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This post is a bit pre-mature in that if things had gone according to plan, I should probably be descending the Westside of Snoqualmie Pass right now. So obviously, my (eh-hem... foolish) plans of crossing the state in 3 days on bicycle didn't quite pan out. Wednesday morning I took off from Pullman at 6:00 AM, just before sunrise... just as I'd planned. At 5:00 PM, after pedaling 151 miles, I arrived in Vantage on the banks of the Columbia River... just as I'd planned. What I didn't plan on was a flare-up of an old Achilles injury. I hurt my right Achilles tendon about a year ago while training for a marathon, and it healed, but has never quite felt right. In Othello, at around mile 110, it started to feel a little warm. Between Othello and Vantage, it got progressively worse. By the time I rolled into Vantage... I was mostly pedaling with my left leg, thinking THIS SUCKS! There really wasn't much for me to debate... I knew I wasn't going to be able to ride the next day. Hopefully I'd be able to walk. So, the good news was... 1. I have an incredible friend by the name of Weed, who was more than willing to come rescue me. He drove out Thursday morning before dawn, and had me back in Seattle before lunch time. Weed... you're a champ. 2. I got to enjoy a beautiful ride along HWY-26. The sun was out, fields were golden, and my pedestrian pace allowed me to notice nice little farm houses and such that I normally miss when zooming by at 70mph. 3. I got to watch the sunset and the sunrise from my little camping spot at the Gorge. Nothing like eating freeze-dried meals and drinking hot chocolate while watching the sky change color. 4. I got an extra day in Seattle! Law student roommate hooked up some Mariner tickets... FRONT ROW third-baseline! What a stud. Later that night, I even got to enjoy a pitcher of seasonal Pumpkin-Ale with the roomies and my great friends Wes & Jess. 5. My parents, bless their hearts, never once said "I told you so," when I called to let them know I'm quitting half-way. Whatever faults they may have, they will always be my biggest supporters in whatever I do. Thanks Mom & Dad. 6. I still have a goal to shoot for. I think I'll give the ride another try next summer. This time, however, I think I'll allow myself more than 3 days to cover the 288 miles. So that's it... I'm back in Seattle with 4 more days until my departure. Here's a photo of my trusty steed. Clicking on the photo will link you to other pics on my Flickr page.
This one goes out to my friend who's always got a good bad-joke to share... 
Normally, smashing my left foot on a railroad-tie and tearing half of my big-toe nail off would just have me cursing my clumsiness.
This time, however, I was mostly thinking of how much I'm going to loathe my throbbing toe for the next 3 days.
Despite skeptical and concerned words from my mom, and pretty much everyone else I know, I'm starting my bicycle journey back to Seattle tomorrow morning. I hope to arrive in Seattle on Friday, sometime in the afternoon.
Here's hoping for strong tail-winds, sunny weather, and Lance-like legs. Wish me luck!
I'm here in Pullman, WA visiting family and some of my friends' families. I arrived last night, by way of Portland, OR, and after dinner with the family, my 15-year-old (Cooler-Than-He-Knows) brother asked me if I want to go out for a walk. That is usually a signal that he wants to chat a bit, and since it's getting cool at night here in the Palouse, I suggested that we go get some hot-chocolate (coffee for me). At a coffee shop, we plop down at a suitable table; he with a hot-chocolate in front of him, me with a latte. I'm appreciating the fancy design the barista made with the foam in my drink, and when I look up, it is just in time to watch my brother finish pounding his cup of hot chocolate. I'm laughing as I take my first sip of coffee, and he asks, with a sheepish smile, "What?" "Good hot-chocolate, huh?" I reply. "Yeah," he says without hesitation. Totally wired on sugar, and having nothing to do with his hands, like say... hold and drink from a warm cup, he is bobbing his entire upper torso up and down. Lightly playing the drums on our table, he starts off "So, I've got a funny story to tell you...""My friends Dan and Ian came over to our house last week, and we were hanging out. Wait, I think Amar and Justin also came over... or, no... maybe they weren't... oh, that's right... yeah, they were over too. So anyway... Dan reaches into his pocket says, 'Check this out,' as he pulls out this orangish pepper.""I'm like 'Sweet dude, a pepper.' And Dan says, 'No... this is like the hottest pepper in the world. Like a 1000 times hotter than a jalapeno. I got it at the Food Co-Op.'" At this point I'm thinking to myself... WHAT? Food co-op?He continues, "So Dan's waving around this pepper as he's talking and Oliver (our family's chocolate labrador) is going crazy, wagging his tail and eyeing the pepper in Dan's hand. I'm like, 'Dan you're an idiot... put that away. If Oliver eats it it'll probably kill him." I'm already laughing in anticipation as I watch him tell this story... arms waving and everything. "So we decide that we'll all try a piece of the pepper. I go first and cut-off a little bit from the outside, and it's not hot at all. I cut the pepper open and touch my tongue to a little bit of the seed, and I'm like 'SHIT... ahhh! It burns!' Dan and Ian try it too, and we're all screaming. Ian's like 'I need milk, I need milk,' so I go to pour us glasses of milk when Ian starts screaming and running around.""He's grabbing his eye and knocking shit all over the place. Ian sticks his head under the kitchen sink and he's screaming his head off... he grabs one of the dish sponges and starts soaking it with water and mashing it against his eye. I'm like, 'What should I do, what should I do?' when Dan starts yelling behind me, 'Ahhhh, shit my eye! my eye!' I tell Dan to quit making fun and help Ian, but Dan goes running off to the bathroom. I guess he rubbed his eye too. Both of them have their heads in the sinks, but they ended up okay. Their eyes were super red... those peppers should be illegal, man."I'm in hysterics, picturing these 15-year-old nitwits thrashing around our house on some week night. STORY No. 2... a shorter one...Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother was out visiting me in Seattle a couple of weeks ago. At my farewell party, he was a comical observer of my friends, but he neglected to tell me this one story until last night. He started off, "So, at your party I was talking to Nate, and I was telling him how Deuce was acting really funny. You know, like, drunk...""Nate told me, and he was pinching his nose, 'Yeah, I think Deuce crapped his pants... I'd stay away from him.'""I looked out the window to the balcony where Deuce was standing, and I was like 'Oh man, that sucks... those are really nice pants.'"
When I was nine-years-old my Starving-Artist brother and I lived in a fairly rural area of Japan, near the city of Fujinomia. We would be moving to the USA before the summer ended and I turned ten. I would have to say that the summer of my 9th year was the pinnacle of my double-dutch rope-skipping career. In Japan, at least in our town, skipping-rope was a big deal. Those Japanese educators put kids through some of the craziest physical education exercises. Every morning, in the warmer months, we would run around a dirt track for 30 minutes... bare foot! I think the absence of shoes was supposed to instill toughness and humility... I don't know if I got any of that, but I did end up with some of the flattest feet of anyone I know. In the colder months, they would substitute rope-skipping for the running. Picture a school yard full of little kids, freezing, each with his or her own skipping rope, bopping up and down trying to follow the example of the PE instructor on a raised stage in front. During lunch and recess, we would ditch our little skipping-ropes for the double-dutch style ropes. We loved it... jumping in the whirling mass of rope, trying frantically to keep up with the kids on the ends who were spinning the ropes as fast as their spindly arms could manage. Which brings me to yesterday. I was visiting my good friend (and ex-girlfriend) up in Vancouver, BC. As BC ex-girlfriend and I are kicking it in the Gas Town neighborhood, partaking in the Car-Free-Day festival, we meet up with a group of her friends. They are sort of the ultra-hip crowd, but not in the elitist sense, and more in the all-inclusive quirky individualist sense. After much commotion and wrangling, they settle on a suitable piece of pavement and bust out their Double-Dutch ropes. Yup, these guys do this routinely... they carry around their ropes and meet up on sunny days for hours of rope-skipping... it's the greatest thing I've seen in ages. They start whirling the rope and the rhythmic patting of rope on pavement sounds so familiar. I'm giddy and nervous watching these pros do all sorts of acrobatic tricks. BC ex-girlfriend, a relative new comer to rope-skipping crowd, encourages me to give it a go, jumping in herself and deftly hopping around. I wait for the rope closest to me to whir past my face and I jump into the confines of the two spinning ropes. By my second hop, it all comes back. I skip up and down with a childish grin on my face... the folks spinning the rope encourage me to try a 180, and then a 360... eventually I get myself tangled up in the ropes, but not before I'm laughing to myself, feeling as though I got away with something I wasn't supposed to. Strangers were approaching the rope-skipping circle. Some had never tried before... some hadn't done it sense they were little kids... some were simply curious to watch the spectacle of grown men and women skipping-rope. BC ex-girlfriend and I walked away from the commotion and went on to meet up with other groups of her friends... all unique and good folk. What a fun visit - revitalizing this blogger's heart at every turn.
This one goes out to Angry Steve. 
This one goes out to Chamby... hater of smug penguins.
I got home last night at 11:30, and for the third Monday in a row, both Law Student roommate and Preschool Teacher roommate were waiting up for my return. Two weeks ago, I came home feeling inspired. Last week, I was a little less cheerful. And this week? Well this week, I guess I'm disappoited a bit, but also content in a way.As I reached the top of the stairs, Preschool Teacher roommate asked, "Well?"I replied, "Well, what?" knowing full-well that she was asking about my intentions of asking out the shy-girl.Preschool Teacher roommate shot me a dirty look that I deserved, so I asked, with as straight a face as I could, "Any guesses? Law Student roommate? What do you think? Preschool Teacher roommate? Come on... take a guess."Law Student roommate took a crack at it and replied, "She said 'Yes'."Studying my face, Preschool Teacher roommate guessed, "She has a boyfriend.""She wasn't even there!" I fired back laughing. Nope, not at work last night. For all the silly introspection, doubt and excitement, shy-girl wasn't there on my last day of volunteering. I think Preschool Teacher roommate was perplexed by my apparent lack of sadness. So I tried to explain..."Maybe it was never meant to be... maybe I should have been bolder when I had the chance. But there's no point in getting down about it now. Maybe I'll see her again, and maybe I won't. At least I can say that I felt attraction for a pretty girl, and sometimes even that, a silly crush, is good enough. It feels good. It's reassuring, you know?"Preschool Teacher roommate nodded, "I know exactly what you mean."
On my last day at work I... ...wore a suit thinking I'd try and look nice for the folks at my office. ...experienced a good deal of razzing for the suit. ...realized that the suit probably wasn't a great idea. ...received a rad woolen hat - for Antarctic sledding, of course. ...was sad to be leaving. Thanks for the good times guys. I'll stay in touch.
Note: sweet woolen hat and great boss.
Note: a bunch of engineers and one goofy looking guy in a suit.
Gary Larson is a genius.
After 3 years, today will be my last day as an engineer with my current company. Here goes nothing!
My two younger brothers visited me in Seattle last weekend. The two of them are so different, but both are amazing. The older of the two, Starving Artist brother, is a 24-year-old glass-blowing artist, and the stuff he can make boggles my mind. The younger one, Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother, is a 15-year-old high school kid, and pretty much my hero. He doesn't have anything figured out yet, and the best part is... he's in no rush - perfectly happy to dabble and experiment in what his young life has to offer. He's brilliant, musically gifted, goofy, artistic, athletic, wide-eyed, humble, and funny as hell. This weekend, with my Seattle friends filling his keg cup, he was also a bit chatty. At various times over the weekend, he would wave me over to a corner to ask about this friend or that friend. Here are some highlights... On my childhood friend Deuce... "He's totally wasted... I can't go near him without a 30 minute conversation about Pearl Jam." On my friend Ali... "She's really funny, and when she talks she can't keep her hands still (said to me as he gives a reenactment that looks kind of like the robot dance)." On Starving Artist brother... "If we ever get in an argument, and I actually win, I can tell because he'll just go silent and won't say anything. Like on the drive over yesterday, he totally got quiet and neither of us spoke for like 10 minutes. We both stared out the windshield until he broke the silence with some stupid question like, 'So, what kind of music do you like?' It's like talking to my dad..."
On my friend Hoosty, who always rocks a leisure suit (this time powder-blue and checkered)... "That's a sweet suit... is he serious?"
On my buddy Ainge... "Is that really a Pullman High shirt that he's wearing?"
On Law Student roommate... "He's kind of quiet... isn't he drinking?"On my buddy Weed... "Has he gained some weight?"
On himself... "You know, I think I figured out why I have such a bad short-term memory. You remember back when I was a little kid? I used to suck my thumb, and I would always have my blanket in the same hand. Well, I would also be sucking on a corner of that blanket, and the blanket got all tattered and worn on the edge. But get this... I think the blanket was giving off some fumes or something, from my sucking, because I remember how I would always smell this smell. I remember feeling all funny and being addicted to sucking on the blanket. Mom and Dad thought I just liked sucking my thumb, but I think I was getting high off the blanket. Do you think they used some weird adhesive or something on the edge of that blanket? You're not going to tell anyone about this are you?"
Three rounds into a grand evening, my buddy Highlander eases into a fine story. "So I'm house-sitting with my girlfriend the other weekend," he tells me and JAR . We're old friends from college, and I actually hadn't seen Highlander or JAR for a couple of months, but we enjoy each other's company as though we do this every Tuesday. "Well, we're more like cat-sitting," Highlander continues. (Side-note... I'm a dog-lover and have never been fond of cats) "This cat is sitting by the window, so I thought maybe it wanted to get some air," he says. "It's one of those indoor cats that's totally bewildered when it finds itself outside the confines of the house. So, anyway... I set the cat out on the balcony, and it quickly takes a perch on the railing out there.""This crazy cat is just chilling on the railing, staring through the window. It seems content to be mesmerized by the flickering lights of the TV, so my girlfriend and I relax in the living-room.""Just then... we hear this frantic scratching outside and look over just in time to witness this retarded cat fall off the balcony. What kind of a cat just falls off a railing? It makes a racket as it lands in some bushes, and I dart up to make sure it's alive.""Fearing that I've caused the death of my girlfriend's friend's cat... I'm out in the yard franticly searching the dark for this damn cat. I notice it cowering under some bushes, so I go to open the sliding-glass door to the downstairs. The cat notices me opening the door, and it bolts toward the safe confines of the house. The sliding door catches just as I'm pulling it open, and BAMMM... the cat smashes head first into plate-glass.""This last calamity renders the cat dazed, with its little world is crashing down around it. The cat goes running off into the darkness, and I'm scared shit-less that we'll never see the damn thing again.""I get some new batteries in a flashlight and go looking around the house. My girlfriend is fucking pissed at me by this point. Why did I let the cat out of the house in the first place?""I see the reflection of its beady little eyes in the middle of this blackberry bush, shaking, and I inch toward the bush, talking to the stupid cat the entire time." "With the cat scratching the shit out of my arm, I tear it loose from its perch and toss it back in the house. Fucking cats man!"JAR and I are falling off our bar stools, seeing the normally reserved Highlander so animated.
Which isn't great, but hey... at least I don't feel indifferent.
Tonight, I got to see the shy-girl again. All evening I had full intentions of acting upon Law Student roommate's advice, and all evening I waited for the right moment.
So many times I repeated the words inside my head... "Hi shy-girl. Can I ask a random question? Would you have any interest in grabbing a drink, or cup of coffee with me sometime?"
After that I wasn't exactly sure what I'd say... figured I'd improv it. I would probably utter something along the lines of "Seriously? That's great..." or "I'm sorry. That was really stupid of me..." depending on the response.
Either way, I never got around to asking the first random question. All we exchanged this evening were smiles and pleasantries in passing. The entire night we were surrounded by at least 4 others. I stayed 45 minutes past the end of my shift in hopes that we would find ourselves standing alone for a minute. Sheepishly, I lied to those who asked, "Aren't you done at 11:00?"
"Oh... well, next week is my last week of volunteering, before I get ready to leave town, so I thought I would put in a little extra time..."
I'd like to say that I'm not so much disappointed in myself for not asking her, but that I'm disappointed I never got the chance to ask. I'd like to, but that's just excuse making. I'm kicking myself for not just waving and calling her over, but yet again... words are cheap.
It might end up disastrous, but next week, it's my last day, and I won't wait for the perfect moment.
My buddy Pie, a mountaineering instructor I met this spring, arrives at my farewell party and hands me a bottle of Vodka. Before I have a chance to set my gift at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, he beckons me outside to take a look at something. His mischievous grin (an all too familiar look for Pie) has me curious. I run, bottle-in-hand, after Pie and find him standing proudly beside a white late-80’s Buick… that is completely shrink-wrapped in an entire roll of Costco-sized Saran-wrap. I’m gawking speechless, as Pie giggles, “It’s Jimbo’s car!” Jimbo would be another mountaineering buddy of mine who arrived an hour or so earlier.
Later that evening I say my farewells to Pie, Jimbo and a couple others as they head out the door. In my inebriated state, I’d completely forgotten about Jimbo’s car. Not a minute later, my friends Angry-Steve and the Folk-Master-Dell come roaring back into the party. Breathless with laughter they can barely talk through their cackling…
As I heard it… moments earlier, as they’re walking out the front door, Pie innocently asks, “Jimbo, what’s up with your car?”
Jimbo shoots Pie a quizzical look and replies, “Nothing, what the hell are you talking about?”
Pie motions toward his car-cocoon masterpiece and produces his best shit-eating grin.
Jimbo, his quizzical expression now transforming into a contorted look of bottled up laughter, cries out, “That’s great, but my car’s parked two blocks up the street!”
Last night, my friend Weed and his better-half (Ms. Paaalm Piiilot), threw me the best farewell party a kid could ask for. The two of them, and their little girl (who's the most beautiful child I've ever seen), opened their doors to some 30+ friends of mine.
It was a brilliant hodgepodge of soccer teammates and mountaineering buddies, roommates and childhood friends, college buddies and work friends, and best of all, my two amazing brothers.
A keg of Rainier, endless grillings and hilarious conversations abound, it was the best parting gift I could've imagined.Weed, Ms. Piiilot, and little Blue-Eyes... I love you all and will miss you more than you know. Thank you for this gift.
Pulling up to my house tonight, I’m surprised to see the lights on upstairs. On Monday nights, I normally get home at 11:30 to a quiet house with roommates sound asleep. This evening, however, I find my two housemates upstairs having a good laugh.
“You two are up late," I chime in. “Oh, we’re just talking about you behind your back” says Preschool Teacher roommate, an excitable lass of freckles and red-hair. I glance over at Law Student roommate, an easygoing fellow from small-town Idaho, and his casual smile tells me otherwise.
I seize the opportunity and ask them for their input on a matter involving a girl. “Okay, so there’s this girl that I only get to see once a week,” I explain. “And, for a while now I’ve been thinking of asking her out for a drink.” Both roommates are intrigued, as I am horribly inept when it comes to dating, and my social life, the romantic side of it anyway, has been pretty much nonexistent for longer than I like to admit. Before I start my next sentence Preschool Teacher roommate starts explaining why that would be “such a bad idea.” “You’re leaving in 3 weeks! You can’t ask a girl out now!” She exclaims. I abort my story and ask, in typical male fashion, “Why not… I want to buy her a drink, have a laugh… I’m not proposing to her.”
“You boys just don’t understand how girls think,” she continues. “What if she really falls for you?” Unlikely, I think to myself. “If she does, and you just take off for 6 months… that… that’ll just be horrible.”
Law Student roommate is reclined in his easy chair, chuckling to himself as he watches this exchange. To both of them, I ask “But wouldn’t it be better to know? What if we do hit it off, or maybe we don't, but either way... wouldn't it be better then never knowing? At least..."
“You don’t understand how girls think about these things.” She rebuts. I suppose I don’t… I think to myself. Totally worked up and stammering, I try and explain how, this evening, she didn’t wear glasses for the first time. And how the whole night I was waiting for a time when we were standing apart from everyone else so that I could say casually, “You look really great without your glasses…” because she really did. Trailing off, I mumble about how I hesitated while walking out to my car, almost turning around...
Preschool Teacher roommate slowly shakes her head and I resign myself to check on my mail downstairs. What I neglect to tell them is that she too seems shy, and how it leaves me weak-kneed when she smiles and always looks away blushing. Maybe if I would've explained just how lovely she is... how she carries herself, with grace and purpose and kindness. As I’m flipping through junk mail, thinking to myself, Law Student roommate pops his head down the stairwell and tells me “I think you should go for it…”
So I started this blog the other day, in large part, because I'm leaving my beloved Seattle in less than a month. Back in May I accepted a job offer to spend the Austral Summer months working in Antarctica. In order to fully qualify for the job and receive my plane tickets, I had to be poked and prodded by doctors and dentists like never before. Apparently the folks at the research station aren't fond of airlifting employees off the continent because of back pain or toothaches. Being the relatively healthy type, accustomed to a life with out proper insurance, I hadn't been to a doctor or dentist in probably 5 years. The visit to the doctor was rather uneventful. The visit to the dentist was not. Apparently floss really has a purpose beyond making my gums bleed every couple of weeks when I stumble upon it amongst the toiletries in my drawer. Five fillings later, with enough metal in my mouth to trip airport security, I'm a believer in the power of floss.
Earlier today, I get a phone call from a soft-spoken young lady in the Medical Department of the Antarctica program. "Hello Mr. O'Connor," she says. "I wanted to let you know that Dr. Anderson reviewed your Dental Qualification packet and, looking at your X-rays, he believes that you have some decay on Distal #19." Distal #19? I think. "He would like you to visit your dentist and get that filling taken care of." Sure thing... I said. What a crock of shit... I thought.
Start flossing now my friends... floss everyday.
