Surf and Turf

Digging a cat hole is a learned skill and one often encounters a variety of situations upon which the hole is dug. The first hole is not the deepest. It is not the most refined. It might be a crude depression created with the heal of one's boot or it might be something dug with a piece of stick or a wedge shaped stone. Eventually one graduates to a trowel. Those who break the orange plastic cathole creator graduate to the titanium shovel. As time goes by we each encounter a variety of soils and situations and each leaves an impression. Oregon is one of the places where it has been quite pleasurable to dig and there have been several beautiful places to have a movement. 

As dry and dusty as this arid environment is, the dirt is quite easily dug and each of the past few holes have made me appreciate the soil here. If you are having any reservations about hiking in Oregon because you think maybe the high desert is not for you, do reconsider. I was never more grateful to have easily dug soil as I was when we encountered swarms of mosquitoes that could rival the biblical locusts. Moving provides enough respite to keep ones sanity, but stopping or slowing could lead to endless cursing and swatting interspaced with tiny stings on any and every available surface suitable for feasting. There are zero skin surfaces that are exempt from the constant, often kamakazee, critter bites. 

It has been a little dry and water might have become an issue had there not been a water cache, but there seems to be ample water, especially if you decide to carry a ton of it and camel up when you can. A down side to being hydrated is that you will have to pee. This is all well and good in normal hiking circumstances, but these are trying times. The ladies adopted a swat and squat method while I found some success is refining my gunslinger on the run technique. 

It also seems appropriate that this post is partially about taking a poop as sometimes a couple of hikers get together and it seems as though it is written, in an ancient cultural text somewhere, that, "When two or more hikertrash gather, so too will there be at least one conversation about going poo." It is very good to be back with my people. 

On a different note, when we were in California there was an opportunity to surf in the Pacific Ocean, but there were also a few parameters that made it slightly unappealing. The water was cold, it was an unfamiliar place, there wasn't a local friend to show me the ropes, the air temperature was 66°, and all that whining gave me a feeling of trepidation, so I knew it had to be done. Shut up little sneaky ego mind! Shut up pain body! I will do the things!! As it turns out, renting a wet suit and renting a surf board and then hiring a surf instructor to give you a two hour lesson is worth every penny. Because I was willing to override that old man curmudgeon voice in my head, I had one of the best experiences in the ocean to date.

We started the lesson on land and the instructor kept to his scripted 3 point lesson and I was pleased with his instruction. Knowing his students will only retain a bit of information, he followed the basic tenent of "keeping it simple" and before long we were waist deep in the frothy ocean water and I was shredding up the icy whitewater. The wetsuit performed surprisingly well and I didn't feel the cold of the 58° water. Knees, foot forward,and pivot... Success! I m surfing! Ok, ok, I get it, this tip will help prevent the nose dive. The shifting of weight is an essential part of the sport.

The ocean also teaches us to have better balance. Balance is one of the important lessons that Mr. Miyagi teaches. Remember him sending Danielson into the ocean and he also fished while he told Larusso to "Stand bow."  Balance in work and play, family and work, relationships etc .... The most important lessons of the ocean were still to be discovered.

When we decided it was time to get out beyond the breakers and  paddle in to catch a wave the next lesson was to "Work with the currents; don't fight them." In life we sometimes have a tendency to go against the grain or rebel without a cause. Sometimes, "we fight city hall" only to waste time, energy and resources when there is actually a better way to "skin the cat". Choose your battles carefully might be the underlying lesson here.

We observed and found that there was a bit of a rip current forming as the tide rolled back in. In the rip, there are less waves and the water has a tendency to "pull" you out into the ocean. Once out beyond the breaking waves, one only has to paddle left or right to find that the current loosens it's grip. 

Next we spent some time observing other surfers as well as the properties of each swell as it passed. 

Sometimes it's simply about being in the right place at the right time. But it's also about knowing how to find that place, and recognizing it when its happening. A keen eye and understanding what to look for are both important. The bottom of the ocean dictates the shape of the wave, and where and how it will break. So, in theory, if a wave comes along the same size as the one you just watched, it should behave similarly. Therefore the right place can be in about the same place for a little while. 

Then you start learning when to begin paddling so that you catch the wave instead of having it pass you by or have it come crashing down on you. There are many errors you can make and adjusting accordingly is something that takes several trials. 

Surfing is also about yielding to the forces of nature. When you miss a ride or you get carried just far enough into the place where the next larger waves are breaking, it's important to keep your head and know your options so you can best expend your energy. Sometimes it's better to let the waves carry you back to shore even if it's just so you can ride some whitewater in. Then you can go back out in the rip. 

At the end of the day, surfing and climbing are alike in that they are both very present moment activityies. While they are wildly different, they require focus with the goal of being in a flow state. During one activity you have to be like Spiderman, and in the other you are like the Silver Surfer. Superhero status aside, maybe it's about embracing the words of Bruce Lee who said, "Be like water." Yeah, definitely, be like water. 

Name this, a blog

I have always named my vehicles. I've even named my bicycle and my backpack. When you spend enough time with your objects, they can end up developing a persona. 

Incidentally, my very first car had a name when I got it. My uncle told me that if I replaced the broken water pump on his old 1984 Nissan Maxima wagon, I could have it. So, I grabbed some tools, bought a new pump and belts and went to his house. The next day, I brought Charlotte, the passion wagon home. After a few weeks of ownership Charlotte was the lucky recipiemt of an incredible makeover. A friend who was repainting his Rx7 had a little extra paint and it didn't take long to convince me to spray some paint on the hood. In retrospect, I actually gave it very little thought at all before we decided to add some character to the passion wagon. A few pieces of masking tape and some newspaper were used to add a giant peace sign to the hood.

Charlotte in her hay day. Look closely and see 69 on the hood.

When Charlotte died, so it goes, a friend in my college dorm sold me his 1982 Chevrolet Caprice. It was huge and the springs were worn. It bounced and swayed as it rolled down the roads. I called it, The Hoopty.

The Hoopty served me well in spite of the broken door handles and leaking gas tank, but its tenure was short lived. After taking a group of folks to see my favorite touring band Phish at the Clifford Ball in 1996 (an epic 2 day festival) and to my first real job, I traded up for a 4 door Oldsmobile. It was a 1984 Delta 88 and my stewardship of this vehicle was also short lived, but we journeyed together to the Great Went. (Another 2 Day Phish festival) Her name was The Great One because she "Went" and I love hockey. Gretzky's number was 99, she was an 88. 

The Great One at the Great Went

It didn't take long for me grow tired of the poor gas mileage associated with V8 engines so, I sold the Great One to a friend for a few hundred bucks and bought a 1982 AMC Spirit. It looked like a Gremlin (the car not the creature) but because of that, I named it Gizmo.  I drove it for about a year before the timing gears blew up and I had to buy another car.So it goes.

Gizmo - look close and you'll see the same 69 again here.

I bought a 1987 Acura Integra. It was Grey and had a manual transmission. It was my first Japanese car so I named it Mr. Miyagi. Bonsai!!!

When the frame rotted out from the harsh NY winters and all the salt on the roads I bought another Integra because I enjoyed the sports car feel and the gas mileage of the 4 cylinder engine. This one was my first white car and since it handled terribly in the snow due to the wide tires it came with, I called it Frosty.

I sold Frosty privately and took the money to purchase my next car. I bought it from a used car dealer in queens. 

Since my winter experience with Frosty was terrible, I was determined to have a good all season vehicle so I bought my first Subaru. It was from the model year 95 and had a broken windshield. The rear hatch had a label that read AWD so I thought I had negotiated a good deal when I paid the salesman just over 2 grand. He had tried to sell me a second parts car to accompany my purchase but I declined. It wasn't until I got home with the vehicle that I actually looked under the car to find out that it had been in an accident and the rear hatch was from the parts car that I didn't buy. This maroon Legacy was only FWD. I named it Thrust after the Decepticon of the same color. 

Suzy in beast mode

Thrust proved to be old reliable and was actually much better in winter conditions than I had expected. I wouldn't have traded up for another car had I not been divorced. I felt that if I were to be back on the "market" I would do better had I a nicer vehicle with lower mileage. Thrust had survived another rear end accident under my ownership and the odometer read 256,735 when I traded it in for a 1996 Legacy Outback wagon with just over 150k on the clock and a new set of head gaskets. 

Suzy handling the terrain

I named the green wagon after one of Phish's songs Suzy Greenberg because she seemed to "walk the streets like she's the queen of the town" and of course she was green. Suzy currently has over 265,000 miles on her and has served as my home away from home. (I actually lived in her for a while after my divorce) She has been off roading, on several long distance adventures along the east coast and has been one of my favorite cars. 

 

When I left to hike the Appalachian Trail, I left Suzy behind and started carrying this big green Gregory Forester pack on my back. The bag holds 77 liters of gear and weighs almost 4 pounds when its empty. I walked over 2000 miles with that monkey on my back. I named him Clyde after the orangutan in the Clint Eastwood film "Any Which Way But Loose." 

My bicycle I purchased for a fair price from a friend after her husband had passed. It has been a trusty steed to me so I figured it needed a good trustworthy horse name. I called it Chastity's Buckle because what good is a Chastity Belt if it doesn't have a sturdy buckle? 

Chaz for short, relaxing in Maine

Lastly, as you know I purchased a 1984 Volkswagen Vanagon in March of 2014. I had dreamt of owning the van for so long and worked hard to earn the necessary funds. I actually named him before I even found him. His sister Suzy and I were driving around and the song Wilson by Phish came on the radio. A lightbulb went off on my head and I saw Tom Hanks and his volleyball companion living on their remote island as the song played. I knew the van was going to be my adventure buddy for many years to come. It had to be... Wilson! 

Wilson enjoying the sunshine off the Blue Ridge Pkwy near Asheville NC

What names have you given to your vehicles? And Why? Please share in the comments section below.