Roustabout the World Oceanic Edition

The Last Oceanic Roustabout

2010-06-18T01:58:00.005-04:00

This is my final oceanic blog. Six days left in French Polynesia until I fly to the States. It takes 8 hours to retrace a 28 day sailing voyage. I'll stop in San Francisco to visit old friends. My final destination is Atlanta, where this trip began. Back where I sold or gave away all my belongings, gave up what many hailed the greatest apartment in the city, and threw the most presumptuous fundraiser ever conceived (for myself.) That was June 1, 2009.

I took to the States by train, bicycle, and woody wagon. Visited TN, MO, KS, CO, NV, UT, CA, AZ, NM, TX, LA, MS, AL. I came home for a few weeks, during which time I met many of you. Then in March, I took to the seas. I had never sailed.

Since then I've sailed almost 4,000 nautical miles. Been sick-sea, home-sick, awestruck, and sublime. I crossed the equator and then an ocean. I count 18,000 miles traveled since last June. Only 2,200 of those miles were covered by airplane. In total, I spent $4,370. By all accounts I lived well.

It'll take some time to know what this trip meant, if anything at all. I haven't developed any particular slogans or philosophies, except to confirm what Bobby Kennedy said: “This world demands the qualities of youth; not a time of life but a state of mind, a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the life of ease.”

But I didn't learn this from RFK. I learned this from you, young and old. David Stewart went to the jungles of Thailand to cage fight at the age of 50. Catharine Lloyd made her move from Atlanta to San Francisco. Rob Teilhet had the courage to run for higher office. Josh starting talking to guys until he found the right one. Melissa made the decision to go to law school. Phil left for Italy to study gastronomy. Grant said “FUCK FEAR”.

These friends acted when the alternative was the rigor-mortis of routine. They chose what it was they wanted. They gave their soul what it needed. They decided for themselves.

The greatest calamity befalls that which purports to create fun for us. A few examples to prove the point: theme restaurants, Del Webb communities, family-oriented board games, audience participation, and the mother of all horror, what everyone else is doing. I'll, instead, make my own happiness. When one thing no longer makes me happy, I'll do something else-- even if that's digging my own grave for fun. This isn't caprice, it's reason.

I will decide what is next. I have offers to continue sailing. I could go to law school. I could sit at The Local and listen to Perry Como and the banter of my friends every night. Or, maybe I will form a Jack Jones cover band, singing Wives and Lovers at retirement homes. Whatever I decide, I'll tackle it with similar Quixotism-- there are always windmills to be fought.

This past year one thing has followed me everywhere. It's a tickle. At least it feels exactly like a tickle. It's actually joy. And often I feel like I'm going to jump up and down and scream-- creating a volcanic explosion of mirth. It's a sinister ovation to an often ho-hum world. Like I conquered the day itself.

This is how I said good-bye to Alobar, her skipper, and you.

Dear Capt. Joel,

I'm writing this letter to thank you. To thank you for your generosity. To thank you for your careful and successful seamanship. To thank you for what you've shown, in many ways, as care for me.

You are the consummate skipper. I am quite proud of our ship. For what it is worth, I've watched you very carefully for three months. By your example and guidance I've learned a great deal.

Unequivocally, you've had an impact on my life. My future successes, which may lay ahead, are thus owed in part to you, and the summer I spent aboard S/V Alobar.

Your First-Mate,

Robert Walter Lange

Warm and Cool Comments

2010-06-04T16:13:00.003-04:00

Annie Brett, "Captain" of S/V Infinity sent me this note:

"ok. upon receipt of this lovely automated message, i just had to check out your blog.

and now i am laughing. at you, not with you. it is every bit as pretentious as i would imagine.

i especially like your picture."

Annie -- I've decided to at least employ an editor to fix grammatical errors and the like. However I can't account for my inability to create honest prose. If you saw my test scores and grades in school you'd be surprised I can write and breath at the same time. For those reading back home they have long been aware of my "pretension".

You, or anyone, can sail with Captain Annie, follow this link http://www.infinityseatribe.com/sv-infinity.htm.

The Week Before Tahiti

2010-06-04T13:16:00.002-04:00

In port Papeete, Tahiti. I've made friends. I'm considering running for mayor of the Marina, maybe the entire island.

In 4 days I'm in love with as many women; commandeered the liquor on as many yachts; traded as many pearls for Marlboros. Admittedly, on only one occasion did I wake up in a dingy. All is right in the world (a “return to normalcy” to borrow the phrase). I would say this to every crewman and captain in the harbor, if I could just retire this incessant grin.

This grin, this glee, can only be illuminated by an email I wrote to Sister Katie a week before:

"Dear Katie,

I've been begging for emails. My thoughts, uninterrupted by those of anyone else for over a month, have reached the bitter-end. Only a simple soliloquy strolls its circumlocutory path around my mind. I want all at once to be drinking Jon's booze on the lawn; sitting in Santelli's good seats; at Friday Lunch Bunch; crashing fundraisers and cocktail parties in scuffed Ferragamos-- pocketing all the beef-wellington because I can't afford dinner.

I miss waking up wondering where I put my car, how I'll get home, and where I put my damn Rolaids. Instead I've watched the sunrise everyday this week-- without a pocket full of ATM receipts. There is no story there. I've lost weight, don't smoke, don't drink, breath deeply after refreshing, dream filled sleep. I might as well go to church, floss, watch “must see TV”, develop accountability and monogamy.

I'm young, all my plumbing still works, I can read in the dark, I still imagine myself as one day successful and famous. Alobar has stymied the volition of my youth. After the crossing this vessel became a retirement home. I read “The ABC's of Bridge” after a 4 p.m. cabbage and vinegar dinner. I crossed an ocean for no other reason than the story. Now, I must get back to tell it. I am profoundly home-sick.

We have arrived at the atoll of Manihi. An impossible creation where coral heads breach the ocean, crumble, congeal. Inhabited only by palms-trees and people. A calm lagoon lies within the collar, outside waves arrive angrily. The ocean must be surprised after traveling across so many miles of nothing. Of this nothing I am acutely aware. Paradise has been pronounced a secluded beach where the worries of work and the rush of life are banished for a time. It is right here. However I rarely work, and rarely worry about important things. So I have only found a secluded beach.

- Your Bro"

The Skipper, Joel A. Ungar

2010-05-24T17:14:00.004-04:00

We have set sail. Course 220 magnetic. A week-long passage. Capt. Joel is satisfied with the state of Alobar; although not ship-shape. At sea Joel is happy. Fettered to one another by the confines of Alobar an understanding has developed between us. Joel's happiness is tantamount to my own.

My anxiety or joy, my task and sociability is based on the captain's mood. When the captain suffers compunction (which is often) I resign myself reticent but available. At times I must be aloof to provide necessary privacy. Traces of my existence must be only those which show contribution and thoughtfulness.

At sea when in repose Capt. Joel is reflective. A laconic man, a navy man. He, at the onset of any task, then becomes intense and cutting-- yelling with the impatience of a disappointed father. His spry physique defies all preconception of age. Climbing about the boat like a child on a jungle gym. Commanding directions to crew. I cannot attempt to summarize his complete existence. I only know him as the consummate skipper.

Mentally he exhibits little preoccupation as to the inevitabilities that must loom above any septuagenarian. He is wholly occupied by exacting care and paranoid precaution; there is room for little else. He bears the weight of all successes and failures and all the future failures he has played in his mind in a thousand different ways. Working for this man, living under his precept I have found unrelenting faith in our security and seamanship. He is not my friend, nor a mentor, to consider him such would be met with indifference. He is the captain of the ship and has a job to do, as well do I. Capt. Joel and I can be pals once out of the eye of a jealous ocean.

sv-grace

2010-05-24T16:53:00.009-04:00

My friends from Ile De Grace, Jon and Jennifer, are superior to me in everyway except when it comes to writing cynically. Their rather wholesome sailing blog overlaps my own adventures. Below is a picture I took of their catamaran. Nope, there is not a picture there because internet is excruciatingly slow and inspires conniption fits across every crewman in the harbor.

iPearl

2010-05-24T16:45:00.005-04:00

After a week on Manihi Atoll we are making passage to Tahiti Island. 266 miles between way points. The grib file shows light winds. Before we shoved off I traded a 16GB IPod with the black pearl fatso. He got the best deal and he doesn't know it yet-- I left him all my Antony and the Johnsons and Eurythmics albums. He said pointing to my giant bag of pearls, "Girlfriend like very much!" What a presumptuous jerk.

A Remora was living under Alobar. I guess the fish thinks we are a shark. He comes out to grab anything I throw off the side. He likes egg shells but doesn't like onion, FYI. Trumpet Fish also hang out, friendly little guys, but they look like they could just as easily have been named Enema Fish. Therefore, I don't go swimming. I'm not sure if they will follow us across to the Society Islands. I wouldn't recommend it to them. We are headed to Papeete the largest city around; an unlikely home for crystal clear water.

It's exciting to think of going to a big city. Capt. Joel plans to stay there for a bit to wait on parts. The island purportedly has internet and American fast-food. We have even been warned about crime. But I'm not worried, I know there is only one way I can die: A coconut falling on my head. That way at my funeral people can say, "He died the way he lived, absurdly."

Manihi Atoll, Tuamotu Islands, French Polynesia

2010-05-24T16:43:00.000-04:00

It is so quiet I tracked down a stowaway mosquito by sound. The anchorage harbors just two yachts now. The other, a catamaran, our friends from the 4x4 trip around Nuku Hiva. The couple is still painfully kind and humble. I harbor a keen affection for them.

Both worked for the government – jobs whereby they declined major private sector salaries; jobs whereby they spoke truth to power and were heard. But that's unimportant, I have a crush on them as people. I wish to say, “Hey, I really like y'all. I mean it. You are genuinely fascinating people. And great Americans. You make me feel two feet tall and I still feel lucky to spend the day with you.” They are my elders, parents of successful children my age, needing no further accolades; there is no way to say this and have it mean anything.

Together the four of us explore the atoll. On shore, many villagers appear heightened in spirits, like a holiday has come-- ephemeral but afoot. Fernando's son explained grouper have come to lay eggs. We watch boats pull up hand lines with the fish. Full 55 gallon tubs come ashore throughout the day. This happens one month a year.

The grouper move slow with pregnancy. It is presumed we can harpoon them. I must learn 10 new things. Among these how to snorkel, dive, use a Hawaiian sling and what grouper look like. I've never so much had on flippers. I bought a mask at the magazine-- old school oval type. I've got my six foot trident. I look very convincing. Recall John Kerry in Carharts a week before the election hunting in the Ohio woods.

I spend the first hour in fear of how close the fish get. But, mostly I itemize all that could fall into my snorkel blowhole. I don't even get a shot off. We change locations-- ocean-side near the pass. It is an aquarium, everything you might see in the Red Lobster waiting area. Joel slings a parrot fish. Easy to identify and slow, I stalk them too. I'm better at swatting mosquitoes. Later told, I was submerged in some of the finest diving waters the world over.

We sat at Fernando's lagoon-side table to eat baguettes stuffed with beef, bbq sauce and french fries. After, the same table is used to clean grouper; we help for fun. A golden lab, neck above water, plays in the shallow coral chasing fish. I am informed this is the dog's life. That afternoon we dove at Fernando's pearl farm, he lets you keep to one you grab. My oyster had an ulcer 60 mm and perfectly round.

Ile de Grace joins Alobar around Nuku Hiva

2010-05-24T16:31:00.004-04:00

We stayed an extra day on Nuku Hiva. Joel made friends with a middle aged couple upon the catamaran Ile de Grace; Princeton grads, a swank boat, lifetimes of successes impossible to conceal despite their modesty and kindness . They were renting a 4x4 to tour the island and invited us along.

Crammed in to our Suzuki Jimmy we traversed the island's dirty switchback roads. The AC cranked, the wife talking a bit, the husband clearly pleased to be at the helm, Joel silent, me content to listen and look. In 8 hours of slow driving we encountered 5 distinct micro-climates, 6 ancient ruins, 4 small villages, 1 decent lunch spot and 1 million roosters.

The scenery was out of a movie. By the first vista I knew I could neither photograph nor write of the beauty adequately. By the 20th vista the thrill was gone, and looking at my pictures I adequately captured my boredom and desire for a cold drink. I settled for a cigarette. Puffing away in the heat I hiked up through the jungle. At the top were ruins. Marquesas tiki makers love the badonkadonk. I took lots of pictures of tiki butts which surrounded a platform used in cannibalistic sacrifice.

The ruins were interesting for 5 minutes. But,finding no evidence of cannibalistic ritual, a vending machine, or girls I walked back to the Suzuki. That was my jungle excursion. In the remainder of the day I walked through a high desert, a forest, an evergreen forest, and a tropical palm tree forest. No girls or cold drink in any of these micro-climates either. Just, lots of horses, chickens, lizards, no-nos, goats, and cows accompanied by the equivalent amount of shit (which I began to take pictures of as well).

We set sail to Ua Pou the following morning. It was only a day trip south. The island is smaller, hotter and without tourists. Above our mast rises 2 massive cone-like peaks shrouded in clouds. The landscape has the quintessential stranded on an uninhabited island look. One is met with a certain ominous feeling-- particularly as one gazes up the elevation towards a quite unreachable summit.

Blue Blazer around the World

2010-05-24T16:14:00.007-04:00

We are anchored in Daniel's bay, Nuku Hiva. Joel and Richard went snorkeling. They say they saw coral and colorful fish. All I see is Daniel's hut and green, shrubby cliffs. It rains every 30 minutes for 5 minutes. I'm positive though, yesterday I passed the other boat here. They were blasting Jimmy Buffet and clad in Tommy Bahama. I could be on that boat. Meanwhile I donned my blue blazer for Mahi Mahi dinner.

My feelings have changed after I caught a barracuda (and tried to bring it on the dingy unknowingly). That was after we hiked to the 3rd highest waterfall in the world. It feels like being at the end of the world, and in a way it is.

Most of each day is devoted to maintaining the boat. My project is a fuel system tear down of the dinghy's outboard. Bad mixture in the carburetor and I can't get it right. So nerve-wracking to work over water. Drop a screw and it's gone, drop a carburetor it's gone even quicker. The anchor winch is acting up, cleaning must be done, lines replaced, barnacles scraped, diesel engine oil changed, it never ends. Capt. Joel is clearly preoccupied by things un-fixed. Still we are leaving the bay to explore others on the island.

Alobar has been re-fueled. It took 5 hours. The “fuel dock” is intended for the thrice monthly supply freighter, of poor design and is supposedly set to be razed. Unfortunately it is the only place to get fuel on the island. In the dinghy we came to the corner of the dock 5 feet from the stern of the freighter ship. The dock is an industrial space for unloading cargo. 15 feet of solid concrete rises up to the platform. Under it is open; the swell of the ocean fills this void in short intervals. The compression of the water in this void against the dock causes an a powerful, heavy spray of sea water 20 feet out. It does so with a hiss only the ocean could muster and small ironic rainbows catch the mist.

Our small craft floats at this pressure point. Drenched and continually sprayed I tie the painter line on a 20 foot ancient, rusted ladder. The greatest concern is being sucked under the dock and sunk or worse yet crushed. I climb to the platform with some line and hoist up 5 Jerrycans. After being Filled 100 yards away, with a strong knot the heavy containers are lowered back down. An hour later we went back to fill 5 more, in the rain. It was the most surreal experience of the trip.

Fred Orr, In Memory

2010-05-06T19:02:00.001-04:00

For those of us who knew him we have lost a hero. Brain cancer took Fred Orr in just 4 months. It is sad, none of us is prepared for tomorrow without our Fred. And, sad for Fred, because he loved living so much. Fred would love nothing more than to attend his own funeral. To be with the legions of friends, the legions of women who loved him, and the perfect excuse to take a few of them out for a drink afterward.

The severity of his illness was incomprehensible. Now only his absence is left to reconcile. Too lose someone in our life reveals the influence they had-- through Fred much of my life has been molded, and still much of my future will be modeled.

Fred is 45 years older than I. Yet, the grin we shared when together was equally that of a 14 year old. We shared a certain giddiness together-- silently knowing we would continue to have fun after everyone else had gone back to work. It started just 5 years ago at a Friday lunch. At that table sat 6 people spanning every decade back to Roosevelt. This most extraordinary group has met every Friday since. At 1 o' clock --Jaguars and compact-cars pull-up-- we gather around the table for what is often the best part of the week. Fred and I would have one drink, then two, then it became 3 o'clock, then it became too late to go back to work, then drinks were a ritual 4 days a week. Our closeness was instant and never stopped growing.

It never came up, but I guess we knew it odd to be such close friends. Of which he nor I are in short supply. We liked the same things, we saw so much beauty in the world, we were doing as we pleased. Fred and I are the sort who do as we please. He was not wrought to prove any nostalgic advice-- Fred was more secure with himself than that. Each day was something to enjoy and tomorrow would be even better. That is how Fred lived. Because of this state of mind, Fred and I were bonded by a common youth.

Fred would delight at the success of others. If it were a big jury verdict, an attractive date, a trip you were taking, Fred's response had the same genuine enthusiasm. Who can't conjure that slow Dixie accent exclaiming, “Oh my God, that's wonderful!” In my observation his friends wanted the same for him. He deserved that, for Fred believed in good and had you believe in it too. He a trial lawyer by trade; an Atticus Finch by character.

What he leaves us is both concrete and cerebral. He leaves a legacy in Atlanta, the legal community, in politics, and in the lives of the many he touched. Long before Fred became ill we would part and say “I love you”. Fred meant it. Fred meant to say he loved this life and sought to tell all of us he loved that we were in his.

The Road Not Taken

2010-04-27T22:55:00.000-04:00

We expect to make land fall this week. Tomorrow even could be our penultimate day. Richard and Joel are building up the excitement about what it is like to see land for the first time after a month. I am leery. Supposedly one can see these islands from 100 miles away. If this is true we will have an entire 24 hours sailing to look at land before arrival. This reminds me of the bike ride, Marcus and I would reach the welcome sign for a campsite and still have a full hour and and half ride to get to the main gate.

Each evening Joel does his check in with the Puddle Jump Net on VHF. Several boats doing exactly what we are doing check in. They share information like current position, knots, bar., and traffic for other vessels. They also love to make painful remarks like, "We're in the doldrums, but hey it beats the doldrums of working!" Even worse are the all too often banalities uttered from the lexicon of Margaritaville shirts. However, this week the Net has been awesome. We gather round the radio to listen to the saga of Sea Flyer.

Sea Flyer is a Choey Lee Off-Shore 38' sail boat probably from the 1970's. After 7 days at sea she lost 2 of her 5 shrouds (shrouds are really important, Google it, they hold up the mast). Sea Flyer calls this emergency traffic in to the Net. All are concerned, boats offer help. Day 8, Sea Fkyer shares that he is happy with the jury-rig and decided to continue out to sea. Day 9, another shroud is lost. Day 10, Sea Flyer is out of fuel, was motor-sailing the whole time (this means no mast, no motor). Day 10, a Cuban vessel coordinated by the US Coast Guard does a fuel drop. By Joel's calculation Sea FLyer is now out of helicopter range. Day 11, Sea Flyer overheats her engine. Day 12, has it working but taking on water through the prop. Day 13, that's tonight, tune in.

Here is the best part. Everyone on the Net is gossiping about Sea Flyer and it is shared that the other person on the vessel is a stranger. I e-mailed Sea Flyer about boarding the ship last year. This stranger, her name is Delores, was picked instead of me. Santelli is right, horseshoe up my ass."

Crossing the Equator

2010-04-24T22:52:00.000-04:00

We crossed the equator at 2:30 pm (Zulu) today. The sea doesn't know it but we do. No longer a "Polly Wog", circa 1899 sailors would now refer to me as a "Shell Back".

Lack of wind has put us behind course but we are within a week of our destination (about 700 miles to the south). However, I don't really think about it. I have found as much patience as the sailing is slow. Time is distorted. I don't have a watch, my electronics are in a time-zone hours and hours ahead, there are no clocks aboard the boat. I wake when I am rested, I eat when I am hungry, I sleep when I am tired, I take on tasks at the time they need be accomplished. My schedule is based on either necessity or convenience. For the sake of the blog any mention of time is largely speculation to give context. I'll be happy when we get to Nuku Hiva but I am in no rush. To rush against the ocean and wind would result only in loss and fatigue.

I was delighted to receive a few messages forwarded by my father. Anytime I am away from Atlanta I marvel at how wonderful my life is at home-- undeniably due to my friends. I miss three things primarily: friends, dogs, and fountain drinks. When I get home I want to jump in a pool of friends and puppies and float around sipping from a Styrofoam 64 oz. Big Gulp. Can you picture it? Good because this will more than likely happen. The messages were nice but short. It is difficult for me to ascertain the effectiveness of my writing. Am I thorough in the portrayal of the voyage. I don't know. So I'm asking that you ask me something. I'd be obliged to answer questions, serious or not. Despite three weeks of physical inability to be more than 37 feet away from another human it is still lonely out here. Send something short to Robert.Lange@gmail, and don't forget to check the Yotreps site, we update everyday.

00 degrees 00 minutes south/north
134 degrees 06 minutes west"

Daily Activities

2010-04-22T22:48:00.000-04:00

There really is very little to do. In all likelihood whatever you did today or will do tomorrow cannot be done on a 37' boat at sea. After the ocean and the birds loose their novelty there isn't much stimulation. All day my mind wanders and races to fill the void. In a 24 hour period I spend equal parts, 9 hours each, day- dreaming and dreaming.* Albeit I try to be as productive as possible with all this thinking time.

My deepest reflection time I call my "Oscar Wilde Time", which happens each night after dinner from 8pm - 1am. Thereby I devote 1/5 of my day to intense rumination of 5 general topics:
1. My imaginary wedding
2. Patterns/fabrics and their interplay with furniture
3. Fictitious witty conversations I would like to have
4. Oratory rhetoric
5. Letters and invitations I would like to compose (and the appropriate stationary/linen stock/hue etc.)

The remaining 3 hours of thinking time (typically in late morning) involve wild violent fantasies. Yesterday I look up from my Joyce novel for just a moment and am transported to East Atlanta. There I am driving a early '60s Cadillac with several attractive friends when hooded marauders attempt to car-jack my "whip". In the ensuing moments I fetter a would be bandit to the steering wheel with fuzzy dice. I drag my to the nearest police station mustering sensational invective after invective. In the back seat friends watch with horror my violent indifference, crying and in disbelief. This goes on in my head for quite a while. In defense I suppose day-dreams such as these necessarily counter-balance my fantasies where-in these same friends fawn over my taffeta upholstered Henredon settees.

* The remaining 6 hours of non-sleep involve reading for 5 with the balance endeavored to trim sails, eat, use the head and stare blankly at the sea.

Re-Fenestration

2010-04-20T22:44:00.000-04:00

Somnambulism - 20 days at sea. All is quite constant, samey. We have not seen ship nor land in 17 days. There is S/V Alobar and the ocean.

Outside the ocean is cerulean blue in sunlight or metallic blue under clouds. There are two other species: Boobies fly above and Flying Fish fly below. (The fish appear like hummingbirds. Swarms of them cross our bow and die on deck. One flew through the hatch in my berth and flopped around to death in my bed as I slept. Re-fenestration perhaps?) The ocean is always there, always moving, to consider her is to consider how unwelcome one is.

On the boat a cacophony of clangs, thuds and creaks sound day and night. Yet, unlike a rail-side apartment, the sound cannot be ignored. One registers each noise. A clang awakens us from sleep to conjure an image of the Cunningham striking the mast, which means the main is spilling air, which means we have lost wind or course which precipitates a series of actions. For example. Sailing is a noisy affair which, for a better sailor than I, begets a certain conversation between her skipper and craft.

Damp and clammy. Everything is damp and clammy. The wooden doors and drawers have swollen shut. One's clothes and bedding are never dry -- sweat leaves salt, the air leaves salt, the sea leaves salt, salt holds moisture, we are sweating on the ocean in the rain. In this climate we sail an average of 4 knots -- that is to say the speed of walking. We are walking across the Pacific. --Rob

Update From the Captain

2010-04-19T22:40:00.000-04:00

Hello guys. It is about 11PM here at 4N latitude and 131W longitude as the boat progresses south to the equator. It is a beautiful night and I have come down below to write a bit and to look at the Stellerium program that I downloaded from the internet so that I can find the names of some of the stars that are brightly displayed across the heavens all around us. It is very calm where the boat is just now as we are in the doldrum area just north of the equator where light, unpredictable winds are the rule. We have motored or motor-sailed on and off for the last 40 hours. Hope to break out of the doldrums into clear trade winds at about 2N latitude and from there should have steady south-easterly trades into the first landfall about the 28th of the month. Had planned to visit Nuka Hiva first, but am thinking it would be nice not to miss Hiva Oh. Have really gotten into the day to day routine of voyaging and am enjoying the time out here on the wild blue. Boat is doing very well, although there have been a few glitches. Screws that hold the roller furler for the headsail came loose and one disappeared. Luckily there was a spare left from installation and I carried a lot of red lock-tight. A few other things have come loose including the shackle that holds the halyard to the headsail. The halyard disappeared into the mast and will need to be re-run thru the mast. Fortunately I installed a second spinnaker halyard as a spare and am using it to hoist the headsail. Have gone to the top of the mast a few times, but doing it with the mast going from side of side would be a challenge. One night in strong winds the whisker pole tore off a piece of the track secured to the mast. Luckily, there is a large portion of track remaining that allows the continued use of the pole. I just do not use the full headsail on the pole in strong winds anymore. Despite the few failures, the boat performs well and we have been very comfortable. Fishing has been slow, but we did eat our first fish for dinner this evening. Best wishes to everybody. Joel

Where's the MacDonalds?

2010-04-16T22:39:00.000-04:00

Today marks 2 weeks on the boat and our half-way point. We are going to celebrate by using the last of the meat on the boat and try to make hamburgers.

Sleeping With the Fishes

2010-04-14T07:42:00.000-04:00

We have been rolling in 7 foot seas for the past couple of days which is exhausting and makes sleep difficult. It has also been overcast which makes everything damp and salty. Capt. Joel has been updating the YotReps site so you can track our progress. Soon we will be southing towards the inter tropical convergence zone/doldrums/equator. We check the weather reports each day in hopes to pass this area using as little fuel as possible. Another boat on the "puddle jump" got stuck with only 5 gallons of diesel and floated around the ITCZ for a week. We are about 1500 miles from any form of land, the gravity of this recently struck me and I am careful when doing anything at all; to injure myself would be complete disaster. Interestingly, swarms of flying fish accompany the boat at all hours of the day to the extent that we find a dozen or so dead on the deck each morning-- one even came through the hatch above my berth and must have flopped around next to me as I slept. They are like little aquatic hummingbirds.

Finding My Sea Legs

2010-04-10T07:34:00.000-04:00

April 10, Day 8
Hello, all is well on the boat. Books, cooking, sleeping and sailing are keeping me well occupied. 28ish more days does seem a bit daunting I will admit. The contents of the previous posting are no longer indicative of my current condition, I have my sea legs and am quite happy.
--Rob

UPDATE from the Captain

2010-04-09T07:38:00.000-04:00

April 9
S/V Alobar is progressing nicely on the voyage to Polynesia. We are now in the trade wind area and moving well at around 6 knots. Have traveled about 730 miles since leaving Puerto Vallarta and are settled into the routine. There are two daily radio nets for boats making the crossing so I get to hear how everyone is doing. Not sure exactly how many boats are involved in this year’s "Puddle Jump" but believe it will be well over 50. A number of boats have arrived and are reporting good anchoring conditions in Hiva Oh and Nuka Hiva. Several boats are well behind us having left only the last day or two. We expect to reach our way point near the Inter-tropical Convergence Zone at about 6N, 132W in about 10 days at present speed. At that point we will be more than 3/4 of the way to our first Island.
--Captain Joel

Dramamine Dreams

2010-04-07T07:32:00.000-04:00

April 7, Day 5
"Relay Via Sail Mail: I am awake but largely unable to delineate reality from my Dramamine dreams. The sort of state one finds sitting erect and alone in a foreign airport-- not realizing you had succumb to sleep but suddenly awakened and embarrassed by, of all things, the lucidity of your dream. I am consistently on the verge of sea-sickness for which I take 2 pills daily. These pills make me drowsy. I have not had a cigarette in 7 days after 12 years. Nor have I had a drink after a marathon Bukowski re-enactment. I have not showered, have slathered sunscreen over my sunburn, balm on my burned lips, sun glasses over my salted eyes. My sleep is truncated by night-watch from 2am - 5am. My exhaustion off-set only by my daytime naps required no less by the constant struggle to maintain one's physical equilibrium (even in sleep) against an ever persistent, unwieldy, pendulum I call the ground on which I float. Yet at no point before my sitting down to write this reflection was I aware of any of this. I am aware only of the ocean."
Love - Rob

The Big Blue

2010-04-05T07:40:00.000-04:00

April 5
The sea has been very calm with 12 second intervals between rolling waves. It is chilly at night and high 70's during the day. We are about 50 miles south of Socorro island. Lots of lounging in this mild weather; I've finished Green's The Power and the Glory and sleep half the day. I don't have any revelations to share except to say that everything you've heard about the ocean holds true: the blue is surreal, the vastness is sublime, we are very small.

And the Journey Begins

2010-04-03T07:22:00.001-04:00

April 3rd
This will be our first full day at sea. We departed yesterday around 2pm. The ocean has been calm (1 to 2 foot seas) and we are making an average of 4 knots under sail and under motor at night (100 miles a day). Dramamine is working but makes me drowsy thankfully my night watch went smoothly. Will take a little time to get used to constant movement although this has not affected my sleep. Learning 10 new things everyday and hope to be a self-sufficient sailor soon.

S/V Alobar

2010-03-31T20:57:00.006-04:00

You can track the progress of my sailboat voyage to French Polynesia everyday at this link. The name of my boat is Alobar. http://www.pangolin.co.nz/yotreps/reporter_li

st.php

First Mate Bob 'Denver' Lange

2010-02-10T21:54:00.008-05:00

The last time I wrote I was in Albuqueque, NM on the porch of a hostel and generally miserable.

I'm a quitter. I quit the bike ride. I quit traveling. I quit the blog. Today I quit "working" in Atlanta. Tomorrow I start to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico to board the 40' Sailboat Alobar and sail to French Polynesia. As Grant Henry would say, "Fuck Fear". This is my inspiration.

This trip parallels the fabled ride 'cross 'merica in many ways. Just as with Marcus the Londoner, I have never met the boat's Captain Joel Ungar. Yet, once the journey starts we will spend every moment close together for months. Here again, I have little idea what to expect. Although, presumably I will need the same patience in the face of solitude. I do also expect the same inextricable dependence on the boat as with the bike. I did know how to ride a bike, in this instance I don't know sloop from starboard.

Capt. Joel wrote this recently, "I plan to arrive in Papeete by June for the big regatta and gathering sponsored by the Tahitian government. We will try to see Bora Bora on the way. After the regatta I thought we would visit a couple of other islands before parking the boat in July. We had talked earlier about your need to be back for school starting in August so I have it in my mind that you plan to remain until at least mid July."

I am packing only what fits in my messenger bag: two pairs of shorts and shirts, toiletries, computer, camera and 2 books Malcom Lowry's Under the Volcano and a collection of major supreme court cases. I sold my car to afford a plane ticket home. And yes I sent for my absentee ballot.

The Texas Times

2009-09-05T02:17:00.010-04:00

Albuquerque wasn't what it was cracked up to be and we still had n0t seen a drop of fresh water in weeks. Marcus and I decided to change the route. We would avoid Oklahoma and Arkansas. Instead, we would head down to Texas towards Austin. We simply couldn't take anymore freeway riding and Taco Bells. Our plan worked, Texas had so much more to offer in each little town including architecture and local food.

The bike from the Grassy Knoll.

Dallas was actually one of the least exciting places we visited and so we left soon after we arrived. To save money we headed had to make camp about 20 miles south of the city at Cedar Hill State Park. We got there after dark. The rate was 19 dollars; an outrageous sum for a "primitive campsite". Our site, which we never found, was a 4 mile ride followed by a 1 mile hike into the clearing. This turned in to a 6 + mile excursion after we took a wrong turn. Creeping down the path nearly blind wasn't the bad part at all. Rather, battling huge spiders and their webs across the path for an hour and a half became grating. We were exhausted and set up our tents in a gravel RV lot by 1 am. At 3 am Marcus awoke to a tent full of ants. By 6am we set off towards Central Texas.

Oh and the fun we had in the 100 degree heat, on a chip-top, gravel-ish road, directly into a headwind. 10 hours and 93 miles later, having had no sleep, we called it a day at Lake Whitney State Park. Marcus discovered that his tent was in complete ruin. No longer just partner cyclists we now became room-mates. We allowed ourselves to sleep in to 8am on account that we had only a 60 mile day ahead of us.
The 60 mile day turned to a 86 mile day. But we did get to see Crawford, TX and had a great lunch in Valley Mills. At Mother Neff state park, we were greeted by William and Eddy. They were in the camp next to us. The two were 78 year old twins. They are also dove hunters, confederate "historians" and unabashed racists. Here is a list of things they hate: blacks, Catholics, New York City, Europe, The UN, The way Yankees make turnip greens and illegal aliens. We couldn't get away from this duo for an hour. I wish just once to meet an old southerner who says something like: "I enjoy learning about other cultures," or "I get excited about the world and change can be a good thing." or "I want to be respectful about my opinions and strive to be flexible."... or something like that.

At dawn we left in a rainstorm. The day was overcast so it didn't get hot until 3pm. Joyously we were greeted by a lightning and thunderstorm 20 miles from Austin. Our day started at 5:30 am, ended at 9:30pm, 136 miles later. This was the ride to end the trip.

I've been there and it is now OK to forget Winona.

2009-08-31T00:18:00.013-04:00

We completed our last leg of the Pacific Coast Highway-- Malibu was extremely hilly then everything flattened out as we rode down the bike paths on the beaches of Santa Monica. We were tempted to lock our bikes up and explore the pier but knowing what happened to Pee-Wee in his Big Adventure we declined.

Ok, so we cheated a bit. The Mojave Desert is 93 degrees at night right now, over 100 during the day. With such temperature and at our rate of travel it isn't possible to carry enough water. So we did what everyone does in Los Angeles: we got in a car and waited in traffic for a few hours. Our trip resumed the next day in Arizona.

Flagstaff is such an immaculate little town. Our room for the evening was in the Dubeau Motel Hostel. Open since the 1920's it was a mix of friendly hostel and Route 66 relic. We did not know Flagstaff was the calm before the storm.

I am writing from the breezy porch of the Route 66 Hostel in Albuquerque, NM. However, things have turned for the worst. Our spirits have darkened after several days of grueling 90 mile days which begin at dawn and end after the sun has set. Yesterday was supposed to be a ‘rest day’ according to our schedule, 96 miles later it wasn't.

Our route is based on the wisdom of one Tom Aldrick. See Uldrick.com. Tom, his dear wife Lucille and his doting son Eric are the Lewis and Clark of our trip. They have bestowed upon us (via the internet) a pathway through the very soul of America, the mother road Route 66. For us, Tom is its patron saint. He is our lord, our guide, the key to our salvation. He is our shepherd, and we are his sheep. Get the point? When he promises us a great ride, we believe him. We now consider ourselves Doubting Toms. Our faith in him has been subjected to many and various obstacles. Whilst Tom promises us free and easy downhill passes, we have met arduous climbs. Whilst Tom promises us wonderful vistas of wild horses roaming in green pastures, we have met gnarling dogs snapping at our heels. Whilst Tom has promised us the beauty of small town America, we have met Denny’s, Taco Bell and boarded up Main Streets. America homogeneity is not what we seek. Difficult rides are fine, but when perched atop a saddle consumes every moment, interspersed only by the Grants, NM Motel 6, this defines Chinese water torture. In all likelihood we are going to set a new course forgoing the Denny's of the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma and Arkansas.

I do have a few highlights of the last week:

The Grand Canyon

The Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, AZ (The rooms are really nice)

Mr. Ellison. On the road for six years until the troops come home. 47,000 miles. Marine, patriot, activist, hobo?

The Continental Divide in Continental Divide, NM

Route 66 all to ourselves

800 miles on the odometer. Hundreds and Hundreds to go.

Move Feet in Circular Motion; Repeat

2009-08-25T04:13:00.005-04:00

There is something wonderful about looking forward to sleep. No one last chapter or nightcap. No racing of thoughts. Just sleep from exhaustion. How fulfilling to seek food and water not of boredom or a lunch bell but out of necessity. Marcus and I cycle about 80 miles each day, to date about 350 miles. By days end my entire body hurts (especially my butt). We reach camp after dark, eat a well deserved power bar diner and crash. This, in an odd way, is the reward.

The tour of Big Sur was demanding in terms of elevation and gradient. A bi-polar ride of sorts. I felt at times despair and doubt as to whether I could take another hill. I am not sure why exactly but in the midst of this I came across a vista and began to tear up at the precarious beauty. If I had the words I'd be writing a book rather than a blog, so I'll leave it at that.
I've suffered two flats on account of nails in the road. There is more patch than tire now. Outside of Santa Barbara the worst one hit and I was simultaneously pulled over by a really friendly cop. I had missed the turn off and was on a restricted freeway. Unable to fix the flat I ended up walking 6 miles through Goleta, CA. A proper repair was made and I found Marcus waiting patiently in Santa Barbara. There are certainly worse things than that. The trail out was long and flat.

Behind schedule we rode as night fell 20 miles from our intended destination. Some good old boy turned Californian began teasing Marcus about his "riding/dancing britches" while we rested at a 7-11. This 74 year old Alabamian had all the requisites: racist, gun-toting, and extremely friendly to a fellow white-boy from the south (as far as he knew). Eyeballing the ample room in his truck with conviction I stated: "You're just the type of person who understands. I'm not gonna ask for nothing, not with all these people asking from me. When will they learn. It just gets worse everyday." Moments later the bikes were in the back of his truck and we were dropped off 4 miles from Mugu State Beach campground. I call it the night they drove ol' Dixie down... the road.

So many more stories but this clip of Marcus giving an explanation of Burning Man should indicate the fun we are having. Listen up and you may learn how to speak the Queen's English:

Raising Unawareness Day 1-- San Francisco to Pigeon Point

2009-08-15T21:59:00.004-04:00

Day 1
Find more Bike Rides in San Francisco, California

Traveling down the California Pacific Highway my tour will begin. I cannot tell you how excited I am. I am equally scared.

I've had tremendous luck finding a riding partner, Marcus from England. He is to arrive here in SF in just a few hours. We have so many preparations to make. This includes purchasing a bike for him and all the accoutrement. My bike will be fitted with rear panniers, changes of clothing, sleeping bag, tent, GPS, water, and my blue blazer (in case I am invited out for drinks at the Barstow Country Club, one never knows and I'd hate to be under dressed).

I've loaded my ipod with This American Life episodes, the entire Delibes opera Lakme, Nina Simone, Phillip Glass and George Jones. As for reading I will pack Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry.

Admittedly, I am unprepared for this journey. I have not been on a bicycle in months. Instead, while lounging around reading I've been smoking, drinking and eating-- like it was my job. Last week I did take the bike from 18th Ave to the bar at 11th Ave.

The route takes us down the California coast, across Route 66, finally dropping down in Arkansas, Mississippi and Alabama. Arriving home approximately 34 days from the start. Big Sur, The Cadillac Ranch, Grand Canyon and various scenes from Pee Wee's Big Adventure here I come.

Ride to Raise Unawareness of Obesity

2009-07-26T21:24:00.006-04:00

Captain Larry e-mailed a few day ago. He left a day before my passport arrived. Thank God. He is currently bobbing (and has been for a week) in the Gulf of Campeche. Broken boat. Count me out. Oppositely, Captain Ungar, a retried attorney from Santa Cruz is headed to the South Pacific later this year. Count me in. I suppose a terrestrial activity in the mean time will have to do. This is my Surly "Long Haul Trucker".
I told my my Mother I was heading home. See you in 40 days, I said. I'm riding to raise unawareness of obesity. My mother, great decipherer of BS replied: "You can just take a plane, no one cares if you do something momentous."

Hemingway does LA

2009-07-14T21:10:00.006-04:00

Grumpy Unkie, now at the wheel, began complaining about Los Angeles traffic by the time we hit Needles, NV. The very moment we saw the downtown skyline the highway ended and we were trapped in a Range Rover/Mercedes-Benz parking lot. We pulled off onto Ventura Blvd. to look for a hotel. We found one and in doing so discovered the ghost of Ernest Hemingway.

I spotted it. Such a preposterous name. The Sportsmen’s Lodge Hotel. Opened in 1880. Every star who matters to me has stayed there. This includes Bobby Kennedy the night before he died. Nothing has changed since 1945. Sitting at the pool bar I sunk in to the mid-century world I fancy so much-- gleefully expatriated from the 21^st.

We took a tour of Bel Air. It being 4^th of July weekend the place was empty. Looking out over the valley it seemed like a thick San Francisco fog was rolling in. Oddly this fog was burnt sienna in color. Still, Los Angeles is beautiful and so many of the homes we saw were elegant. LA isn’t for me, but I can see how it would be a nice playground from the back of a Rolls.

I want to cholla something

2009-07-13T04:26:00.004-04:00

Took the scenic route from Las Vegas to Los Angeles through Joshua Tree National Park. Pictured above is the cholla garden. These little cacti are also called jumping cactus because invariably one of the spikes will get you. It was around 5 o' clock so we had an impromptu happy hour there at the garden. Droves of European tourists pulled their midsize rentals in for a picture. They were all friendly, and assumed correctly that we were American. I'm sure they deduced this by our midsections or possibly my uncanny cowboy pose.

Lass Vegass

2009-07-13T02:49:00.006-04:00

Let me first make one concession. After a night in Las Vegas I texted Jon wondering what he could possibly see in the place. Food and gambling was his answer. So yes, one can gamble in Vegas.

Gambling is a rather dull sport which I have mastered in my own way-- look as if you are gambling just enough to get free drinks. My elaborate ruse became unnecessary once I had endeared myself with the staff. I did so by openly mocking the clientele. My favorite was Captain Kirk. He, a Mormon preacher, explained that by rubbing the machines in a certain way one could share DNA with the computer. The logic was that “man invented computer, so computer can read man.” The caveat being one could only play blackjack. By playing this game you could move faster than the conniving, computer blackjack dealer. And he was right, I won $6.45!

The Captain’s story is a sad one. This man of God, who was visited by Jesus twice, has been asked by the Church to stop ministering. I don’t know why, but I think the Church may be wrong on this one… an anomaly of course.

I suppose I would liken the casino experience to a night club where the dress code allows fanny packs. But, maybe it is more akin to a money viewing gallery for pretty girls from Iowa. What ever Vegas is, it will forever be free from glowering Rob in the way of the elevated, air-conditioned sidewalks.

Stepping outside of the casino is to behold a vast landscape. Dotted every few inches is architecture I would call neo-Pulte. Owning a great debt to Rococo period architecture, the simple form of the Las Vegas suburban expanse is breathtaking; one should note the limited use of windows, craftsmanship, sidewalks, authenticity and material. I take solace remembering that the un-sustainability of this desert city is a fait accompli.
I was at least rewarded by a rare summer rain the day I left. The Hoover Dam was pretty.

Death Valley

2009-07-09T19:51:00.010-04:00

Unkie and I got our supplies ready for the trip to Death Valley:
1 tube braunschweiger
1 box Carr's crackers
1 jug water
and... as we wandered through the Lone Pine IGA standing in front of the beer fridge we pondered our options. Miller High Life, St. Pauli Girl or maybe a summer ale. I jokingly (but not actually joking) suggested we grab some Mickey's Big Mouths. He and I now have an indelible bond.
2 40 oz. Mickey's
On the east coast water is so plentiful. The west is quite arid and the improbability of a city like LA is easily recognized. Leaving Lone Pine towards Death Valley one must cross Owens "Lake". Los Angeles diverted the water sources for this lake 4 hours to the south. It is now a shallow salt water area. Yet it would seem like a tropical paradise compared to our destination.

It's only an hour drive or so into Death Valley. One can actually feel the heat growing. Putting my hand out of the window there was an actual burning sensation-- the air is completely unforgiving and wind feels quite like a convection oven might. It was 118 degrees in the shade. At 3 o' clock, temperatures were reported at 122 degrees.

The best part about visiting the desert during the summer is the German tourist watching. They are everywhere. No English can be heard. At the Corkscrew bar in Furnace Creek one just had to close their eyes and be transported to Berlin. They all bought bottles of red wine and ate hot dogs. Wierdos. It was so hot, some even went sockless in their sandals-- most however did at least opt for white instead of black socks.

When I took this picture hundreds of cameras were snapping as I was mistaken for Cute Knut.

ECV

2009-07-05T05:52:00.008-04:00

It has now been more that a month since leaving Atlanta-- although I’d count my time in San Fran as my old routine. Such is the reason I have left. One particularly dull and woozy night at Unkie’s place we hatched a plan to do a little exploring: Yosemite, Death Valley, Las Vegas, Joshua Tree and LA. It would take a week. The trip would end on the 4^th of July. A particularly fitting date as, in the most unsentimental of terms, one cannot imagine the natural wealth of this nation. This is what I have discovered.

We loaded up the “red wiener” (the Mercury) and left early in the morning. Across the vast strip malls and highway exits just a few hours from the coast lays the inspiration of Ansel Adams. Yosemite National Park is positively breathtaking. Irrespective of the ipod in my hand or the reception of my cell phone I could not help but think of the first people to cross this place. The awesome sight of both towering mountains and gushing streams must have been, and remains, sublime.

Around 10:30am we found the only bar in the park. There at the Ahwahnee Hotel Unkie talked about the Redwoods in California. “You know Rob the largest tree in the world is in California… and, here is the greatest testament of 19^th century thinking, it took them a year and a half to figure how to cut it down.” The second largest tree was removed of all its bark by Brits on scaffolding for reproduction in England and consequently it died. Finally, the third largest has a hole cut in it for cars to travel through. It too will die soon.

The first night we stayed in Lone Pine, CA. It’s an old western/mining town. Unkie insisted on staying there. That night at the Double LL bar he revealed why. We are honorary E Clampus Vitus members. I'm thinking of starting my own chapter. E-mail me about membership inquiries.

Bar Hoping

2009-06-29T21:21:00.017-04:00

San Francisco is about 7x7 so the act of bar hopping is easily done. I made a few new SF friends the week prior. I asked each of them to take me out on a typical night on the town. Each live in different parts of the city and go to very different places. (I began to take pictures of the names of bars and restaurants in order to remember where I had been. Here is a synopsis of last week around San Francisco pictorially with unreliable narration.)

Jason is a bar tender at The Hearth, he took me out. Jason is a photographer with some remarkable war-zone, photo journalism experience. We talked about his experiences as we took cabs around town. We ended up going to Hemlock, Annie's Social Club, and the 540 Club. Apparently he also made a habit of whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

"Aunt" Marianne and I made our way along the Coastal Trail to the Cliff House for some much deserved Martinis. Then Scott took me to a great Richmond District bar, The Bitter End. I challenged the two girls next to us to a game of pool. They proceeded to beat us the next 7 games, bought us drinks with a smirk and left us standing on the street.

My chronology gets real fuzzy here:
Lunch at Swan Oyster House opened in 1912 (still, eat oysters on the east coast) with Amy then retired to her roof. This was followed by a pitcher at Zeitgeist (where they had nudie matches. score.) Wine tasting with Andrew and Olivia in the Pacific Heights/Russian Hill area... then bar hopping in Tenderloin et al., now watch the downward spiral:

--------------------------------------------------
Last night in San Fran hung out with a girl I met at a bar, Courtney and her friends, in the Haight during gay pride. They rocked. Then made my way down to to the Castro. On my way I heard, "I couldn't sleep with them all last night, you passed out after the second Thomas." If only...

Look for the giant pink triangle on the hill in the background. Went to some Russian girl's house party and ended the night at a great jazz club Club Deluxe at Height and Ashbury. Walking home that night across Golden Gate Park I decided that had to get out of San Fran. This is exactly what I did.

Mission District Accomplished

2009-06-23T23:33:00.009-04:00

I latched up with friends of my old roommate Phil. Met them at Dolores Park in the Mission District. We sat in the park for quite awhile. The entire hill side was covered by the usual social groups and their respective activity—hippies, hipsters, gays/drum circles, bikes and dogs, sun tanning.

Everyone was drinking something and in typical San Fran fashion smoking pot. More common than the cold breezes, one can expect the smell of marijuana in the air. This isn’t shocking by any means but pot is de facto legal here. Guys walked around the park like cigarette girls with open trays of marijuana baked goods.

When it got too cold we went to a great Mission District bar. In Atlanta the “industry shot” is Grand Marnier or Jagermeister; in San Francisco people shoot Fernet Branca. And so that is what we did, it is really awful. I have heard this a few times now, “Have you had a shot of Fernet yet? It’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted. I’ll buy you one.” Accordingly I have had plenty of this crap.

Dick's International

2009-06-16T21:03:00.006-04:00

I needed a hair cut desperately, it was suggested that I head over to Dick's International. Best hair cut ever. Playboys and Hemmings Motor News strewn about. $12. And, a straight razor shave.

Just as we reach the Sweeney Todd part I hear from a door, "Daddy, Daddy" and little kids rush in to greet their father. Kids scare me already (this is an established fact) but kids and razor blades to my throat bring this to a new level. I already couldn't swallow for fear my adam's apple would be spliced in two, then these little moppets flood in, buzzing around like gnats. I survived, but barely.

My friend Cat from Atlanta just moved to SF. We met up to window shop in the Downtown Union Square area. I have now been to 7 Ralph Lauren store across the country. I should inquire about sponsorship. We got hungry and said we would stop at the first place we saw. We were so lucky to find the The California Pizza Kitchen. My cheeseburger pizza was so fresh.

We actually went to the second place we saw Tadich Grill. It is California's oldest restaurant. Established in 1849. It's 160 years old. Sitting at the 80 foot bar I had a perfect Manhattan, crab, oysters, herring and so on. The motto of the place is "The Original Cold Day Restaurant" which was rather fitting considering it was about 55 degrees out and windy. At the end of the night I walked back past jazz clubs, people kissing, hipsters, tourists, the Cartier store, criss-crossing cable cars. If I get stuck here, I suppose that would be OK with me.

Scopes Monkey Travel

2009-06-16T20:25:00.009-04:00

If you can’t find me in Atlanta, check the bar. If you can’t find my Uncle in San Fran, check the bar. Any-further, I won’t need to expressly draw the similarities between my Uncle at I.

I split a cab from the Ferry Building to the Richmond District. My uncle has lived in San Fran (in the exact same rent controlled place) since 1981. Had the cab drop me off at The Hearth. I entered to a standing ovation from extra-middle aged regulars. I'll be staying with him for a week or two.

Typical scene outside The Hearth and my crash pad here in SF. As we stood outside the bar, catching up, Uncle stopped and uttered "Uh oh, not again" and found some treasure. We took a trip around the city in his 1991 Mercury Capri. It's a classic, sorta. And a ride over the Golden Gate to Marin County.

Here I am in Marin, that thing on my head was purchased the evening before at a 7/11 around 3 am.

California Choo-Choo and LOCO-motion.

2009-06-13T17:03:00.017-04:00

At 3:45 in the morning the Super Shuttle came to bring me back to Denver International. I found Denver's Union Station in time to catch the 8:05 "all aboard" call for the California Zephyr.
I would be on this train for 38 hours. For those of you who have never rode Amtrak here are some general truths:

Cowboy Larry will, finally, get off at Winnemucca, UT and go back to his cattle ranch. (This is us in the "bar car")

There are two general types of riders: octogenarians and schizophrenics (and often this overlaps). Possibly the best thing about a moving train are geriatrics trying to move about it. The elderly look like al dente noodles, wiggling about-- in how they walk and in their fingers and skin. A chorus of Andy Rooneys can be heard at all hours. Notable quotes: "That mountain used to a whole lot bigger " and "Children shouldn't be allowed on trains, it's too dangerous." At each stop the Octo's rush to the Observation Car; peering out, they safely gawk at those of us who step off for a smoke.

One must accept this fact, you are going to be on the train for a long, long time-- the train goes 35 mph most of the time. Make friends and take NyQuil. As people begin to realize the gravity of a 38 hour train ride everyone is interested in some companionship and colloquy. I remarked to myself how comfortable I became. I watched the Rockies rise green and lush then crumble in to the desert. At night the rolling of the train and the darkness of Utah outside the window put me to sleep. I woke up in Reno and had some lunch in the Dinner Car. I ate while over looking Lake Tahoe. Hours and many new friends later I arrived in San Francisco.

Friends Found

2009-06-13T15:48:00.005-04:00

I stayed in Loveland, Co for 5 days. Every evening, in the garage, Don and I drank box-wine and smoked cigars and talked intensely. I have never so much enjoyed talking to one person at such length.

During the day I made a “sight-seeing” excursion to the Benson Sculpture Park

I call this one "Josh and Dock"

Love-land and beer

2009-06-07T15:56:00.000-04:00

A couple from Milwaukee came to visit Mike. I was able to get a ride to Denver with them. We were all delirious making our way down the mountain at 9am. Paul, who was driving, and I laughed the entire three hour trip. The rental Chevy Impala kept applying the ABS on account of braking on such a grade. So, as Paul drove, his upper body was engulfed by the shaking of the wheel.

At Denver International I waited two hours for an hour long Super Shuttle ride to Loveland, CO; getting in 3 more This American Life episodes. My Dad’s oldest and best friend Don lives on a lake there. He welcomed me with a hug and a beer. (I immediately decided to stay an extra day or two)

Down the street, we had dinner at Fred and Debbie’s, who are Don and his wife’s best friends. It was just an average home.

I drank New Belgium Mighty Arrow from the kegerator, played the blues on a 1967 Gibson and with some rather fluffy dogs. Golf Monday at The Olde Course and maybe take out the boat. Tuesday we are heading to visit the New Belgium Brewery.

Boating the Boat

2009-06-04T20:57:00.001-04:00

Hit a local bar last night. Mike immediately ran into some girl he was dating. She is about 4’ 11”. We watched the band for a minute and had a few beers. Having a few beers in this elevation is like drinking from the bottle. The tiny girl, mike and I made our way back in the cold to his place. I begged the girl to participate in A Christmas Carol reenactment, where I would be Cratchit and she would be Tiny Tim. This is the scene where Tim is carried on his father’s shoulder on home on Christmas Eve. She agreed and moments letter we both did a face plant into the street.

Today I rode down about 3000’ of elevation on some Frankenstein mountain bike. The trail switched back and forth along a mountain spring and let into the town below. After the ride about 7 of us hopped in a raft and rafted the Yampa river. Because I am fat (really fat compared to all these skinnies out here) I was up front. This enabled me to get the wettest and act as a self esteem booster for all on board. The float was great and the water was fast and cold from all the snow melt feeding it. We passed by the town on our right and mountain peaks to our left. Maybe do the exact same thing tomorrow.

Duplicity

2009-06-03T03:19:00.001-04:00

My childhood neighbor Mike now lives in Steamboat Springs, CO. I put my bag in his WRX at noon. The four of us (two Labs in the back) had a 24 hour road trip from Atlanta ahead.

The going away party enabled me to sleep all the way to St. Louis. After smelling what was probably some delicious local hot dog joint, we stopped, had a bite, and I took the wheel. We didn’t speak more than a few words; This American Life played the entire way. I wonder what I could do to catch the attention of Ira Glass.

I remarked to Mike how clean the air must be in Missouri. I could smell the local hot dog stands in St. Louis even outside the city. I could taste the smell on the sides of my tongue. After night fall in Kansas we stopped for gas and looked for a hot dog in the station. All we could talk about was how much we loved hot dogs (and thus America). In waves the smell came as did memories of hot dogs -- baseball games, cook outs, turkey v. pork v. beef, historical names of hot dogs.

At Topeka, about 12 hours away from our destination one of the dogs in the back audibly passed gas. Remarkable to hear in-and-of itself, most remarkable was the rich, fresh hot dog smell which filled the cabin. The following 12 hours I attempted to reconcile the prior 12.

Flat Kansas, led to green vast tree-less acres, then foot hills and finally the Rockies. Snow fell as we drove; the rivers crested their banks from the melt. We arrived in the “Boat” around noon Eastern Time, inside and surrounded by the peaks.

June 1 - June 19

2009-05-30T14:41:00.000-04:00

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I will be traveling the states until June 18. Driving to Steamboat, then a ride to Denver to stay with a friend. Taking Amtrak to San Fran (36 hrs), flight to Florida. I depart for Malaysia June 20; the trip takes 10 weeks. Not quite sure what happens after that.

2009-05-29T22:38:00.000-04:00

June 1 I am leaving. I have sold or given away all my possessions. It isn't cathartic.