casino floor a little miffed. Oh well, that was soon forgotten when we learned the secret to Vegas: nickel and penny slots. Why, you ask? Well, because if you are gambling, the waitresses will bring you FREE drinks. Don't go to the bar to drink, they want you to gamble. Well, now that the cat was out of the bag, we drank for cheap the rest of the night, until I left for the Hooters casino, won a few bucks there, then jumped a few fences through construction sites and evaded some police to make my way back to the hotel to pass out.
Day Sixteen: Team Smell Bad, to the Rescue!
The drive back to Lone Pine was fairly quick, and since we knew we were only hiking 6 miles that day, that there was no real rush to get to the trail head. So after the ride to Lone Pine, a quick stop at the visitor center for directions and water, and of course two McDonald's double cheeseburger's for 99cents apiece....mmmm, good...we headed up to the trail head.
Of course, the car could only hit 30mph tops, but no biggie, we were in no hurry. A lot of people underestimate how fast we hike. Everyone we passes on the way up to Trail Camp, our destination for the night, looked at us like we were crazy for starting so late (2pm). Well, we were only hiking to 12,000ft, we were not hiking on any ridges, and the storms had pretty much missed us. There was a little rain, but we heard no thunder or anything, and many of the people coming down said it would take us 6 or more hours to get up there. HA! Although, no lie, it was tough as hell hiking up that mountain. I am not exactly what people would call a symbol of health, and we are low-landers, so the altitude and physical exertion are killing us. And the heat. It was 100 degrees at 8500 feet. That is hot. We were glad for the rain, it made the hiking a little more bearable. On our way up, we run into some people from the day before and the permit lottery. They looked like they were having a swell time...
Now, we were surprised at how many people were still coming down the mountain at 6pm. We figured that the people would have wanted to get off the mountain by 1pm tops. We were right outside Trail Camp, 4.4 miles from the summit, and there were many people still coming back from the top at 6pm. It seems to me that someone should know that you can't be up on a 14'er that late in the day, especially in late July, when it thunderstorms everyday up there. No wonder there is a large plaque that warns against lightning strikes...stupid yuppies...
Anyhow, that was about the time we ran into some people who were looking for cell reception. We did not help them out with that (although ours may have worked), and we then learn that there was an elderly woman, in her late 60's, suffering from hypothermia about a quarter mile from us. This gave us a little adrenaline boost as we rushed to her aid. She had about 4 people trying to help her eat and drink fluids. But after assessing the situation and interviewing the help, I see that the woman is in a bad spot. Quick rundown: she is in an emergency blanket, but is wet from a hailstorm earlier in the day; her clothes are wet; she has been sitting for half an hour and had not felt rested; she is shivering and can stop on command, but only momentarily; she is at 12,000ft; it is 6pm and the sun is setting; she is not able to eat or drink much; she is as old as time itself. Not a good situation. So, we drop packs, get a pot of water heated, fill it with half-strength Gatorade, get it in a Nalgene and against and in her belly in 4 minutes flat. We instruct her to eat, and with warm fluids she is able to eat easier, and within minutes we have her up and walking, with help, but walking down in elevation regardless. A job well done for Team Smell Bad (a whole other story if you don't know it. I may go into it at a later date).
So our campsite (thankfully pointed out to us by our nice neighbors) was pretty sweet. Flat spots made by people many years ago by removing tons of rocks and making really nice wind shelters with them. We filled our water in the most pristine mountain lake I have ever seen, with a vanish point view of the sky right over the Eastern edge of the lake...just absolutely amazing. After filling water, we cook an amazing dinner of Ramen and chicken in a can, we realize that I have brought way too much food to fit it all in the bear canister. We figure what are the odds of a bear up here? Although we all know it is high, the food is stashed under a massive rock and is wedged in with the bear canister. We would see if that worked...
Then after a little wondering around, we hit the sack, prepared to wake before the crack of dawn and hit the trail by 4am.
Of course, the car could only hit 30mph tops, but no biggie, we were in no hurry. A lot of people underestimate how fast we hike. Everyone we passes on the way up to Trail Camp, our destination for the night, looked at us like we were crazy for starting so late (2pm). Well, we were only hiking to 12,000ft, we were not hiking on any ridges, and the storms had pretty much missed us. There was a little rain, but we heard no thunder or anything, and many of the people coming down said it would take us 6 or more hours to get up there. HA! Although, no lie, it was tough as hell hiking up that mountain. I am not exactly what people would call a symbol of health, and we are low-landers, so the altitude and physical exertion are killing us. And the heat. It was 100 degrees at 8500 feet. That is hot. We were glad for the rain, it made the hiking a little more bearable. On our way up, we run into some people from the day before and the permit lottery. They looked like they were having a swell time...
Now, we were surprised at how many people were still coming down the mountain at 6pm. We figured that the people would have wanted to get off the mountain by 1pm tops. We were right outside Trail Camp, 4.4 miles from the summit, and there were many people still coming back from the top at 6pm. It seems to me that someone should know that you can't be up on a 14'er that late in the day, especially in late July, when it thunderstorms everyday up there. No wonder there is a large plaque that warns against lightning strikes...stupid yuppies...
Anyhow, that was about the time we ran into some people who were looking for cell reception. We did not help them out with that (although ours may have worked), and we then learn that there was an elderly woman, in her late 60's, suffering from hypothermia about a quarter mile from us. This gave us a little adrenaline boost as we rushed to her aid. She had about 4 people trying to help her eat and drink fluids. But after assessing the situation and interviewing the help, I see that the woman is in a bad spot. Quick rundown: she is in an emergency blanket, but is wet from a hailstorm earlier in the day; her clothes are wet; she has been sitting for half an hour and had not felt rested; she is shivering and can stop on command, but only momentarily; she is at 12,000ft; it is 6pm and the sun is setting; she is not able to eat or drink much; she is as old as time itself. Not a good situation. So, we drop packs, get a pot of water heated, fill it with half-strength Gatorade, get it in a Nalgene and against and in her belly in 4 minutes flat. We instruct her to eat, and with warm fluids she is able to eat easier, and within minutes we have her up and walking, with help, but walking down in elevation regardless. A job well done for Team Smell Bad (a whole other story if you don't know it. I may go into it at a later date).
So our campsite (thankfully pointed out to us by our nice neighbors) was pretty sweet. Flat spots made by people many years ago by removing tons of rocks and making really nice wind shelters with them. We filled our water in the most pristine mountain lake I have ever seen, with a vanish point view of the sky right over the Eastern edge of the lake...just absolutely amazing. After filling water, we cook an amazing dinner of Ramen and chicken in a can, we realize that I have brought way too much food to fit it all in the bear canister. We figure what are the odds of a bear up here? Although we all know it is high, the food is stashed under a massive rock and is wedged in with the bear canister. We would see if that worked...
Then after a little wondering around, we hit the sack, prepared to wake before the crack of dawn and hit the trail by 4am.
Day Fifteen: I Can't Drive...35?
We leave Josh's in the wee morning hours--around 7 or so--and make our way back up the state towards Lone Pine, CA. Lone Pine is located right in between Death Valley (the lowest point in the US) and Mt. Whitney (the highest point in the lower 48 states). We arrive in Lone Pine around 11am, with no permits to climb Mt. Whitney and no idea where to get them if there are any available. The visitor center sounded like a good plan, and we arrive just in time to enter the lottery for available permits to climb the mountain. With much undo suspense, we receive overnight permits for the next two days.
However, no one wants to hang around Lone Pine for the night, so without much hesitation, the car keeps its heading and finds our campsite for the night: Yosemite. On the way into Yosemite, we had to drive through Tioga Pass, which is at 9945 feet above sea level. Well, my car was way overloaded, way overheated, way over on an oil change, and way underpowered to make the climb needed to pass through Tioga Pass. With the gas pedal fully depressed, the car refused to go more than 30 miles an hour. Many of the cars that were passing us on the uphills, we had passed earlier doing twice their speed, now they were doing twice ours. Damn you 1.5 liter Mazda engine! Yeah, it was slow...
Once through Tioga Pass, we drove straight to the campsite and prepared for a quick little jaunt through the woods. Again, thanks to Backpacker Magazine's "Wildest Day Hikes" info, we avoid all the crowds and hike straight to North Dome--an easy 8+ mile round trip--and enjoy a full panoramic view of Half Dome, El Captain, and the rest of the valley. After a hour long, mostly quiet sit on the North Dome, we head back to our campsite at Porcupine Creek. Here was the veiw from North Dome:
Tom and Jeff cook up some Ramen and I attempt to read some before bed when suddenly: BEAR!! Tom yells and looks into the forest where a pair of eyes is watching us from the bush. We stare, it stares right back, we stare more...this goes on for a full minute before finally...the eyes bend down and pick up some grass in their mouth and start chewing it. Damn Mule deer! Anyhow, bedtime came not a minute too late.
However, no one wants to hang around Lone Pine for the night, so without much hesitation, the car keeps its heading and finds our campsite for the night: Yosemite. On the way into Yosemite, we had to drive through Tioga Pass, which is at 9945 feet above sea level. Well, my car was way overloaded, way overheated, way over on an oil change, and way underpowered to make the climb needed to pass through Tioga Pass. With the gas pedal fully depressed, the car refused to go more than 30 miles an hour. Many of the cars that were passing us on the uphills, we had passed earlier doing twice their speed, now they were doing twice ours. Damn you 1.5 liter Mazda engine! Yeah, it was slow...
Once through Tioga Pass, we drove straight to the campsite and prepared for a quick little jaunt through the woods. Again, thanks to Backpacker Magazine's "Wildest Day Hikes" info, we avoid all the crowds and hike straight to North Dome--an easy 8+ mile round trip--and enjoy a full panoramic view of Half Dome, El Captain, and the rest of the valley. After a hour long, mostly quiet sit on the North Dome, we head back to our campsite at Porcupine Creek. Here was the veiw from North Dome:
Tom and Jeff cook up some Ramen and I attempt to read some before bed when suddenly: BEAR!! Tom yells and looks into the forest where a pair of eyes is watching us from the bush. We stare, it stares right back, we stare more...this goes on for a full minute before finally...the eyes bend down and pick up some grass in their mouth and start chewing it. Damn Mule deer! Anyhow, bedtime came not a minute too late.
Day Fourteen: Surf's Up!
More days that need to be described with exclamation points...apparently. Anyhow, awoke late in the morning, put on swim trunks, and followed Josh to the airport to return his rental car. Almost died on the way, damn traffic, I had to quickly change lanes doing 90, miss a van, and yank back to make an exit. It was fun.
So, back to Josh's, all in my car now, and we hit up an In N' Out again. Again, amazing. We all got our stuff Animal Style, which is not on the menu, also known as a secret item. It is where you are able to order a second and third heart attack with one order! Think of the possibilities!
Then to Redondo Beach we went. It was pretty cool, we walked a long way down before deciding to turn back, then swim. The tide was coming in and the undertow was very strong, but the waves were perfect for body surfing. I have never been in such good surf. Although, there was one downside: uneven ground. One second you would be in waist high water, the next second you could not touch the ground and were inhaling the entire wave that has engulfed you...that, and the undertow kept pulling you out, even if you wanted to stay. But, we were fine, body surfed for a while, then made our way back to the car. We drove around the mansions that line the cliffs on the Pacific for a bit, then went back to Josh's apartment to get ready for dinner downtown.
We went to _(insert name of eatery here)_ , and after we were seated and looked at the menu, we all kinda realized that it was somewhat out of our price range. So, a consensus and reached pretty quickly: split two large platters between the four of us. The waitress recognized right away that we were hungry, poor young adults, and she quickly brought us some bread. It did not survive long. The platters came, and we went at them like Tasmanian Devils. In 20 minutes flat, we were in and out of the restaurant, full and happy. We walk around towards the docks for a while, then head back to the car. None of us drink too much back at the apartment, and sleep comes quickly.
So, back to Josh's, all in my car now, and we hit up an In N' Out again. Again, amazing. We all got our stuff Animal Style, which is not on the menu, also known as a secret item. It is where you are able to order a second and third heart attack with one order! Think of the possibilities!
Then to Redondo Beach we went. It was pretty cool, we walked a long way down before deciding to turn back, then swim. The tide was coming in and the undertow was very strong, but the waves were perfect for body surfing. I have never been in such good surf. Although, there was one downside: uneven ground. One second you would be in waist high water, the next second you could not touch the ground and were inhaling the entire wave that has engulfed you...that, and the undertow kept pulling you out, even if you wanted to stay. But, we were fine, body surfed for a while, then made our way back to the car. We drove around the mansions that line the cliffs on the Pacific for a bit, then went back to Josh's apartment to get ready for dinner downtown.
We went to _(insert name of eatery here)_ , and after we were seated and looked at the menu, we all kinda realized that it was somewhat out of our price range. So, a consensus and reached pretty quickly: split two large platters between the four of us. The waitress recognized right away that we were hungry, poor young adults, and she quickly brought us some bread. It did not survive long. The platters came, and we went at them like Tasmanian Devils. In 20 minutes flat, we were in and out of the restaurant, full and happy. We walk around towards the docks for a while, then head back to the car. None of us drink too much back at the apartment, and sleep comes quickly.
Day Thirteen: Just Our Luck
Up and at 'em in San Fran. Looks like it may be another dreary day, but by the time we hit the Presidio, the sun is out and it begins to look like a great day. We hang out in the park for a while, then head to downtown to find the Beatnik bookstore and Chinatown. We decide to find the curviest street in the world, Lombard Street. We miss our first turn, so we take the second which leads up up a very steep hill (the car was crawling at this point, so overloaded and no horsepower), and at the top of the hill, alas, was Lombard street directly to our left...we miss it the first time. No worries, Tom makes an easy u-turn, and we simply take a right onto Lombard.
Well, I say simply. That's how it happened, but I am the only one who sees the mile-long line of cars waiting on Lombard street to go down it. But, as we approach the road, we have right-of-way, take our right-hand turn, and cut off hundreds of people wanting to turn down the road...oh well, just like with the hikers in Glacier: you snooze, you lose. Especially because anyone could have found out that the Lombard does not carry the right-of-way and they could have chosen to go our way. But, once again, we prevail and park at the bottom of Lombard and make our way south down Columbia. We pass Little Italy, we pass some historic landmarks (thoughtfully pointed out to us by a passing tour bus, whose driver was on a loud speaker. As he passed us, he jokingly told us it would be $5 for the info), we start to get hungry as we pass more and more restaurants. The decision is made to eat at a small Italian place, where we get lunch specials, and it is the best Italian we have ever eaten (we were hungry, mind you). So from there we browse City Lights, aka the Beatnik Bookstore. It is where Bob Dylan, Jack Kerouac, and Allen Ginsburg would hang out. It is the largest collection of Beat literature in the world. It was pretty sweet, and I should have bought a book. But oh well, I am sure I will return.
We move on to Chinatown, through it, and back again in search for the Golden Gate cookie factory, which was closed that day. So we leave Chinatown and its busy streets and good smells, and head back for the car, which is and hour overdue in its two hour spot. No worries, cause once again we have escaped a ticket. We move the car a block or two down to the wharfs. They were okay, lots of people, lots of tourist traps, not a whole lot to do without spending money. We get back to the car after an hour of meandering and looking through a spy shop, then drive on to LA.
Traffic blew. We left SF at 2 or so, and it took 3+ hours to get through Oakland to Hwy 15. Then several more hours into LA. We saw one of the best sunsets of the trip on the into LA. Then LA traffic was awesome, 55mph speed limits, traffic going 80+mph, no one caring about the speed limit. It was sweet. Show up at Josh's at around 11 or so, we eat the best burgers I have ever had, and pass out on his floor cause he has no furniture as of yet.
Well, I say simply. That's how it happened, but I am the only one who sees the mile-long line of cars waiting on Lombard street to go down it. But, as we approach the road, we have right-of-way, take our right-hand turn, and cut off hundreds of people wanting to turn down the road...oh well, just like with the hikers in Glacier: you snooze, you lose. Especially because anyone could have found out that the Lombard does not carry the right-of-way and they could have chosen to go our way. But, once again, we prevail and park at the bottom of Lombard and make our way south down Columbia. We pass Little Italy, we pass some historic landmarks (thoughtfully pointed out to us by a passing tour bus, whose driver was on a loud speaker. As he passed us, he jokingly told us it would be $5 for the info), we start to get hungry as we pass more and more restaurants. The decision is made to eat at a small Italian place, where we get lunch specials, and it is the best Italian we have ever eaten (we were hungry, mind you). So from there we browse City Lights, aka the Beatnik Bookstore. It is where Bob Dylan, Jack Kerouac, and Allen Ginsburg would hang out. It is the largest collection of Beat literature in the world. It was pretty sweet, and I should have bought a book. But oh well, I am sure I will return.
We move on to Chinatown, through it, and back again in search for the Golden Gate cookie factory, which was closed that day. So we leave Chinatown and its busy streets and good smells, and head back for the car, which is and hour overdue in its two hour spot. No worries, cause once again we have escaped a ticket. We move the car a block or two down to the wharfs. They were okay, lots of people, lots of tourist traps, not a whole lot to do without spending money. We get back to the car after an hour of meandering and looking through a spy shop, then drive on to LA.
Traffic blew. We left SF at 2 or so, and it took 3+ hours to get through Oakland to Hwy 15. Then several more hours into LA. We saw one of the best sunsets of the trip on the into LA. Then LA traffic was awesome, 55mph speed limits, traffic going 80+mph, no one caring about the speed limit. It was sweet. Show up at Josh's at around 11 or so, we eat the best burgers I have ever had, and pass out on his floor cause he has no furniture as of yet.
Day Twelve: Scrimshaw!
Rise and shine at the hotel, pack the car, get it dropped off at the garage by noon...and we decide to take a stroll around Ft. Bragg. When out of left field comes a brewery. And not just any brewery, but the West Coast Brewing Co. You know, Scrimshaw and Red Seal and such? Well, if you don't know, now you know. We talked to the nice, weird old man from Georgia. He told us all the secrets of the company, his favorite brews, the diamonds in the rough to look out for, and of course, where to find the 11-beer on-tap sampler, which was...right across the street.
So, it was past noon (I have scruples, whatever that means), and we drink two sample packs between the three of us. After the drinks, we walked a little further, then back to the car and a long, foggy drive into San Fran. Near the Golden Gate Bridge, Tom spots the one place he had been pining for on the opposite side of the highway: In N' Out Burger. We cross 5 lanes of traffic right onto the exit ramp at 80+mph, squealing tires the whole way. The exit was confusing, and it took us 5 or so minutes to find our way to the other side of the highway. But oh was it worth it. After eating food that Adam and Eve must have surely eaten in Eden, we hit the road.
Through San Fran, down to South San Fran, to the hotel. Once at the hotel, a quick few drinks and then bedtime...not a real busy day.
So, it was past noon (I have scruples, whatever that means), and we drink two sample packs between the three of us. After the drinks, we walked a little further, then back to the car and a long, foggy drive into San Fran. Near the Golden Gate Bridge, Tom spots the one place he had been pining for on the opposite side of the highway: In N' Out Burger. We cross 5 lanes of traffic right onto the exit ramp at 80+mph, squealing tires the whole way. The exit was confusing, and it took us 5 or so minutes to find our way to the other side of the highway. But oh was it worth it. After eating food that Adam and Eve must have surely eaten in Eden, we hit the road.
Through San Fran, down to South San Fran, to the hotel. Once at the hotel, a quick few drinks and then bedtime...not a real busy day.
Day Eleven: California! (is good to the homeless)
We wake to rain. It never ends. Our car leaves the campground on Oregon's coast at 6am (really this time) without paying our mandatory $15--cheapest place to put a tent on the ground on all of Oregon's coastline, screw that--and it drives until it needs its last tank, which, unfortunately, has to be filled in Oregon.
You can't fill you own tank in Oregon. You can't even swipe your card. Some schmuck comes to your window and does something that most people don't mind, and others even enjoy (at times): he pumps your gas. What a lame law. More importantly, gas is more expensive so it can pay for their pumpers' salaries, and you are expected to give a tip. Well, the only gratuity our pumpers got was the ability to be in our presence, because we don't have the dough to pass out to every bum that can hold a handle down.
Still raining. Then we hit the California border, and it was like coming to the promised land: sunshine. Kid you not, the sun was shining within 20 miles of the Cali border. Oregon? HA! what a lame state...then came the Redwoods. Giant pillars of living tissue that tower over our insignificant, short-lived existences. They are old, they are big, they have seen more than we can ever hope to see, and all in a quiet reserve that can only be found in...well, trees. They were cool, we drove through one, it was also cool.
Then the brakes in the car gave way. Completely. It was overloaded by 1000+ pounds, was being driven fast, and was going through the mountains. The pads melted completely off. All we could hear was caliper-on-rotor grinding, and it was not the pleasant kind of grinding. So the trip temporarily stopped in Ft. Bragg, CA., to get the rotor replaced. All was not lost, nay, all was gained! The beach was at our disposal, wi-fi Internet and beds were found at my dad's credit card's disposal, and showers were had by all. We got food and beer, drank and ate, hit the beach, hit eachother, then hit the sack...all-in-all a good day.
You can't fill you own tank in Oregon. You can't even swipe your card. Some schmuck comes to your window and does something that most people don't mind, and others even enjoy (at times): he pumps your gas. What a lame law. More importantly, gas is more expensive so it can pay for their pumpers' salaries, and you are expected to give a tip. Well, the only gratuity our pumpers got was the ability to be in our presence, because we don't have the dough to pass out to every bum that can hold a handle down.
Still raining. Then we hit the California border, and it was like coming to the promised land: sunshine. Kid you not, the sun was shining within 20 miles of the Cali border. Oregon? HA! what a lame state...then came the Redwoods. Giant pillars of living tissue that tower over our insignificant, short-lived existences. They are old, they are big, they have seen more than we can ever hope to see, and all in a quiet reserve that can only be found in...well, trees. They were cool, we drove through one, it was also cool.
Then the brakes in the car gave way. Completely. It was overloaded by 1000+ pounds, was being driven fast, and was going through the mountains. The pads melted completely off. All we could hear was caliper-on-rotor grinding, and it was not the pleasant kind of grinding. So the trip temporarily stopped in Ft. Bragg, CA., to get the rotor replaced. All was not lost, nay, all was gained! The beach was at our disposal, wi-fi Internet and beds were found at my dad's credit card's disposal, and showers were had by all. We got food and beer, drank and ate, hit the beach, hit eachother, then hit the sack...all-in-all a good day.
Day Ten: Rain, Rain, Go Away!
I wake to the sound of car doors closing, check my watch: 6:15am. We are late. I hurriedly pack my stuff and grab the guys and we make a quick breakdown. That's when we realize: we've no water. Between the three of us, about two and a quarter liter. Well, that won't do at all, and there are no facilities around us to get water. But alas, eureka! There is snow in them thar' hills, and therefore there must be water, we naively thought.
So, caution into the wind, we head out and put tread to trail, with three-quarter liter apiece. No problem, I said, we will stop at the first stream we cross, and the second and third if necessary, for I thought if this was anything like Glacier, there will be too much water for us. Well, the entire mountain is made of pumice and sand. That's it. Imagine trying to get water out of a sandcastle and a rock. Well, it wasn't happening. So we packed snow into our water bladders, and hoped that our hiking and sloshing around will help melt some more water into our systems. Which it did, but in no where near the needed quantities...but that was a problem for later.
So we start up the mountain proper, and we realize we are second-in-line on trail for the summit...easy pickings for men the likes of us. We quickly pass our neighbors in front of us (they are from Portland, so they are practically locals. Again, useful later). So we make our way up into the clouds...before we were in open space and could see Mt. Rainer and the other surrounding peaks, but now we are quickly being shrouded in a cold, wet, white blanket of fog. As the fog thickens, the temps drop, and as the air thins, the temps drop faster, and the wind picks up, at which point the temps drop even more (do you get the picture yet? IT GETS COLD). The trail markers--8 ft. tall wooden posts located every 100+ feet or so--become hard to follow, then impossible. We meander in the whiteness until a post is spotted, head to it, and meander again. Then, a possible sign of hope. We find a seismic station. At this point, we throw on a few more layers (I still go in shorts, the most telling sign of a fat-man, shorts in a snowstorm), we eat a bit, and have no idea where to proceed from here.
Along comes the Portlanders, who give us some beta on the trail ahead, and they take their much needed rest and recuperation before their final push. We move on. the rock fields drop away below us and we climb what could only loosely be called a scree field. Anyone who has hiked above treeline in the west knows what a real scree field is, and is not it. This is sand. Lots of sand, as a matter of fact, Mt. St. Helen's is probably the Nation's largest sand hill. The going got tough, and the tough got slow and winded. The cold mist and driving wind did not help either. Being low (or out, in my case) on water did not help, as well. But we trudged on, one foot in front of the other, and suddenly, although we could not prove it through any amount of visual evidence--visibility was 25' at best--we were on the rim.
It was, well, intense. The landscape dropped away from us on all sides, the wind bore into us at a bracing 60mph, and frost was forming on the edges of my facial hair (which had long since lost its "goatee" definition, and was now on its way to an odd beard-goat hybrid). We all knew there was only one thing to do: take video.
As the cameras came out, it became one more of those things where we all realized it was a perfect opportunity for something, but only one of us had the words to describe it. Here is my video on youtube.com:
We made quick work of the sand hill below us. Running at full speed, one can make it down in minutes the same mountain that took over an hour to come up. Soon we had passed our Portland counterparts, and were back in the white-out rock fields. Halfway down, no one knows if we are on trail or not. Footprints are rare and scattered, which is no help because most of the trail is on rock anyhow. Then I hear voices way to my left, and, thinking they were coming up a snowfield, I decided to investigate and see how their trek was fairing. But, after a minute or so, it became evident that they were not on the snow, but on a trail a hundred yards from us on the other side of the snowfield. We had somehow placed a large snowbank between us and the trail! Some sly footwork and a few close calls later, we were on our way back to the car on the main trail once again.
By the time we got to the car, it was raining in almost full force, at noon. (oh yeah, it seems my watch was still an hour ahead, and we started at 5:30, not 6:30...oops). And it did not stop raining, even as we arrived at our campsite in southern Oregon at almost midnight. At which point, the mosquitoes were as thick as the rain, and we made camp and fell asleep quickly.
So, caution into the wind, we head out and put tread to trail, with three-quarter liter apiece. No problem, I said, we will stop at the first stream we cross, and the second and third if necessary, for I thought if this was anything like Glacier, there will be too much water for us. Well, the entire mountain is made of pumice and sand. That's it. Imagine trying to get water out of a sandcastle and a rock. Well, it wasn't happening. So we packed snow into our water bladders, and hoped that our hiking and sloshing around will help melt some more water into our systems. Which it did, but in no where near the needed quantities...but that was a problem for later.
So we start up the mountain proper, and we realize we are second-in-line on trail for the summit...easy pickings for men the likes of us. We quickly pass our neighbors in front of us (they are from Portland, so they are practically locals. Again, useful later). So we make our way up into the clouds...before we were in open space and could see Mt. Rainer and the other surrounding peaks, but now we are quickly being shrouded in a cold, wet, white blanket of fog. As the fog thickens, the temps drop, and as the air thins, the temps drop faster, and the wind picks up, at which point the temps drop even more (do you get the picture yet? IT GETS COLD). The trail markers--8 ft. tall wooden posts located every 100+ feet or so--become hard to follow, then impossible. We meander in the whiteness until a post is spotted, head to it, and meander again. Then, a possible sign of hope. We find a seismic station. At this point, we throw on a few more layers (I still go in shorts, the most telling sign of a fat-man, shorts in a snowstorm), we eat a bit, and have no idea where to proceed from here.
Along comes the Portlanders, who give us some beta on the trail ahead, and they take their much needed rest and recuperation before their final push. We move on. the rock fields drop away below us and we climb what could only loosely be called a scree field. Anyone who has hiked above treeline in the west knows what a real scree field is, and is not it. This is sand. Lots of sand, as a matter of fact, Mt. St. Helen's is probably the Nation's largest sand hill. The going got tough, and the tough got slow and winded. The cold mist and driving wind did not help either. Being low (or out, in my case) on water did not help, as well. But we trudged on, one foot in front of the other, and suddenly, although we could not prove it through any amount of visual evidence--visibility was 25' at best--we were on the rim.
It was, well, intense. The landscape dropped away from us on all sides, the wind bore into us at a bracing 60mph, and frost was forming on the edges of my facial hair (which had long since lost its "goatee" definition, and was now on its way to an odd beard-goat hybrid). We all knew there was only one thing to do: take video.
As the cameras came out, it became one more of those things where we all realized it was a perfect opportunity for something, but only one of us had the words to describe it. Here is my video on youtube.com:
We made quick work of the sand hill below us. Running at full speed, one can make it down in minutes the same mountain that took over an hour to come up. Soon we had passed our Portland counterparts, and were back in the white-out rock fields. Halfway down, no one knows if we are on trail or not. Footprints are rare and scattered, which is no help because most of the trail is on rock anyhow. Then I hear voices way to my left, and, thinking they were coming up a snowfield, I decided to investigate and see how their trek was fairing. But, after a minute or so, it became evident that they were not on the snow, but on a trail a hundred yards from us on the other side of the snowfield. We had somehow placed a large snowbank between us and the trail! Some sly footwork and a few close calls later, we were on our way back to the car on the main trail once again.
By the time we got to the car, it was raining in almost full force, at noon. (oh yeah, it seems my watch was still an hour ahead, and we started at 5:30, not 6:30...oops). And it did not stop raining, even as we arrived at our campsite in southern Oregon at almost midnight. At which point, the mosquitoes were as thick as the rain, and we made camp and fell asleep quickly.
Day Nine: A Little Bit O'Sunshine
Morning at the Terry(i)'s consisted of packing the car, and saying goodbye--for the moment--to Jeff, who was sticking around the house to visit with the relatives (his Grandparents were making visit as well). So Tom and I hit the town, and Seattle did not disappoint. We found easy parking mid-day, walked around and found the greatest little sushi restaurant (Shiro's, for the inquisitive), and then started on the town. There are tons of great sights, like the Pioneer Square, which is packed with lots of large and small sculptures and works of modern art. Or move onto the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame and the Music Hall of Fame (both in the same building that seems to have been inspired by the Guggenheim). Or, if it is too pricey for you (as it was us, we were content to just walk by it and get a little relief from an afternoon shower), then just next door is the 1962 World's Fair area, now an arcade, small amusement park, and the Space Needle are all that's left of the post-World War, mid-Cold War distraction.
Speaking of distractions, if you are looking to hit on some hot single moms, arcade halls are the way to go. We just stopped in for a second, and were suddenly surrounded by hot moms with kids, or hot babysitters with kids, or just hot women that happen to stroll in areas where kids frequent...either way, lots of very attractive women there (not all older women either, but some).
So, enough of being distracted, after stopping by a Quick 'E Mart (that's right, Simpson's fans, if you don't know about them, then Google(TM) it, cause I know you will anyway), we made a few wrong turns back to the car (attempting to pay the man...the meter man) and after a long round about walk, made our way back downtown. Our new mission: coffee. Famous Seattle coffee. None for me of course, but Tom was jonesing, so we made our way to the most local-looking shop (and not that one famous Seattle coffee place either, we can get that anywhere...and we don't get it then anyway). After finding a "cafe", we head back to the waterfront...
...and follow the music in the air to the madhouse that is the Pier area. Shops, stores, restaurants, and people, hundreds of people, are packed, stacked, and racked in a tiny strip of real estate that is the Seattle Pier area. Think of Egyptian bazaar, or, if you want a more vivid thought, Indian bazaar or Turkish bazaar (why more vivid, you ask? I don't know, but I bet you did think of a more vivid place...and that was the point). So Tom and I shuffled our way through the crowds, not willing to spend more money, and realize we are glad we did not find this place earlier, for we have to go find Jeff, and are glad to be pulled away from that madness.
After much confusion, we find Jeff (or he finds us, whatever story your mind may find easier to digest) and hit the road for Mt. St. Helen's. Not too bad a drive, be pick up our climbing permits at a local store, and move on to find food. We happen upon a nice little place called the Cougar Bar in none other than Cougar, WA.
Well, we were only slightly disappointed by the severe lack of advertised "cougars," but the food and beer met our caloric and spiritual needs and we hit the road again towards our campsite. Once at camp, we packed all our gear for an early morning summit bid. But, before any good night's rest could be had, I apparently had passed out too soon, and was snoring loud enough to illicit the complaints of the neighboring campsites. Once Tom yelled enough to wake me, I denied all allegations, and promptly went back to sleep. Well, prove I was snoring? You can't, and I rest my case, and eyes, for tomorrow.
Speaking of distractions, if you are looking to hit on some hot single moms, arcade halls are the way to go. We just stopped in for a second, and were suddenly surrounded by hot moms with kids, or hot babysitters with kids, or just hot women that happen to stroll in areas where kids frequent...either way, lots of very attractive women there (not all older women either, but some).
So, enough of being distracted, after stopping by a Quick 'E Mart (that's right, Simpson's fans, if you don't know about them, then Google(TM) it, cause I know you will anyway), we made a few wrong turns back to the car (attempting to pay the man...the meter man) and after a long round about walk, made our way back downtown. Our new mission: coffee. Famous Seattle coffee. None for me of course, but Tom was jonesing, so we made our way to the most local-looking shop (and not that one famous Seattle coffee place either, we can get that anywhere...and we don't get it then anyway). After finding a "cafe", we head back to the waterfront...
...and follow the music in the air to the madhouse that is the Pier area. Shops, stores, restaurants, and people, hundreds of people, are packed, stacked, and racked in a tiny strip of real estate that is the Seattle Pier area. Think of Egyptian bazaar, or, if you want a more vivid thought, Indian bazaar or Turkish bazaar (why more vivid, you ask? I don't know, but I bet you did think of a more vivid place...and that was the point). So Tom and I shuffled our way through the crowds, not willing to spend more money, and realize we are glad we did not find this place earlier, for we have to go find Jeff, and are glad to be pulled away from that madness.
After much confusion, we find Jeff (or he finds us, whatever story your mind may find easier to digest) and hit the road for Mt. St. Helen's. Not too bad a drive, be pick up our climbing permits at a local store, and move on to find food. We happen upon a nice little place called the Cougar Bar in none other than Cougar, WA.
Well, we were only slightly disappointed by the severe lack of advertised "cougars," but the food and beer met our caloric and spiritual needs and we hit the road again towards our campsite. Once at camp, we packed all our gear for an early morning summit bid. But, before any good night's rest could be had, I apparently had passed out too soon, and was snoring loud enough to illicit the complaints of the neighboring campsites. Once Tom yelled enough to wake me, I denied all allegations, and promptly went back to sleep. Well, prove I was snoring? You can't, and I rest my case, and eyes, for tomorrow.
Day Eight: The Terry(i)'s
We woke up and got out of the hotel right at checkout (another attractive woman at the counter, God bless Montana!) And we drove…all the way to Seattle. Very little stops because, well, there is nothing on the East side of Washington. In Seattle, we met the Terry(i)’s. They are Jeff’s Aunt and Uncle, Terri and Terry respectively. They are pretty nerdy.
They both play video games on huge individual LCD TV's.
They have automatic salt and pepper shakers.
They have automatic toilet seats that wash and bidet you, automatically.
They were living proof that the apple does not fall far from the tree.
So we were able to wash clothes there, and have a good dinner. So, what's the big deal with automatic salt and pepper shakers you say? Well, by automatic, I mean electric. Loud, electric motors which Terry liked to use, tactfully, when Terri was speaking as to drown out her voice. He had a satisfied, sly smile about him when he did this. They liked to argue, and had an odd, playful humor that I can only attribute to living in the Northwest. Interesting people overall, and they let us sleep there and that means they are good people in my book.
So we hit the town that night, just walking around in a stiff breeze up and down the streets of Seattle, looking for fun and trouble. Well, it is too cold for trouble, and the fun was to be found in one bar, which we drank at, left, and eventually returned to because it was our first love...or something like that. We (I) have a hard time finding bars that I (We) like. Trendy, dark bars are not for us (unless it is a Jazz club, but that is obviously not what I am referring to here, keep up). Pubs are more our nature, and naturally we gravitate towards them. Then into them. Then back to the Terry(i)'s for a good night's rest.
They both play video games on huge individual LCD TV's.
They have automatic salt and pepper shakers.
They have automatic toilet seats that wash and bidet you, automatically.
They were living proof that the apple does not fall far from the tree.
So we were able to wash clothes there, and have a good dinner. So, what's the big deal with automatic salt and pepper shakers you say? Well, by automatic, I mean electric. Loud, electric motors which Terry liked to use, tactfully, when Terri was speaking as to drown out her voice. He had a satisfied, sly smile about him when he did this. They liked to argue, and had an odd, playful humor that I can only attribute to living in the Northwest. Interesting people overall, and they let us sleep there and that means they are good people in my book.
So we hit the town that night, just walking around in a stiff breeze up and down the streets of Seattle, looking for fun and trouble. Well, it is too cold for trouble, and the fun was to be found in one bar, which we drank at, left, and eventually returned to because it was our first love...or something like that. We (I) have a hard time finding bars that I (We) like. Trendy, dark bars are not for us (unless it is a Jazz club, but that is obviously not what I am referring to here, keep up). Pubs are more our nature, and naturally we gravitate towards them. Then into them. Then back to the Terry(i)'s for a good night's rest.
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