Greetings from the "Geeks Garage" in Steamboat Springs! My goal of getting acclimitized seems to be fairing well. After spending a night at 7400 feet at Flaming Gorge (and doing two short trail rides) we drove east to Steamboat yesterday and settled in at the Strawberry Park Hot Springs, elevation 8,000 or so.
Today was my big ride aimed to test my ability to climb and breathe at higher elevations. Kristin and I drove to the Steamboat ski resort and I set out on bike at a base elevation of 6900 feet and climbed, climbed, and climbed to the very summit of the mountain at 10,380 feet. It was a unrelenting 7-mile climb on loose, rocky jeep roads but, surprisingly, I was able to breathe with relative ease and never walked a step. I saw lots of families descending the lower trails on rental bikes, then I was in no-man's land on the upper half of the mountain, far above the gondola's upper terminus.
The top of the trail brought me to the Continental Divide, a place I hadn't ever set foot before. From there I descended a narrow ribbon of singletrack surrounded by boundless meadows of waist-high wildflowers. The town and the ski resort base were but shiny specks in the distance. A little more climbing dropped me into yet more pristine singletrack, this time through walls of beautiful aspens. The trails were not so technical to merit their black diamond rating on the maps, but I enjoyed them nonetheless.
All in all, it was a 16.8 mile ride with over 3400 feet of climbing. The Moots is purring, my legs feel fresh, and my lungs are functioning as designed. That's about all I could ask for.
You can follow the route I took on this map if you'd like.
I ascended on Zig Zag and Storm Peak Challenge, then descended Pete's Wicked, Duster, Moonlight, Huffman's, Valley View, Sitz, and Yoo-Hoo. The whole ride too me a little over 3 hours including stoppage time and photos. 2:45 of actual pedal time.
I was told that it would take 4+ hours, so yeah, I feel good.
Tomorrow it's onward to Winter Park for a night, then to Leadville. The weather has been great so far. Everyday in the upper 80's and not a drop of rain so far.
Kristin enjoyed a bit of singletrack at Flaming Gorge on Sunday, then went running there on Monday morning and she ran/hiked a pretty arduous 9 mile route at Steamboat today while I biked. And nobody got eaten by bears... so it was a good day.
Time to Acclimate
The truck is loaded, the maps are packed, and we're just a stuffed duffel bag or two away from heading off to Colorado. We're going to drive through the night to Flaming Gorge, spend a couple days in Steamboat Springs, a day in Winter Park, then finally wheeze our way into Leadville on Thursday afternoon, after taking a break to enjoy this little side-trip.
Thursday's RAMROD suffer-fest has left me with mixed emotions about Leadville. On the one hand, I wonder how on earth I can finish 100 miles off-road at Leadville given how miserable I performed at RAMROD. On the other hand, I sort of feel like Thursday was rock-bottom and if I could push on through 100 miles of bonk-dom, then I can probably grind my way through just about anything. Time will tell.
I was looking over last year's Leadville 100 results and nearly 170 people got the dreaded DNF. A whole slew more finished within the "grace period" of 12-13 hours. They aren't official finishers, but they are allowed the honor of finishing what they started. You have to finish in under 12 hours to be counted as an official finisher. Only 65% of racers tend to finish in under 12 hours. That's my goal. I want the medal, I want the belt buckle, and I want the hooded sweatshirt with my finishing time... even if it says 11:59:59. And when it's done, I'll want oxygen.
One person who I know won't be having trouble finishing in under 12 hours is Lance Armstrong.
Yes, you read that right, Mr. Yellow Wristband himself is going to be wheeling up to the line next Saturday to race. Of course, if not for the out-and-back design of the course, I'd have no prayer of actually seeing him on the race-course, but it is pretty freaking cool to know that I'll be "racing against" Lance Armstrong.
Thanks Mike for passing along the news post.
Kristin has agreed to use the dreaded camcorder to film parts of the race (multiple crew access points) and promises to take plenty of photos. Naturally, I fully intend to Photoshop said pictographs to make it look like Lance is drafting behind me.
In other news, today is our anniversary. What better way to celebrate this spectacular occasion than by embarking on a road trip to the Rockies! I do believe 11 Years is the "Denny's Anniversary" and I fully intend on honoring the occasion with an order of Eggs Over My Hammy. I figure that'll taste pretty good in backwater Idaho, at about 11pm tonight.
Have a good week. I hope to make an update or two from Steamboat Springs on Tuesday and/or Leadville on Thursday.
Not sure if there's any web-updates during the race or live-feeds of any sort, but here's the official race site for those curious. Thanks for reading, and be sure to send some positive vibes in the direction of Colorado next Saturday. I'm going to need it.
Thursday's RAMROD suffer-fest has left me with mixed emotions about Leadville. On the one hand, I wonder how on earth I can finish 100 miles off-road at Leadville given how miserable I performed at RAMROD. On the other hand, I sort of feel like Thursday was rock-bottom and if I could push on through 100 miles of bonk-dom, then I can probably grind my way through just about anything. Time will tell.
I was looking over last year's Leadville 100 results and nearly 170 people got the dreaded DNF. A whole slew more finished within the "grace period" of 12-13 hours. They aren't official finishers, but they are allowed the honor of finishing what they started. You have to finish in under 12 hours to be counted as an official finisher. Only 65% of racers tend to finish in under 12 hours. That's my goal. I want the medal, I want the belt buckle, and I want the hooded sweatshirt with my finishing time... even if it says 11:59:59. And when it's done, I'll want oxygen.
One person who I know won't be having trouble finishing in under 12 hours is Lance Armstrong.
Yes, you read that right, Mr. Yellow Wristband himself is going to be wheeling up to the line next Saturday to race. Of course, if not for the out-and-back design of the course, I'd have no prayer of actually seeing him on the race-course, but it is pretty freaking cool to know that I'll be "racing against" Lance Armstrong.
Thanks Mike for passing along the news post.
The promoter of the Leadville 100, a 100-mile mountain bike race in Colorado, told a local newspaper that Lance Armstrong has registered for his race and is training nearby for the August 9 event.
"It's huge for the race, of course, but even more grand and more meaningful to our community, because now the national and the international spotlight will be on Leadville," promoter Ken Chlouber told the Summit Daily.
Armstrong had said he was going to do Leadville last year but then pulled out citing a scheduling conflict. Floyd Landis did race last year, coming second to mountain bike legend Dave Wiens. The paper reported that Armstrong has been training in nearby Aspen, Colorado. Acclimatization is key at Leadville, which starts at 10,200 feet elevation and tops out at 12,600.
"(Armstrong's) coming to win," Chlouber told the newspaper. "I’m sure he’s got his guns strapped on, and he’ll be coming full blast ... We’re going to put him on the front row, right besides Dave Wiens, and I expect it’ll be a shootout right from the get-go."
Kristin has agreed to use the dreaded camcorder to film parts of the race (multiple crew access points) and promises to take plenty of photos. Naturally, I fully intend to Photoshop said pictographs to make it look like Lance is drafting behind me.
In other news, today is our anniversary. What better way to celebrate this spectacular occasion than by embarking on a road trip to the Rockies! I do believe 11 Years is the "Denny's Anniversary" and I fully intend on honoring the occasion with an order of Eggs Over My Hammy. I figure that'll taste pretty good in backwater Idaho, at about 11pm tonight.
Have a good week. I hope to make an update or two from Steamboat Springs on Tuesday and/or Leadville on Thursday.
Not sure if there's any web-updates during the race or live-feeds of any sort, but here's the official race site for those curious. Thanks for reading, and be sure to send some positive vibes in the direction of Colorado next Saturday. I'm going to need it.
Ride Report: RAMROD
From Wikipedia:
It seems that my paucity of training and inability to sleep has finally caught up with me. My strong performance at the NPC ride 5 weeks ago led me to believe that I was in better shape than I really was and that RAMROD (Ride Around Mt. Rainier in One Day) would not be as difficult as it is. No, yesterday wasn't just a bad day. It was misery on wheels.
I tagged along with Dale, a guy I ride with on Thursdays, and some of his friends who I hadn't ever met before. We all share an aversion to waking up earlier than necessary so rather than start between 5am and 7am as is customary, the five of us rolled up to the starting line at 7:40am. The "sweep vehicle" would be our guide. Kind of funny since our leader had reportedly won the Mt. Baker Hill Climb. We would eventually pass quite a few people, some who started up to two hours before us, but not before enjoying a no-wait all-you-can-eat buffet at the first two aid stations we passed.
Our group dwindled to just Dale, Jeff (the hillclimb champ), and myself after 34 miles. One guy was feeling really awful and the other had to turn back cause his babysitter had a change of plans. And that is why you don't bring a cellphone on your bike rides, but I digress.
I was feeling great for the first 45 miles or so. I was eating and drinking well, my legs felt fresh, and other than a twinge in my achilles tendon, I felt on the ball. Then it suddenly went downhill. I couldn't keep up with Dale and Jeff. I had to drop my speed on the flats and was beginning to feel nauseus. My abdominal muscles were cramping, my neck and shoulders were stiff, and I had no energy. We weren't 50 miles into the ride and I was starting to inexplicably bonk. And we hadn't even done any of the climbing yet. I was in trouble.
The climb up to Paradise on the south side of Mt. Rainier was about 12 miles long, ascending roughly 2800 feet. Dale and Jeff pulled away from me and although I passed a number of people on this climb, I was hurting. I was barely going 6 mph and I was starting to have serious reservations about my ability to finish this ride. I eventually got to the top of the climb, loaded up on fruit and water, and readied myself for the descent. My comrades were enjoying the day, and didn't seem to mind waiting for me -- something I neither like people having to do for me, nor am very used to it. I decided to tell them my big secret: this was only my second ride over 60 miles this year. They didn't look amused.
The long, fast descent was fun, but it eventually brought us to another climb. This one was just a mile or two and didn't gain more than a thousand feet, but it was enough to confirm what I already knew: the climb up Cayuse Pass was going to bring me to my knees. And it did. Some 97 miles into the ride, the climb up Cayuse Pass began. Dale and Jeff pulled away and I was left to wobble back and forth up the road at a lowly 5 mph. The climb was over 6 miles in length and ascended over 2,000 feet in elevation and I was hurting. It was hot, I was rationing my water so as to not run out, and portions of the road were reduced to gravel due to ongoing construction work. I stopped less than halfway up to sit in the shade for a few minutes. Had I have seen a SAG wagon, I would have certainly flagged it down and put an end to the pain.
But I didn't see any SAG wagons so after a few minutes in the shade, I queesily got back on the bike and pedaled to the next aid station where, like an oasis in the desert, large quantities of water flowed freely. There's no telling how long Dale and Jeff were waiting but they were in good spirits and urged me on and not to give up. So I did. A few miles of climbing later, we reached the top of Cayuse Pass. 106 miles done, about 40 or so to go. And all downhill.
I was in such bad shape, that I thought of hitching a ride back to Enumclaw from the top of Cayuse Pass. I had done all of the hard work -- there would be only 300 feet of climbing in the last 45 miles -- so, I figured, there would be no shame in this DNF. Except there's always shame in a DNF I told myself and rolled out.
The descent from Cayuse Pass to Crystal Mountain was epic. The wind was a bit gusty, but these 10 miles were ticked through in less than 20 minutes. The Redmond Cycling Club that organizes this event, had made-to-order coldcut sandwiches and -- be still my heart -- ice-cold cans of Coca-Cola at the final aid station. We still had 30 miles to go, but I was finally thinking I just might finish this thing.
The three of us scorched the road back from Crystal Mountain, past Greenwater, towards Enumclaw. A heaven-sent tailwind (an absolute anomaly in this area) blessed us with an average speed of 23 mph for some 20 miles or so and I was even able to take a few 5-minute pulls at the lead. The final 10 miles were once again very rough for me. I was beyond bonking now. I was on the verge of tears, on the precipice of vomiting, and quite literally starting to wonder exactly what this effort was doing to my body. I started feeling the bonk some 7 hours prior and I continued to go on.
I was watching the odometer closely and when we turned onto Mud Mountain Road, I thought for sure we only had about 4 miles left. But when Jeff, who had done the ride multiple times before, said was had 12 to 15 miles to go, I nearly broke down sobbing. Well, at least that's how Dale said I looked. I was pretty confident Jeff was wrong and, it turned out he was.
Somehow, some way, I dragged my battered body 150 miles around Mt. Rainier National Park and did finish. The altimeter reported a cumulative elevation gain of just under 9,000 feet and, a total time (including some very lengthy rest stops) of just over 11 hours. And for those who like numbers, here's one more for you: I lost 6 pounds of body weight yesterday.
Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the event. And it will be another 25 years before I do this again.
(and if I do, next time I might even train for it)
Race Photo.
Note: RAMROD really is a great event. It's incredibly well-organized, has great volunteers and takes cyclists through 150 miles of some of the most scenic countryside there is. Any negativity sensed in this account is directly strictly at myself. I knew I could "struggle through" this and finish and, to be honest, I thought I was in better shape than I was. Or maybe I just had a bad day. I don't know. But my sour mood and struggles yesterday were in no way a reflection of the event. It was the greatness of the event and the beauty of the scenery that lured me to keep on spinning the pedals 100 miles beyond where I wanted to stop. And I'm glad it did because the one thing I didn't see yesterday was my breaking point. I know it's out there somewhere, and I hope to never see it, but despite how slow yesterday was and how much I struggled, I'm damn proud of that finisher's patch.
Yesterday was not a good day for me: I bonked with over 100 miles to go. But still went.In endurance sports, particularly cycling and running, hitting the wall or the bonk describes the condition when an athlete suddenly loses energy and becomes fatigued, the result of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles becoming depleted.
It seems that my paucity of training and inability to sleep has finally caught up with me. My strong performance at the NPC ride 5 weeks ago led me to believe that I was in better shape than I really was and that RAMROD (Ride Around Mt. Rainier in One Day) would not be as difficult as it is. No, yesterday wasn't just a bad day. It was misery on wheels.
I tagged along with Dale, a guy I ride with on Thursdays, and some of his friends who I hadn't ever met before. We all share an aversion to waking up earlier than necessary so rather than start between 5am and 7am as is customary, the five of us rolled up to the starting line at 7:40am. The "sweep vehicle" would be our guide. Kind of funny since our leader had reportedly won the Mt. Baker Hill Climb. We would eventually pass quite a few people, some who started up to two hours before us, but not before enjoying a no-wait all-you-can-eat buffet at the first two aid stations we passed.
Our group dwindled to just Dale, Jeff (the hillclimb champ), and myself after 34 miles. One guy was feeling really awful and the other had to turn back cause his babysitter had a change of plans. And that is why you don't bring a cellphone on your bike rides, but I digress.
I was feeling great for the first 45 miles or so. I was eating and drinking well, my legs felt fresh, and other than a twinge in my achilles tendon, I felt on the ball. Then it suddenly went downhill. I couldn't keep up with Dale and Jeff. I had to drop my speed on the flats and was beginning to feel nauseus. My abdominal muscles were cramping, my neck and shoulders were stiff, and I had no energy. We weren't 50 miles into the ride and I was starting to inexplicably bonk. And we hadn't even done any of the climbing yet. I was in trouble.
The climb up to Paradise on the south side of Mt. Rainier was about 12 miles long, ascending roughly 2800 feet. Dale and Jeff pulled away from me and although I passed a number of people on this climb, I was hurting. I was barely going 6 mph and I was starting to have serious reservations about my ability to finish this ride. I eventually got to the top of the climb, loaded up on fruit and water, and readied myself for the descent. My comrades were enjoying the day, and didn't seem to mind waiting for me -- something I neither like people having to do for me, nor am very used to it. I decided to tell them my big secret: this was only my second ride over 60 miles this year. They didn't look amused.
The long, fast descent was fun, but it eventually brought us to another climb. This one was just a mile or two and didn't gain more than a thousand feet, but it was enough to confirm what I already knew: the climb up Cayuse Pass was going to bring me to my knees. And it did. Some 97 miles into the ride, the climb up Cayuse Pass began. Dale and Jeff pulled away and I was left to wobble back and forth up the road at a lowly 5 mph. The climb was over 6 miles in length and ascended over 2,000 feet in elevation and I was hurting. It was hot, I was rationing my water so as to not run out, and portions of the road were reduced to gravel due to ongoing construction work. I stopped less than halfway up to sit in the shade for a few minutes. Had I have seen a SAG wagon, I would have certainly flagged it down and put an end to the pain.
But I didn't see any SAG wagons so after a few minutes in the shade, I queesily got back on the bike and pedaled to the next aid station where, like an oasis in the desert, large quantities of water flowed freely. There's no telling how long Dale and Jeff were waiting but they were in good spirits and urged me on and not to give up. So I did. A few miles of climbing later, we reached the top of Cayuse Pass. 106 miles done, about 40 or so to go. And all downhill.
I was in such bad shape, that I thought of hitching a ride back to Enumclaw from the top of Cayuse Pass. I had done all of the hard work -- there would be only 300 feet of climbing in the last 45 miles -- so, I figured, there would be no shame in this DNF. Except there's always shame in a DNF I told myself and rolled out.
The descent from Cayuse Pass to Crystal Mountain was epic. The wind was a bit gusty, but these 10 miles were ticked through in less than 20 minutes. The Redmond Cycling Club that organizes this event, had made-to-order coldcut sandwiches and -- be still my heart -- ice-cold cans of Coca-Cola at the final aid station. We still had 30 miles to go, but I was finally thinking I just might finish this thing.
The three of us scorched the road back from Crystal Mountain, past Greenwater, towards Enumclaw. A heaven-sent tailwind (an absolute anomaly in this area) blessed us with an average speed of 23 mph for some 20 miles or so and I was even able to take a few 5-minute pulls at the lead. The final 10 miles were once again very rough for me. I was beyond bonking now. I was on the verge of tears, on the precipice of vomiting, and quite literally starting to wonder exactly what this effort was doing to my body. I started feeling the bonk some 7 hours prior and I continued to go on.
I was watching the odometer closely and when we turned onto Mud Mountain Road, I thought for sure we only had about 4 miles left. But when Jeff, who had done the ride multiple times before, said was had 12 to 15 miles to go, I nearly broke down sobbing. Well, at least that's how Dale said I looked. I was pretty confident Jeff was wrong and, it turned out he was.
Somehow, some way, I dragged my battered body 150 miles around Mt. Rainier National Park and did finish. The altimeter reported a cumulative elevation gain of just under 9,000 feet and, a total time (including some very lengthy rest stops) of just over 11 hours. And for those who like numbers, here's one more for you: I lost 6 pounds of body weight yesterday.
Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of the event. And it will be another 25 years before I do this again.
(and if I do, next time I might even train for it)
Race Photo.
Note: RAMROD really is a great event. It's incredibly well-organized, has great volunteers and takes cyclists through 150 miles of some of the most scenic countryside there is. Any negativity sensed in this account is directly strictly at myself. I knew I could "struggle through" this and finish and, to be honest, I thought I was in better shape than I was. Or maybe I just had a bad day. I don't know. But my sour mood and struggles yesterday were in no way a reflection of the event. It was the greatness of the event and the beauty of the scenery that lured me to keep on spinning the pedals 100 miles beyond where I wanted to stop. And I'm glad it did because the one thing I didn't see yesterday was my breaking point. I know it's out there somewhere, and I hope to never see it, but despite how slow yesterday was and how much I struggled, I'm damn proud of that finisher's patch.
Pokemon Aren't Chew Toys
I made my first visit to Nintendo of America's offices in Redmond roughly eight years ago this month. It was to co-author the strategy guide for Banjo-Tooie, one of my all-time favorite games. While I was there, I picked up a couple of tennis-ball sized Pokemon stuffed animals from the Nintendo company store.
I self-consciously told the cashier who was ringing me up that my dogs were going to love them; I had to make sure she knew that these little things weren't for me personally. Her response was one of, dare I say, shock and awe. Actually she seemed personally offended and uttered the words I used for the title of this post.
Nevertheless, chew toys are indeed what they become and because Balthazar's uniquely compact shape, the dogs have not only enjoyed playing fetch with them, but they haven't been able to tear them limb from limb. They're still in great shape, despite being their favorite toys. Every other stuffed animal we give them has made frequent trips to Kristin's operating room, where Kristin has performed miraculous surgery to fix those poor creatures suffering from double-amputations, sucking flesh wounds, and significant hemorrhaging of stuffing.
Despite all the disfigured stuffed animals in our house (my favorite is the reindeer with no eys, no legs, and only one arm, and half a rack of antlers) I can say that none of these animals has ever caused me fright. Until last night.
I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and, rather than risk waking Kristin with the light in our bedroom bath, I walked down the hall to use the other one. And thats when I saw, directly beneath my falling foot, what I thought was a giant pile of poo. Yet, I was committed to taking that footstep. I was in a groggy, half-asleep, almost zombie-like state and, well, the foot was coming down. And I was horrified. It was 2am and I was about to have a foot covered in dook.
Nope, it was just Balthazar. He was on his side and the shadows made him look a little darker and a little more spiraled than he really is.
But if it's any consolation, I did almost roll my ankle on him.
I self-consciously told the cashier who was ringing me up that my dogs were going to love them; I had to make sure she knew that these little things weren't for me personally. Her response was one of, dare I say, shock and awe. Actually she seemed personally offended and uttered the words I used for the title of this post.
Nevertheless, chew toys are indeed what they become and because Balthazar's uniquely compact shape, the dogs have not only enjoyed playing fetch with them, but they haven't been able to tear them limb from limb. They're still in great shape, despite being their favorite toys. Every other stuffed animal we give them has made frequent trips to Kristin's operating room, where Kristin has performed miraculous surgery to fix those poor creatures suffering from double-amputations, sucking flesh wounds, and significant hemorrhaging of stuffing.
Despite all the disfigured stuffed animals in our house (my favorite is the reindeer with no eys, no legs, and only one arm, and half a rack of antlers) I can say that none of these animals has ever caused me fright. Until last night.
I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and, rather than risk waking Kristin with the light in our bedroom bath, I walked down the hall to use the other one. And thats when I saw, directly beneath my falling foot, what I thought was a giant pile of poo. Yet, I was committed to taking that footstep. I was in a groggy, half-asleep, almost zombie-like state and, well, the foot was coming down. And I was horrified. It was 2am and I was about to have a foot covered in dook.
Nope, it was just Balthazar. He was on his side and the shadows made him look a little darker and a little more spiraled than he really is.
But if it's any consolation, I did almost roll my ankle on him.
Groovin' in the Rain
Last night brought, for me at least, the return of the Tuesday at Tolt rides we often do throughout the year. It also brought the first bit of rain we've had in these parts in over a month or so. We were six-strong and had a fantastic ride. Only one or two brief stops to regroup, then it was onward again at a very nice solid pace.
I seldom ride Tolt in the summer, so the sporadic showers, puddles, and mud made it feel very much like an October or November ride. The only thing that was missing was that I didn't have a few pounds of HID lights hanging off me, and I could still feel my feet. We only covered 9 miles, but it was a fast ride and I came home feeling fresher than ever for tomorrow's RAMROD.
And I'm actually really enjoying the Kona Unit 2-9 singlespeed I bought this past winter. I even made it up IAB except for the part near the tree stump where it's really loose, steep for a few yards. Good times!
----
In other news, I must give credit where it's due. I was pretty annoyed with Chris King for the problems my hub was giving me, and even moreso at how long it was taken for them to make the repair. Well, I got my wheel back. They replaced the internals of the hub, packed it good and tight with their special sauce, and overnighted it back at no extra charge. I was only charged for the initial shipping of the wheel to them and the stainless steel spindle they put on to replace the aluminum one that my cassettes had torn up. So even though the hub was over a year old, they honored the warranty and refurbished the hub at no cost. And that makes them quite alright in my book.
I seldom ride Tolt in the summer, so the sporadic showers, puddles, and mud made it feel very much like an October or November ride. The only thing that was missing was that I didn't have a few pounds of HID lights hanging off me, and I could still feel my feet. We only covered 9 miles, but it was a fast ride and I came home feeling fresher than ever for tomorrow's RAMROD.
And I'm actually really enjoying the Kona Unit 2-9 singlespeed I bought this past winter. I even made it up IAB except for the part near the tree stump where it's really loose, steep for a few yards. Good times!
----
In other news, I must give credit where it's due. I was pretty annoyed with Chris King for the problems my hub was giving me, and even moreso at how long it was taken for them to make the repair. Well, I got my wheel back. They replaced the internals of the hub, packed it good and tight with their special sauce, and overnighted it back at no extra charge. I was only charged for the initial shipping of the wheel to them and the stainless steel spindle they put on to replace the aluminum one that my cassettes had torn up. So even though the hub was over a year old, they honored the warranty and refurbished the hub at no cost. And that makes them quite alright in my book.
Race Report: GearJammer
After far too many late nights and missed bike rides recently due to work, I anxiously loaded up the trusty Element on Friday afternoon and drove north to Squamish, British Columbia for the final race in the series. Stefan, a German working on his post-doc at the UW and member of BBTC, came along with me and offered great conversation and a tank of gas. I had ridden with Stefan twice before (the first time being the infamous 5 Drainages ride last summer) and was glad to have someone I knew out on the course with me who had a similar fitness level.
The GearJammer is a 45-kilometer (28 mile) point-to-point cross-country mountain bike race with roughly 4100' of elevation gain. It uses a heaping dose of the most gnarly and technical singletrack Squamish has to offer. In fact, seventy percent of the race is on singletrack. I looked at last year's race results and saw that they mirrored the finishing times of this year's Test of Metal, a race that is 14 miles longer than the GearJammer! I finished last month's Test in 4:07 (was recovering from a mild case of pneumonia) and was told by veteran's of the GearJammer that 4:07 was a good time for my first Test and that I should expect to finish around 4 hours at the GearJammer. Then they looked at my bike, smiled, and added, "but probably a bit longer."
When people hear the words "cross-country racing" they often think of spandex shorts, 20-pound carbon fiber bikes, and buff, non-technical singletrack. Not the case in Squamish. Standing at the starting line of the GearJammer, I was surrounded by bikes with 5 to 6 inches of front and rear travel. Stefan, on his burly Santa Cruz Nomad, was surprisingly right at home in the crowd and didn't stick out like he expected. Me, on the other hand, with my 80mm of front travel and 1" spring in the rear, had brought the proverbial knife to a gun fight. The emcee made a point of pointing to the guy to my right, riding a fully-rigid Salsa El Mariacchi, and basically laughed at him. One guy rode a singlespeed and he too was given his metaphorical last rites before the start of the race. With memories of the Powerhouse Plunge fresh in my mind from the Test, I asked the guy next to me if there was any trails on the course as technical as the Plunge. "Oh yeah, a couple of them. There's some really technical steeps on this race."
Gulp.
The race started out with a few miles of gentle road climbing. Stefan passed me about three miles into the race as I sat and spun, trying to conserve energy and mindful of how much climbing is going to come in the final 8 miles after the Plunge. We were nice and spread out for our first section of singletrack and it was excellent. Intermediate tech, rolling hills, and what I estimate to be a ladder bridge at least 50 meters in length. Yes, meters. It was about 15 inches wide and probably 150 feet or so long and about 2 feet above a bog. I was cruising along it at a fast clip and was feeling really comfortable... right until a photographer's remote flash unit blinded me from a log in the bog. I nearly recoiled from the flash and ended up in the drink, but I corrected the steering and made it across in one piece.
Fast forward through some gentle singletrack climbing, some fast descending, and some really fun trail, we eventually came out to a lengthy roller-coastery road leading to a prolonged climb. We were about 12 miles into the race now and I could see Stefan up ahead of me. I was slowly catching him, but not before we reached the Skookum and Psuedo Tsuga trails. The trails were super dry and dusty and quite loose. They were also every bit as steep and technical as the Powerhouse Plunge, except even more difficult because of how loose the tread was. I ended up crashing into a guy who stopped on the trail. Ended up twisting my handlebars which forced me to spend a minute or so trying to get them lined back up -- you can't risk crooked handlebars and stem on trail this steep and technical. I made my way down most of the rock-drops and around all of the switchbacks, but my nerves were frayed. I had never, ever, felt like I actually needed a full-suspension bike before. I've never actually been on trail where I thought having more than 3" of front travel was necessary. To be honest, I think most of the people I ride with regularly are way over-equipped for 99% of the trails they ride. Well, I can honestly say that I would not have minded a nice solid 5x5" travel bike for these trails on Saturday. I got down the Skookum and Pseudo Tsuga with a few dabs and only a couple of steps of walking, but my bike was taking an absolute beating and I was certainly making it far more difficult for myself than I needed to. I was a bit scared as well, I have to admit.
My fright was partly due to a crash I heard occur behind me. The guy was screaming in agony at a volume and effort I previously would have only imagined possible during an un-anaesthetized amputation. I was already two switchbacks below him and his profanity-laced screaming was enough to drown out all other noise. Thirty seconds and two switchbacks further down the trail, his screaming continued to echo through the woods. The sound of his pain was enough to make me queasy. I can only hope he's going to be okay.
Speaking of fear and injury, this is a good time to discuss two other notable log crossings. The first of which, at the bottom of Skookum (not to be confused with the far more tame Skookum Flats trail here in WA) I believe, was a log about 20 feet long, about 16 inches wide, and oh, about 15 feet above a rocky creek. You can be sure I slammed the brakes and walked over that thing. As did everyone else around me. The other one, perhaps on Pseudo Tsuga, was a ladder bridge about 12 feet long or so with a little pyramid-shaped apex in the center. It was about 14 inches wide. I rolled out onto it and was doing fine, slowed to a near-stop as I was going over the peak and made the mistake of looking down... that's when I realized I was 8 to 10 feet above a rocky creek. Clipped in, no armor, just giving it a go. Yeah, I made it across, but again, I was a bit on edge and was kicking myself for looking down (I thought I was only about 3 feet off the ground).
All of this crazy beyond-XC technical riding did have a funny effect on me though: I ended up cleaning the Powerhouse Plunge. Seriously. The other trails were so steep and rocky and treacherous that, even though the Plunge is every bit as tough, I was so comfortable dealing with it by then that I was able to make it all the way down with just one brief dab at the very top. And that was in traffic. I imagine the knowledge that I had already "survived" it once before helped soothe my nerves, but I'm definitely proud to say that I cleaned every rock-drop, every switchback, and every bundle of roots. It was a minor victory for me, but I'll take it.
I passed Stefan at the aid station after the Plunge. We were 20 miles into the race and he had stopped for water. I grabbed a few pieces of watermelon without stopping and pedaled off to the Far Side and Farther Side trails. Still had 8 miles and quite a bit of climbing left to do, including a lengthy climb (w/hike-a-bike) up a ridge under the power lines but I kept enough in reserve to ride the final section strong. Passed a lot of people here and only got passed back in the final quarter-mile... once my tank was empty.
Finished in 3:40:18 and took 14th of 35 in the Male 30-34 age group. Stefan finished just 5 minutes after I did and came in 19th in the same age group. The winning time was 2:21 (which I'm not sure I understand how is possible) but it was only 10 minutes faster than the winning time of the Test of Metal. And again, this race is 14 miles shorter. My time was 27 minutes faster than my Test time--I guess those short rides on the single-speed lately were helping me out after all!
The GearJammer is a great race for those who want to do an epic mountain bike in a competitive environment. It's not the Test. The Test of Metal is an event. It's something you have to do, and honestly, it lives up to even the loftiest of expectations. The GearJammer has about one thousand fewer competitors (I think 225 started the race) and doesn't have the throngs of spectators and the pomp and ceremony, but it's a great at doing what it does. It's a fun, friendly race on some incredibly epic trail and plenty of sponsor-provided food afterwards.
Special thanks to my sponsors BradyGames and Singletrack Cycles. It was a long, hard month of work, but BG is a great company to write for and their involvement in my cycling helps make attending these races possible. What also makes it possible, particularly this race, is people like Brandon at Singletrack Cycles who dropped everything to get my new bottom bracket installed last week and even helped me wrestle with that stubborn tire! Thanks everyone!
The GearJammer is a 45-kilometer (28 mile) point-to-point cross-country mountain bike race with roughly 4100' of elevation gain. It uses a heaping dose of the most gnarly and technical singletrack Squamish has to offer. In fact, seventy percent of the race is on singletrack. I looked at last year's race results and saw that they mirrored the finishing times of this year's Test of Metal, a race that is 14 miles longer than the GearJammer! I finished last month's Test in 4:07 (was recovering from a mild case of pneumonia) and was told by veteran's of the GearJammer that 4:07 was a good time for my first Test and that I should expect to finish around 4 hours at the GearJammer. Then they looked at my bike, smiled, and added, "but probably a bit longer."
When people hear the words "cross-country racing" they often think of spandex shorts, 20-pound carbon fiber bikes, and buff, non-technical singletrack. Not the case in Squamish. Standing at the starting line of the GearJammer, I was surrounded by bikes with 5 to 6 inches of front and rear travel. Stefan, on his burly Santa Cruz Nomad, was surprisingly right at home in the crowd and didn't stick out like he expected. Me, on the other hand, with my 80mm of front travel and 1" spring in the rear, had brought the proverbial knife to a gun fight. The emcee made a point of pointing to the guy to my right, riding a fully-rigid Salsa El Mariacchi, and basically laughed at him. One guy rode a singlespeed and he too was given his metaphorical last rites before the start of the race. With memories of the Powerhouse Plunge fresh in my mind from the Test, I asked the guy next to me if there was any trails on the course as technical as the Plunge. "Oh yeah, a couple of them. There's some really technical steeps on this race."
Gulp.
The race started out with a few miles of gentle road climbing. Stefan passed me about three miles into the race as I sat and spun, trying to conserve energy and mindful of how much climbing is going to come in the final 8 miles after the Plunge. We were nice and spread out for our first section of singletrack and it was excellent. Intermediate tech, rolling hills, and what I estimate to be a ladder bridge at least 50 meters in length. Yes, meters. It was about 15 inches wide and probably 150 feet or so long and about 2 feet above a bog. I was cruising along it at a fast clip and was feeling really comfortable... right until a photographer's remote flash unit blinded me from a log in the bog. I nearly recoiled from the flash and ended up in the drink, but I corrected the steering and made it across in one piece.
Fast forward through some gentle singletrack climbing, some fast descending, and some really fun trail, we eventually came out to a lengthy roller-coastery road leading to a prolonged climb. We were about 12 miles into the race now and I could see Stefan up ahead of me. I was slowly catching him, but not before we reached the Skookum and Psuedo Tsuga trails. The trails were super dry and dusty and quite loose. They were also every bit as steep and technical as the Powerhouse Plunge, except even more difficult because of how loose the tread was. I ended up crashing into a guy who stopped on the trail. Ended up twisting my handlebars which forced me to spend a minute or so trying to get them lined back up -- you can't risk crooked handlebars and stem on trail this steep and technical. I made my way down most of the rock-drops and around all of the switchbacks, but my nerves were frayed. I had never, ever, felt like I actually needed a full-suspension bike before. I've never actually been on trail where I thought having more than 3" of front travel was necessary. To be honest, I think most of the people I ride with regularly are way over-equipped for 99% of the trails they ride. Well, I can honestly say that I would not have minded a nice solid 5x5" travel bike for these trails on Saturday. I got down the Skookum and Pseudo Tsuga with a few dabs and only a couple of steps of walking, but my bike was taking an absolute beating and I was certainly making it far more difficult for myself than I needed to. I was a bit scared as well, I have to admit.
My fright was partly due to a crash I heard occur behind me. The guy was screaming in agony at a volume and effort I previously would have only imagined possible during an un-anaesthetized amputation. I was already two switchbacks below him and his profanity-laced screaming was enough to drown out all other noise. Thirty seconds and two switchbacks further down the trail, his screaming continued to echo through the woods. The sound of his pain was enough to make me queasy. I can only hope he's going to be okay.
Speaking of fear and injury, this is a good time to discuss two other notable log crossings. The first of which, at the bottom of Skookum (not to be confused with the far more tame Skookum Flats trail here in WA) I believe, was a log about 20 feet long, about 16 inches wide, and oh, about 15 feet above a rocky creek. You can be sure I slammed the brakes and walked over that thing. As did everyone else around me. The other one, perhaps on Pseudo Tsuga, was a ladder bridge about 12 feet long or so with a little pyramid-shaped apex in the center. It was about 14 inches wide. I rolled out onto it and was doing fine, slowed to a near-stop as I was going over the peak and made the mistake of looking down... that's when I realized I was 8 to 10 feet above a rocky creek. Clipped in, no armor, just giving it a go. Yeah, I made it across, but again, I was a bit on edge and was kicking myself for looking down (I thought I was only about 3 feet off the ground).
All of this crazy beyond-XC technical riding did have a funny effect on me though: I ended up cleaning the Powerhouse Plunge. Seriously. The other trails were so steep and rocky and treacherous that, even though the Plunge is every bit as tough, I was so comfortable dealing with it by then that I was able to make it all the way down with just one brief dab at the very top. And that was in traffic. I imagine the knowledge that I had already "survived" it once before helped soothe my nerves, but I'm definitely proud to say that I cleaned every rock-drop, every switchback, and every bundle of roots. It was a minor victory for me, but I'll take it.
I passed Stefan at the aid station after the Plunge. We were 20 miles into the race and he had stopped for water. I grabbed a few pieces of watermelon without stopping and pedaled off to the Far Side and Farther Side trails. Still had 8 miles and quite a bit of climbing left to do, including a lengthy climb (w/hike-a-bike) up a ridge under the power lines but I kept enough in reserve to ride the final section strong. Passed a lot of people here and only got passed back in the final quarter-mile... once my tank was empty.
Finished in 3:40:18 and took 14th of 35 in the Male 30-34 age group. Stefan finished just 5 minutes after I did and came in 19th in the same age group. The winning time was 2:21 (which I'm not sure I understand how is possible) but it was only 10 minutes faster than the winning time of the Test of Metal. And again, this race is 14 miles shorter. My time was 27 minutes faster than my Test time--I guess those short rides on the single-speed lately were helping me out after all!
The GearJammer is a great race for those who want to do an epic mountain bike in a competitive environment. It's not the Test. The Test of Metal is an event. It's something you have to do, and honestly, it lives up to even the loftiest of expectations. The GearJammer has about one thousand fewer competitors (I think 225 started the race) and doesn't have the throngs of spectators and the pomp and ceremony, but it's a great at doing what it does. It's a fun, friendly race on some incredibly epic trail and plenty of sponsor-provided food afterwards.
Special thanks to my sponsors BradyGames and Singletrack Cycles. It was a long, hard month of work, but BG is a great company to write for and their involvement in my cycling helps make attending these races possible. What also makes it possible, particularly this race, is people like Brandon at Singletrack Cycles who dropped everything to get my new bottom bracket installed last week and even helped me wrestle with that stubborn tire! Thanks everyone!
Double-Dose of Good News
Found out that my wheel shipped out today and I should have it by next Thursday, just in time to leave on Saturday for Colorado.
Heard that RAMROD entry was closed and they had notified all of their wait-listed people who got in. If you hadn't heard, you didn't get in. I hadn't heard anything, but logged in to check my status anyway, just in case the email filters ate the confirmation and, sure enough, I was selected.
Next week, RAMROD!
First things first... gotta survive another trip down the Powerhouse Plunge. Have a good weekend everyone; I'll be in BC enjoying the first weekend out of my office since June.
Heard that RAMROD entry was closed and they had notified all of their wait-listed people who got in. If you hadn't heard, you didn't get in. I hadn't heard anything, but logged in to check my status anyway, just in case the email filters ate the confirmation and, sure enough, I was selected.
Next week, RAMROD!
First things first... gotta survive another trip down the Powerhouse Plunge. Have a good weekend everyone; I'll be in BC enjoying the first weekend out of my office since June.
The Casual Gamer Myth
Note: I'm wrapping up the last bit of text and maps on a guidebook today and have to get ready to head to BC tomorrow for this weekend's GearJammer race. I'll be back to a more normal posting regimen next week, hopefully with an interesting race report and (finally) some impressions of all the new whiz-bang games releasing on XBLA (like a couple of remakes of some of my favorite NES games). In the meantime, enjoy a link or two...
Bried Dudley of the Seattle Times has an article in today's paper about the "myth" of the casual gamer. He attended a conference for casual games developers in NYC recently and apparently some of the keynote-types are finally realizing that pigeonholing gamers into the simplistic "hardcore" and "casual" camps is really inappropriate, as gamers of all demographics and interests often play games in numerous categories.
It's an interesting article, particularly since the stats do well to dispell the image of who a "gamer" is. I know, I know, it's 2008 and the stereotype of who a gamer is has long been shattered... but there are still those who refuse to believe that there are gamers living outside of their parents basements, let a lone the fact that many gamers are parents. After all, somebody is buying all those Nintendo DS consoles.
There's also word that Microsoft is co-producing a series of short films to be available over Xbox Live. The hope, it seems, is that one or two of them will become a hit that could be spun off into a full-feature movie or television series. The shorts will be available for free and, get this, are being developed by producers of the movie "Scary Movie" and "Meet the Spartans."
This should actually work. I know I just said that stereotyping gamers is passe, but if there is one stereotype I know that could apply to the majority of gamers (Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and as if it's really necessary, Exhibit C) it's that they're overly sarcastic and not averse to gore. Spoof horror movies should be the perfect genre for this audience. I was about to blow this announcement off as much ado about nothing, but it seems MS may have actually partnered with just the right people to pull this off. And they definitely got the price right!
The curmudgeon in me says this is just Microsoft's way of creating an excuse for continuing to charge for Xbox Live membership. Personally, I think the $50 I spend on XBL each year is far better spent than half the games I end up buying, so I don't mind. But they are under pressure to remove/reduce the fee and adding "free content" (even if nobody really wants it) is just another value-added bulletpoint they can check off when explaining the need for the subscription fee. And at 12 million subscribers, they aren't about to let that sweet, sweet, money pie slip off the windowsill.
Come to think of it, I bet Sony is kicking themselves for never implementing a subscription service for their own plan. It's far easier to increase/decrease an existing subscription charge than it is to suddenly start charging for something that was always free. Then again, that assumes the Playstation Network is actually worth paying for. The phrase "you get what you pay for" is all too appropriate when it comes to going online with the PS3.
Bried Dudley of the Seattle Times has an article in today's paper about the "myth" of the casual gamer. He attended a conference for casual games developers in NYC recently and apparently some of the keynote-types are finally realizing that pigeonholing gamers into the simplistic "hardcore" and "casual" camps is really inappropriate, as gamers of all demographics and interests often play games in numerous categories.
It's an interesting article, particularly since the stats do well to dispell the image of who a "gamer" is. I know, I know, it's 2008 and the stereotype of who a gamer is has long been shattered... but there are still those who refuse to believe that there are gamers living outside of their parents basements, let a lone the fact that many gamers are parents. After all, somebody is buying all those Nintendo DS consoles.
There's also word that Microsoft is co-producing a series of short films to be available over Xbox Live. The hope, it seems, is that one or two of them will become a hit that could be spun off into a full-feature movie or television series. The shorts will be available for free and, get this, are being developed by producers of the movie "Scary Movie" and "Meet the Spartans."
This should actually work. I know I just said that stereotyping gamers is passe, but if there is one stereotype I know that could apply to the majority of gamers (Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and as if it's really necessary, Exhibit C) it's that they're overly sarcastic and not averse to gore. Spoof horror movies should be the perfect genre for this audience. I was about to blow this announcement off as much ado about nothing, but it seems MS may have actually partnered with just the right people to pull this off. And they definitely got the price right!
The curmudgeon in me says this is just Microsoft's way of creating an excuse for continuing to charge for Xbox Live membership. Personally, I think the $50 I spend on XBL each year is far better spent than half the games I end up buying, so I don't mind. But they are under pressure to remove/reduce the fee and adding "free content" (even if nobody really wants it) is just another value-added bulletpoint they can check off when explaining the need for the subscription fee. And at 12 million subscribers, they aren't about to let that sweet, sweet, money pie slip off the windowsill.
Come to think of it, I bet Sony is kicking themselves for never implementing a subscription service for their own plan. It's far easier to increase/decrease an existing subscription charge than it is to suddenly start charging for something that was always free. Then again, that assumes the Playstation Network is actually worth paying for. The phrase "you get what you pay for" is all too appropriate when it comes to going online with the PS3.
Any Day Now, Chris
Had the good folks at Singletrack Cycles put a call in to Chris King on Monday to see if they had a tracking number for my wheel, but they hadn't even gotten around to looking at the broken hub yet. It was sent back 3 weeks ago. They said it would be a 2 week turnaround, and now I may not have it for another 1 -2 weeks.
I understand they get busier in the summer, but don't tell a customer the service will take 2 weeks if you really mean "at least 4 weeks." Barring a delivery miracle, I'll be racing the Leadville 100 on my back-up wheels... which cost half the price of the rear hub that's being serviced.
They might be a little heavier, but at least I'll know the rear hub won't give up the ghost.
I understand they get busier in the summer, but don't tell a customer the service will take 2 weeks if you really mean "at least 4 weeks." Barring a delivery miracle, I'll be racing the Leadville 100 on my back-up wheels... which cost half the price of the rear hub that's being serviced.
They might be a little heavier, but at least I'll know the rear hub won't give up the ghost.
Olympic Architecture (and a Twisted Doughnut)
Pretty interesting photo essay on all of the new architecture in Beijing. Most of it is for the Olympics that start in a couple weeks, but the first building -- that appears to be two buildings holding onto each other -- is the new building for their national television network.
Incredible design and every one of them is a real marvel.
Photos here.
Incredible design and every one of them is a real marvel.
Photos here.
Maybe Musicals Don't Suck, After All?
Oh what a day Friday was. I woke early and camped myself at the nearby Starbucks so I could finally finish the essay portion of the grant proposal I've been working on for the South Fork Snoqualmie Trails project, then hurried home to work so that I could spare a few hours to take Kristin to the play Friday night. We were supposed to go on Saturday, but she had a combination bridal shower and bachelerette party to go to for a co-worker. The lady's wedding isn't until November and it's her second wedding at that; maybe it's just me but I would have held off the celebrations until the fall just to be on the safe side. I wish her the best of luck, but if they call the wedding off, she better give back those fruit-flavored condoms Kristin gave her. Unused, please!
So, back to the play... This month's play at the Taproot Theatre was Big River, a play about Huckleberry Finn and his pal Jim going down river on a raft. Now, you might be apt to call me poorly read or even possibly un-American for the confession I'm about to make, but I think in the interests of full disclosure I should tell you right now that I've never read "Tom Sawyer" or any of the other Mark Twain books for that matter. Too many n-words for the school system, I guess. I know, I know, I could have read them as an adult or on my own outside of school as a kid, but I didn't. And on Friday night, at the theatre, I was kind of glad. I might have been the only person learning the Huckleberry Finn story for the first time, but it was nice to not already know how it turns out.
That wasn't the only I thing I learned that night. I also learned that the "play" I got us tickets for was actually a "musical". I hate musicals. Maybe it's a lingering effect from having to watch "West Side Story" as a schoolboy, but the idea of people spontaneously breaking into song -- when they were supposed to be stabbing one another, no less -- is just preposterous. Nobody in real life just starts singing. There are no choreographed dance numbers at the office. Not at the grocery store either. And certainly not on the sidewalk downtown. If I saw this kind of behavior, I think I just might punch someone. In the face. Hard. To shut them up.
Spontaneous singers should be treated no better than smokers. They should be banished from civilized society and be forced to remain at least 25-feet from all places of employment, enjoyment, and err, yes, even cement too. Or any other -ments as well. No, they shall not even be able to unlock Xbox 360 Achievements!
Or, in keeping with the theme of Big River, be shackled together and forced to live in a barn.
Our tickets were front row on the corner of the stage. And when I say on the corner of the stage, I mean it. I had to continuously remind myself not to put my feet on the stage or stretch out, else I would have tripped an actor. This was particularly hard to do since I spent the first act asleep. The air conditioning wasn't working; I was pretty tired from working late the previous few days; and I was also pretty disappointed that I brought us to a musical. Let's see: tired, hot, and pissed-off. That's a great combination for sleep.
Except I couldn't really sleep because of all the damn singing!
And that was what finally woke me up. While the guy playing Huck Finn reminded me of Shaun White with better compexion (and shorter hair), Jim stole the show. Geoffrey Simmons was incredible. Everything about his performance was impressive. From his blank slave-stares out into the distance to his big dumb grins to his heartfelt sorrowful singing, every aspect of his Jim was amazing. Most of all his voice. Granted, I was sitting close enough to see his droplets of sweat splatter on the stage, but I had never been near such a powerful vocalist before. No microphones necessary, I'm sure the people in the "cheap seats" could even hear him well.
That's a joke, by the way, as all the tickets at this theatre are less than $25.
I downed a can of coke during intermission to help wake myself up and was really enjoying myself during the second act. The story and acting was great, and I must admit the singing was pretty damn good too. And not only Jim's (who apparently honed his craft singing backup for Mariah Carey... go figure) but also these two young teenage boys playing supporting slave roles. One of the boys was probably no older than 16, was thin and wiry, and had this incredibly deep baritone voice. It was amazing to see such a deep, mature voice coming out of this, well, this kid!
The play also had its funny parts... especially when playing up the 19th century rivertown hicks from Mississippi, but it's not a play that's supposed to be funny and primarily wasn't. The director didn't shy away from showing the perceptions of slavery from both sides during the play and while the idea of buying/selling other humans can be uncomfortable for today's audience, as is hearing people call one another "nigger", you got a sense you were seeing the world through Mark Twain's eyes, as it was. Nothing about Big River seemed sanitized for 2008, but rather as an honest telling of a fictitious pair of lives on the Mississippi River in the 1840's.
It was very well done and, in the end, I wound up enjoying it. This isn't to say I welcomed the singing, but rather that I was so greatly impressed by one or two of the actors abilities to sing. To be honest, I wasn't even paying attention to the words, but more their presence and power. It was, well, it was very impressive.
But no, this doesn't mean I want Taproot adding a bunch of musicals to their line-up for 2009. Hell no.
So, back to the play... This month's play at the Taproot Theatre was Big River, a play about Huckleberry Finn and his pal Jim going down river on a raft. Now, you might be apt to call me poorly read or even possibly un-American for the confession I'm about to make, but I think in the interests of full disclosure I should tell you right now that I've never read "Tom Sawyer" or any of the other Mark Twain books for that matter. Too many n-words for the school system, I guess. I know, I know, I could have read them as an adult or on my own outside of school as a kid, but I didn't. And on Friday night, at the theatre, I was kind of glad. I might have been the only person learning the Huckleberry Finn story for the first time, but it was nice to not already know how it turns out.
That wasn't the only I thing I learned that night. I also learned that the "play" I got us tickets for was actually a "musical". I hate musicals. Maybe it's a lingering effect from having to watch "West Side Story" as a schoolboy, but the idea of people spontaneously breaking into song -- when they were supposed to be stabbing one another, no less -- is just preposterous. Nobody in real life just starts singing. There are no choreographed dance numbers at the office. Not at the grocery store either. And certainly not on the sidewalk downtown. If I saw this kind of behavior, I think I just might punch someone. In the face. Hard. To shut them up.
Spontaneous singers should be treated no better than smokers. They should be banished from civilized society and be forced to remain at least 25-feet from all places of employment, enjoyment, and err, yes, even cement too. Or any other -ments as well. No, they shall not even be able to unlock Xbox 360 Achievements!
Or, in keeping with the theme of Big River, be shackled together and forced to live in a barn.
Our tickets were front row on the corner of the stage. And when I say on the corner of the stage, I mean it. I had to continuously remind myself not to put my feet on the stage or stretch out, else I would have tripped an actor. This was particularly hard to do since I spent the first act asleep. The air conditioning wasn't working; I was pretty tired from working late the previous few days; and I was also pretty disappointed that I brought us to a musical. Let's see: tired, hot, and pissed-off. That's a great combination for sleep.
Except I couldn't really sleep because of all the damn singing!
And that was what finally woke me up. While the guy playing Huck Finn reminded me of Shaun White with better compexion (and shorter hair), Jim stole the show. Geoffrey Simmons was incredible. Everything about his performance was impressive. From his blank slave-stares out into the distance to his big dumb grins to his heartfelt sorrowful singing, every aspect of his Jim was amazing. Most of all his voice. Granted, I was sitting close enough to see his droplets of sweat splatter on the stage, but I had never been near such a powerful vocalist before. No microphones necessary, I'm sure the people in the "cheap seats" could even hear him well.
That's a joke, by the way, as all the tickets at this theatre are less than $25.
I downed a can of coke during intermission to help wake myself up and was really enjoying myself during the second act. The story and acting was great, and I must admit the singing was pretty damn good too. And not only Jim's (who apparently honed his craft singing backup for Mariah Carey... go figure) but also these two young teenage boys playing supporting slave roles. One of the boys was probably no older than 16, was thin and wiry, and had this incredibly deep baritone voice. It was amazing to see such a deep, mature voice coming out of this, well, this kid!
The play also had its funny parts... especially when playing up the 19th century rivertown hicks from Mississippi, but it's not a play that's supposed to be funny and primarily wasn't. The director didn't shy away from showing the perceptions of slavery from both sides during the play and while the idea of buying/selling other humans can be uncomfortable for today's audience, as is hearing people call one another "nigger", you got a sense you were seeing the world through Mark Twain's eyes, as it was. Nothing about Big River seemed sanitized for 2008, but rather as an honest telling of a fictitious pair of lives on the Mississippi River in the 1840's.
It was very well done and, in the end, I wound up enjoying it. This isn't to say I welcomed the singing, but rather that I was so greatly impressed by one or two of the actors abilities to sing. To be honest, I wasn't even paying attention to the words, but more their presence and power. It was, well, it was very impressive.
But no, this doesn't mean I want Taproot adding a bunch of musicals to their line-up for 2009. Hell no.
The Death of an Xbox
I thought I was one of the lucky ones. Alas, there is no escaping faulty manufacturing practices. There may be an occasional lemon in a crate of mangos, but there is no such thing as finding a diamond in a box of lemons.
For two and one quarter years, I sat comfortably in my couch enjoying my Xbox 360 whenever I wanted to while friends and strangers alike watched their systems succumb to the vicious red rings of death. Those who have been plagued with this merciless killer know it simply as RROD. A plague so heinous it has even spawned its own greeting card.
Well, friends, the diagnosis isn't pretty. I have early-stage RROD. Oh, the console's immune sytem is fighting a valiant battle to keep the lights green, but constant screen freezes and the outbreak of red checkerboard-shaped rash tells me the end is near. Countless posters across the internet tell me that this is but a sign the RROD are on their way. Would xx!uSuxBallz!xx and Ma$TerCh!EF lie to me? I don't think so.
The irony in this is that since I don't technically have RROD -- yet -- the extended warranty Microsoft made universal to cover up this little embarrasment of theirs doesn't apply to me. So my choices are to 1) pay a $99 repair charge, send the system back on my own coin, and wait 2 to 3 weeks for it to come home, 2) sit and hope RROD one day finally shows itself, despite not being able to play for more than 2 minutes before the screen freezes, 3) go and buy one of the new Elite units with the HDMI output and the 120gig harddrive, or 4) take advantage of the recent price drop to repurchase the same damn console I have now and hope that MS truly did fix the bloody problem.
I've had to turn consoles upside down to get them to work, I've had to blow in them, I've had to tap them a few times, but I've never, ever, had to repair or replace one before.
Oh, wait, yes I did.
I had to send my original Xbox back for repairs too. Congratulations Microsoft, you're 2 for 2.
For two and one quarter years, I sat comfortably in my couch enjoying my Xbox 360 whenever I wanted to while friends and strangers alike watched their systems succumb to the vicious red rings of death. Those who have been plagued with this merciless killer know it simply as RROD. A plague so heinous it has even spawned its own greeting card.
Well, friends, the diagnosis isn't pretty. I have early-stage RROD. Oh, the console's immune sytem is fighting a valiant battle to keep the lights green, but constant screen freezes and the outbreak of red checkerboard-shaped rash tells me the end is near. Countless posters across the internet tell me that this is but a sign the RROD are on their way. Would xx!uSuxBallz!xx and Ma$TerCh!EF lie to me? I don't think so.
The irony in this is that since I don't technically have RROD -- yet -- the extended warranty Microsoft made universal to cover up this little embarrasment of theirs doesn't apply to me. So my choices are to 1) pay a $99 repair charge, send the system back on my own coin, and wait 2 to 3 weeks for it to come home, 2) sit and hope RROD one day finally shows itself, despite not being able to play for more than 2 minutes before the screen freezes, 3) go and buy one of the new Elite units with the HDMI output and the 120gig harddrive, or 4) take advantage of the recent price drop to repurchase the same damn console I have now and hope that MS truly did fix the bloody problem.
I've had to turn consoles upside down to get them to work, I've had to blow in them, I've had to tap them a few times, but I've never, ever, had to repair or replace one before.
Oh, wait, yes I did.
I had to send my original Xbox back for repairs too. Congratulations Microsoft, you're 2 for 2.
Stop, Drop, and Roll!!!
Been listening to the Foxboro Hot Tubs album Stop, Drop, and Roll!!! almost daily for the past few weeks and am completely comfortable recommending it to anybody who considers themselves a fan of Green Day. Why Green Day, you ask? Because Foxboro Hot Tubs is Green Day.
That's right, it's Billy Joe, Tre Cool, and Mike Dirnt, etc., playing what they call "garage music".
The album is an unmistakable off-shoot of Green Day -- Billy Joe's vocals give it away in seconds, even if you didn't know who Foxboro Hot Tubs were -- but it's not nearly as polished and, dare I say, as mature as their last album American Idiot, which I thought was one of the best albums in recent memory (of any band).
If you're an iTunes kind of person, you can get the 13-track album for $9.99. Check out the free previews for "Mother Mary", "Ruby Room" and "Pedestrian" to get a good feel for the album. I could best describe the sound (something I'm admittedly not very good at) as a sixties-rockabilly translation of older Green Day with a touch of lounge-music thrown in. It didn't blow me away from the first listening like American Idiot did, but it definitely grew on me. Give it a whirl.
That's right, it's Billy Joe, Tre Cool, and Mike Dirnt, etc., playing what they call "garage music".
The album is an unmistakable off-shoot of Green Day -- Billy Joe's vocals give it away in seconds, even if you didn't know who Foxboro Hot Tubs were -- but it's not nearly as polished and, dare I say, as mature as their last album American Idiot, which I thought was one of the best albums in recent memory (of any band).
If you're an iTunes kind of person, you can get the 13-track album for $9.99. Check out the free previews for "Mother Mary", "Ruby Room" and "Pedestrian" to get a good feel for the album. I could best describe the sound (something I'm admittedly not very good at) as a sixties-rockabilly translation of older Green Day with a touch of lounge-music thrown in. It didn't blow me away from the first listening like American Idiot did, but it definitely grew on me. Give it a whirl.
RAMROD Waiting List Update
Unlike for the Leadville 100 mountain bike race, I didn't win a lottery spot for RAMROD (Ride Around Mount Rainier in One Day). In fact I was originally #248 on the waiting list. I was told to not worry, that a lot of people decide to cancel, and that almost everyone on the waiting list gets in. Albeit, with 3 days notice.
With the bike ride just two weeks from today, I decided to check my status. I'm up to #118 on the waiting list. I suspect as the day draws nearer, more and more folks will realize they're not in the shape they wanted to be in for it and decide to withdraw. That's probably what I should do -- my mileage has been scant -- but I've already had to miss CCP, so I might as well struggle through RAMROD.
How hard can it be?
With the bike ride just two weeks from today, I decided to check my status. I'm up to #118 on the waiting list. I suspect as the day draws nearer, more and more folks will realize they're not in the shape they wanted to be in for it and decide to withdraw. That's probably what I should do -- my mileage has been scant -- but I've already had to miss CCP, so I might as well struggle through RAMROD.
How hard can it be?
Year of the RPG
For me at least.
I've only written guidebooks for a scant few role-playing games over the 8 years I've been authoring these books, but this year is a whole other story. It's all I've done with the exception of The Club.
My current project is an absolute beast -- great game, but huge -- and it's keeping me from posting much and for that I apologize. If it's any consolation it's also keeping me from bicycling, sleeping, watching Le Tour, doing any volunteer work, and maintaing more than the bare minimum of personal hygiene. It should all end next week (if not, I'm in deep trouble) and once it does, I have not one but TWO other RPG guidebooks to get started on.
Fortunately, neither one of them should take 100 hours to play through.
I'll have a couple of good guidebook giveaways in August though, both of them weighing in at over 200 pages and one should approach 300 pages. Can't say which ones they are just yet, but both are for RPGs, arguably the genre of game most deserving of a strategy guide.
And no, I'm not doing the book for Fallout 3. I wish. But I do expect to update my Bioshock book for the rumored downloadable content for the PS3 version. We'll see...
I've only written guidebooks for a scant few role-playing games over the 8 years I've been authoring these books, but this year is a whole other story. It's all I've done with the exception of The Club.
My current project is an absolute beast -- great game, but huge -- and it's keeping me from posting much and for that I apologize. If it's any consolation it's also keeping me from bicycling, sleeping, watching Le Tour, doing any volunteer work, and maintaing more than the bare minimum of personal hygiene. It should all end next week (if not, I'm in deep trouble) and once it does, I have not one but TWO other RPG guidebooks to get started on.
Fortunately, neither one of them should take 100 hours to play through.
I'll have a couple of good guidebook giveaways in August though, both of them weighing in at over 200 pages and one should approach 300 pages. Can't say which ones they are just yet, but both are for RPGs, arguably the genre of game most deserving of a strategy guide.
And no, I'm not doing the book for Fallout 3. I wish. But I do expect to update my Bioshock book for the rumored downloadable content for the PS3 version. We'll see...
Structural Engineering Done Red Faction Style
Very cool video showing the engineering behind the destruction engine in the upcoming Red Faction: Guerilla game, a sequel to a game I thoroughly enjoyed on the PS2 some years ago.
Watch it here.
Watch it here.
E3
Like countless other people who used to go to E3 each year, I'm now (thankfully in some ways) limited to scouring the internet for streaming video and live bloggers. Sites like 1up.com did a fairly good job of live-blogging the pressers from Microsoft, Nintendo, and Sony. Their minute-by-minute updates of what was going on and their immediate impressions were almost as good as being there.
Microsoft went first and, to be honest, left me wanting a bit more. The upcoming games look great, to be sure, but there weren't any surprises other than Final Fantasy XIII not being a PS3 exclusive and the press conference focus too much on the new Xbox Live update coming in the fall. Those who know me, know that I absolutely love the Xbox Live service and I'm thrilled the worst-kept secret about Xbox Live partnering with Netflix for video-on-demand turned out to be true. But the rest of the stuff? I don't know, but it strikes me as a bit too kiidii. I think Microsoft is trying to be all things to everyone and I'm just not so sure that's going to work. I play as many XBLA games as anybody I know and am genuinely looking forward to some of the offerings, particularly the 1 Vs 100 game-show game, but Live Party and many of the other features just seem rather unnecessary.
Microsoft was the only one to have their press conference on Monday and provided us with a nice opening act. I can't wait to play Fallout 3 and Gears of War 2, and I'm even looking forward to the new Banjo Kazooie game as well. But I couldn't help but feel that come Tuesday, Sony and Nintendo would elevate their positions and finally show me something that would make me want to buy a Wii or a PS3.
Nope. I didn't think it was possible, but the rather non earth-shattering conference Microsoft provided on Monday actually ended up being the most interesting and impressive.
Nintendo's big highight was the Shaun White Snowboarding game which uses the "bathroom scale" accessory that comes with Wii Fit and the inevitable Wii version of Animal Crossing which really looks exactly like the very first Animal Crossing, only with online gameplay. That was their big Wii announcement. That's it. Oh, sure, they also announced ports of Call of Duty 4, which everyone played last year as well as Wii Band, which was demo'd at E3 2006. The rest of their talk was numbers and DS games. In fact the only true surprise from Nintendo was the announcement of a DS Grand Theft Auto game that, frankly, I don't care about.
As lackluster as that was, Sony's conference simply seemed depressing. Aside from the video of Reistance 2 which does look great, the general vibe I got from watching their conference was that the wait (for Home, GT5, and games in general) will one day pay off. Far too much of their press conference centered around Gran Turismo 5, a great game no-doubt, but also one I played at E3 two years ago and there's still no release date for it. Sony also had several me-too moments about their online service (movie downloads... just like Microsoft, Trophies... just like Microsoft in particular) that did not so much as make me think for one second about abandoning my console monagymy.
Basically what I got out of the these three events was that my choice of sticking to an X360 and a DS is still more than enough. I'm very worried that I may completely come to hate the mandatory fall update for the X360 thanks to the new layout, but I'm willing to give it a try. As it was, the online marketplace on Xbox Live had gotten so much content that it's become nearly impossible to find things on it with ease.
I downloaded a dozen or more game trailers today and watched them at dinner with Kristin. Fallout 3 is definitely the most impressive of the bunch, but Lips has potential to steal Kristin away from me (for those who don't know Lips is a karaoke game that seems to be able to work with any song on your Zune... and hopefully your iPod too).
Can't wait to see what updates and new trailers are released tomorrow. Hopefully another Xbox Live Arcade mash-up like last year!
Microsoft went first and, to be honest, left me wanting a bit more. The upcoming games look great, to be sure, but there weren't any surprises other than Final Fantasy XIII not being a PS3 exclusive and the press conference focus too much on the new Xbox Live update coming in the fall. Those who know me, know that I absolutely love the Xbox Live service and I'm thrilled the worst-kept secret about Xbox Live partnering with Netflix for video-on-demand turned out to be true. But the rest of the stuff? I don't know, but it strikes me as a bit too kiidii. I think Microsoft is trying to be all things to everyone and I'm just not so sure that's going to work. I play as many XBLA games as anybody I know and am genuinely looking forward to some of the offerings, particularly the 1 Vs 100 game-show game, but Live Party and many of the other features just seem rather unnecessary.
Microsoft was the only one to have their press conference on Monday and provided us with a nice opening act. I can't wait to play Fallout 3 and Gears of War 2, and I'm even looking forward to the new Banjo Kazooie game as well. But I couldn't help but feel that come Tuesday, Sony and Nintendo would elevate their positions and finally show me something that would make me want to buy a Wii or a PS3.
Nope. I didn't think it was possible, but the rather non earth-shattering conference Microsoft provided on Monday actually ended up being the most interesting and impressive.
Nintendo's big highight was the Shaun White Snowboarding game which uses the "bathroom scale" accessory that comes with Wii Fit and the inevitable Wii version of Animal Crossing which really looks exactly like the very first Animal Crossing, only with online gameplay. That was their big Wii announcement. That's it. Oh, sure, they also announced ports of Call of Duty 4, which everyone played last year as well as Wii Band, which was demo'd at E3 2006. The rest of their talk was numbers and DS games. In fact the only true surprise from Nintendo was the announcement of a DS Grand Theft Auto game that, frankly, I don't care about.
As lackluster as that was, Sony's conference simply seemed depressing. Aside from the video of Reistance 2 which does look great, the general vibe I got from watching their conference was that the wait (for Home, GT5, and games in general) will one day pay off. Far too much of their press conference centered around Gran Turismo 5, a great game no-doubt, but also one I played at E3 two years ago and there's still no release date for it. Sony also had several me-too moments about their online service (movie downloads... just like Microsoft, Trophies... just like Microsoft in particular) that did not so much as make me think for one second about abandoning my console monagymy.
Basically what I got out of the these three events was that my choice of sticking to an X360 and a DS is still more than enough. I'm very worried that I may completely come to hate the mandatory fall update for the X360 thanks to the new layout, but I'm willing to give it a try. As it was, the online marketplace on Xbox Live had gotten so much content that it's become nearly impossible to find things on it with ease.
I downloaded a dozen or more game trailers today and watched them at dinner with Kristin. Fallout 3 is definitely the most impressive of the bunch, but Lips has potential to steal Kristin away from me (for those who don't know Lips is a karaoke game that seems to be able to work with any song on your Zune... and hopefully your iPod too).
Can't wait to see what updates and new trailers are released tomorrow. Hopefully another Xbox Live Arcade mash-up like last year!
For the Dog Lovers
A too-sweet story from the Daily Post, of all places.
Lost beagle is returned 5 years after getting loose.
Lost beagle is returned 5 years after getting loose.
Not an Eruption
My friend Ed and his brother steered their Harley-Davidsons into my driveway late Saturday night, having driven 3500 miles since June 30th. Original plans called for me to meet them near Mount St. Helens, but my workload made that impossible so they decided to come stay for two nights at my house. The one condition was that I took them to Mount Rainier on Sunday to do a little hiking.
We got down to the Sunrise viewpoint area of the park before 10am and started hiking up and over Dege Peak and onwards to the Sunrise Visitor Center. The weather was perfect, the views spectacular, and there were surprisingly very few people on the trail. We took our time and hiked just over 5 miles round-trip while spending plenty of time atop Dege Peak soaking in the views and at the visitor center staring through the telescopes at the climbers descending from the summit.
We exited the visitor center and immediately noticed something wasn't right -- there was a massive cloud exiting what appeared to be the flank of Mt. Adams to the south. Mt. Adams is another one of the volcanoes in the Cascade Range and we at once thought the volcano was experiencing a rather large steam eruption. It was all the buzz. Everyone we met on the trail on the return-trip was staring off at Mt. Adams wondering if it was about to blow... and wondering if we were safe. This is what we saw.
We got down to the Sunrise viewpoint area of the park before 10am and started hiking up and over Dege Peak and onwards to the Sunrise Visitor Center. The weather was perfect, the views spectacular, and there were surprisingly very few people on the trail. We took our time and hiked just over 5 miles round-trip while spending plenty of time atop Dege Peak soaking in the views and at the visitor center staring through the telescopes at the climbers descending from the summit.
We exited the visitor center and immediately noticed something wasn't right -- there was a massive cloud exiting what appeared to be the flank of Mt. Adams to the south. Mt. Adams is another one of the volcanoes in the Cascade Range and we at once thought the volcano was experiencing a rather large steam eruption. It was all the buzz. Everyone we met on the trail on the return-trip was staring off at Mt. Adams wondering if it was about to blow... and wondering if we were safe. This is what we saw.
Easily mistaken for a steam eruption.
I was wondering how such a large steam eruption could have possibly happened so close by without us hearing it. The reason we didn't hear it was because it wasn't a volcanic eruption. It was, instead, the rapid spreading of a once-tiny wildfire on the south side of the volcano.
According to reports that night, the fire was two acres in size about the time we started our hike, but grew to 400 acres by Sunday afternoon. Hence, the sudden appearance of the large plume of smoke. We zoomed in with cameras from our perch on Sourdough Ridge and one could see ash falling closest to the volcano and even a faint red glow. It was ash alright, but from burning wood.From the SeattlePI.com, as of 10pm Monday night:
TROUT LAKE -- The biggest fire to strike Washington's South Cascade Range in decades continued to grow Monday, as weather forecasters warned of hazardous fire conditions for most of the east side of the state.
The Cold Springs Fire had burned about 9 square miles, or more than 6,000 acres, in south-central Washington near Mount Adams, the state's second-highest peak. The fire was burning in timber, some beetle-killed, in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest and on the Yakama Indian Reservation.
No homes were threatened, but firefighters wrapped a historic guard station built in 1909 with a fire-retardant material and built fire lines to try to protect it, said Chris
Strebig, Gifford Pinchot spokesman.
Yesterday morning the fire was just 2 acres in size and it's now burned over 6,000 acres. I wish nothing but the speediest and safest containment of the fire and am glad that there aren't any homes or personal property in danger. That said, mistaking this fire for a steam eruption added an unforgettable chapter to the cross-country trip my friends are taking. Having never been anywhere near volcanoes before, seeing Rainier so close was a huge treat for them and watching what we thought may have been another volcano mid-eruption less than 100 miles away only made it that much more memorable. Even if it wasn't.
The view from the trail wasn't too shabby.30 Days to Go
That's how many days I have left to prepare for the Leadville 100. Ideally, I'd have tons of base mileage logged and be readying myself for a nice 2-3 week taper leading up to the event. Unfortunately, the word ideally does not carry the same meaning as the words in reality.
The reality is that I'm feeling pretty strong right now (thanks in part to the rather hilly rides i've been doing on my singlespeed lately) and am pretty confident that I could struggle through the 100 miles and finish it, but I've only briefly climbed above 5,000 feet in elevation this year and really don't have the huge bank of miles I would have liked to have had by now. Actually, I should say that I'm confident I'd be able to finish this race if it were at sea-level. But it's at a starting elevation of 10,200 feet and climbs nearly to 13,000.
I feel like a college kid about to cram for a final exam... while simultaneously trying to finish a couple of papers for two other classes.
And the test is in Latin.
But my ride-buddy Erik of Ride, Rinse, Repeat fame posted this video (see below) of the race start and it has me tapping my feet in anticipation. That's a whole lot of riders in that race, probably even more than in the Test of Metal. In 30 days I'll be one of them.
At least the views at the turn-around point will be pretty incredible.
The reality is that I'm feeling pretty strong right now (thanks in part to the rather hilly rides i've been doing on my singlespeed lately) and am pretty confident that I could struggle through the 100 miles and finish it, but I've only briefly climbed above 5,000 feet in elevation this year and really don't have the huge bank of miles I would have liked to have had by now. Actually, I should say that I'm confident I'd be able to finish this race if it were at sea-level. But it's at a starting elevation of 10,200 feet and climbs nearly to 13,000.
I feel like a college kid about to cram for a final exam... while simultaneously trying to finish a couple of papers for two other classes.
And the test is in Latin.
But my ride-buddy Erik of Ride, Rinse, Repeat fame posted this video (see below) of the race start and it has me tapping my feet in anticipation. That's a whole lot of riders in that race, probably even more than in the Test of Metal. In 30 days I'll be one of them.
At least the views at the turn-around point will be pretty incredible.
WTF Imagery
There's just no escaping Yankees fans.
I did a Google image search on the acronym "WTF" today (don't ask) and the very first picture to pop us was this one right here.
This is one of those times when I really don't have anything else to add. Just thought you'd want to see a funny photo.
I did a Google image search on the acronym "WTF" today (don't ask) and the very first picture to pop us was this one right here.
This is one of those times when I really don't have anything else to add. Just thought you'd want to see a funny photo.
24-Hour Photos... Finally
That's me before my cough-till-I-puke lap during the 24-hour race in Spokane this past May. The DRC finally got the photos up on their website.
And in case you're wondering, no the entire course isn't this rocky. There's no way I could have managed 200+ miles last year if the entirety of each 15-mile lap was this rocky.
And in case you're wondering, no the entire course isn't this rocky. There's no way I could have managed 200+ miles last year if the entirety of each 15-mile lap was this rocky.
More photos of me here.
And also some shots of my friends as well: Joe Martin, Frank "Nando" Benish, and the "Master Says Faster" team.
Chopstick Crazy
One of the skills I've mastered since moving to the greater Seattle area is that of using chopsticks. Kristin and I love the diversity of the area and have a favorite restaurant in each of the major Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese, and Thai flavors. And as a result we've become fans of the chopsticks, even so much as to know that we prefer the throwaway wooden ones to the fancy (but slippery) porcelain ones. We've come a long way since the days of "experimenting" at the barely-edible Panda Express in Bridgewater Commons.
But, as I learned today, there is such thing as too much chopsticks.
My friend Derek and I capped off a rather tough midweek mountain bike ride tonight with a trip to the Rogue Brewery in Issaquah. It was a perfect night for dining outside and Derek snagged us a table on the sidewalk so we could watch the bikes and stretch out -- and by stretch out, I really mean air out. Derek still had his Shimano SPD shoes on and, as for me, no amount of wet-wipes and deodorant could be sure to eliminate the stench I was undoubtedly emanating.
Rogue has some pretty good beers -- you may have seen their Dead Guy Ale or Old Crustacean barley wine in a micro-brew store near you -- but their guest beers list is sometimes even better. Today they had the Avery Maharaja that recently came recommended by the biggest beer afficionado I know. It was superb. Expensive, but excellent. And 9.7% in alcohol.
So Derek and I ordered up some Maharajas and a couple of Kobe beef bacon cheeseburgers and I splurged and had a cup of the Kobe beef chili. Those who have yet to visit us out here should know that the food in many of the local breweries is as good if not better than most proper restaurants. Certainly better than the TGI McApplegans.
We drink our beers, talk about mountain biking, cars, videogames, and compare and contrast various Toronto strip clubs. You know, your basic guy talk. Then the food comes out and on each plate is a pair of chopsticks.
Derek's plate is put down first and I can immediately sense his mind shifting into overdrive. His brow furrowed, he adjusts his posture in his seat, and his laid back appearance becomes slightly more inquisitive. My plate is put down shortly after and although mine also has the set of chopsticks, Derek doesn't see it. He thinks that only he received the chopsticks. He thinks that only his bacon cheeseburger has come with a pair of chopsticks.
Derek is Chinese.
"What's with the chopsticks?" he asks. There's a slight trace of angst or defensiveness in his voice.
The waitress stumbles over her words. "Um, yeah, umm, I don't know." She seems to sense the possible insult or that she's perhaps been caught in a bigoted practical joke and she's visibly uncomfortable.
In hindsight, I could have kept my mouth shut and carefully hid my pair of chopsticks and sat back and watched the fireworks (no Chinese pun intended) unfoil, but I couldn't do it. I was too hungry to suffer the delays, however funny they may have been.
"I have a pair too. What is it, because we ordered Kobe beef, the chef thinks we want to eat our burgers with chopsticks?" I was the only one who made the connection.
The waitress was thankful of the out I had given her, perhaps sensing how insulting the harmless decorative utensil may have been perceived by someone of the Asian persuasion. Especially if that person is the type who sees insult where there is none.
"Yeah, that must be it. I really don't know," the waitress said. She couldn't get away fast enough.
"I thought it was because I was Chinese," Derek said.
I'm pretty sure he was joking. Actually, I'm all but certain he was joking. But I was too busy shoveling french fries into my mouth to tell... with my chopsticks.
But, as I learned today, there is such thing as too much chopsticks.
My friend Derek and I capped off a rather tough midweek mountain bike ride tonight with a trip to the Rogue Brewery in Issaquah. It was a perfect night for dining outside and Derek snagged us a table on the sidewalk so we could watch the bikes and stretch out -- and by stretch out, I really mean air out. Derek still had his Shimano SPD shoes on and, as for me, no amount of wet-wipes and deodorant could be sure to eliminate the stench I was undoubtedly emanating.
Rogue has some pretty good beers -- you may have seen their Dead Guy Ale or Old Crustacean barley wine in a micro-brew store near you -- but their guest beers list is sometimes even better. Today they had the Avery Maharaja that recently came recommended by the biggest beer afficionado I know. It was superb. Expensive, but excellent. And 9.7% in alcohol.
So Derek and I ordered up some Maharajas and a couple of Kobe beef bacon cheeseburgers and I splurged and had a cup of the Kobe beef chili. Those who have yet to visit us out here should know that the food in many of the local breweries is as good if not better than most proper restaurants. Certainly better than the TGI McApplegans.
We drink our beers, talk about mountain biking, cars, videogames, and compare and contrast various Toronto strip clubs. You know, your basic guy talk. Then the food comes out and on each plate is a pair of chopsticks.
Derek's plate is put down first and I can immediately sense his mind shifting into overdrive. His brow furrowed, he adjusts his posture in his seat, and his laid back appearance becomes slightly more inquisitive. My plate is put down shortly after and although mine also has the set of chopsticks, Derek doesn't see it. He thinks that only he received the chopsticks. He thinks that only his bacon cheeseburger has come with a pair of chopsticks.
Derek is Chinese.
"What's with the chopsticks?" he asks. There's a slight trace of angst or defensiveness in his voice.
The waitress stumbles over her words. "Um, yeah, umm, I don't know." She seems to sense the possible insult or that she's perhaps been caught in a bigoted practical joke and she's visibly uncomfortable.
In hindsight, I could have kept my mouth shut and carefully hid my pair of chopsticks and sat back and watched the fireworks (no Chinese pun intended) unfoil, but I couldn't do it. I was too hungry to suffer the delays, however funny they may have been.
"I have a pair too. What is it, because we ordered Kobe beef, the chef thinks we want to eat our burgers with chopsticks?" I was the only one who made the connection.
The waitress was thankful of the out I had given her, perhaps sensing how insulting the harmless decorative utensil may have been perceived by someone of the Asian persuasion. Especially if that person is the type who sees insult where there is none.
"Yeah, that must be it. I really don't know," the waitress said. She couldn't get away fast enough.
"I thought it was because I was Chinese," Derek said.
I'm pretty sure he was joking. Actually, I'm all but certain he was joking. But I was too busy shoveling french fries into my mouth to tell... with my chopsticks.
Rude Tourists and 95 Year Old Road-Tripper
A couple of interesting stories I came across this morning:
First, Time magazine (via Yahoo) has an article up about the best and worst tourists in the world and, surprise, the "ugly American" isn't the worst domestic or foreign tourist. A survey of thousands of hotel workers in the UK, Italy, France, Germany, Canada and the USA found the French to be the rudest of tourists. Americans weren't far behind.
The chase:
Makes sense to me.
----
Now, for something truly impressive, the Seattle Times has an article today about a 95-year old man who, two years ago drove his Cadillac from Washington State to Panama. Then, this spring, drove that same Cadillac all the way to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska.
Now that's an elder we can all respect. Read the full account of his story right here.
First, Time magazine (via Yahoo) has an article up about the best and worst tourists in the world and, surprise, the "ugly American" isn't the worst domestic or foreign tourist. A survey of thousands of hotel workers in the UK, Italy, France, Germany, Canada and the USA found the French to be the rudest of tourists. Americans weren't far behind.
The chase:
De Roux explains how external factors similarly account for why Americans wind up as the biggest-spending and best-tipping tourists, while Germans and the French are among the worst penny-pinchers. "Our findings show the average French employee will get 37 vacation days spread over seven trips in 2008, versus 14 for an American - who won't even take them all," de Roux believes. "That means the French tourist will more tightly budget his or her spending over more trips, while the American spends freely on the one or two vacations taken all year."
By contrast, poll finds the French and Americans similar in being perceived as critical and rude when they travel - though for different reasons. The same local attractions that make France the world's top destination for 92 million foreign visitors each year, says de Roux, also explains why over 85% of French vacation in-country - and wind up spoiled by it when they leave. "When they go abroad, French travellers demand the same quality they'd get at home," de Roux says. "Americans, by contrast, demand the same exceptional service they are used to at home, which is why they rank as the loudest, most inclined to complain, and among the least polite."
Makes sense to me.
----
Now, for something truly impressive, the Seattle Times has an article today about a 95-year old man who, two years ago drove his Cadillac from Washington State to Panama. Then, this spring, drove that same Cadillac all the way to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska.
"I don't drink whiskey, chase girls or bark at the moon anymore," said George, who lives in Lynnwood. "There's no place else to spend my money."
And as a widower, "I have no wife to say you can't do it."
"This car has been as far south as you can go and as far north as you can go," said George, who was raised in Kansas but moved to Seattle while serving in the Navy and never left.
George, who lost one of his eyes in a kamikaze attack on his warship during World War II, pulls out his Alaska maps, where he scratched the mileage as he completed his nine-day adventure: Lynnwood to Prince George, B.C., to Watson Lake and Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory. Tok Junction, Alaska, to Fairbanks. Up the Haul Road to Prudhoe Bay. And back home.
He figures he put 600 miles on his car each day. Asked how much his trip cost, he said it's all on plastic and he won't know until the bills arrive. "If I'd added it all up, it
would have spoiled the trip."
Now that's an elder we can all respect. Read the full account of his story right here.
Massive Lightning Storm
The storm that rolled through Wednesday night was unlike any I had experienced since leaving North Carolina in 2002. The meteorologists recorded 3,000 lightning strikes in 24 hours and let me tell you, three of them couldn't have struck more than 1/4 mile from my house.
Thunderstorms are one of the things missing from life in the Pacific Northwest, we just don't get them too often up here. And I miss that. I love the sound of the thunder, the flashing of the lights, and the smell of electrified rain. On the rare occasion that we do get a thunderstorm, it's typically a rather mellow event and over within minutes.
And then there was the storm on Wednesday. It went on forever, as if the cells were circling above our neighborhood. The bolts were massive, the house shook, the rumbling came instantaneously after the crackling flash of light. My friend Erik (who posted an awesome photo here), who lives down the road, says his smoke detectors went off several times that night.
Sleep was hard to come by, and the storm was bad enough to warrant unplugging the computer and monitor, among other things. When I finally did fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, I was woken just two hours later by yet another storm. And another bolt that I can only assume touched down somewhere on my block.
It was an absolutely amazing storm. I was too tired to even think about taking photos but some Snoqualmie Ridge residents were more motivated than I.
See some pretty great photos of the lightning right here.
Thunderstorms are one of the things missing from life in the Pacific Northwest, we just don't get them too often up here. And I miss that. I love the sound of the thunder, the flashing of the lights, and the smell of electrified rain. On the rare occasion that we do get a thunderstorm, it's typically a rather mellow event and over within minutes.
And then there was the storm on Wednesday. It went on forever, as if the cells were circling above our neighborhood. The bolts were massive, the house shook, the rumbling came instantaneously after the crackling flash of light. My friend Erik (who posted an awesome photo here), who lives down the road, says his smoke detectors went off several times that night.
Sleep was hard to come by, and the storm was bad enough to warrant unplugging the computer and monitor, among other things. When I finally did fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, I was woken just two hours later by yet another storm. And another bolt that I can only assume touched down somewhere on my block.
It was an absolutely amazing storm. I was too tired to even think about taking photos but some Snoqualmie Ridge residents were more motivated than I.
See some pretty great photos of the lightning right here.
Have a Better Weekend than Me
Last week it was missing the Cascade Creampuff 100, this week it's cancelling the backpacking trip Kristin and I were going to do around the Loowit Trail on Mount St. Helens.
Although it appears this route may not have been doable anyway.
I don't mind having to cancel the occasional weekend getaway for work, as I'm fortunate to have a pretty damn flexible schedule much of the year. And being willing and able to work when the work is there is a hallmark of life as a freelancer, even one under contract like myself. It's a fair trade-off to a life of being "on call" 24/7.
That said, I do get annoyed though when I clear the schedule for work and am stuck with inoperable equipment. That was the case this past weekend -- the devkit I was using had outdated firmware on it which brought my progress to a screaching halt Saturday afternoon. Too late to drive down to Oregon for the CCP100 and too deep into the weekend to get the firmware update. Yes, a few expletives were uttered.
This weekend will be different though. Much progress has been made since I got the updated code on Monday and everything is going well. I might steal away to go to the Mariners game tomorrow, or perhaps to go mountain biking on Sunday, but other than that I'll be right here behind the desk working.
And I'm going to try not to daydream about the trip to Switzerland and Italy my sister-in-law is embarking on Saturday, nor will I wonder how my friend Ed is doing on the 40-day motorcycle tour he's taking around the country with his brother. No, instead, I'll be grinding away in hopes of actually finishing this book in time so I'll be able to able to hang out when Ed and Dave pull into Washington on their Harleys later this month (they left New Jersey this past Monday).
In the meantime, Kristin has her marathon training to keep her busy as well as a bit of sleep to catch up on. So, to my American readers, have a great three-day weekend everyone. Enjoy the holiday and have some fun for the both of us.
Although it appears this route may not have been doable anyway.
I don't mind having to cancel the occasional weekend getaway for work, as I'm fortunate to have a pretty damn flexible schedule much of the year. And being willing and able to work when the work is there is a hallmark of life as a freelancer, even one under contract like myself. It's a fair trade-off to a life of being "on call" 24/7.
That said, I do get annoyed though when I clear the schedule for work and am stuck with inoperable equipment. That was the case this past weekend -- the devkit I was using had outdated firmware on it which brought my progress to a screaching halt Saturday afternoon. Too late to drive down to Oregon for the CCP100 and too deep into the weekend to get the firmware update. Yes, a few expletives were uttered.
This weekend will be different though. Much progress has been made since I got the updated code on Monday and everything is going well. I might steal away to go to the Mariners game tomorrow, or perhaps to go mountain biking on Sunday, but other than that I'll be right here behind the desk working.
And I'm going to try not to daydream about the trip to Switzerland and Italy my sister-in-law is embarking on Saturday, nor will I wonder how my friend Ed is doing on the 40-day motorcycle tour he's taking around the country with his brother. No, instead, I'll be grinding away in hopes of actually finishing this book in time so I'll be able to able to hang out when Ed and Dave pull into Washington on their Harleys later this month (they left New Jersey this past Monday).
In the meantime, Kristin has her marathon training to keep her busy as well as a bit of sleep to catch up on. So, to my American readers, have a great three-day weekend everyone. Enjoy the holiday and have some fun for the both of us.
In Hot Pursuit
As you are likely already aware, the World Values Survey released the results of their annual World Happiness rankings yesterday and we Americans found our beloved USA ranked 16th out of the 97 countries included. Denmark took top honors, followed behind by Peurto Rico, Iceland, Switzerland, Canada, Ireland, and even Columbia.
That's right, even Columbians are happier than we are!
[insert nose candy joke here]
The survey is done in the same manner it always has been: two questions about happiness and satisfaction are asked to a number of respondents from each country and they are given the same Very, Somewhat, Neutral, Somewhat Un-, Very Un- options you get when the movie ratings people call during dinner.
There's a lot of interpretation being done about what the results mean. There are those who point to the role having a peaceful nation plays in leading to happiness -- none of the top ten countries are at war -- and I think that could definitely be a big part of it. Others look to the top ten countries and see lands where people live and let live. Places where people don't waste excessive energy trying to impart their own belief systems on others. Perhaps our country's tendency to try and govern morality keeps our happiness in check? Maybe this would be a more pleasant place if we'd just allow people to live their lives? You know, maybe if we just let the gay couples marry, legalized marijuana, stopped the bickering over abortion, allowed prostitution, etc., etc., then everyone would lighten up and just enjoy themselves. Oh, who am I kidding, I'm sure someone would find another crusade to carry the torch for and the arguments would rise again... especially if votes were to be won.
What's most interesting in all of this is that, despite being ranked 16th, the USA is the only country on the planet who actually has "the pursuit of happiness" written right into our nation's Declaration of Independence. Think about it: Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These are our inalienable rights. They are what led our ancestors here from across the oceans and what leads so many more immigrants here today from all corners of the globe.
But how can a nation who all but demands its citizens to pursue happiness, not be happy?
I blame the obesity rate.
Have your ever seen a fat man run? A thinner, fitter, more spry America is far more capable of giving chase than the bloated 2008 model we see before us today. How can people obtain happiness if they're too out of shape to catch it? One can only imagine how many hearttacks this so-called pursuit of happiness has led to!
Which of course immediately begs the question: is it possible to sue the founding fathers?
This is America afterall.
Life, liberty, and the waddle-after of happiness.
---
For some serious reading on the subject -- which this post clearly isn't -- I blindly recommend The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World by Eric Weiner. Amazon link. I listened to a pre-recorded interview with the author last week and heard several excerpts from his book. My copy is already ordered and I'm looking forward to getting it, especially in light of the recent rankings. I think anyone with an interest in sociology and travel will find it pretty interesting.
That's right, even Columbians are happier than we are!
[insert nose candy joke here]
The survey is done in the same manner it always has been: two questions about happiness and satisfaction are asked to a number of respondents from each country and they are given the same Very, Somewhat, Neutral, Somewhat Un-, Very Un- options you get when the movie ratings people call during dinner.
There's a lot of interpretation being done about what the results mean. There are those who point to the role having a peaceful nation plays in leading to happiness -- none of the top ten countries are at war -- and I think that could definitely be a big part of it. Others look to the top ten countries and see lands where people live and let live. Places where people don't waste excessive energy trying to impart their own belief systems on others. Perhaps our country's tendency to try and govern morality keeps our happiness in check? Maybe this would be a more pleasant place if we'd just allow people to live their lives? You know, maybe if we just let the gay couples marry, legalized marijuana, stopped the bickering over abortion, allowed prostitution, etc., etc., then everyone would lighten up and just enjoy themselves. Oh, who am I kidding, I'm sure someone would find another crusade to carry the torch for and the arguments would rise again... especially if votes were to be won.
What's most interesting in all of this is that, despite being ranked 16th, the USA is the only country on the planet who actually has "the pursuit of happiness" written right into our nation's Declaration of Independence. Think about it: Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These are our inalienable rights. They are what led our ancestors here from across the oceans and what leads so many more immigrants here today from all corners of the globe.
But how can a nation who all but demands its citizens to pursue happiness, not be happy?
I blame the obesity rate.
Have your ever seen a fat man run? A thinner, fitter, more spry America is far more capable of giving chase than the bloated 2008 model we see before us today. How can people obtain happiness if they're too out of shape to catch it? One can only imagine how many hearttacks this so-called pursuit of happiness has led to!
Which of course immediately begs the question: is it possible to sue the founding fathers?
This is America afterall.
Life, liberty, and the waddle-after of happiness.
---
For some serious reading on the subject -- which this post clearly isn't -- I blindly recommend The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World by Eric Weiner. Amazon link. I listened to a pre-recorded interview with the author last week and heard several excerpts from his book. My copy is already ordered and I'm looking forward to getting it, especially in light of the recent rankings. I think anyone with an interest in sociology and travel will find it pretty interesting.
Into the Wild Tourism Increases
As predictable as snow melting in spring.
Read the full article at CNN right here. And that sound you hear is that of Jim Morrison rolling in his grave.
"That's sort of the heart of the story," said Alexander, 44, of Arlington, Virginia. "It's almost like a Jim Morrison grave site, where people just want to go see it."
This is exactly what residents in the interior town of Healy, 25 miles east of the bus, feared with the release last fall of the movie adapted from Jon Krakauer's best-seller of the same name.
They envisioned hordes of copycats making dangerous pilgrimages in the footsteps of a character often seen as a spiritual visionary rather than an ill-prepared misfit, as many Alaskans view McCandless.
People from all over the world have journeyed to the rusted bus over the years. But there are signs this could be a boom year for those captivated by a college graduate who turned his back on his wealthy family for his restless wanderings.
The local chamber of commerce has already received a few dozen e-mails from would-be visitors wanting to track the unmonitored route taken by McCandless to the 1940s-era bus, used for decades as a shelter for hunters and other backcountry travelers.
Read the full article at CNN right here. And that sound you hear is that of Jim Morrison rolling in his grave.
I Can't Even Bring Myself to Read this Aloud
Kristin thinks this is hysterical. I think it is a sign that the end of the world is nigh.
We received the following advertisement in the mail today:
I don't mean the enterprising people behind this any ill-will. Clearly they have identified a service that someone, somewhere, is willing to pay for and they are, er, marking their business territory sort of speak with these mailings [groan]. But shall we take a closer look at the material of the card? Lets.
For starters, the offering of last minute service scares me. I can move beyond the initial disgust I believe most sane people would have for those who would patronize this service and temporarily imagine a family with lots and lots of money and lots of large dogs. Nevertheless, I cannot fathom for the life of me how a poop emergency would require last minute service. Let's be honest here, if the family is using this service, the poop situation is rather well under control thanks to the weekly service. A last minute situation might involve, what, two or three piles? If you're the type of person who might be entertaining in the yard, then clearly you're also the type of person (or know someone who is) who is able-bodied enough to, you know, use a plastic bag and pick up a couple turds. I have two siberian huskies. We clean up the yard once a week on average, sometimes twice. It never takes more than 2-3 minutes. It's not a dirty job. It's rather benign.
Moving on, the card states that the employeed have had thorough background screenings. Are we really so mistrusting of people that we need background checks on the people who quite literally pick up poop for a living? Unless the dog is pooping in the house, I can't see this being an issue. Except maybe for the super-rich, in which case they should just have their butler do it. Or pay to have the dog sent to boarding school until it learns how to use the toilet.
They also clean their tools. I would hope so because, after all, in case you missed the gist of their flier, the tools are covered in shit.
The service starts at $45 per month, which means that the once-a-week clean-up runs you about $10/week. To put this into perspective, that's nearly 3x as much money as a week's worth of newspaper delivery. A product that not only has dozens of journalists, editors, and photographers contributing to daily, but also requires materials, manufacturing, and delivery.
Clearly the people enjoying this service don't have to forego the newspapers in order to have their dog's waste removed, but really? Do we really need to pay upwards of $10 per week to have someone drive to our houses to spend 5 minutes cleaning up after our dogs? Is this really what we've come to?
I always get the sneaking suspicion I lose a bit of my dog's respect when they see me pick up after them when out for a walk. I can't imagine what they'd say about me if they knew I was so lazy that I had to pay someone else to do it.
If you're elderly or handicapped, this is a great thing. No doubt. But if you aren't...? If you're just lazy or busy or, essentially, too pampered? Well, I hope your dog eats your favorite pair of shoes. And no, not the Easy Spirits. I hope he chomps down on those Bruno Magli pumps you love so much (and then poops in your Gucci bag). You'll deserve it.
We received the following advertisement in the mail today:
Poopless in Seattle
Your animal waste removal service
- One, two, three and four days a week pet waste removal service.
- For your convenience, we have early, late, and weekend times for waste removal.
- Last minute service available.
- Credit card billing an option.
- No contract required.
- Our employees have had thorough background screenings.
- We clean our tools to avoid contamination.
Prices starting as low as $45 per month.
I don't mean the enterprising people behind this any ill-will. Clearly they have identified a service that someone, somewhere, is willing to pay for and they are, er, marking their business territory sort of speak with these mailings [groan]. But shall we take a closer look at the material of the card? Lets.
For starters, the offering of last minute service scares me. I can move beyond the initial disgust I believe most sane people would have for those who would patronize this service and temporarily imagine a family with lots and lots of money and lots of large dogs. Nevertheless, I cannot fathom for the life of me how a poop emergency would require last minute service. Let's be honest here, if the family is using this service, the poop situation is rather well under control thanks to the weekly service. A last minute situation might involve, what, two or three piles? If you're the type of person who might be entertaining in the yard, then clearly you're also the type of person (or know someone who is) who is able-bodied enough to, you know, use a plastic bag and pick up a couple turds. I have two siberian huskies. We clean up the yard once a week on average, sometimes twice. It never takes more than 2-3 minutes. It's not a dirty job. It's rather benign.
Moving on, the card states that the employeed have had thorough background screenings. Are we really so mistrusting of people that we need background checks on the people who quite literally pick up poop for a living? Unless the dog is pooping in the house, I can't see this being an issue. Except maybe for the super-rich, in which case they should just have their butler do it. Or pay to have the dog sent to boarding school until it learns how to use the toilet.
They also clean their tools. I would hope so because, after all, in case you missed the gist of their flier, the tools are covered in shit.
The service starts at $45 per month, which means that the once-a-week clean-up runs you about $10/week. To put this into perspective, that's nearly 3x as much money as a week's worth of newspaper delivery. A product that not only has dozens of journalists, editors, and photographers contributing to daily, but also requires materials, manufacturing, and delivery.
Clearly the people enjoying this service don't have to forego the newspapers in order to have their dog's waste removed, but really? Do we really need to pay upwards of $10 per week to have someone drive to our houses to spend 5 minutes cleaning up after our dogs? Is this really what we've come to?
I always get the sneaking suspicion I lose a bit of my dog's respect when they see me pick up after them when out for a walk. I can't imagine what they'd say about me if they knew I was so lazy that I had to pay someone else to do it.
If you're elderly or handicapped, this is a great thing. No doubt. But if you aren't...? If you're just lazy or busy or, essentially, too pampered? Well, I hope your dog eats your favorite pair of shoes. And no, not the Easy Spirits. I hope he chomps down on those Bruno Magli pumps you love so much (and then poops in your Gucci bag). You'll deserve it.
An IGA Sympathy Shop
I know my more puritanical readers may object to the term, or may be unfamilliar with its original intent or the situations that lead to its relevance and, therefore, it's practice, but I've come to realize that shopping at the grocery store in our development is the equivalent of a sympathy f@#&.
It's there, it's open, it asks little and gives even less in return. It's convenient, it's simple, and fills you with regret before the job is even done. You pity it, so you give in. And it's embarrasing for the both of you and you're all but guaranteed to net nothing more than the filling of your most basic needs.
It's a sympathy f@#&.
It's shopping at the Village Foods IGA.
When the pantry is but a collection of empty wire shelves, the refrigerator bears little more than a row of condiments and dressings, and when the only thing keeping the Arm & Hammer in the freezer company is the salmon I bought 15 months ago, I know it's time to do the deed. To really do it. Oh, we're far beyond human guttural instincts and the meeting of needs. It's about something much, much more. It's the hunt for that magical combination of quality and quantity.
And when this time comes, I don't waste my effort and time slumming at the local shop. I'm on the prowl for a cartload of substance and perhaps a little surprise or two. And I venture out prepared. I spiff myself up with coupons and reusable canvas bags, I may even clean out the backseat of my car just in case I see something exotic that needs a little extra room to stretch out in. I'd hate for it to get jabbed with a stray bike pump or rub up against a sticky empty Gu wrapper. I want my quarry to arrive in one piece. And to be clean when it does.
But the cupboard isn't always bare. Sometimes the needs are few. Maybe just a dozen eggs or a gallon of milk or a bag of tortillas. Oh, the need is there, but the fulfillment needn't be fancy or elaborate or even attractive. It just needs to be quick.
We all know that one girl or guy from our past -- or maybe from our friend's past -- that could always be counted on to be there when one's needs were a bit more primal. Deep down you knew you could put on a cleaner shirt, maybe give yourself a shave or splash on some cologne and venture further from home to the bar/dancehall/frat-party that had the bigger, shinier selection, but sometimes you just didn't feel like it. You were lazy and weren't picky, so you took what was closest. You'd stop by the home of the sure-thing, find her without makeup, in stained sweatpants, and her hair already tousled. Maybe some balled-up Kleenex on the floor. But you didn't care. You rush in, get what you came for, find a strangely disappointing form of satisfaction, and leave. It didn't matter if you got your rocks off or not, you'd leave full of regret and shame regardless. That's how these things work.
Not unlike the homely girl (or guy) you knew in college, the Village Foods IGA has had a run of really bad luck. The fates have seemingly conspired against it and doomed it to a life of might-as-wells. When my needs are deep, I drive past it on the way to the Safeway. Sometimes I glance at it and wish it didn't have to be this way, othertimes I drive on past oblivious to its existence.
But on those rare occasions when my needs demand immediate gratification and aything will do, I hop on my bike and sympathy shop the IGA. I wander inside and find my footsteps echoing through its cavernous aisles devoid of shoppers. The row of check-out stations eternally staffed by a solitary employee makes me thankful for every part-time job I ever thought boring. I weave past the produce to the ailse of chips and soda and spot a selection so vacant of choices, it cannot be called a selection. Do you want Coke or do you want Coke? It's shopping in the Third World.
Meat certain to spoil before purchased fills the refrigerated troughs as if an entire king's army is due by any moment. Meanwhile, steps away, the pet food aisle barely has enough kibble to stave off starvation in a large chihuahua. The prices are meteoric, the quantity extra-terrestrial, minus the extra. I'm not sure what that means either, but I like the way it sounds.
I'm at once depressed, my hopes dashed, and I begin asking myself aloud, "How did I end up here?" I fill my basket -- never a cart -- with hot dogs, rolls, and a bag of sauer kraut. A bag?! In the land of IGA, jars and name-brands have yet to be invented. My search for pita bread is fruitless. The container of peppery-hummus I bought elsewhere will have to wait another day. The silence of the place isn't deafening (because saying so is cliched and really makes no sense at all) but it is indeed depressing. A bright, beautiful, Saturday morning. The neighborhood is abuzz with activity. Everywhere but here, in this store.
I head to the register and the clerk seems a little too happy to see me. She's lonely. I'm in a hurry, I have to leave this place before I scream, but she doesn't sense my lack of patience. I complete the transaction and hop back on my bike.
And a thought floods my brain: it's the check-out girl, sitting on the edge of the conveyor belt asking me if I really have to go so soon. Can't I just stay and keep her company a little longer? She's mindlessly twisting and curling a plastic shopping bag in her hands and looks about to cry.
The image continues to play in my mind even after I get home and begin cooking lunch. Right up to the point I notice the pakage of hot dogs only has 7 in it.
"That poor store can't do anything right."
It's there, it's open, it asks little and gives even less in return. It's convenient, it's simple, and fills you with regret before the job is even done. You pity it, so you give in. And it's embarrasing for the both of you and you're all but guaranteed to net nothing more than the filling of your most basic needs.
It's a sympathy f@#&.
It's shopping at the Village Foods IGA.
When the pantry is but a collection of empty wire shelves, the refrigerator bears little more than a row of condiments and dressings, and when the only thing keeping the Arm & Hammer in the freezer company is the salmon I bought 15 months ago, I know it's time to do the deed. To really do it. Oh, we're far beyond human guttural instincts and the meeting of needs. It's about something much, much more. It's the hunt for that magical combination of quality and quantity.
And when this time comes, I don't waste my effort and time slumming at the local shop. I'm on the prowl for a cartload of substance and perhaps a little surprise or two. And I venture out prepared. I spiff myself up with coupons and reusable canvas bags, I may even clean out the backseat of my car just in case I see something exotic that needs a little extra room to stretch out in. I'd hate for it to get jabbed with a stray bike pump or rub up against a sticky empty Gu wrapper. I want my quarry to arrive in one piece. And to be clean when it does.
But the cupboard isn't always bare. Sometimes the needs are few. Maybe just a dozen eggs or a gallon of milk or a bag of tortillas. Oh, the need is there, but the fulfillment needn't be fancy or elaborate or even attractive. It just needs to be quick.
We all know that one girl or guy from our past -- or maybe from our friend's past -- that could always be counted on to be there when one's needs were a bit more primal. Deep down you knew you could put on a cleaner shirt, maybe give yourself a shave or splash on some cologne and venture further from home to the bar/dancehall/frat-party that had the bigger, shinier selection, but sometimes you just didn't feel like it. You were lazy and weren't picky, so you took what was closest. You'd stop by the home of the sure-thing, find her without makeup, in stained sweatpants, and her hair already tousled. Maybe some balled-up Kleenex on the floor. But you didn't care. You rush in, get what you came for, find a strangely disappointing form of satisfaction, and leave. It didn't matter if you got your rocks off or not, you'd leave full of regret and shame regardless. That's how these things work.
Not unlike the homely girl (or guy) you knew in college, the Village Foods IGA has had a run of really bad luck. The fates have seemingly conspired against it and doomed it to a life of might-as-wells. When my needs are deep, I drive past it on the way to the Safeway. Sometimes I glance at it and wish it didn't have to be this way, othertimes I drive on past oblivious to its existence.
But on those rare occasions when my needs demand immediate gratification and aything will do, I hop on my bike and sympathy shop the IGA. I wander inside and find my footsteps echoing through its cavernous aisles devoid of shoppers. The row of check-out stations eternally staffed by a solitary employee makes me thankful for every part-time job I ever thought boring. I weave past the produce to the ailse of chips and soda and spot a selection so vacant of choices, it cannot be called a selection. Do you want Coke or do you want Coke? It's shopping in the Third World.
Meat certain to spoil before purchased fills the refrigerated troughs as if an entire king's army is due by any moment. Meanwhile, steps away, the pet food aisle barely has enough kibble to stave off starvation in a large chihuahua. The prices are meteoric, the quantity extra-terrestrial, minus the extra. I'm not sure what that means either, but I like the way it sounds.
I'm at once depressed, my hopes dashed, and I begin asking myself aloud, "How did I end up here?" I fill my basket -- never a cart -- with hot dogs, rolls, and a bag of sauer kraut. A bag?! In the land of IGA, jars and name-brands have yet to be invented. My search for pita bread is fruitless. The container of peppery-hummus I bought elsewhere will have to wait another day. The silence of the place isn't deafening (because saying so is cliched and really makes no sense at all) but it is indeed depressing. A bright, beautiful, Saturday morning. The neighborhood is abuzz with activity. Everywhere but here, in this store.
I head to the register and the clerk seems a little too happy to see me. She's lonely. I'm in a hurry, I have to leave this place before I scream, but she doesn't sense my lack of patience. I complete the transaction and hop back on my bike.
And a thought floods my brain: it's the check-out girl, sitting on the edge of the conveyor belt asking me if I really have to go so soon. Can't I just stay and keep her company a little longer? She's mindlessly twisting and curling a plastic shopping bag in her hands and looks about to cry.
The image continues to play in my mind even after I get home and begin cooking lunch. Right up to the point I notice the pakage of hot dogs only has 7 in it.
"That poor store can't do anything right."
BC Bike Race Pro Diary
VeloNews is posting a daily ride-diary from Nat Ross, a pro member of the Subaru/Gary Fisher team. It doesn't seem like he's putting a whole lot of effort into the details, but it's a chance to read a miniature race report from the pros. Check it out each day for updates right here.
Dancing Around the World
Came across this travel journal yesterday called, Where the Hell is Matt? and it's pretty incredible. Matt is a 31-year old Seattleite who lucked into a sponsorship deal with the Stride gum company to travel the world and make a video that, quite simply, guarantees to put a smile on your face.
Watch the video, smile, enjoy the human spirit, the scenery, the music, and bookmark it. Make watching it part of your daily ritual, like taking your cholesterol drugs or your birth-control pill. Watch it with your morning cup of coffee, or while brushing your teeth. You'll be in a better mood instantaneously.
Click the video to go to the Youtube site and select "watch in high quality" to get a much better resolution.
And those who can't get enough can watch the outtakes right here.
Watch the video, smile, enjoy the human spirit, the scenery, the music, and bookmark it. Make watching it part of your daily ritual, like taking your cholesterol drugs or your birth-control pill. Watch it with your morning cup of coffee, or while brushing your teeth. You'll be in a better mood instantaneously.
Click the video to go to the Youtube site and select "watch in high quality" to get a much better resolution.
And those who can't get enough can watch the outtakes right here.
What's Keeping Me Home?
Lots and lots of anime-style role-playing, that's what.
See for yourself.
Beautiful graphics, great sound, a complex yet entertaining battle system, and a whole lot of gameplay.
See for yourself.
Beautiful graphics, great sound, a complex yet entertaining battle system, and a whole lot of gameplay.
CK None and Kristin's First BBTC Ride
Convinced Kristin to sign up for one of the social-paced rides on the BBTC calendar last night. David, a friend of mine, was leading a ride at the Tokul West trails, just a few miles outside of Snoqualmie. A really fun trail system with some decent climbing and plenty of fun, swoopy singletrack with intermediate tech. David had about a dozen or so signed up for the ride, which is more than I typically like to ride with, but there were some women also on the sign-up sheet and a few newcomers to BBTC so I thought it'd be a great ride for Kristin.
The plan was for me to hop onto the Moots at 5pm and ride down to the meeting spot. Kristin would come home from work and drive the truck down at 5:30. At least this was the plan until I noticed that my rear Chris King hub is loose again. Again! For those keeping score at home, I've had these wheels since April, 2007 and aside from having to give the hub a complete tear-down and rebuild just 2 months after purchase, I've also now had the rear hub come loose on me an average of every 3 months. And, better still, the problems with the freewheel that forced the complete disassemble-and-rebuild last June are resurfacing.
I'd be apt to call this a lemon hub, but the thing is that everyone I know with CK hubs is having the same problems. One friend had to DNF at the Cascade Creampuff last year on account of a siezed hub. I had to DNF last year because of the freewheel issue. Another friend's hubs are constantly loosening just like mine. And then last night, yet another guy with CK hubs came up to me ask if I ever had the freewheel problem with the hub because his was acting up constantly. Yes, yes, and yes!
My Giant NRS came with Deore hubs, yet I never had a problem with them in the 3 years I owned the bike. The CK rear hub cost more than the entire wheelset on my Giant and it's given me nothing but headaches.
Oh, sure, it looks fantastic and it makes a cool noise when you're coasting. That is, assuming the damn thing isn't rattling itself off the bike!
I'm ready to put the Chris King hubs right alongside the Crank Bros Candy pedals as the only bike products I've ever bought that completely, absolutely, regretted. I went through 3 pairs of Candies in a single summer, after never having had a problem with any other pedals in 10 years of mountain biking, and now the Chris King hubs are following suit. Not a single hub-related problem in years of mountain biking. Except for these. And how's this for irony -- these CK hubs are on the bike that I've taken the best care of out of all the bikes I've ever owned. I don't ever even let them play in the mud!
--
Anyway, but back to last night's ride. As much as I like to forget sometimes, I did have the singlespeed to ride so I jumped on that and spun myself out riding the 9 miles or so of rail-trail down to the trailhead. The group ride went great. Kristin did fantastic on the long climb up Pink Ribbon trail and was able to hang within sight of the group for the road portions. We descended Steakouse, climbed Outhouse, and then came down Outback to Full Bench. I rode nice and slow just in front of Kristin and helped coach her through the descents. I heard her hyper-ventilating once or twice (she gets nervous above 5mph) and she did fall a couple of times, but she actually did pretty good. Boot Camp obviously helped, now we just got to work on getting her out of the saddle so she can balance better when going over roots or rocks.
The group did have to do a fair bit of waiting at the bottom of the descents for Kristin, but I told her not to worry about it. It was a social-paced ride and she was doing fine. Besides, there are few people who come to these rides that I haven't spent some time waiting for on one ride or another (or another and another) so this is just an opportunity for them to repay the favor. And I say that in the nicest way possible. We won't show up every week until she's a little bit faster. In the meantime, I'm hoping she can start attending some of the LunaChix beginner's and women-only rides so she can ride with other people of her skill level with some good support and instruction... and without those pesky Y-chromosomes fouling it all up with our thirst for speed.
---
One last mountain biking note. The weather forecast for the Cascade Creampuff 100 is bright sun and 96-degrees. I'm still a bit annoyed to not be able to go, but I can say with near-absolute certainty that I would not have finished it anyway. 100 miles with 14,000+ feet of climbing would have been a very, very big challenge for me right now under perfect conditions. And 96 degrees in a hot, dusty environment is anything but perfect. Not to mention, the plan was to bring the dogs and camp the entire weekend -- we didn't have reservations at "puppy camp" and Kristin and the dogs would have likely had to stay home. Which meant, I would have been unable to come home until Monday -- three days away from work are three days I definitely don't have to spare.
The plan was for me to hop onto the Moots at 5pm and ride down to the meeting spot. Kristin would come home from work and drive the truck down at 5:30. At least this was the plan until I noticed that my rear Chris King hub is loose again. Again! For those keeping score at home, I've had these wheels since April, 2007 and aside from having to give the hub a complete tear-down and rebuild just 2 months after purchase, I've also now had the rear hub come loose on me an average of every 3 months. And, better still, the problems with the freewheel that forced the complete disassemble-and-rebuild last June are resurfacing.
I'd be apt to call this a lemon hub, but the thing is that everyone I know with CK hubs is having the same problems. One friend had to DNF at the Cascade Creampuff last year on account of a siezed hub. I had to DNF last year because of the freewheel issue. Another friend's hubs are constantly loosening just like mine. And then last night, yet another guy with CK hubs came up to me ask if I ever had the freewheel problem with the hub because his was acting up constantly. Yes, yes, and yes!
My Giant NRS came with Deore hubs, yet I never had a problem with them in the 3 years I owned the bike. The CK rear hub cost more than the entire wheelset on my Giant and it's given me nothing but headaches.
Oh, sure, it looks fantastic and it makes a cool noise when you're coasting. That is, assuming the damn thing isn't rattling itself off the bike!
I'm ready to put the Chris King hubs right alongside the Crank Bros Candy pedals as the only bike products I've ever bought that completely, absolutely, regretted. I went through 3 pairs of Candies in a single summer, after never having had a problem with any other pedals in 10 years of mountain biking, and now the Chris King hubs are following suit. Not a single hub-related problem in years of mountain biking. Except for these. And how's this for irony -- these CK hubs are on the bike that I've taken the best care of out of all the bikes I've ever owned. I don't ever even let them play in the mud!
--
Anyway, but back to last night's ride. As much as I like to forget sometimes, I did have the singlespeed to ride so I jumped on that and spun myself out riding the 9 miles or so of rail-trail down to the trailhead. The group ride went great. Kristin did fantastic on the long climb up Pink Ribbon trail and was able to hang within sight of the group for the road portions. We descended Steakouse, climbed Outhouse, and then came down Outback to Full Bench. I rode nice and slow just in front of Kristin and helped coach her through the descents. I heard her hyper-ventilating once or twice (she gets nervous above 5mph) and she did fall a couple of times, but she actually did pretty good. Boot Camp obviously helped, now we just got to work on getting her out of the saddle so she can balance better when going over roots or rocks.
The group did have to do a fair bit of waiting at the bottom of the descents for Kristin, but I told her not to worry about it. It was a social-paced ride and she was doing fine. Besides, there are few people who come to these rides that I haven't spent some time waiting for on one ride or another (or another and another) so this is just an opportunity for them to repay the favor. And I say that in the nicest way possible. We won't show up every week until she's a little bit faster. In the meantime, I'm hoping she can start attending some of the LunaChix beginner's and women-only rides so she can ride with other people of her skill level with some good support and instruction... and without those pesky Y-chromosomes fouling it all up with our thirst for speed.
---
One last mountain biking note. The weather forecast for the Cascade Creampuff 100 is bright sun and 96-degrees. I'm still a bit annoyed to not be able to go, but I can say with near-absolute certainty that I would not have finished it anyway. 100 miles with 14,000+ feet of climbing would have been a very, very big challenge for me right now under perfect conditions. And 96 degrees in a hot, dusty environment is anything but perfect. Not to mention, the plan was to bring the dogs and camp the entire weekend -- we didn't have reservations at "puppy camp" and Kristin and the dogs would have likely had to stay home. Which meant, I would have been unable to come home until Monday -- three days away from work are three days I definitely don't have to spare.
The Technological Evolution of Screen Capturing
I started working as a strategy guide author back in the early summer of 2000: my first assignment was writing the 1-900 tip line script for the now-infamous PC shooter Daikatana. Humble beginnings, indeed. The nature of that particular project didn't require any screen captures or illustrations of any kind, but it wasn't long before I began writing IGN's guide to Covert Ops: Nuclear Dawn, an Activision game for the PSOne that could best be described as a poor-man's Syphon Filter, which itself was considered by many to be the poor man's Metal Gear Solid. That guide, which you can still view here (note that I also had to create the navigation banners), did require that I include screenshots and thus a never-ending struggle was begun.
Capturing screenshots on the PSone was typically done with a USB "clicker" device that I recall tapping with my foot while playing the game. The images were 640x480 jpegs and routinely required heavy editing in Photoshop. It wasn't unusual to need to crop off a black border, sharpen an image, adjust its saturation, and above all, crank up the gamma value. Repeat ad nauseum.
I used many of these devices before finally splurging on a mini-DV camcorder that accepted an S-video input. This was my setup for several years. I would record all of the gameplay on the mini-DV tapes then watch the gameplay back and either hit the Photo Button on the remote control to snap a freeze-frame image onto the built-in Memory Stick or output the video signal to the computer and use an off-the-shelf consumer-grade capture program to capture the screenshots (I actually often used Microsoft's freebie program Movie Maker for the actual screen capturing of stills). The advantage to doing this was that I could concentrate on playing the game with both hands (and feet) and then take the screenshots later while reviewing the video and writing the text. Unfortunately, even though this was the method of choice from about 2001 to 2004 and spanned more than one generation of gaming consoles, the screenshots still typically required moderate editing and gamma-adjusting after the fact. Not to mention the popularity of increased frame-rates meant a lot of blurred interlaced screenshots due to the equipments inability to capture faster than 30 fps. And they were still always in that low-res 640x480 jpeg resolution. Not the best for full-color glossy prints.
The arrival of component video and progressive scan graphics forced another technology upgrade for those of us doing heavy amounts of screen capturing. Oddly enough this meant retiring the thousand dollar mini-DV camcorder and, instead, opting for the much more affordable Pyro A/V Link, a device that had component inputs, composite and firewire outputs and could capture at 720x480 resolution. The trick with this device was to record all gameplay as an uncompressed avi file (4 gigs per 18 minutes) and, as with the camcorder footage, go back and capture stills from the video at a later time. The shots were a big improvement over what we were getting with the mini-DV, and I even used this technique for a few early X360 titles, but the eventual onslaught of High Definition gaming soon made this technique obsolete too.
I posted earlier about the upgrade of my machine for HD video capture and while it's true that I am fully equipped now to capture and edit HD-quality videos that could be made available for download on Xbox Live Marketplace, that's not the big improvement I want to discuss. No, what has me sitting here marveling at how far we've come are the 1920x1080 screenshots I'm currently sorting through.
The technology has finally evolved to the point where even us lowly strategy guide authors are given access to the screencapture utilities that allow for screen-capturing directly from the development kits. And all it takes is the hardware's software and a network cable. Oh, sure, you still have to have an HDMI cable and a monitor that can make use of the (relatively) new 1080p resolution. Imagine that! The technology has improved by leaps and bounds and now, finally, the captures not only don't require any touch-ups (they're pixel-perfect renders straight from the innards of the console) but there really isn't any superfluous capture devices cluttering the desk anymore either. All it takes is a right-click of the mouse. Well, actually, I use a macro program to do that right-clicking for me every several seconds while I'm playing the game.
I used to squint into the monitor and zoom in close on a particular screenshot to read the subtitles that might be on it or to check the score or to make sure it wasn't suffereing from any clipping or interlacing problems, but now? Now, I'm leaned back in my chair looking at a 26" widescreen monitor with a screenshot that literally fills the screen from edge to edge. And the zoom is 99% of the actual image size.
I think it can be hard sometimes for people to truly appreciate the technical advancement that has taken place over the past two generations of gaming. And part of this is the way these games are marketed. How many times have you read about high-definition graphics making it possible to see beads of sweat or arm hair or individual blades of grass. On the surface, these are pretty trivial details and certainly don't impact the gameplay experience. Even moreso when the images you've been playing all these years were always designed to scale up to fit your television screen, regardless the dimensions. But take the actual raw image from the consoles over the years and compare them side-by-side in their native resolutions, and the improvements are startling.
From 640x480 to 720x480 to 1080x720 to 1900x1080 in just a few short years?
Looking back over the years at the thousands upon thousands of screenshots I've captured, sorted, renamed, and submitted for publishing, I have to say that this advancement is not unlike a baby learning to crawl, walk and run, except it's more like learning to crawl, walk, then drive a Ferrari.
1900x1080 screenshots... hot damn!
Capturing screenshots on the PSone was typically done with a USB "clicker" device that I recall tapping with my foot while playing the game. The images were 640x480 jpegs and routinely required heavy editing in Photoshop. It wasn't unusual to need to crop off a black border, sharpen an image, adjust its saturation, and above all, crank up the gamma value. Repeat ad nauseum.
I used many of these devices before finally splurging on a mini-DV camcorder that accepted an S-video input. This was my setup for several years. I would record all of the gameplay on the mini-DV tapes then watch the gameplay back and either hit the Photo Button on the remote control to snap a freeze-frame image onto the built-in Memory Stick or output the video signal to the computer and use an off-the-shelf consumer-grade capture program to capture the screenshots (I actually often used Microsoft's freebie program Movie Maker for the actual screen capturing of stills). The advantage to doing this was that I could concentrate on playing the game with both hands (and feet) and then take the screenshots later while reviewing the video and writing the text. Unfortunately, even though this was the method of choice from about 2001 to 2004 and spanned more than one generation of gaming consoles, the screenshots still typically required moderate editing and gamma-adjusting after the fact. Not to mention the popularity of increased frame-rates meant a lot of blurred interlaced screenshots due to the equipments inability to capture faster than 30 fps. And they were still always in that low-res 640x480 jpeg resolution. Not the best for full-color glossy prints.
The arrival of component video and progressive scan graphics forced another technology upgrade for those of us doing heavy amounts of screen capturing. Oddly enough this meant retiring the thousand dollar mini-DV camcorder and, instead, opting for the much more affordable Pyro A/V Link, a device that had component inputs, composite and firewire outputs and could capture at 720x480 resolution. The trick with this device was to record all gameplay as an uncompressed avi file (4 gigs per 18 minutes) and, as with the camcorder footage, go back and capture stills from the video at a later time. The shots were a big improvement over what we were getting with the mini-DV, and I even used this technique for a few early X360 titles, but the eventual onslaught of High Definition gaming soon made this technique obsolete too.
I posted earlier about the upgrade of my machine for HD video capture and while it's true that I am fully equipped now to capture and edit HD-quality videos that could be made available for download on Xbox Live Marketplace, that's not the big improvement I want to discuss. No, what has me sitting here marveling at how far we've come are the 1920x1080 screenshots I'm currently sorting through.
The technology has finally evolved to the point where even us lowly strategy guide authors are given access to the screencapture utilities that allow for screen-capturing directly from the development kits. And all it takes is the hardware's software and a network cable. Oh, sure, you still have to have an HDMI cable and a monitor that can make use of the (relatively) new 1080p resolution. Imagine that! The technology has improved by leaps and bounds and now, finally, the captures not only don't require any touch-ups (they're pixel-perfect renders straight from the innards of the console) but there really isn't any superfluous capture devices cluttering the desk anymore either. All it takes is a right-click of the mouse. Well, actually, I use a macro program to do that right-clicking for me every several seconds while I'm playing the game.
I used to squint into the monitor and zoom in close on a particular screenshot to read the subtitles that might be on it or to check the score or to make sure it wasn't suffereing from any clipping or interlacing problems, but now? Now, I'm leaned back in my chair looking at a 26" widescreen monitor with a screenshot that literally fills the screen from edge to edge. And the zoom is 99% of the actual image size.
I think it can be hard sometimes for people to truly appreciate the technical advancement that has taken place over the past two generations of gaming. And part of this is the way these games are marketed. How many times have you read about high-definition graphics making it possible to see beads of sweat or arm hair or individual blades of grass. On the surface, these are pretty trivial details and certainly don't impact the gameplay experience. Even moreso when the images you've been playing all these years were always designed to scale up to fit your television screen, regardless the dimensions. But take the actual raw image from the consoles over the years and compare them side-by-side in their native resolutions, and the improvements are startling.
From 640x480 to 720x480 to 1080x720 to 1900x1080 in just a few short years?
Looking back over the years at the thousands upon thousands of screenshots I've captured, sorted, renamed, and submitted for publishing, I have to say that this advancement is not unlike a baby learning to crawl, walk and run, except it's more like learning to crawl, walk, then drive a Ferrari.
1900x1080 screenshots... hot damn!
Mind-Blowing Architecture for Dubai
Moving buildings. Skyscraper-turbines. Shape-shifting towers. $3,000 per square-foot?
Super Torture Super Century
The crazy hill-loving Frenchman who brought us the Native Planet Classic this past weekend is leading a 127 mile King County jaunt this weekend (with 13,000 feet of climbing). I spoke with J-Phillipe about this ride on Saturday and he said that of the 100 or so who attempted it last year, only 12 finished.
If you're interested in the route, check it out right here.
I'll be sitting this one out.
Be among the first to ride the epic super-century that all PNW cyclists will soon be talking about! All experienced riders, regardless of their physical fitness, will find both distance and hills that will challenge them, but with an option they may survive. The Native Planet Super Torture—Super Century is by far the most challenging ride in the Seattle area. In 2007 less than 12% of those who attempted it were able to finish it. The fastest people took 11 hours to ride the entire course. Climbers, if you think you can go the distance, here is a challenge for you! Invite all your friends to come and ride with us on this challenging local ride. Choose the metric century (60 miles), the super-century (127 miles) or from many other options, and test yourself on the region's best hills.
If you're interested in the route, check it out right here.
I'll be sitting this one out.
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