Author's Note: Whereas past blog posts have been bowel movements of the mind, this summer's posts will focus on the bodacious travels of a free man on the open road. I'll try my best to keep ya'll updated with posts and funny pictures, so check back. Ya can always call or email me too. It's a wild ride!
Spring has begun!!
Here’s a quick recap of only the last week.
My classes have ended. Sorry, but I won't be able to post the final prints from my photo class until fall, because they are in storage for the summer (although I do have other images to post soon). I've left Fort Collins for an undetermined period of time. No more hanging out at the Bike Co-op or Eco-Thrift (volunteers needed). No more bicycle rides up Rist Canyon or drinking brews with friends at the local pubs. The closest thing to home is the road and my storage unit.
Leaving the Fort, I went to Boulder for my Wilderness First Responder recertification (advanced first aid/CPR). It was great to visit this exciting city once again and I got a great hookup with a free place to stay. It was great hanging out with other outdoor professionals; one hardcore group, including a few NOLS instructors. At 6 pm on Sunday the course ended and by 10 pm I was on the Greyhound bus for a surprise visit to Michigan. Thirty hours on the bus and my family was surprised! I've been busily doing much needed home improvement projects ever since. There is so much to do.
My spring training has begun in earnest. Okay it's just begun, but in earnest. I'm running around the 6 mile block and it's incredible to be running on familiar terrain. There's the same gasping climb onto Cherry Hill Road, and the final uphill surge to the finish. Fortunately I’m not in as bad a shape as I initially thought. I returned to work at Bivouac, the local outdoor gear shop, for the next month. I start my summer cycling and hiking guiding job in July; hopefully beginning with Mt Rainier.
That's my week in summary. I hope ya'll enjoyed the news update. Please check back and let me know that somebody actually is reading these words.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The soft rain during the night has watered the forest and left the tent speckled with raindrops. It is early morning and the eyes are still glazed with drowsiness. As I awaken to the world outside the tent walls I hear the birds chirping as they fly from branch to branch. Listening closer I hear two squirrels chasing each other among the tall pine trees. It’s too early to be up, but I open the door to see what the weather looks like. The seemingly quiet teeth of the zipper shatter the relative silence of the forest, emitting a foreign sound. The view outside is beautifully mystic. The surrounding trees glisten with raindrops and a few wildflowers color the nearby alpine meadow. Straining my neck upwards I see the mountain peaks covered with an early morning mist. The mist seams magical and mysterious, hiding the jagged summits from view.
Monday, May 5, 2008
His Name was Sam
In every person’s life there are moments, people, and experiences that define who they are and who they become. For better or worse these experiences change us. Sometimes the change is easy, other times it is painfully difficult. The one constant of these life experiences are the marks they leave upon our consciousness. I don’t know if the following memory is one of these experiences, but it is something I remember.
In my younger years, early teens perhaps, my family had a golden retriever. He wasn’t the first family dog, but Sam was the first dog that didn’t scare me with an angry bark. I can still picture him laying lazily on the couch in the family room. His hair has as much red as gold and he is skinny, but in a healthy way. His long nose is noticeably narrow and his brown eyes seem to be perpetually making “puppy” eyes at us. Although he was allowed in the house, it was against our parent’s rules to let him into our beds with us. We snuck him in anyways. Many nights were peacefully spent with Sam’s body heat radiating between our snuggled bodies.
Although Sam was the family dog my relationship with him was special because I was the one who was responsible for him. I fed him his meals and as part of my 4-H experience took him to dog obedience courses. It took a lot of time and effort for someone my age, but eventually we both learned. That summer, at the local 4-H fair, our hard work paid off. We won both competitions and received two small trophies. I still have those trophies. These are happy memories, but it is another experience that I recall more vividly. I do not remember the passing of time between that summer and the following events, but I still retained my youthful innocence.
Although Sam was a wonderful dog, whom we all loved, he had a bad habit. Whenever he got outside without a leash, he became so playful that catching him was difficult. He would run around excitedly, come within twenty feet of you, and arch his back with his front half low to the ground; a signal that he wanted to play. Sam’s actions were both gleefully amusing and frustrating. Fortunately we lived in the country and there was little danger in his playful antics.
On this particular day, Sam escaped from the house, and quickly disappeared from view. I followed him along the dusty country road, both frustrated and worried when he did not obey my commands to return. I continued down the road calling his name. After a quarter of a mile I neared the end of the road, which came to a ‘T’ at a busy paved road with speeding cars. It was from this direction that Sam came running towards me. As he had done so many times before he arched his back, bringing his front half low to the ground. My furry friend wanted to play. I wanted him to obey and come with me. Then Sam got up and energetically bounded away. A moment later car tires screeched and I heard a horrible yelp. I knew. I was young and innocent, but I knew.
My mind is unable to recollect all that transpired in the next few hours, but I do remember running to get my Dad. I remember him carrying Sam to the family’s car. Maybe I saw the pain in Sam’s eyes. I was probably crying. Next thing I recall I’m at my Grandma’s vacant house along with some other family members helping to clean it out. The phone on the wall rings. I know who it is and what the call is about. Dad answers it and the conversation is brief. He walks over and tells me that the vet has to put Sam to sleep, but I know he will never awake from this sleep. Maybe I cried, but reflecting back upon this moment, I seem to recall a stoicism unusual for a boy my age. Maybe it was because I already knew, or perhaps I dealt with the loss in some other way.
The next moment in my memory is Sam’s burial. Dad has dug a hole in front of our barn, down the hill from our house. The family has gathered around; my parents, two older sisters, two younger brothers, and myself. Dad places Sam in the hole and says something about him being a good dog. We all cry and he fills in the grave. Over the next few days or weeks I build a cross to mark Sam’s grave. With Dad’s help I cut and stain the wood. Alone, I take a hammer and place the cross atop his resting place. I don’t know if this tragic experience changed or defined me somehow, but many years later I still remember it.
I’ve since grown up and moved to Colorado, to the mountains I love, but every time I go back to Michigan I see his grave and the cross that marks it. If it’s summer I try and tidy up the place, tearing out the grass and spreading some mulch. I also still have his collar. It rests in a drawer along with a few other prized memories. The bright blue is somewhat faded and the identification tag is scratched. Ever so often I take it out and look at it; remembering the beloved dog of my childhood. His name is Sam.
Today is his birthday.
In my younger years, early teens perhaps, my family had a golden retriever. He wasn’t the first family dog, but Sam was the first dog that didn’t scare me with an angry bark. I can still picture him laying lazily on the couch in the family room. His hair has as much red as gold and he is skinny, but in a healthy way. His long nose is noticeably narrow and his brown eyes seem to be perpetually making “puppy” eyes at us. Although he was allowed in the house, it was against our parent’s rules to let him into our beds with us. We snuck him in anyways. Many nights were peacefully spent with Sam’s body heat radiating between our snuggled bodies.
Although Sam was the family dog my relationship with him was special because I was the one who was responsible for him. I fed him his meals and as part of my 4-H experience took him to dog obedience courses. It took a lot of time and effort for someone my age, but eventually we both learned. That summer, at the local 4-H fair, our hard work paid off. We won both competitions and received two small trophies. I still have those trophies. These are happy memories, but it is another experience that I recall more vividly. I do not remember the passing of time between that summer and the following events, but I still retained my youthful innocence.
Although Sam was a wonderful dog, whom we all loved, he had a bad habit. Whenever he got outside without a leash, he became so playful that catching him was difficult. He would run around excitedly, come within twenty feet of you, and arch his back with his front half low to the ground; a signal that he wanted to play. Sam’s actions were both gleefully amusing and frustrating. Fortunately we lived in the country and there was little danger in his playful antics.
On this particular day, Sam escaped from the house, and quickly disappeared from view. I followed him along the dusty country road, both frustrated and worried when he did not obey my commands to return. I continued down the road calling his name. After a quarter of a mile I neared the end of the road, which came to a ‘T’ at a busy paved road with speeding cars. It was from this direction that Sam came running towards me. As he had done so many times before he arched his back, bringing his front half low to the ground. My furry friend wanted to play. I wanted him to obey and come with me. Then Sam got up and energetically bounded away. A moment later car tires screeched and I heard a horrible yelp. I knew. I was young and innocent, but I knew.
My mind is unable to recollect all that transpired in the next few hours, but I do remember running to get my Dad. I remember him carrying Sam to the family’s car. Maybe I saw the pain in Sam’s eyes. I was probably crying. Next thing I recall I’m at my Grandma’s vacant house along with some other family members helping to clean it out. The phone on the wall rings. I know who it is and what the call is about. Dad answers it and the conversation is brief. He walks over and tells me that the vet has to put Sam to sleep, but I know he will never awake from this sleep. Maybe I cried, but reflecting back upon this moment, I seem to recall a stoicism unusual for a boy my age. Maybe it was because I already knew, or perhaps I dealt with the loss in some other way.
The next moment in my memory is Sam’s burial. Dad has dug a hole in front of our barn, down the hill from our house. The family has gathered around; my parents, two older sisters, two younger brothers, and myself. Dad places Sam in the hole and says something about him being a good dog. We all cry and he fills in the grave. Over the next few days or weeks I build a cross to mark Sam’s grave. With Dad’s help I cut and stain the wood. Alone, I take a hammer and place the cross atop his resting place. I don’t know if this tragic experience changed or defined me somehow, but many years later I still remember it.
I’ve since grown up and moved to Colorado, to the mountains I love, but every time I go back to Michigan I see his grave and the cross that marks it. If it’s summer I try and tidy up the place, tearing out the grass and spreading some mulch. I also still have his collar. It rests in a drawer along with a few other prized memories. The bright blue is somewhat faded and the identification tag is scratched. Ever so often I take it out and look at it; remembering the beloved dog of my childhood. His name is Sam.
Today is his birthday.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Quotes by the great, unfortunately late Robert F. Kennedy
"The problem of power is how to achieve its responsible use rather than its irresponsible and indulgent use -- of how to get men of power to live for the public rather than off the public."
"Together, we can make ourselves a nation that spends more on books than on bombs, more on hospitals than the terrible tools of war, more on decent houses than military aircraft."
"Our brave young men are dying in the swamps of Southeast Asia. Which of them might have written a poem? Which of them might have cured cancer? Which of them might have played in a World Series or given us the gift of laughter from the stage or helped build a bridge or a university? Which of them would have taught a child to read? It is our responsibility to let these men live....It is indecent if they die because of the empty vanity of their country."
My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."
"...and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."
From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Excerpt from RFK’s speech commemorating his brother at the Democratic National Convention (1964)
"Our brave young men are dying in the swamps of Southeast Asia. Which of them might have written a poem? Which of them might have cured cancer? Which of them might have played in a World Series or given us the gift of laughter from the stage or helped build a bridge or a university? Which of them would have taught a child to read? It is our responsibility to let these men live....It is indecent if they die because of the empty vanity of their country."
My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."
"...and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun."
From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Excerpt from RFK’s speech commemorating his brother at the Democratic National Convention (1964)
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