Archive for the ‘adventures’ Category

Tales of epic sailing failure… on the West Coast

Tuesday, April 12th, 2011

This tale has an index; a pref­ace, which presents two points; and a main body. This para­graph serves as the tale’s index, the next will be the pref­ace and then all remain­ing con­tent will be the tale itself.

To pref­ace my tale, I need to put forth two points. Firstly, I would like to make clear that my favorite branch of the United States Armed Forces is the United States Coast Guard. Secondly, I have no sailed Synchronicity in both the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

So, now, let’s get to the meat of the story. I am giv­ing away my Hobie 16, Synchronicity, before I move back to Boston (have I men­tioned that I’m mov­ing back to Boston?). As is my way, I would far pre­fer to gift Synchronicity to friends or friends of friends than to try to sell her for some hun­dreds or a thou­sand dol­lars to some­one ran­dom through Craigslist. As such, Synchronicity remains in my social cir­cles and goes to Denise H. and Ted S.

If you’re going to give away a cata­ma­ran to folks who haven’t rigged or sailed a cata­ma­ran before, clearly you should go out sail­ing with them; this is, of course, more clear if you haven’t man­aged to sail your own cata­ma­ran since bring­ing it out to the West Coast. So, Denise, Ted, and I grabbed Synchronicity, grabbed her rig­ging, and headed over to the Treasure Island Sailing Center, which is a won­der­ful small boat­ing facil­ity with a con­ve­nient ramp if your boat is light enough to carry by hand. For a nom­i­nal fee, we were able to park car and trailer, as well as launch boat.

With about six (6) knots of wind and rea­son­ably calm waters, we were able to pick up a fair bit of speed, even though we were inten­tion­ally spilling quite a bit of wind (it’s been a while, no rea­son for us to go over­board (lit­er­ally or so to speak)). All in all, quite a won­der­ful sail.

At some point, when we were half a mile or so out from Treasure Island (a few tacks in), there was a funny sound; the sound was as one piece of metal clank­ing against another. I’d say that we were mov­ing at a decent 8 – 12 knots (the rud­ders were singing), and I thought it was just one of our water bot­tles bang­ing against the tram­po­line frame. A few moments later, there was another clank and I asked if any­one else heard it. Others had heard it but, with­out any par­tic­u­lar idea of what it was, we didn’t have much rea­son to pay atten­tion. A few moments later there was a loud snap­ping noise, the port shroud snapped, and the mast crashed into the Bay; the event took no more than a frac­tion of a sec­ond, all told.

Luckily, nobody was caught by the freed cable or the plum­met­ing mast. Unluckily, our mast, sails, and rig­ging were no longer in our boat. After the “oh shit” moment had passed, it was time for save the boat and don’t drift into that barge mode. Did I men­tion that we were right in the midst of a num­ber of large sta­tion­ary barges that are moored in the Bay just south of Treasure Island? Well, we were.

Taking all the rig­ging down from on the boat proved hope­less, so I hopped in the water and started work­ing from there (quick aside, wet­suits are amaz­ing). With a fair bit of wran­gling and remov­ing all the bat­tens from the main­sail (another aside, small knives are great when you can’t untie ropes and need them free in a hurry), we man­aged to haul every­thing back onto the boat.

Having brought pad­dles in case any­thing got hairy, we started pad­dling for Treasure Island. Paddling, with the cur­rents and, more so, the wind, got us worse than nowhere. Despite our efforts, we were trav­el­ing par­al­lel to Treasure Island and mostly in the direc­tion of the Bay Bridge.

Eventually, we man­aged to get the atten­tion of a pass­ing tug­boat (really and truly an absolutely mas­sive tug­boat). The tug offered to call the Coast Guard and drag us to a nearby buoy, which we gra­ciously accepted. Tossing us a rope as thick as my fore­arm, we tied up to the tug and they slowly started tow­ing us (the del­i­cacy exer­cised by the cap­tain was a work of art).

Eventually the Coast Guard showed up (they had another cap­size to deal with first). After some dis­cus­sions between us and the Coast Guard boat, as well as the Coast Guard boat and their base, they offered to tow us back to Treasure Island (quite gen­er­ous in the face of the gen­eral Coast Guard pol­icy of help­ing indi­vid­u­als in dan­ger but avoid­ing any direct involve­ment in sal­vage oper­a­tions). We gra­ciously accepted the offer, thanked the tug­boat and were slowly dragged back to Treasure Island.

Returning to shore, and haul­ing the boat out, we took stock of our sit­u­a­tion. None of us were par­tic­u­larly injured (torn cuti­cles and a few fiber­glass splin­ters from the bat­tens don’t count for much), the boat wasn’t in ter­ri­ble shape (snapped shroud, cut ropes to hold the bat­tens), and we even sailed for a while. All in all, for a pretty epic sail­ing fail, every­thing turned out pretty well in the end.

Recollections on a Vegas Christmas

Monday, January 31st, 2011

It’s been a bit over a month since my brother and I drove to Vegas to spend Christmas week­end (plus a few days) with the rest of our fam­ily (who flew out). I was being lazy but it seems that I’m get­ting called out so here are my major recollections.

The water : The water in Vegas tastes ter­ri­ble and is no good for rins­ing. I don’t think that I’ve dealt with worse tap water in the US before. I was quite happy to have refilled and brought my 5 gal­lon, road-trip, water jug before leav­ing San Francisco.

The drink­ing : In Vegas, there is booze every­where and you can drink it any­where on The Strip. Being able to wan­der from place to place while car­ry­ing drinks is quite con­ve­nient; I really enjoy par­tak­ing of pub­lic activ­i­ties while car­ry­ing a drink or, to put it bet­ter, it’s nice to have drinks with­out hav­ing to be cooped up in a bar. Then, of course, on top of the abil­ity to wan­der with booze is how very easy it is to get an awful lot of the stuff: free drinks while gam­bling, drink spe­cials all over the place, cheap con­ve­nience stores just across the street.

The hang­over : Vegas leads to an almost per­pet­ual state of hang­over. I wasn’t drink­ing enough to get a par­tic­u­larly bad hang­over but between the drink­ing, the ter­ri­ble water, and stay­ing up late, I was def­i­nitely a below 100% most of the trip. P.S. Worth it.

The poker : I should never play poker with peo­ple that aren’t my friends and I should never play poker where any­one expects me to drop more than $20-$40. I lost about $100 in under an hour (maybe half that) the first night we arrived. Fuck every­thing about Vegas poker.

The craps : Let me tell you about Christmas Day (parts of it at least). Christmas stuff hap­pened; Dave and I hung out with the rest of the fam­ily; and we all went out for din­ner at Pampas Churrascaria, which was phe­nom­e­nally good. After din­ner, we all wan­dered The Strip for a bit, lost a lit­tle money on a few things and then Dave and I split off from the rest of our fam­ily to con­tinue adven­tur­ing on our own.

I had been in con­tact with my friend Gautham, who hap­pened to con­cur­rently be in Vegas, and we made plans to meet up later to play craps. While Dave and I were wait­ing for Gautham to be ready to hang out, we had a few more drinks, checked out the Vegas archi­tec­ture (Luxor is awe­some; Aria is gor­geous; MGM is strangely green), and gen­er­ally wan­dered around. At some point, we grabbed our­selves a cou­ple of Four Lokos (so ter­ri­ble but so awe­some) from a con­ve­nience store and, shortly there­after, man­aged to prop­erly get a hold of Gautham.

We met up with Gautham at the Aria and promptly decided that $25 was too high a min­i­mum for craps. Keep in mind that I had never played craps before in my life. So we wan­dered over to the Bellagio to avail our­selves of their $10 min­i­mum tables. Understanding the basic prin­ci­ple of craps (roll some dice, sev­ens are good open­ing rolls but bad oth­er­wise) I mostly took my guid­ance from Gautham at first and started avail­ing myself of free scotch & sodas. As I became slightly more ine­bri­ated and started to get the hang of the game, things became increas­ingly more enter­tain­ing. We had a pretty good table with some pretty fun folks around but, most impor­tantly, we had a really good win­ning streak. At peak, I was prob­a­bly up about $300-$400 and when we even­tu­ally cashed out, I was up about $200 and a hand­ful of drinks.

The net : Between my poker losses, slot machine losses (shiny things are hard to resist), drink pur­chases, food pur­chases, roulette win­nings, roulette losses, and craps win­nings, I ended up leav­ing Vegas slightly (<$50) richer than when I arrived.

The guns : On our last full day in Vegas, Dave, Joe, our dad, and I went out to shoot some guns. At first we went to The Gun Store, which is adver­tised all over the place, but the line was atro­cious (well over an hour, pos­si­bly two) so I fired up Yelp and found out about Las Vegas Gun Range & Firearm Center. We bailed on The Gun Store and found that the line at Las Vegas Fun Range & Firearm Center was a few min­utes long.

I fired off a few clips from a 9mm pis­tol (don’t recall the make or model) and a cou­ple clips from an H&K MP5. Man oh man, let me tell you, the MP5 is a nice gun. Firing the MP5 fully auto­matic was kind of neat but being zom­bie sur­vival minded, I rather pre­ferred switch­ing it to semi-automatic and going for accuracy.

The com­pany : Vegas was awe­some. Hanging out with Dave was awe­some. Hanging out with Gautham was awe­some. Having din­ners with my fam­ily was nice. Going to the Valley of Fire with my fam­ily was neat. Hanging out with my fam­ily on the strip was not par­tic­u­larly awesome.

I’m pretty sure that, going for­ward, I am going to view Vegas as a place to go with friends but not fam­ily. I would say, if you’re going to Vegas with fam­ily, plan to do some stuff with them and plan to ditch them the rest of the time.

Return : I’m prob­a­bly going back with a bunch of Fort Awesome folks in April and I’m really look­ing for­ward to the trip.

SanFran to Vegas on one tank: or exactly why I love my car

Sunday, December 26th, 2010

My brother and I drove from San Francisco to Las Vegas yes­ter­day where we met up with the rest of our imme­di­ate fam­ily for the whole Christmas thing. I don’t really have an awful lot to say about the whole Christmas thing that I haven’t said a great many times before and, although I could prob­a­bly find things to say about Las Vegas, there is very lit­tle to say that cap­ture the sheer je ne sais quoi of this place.

Really, to be entirely hon­est, this post exists solely so that I can gloat about the fact that I man­aged to drive from San Francisco to Las Vegas on less than one tank of fuel; I really do love my Volkswagen TDi.

So you’re in a dessert, but you’re bones, and it grows.

Sunday, September 5th, 2010

I’ve been in Seattle the past few days for Penny-Arcade Expo (PAX) and, as usual, the “Pitch Your Game” panel car­ries a spe­cial degree of import for me. The premise of the panel is that audi­ence mem­bers are given 15 – 45 sec­onds to pitch an idea for a video game and have it judged (harshly) by the panel. Those mak­ing it past this ele­va­tor pitch are admit­ted to the sec­ond round where they go into greater detail on their idea. Finally prizes are given to the best three ideas. It is impor­tant to note that the met­ric for deter­min­ing the best game idea is a com­bi­na­tion of hilar­ity and enter­tain­ment qual­ity, hav­ing noth­ing to do with mar­ketabil­ity or gen­uine qual­ity. Hilarity, of course, ensues.

“Pitch Your Game” is not just one of my favorite parts of PAX; it is a favorite for much of the Fort-Awesome crowd. Having come to PAX a num­ber of times, we’ve come to regard plan­ning ridicu­lous game pitches as a time hon­ored, evening, hotel room tra­di­tion. This year, in pitch plan­ning we came up with a num­ber of hilar­i­ous ideas, as well as a flood of hor­ri­ble and/or unspeak­able ideas. Additionally, we came to the real­iza­tion that any crappy pitch can be made more amus­ing by append­ing “with JRPG ele­ments; also, it’s a rhythm game” (ex. Angry Badger is like Sonic: The Hedgehog but you can’t run fast and the main char­ac­ters a drunk; also it has JRPG ele­ments and it’s rhythm game) (the real hilar­ity comes after numer­ous repetitions).

Eventually, we nar­rowed our­selves down to a rea­son­able num­ber of pitches: Mexican Gear Solid: Tactical Stealth Immigration, Underground Railroad Tycoon, and FEMA Presents Al Roker’s Hurricane Alley 2011. Eventually, these pitches all went splen­didly in the panel and made it to the sec­ond round. After call­ing Friday a night, head­ing to bed and falling asleep, Riad and I appar­ently kept pitch­ing ideas (this is much like other instances of my sleep talk­ing that I have been informed of). Amongst the ram­blings of my sleep, Bigtime, who was awake at the time, over­heard me say, “so you’re in the desert, but you’re bones, and it grows.” This phrase so intrigued me that I decided that it must be my pitch.

My ptich went a lit­tle some­thing like this:

Me: “I’m not entirely clear on some details since a lot of this was related to me by a friend who heard me ram­bling in my sleep. However to the best of my fig­ur­ing, the prophets of old came to me in my dreams and bid me pitch a game, in exactly these words: So you’re in the desert, but you’re bones and it grows.”

Entire room: [per­plexed silence for a few moments]

Panelist: You should stop sleeping.

Me: There’s more.

Panelist: Is that a threat?

Me: Maybe.

Panelist: No. Just no.

The end result, for me, was not the sec­ond round but to have con­founded the panel and the entire room into stunned silence was absolutely priceless.

Dignity is for those that do not travel

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010

Sitting, wait­ing to board my flight from San Francisco to Seattle for PAX Prime, I have already, once, for­feited my dig­nity to my over­lord, Police State USA. Standing up to the man as much as might still allow me to fly, I opted-out of soak­ing up the X-rays that aren’t backscat­tered and hav­ing my naked body put on dis­play for the highly trained elite that is the TSA. Opting-out, of course, sub­jects me to a manda­tory pat-down. During the pat-down, I am granted the dig­ni­fied cour­tesy of hav­ing my spe­cial places be pat­ted down by the back of the agent’s hands; lucky me. Dignity sac­ri­ficed at the alter of home­land secu­rity, I was per­mit­ted to wait for my plane.

At least I sprung for the slightly more expen­sive, exit row and free booze seats: now I can drink until my dig­nity doesn’t matter.

Mosquitoes are Maddening

Wednesday, July 14th, 2010

Being in San Francisco for so long, I have become accus­tomed, men­tally and phys­i­cally, to a sub­stan­tially less aggra­vat­ing envi­ron­ment than I had pre­vi­ously known. Being in Massachusetts – hot, muggy Massachusetts – again, I am recall­ing some of the things that I had left behind – some bad, some good. One thing that I had all but for­got­ten was mos­qui­toes; we don’t really get notice­able num­bers of mos­qui­toes in South of Market, San Francisco. Being here, and it hav­ing been rain­ing recently, the mos­qui­toes were out in full force, while I was work­ing on my boat’s trailer. As such, my sweet, deli­cious, George-blood has been con­sumed by a great many foul lit­tle beasts that have left behind their hor­ren­dous, anti-coagulating, inflammation-inducing, anti­gens of pain.

I’m not sure if my mem­ory is soft and mos­qui­toes have always been this unpleas­ant, if I used to be more adept at avoid­ing their painful bites, or if I had once devel­oped a tol­er­ance to their venom that has since sub­sided. However it may be, I hate mos­qui­toes far more now than I recall hat­ing them in the past.

I’m pretty sure that mos­qui­toes, like sand fleas, are some­thing that I wouldn’t mind sac­ri­fic­ing entire food chains to see go extinct.

A hole in the water into which you pour time and money

Tuesday, July 13th, 2010

One of the things that I’m look­ing to do as a part of this trip east is bring Synchronicity, my Hobie 16, out to California. Given that I haven’t sailed Synchronicity since 2007, the first orders of busi­ness were to free her and fix her up.

It took me about a week of on-and-off yard-work to exca­vate Synchronicity from the weeds that had over­grown her in my absence. Having exca­vated Synchronicity, it was dam­age assess­ment time.

Synchronicity’s trailer was struc­turally alto­gether but one of the tires was flat and both of the wheels were pretty thor­oughly rusted; addi­tion­ally, all of the lights and wiring were shot. So I bought new wheels and a whole new set of lights and wires. I’ve got the wheels swapped out and I’ll redo the wiring tomor­row, if it doesn’t rain. All told, not a lot of effort in repair­ing the trailer but a decent bit of expense, espe­cially when com­bined with the cost of buy­ing a trailer hitch and get­ting it installed on my car.

Thankfully, Synchronicity, her­self, seems to be hold­ing up pretty well. I had to replace all of the ropes and one of the shrouds that I dam­aged while clear­ing away the weeds, which is some expense and lit­tle effort. The main hal­yard also needs replac­ing and, on a Hobie Cat, it’s not just a sim­ple rope, so that’s another lit­tle expense. The mast, sails, tram­po­line, and hull struc­ture are all in good shape but the gel­coat on the bot­tom of the hulls is pretty sad. I might fix the gel­coat now but odds are pretty good that I’ll wait until I get back to San Francisco, as it may be a bit too time/effort inten­sive for my remain­ing week and a half

Between all of the repair costs and the expected decreases in fuel effi­ciency for the drive west, I expect that it’ll prob­a­bly cost me a good $500-$800 to get Synchronicity out on the waters of San Francisco Bay. Take that plus an esti­mated 30 – 50 hours of my time and ask me if it’s worth it.

Heck yes it’s worth it! There are few things in the world like sail­ing a catamaran.

2010 Journey East: Some numbers

Monday, July 5th, 2010

I’m rather fond of keep­ing metic­u­lous data about var­i­ous things and the list of such things cer­tainly con­tains sta­tis­tics about my car. Having fin­ished the trip east, here are some num­bers from the trip:

Odometer leav­ing San Francisco, CA: 1715
Odometer arriv­ing Austin, TX: 3532
Odometer leav­ing Austin, TX: 3540
Odometer arriv­ing Atlanta, GA: 4730
Odometer leav­ing Atlanta, GA: 4730
Odometer arriv­ing Concord, MA: 5837
Odometer leav­ing Concord, MA: 5850
Odometer arriv­ing Woods Hole, MA: 5947

The fol­low­ing num­bers are a lit­tle off because I started and fin­ished with par­tially full tanks of fuel:

Total diesel con­sumed: ~115 gal­lons
Total cost of fuel: ~$340

The astute reader will notice that I have been get­ting fuel econ­omy in the upper thir­ties of miles per gal­lon. This is cor­rect and, when observed on a more gran­u­lar level it does seem to be show­ing a trend upwards, though that trend is likely not sta­tis­ti­cally sig­nif­i­cant. As I intend to con­tinue mea­sur­ing my fuel con­sump­tion for the life of my car, I will be able to give bet­ter data later, when I am more than 6000 miles and 15 tanks of fuel in.

2010 Journey East: Here I am, I guess

Monday, July 5th, 2010

Well, I’m sit­ting here in our house in Woods Hole, sip­ping a beer, read­ing an inter­est­ing physics paper about the holo­graphic prin­ci­ple, and I thought that it might be good to take a few moments to update you all on the past few days.

Having left Matt’s place in Atlanta on Friday morn­ing, I jour­neyed up through the Carolinas, Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, New York and into Connecticut on Friday. Baldr and I slept at a rest area in the back of my car in Connecticut and then went on to my par­ents’ place in Concord, MA on Saturday. Saturday evening, after din­ner, I fin­ished the jour­ney down to Woods Hole, MA so as to avoid any morn­ing traf­fic on Sunday (the 4th).

In the process, I man­aged to fin­ish Cloud Atlas and I am pleased to report that it was, in fact, quite good.

Anyway, leav­ing Atlanta, and dri­ving through Georgia for a while, I ended up in South Carolina. Driving through South Carolina on an inter­state, one sees quite a few signs adver­tis­ing the sale of fire­works. Initially, my reac­tion was mostly a ho-hum, fire­works are kind of fun but do I really care enough to stop and buy some. Thankfully, after pass­ing a dozen or so adver­tise­ments on the road, I came to my senses and real­ized that, of course, I want fire­works, big awe­some fire­works. Coming to my senses, and stop­ping at the next place I could find, I pro­ceeded to buy a bit over a hun­dred dol­lars worth of fire­works – pri­mar­ily mor­tars and bot­tle rock­ets as those are my pref­er­ence. We went through about half of the fire­works yes­ter­day while we watched the Falmouth fire­works from Fay Beach. A num­ber of youths (young­sters, teenagers, hooli­gans, what­ever you want to call them) clus­tered around us and we were nice enough to share my fire­works with them. It was rather pleas­ant to share fire­works with a younger gen­er­a­tion and I cer­tainly know that I would have appre­ci­ated it had some­one done so with my when I was that age; I couldn’t help but also feel good about pos­si­bly instill­ing some tiny amount of respect for the proper oper­a­tion of things that have labels like, “Warning: Shoots Flaming Balls”. Subsequently, Dave, Paul, and I played a rous­ing game of Power Grid, which is an excel­lent board game.

That’s most of what I have to report of the past few days; it’s nice to be here after so long away. I should be here for about the next three weeks so it’ll be inter­est­ing to see how things play out.

2010 Journey East: Day 3: Austin

Wednesday, June 30th, 2010

Although exceed­ingly warm by my stan­dards, Austin is not an unpleas­ant place. The pri­mary events of the 3rd day of my jour­ney were lunch with Gautham and Ariel; the acqui­si­tion of nearly suf­fi­cient wardrobe items as will serve most of my needs for the sum­mer; a rather sub­stan­tial nap; and din­ner with Riad, Gautham, Cyrus, and Riad’s lady-friend.

Baldr has been hav­ing a good time hang­ing out with Nico and Shockley, as well as, gen­er­ally, not being in the car. Baldr mostly sits, stands, lies down, or naps in the car, which, prac­ti­cally speak­ing, is not alto­gether dis­sim­i­lar from what he does dur­ing the vast major­ity of other times.

Also, I fin­ished Moby Dick and it was awe­some. Moby Dick is, truly, a leviathan of lit­er­a­ture in every pos­si­ble sense.

Austin is serv­ing as a nice part-way spot to rest and, if it were the week­end, it might be pleas­ant to stay a lit­tle longer. In order to cover dis­tance, rather than wait while peo­ple work, Day 4 will, hope­fully, see the Louisiana shore and the city of New Orleans.

2010 Journey East: Day 2: In brief summary

Tuesday, June 29th, 2010

It’s 3AM Central Time and I arrived at Riad’s place in Austin, TX some­where between 30 and 60 min­utes ago.

It being 3AM, I shall keep this brief and, per­haps, go into greater detail tomorrow.

There were a few notable things that occurred dur­ing the day:

There was a US Border Patrol inspec­tion point on I-10E an hour or so East of El Paso, TX whereat I was first asked if I was a US cit­i­zen, then asked where I was from, where I was going, and what the pur­pose of my trip was. My car was visu­ally inspected from the out­side and sniffed by a dog. I was asked Baldr’s age and I was sent on my way. The line of cars wait­ing to be inspected, the time spent per car, and the inter­rup­tion to my cruis­ing speed prob­a­bly cost me a half hour or so. I’m not sure whether this is an indi­ca­tion that the ter­ror­ists or the anti-immigration crack-pots have won.

Somewhere in the midst of Texas, among the scrub­land and the mesas, in the mid-afternoon, I hit bore­dom for the first time; it was an odd, unpleas­ant feel­ing that I haven’t felt in a very long time but its explo­ration and com­ing through the other side are chief ele­ments of this vaca­tion. After hit­ting that point, I drove in my bore­dom with the music and audio­books off for a time before the bore­dom passed and Moby Dick resumed. Speaking of Moby Dick; I am on the 18th or 18 discs, near­ing the final chap­ters and absolutely riveted.

Sometime shortly after my bore­dom passed I encoun­tered a rain of insects. Droplets, or what seemed to be droplets, began hit­ting my wind­shield at the rate of a mild shower but, some moments later, when I decided to use my wipers to remove the droplets, they merely smeared across the wind­shield. This hor­rid rain per­sisted for a good fif­teen to thirty min­utes, even­tu­ally leav­ing my wind­shield with sub­stan­tially dimin­ished clar­ity, in spite of many appli­ca­tions of wind­shield wipers with fluid.

Due to my own lazi­ness and my cars extreme econ­omy, those insects remained on my wind­shield through night­fall, on into the night, and only finally were extri­cated by an actual rain­fall about a hun­dred miles out from Austin. I say a hun­dred miles out because that is where the rain began; it was not, how­ever, very local­ized. For the last hun­dred miles of the drive, the weather vac­il­lated wildly between mild mist and rains so tor­ren­tial that I haven’t seen their likes since last I saw the outer fringes of hur­ri­canes in New England. I have heard that there is a trop­i­cal storm off the coast now and this truly felt like its outer edges.

There were plenty of other sights and events dur­ing the day but, as I said before, the time is late and I must sleep.

2010 Journey East: Day 1 addendum: Nope

Monday, June 28th, 2010

That I am in the Buckeye Motor Hotel in Buckeye, AZ should answer the ques­tion of whether or not I suc­ceeded in sleep­ing in the 90°F weather present at that rest area.

Overall, $55 ($45+$10/pet) isn’t a bad price to pay for a room with air con­di­tion­ing. Given my cur­rent needs, I prob­a­bly would have paid $55 for a 6.5’x6.5′ closet with air con­di­tion­ing; I’d be grip­ing about it in this post but I prob­a­bly would have done it. I guess, alter­na­tively, I could have left the engine idling and the air con­di­tion­ing on in my car; the fuel prob­a­bly would have lasted the night and on to the near­est gas sta­tion but the main­te­nance costs down the line would not have been worth it.

I’ve been tak­ing I-10E since LA, which passes straight through Phoenix. Since I’ll be dri­ving in the morn­ing, I have no desire to hit traf­fic, and Buckeye’s half-way between I-10 and I-8, I think that I’ll divert myself around Phoenix on I-8E so as to meet back up with I-10 south of Phoenix.

Ok, the air con­di­tion­ing seems to have cooled the room suf­fi­ciently that I can get some sleep.

With luck, my next post will be from Riad’s place in Austin.

2010 Journey East: Day 1: I suck at remembering stuff

Monday, June 28th, 2010

Right now, I sit in my car, typ­ing to you on my work lap­top over my phone’s Internet, in a rest area where I plan to sleep, approx­i­mately 50 miles easy of Phoenix, AZ, hav­ing dri­ven 703 miles in just shy of 10.5 hours, hav­ing used less than two tanks of fuel.

So far, bar­ring two issues, it’s been an alto­gether pleas­ant trip. Due to tar­di­ness in pack­ing and clean­ing, I set out around noon-thirty, which was about three hours later than I had intended but there isn’t really any time crit­i­cal­ity to my jour­ney, so it’s not a big deal. A cou­ple hours into the jour­ney, when I set about get­ting break­fast, lunch, my first meal of the day, or what­ever you want to call it, that I had for­got­ten to bring Baldr’s leash and pinch col­lar; as a result, Baldr’s short walks dur­ing the trip have been either off-leash or using a bungee-cord as an impro­vised leash; I will have to buy a new leash and pinch col­lar some­time tomor­row; so it goes. We encoun­tered hints of traf­fic near LA but noth­ing too both­er­some and, oth­er­wise, have had smooth and fast paced travel.

I have been lis­ten­ing to Moby Dick on audio­book and am cur­rently on disc 8 of 18. I must, truly and hon­estly, say that this work of prose is truly an amaz­ing thing. Moby Dick is, at times, for that mat­ter, most times, rather slow paced, such that I expect I wouldn’t be able to man­age this degree of devo­tion were I not a cap­tive audi­ence with a great deal of monot­ony on my side. However, see­ing as I am a cap­tive audi­ence, I have been greatly enjoy­ing the work for its vari­ety, depth, descrip­tive­ness, phi­los­o­phy, and sheer grav­i­tas. At this rate, I should have fin­ished this mon­strous epic well before I make Austin.

Sometime, approx­i­mately two hours ago, I was think­ing about whether or not I would change my clothes while on the road when it occurred to me that I had no rec­ol­lec­tion of load­ing my suit­case into my car. On fur­ther inspec­tion, I can, in fact, con­firm that I also for­got to put my suit­case in my car. Man, do I feel like an idiot. Thankfully, my suit­case con­tains only clothes and toi­letries, which are rel­a­tively eas­ily replace­able for the pur­poses of such a jour­ney; though it is supremely both­er­some to have to do so unin­ten­tion­ally. My lap­top, charg­ers, and every­thing else are thank­fully in my mes­sen­ger bag, which leaves me still able to per­form the var­i­ous tasks that I intend to per­form and, to be entirely hon­est, I was think­ing, just yes­ter­day, that it was about time for me to buy some new clothes; call it unfor­tu­nate prov­i­dence, I guess.

I won­der what else I will come to dis­cover that I have forgotten.

Anyway, now it’s time to see if I can get any sleep in this abom­inable 90°F Arizona night; hope­fully it won’t dis­tress Baldr too much either.

Woods Hole, MIT, Virgin America; it’s a small world

Monday, December 28th, 2009

Yesterday, in return­ing from a week long, Christmas related stint in my home state of Massachusetts, I had a par­tic­u­larly intrigu­ing synchronicity.

I was fly­ing Virgin America, which is an excel­lent air­line but that’s an entire dis­cus­sion of its own right. As a mat­ter of good for­tune, I was fly­ing Main Cabin Select, which pro­vides, amongst other things, the option of check­ing in through the First Class line. The reg­u­lar line was pro­ceed­ing rather quickly and a young lady behind me in line made a com­ment to the effect of it seem­ing a mis­take to be in the First Class line. My moti­va­tions being as they are, I took a few moments to chat with this nice young lady but didn’t make it far before it was my turn to go for­ward and check my baggage.

Conversations cut short are unfor­tu­nate but such things hap­pen. I pro­ceeded through secu­rity, got to the gate, waited a while and boarded the plane where who should end up in the seat next to me but the very same young woman who had been behind me in line. This was a pleas­ant coin­ci­dence but not ter­ri­bly sur­pris­ing inso­far as there are not very many Main Cabin Select seats on any given plane. Shortly after tak­ing her seat, this young woman says to me, “nice ring” and, as I glance over, it turns out that she’s an MIT grad­u­ate as well; there’s a pleas­ant extra level to this coin­ci­dence and a good source for con­ver­sa­tion topics.

As we’re chat­ting about var­i­ous things, this young woman (who I am going to refer to as Margaret because it’s eas­ier than con­tin­u­ing to use qual­i­fied generic nouns), men­tions that she was on the crew team and I men­tioned that I had been on the sail­ing team. Somehow, in dis­cussing sail­ing, I men­tioned spend­ing sum­mers on Cape Cod, which raised the ques­tion of where. My answer, of course, is Woods Hole and, lo and behold, Margaret’s fam­ily also has a place in Woods Hole. I should note that Woods Hole is a very small town and it’s quite rare that I encounter some­one in Woods Hole that I have not met before, espe­cially some­one within 5 years of my own age. As a result, rather unsur­pris­ingly, it turns out that Margaret and I have at least a dozen mutual acquain­tances and friends.

Overall, it was a fan­tas­ti­cally sur­pris­ing coin­ci­dence; so much so that it makes me wish that Mr. Data were on hand to tell me what the odds of the coin­ci­dence were. Certainly there exist cer­tain biases to cor­rect for, which make it such that the coin­ci­dence isn’t purely ran­dom but I am not ter­ri­bly inclined to enu­mer­ate all of the non-random fac­tors that may have con­tributed. Why such a coin­ci­dence hap­pened, I can’t say, but it did, and that’s great. The end result is that I’ve nar­rowed the gap of peo­ple that I don’t know in Woods Hole and made a con­nec­tion with a pleas­ant new per­son in this world.

Influenza Influence

Saturday, May 23rd, 2009

Arising from a nap taken while sprawl­ing across three seats on MX976 from Guadalajara to San Francisco, I am reminded of a desire to com­ment on the so-called swine flu. Of the five flights taken dur­ing my trip, none have been at capac­ity and two have pro­vided me with full rows for myself. The true uti­liza­tion is in stark con­trast with the near full planes that were described when I pur­chased my tick­ets; I under­stand Mexicana was allow­ing refunds of some sort on account of the flu.

Cancun was, I have been led to under­stand, empty rel­a­tive to other years at this time. The resort at which I stayed was likely at no more than 30% occu­pancy; near full capac­ity is the norm. Other resorts and hotels were closed due to a lack of guests. This, of course, meant that we large­ley had the resort to our­selves but, self­ish­ness aside, it also means that the local econ­omy is suf­fer­ing an absolutely hor­ri­ble col­lapse and any locals with­out suf­fi­cient sav­ings may need to seek other work. Compounding with the gen­eral global down­turn, there will likely be a pro­foundly neg­a­tive effect on Cancun and other Mexican resort areas.

The response of the Mexican gov­ern­ment is rather inter­est­ing as well. The gov­ern­ment had health check­points set up at air­ports and state bor­ders. Individuals are required to fill out a ques­tion­aire as to whether or not they are suf­fer­ing any flu symp­toms and then have their tem­per­a­ture checked by ther­mal cam­era or infrared probe; nei­ther of which I sus­pect is par­tic­u­larly accu­rate. What they would do to one who fails such test­ing is unclear as they did not seem set up for any sort of quar­an­tine. Furthermore, a few tylenol, aspirin and lies ought to be enough to get any­one through. The whole exer­cise reeks of secu­rity the­ater, a topic which I fear rais­ing lest I rant far beyond your patience.

Dreams have flowed like sand down a beach dune

Friday, May 22nd, 2009

Something that I have been acutely notic­ing is that I have had extremely vivid dreams every time that I have slept or napped. The dreams have been vivid to a degree that might be described as bor­der­ing on hul­lu­ci­na­tion. I sus­pect that the dreams have been present on account of the ade­quacy of the sleep that I have been receiv­ing. I am inclined, how­ever, to attribute the vivid­ness to the potency and des­i­ca­tion of the sun and heat. It is, per­haps, as if I had ven­tured into the desert to under­take a vision quest of sorts.

I am enjoy­ing this dream­ing to an extent that strongly sug­gests the adop­tion of a decent sleep regimen.

myStress = 0; myEnlightenment += 1;

Thursday, May 21st, 2009

Today, shortly after spend­ing ten or twenty min­utes fol­low­ing a sea tur­tle and lis­ten­ing to another thirty min­utes of the Heretics of Dune audio­book, I found mirac­u­lously that my per­sonal stress lev­els had reached zero. This stress level turns out, as one might sus­pect, to be wholely pleasant.

I am inclined to sus­pect that this state is not dri­ven purely by the vaca­tion; the Dune books tend to put me in a par­tic­u­lar philosophical/spiritual state. In this case, I blame the com­bi­na­tion; that is, I sus­pect that some trig­ger was pushed whilst I was in a recep­tive state.

There exist other aspects to my cur­rent state, which extend beyond a lack of stress to a calm clar­ity. This clar­ity and calm may well be of greater import to me than the pleas­ant lack of stress. The ques­tion that I find arises for me now is, how can I make myself recep­tive and inten­tion­ally self-trigger; this will, hope­fully, serve as a con­tin­ued avenue of self-inquiry in the future.