Mark's remarks

Year in Concerts 2010

2011-01-03T16:01:00.000-08:00

I found some great music in 2010 on the live stage, once again patronizing the many “indie” venues in the bay area that we are fortunate to have. As I am accustomed to doing, here are write ups on five concerts that stood out for me (in no particular order)

Hey Marseilles - Hotel Utah Saloon - June 14th

I was pleased to try a new venue this year, paying a visit to the Hotel Utah Saloon in San Francisco (near Utah street of course). When I first came in, it was not apparent where we needed to go, as it looked like a normal neighborhood dive bar with no hint of a stage present. Looking lost enough, someone working there eventually asked if they could help me. After checking if our names were on the list, he pulled a side curtain back and let us through. This gave way to stairs that led up and down. We decided to give the bird’s eye view a try, which turned out to be a good idea, since it gave us seats that were right above the stage and no more than 25 feet away from the action. I was very happy with the arrangement.

As I’ve attended indie concerts over the years, I’ve found that band members never seem have the look that I would associate with at least some rock musicians,namely wild hair cuts, tattoos, piercings and unusual clothing, but rather look like people I’d find at work or in my volleyball league.. These young guys were no different, looking like they could have come from high school band practice, now wielding their array of instruments (violin, cello, trumpet, trombone, accordion, guitars) for something more mischievously fun.

Looks aside, the music itself arranged it’s own form of happiness as this band from Seattle played through their debut album (Travels and Trunks) that evening. Lead singer Matt Bishop politely introduced each song and thanked the crowd as he spun through his brilliant lyrics with a gentle voice. The band seemed somewhat serious and workman-like, perhaps feeling some first tour jitters, though the cellist exchanged some friendly banter with someone seated not too far from me who yelled out, “I need more cello!” a few times, until he became embarrassed to see that everyone, including the band, was looking at him. I guess you can’t have too much anonymity with a venue and crowd of this size, which is all part of the fun. I’ll be looking forward to more from this band.

I’m glad they played: Travels and Trunks, Rio, Cigarettes
I wished they had played: Some more new songs
Great Lyric:

will bring our new debates

and sing them for the magistrate
in groups of 4 or 8 or 12
until they say we might as well

The National - The Fox Theater - June 7th

The National have quietly built an anthology of songs and albums that should stack up well to any indie band’s if not any band’s period. Like most of their music, High Violet snuck in as a nice addition, but after repeated listening, I found that there’s this hidden power behind Matt Beringer’s lyrics and baritone voice and once I found it, I felt as if this album could be held up against anything they’ve produced and and definitely against anything that came out in 2010. The Onion backed this for me as they put the album 3rd in their annual Year in Music rankings.

But as much as their studio recordings sound wonderful on a road trip or at home relaxing, one must see The National in a live intimate setting to get their full effect. I had the pleasure of seeing them a few years ago in The Regency Grand Ball Room and though The Fox Theater is an upgrade to a bigger venue, the GA standing room still allowed for that same experience. I even came within 10 feet of Matt Beringer, who weaved his way through the crowd during a rendition of Mr. November (pretty impressive trip with a corded microphone). They bring so much in person.

The National is much more than Beringer, however, which I think was more apparent to me in this performance. Two pairs of brothers surround him with guitars, keyboard and drums and all four of them lend their strong voices, creating a nice full bodied sound. Additionally, they had a trumpeter and trombone player (tromboner?) that I don’t think joined them last time, but provided a presence to be acknowledged. The apparent simplicity of their albums seems to hide a very complex musicianship that they bring to the stage, another good reason to catch them when they are in town.

I caught them again at the Treasure Island music festival later, and again they brought a great show. They do a nice job of alternating High Violet songs (which could just be played straight through) with older favorites. They also nicely blend serious professional play with fun and good humor on stage, such as mentioning that “Slow Show” is “about Matt’s dick”. They’re a fun show that doesn’t seem to move slowly enough.

Favorite songs played: Bloodbuzz Ohio, Runaway, Fake Empire, Slow Show

I wish they had played: Santa Clara

Great Lyric:

I was carried, to Ohio in a swarm of bees
I never married, but Ohio don’t remember me

Belle and Sebastian - Treasure Island music festival - October 18th

Over the years, most of my indie pop needs have been met from a live concert standpoint as I’ve been lucky in seeing my favorites like The Mountain Goats, The Decemberists, The Weakerthans and many of the bands that you see in this and previous posts. Belle and Sebastian have been the one elusive act for me as they had gone on hiatus, at least in terms of American touring, soon after I developed a taste for all of this great music. My eyes lit up when I realized that they would be headlining the Treasure Island Music Festival, which I have been having a lot of fun attending for the past few years, mainly due to its non headlining acts. Here was one that would keep me on the island like a character on Lost (only without being against my will and with less chance of being killed).

We braved rain and wind for much of the day, testing our resolve to get to the main prize (though with great bands like Ra Ra Riot and The National to pull us through). When it was their chance to shine, the sun was gone, but surprisingly so were the nasty elements. It actually finally felt good to be on the island on that October evening.

They warmed and stirred the still night air with a smattering of their latest songs from Write About Love, some of which are pretty good, and mixed some favorites from their extensive collection. It was fun for me to see Stuart Murdoch singing many of the songs that I had heard only on my ipod. He brought a playful energy to the stage that matched his playful lyrics. The voices and music from Stevie Jackson and Sarah Martin were great to experience in person as well, but I found that it was Murdoch that really made the show sparkle.

Favorite songs played: Piazza The New York Catcher, I'm a Cuckoo, Judy and the Dream of Horses

I wish they had played: Dress Up in You

Great Lyric:

The catcher hits for .318 and catches every day
The pitcher puts religion first and rests on holidays.

The Head and the Heart - The Independent - December 12th

This concert was almost the one that got away as I shot up to San Francisco after a long day of activity and was frustrated to drive around the area around Divisidero and Fell, unable to find parking. I was at the point of turning around and going home, believe it or not, as the concert start time was nearing and I was giving myself 5 more minutes to find something. But the parking gods shone brightly on a spot that was two blocks from the venue’s entrance. I was back in business.

With just enough time to grab a beer and settle into the crowd, the band came on. Being that they were the opening act, I could feel a mix of cult followers and people either waiting for the headliner or just wanting to be out talking and drinking with their friends. Soon after they started playing, I felt as if they had reeled in the majority of the crowd or were at least able to drown out the chatter with their beautifully harmonic trio of voices. I was happy that my parking patience brought me on board for the evening.

This band seemed to be just starting their journey as was evident by Josiah Johnson, who seemed to take the front man center position and mentioned how great it was to hear people singing their songs, "even being so far from home.” Charity Thielen, the owner of the lone, but lovely female voice (reminds me a little of Regina Spektor), mentioned after the second song that a piece on her violin was broken, but they would “rock the show without it". Co-frontman Jon Russel opened a new song about two friends that moved to NY by mentioning that it just occurred to him that one of the friends was in the audience. These are the refreshing moments that I really enjoy when watching a great new band.

I’m glad they played: Winter Song, Down in the Valley, Ghosts
I wish they had played: more new songs
Great Lyric:

California, Oklahoma, and I love the places I ain’t ever been to

Down in the valley, whisky river, these are the places you will find me hiding

The Mountain Goats (well, John Darnielle) - The Castro Theater - December 14th

I have enjoyed a few silent films at the beautiful Castro Theater over the last few years, namely due to a friend’s presence on the San Francisco Film Society’s board. The best experience came at the hands of John Darnielle, who had been selected to provide a score for Sir Arne’s Treasure, a Swedish film from 1919 about a trio of Scottish mercenaries who plunder Sir Arne in Sweden for his chest of gold coins, killing all of his household except one woman. This woman eventually meets the three villains again, this time under the guise of friendly adventurers. Despite her grief over the loss of family members, particularly her sister, she falls for one of the men, but eventually their secret is revealed. As I read the premise for this film, it became clear to me that this story was perfect for a musician of Darnielle’s persona.

Despite this connection, the show was awkward for me to follow at first, seeing this obscure black and white film taking place while my favorite performer was down on stage putting on a concert. But the show slowly gained momentum with the story, as his lyrics from “Sweden” started to synchronize with scenes as if they were meant to be together. Darnielle silently alternated between a piano and guitar for his set, looking up at the screen as he played, some times smiling when a scene drew laughter from the audience. I was impressed by how challenging his role was, given everything that was happening around him, but he performed as his usual self. I enjoyed experiencing these two “Swedish” entities intertwining.

As the movie moved to its climactic finish, three more band members gave Darnielle some company in the form of an electric guitar, a double bass string and some drums. The increased intensity and volume of the music worked very well with what was happening in the film. As the screen actors over-emphasized their gestures and expressions appropriate to the story line, this carried over to the musicians on the dimly lit stage. I felt myself pulsing with a pounding foot as I watched everything unfold so dramatically. After straining to recognize the added band mates, I leaned over to my friend and whispered “John Vanderslice is down there”. I was having a hell of a lot of fun.

When the show ended, Darnielle addressed the crowd, mentioning how this was about as nervous as he’s ever been on stage and had lost sleep for months leading up to this performance. As I was exiting, I could hear him close by in the lobby talking to some friends, thanking them for coming and saying, “That was really intense.” Yes, indeed it was!

I’m glad they played: most of the Sweden album, songs I hadn't heard before
I wish they had played: more Mountain Goat songs, of course!
Great lyric:

when the voices came quietly.
I shut them down.
when a tricky young southerly wind
came at me with its high whistling sound.
I turned around to face it
with real arrogance burning inside.
and I drank in the whole wide world

Note: on screen, the villains were in a tavern, drinking and making merry while the heroine was listening nearby.

Honorable mentions:

Ra Ra Riot is an exciting up and coming band that I saw play at The New Parish in Oakland (very cool place) and Treasure Island.

The Swell Season put on a lovely show at one of my favorite venues, The Mountain Winery, but ended very tragically.

Swell Season at the Mountain Winery - August 19

2010-08-20T13:55:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how to classify this concert, but I feel compelled to write about it. I enjoyed seeing The Swell Season in 2008, when the movie “Once” was just starting to make some waves in a limited set of theaters. I found the stars Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova to be as likeable on stage as their on screen characters (which isn’t surprising since they aren’t really actors) Hansard was funny in his awkward sort of way and could have carried the show with this stage presence and wonderful musical talent. Irglova was shy, but also amiable and very talented.

When they appeared on the schedule for the Mountain Winery, I knew that I’d find myself there somehow. My parents happened to be in town the same week and given their love of the venue, it was a slam dunk that had to happen. I felt as if this was venue was made for them given the intimate nature of their songs and interaction with the audience.

They came prepared with several tributes, starting with both of them covering a song written by the preceding act, Black Francis (they joked about telling him not to sing this particular song). Hansard led a song he wrote about a woman he had met by chance in a Chicago elevator, who had lost her son in the World Trade Center (He joked that she had never heard of The Swell Season, The Frames or Once when asking him what he did). Marketa led a song thanking the finance’ of their band manager for letting him spend so much time on the road with them and sharing the joy that he brought to their band. Marketa talked about how scared she was to ride up to the Mountain Winery in the bus, given hair pin turns that led to beautiful yet scary views, and was trying to think good thoughts after questioning how they were going to eventually descend in the dark. They had their violinist perform a solo rendition of a 300-year-old Irish song from Mayo county (The violinist himself was from just south in Connemara). Hansard had the crowd join him in performing part of the first song written by his lead guitarist (who had left the stage), which was a comically trite, head-banging type of number (something like, “play, play, play to the maximum!”). They mixed these tributes with familiar favorites and songs from their new album that I gained more appreciation for. The concert had all of the intimacy and fun that I had envisioned.

This all came crashing down, literally, when a man leaped from the top of the Mountain Winery’s main building, which stands behind the stage. My dad and I thought that it was a heavy piece of equipment that had fallen from the set (my mom didn’t see it happen) and I was ready for Glen Hansard to turn everything comical again, but he was as shocked as everyone was, when he saw that it was a person who had then slumped to the hard wood.

They told us to stay in our seats as a crowd surrounded the man and you could see someone vehemently applying CPR. The Mountain Winery crew appeared dumfounded on how to proceed, but they eventually put a curtain around the scene as we saw the flashing lights of emergency vehicles appearing. There was a question to the audience as to whether anyone knew who he was, which gave us the first indication that it was a suicide. Later the police were looking for anyone to step up with answers as to how this tragic event happened.

We noticed some people crying (some sobbing) and hugging in the plaza that they had directed us to. On our way out I noticed someone vomiting in the bushes. But most of the crowd was subdued and avoided panic, which was a pleasant surprise, given what had happened and the fact that we’d be trapped in a remote location for a while. My parents and I were calm though my mom asked several questions, thinking out loud, to try to understand what had happened. I didn’t want to think about it or engage my curiosity; mostly because I didn’t think anything good could come of that. I was disappointed that the concert had ended this way, but somehow I accepted this person’s need to go out in such grandiose fashion. I didn’t need an explanation. I just wanted out.

We sat in the car for an hour as we waited for an opportunity to go back down the hill, which I tried to make better by playing Swell Season and Frames songs, making some guesses as to what songs they would have finished with. There didn’t seem to be much to talk about, though we all felt it had been a bizarre evening that had started wonderfully. I felt bad for the band and the people who were deeply affected. It struck me that this was the first time that I had ever seen a person pass in front of me, though I was a good 100+ feet away. I woke up at 3 AM with the dark image of this person, tumbling down to his death.

The next day we filled in the blanks by Googling the appropriate terms and seeing the story unfold in Mercury News. This man was with a friend and had left his “personal items” on his seat before climbing to the roof of the winery. This friend had no idea that he would be high diving from the roof above and in front of him. Nobody will forget this concert, but I just can’t put myself in this friend’s shoes as this tragedy became clear.

Year in Concerts 2009

2010-01-04T17:47:00.001-08:00

2009 turned out to be a slightly down scaled year for concerts, but I still had a chance to see some high quality shows, being fortunate enough to live in an area that is loaded with venues that embrace indie pop. While I had a great time at every show, these were the performances that stood out, in no particular order:

The Mountain Goats – The Filmore - November 14th

The Mountain Goats are on my small list of bands that I’ll pretty much drop everything to see when they come to San Francisco. I’ve never tired of listening to their music, both recorded and in person, and I’ve been to enough shows to feel almost as if John Darnielle is like an old friend coming to town. His concerts are cozy with a cult following and there aren’t many things I’d rather do to curling up to his tunes with a microbrew in hand.

Continuing his prolific song output (He’s said that he’s put out roughly 900 songs!), he delivered Life of the World to Come in 2009, an album marked by its use of biblical verses as titles to its tracks. To me, the album felt like it fit right in with his last two, Get Lonely and Heretic Pride, mixing sadness and fear with hope and faith. I’ll think of Spain when I listen to this album, as it accompanied me on the high speed rail in October, where I was moved by many of the songs, particularly as a lonely traveler.

Darnielle revamped the look and feel of his band for the performance at the Filmore, bringing another guitarist with his usual trio that includes bass guitarist Peter Hughes and drummer Jon Wurster. He also incorporated the violin playing of Owen Pallet, the lone member of the cover band, Final Fantasy. Darnielle remarked how strange it was to peer out into the Filmore crowd and not see all of the faces, which is a similar line that I’ve heard from A.C. Newman and Colin Meloy as their bands graduated to higher capacity venues. To the delight of this expanded crowd, his show adapted wonderfully.

He pulled a nice mix into his set, which included ones from the new album, old favorites and obscure tunes that only parts of the audience could recognize. Regarding the latter, he commented on not wanting people to go home saying, “Yeah, he played some weird stuff tonight”, yet he wanted to throw some goodies to his long time followers. He also alternated the rich sound of five band members with several solo numbers behind the piano and guitar and also paired with Owen Pallet, who added some nice strings that even appeared to move Darnielle at times. It was a nearly perfect balance of songs. My only complaint is that he left out Matthew 25:21, my favorite song from the new album. However, he did play “Song for Dennis Brown”, which is a song I’ve been dying to hear since attending the live shows.

Late in the evening, someone from the front yelled, “What a great show!”, which drew laughter and applause from many, including Darnielle himself. When the band came out for the encore, he apologized that it would be a short one, due to health reasons, but expressed hope that his band had played a full enough set. I was very satisfied as I expect were most, and was delighted to finish the night with Dennis Brown and No Children.

The concert ended up being a great compliment to Darnielle’s interview with Tobias Wolff, which I attended earlier in the year. Darnielle is unashamed to strip away the armor to reveal himself, both in conversation and in music. I think this is what makes him so endearing.

Great Songs played: Genesis 3:23 (also played at Wolff interview), John 4:16, Genesis 30:3, Psalms 40:2 (also played on Colbert Report), Romans 10:9, Old College Try, Dance Music, No Children, Song for Dennis Brown, among others

Great Lyric: I saw his little face contract as his eyes met light/Tried to imagine anything so bright/You only see it once then it steals into the dawn/And then it's gone forever (Genesis 30:3)

Treasure Island Music Festival - Treasure Island - October 18th

I listened to the beginnings of the Hazards of Love at a solo concert in Santa Cruz in 2008, put on by Colin Meloy. He weaved through the first song, asking the audience to periodically imagine him playing an electric guitar with his band mates providing rich complements. This proved easy to do, with his own imagination manifesting itself on the small stage. I felt as entangled in the lyrics as he was that night and felt as if he had mischievously opened one Christmas present to give us a preview of what was to come.

Fast forward to the next year, where he and his band produced a show that was even more ambitious than the album itself, starting with a debut at the South by Southwest music festival in Austin. One live taste of this production proved to be not enough for me, and it turned out that seconds were even better as I watched them during a cold evening on Treasure Island. As they did at the Fox Theater, they feverishly relayed the Hazards of Love story, but I thought that extended band members Becky Stark (from Lavender Diamond) and Shara Worden (from My Brightest Diamond) sounded even better. Stark in particular seemed to bring a stronger voice and Worden appeared to be relishing her role, moving expressively with her full-bodied vocal abilities. The Decemberists have always impressed me with their high level of professional play and I have the impression that this has rubbed off on both of them, perhaps wishing to fit in with their brilliant band mates.

I think my favorite part of the show is when they play The Rake, where everyone inherits bass-sounding drums except for Meloy and guitarist Chris Funk. It seems like a song that brings out some indigenous roots of the music and could be accompanied by a tribal dance of some sort. The band is more unified here than any other song and even Meloy takes a stick to bang a drum with eventually. This seems to be a great example of the Decemberist’s ability to reinvent itself and continue to reel in its audience.

But this concert didn’t only belong to the Decemberists. Before they took the stage, I really enjoyed the show put on by Beirut. One thing I’ve found with indie bands is that even if they add some nice horn play within their tracks, it’s hard to find more than one band member, if any, that actually plays brass live. Beirut is the opposite of this as it’s hard to find someone in the band that does not play an instrument with a mouth piece. Lead member Zach Condon traded vocals with his trumpet in most songs and harmonized really well with an unknown band member (I can’t figure out who this is) with talents in both instruments. They also had an accordion, trombone and tuba and Condon played ukulele for some of the tunes. It was a wonderful treat to see them live and hope to find them in California again.

The headlining Flaming Lips lived up to their reputation for over-the-top showmanship. The show started with a video of a naked woman dancing on the large screen on stage to some psychedelic beat. Eventually she sat down, spread her legs, and out sprang most of the Flaming Lips (I’m just now seeing a connection as I write this), one by one, from a pulsing bright light as if she was giving birth to them. For Wayne Coyne’s entrance, the video repositioned and focused on the woman’s right eye, which also became brilliant with light. He emerged inside of a plastic bubble, and rolled himself out into the crowd, who eventually rolled him back on stage. I only stayed for the first few songs, which were unfamiliar to me, but each song came with explosions of white streamers out into the crowd and a dazzling light show. They were an amazing sight to behold.

Great Songs Played: Hazards of Love (full album), Postcards from Italy, Guyamas Sonora, Flying Club Cup, many others I didn't know the title of

Great Lyric: So let's be married here today, these rushing waves to be our witness/And we lie like river stones, rolling only where it takes us (Hazards of Love Album)

Weakerthans – Great American Music Hall - July 17th

The Weakerthans were the only band that I saw in 2009 that didn’t have a new album to promote, but this wasn’t such a bad thing as they could draw from a large anthology of music. The set list turned out to include most if not all of my “best of” compilation when it comes to their music, which made for a fun evening at beautiful venue with Lost Coast brews on tap. I was a happy camper.

I had attended another fun concert from them in 2007 at Slim’s, but I think this one was better. John Samson greeted the audience with an enthusiastic “Hello friends!” and seemed to have more fun this time. A couple of fun moments: 1. Mid-song he handed his guitar to a friend in the audience, who delivered a really nice solo (afterwards Samson said, “We should really have him teach us to play”) 2. He seemed to lose it a little when most of the audience sang, “I hate Winnipeg”, seeming to be embarrassed that most knew and liked this lyric. He ended up replaying the ending after composing himself.

I think what really added to the fun of this concert was the audience itself. I heard a lot more people singing along than at Slim’s. It reminded me of the Mountain Goats concert, with another great John leading his band. It was nothing fancy, all he really needed to do was bring his great lyrics and band and all was good.

Great Songs Played: Left and Leaving, Everything Must Go, Big Foot, Reconstruction Site, Psalm for the Elks Lodge Last Call, A New Name for Everything, One Great City, Benediction, Sun in Empty Room, Night Windows

Great Lyric: I change the oils and oil the squeaks/patch the holes and fluid leaks/at dusk, beneath a diabetic moon/and wait to take the tv crews/across the creaking ice, the news/is howling to the timber wolves, and soon... (Bigfoot)

Conor Oberst and The Mystic Valley Band – The Mezzanine - August 29th

A few years ago, I went to see Bright Eyes at the Great American Music Hall, which ended up being a slight disappointment. There were a couple song restarts, surprising from a band that had produced so much music and had gotten a fair amount of notoriety. I also remember Conor Oberst expressing some slight content with the “San Francisco” audience, which he said he had written off in favor of Oakland in recent past (I remember thinking that most audiences might have some issues with him) Regardless, the man can write lyrics like few others, which allowed me to look past some of the quirks and still find some fun in the show.

This year, he redeemed himself by bringing a much better performance to the Mezzanine, which I think was fueled at least partly by a slight change in band mates who collaborated with memorable tunes of their own coupled with great musicianship. He seemed to have a lot more energy and fun with this time and even spoke to the appreciation he had for the project in terms of rejuvenating him.

Taylor Hollingsworth in particular was great on lead guitar, seeming to go into a weird trance with eyes rolling to the back of his head when Oberst would come over to him almost looking like he was playfully trying to throw him off. Hollingsworth and Nik Freitas, another formidable guitarist, each provided a song of their own, which brought welcome variety to the show.

Despite the improvement in the performance, it’s still Oberst’s lyrics that do it for me. I had only given the album a one listen, which was just starting to draw me in. Hearing the live renditions of Get-Well-Cards, I Don’t Want To Die, Moab and Milk Thistle caused me to repeated play the album for several weeks afterward. The album alternates nicely from toe-tapping, bluesy numbers to soulful ballads, which carried over well in the concert. My only disappointment was that he didn’t play Lenders in the Temple (unless I spaced out and have forgotten it), which is one of my favorites.

There’s still something irritating about Oberst’s attitude though. Towards the end of the concert he said, “Don’t worry, we’re going to play a couple more songs, then you can go home”. We all paid 25 bucks and as far as I could tell, people were dancing and applauding pretty enthusiastically. Why did he feel the need to act as though he was leading an annoying cover band? I think I’ve been spoiled by the likes of Craig Finn and John Darnielle though. Not every performer is going to be as likeable between songs and I can put up with a brat if he performs as beautifully as that night.

Great Songs Played: Get-Well-Cards, I Don’t Want To Die, Moab, Milk Thistle, Danny Callahan, NYC Gone Gone

Great Lyric: I want to be your happiness/I want to be your common sense pain/Wrap your head in a picket fence/Rebuild after the hurricane (Get-Well-Cards)

Rural Alberta Advantage – Bottom of the Hill - December 16th

As I listened to the cover bands at the Bottom of the Hill, I noticed RAA front man Paul Banwatt carrying a beer to the t-shirt/cd table with change in the other hand. He proceeded to shake hands and sell items from behind this table. When the cover bands had finished, he carried drums, keyboard and guitar onto the stage to set them up and placed paper copies of the set list and as his band took the stage, I realized he would be in charge of guitar, keyboard and vocals. I wondered if he would also be asked to take out the garbage and lock up afterward. This guy was doing everything.

That’s part of the fun of watching an up and coming indie band. Despite their successful album Hometowns, which I had been really enjoying recently, they were still paying for their beer, personally selling RAA stuff and being their own roadies. Amy Cole snapped pictures during the show and at one point Banwatt said something like, “A year ago, we never though we’d be hearing 300 people sing one of our songs at Bottom of the Hill. We’re so happy to be here” It can’t get much more refreshing than that.

As for the music itself, Banwatt played and sounded great as his band mates provided percussion and a little bit of keyboard. He paired really well vocally with Amy Cole, which I’m hoping becomes more of a trend as they produce more music. It was great to be less than 10 feet away from the stage and fun to see The Bottom of the Hill packed with an energetic group. They played every Hometowns song to a delighted crowd and I’ll be keeping my eye on them and the itunes calendar with hopes of more to come.

Great Songs Played: The Ballad of RAA, Don't Haunt This Place, In the Summertime, Frank AB, Four Night Rider

Great Lyric: And when we're middle aged/Tell me I loved you like a renegade/And how I say things that make you sway/And mostly I tell you you did the same

Honorable Mentions

Flamenco – Castranova, Sevilla, Spain.

A three-piece band was very entertaining during a night abroad in Spain. I enjoyed hearing the Emo-styled singing, guitar and percussion provided by dancing shoes and clapping hands in a cave-like bar in Sevilla.

Love Like Fire, Maps and Atlases – Bottom of the Hill

I continued being a Love Like Fire groupie, since my first listening of them in Madison. Maps and Atlases were their cover band, which gave me a good first taste of “math rock”. It was another fun show.

Hazards of Love - May 20th - Fox Theater

2009-05-21T13:06:00.000-07:00

Some times there are scheduled events that have so much built up before them that they can't possibly live up to expectations. When I think about everything that I've digested leading up to this Hazards of Love concert, I not only feel a little sheepish about my fanaticism, but find it hard to believe that I can continue to be satiated with what Colin Meloy and his band crank out. From the first time of hearing about this concept album at a little Colin Meloy concert last year (with a preview), to getting "The Rake" early off of i-tunes, to the NPR-recorded debut at the SXSW musical festival to the Onion interview to the Colbert Report appearance, there's been so much hype around this indie band that it would seem so easy for them to either implode or kill people off by over exposure. Yet I was excited as hell about this concert.

Before I write about the concert itself, let me say that the Fox Theater is gorgeous and is a worthy east bay answer to The Warfield. I found my eyes wandering around the ornate design , particularly the ceiling, which was lit ambiently with lavender (maybe in honor of Becky Stark). The outside lounging areas were beautifully carpeted and well equipped with California-brewed beers on tap (e.g. Sierra Nevada and Boont Amber Ale). The bathrooms made me forget that I was at a rock concert. To the people responsible for renovating this beautiful venue: bravo!

Onto the concert...The band started with their gentle "Prelude" with lights still dim and band members filtering onto the stage. This was followed by Colin's first "Hazards of Love" part 1, and as designed, it continued to ebb and flow from there. Each member seemed to add a uniquely pleasant compliment to a very talented cast (Even their back stage crew had to be given credit, due to all of the instrument changes). The crowd buzzed with each change in song, which was seamless.

The set seemed to really take off when Shara Worden came in with her first singing part in "The Wanting Comes in Waves". It was more than her rich and booming voice. I was slightly disappointed at first to see no costumes, which I believe they used in their debut of this "rock opera", but she had a presence and an energy that made any such gimmickry unnecessary. Simply by the way she moved and carried herself, she had the audience in the palm of her hand, swinging her hips and thrusting herself outward, reminding us of why "opera" could be associated with this performance.

Another memorable part of the set was when they moved to "The Rake", which had everyone, except for Colin and Chris Funk, become a drummer. They each had two drums to beat in synch with each other while Colin belted out this song that had come out as a preview earlier in the year. It was powerfully brilliant.

Probably the only person that lacked some punch, in my opinion, was Becky Stark. I enjoyed her voice on the album and it wasn't that far off during the concert, but I found myself straining a bit to hear the words from her. I'm not sure if this was due to her microphone being set a little lower or the fact that we were in the balcony, but I was always happy to hear Colin Meloy come back in with his voice, which was wonderful as usual. -- I had to chuckle a little bit when it was her turn to sing because one of the people that accompanied me was not a big fan of hers after an extra long Lavender Diamond cover set before a New Pornographers concert. I surprised him recently that she'd be part of this concert after he had remarked how much he enjoyed her voice in the album.

After they finished the beautiful set and we had a short intermission, the band came back out and played a lot of favorites, which included: We Both Go Down Together (which he always introduces as a "joint suicide song") and Grace Cathedral Hill (typical song he brings to the SF area) Then they went all Crane Wife for a while with Crane Wife (part 3), Valencia and an awesome Yankee Bayonnet rendition with Shara Worden. They then did a pre-encore finish with Sons and Daughters, which always gives me chills. The encore included The Rain Coat song, which is now one of my favorites, with only Colin and his drummer John Moen. After the first verse, Colin stopped to say, "That sounded pretty good, if we don't say so for ourselves" I agreed, it was lovely. They then played "Sleepless", which was their "Dark was the Night" contribution and ended with "A Cautionary Song", with most of the band coming out into the audience to act out some of the story. I'm probably missing a song or two, but boy, what an awesome set. The Hazards of Love+Crane Wife-lite+Dark was the Night+familiar favorites = Success! Success! Success! This was my 4th Decemberists concert and while they've all been great, this was the best.

Piss and moan section:

This is a section where I'd like to whine a little bit about something that's been troubling me, so read on if you'd like to hear this...During the concert there were two guys sitting behind me that were having a fairly loud, on going conversation with no more than a few seconds of break in between talking. There came a point where my friend actually turned around and said, "Are you going to talk the whole night?", which caught them off guard and led to a small apology, but led to a minute (no exaggeration) of silence before they picked up where they left off. I've been noticing this more and more at concerts, where there are people that seem to be using the music as background noise while they catch up with their friends. I'm realizing that the only way I can solve this for myself, is to move up closer to the stage, which I plan on doing, but I can't help question, "Why are you here?". My feeling is that it's a case of wanting to be at a scene to be seen and wanting to take in a lot more than the musical experience (in fact, make the music secondary). I really want to tell people to go hang out in the lounge or find a coffee house nearby to carry on with their fascinating conversation. The texting and the phone photography is getting on my nerves too, though I've been guilty of both. I think we've built a culture which is focused on capturing the moment, which I think inhibits enjoying the moment (yet here I am blogging away). During a John Vanderslice show recently, Vanderslice mentioned something about he's fearing the day that he'll fall over on stage, tripping over a cord or something, then seeing it the next day on Youtube, liked you would with Britney Spears. It made me think that there's more and more acceptance of this culture, and even though I'm diving into it as well, it just doesn't feel right. I'm hoping that it can evolve or branch out into something that's more palateable, if that makes any sense.

Top concerts - 2008

2008-11-30T17:52:00.000-08:00

2008 turned out to be another awesome year for me in terms of concerts that I was fortunate enough to attend. Though they were all a pleasure to be in person for, these are five that made the biggest impression on me in no particular order.

Treasure Island Music Festival - September 21st, Treasure Island

Imagine having 14 bands playing in back to back to back slots, 35-55 minutes each, with names like Okkervil River, Tegan and Sara, Vampire Weekend, Fleet Foxes, John Vanderslice and the Rancetours. Imagine walking between two stages across an island with the San Francisco skyline in the background with no gap between the performances. Imagine this happening on a beautiful fall day with beer available for purchase. Yes, this did indeed happen and was as fun as you could possibly imagine. Here are a handful of bands that I enjoyed seeing:

John Vanderslice

The last time time I had seen him performing on his own, he was leading off the night for Neko Case at Bimbo's 365. He only had a drummer, his guitar and some sort of gadget for playing everything else. This time he had a full band, though he mentioned that he was worried about one of his band-mates being there as he had come in on a delayed flight that morning. But all was well and they put on a nice set, moving through many of his "Emerald City" tracks. His nearly-late band-mate added a nice violin as he crooned through his politically-charged melodies.

Port O'Brien

Many of the bands that I had not heard before, such as Dr. Dog, The Dodos, etc weren't as fun for me and most of it I attributed to not knowing their songs. Port O'Brien could have been in the same category, but I ended up enjoying them immediately, which is a great sign for liking a band. The two-part harmony produced by the lead members was easy on the ears and I enjoyed the expressive nature of their lyrics. I'll be looking forward to more from them.

Okkervil River

This was probably the band I looked forward to seeing the most and they didn't disappoint. Frontman Will Sheff playfully led his band through parts of the Stage Names and Stand Ins. We were impressed by one of the lead guitarists, a female who was responsible for many of these songs' familiar riffs for the afternoon. I really enjoyed the very limited time they had to perform and will keeping an eye on i-calendar for a full show.

Vampire Weekend

If I had to pick the best performance of the day, I think it would be these preppy Ivy-Leaguers that you would swear were out of place as they took the stage. In between songs, their lead singer politely said "thanks" in his collared shirt and khaki pants. Chris made the comment that it almost seemed like they were performing at an after school event for their parents. This says nothing about the way they played though as they drove tightly through each song on their debut album. There has definitely been a buzz around them this year, as there was on Treasure Island that day, and well deserved. These guys are for real.

Tegan and Sara

As darkness was suddenly settling in, these teenage-looking twins lit up the island with a terrific set, primarily pulling songs from The Con. Interjecting laid back humor in between frenetic, heart felt numbers, they showed a big stage presence that was exciting to take in. After a long day of rocking, they were very much worth waiting for.

Memorable Numbers: White Dove, The Tower, Kookaburra (John Vanderslice) Lost Coastlines, Unless its Kicks, Girl in Port, Starry Stairs (Okkervil River) Oxford Comma, Cape Cod Kassawassa, M79 (Vampire Weekend), Soil Soil, Dark Come Soon, The Con, Nineteen (Tegan and Sara)

Great Lyric:

the sky was filled with vaporized dust, raining,
White on White
Like streamers of dirty confetti
White on White
The Chrysler building disappeared

Kookaburra - John Vanderslice

R.E.M., The National, Modest Mouse - June 1st, Greek Theater, Berkeley

Going into the concert, my two main reasons for being there were The National and Modest Mouse, which turned out to be a lot of money to be shelling out for a couple of Indie bands. R.E.M has a few familiar songs from the 90's that I like, I had heard they sound great live and it's been said that they were one of the original "Indie bands" that were able to make it big. That was enough for me to give them a shot.

The National played a bunch of their songs from Alligator and Boxer, enough to make an enjoyable set. As for Modest Mouse, I'm most familiar with The Moon and Antartica, which they didn't seem to play anything from, so they were fun, but could have been a lot better for me. Both bands didn't seem as exciting as they should have been though, with the outdoor Greek Theater barely populated and people strolling in and out for refreshments. Also, The sound system didn't seem to be set at full tilt for them. They deserved much better than to be treated like lame cover bands.

As for R.E.M, they made up for this by blowing me away. They put out a great mix of familiar favorites with chunks from their new album and stuff I hadn't heard before. Michael Stipe played well to the crowd and his voice was in great form. In the background, they added a colorfully dazzling light and video effects, which complemented their music very nicely. I think what I was most impressed with though, was the musicianship of the band, which shouldn't be too surprising given the amount of time they had performed together and the success they've enjoyed. The guitarists that flanked Stipe were not only great players, but also had sweet voices that harmonized well with him. When listening to a CD, I some times wonder how much of the production is hiding the quality of the musicians. There didn't seem to be any smoke and mirrors around these guys, which was evident when they moved to a more acoustic set up for a few of their new songs. These guys could really rock.

Memorable Numbers: Mr. November, Fake Empire, Racing Like a Pro (The National), Orange Crush, Losing My Religion, Stand, Daysleeper (R.E.M.)

Great Lyric:

I'm Mr. November, I won't fuck us over.

Mr. November - The National

Jackie Greene, April 10th, The Fillmore

It was only a few years ago that I was able to watch this musical prodigy from Sacramento perform for free on numerous occasions to a growing audience. On Memorial Day weekend of 2006, I finally contributed money to his efforts, which felt very strange, but it was well worth it as he put on an amazing two hour show at Nicassio Ranch while I munched on a BBQ lunch on a late spring afternoon. It was a concert that would have easily sat at the top of my list for that year (had I decided to compile one), but he upped the ante even higher at the Filmore in 2008. Two horn players enhanced the already strong band that surrounded him at Nicassio and the performance was punctuated with the last few numbers getting a hand from the Grateful Dead's Phil Lesh. Yet he was still the same old Jackie Greene, with or without

the endorsement, dazzling his audience with his instrumental genius, a booming voice and hauntingly poignant lyrics

Memorable Numbers: Like a Ball & Chain, Don't Let The Devil Take Your Mind, Prayer For Spanish Harlem, Uphill Mountain, Honey I Been Thinking About You, Never Satisfied, So Hard To Find My Way, Mexican Girl, Sugar Magnolia

Great Lyric:

now i don't really care about your hot-blooded sister
i'm sure theres a man for to love her and miss her
i didn't mean nothing, i just happened to kiss her
but honey i was thinking about you

Honey I Been Thinking About You

The Decemberists, November 25th, The Warfield

I had a chance to catch this wonderful band for the third time at The Warfield and while they were just as charming as the other two times, we were blessed with our best seats, being in the first row of the balcony, towards the middle of the theater. I had a chance to see their front man Colin Meloy at the Rio Theater in Santa Cruz earlier in the year, which was a treat in itself, but didn't compare to seeing him with his full band. They're all extremely talented and he seems to have more energy and fun playing with them. Part of the fun was when they engaged with the Warfield audience, leading us in a "Yes We Can" - "Yes We Did" call-and-response in the middle of "The Perfect Crime" (they actually played for Obama at a rally in Portland this year). There was also a great scene when Colin asked the audience on the floor to put their arms around their neighbors, which they did, and he remarked how no one ever does this for him, except in San Francisco. Back to the performance (lest I forget), they came with a great set, picking a lot of my favorite songs from their collection of albums. The first time I saw them, my friend Dan remarked how "tight" they were as players and I thought of this as they dazzled me with their high degree of professional play.

Memorable Numbers: Here I Dreamt I was an Architect, July July, Valencia, The Perfect Crime, On The Bus Mall, Mariner's Revenge, Valerie Plame, Sons & Daughters, The

Engine Driver

Great Lyric:

and here in spain I am a spaniard
I will be buried with my marionettes
Countess and courtesan
Have fallen 'neath my tender hand
When their husbands were not around
But you, my soiled teenage girlfriend
Or are you furrowed like a lioness
And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death

Here I Dreamt I was an Architect

Grainy camera phone shot of The Decemberists from the Warfield balcony

Frightened Rabbit, November 1, Bottom of the Hill

This was my fourth visit of 2008 to The Bottom of the Hill (Mountain Goats, Laura Veirs and Boat were visits one, two and three). This has given me great appreciation for the Potrero Hill /Goat Hill area, which has some very cool little bars, restaurants and shops if you're willing to give your calves a work out and put your emergency breaks to a true test. This time I made a second pre-concert stop at Goat Hill Pizza, downing a slice of pie, some minestrone soup and a pint of Anchor Steam beer while taking part in some people watching at their window side seating. I highly recommend a stop there.

All of this fun aside, Frightened Rabbit was probably one of the most highly coveted concerts for me having enjoyed their Midnight Organ Fight album that they released this year. What's funny is that they weren't even the head liner for the night (Spinto Band was), so I was able to hear them earlier in evening than I thought I would. The band was a little rough around the edges as you would expect from one just starting to tour, but it was very enjoyable to hear them play through their break through album. Front man Scott Hutchinson sang his beautifully morose lyrics with heart felt conviction. He harmonized well with his brother Grant who played behind him on drums and there was a lot of guitar and keyboard switching being done with his other two band-mates. I'm hoping that their 2008 success is the start of something special from these gents from Scotland.

One of the cooler moments of the night was when I was catching the first few songs of the headlining Spinto Band. Directly to my left, sipping a beer and bobbing his head was Scott Hutchinson himself, the same guy whose Scottish-accented voice I had heard more than any other that past month, continually running Midnight Organ Fight from my ipod. Sweet.

Memorable Numbers: Modern Leper, Head Rolls Off, My Backwards Walk, Keep Yourself Warm, I Feel Better

Great Lyric:

i'm working on drawing a straight line
and i'll draw until i get one right
it's bold and dark girl, can't you see

i done drawn a line between you and me

My Backwards Walk

Honorable Mentions

One of the highlights of my trip to Ireland was a Musical Pub Crawl starting from the Gogarty Bar in the Temple Bar area of Dublin. It was great fun to get a history lesson on traditional Irish folk music and hear some samples. The two gentlemen that led the crawl were as delighted to entertain as we were to be entertained.

Brandi Carlile was one of my rolls of the dice this year as I was more sure about the venue of the Rio Theater than the performer herself. I was treated to a fun night as her band played through a set that alternated nicely from country to indie rock. I was also surrounded by young women, so I had absolutely nothing to complain about as I left the theater.

Another grainy shot from floor level of Brandi Carlile in the Rio Theater

Fun in the Fall in Wisconsin

2008-10-10T15:59:00.000-07:00

I recently made a trip to Wisconsin, courtesy of IBM, for a recruiting trip to one the finest towns in all of the world, Madison. Here are some of the highlights of that trip.

Night run out to Picnic Point

Picnic point is a mile-long (at least if feels that long) peninsula that juts out from the southern shore of Lake Mendota. I've walked, biked and ran out there many times during all hours and all seasons and still get a charge heading out there. This time I tried a night run, which was challenging, given there are points where its hard to see your hand in front of your face because it's heavily wooded. But the reward lies in the view you get of the state capital that's lit up at night. I sat on a tree trunk that stretches in that direction and just let the gentle waves splash against the soles of my running shoes. Great time.

Music at Mickey's Tavern

After my night run out to the point I decided to check out the Madison music scene, following a recommendation given by a local section in the Onion. The recommendation for the night was the God Damns, who were playing at Mickey's Tavern (day shot below). When I got to the tavern, the place looked stuffed, even for the cover band, who I could hear quite well from the outside. I decided to wait them out until entering, which was kinda fun because I found that the tavern was right off of a bike path, which led to people riding up on their bikes to lock up and catch the show. Super cool. When I went into the tavern, I found the place to be more spacious than what I saw when peaking in. It took the real meaning of "pub", which is public house, to heart, having a little living room, rec room and outdoor patio along with its bar, which had a meandering shape to it. The band itself, wasn't quite my cup of tea being a little too hard rocking, but I had fun nonetheless. Some girls in the crowd heckled them and I took them to be close friends.

Midsummer Night's Dream at the American Player's Theater in Spring Green

It had been since High School that I had made a trip to Spring Green, which lies just to the west of Madison, for a play at the American Players Theater, a very pleasant outdoor theater. I took my parents to a showing of Midsummer Night's Dream and we had a blast. 90% of the crowd were students on a field trip and we were amazed at how well behaved they were, but concluded that this was due to the quality of the acting, which we thought captivated everyone's attention along with ours. After the show we went down town for a bite to eat and noticed a lot of Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. He lived a good portion of his life in Spring Green, having his Taliesin school there.

Love Like Fire at the Frequency

Having an itch to continue my education of the Madison music scene, I gave the Onion's recommendation another shot for the night, which led me to the Frequency bar, a dive that was just a block off of the capital. The recommended band was Love Like Fire, who had received some praise from Death Cab for Cutie and had a lead singer that had been compared to Bjork. I deposited my 5 dollar cover charge and took my spotted cow into the musical area of the club and caught the last half hour of the cover band. I leaned up against the wall with a couple interesting-looking characters, one being a tatooed, tall drink of water with shaved head and dark rimmed glasses and the other being a Chinese girl with a white t-shirt and black tights. It turned out they were half of Love Like Fire, which I suspected, and were from San Francisco of all places. They put on a really fun show, the highlight being when the drummer's parents walked near the stage and started dancing. It turned out the drummer was from Wisconsin and I chatted with him afterwards, letting him know I had come all the way from Mountain View to see them. :-)

Farmer's Market on the Capital Square

One of the finest farmer's markets occurs on Saturdays around the state capital building. We picked up some scones from one of the bakers and loaded up on honey crisp apples while taking the loop around the square. There were plenty of cheese curds and organic goodies to be had. It was also nice to see some tables set up with Obama supporters, encouraging people to vote. It was a beautiful 70 degree day, and with the colder weather approaching, we figured there wouldn't be many more of these days left this year.

Bike Ride half way around Lake Monona

My dad and I rented bikes at the Machinery Row Bike Shop on Williamson and took a ride half way around Lake Monona. I wanted to try the path that went by Mickey's Tavern to see where it led and it turned out to be part of a path around the lake. Our ride took us very close to Olbrich Botanical Gardens a place I've taken a few visits to this year, one in the dead of winter and one in the summer. We then circled back to Monona Terrace and took a ride along John Nolen Drive, one of the prettiest stretches in Madison (see the video below). We were pleasantly surprised at how quiet the neighborhoods were along the way to the terrace, allowing us to cruise along without any traffic. Note, if you're going to rent a bike in Madison, I'd recommend Williamson Bicycle on E. Washington. This company used to be where Machinery Row is now and they definitely rent out better bikes (New Marins vs Beat up Gary Fishers) at cheaper prices ($15 per day vs $20).

Afterwards I took some pictures of some parts of the ride, including a shot down the Yahara river and a girls soccer game against the backdrop of the lake. I always love the idea of playing sports with natural beauty in background.

It reminded me of playing basketball at James Madison Park on Lake Mendota, which led me over there for some more pictures. I was delighted to see the beginnings of an Obama rally, one where it looked as though they were going to incorporate some a giant game of twister. It was nice to take in the liberal flavor that Madison has such a nice taste of.

Babcock Ice Cream on Mendota Terrace

Of course no trip to Madison is complete without some ice cream from Memorial Union. I had to get a sugar cone scoop of Blue Moon and sit out on the terrace for a little while before taking the drive back to West Bend to spend some time with the rest of my family. It was beautiful day for ice cream and lake watching.

Hike up Dundee Mountain in the Kettle Moraine

Ok, so it isn't exactly a mountain in the altitude sense, but there's a beautiful hiking area in Dundee, WI that's part of the Kettle Moraine a preserved area that is home to many glacial features that are remnants of the ice age. The trail we took was lined with wild flowers, a look which is typically only familiar to me during the California spring. I took the hike to the peak, which isn't strenuous, but does lead to some beautiful views of fall foliage and of Long Lake. At the top I received a reward in the form of a little apple from a tree that was filled with them. It was a tasty treat that accompanied my gorgeous overlook.

And that was my awesome trip to Wisconsin. Here are some more pictures of the trip.

Brandi Carlile at the Rio Theater June 23rd

2008-06-24T12:10:00.000-07:00

On a whim I decided to head down to Santa Cruz on a Monday night to take in a Brandi Carlile concert at the Rio Theater, which is turning out to be one of my favorite venues. I caught Colin Meloy there a couple months ago and was hoping to find another appealing act so I could make another visit. She turned out to be the one.

I heard her for the first time on sirius radio when I was down in Arizona in a rental car. It was the song Turpentine on their "Coffee House" channel and I made an effort to remember her name so that I could at least grab that song off of i-tunes. I really liked the sound of her voice and accompanying harmony. Despite the fact that she has a little bit of a "country" tag, she also has a lot of folk and rock in her repertoire, enough to hook me in. I decided to give her a shot.

As I came into the theater to the last half of the opening act, a giggly wisp of a girl named Priscilla Ahn, I wondered what I'd be in for. I was somewhat hoping that she had at least a couple band mates. Colin Meloy had held up well on his own, but Laura Veirs, who I saw at another show, would have faired better with some company. With an act named "Brandi Carlile", it was hard to tell what that meant, though I was encouraged by seeing several guitars on stage with a drum set.

Ahn finished out her set, which wasn't too bad despite having to listen to some banter in between songs that could have been shortened a bit. She also had this laugh that could have easily made a Seinfeld episode (Jerry dates a girl that is perfect with the exception of a grating laugh. Wackiness ensues.). What was interesting about her is that she almost seemed to mature 10 years when going from talking to performing, having a fairly rich voice and some respectable musical talent. As far as opening acts go, she did pretty well.

Back to Brandi...Her band surprised the hell out of me. She came out in jeans and a boy scout shirt greeted by a predominantly female audience, which was also very young, especially those standing up in the front. I felt like I was at some sort of feminist sit in. Soon afterwards the rest of her band came out, which included a lead and bass guitar, cellist and a drummer. They launched right into a rock oriented number that played pretty well.

Compared to Brandi and the rest of the band, the two guitarists looked out of place with trilby hats covering their shaved heads and tattoos of snakes and vines wrapped around their arms. I could picture them in a heavy metal or punk band, but not performing something like The Story or Turpentine. But it's best not to judge a book by its cover as I heard the band fluctuating between folksy ballads, bluesy country and what might be called alternative rock. These guys, who I realized later were identical twins, harmonized well with Brandi's vocals. With her acoustic guitar in the middle of their electrics, they made a nice trio. The cellist added some nice strings, especially with the stripped down songs and the drummer seemed more than adequate. Both of these guys seemed around the college age and like Brandi, looked like they could be your next door neighbors, but again, best not to judge a book by its cover.

Brandi herself evoked thoughts of a female Jackie Greene. She's probably not quite the instrumental prodigy that he is, but she held her own on guitar and piano and exhibited a rich and booming voice, surprising for someone so diminutive in stature. She also had a lot of charisma and was willing to take chances on an eclectic mix of music that she had put some nice words to. I was smitten.

The set included a lot of their new songs, which were very pleasing, ones I'll be looking forward to on an album that comes this fall. She did Turpentine and The Story of course, which were fun to hear, but these songs did not end up being a crutch or an exclamation point for the performance. Probably my favorite number was an unplugged version of a new song where she ditched the microphone (asking if people could hear her in the back) and the twins pulled out acoustic guitars. It sounded beautiful. They also did three nice covers: Creep from Radio Head, an Elton John song called "We All Fall in Love Some Times", stripped down to only piano and cello and they finished with Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues. It was a gorgeous set.

I came away feeling very happy that I had made the trip down to the Rio Theater again. I'll definitely be looking forward to more music and shows from Brandi Carlile.

Movie Review: Reprise

2008-05-31T09:04:00.000-07:00

After looking through the latest movie ratings on metacritic, I decided to take a shot at Reprise. Since I had to head up to San Francisco to see it at Embarcadero one, I decided to make a nice Sunday out of it by combining it with a scenic run along the Marina.

Reprise is a Norwegian film, which I think is the first I've ever seen of that Nationality. It takes place in Oslo and focuses on the literary and life aspirations of two friends played by Anders Danielsen Lie and Espen Klouman-Høiner in their early 20's who are joined by a common interest in literature and writing, finding heroes in Norwegian authors and driven towards finding company among them.

The film begins with them standing in front of a mail box with their first novels packaged in yellow envelopes, both standing with hesitant feelings knowing that dropping their work down the slot will have a major effect on their young lives. At this moment in the film and as the film progresses, it's clear that the prospect of rejection is much more benign than the realization of fame.

For one, it's the latter that occurs, leading to time in the spotlight, which becomes much too bright when combined with the onset of mental illness that follows a turbulent romance. Whether this mental decline is brought on by the pressure and attention that accompanies his newfound fame or his relationship with his new girl friend (Kari, played by Viktoria Winge), that remains unclear. What does seem apparent is that the joy of writing is gone for him as he struggles to reconnect his life.

As for his friend, he is relieved to have his novel rejected, allowing to him continue living as he was. In this way he's not as tempted to make any drastic changes to his life, which he does question subtly as he lives at home and spends time with friends and a girl friend who provide support, but do not challenge him.

The most compelling theme of the movie is the friendship between the two young writers, whose support and sympathy for each other overcomes their quiet competition and the repelling angst brought on by the mental and emotional problems faced by one of them. As the movie switches gears between tenses, it's clear that their relationship is meant to be lifelong.

I enjoyed the dark humor of the movie, which had me laughing at various points. I also liked the theme of following one's bliss despite the odds and challenges that accompany that philosophy. It was not hard to relate to the characters and life styles despite the foreign setting. If you're looking for sense of what Oslo is like, this is probably not the movie for it as I left feeling as if it could have been set in Minnesota as far as I saw.

Colin Meloy at the Rio Theater 4/29

2008-04-30T17:56:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night I took a trip with some friends down 17 to Santa Cruz to take in some music from Colin Meloy of the Decemberists, who was on the tail end of a solo tour. I had seen him a couple times at the Warfield with his band in tow, but was very excited about the idea of seeing him on his own in a more intimate setting.

The Rio Theater turned out to be that intimate setting that I was hoping for. It's a basic movie theater with roughly the first 15 rows removed from the front, creating a mini-Warfield with seats in back and some open space to stand in front of the stage. Since I had bought the tickets to get closer to the action, I took a b-line to the stage as I walked in and was able to find a spot that was about 15 feet from the mic. As my friend Jim noticed, I had trouble containing the giddiness I was feeling about being in the spot we were in. "I can't believe we'll be this close to Colin Meloy", I said.

He came out around 9 PM and launched right into "California One" on his 12 string, appropriate since the song's subject was probably a mile or two from where we stood. So we took the long drive with him and right away I was enjoying the proximity, getting a better appreciation of the effort he puts into his vocals and playing. He sounded awesome.

He followed with another familiar song, one which I can't remember right now, then addressed the audience, "Hi, I'm Collin. Did I say that yet? No? Sorry, I'm Collin" He sipped a glass of wine that had an accompanying bottle next to it and lamented that he was really lacking sleep. The talk of sleep deprivation reminded me of how I had felt 9 days earlier, coming into this same Santa Cruz at the end of The Relay, a 199 mile team-oriented race from Calistoga to the Boardwalk.

Despite his exhaustion, he had no trouble cruising through some favorites, including "The Apology Song", which he explained was written for "practical purposes" to use on a call to a friend who was in Oxford. He played "The Sporting Life", which he said was semi-autobiographical, taking him back to a soccer field in Montana, back in 1982. He played "Ocean Side" in honor of the day in Santa Cruz, then played "Cautionary Song" to address the upcoming Mother's day.

After these crowd pleasing ditties, he decided to give us a peak into some of his new stuff, which he claimed was in "an embryonic stage", but would be part of a new album that they wanted to record in the summer (hoorah!). Similar to The Crane wife, the song he belted out was of the multi-part, multi-voice variety, sounding like another masterpiece in the making. At some points he seemed to move into a hard rock mode, passionately making long single strums on his guitar. I could almost see the Decemberists around him, as he may have been imagining, assisting in bringing the number to its peak. There were some funny moments during the song where he had to pause for a moment to remember the next set of lyrics, but this didn't affect the continuity of the song. When he finished he said, "Well, this is a work in progress" . To me, the song seemed about ready to record.

In between sets he talked about how he had met Johnny Marr by chance in an Ikea in Portland. He said that he expected to run into him at some point by an overlap of their circles, but never imagined meeting him in a Swedish furniture store. He said he had two long throw pillows in the cart he was pushing.

That topic was inspired by another he then spoke about, which related to his "Colin Sings" EPs (typically 5 cover songs for one artist) that he does in conjunction with his solo tours. He had done a Morrissey EP for a previous tour, which covered songs of Marr's former band mate of The Smiths.

This led to his next song in which he brought Laura Gibson, his cover act, onto the stage to perform "Cupid" (part of his current Collin Sings Sam Cooke set) with him. We had caught 3-4 songs from her previously and had a neutral reaction to her, agreeing that she appeared to lack some self esteem on stage, being perhaps a little too self deprecating. Her songs also seemed a little too melancholy overall. She redeemed herself in this duet though, which I thought was one of the highlights of the night. They both gave the recognizable song a pleasing flavor. As well as Colin Meloy does on his own, I could have heard a few more duets and would have been very happy.

He then said it was time to move from "make out" songs to ones of cold blooded murder. So he played the Shankhill Butchers and Valencia from The Crane Wife. I could hear someone rattling their keys for the first one, which he didn't seem to notice.

The encore included Billy Liar, Odalisque (which he played on request), and ended with one of my favorites, Mariner's Revenge. For the part played by the song's protagonist's mother, he enlisted the help of the audience, which adequately, though comically, accommodated him. I was impressed by the number of people that knew the words. He tried to get us to simulate the death of this mother by falling to the ground, but I had the feeling that everyone was about as stiff as I was from standing. I knew that once I went down, which was one challenge, I'd have a tough time getting back up. Just like at the Warfield, where he finished with the same song, he had us scream at the point that the whale shows up in the song (His lead guitarist actually wore a whale costume at the Warfield). It was a great song to end the night with.

Overall, the experience was the one I had been hoping for as he put on a great show. I'll be looking forward to more music at the Rio Theater, which turned out to be a nice little venue (and ended up being packed, which surprised me when I turned around at the end). We also found a pretty good taqueria down the street called Taqueria Santa Cruz II

For additional reading, here's a nice article from a Madison site on his tour: http://www.madison.com/tct/entertainment/stories/282650

One funny footnote...One thing Colin Meloy calls attention to is that when he tunes his guitar, he stands on his tippy toes for some reason. He said that it might be mentioned in his wikipedia entry, which it wasn't until the next morning (check out the footnote...and no, it wasn't me). :-)

My first Spring Training experience

2008-03-11T21:04:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I had the fortune of making a trip down to sunny Arizona to take in some spring training baseball for the first time. A few of my sports-loving friends had told me about this experience encouraging me to do it. My friends Frank and Dennis made plans to do so this year and were kind enough to invite me along for the ride. How could I resist?

We flew down Friday morning to Phoenix, with the plan of renting a car and b-lining to A's - Giants game in Scottsdale. On the shuttle bus to the PHX rental center, there were a small group of guys that looked to be in their mid twenties, talkin' baseball. I didn't catch a lot of the conversation, but they used terms like OPS and WHIP, which is hard core language, often used by fantasy players. A friend had told me that I'd see mostly the die-hard fans down at spring training. This was a taste of that.

After grabbing a quick lunch at Cousin's subs (hey, that's a Wisconsin chain!) we went to the game at Scottsdale Stadium, a nice little park where we had bleacher seats down the third base line. It was a beautiful day for baseball, though it actually felt a little warm with the Arizona sun beating down on us. Thank goodness for Dennis's sun screen. It was definitely sun burn weather.

The game itself was a little boring, with not a lot of run production. The only A's names I recognized were Dan Johnson, who did homer, Jack Cust, and Alan Embree. Just some of the few spared by the Billy Beane house cleaning. Despite the lack of offense and name recognition, it was fun to kick back with a beer and check out some baseball. A nice feature of the Scottsdale stadium, which I think is true of other ball parks, is that there's a nice grassy hill (a little too big to be called a "knoll") behind the outfield fence where fans can graze and take in the action.

After the game, we headed to where our beds would be, in Tucson with our friends. It took us roughly an hour and a half to get to my friend Dan's with only some small patches of slow rush hour traffic. My nuvi did the trick on finding his place. "You have arrived at Casa de Dano." :-)

Dan was prepared for our growing appetites and took us to Zachary's Pizza, a place he had claimed to have gone to for 20+ years with lots of good memories. As we walked to our table, I scanned the draught beers on a chalk board where my eyes stopped on Left Hand Milk Stout. One pint please. Delicious.

Speaking of, Zachary's deep dish was wonderful. Dan recommended that we limit our topping choices to 1 or 2 (he even said that cheese would be just fine). He was right, we got a lot of pizza that was piled thick on rich crust. Three pieces later and I was stuffed. I washed that down with my second pint, this time some Ace Pear Cider that was just as good as the stout. I even enticed Dan's non-beer-drinking girl friend into a pint after giving her a sip. She now has a great alternative to water at Zachary's.

The next morning Dennis, Frank and I went on a mission to burn off that pizza and beer with a run in Sabino Canyon. We followed the Bear Creek trail for about an hour before turning back, getting a very scenic run in that included several creek crossings. Having not gone to Death Valley for the first time in 8 years, I was happy to be getting some desert canyon running in, especially while it was still cool and water was flowing. We saw lots of hikers and a couple runners sharing the morning with us at Sabino.

After the run, Dan took me to another haunt for lunch, this time for some sandwiches at Bison Witches on 4th street. Tucson doesn't really have much of a down town, but 4th street is where a lot of the charm and fun appears to be, with lots of shops and restaurants inside colorfully painted old buildings. It reminded me a bit of the Haight-Ashbury area of San Francisco. As for the lunch, I went for the "Tucson", trying to be appropriate, with a little bread bowl potato soup. Yummy. The place definitely had a college feel to it with some young-looking faces having some lunch and beer.

Afterwards we checked out the Giants and Sox at Tucson Electric Park, a spring home that the Sox share with the Diamond Backs. I preferred this stadium to Scottsdale, actually, because of the single seats (much easier on the back). The Sox led off with a familiar face in Nick Swisher, who I was happy to see double down the left field line. It was certainly strange to not see him wearing A's green and yellow, but fun to watch him play again. Again, I was glad to be offered some sunscreen, this time by Dennis's friend. The day started overcast, but the clouds were gone by the third inning and all the sun had left to burn was our skin. It wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but I was definitely not acclimated to summer weather yet.

That night, I had some fun playing some poker at Casa de Dano with a small group of his friends. He has two tables and lots of chips, many of which are customized with Dano Poker on them. I was amazed at how quickly everyone at the table was able to play and able to carry on conversation, often deriding each other, while I was focused on figuring out how to survive the game. I got knocked out 3rd, which I was actually happy about, given the experience in the table. I thought of the line from Rounders of "The first thing you do in Poker is spot the sucker at the table. If you can't spot the sucker, you are the sucker." That was me.

The third day of our trip led us to Kartchner Caverns in the city of Benson, roughly an hour south of Tucson. This living cave was discovered in 1988 by a couple of spelunkers from the University of Arizona. Having seen a few caves ruined by garbage and graffiti, they decided to keep the cave a secret until 2002, when word was beginning to spread and they had their hand forced by a member of the local media who had learned about the location of cave's entrance. They confided in the Kartchner family, who shared their feelings on conservationism, and eventually sold their land and the underlying cave that to the State of Arizona.

Well, the State of Arizona should be proud of what they've done with this national treasure because the tour was incredible. We took the Big Room tour, which led us along a nicely paved and railed path through the caverns. Our tour guide, an older man who beamed with enthusiasm and pride for the cave pointed out many of the cave's stalactites (hanging down from the ceiling), stalagmites (coming up from the ground) Helectites (going any direction they want), soda straws (the soda straw-thin fetus of the 3 mentioned features) and many others which had taken between 70 and 200 thousand years to form using single drops of water. The cave is still "living", which means these lime stone sculptures are still growing as I write this. The sights in the cave were breath taking, even without knowing their history, which boggles the mind. What a treat it was to be walking around in something of this magnitude. Despite all of the fun I was having watching baseball and eating great food, this was probably the highlight of the trip.

That afternoon it was back to baseball, this time trying a couple of new teams in the local favorites of the Diamond Backs and the Seattle Mariners. I was a little disappointed to not see Ichiro in the line up, but was consoled by the fact that Eric Byrnes led off and Brandon Webb was on the hill. It's fun to see Byrnsie play, as he was one of my favorite A's and still does a lot of filling in for Bay Area sports radio. My friend Dean met him in an airport a few years ago and said he's just as friendly in person as what you see on T.V. He's a refreshing character among a game of exposed villains. The game itself had a lot of offense and the temperature was in the high 60's. I had finally hit the sweet spot of baseball viewing. Ahhhh...good stuff.

That night, Dan, Debbie and his friend Sloodge took me to La Parrilla a Suiza, his favorite restaurant in Tucson. I had a #15, which was a combination of two soft tacos filled with sauteed chicken with green peppers, onions and a little bacon along with some chicken quesadillas and refried beans. This was one of Dan's favorites and I could tell why. It played well with my taste buds and I washed it down with a tasty frozen margarita. It was a perfect last meal in Tucson.

The next morning Dennis, Frank and I reluctantly made our way back to Phoenix, to fly back to the Bay Area. Before going to the air port, we hit the South Mountain Park for a scenic drive, climbing to the summit for a gorgeous view of Phoenix and the mountainous desert landscape that surrounded it. Yellow wild flowers were sprinkled on both sides of the windy road that we took to get there. It was well worth the ride.

Of course I must mention lunch one more time, as we decided to make a preflight stop at Veneto Trattoria in Scottsdale. Dennis had found this one on the internet of the top lunch spots in the Phoenix. We all had panninis with vegetable puree soup along with a glass of wine each for Frank and me. Our waiter sounded like he had an Italian accent, which was a great sign, and it was, everything was delicious, especially the bread.

So that was my spring training and Arizona experience. Pictures coming soon.

Favorite Concerts 2007

2008-01-01T21:50:00.000-08:00

In 2007 I was lucky enough to attend a lot of wonderful concerts, primarily in San Francisco, which is loaded with terrific venues that play just about everybody. At first I was planning on ranking the concerts, but with second thoughts, I just didn't think it was right to do that, since I had a lot of fun at each of them. However, I would like to like to point out 5 of them that stood out for me, with a couple honorable mentions. These are in no particular order:

The Weakerthans at Slim's

This was probably the biggest surprise for me and a very pleasant one. When I see the words "Reunion Tour", the thoughts of "We need money" or "We're feeling nostalgic" pop into my head, which doesn't always lead to a great concert. I don't have much of a feel for how this band performed prior to their reunion, but I thought they were awesome in the present. Their style is very subtle compared to the cathartic outpouring I've seen with many other bands on stage (see The Mountain Goats, The Hold Steady), but they're still powerful. I think this is due mainly to the compelling quality of their song lyrics, but I also thought that they had great chemistry on stage and came with a nice balance of crowd pleasing numbers from "Reconstruction Site" and some nice new tracks from "Reunion Tour". The sly smile from front man John Samson at the end of each set seemed to radiate a thought that his audience still gets it and his band has still got it.

Memorable numbers: Reconstruction Site, Sun in Empty Room, Psalm for the Elks Lodge Last Call, Benediction, Our Great City, Plea From A Cat Named Virtue

Great Lyric:
Buy me a shiny new machine
that runs on lies and gasoline,
and all those batteries we stole from smoke alarms,
and disassembles my despair,
It never got me anywhere
and never once bought me a drink.

The Frames with Marketa Irglova at Regency Grand Ballroom

As much as I loved the movie Once, which starred Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, I was even more pleased to take in a live performance by these two, along with some Frames players at the beautiful Regency Grand Ballroom. After enjoying a delicious meal from Citizen Cake, my friend Frank and I just caught the start of the concert, which started with Glen Hansard on stage behind his holey guitar (It actually has big holes in it!), belting out Say It to Me Now. His lovely co-star joined him on stage soon after for a couple more songs from their hit movie, and then three more Frames members (a guitar, cello and violinist) entered to complete the group. What fantastic musicians they are. I felt some chills as they performed "Falling Slowly", especially when Hansard encouraged us to help with the chorus and was blown away by his solo performance of "Leave". Irglova is his secret weapon, sitting primarily at piano, but also taking his beat up guitar from him at times and coyly stepping into the spotlight. I loved her rendition of "All the Way Down". Hansard was hilarious and engaging between songs, describing the background of each one, some times rather clumsily, which made it all the funnier. While making references to Joyce and Wilde, as proud Irishmen tend to do, and interacting with a fairly Irish audience, I felt as if I was transported over seas to an enormous and elaborate pub. The concert itself was an enormous and elaborate treat.

Memorable numbers: Falling Slowly, If You Want Me, Lies, Leave, All the Way Down, Once, Star Star

Next time I hope they play: Everything they played the first time

Great Lyric:

Star, Star teach me how to shine, shine
teach me so I know what's goin' on in your mind
- Star Star

The Hold Steady at Slim's and The Mezzanine,

I received two doses of this Brooklyn based (yet heavily Twin Cities laced) band. The first was at Slim's and the second at the Mezzanine. They were supposed to play at The Warfield the second time, but I suspected that they hadn't quite built the fan base for that venue yet. Whatever the real reason, I was not disappointed in the move as I think they belong in a bar, performing for an intimate, standing crowd while knocking down a few cold ones. They perform at 100 MPH bringing a hard rockin', guitar slaying style to the Indie pop scene mixed with colorful lyrics from front man Craig Finn who mouths his lyrics on the side after spouting them into the microphone, both times at a fevered pace. The Mezzanine was an interesting new place to see a show, especially with their movie projector shining live footage of the band superimposed on different settings (e.g. on a beach at night) onto a wall to the right of the stage. Finn and his band mates ended both shows dripping in sweat and calling attention to the the joy they were feeling being able to do what they do best. You couldn't help but get caught up in the fun. Both times I felt as spent as the band looked as they staggered off the stage.

Memorable numbers: Stuck Between Stations, South Town Girls, Chips Ahoy, Chill Out Tent, First Night

Next time I hope they play: Arms and Hearts

Great Lyric:
There was a stage and a PA up in western massachussetts.
The kids came from miles around to get messed up on the music.
- Chill Out Tent

The New Pornographers at The Warfield

I was happy to see this Canadian band come south for a tour, fresh off of their new album Challengers, one which I enjoyed at first listen and even more so after frequent takes. Yes this will sound so cliche', but they sounded much better live, much more so than I could have imagined. Fronted by an amazing vocal trio of A.C. Newman, Neko Case and Kathryn Calder they tore through most of their latest album's best along with familiar favorites. Dan Bejar of Destroyer, who contributed to 3 Challengers tracks, added a nice change up to their repertoire. His cryptic lyrics and androgynous nature meshed beautifully with the pornographers leading to what I thought were the most fun parts of their set. Combined with Newman's lyrical magic and Case's astounding vocals, it wouldn't be hard to label them a "supergroup". There was a moment after their first couple of songs where Newman stared into the two-tiered audience and said something to the effect of "It's weird to be putting on a rock concert...Does this mean we're rock stars?" Yes, I think you are.

Memorable Numbers: Challengers, My Rights Versus Yours, Unguided, Myriad Harbor, Entering White Cecilia, Mutiny, I Promise You, Spanish Techno, Letter From an Occupant, Testament To Youth In Verse

Next time I hope they play: Adventures in Solitude

Great Lyric :
Complex notes inside the chords,
on every wall inflections carved
Deep as lakes and dark as stars
Remember we were the volunteers
- My Rights Versus Yours

The Mountain Goats with Pony Up! at The Independent and Bottom of the Hill

The Mountain Goats were probably my first Indie Pop crush, having heard an interview on NPR with them followed by performances of Love, Love, Love and Dance Music. After making a wise and important move of borrowing a couple big chunks of my friend Chris's CD collection (loaded with Indie Pop), my eyes grew wide when I saw four albums magic markered with their name. I was hooked. Soon afterwards I had the treat of seeing them at "The Bottom of the Hill" and vow to see them whenever they appear there. I received back to back doses of them in 2007, the first being at the Independent, which was a great show, but not quite like at the place front man John Darnielle calls his "second home", where I could lean up against the bar, with beer in hand and stand within 15 feet of the stage, caught up in the nostalgia of their music. Darnielle plays with his heart on his sleeve, nasily crooning his distinct lyrics almost seeming to relive the moments he's recounting, wide-eyed, seeming to be amazed at his own intensity. Side kick Peter Hughes is more subtle, strumming base guitar and providing some vocal harmony at times. They added drummer Jon Wurster to their 2007 tour, which I think was nice move. Though I saw them in 2006, I couldn't leave the Mountain Goats off of this list, definitely one of the more satisfying evenings for me in 2007.

I mention Pony Up! because I think they may be the best cover band I've seen. These four girls (check their ID!) from Montreal were a lot of fun. Part of the advantage of the back to back concerts for me, was that it gave me a chance to get familiar with their sound and songs, which I really appreciated. The two lead vocals complement each other well and the band seems to have a nice balance of taking their music seriously, but not themselves.

Memorable Numbers: Dance Music, Broom People, Palmcorder Ganja, Wild Sage, Get Lonely, Maybe Sprout Wings, Boys are Back in Town (cover of the Doobie Brothers)...Pony Up!: Dance for Me, What's Free is Yours, Truth About Cats and Dogs (is that they die)

Next time I hope they play: Linda Blair was Born Innocent and The Best Ever Death Metal Band out of Denton

Great Lyric:

Ghosts and clouds, and nameless things
squint your eyes and hope real hard,
maybe sprout wings
- Maybe Sprout Wings

Honorable Mentions:

The National at Regency Grand Ballroom - They backed up their wonderful album Boxer with an awesome performance, mixing in songs from this album with ones from Alligator. Matt Beringer's haunting yet melodic voice is surrounded by talented band mates that put on a great show to a receptive audience.

Tori Amos at The Paramount (Oakland) - My only "big name" concert of the year didn't disappoint. She was probably the most talented musician that I saw, some times playing two pianos simultaneously while using a beautiful voice to weave through an anthology of songs. The Paramount is a gorgeous, art deco styled venue, which almost made having no beers on tap forgivable.

Ohlone Wilderness 50K - 20th edition.

2007-05-21T17:04:00.000-07:00

I took part in the 20th running of the Ohlone Wilderness 50K, the fourth time I had chosen to embark on such a daunting scramble. My crazy decision was made while running through Death Valley with the race directors, Larry England and Rob Byrne, who reminded me that it was the 20th aniversery of the race and they had plenty of "special surprises" in store for those who dared to enter. They caught me a great time. The run from Echo canyon to Slot was fantastic and I was intrigued as to what they might have in store. Sure, I'll sign up.

The day began with a little less than an hour drive from my apartment in Mountain View to Del Valle park in Livermore. I enjoy the drive due to the east bay foothills and lack of traffic at that hour (5:00 AM) and enjoyed it even more this time with my itunes piping "My Top Rated" songs through my Miata's stereo. The beautifully serene setting and the combination of bands like The Mountain Goats, Decemberists, Belle and Sebastian, The Hold Steady among others, made me wish the ride would never end. Maybe having to run 31 miles through hellacious fire roads and single track trails had something to do with it though as well. :-)

I parked my car at Del Valle around 6 AM and snoozed through a few more songs, enjoying the last few moments of a gently beating heart and gentle breath. A woman parked beside me and appeared to be doing the same as ultra runners collected around us. I could hear their laughter and lively conversations. These folks seem to have much more energy at 6 AM than most might have all day.

I finally pried myself out of the car to get myself ready. The air was cool, but not as cool as I had hoped. If you're about to start a long race, it's a great sign if you feel the need to say "Brrrr" when you first meet the morning air. If it feels comfortable outside at 6 AM, that can be a very bad sign, indicating some warm temperatures to come. The air was closer to comfortable than "brrrr"

I saw some unsual vehicles after locking up my car and making my way towards the public transportation. There were some luxurious looking buses parked and standing around them were some men dressed in suits. An SUV limo drove up and the driver asked a volunteer if he was in the right place. A runner in front of me took a step into one of the buses, then came right out. It was as if she had accidently gone into the men's bathroom. I took a step in myself and almost felt the same way. Inside were leather sofa-like benches. There was a stone-tiled floor and champagne glasses stacked against the wall. The ceiling was purple with funky disco-like lights. In the back were controls for the stereo. This was a party bus. It was our party bus.

I plopped down on the cushioned leather with a smile while other runners did the same. Unlike your typical two-to-a-seat bus that makes it easy to put your head against the seat in front of you to doze, this bus begged you to interact with the other runners that were seated across from you and two your sides.

"From Madison, huh?", the man to my left asked, who was with his wife, both running Ohlone for the first time. "Yes, at one time", I responded, realizing I had my typical red shorts on with "Wisconsin" proudly printed on them. It turned out he was from the twin cities with family that had gone to my fine alma mater. I caught his wife's attention when I said, "I usually do this one every two years, after I've lost my senses again". "So do you think we need two bottles?", she asked. You betcha.

A young asian woman sat across from us, looking bright-eyed an bushy tailed. She sat with just one water bottle, just bought from the store. From the sounds of things, she had only done a few half marathons and maybe a marathon. This was her first trail race. She sat wide-eyed, soaking in as much knowledge as she could as she engaged with other runners. At one point I heard her say, "I feel a bit out of place".

We arrived at the Stanford Avenue parking lot, which was filled with cars. Runners were ambling around, getting their last loose ends tied up before a call to the start would be made. A long line to the porta potties had formed, a very familiar sight at most races. I jumped in the queue as we were all getting a little pressed for time.

Rob Byrne spotted me while I waited and came over to chat. He was wearing a very loud orange volunteer t-shirt, loud because it's hard to believe that something could be so bright of an orange without having some sort of energy source. It's fun to know the race directors of a fairly well-known ultra. We chatted for a bit before he went back to his race duties.

It would not be a stretch to say that Rob is an elite ultra runner. He's not going to impress anyone with blazing speed these days, but his ultra resume' has very few peers that I know of. This year he'll be trying to complete his 10th Western States in under 24 hours (though this will be his 12th time doing it) and will also do a 7-day endurance run in Viet Nam in November. Competing in 100-mile races and navigating through foreign territory are common place to him and are what he considers to be fun. "He's living a great life.", his wife Chris told me, when we chatted after the race, adding, "as long as he stays alive" In the few times I have talked with her, I can tell she still hasn't quite come to grips with her husband's need to run outrageous distances in outrageous places.

The guy in front of me had a "2006 Boston Marathon" hat on, a good conversation starter, since I did my first Boston this year. It turned out he had done 4 in a row, including this year, which we agreed was a lot better weather wise than the media had claimed. He said this was his first ultra, which I told him was quite a race to pick, and wondered how marathon times would translate to Ohlone times. Though he blew me away with his P.R. of 2:52, I told him, "Walk every inclinde, including the one we see right here. This is a very different breed of runner that you're going up against." He seemed to take the advice well and I thought he was very well prepared with a camel back and a stategy of staying with the back of the pack at least for the first half of the race. "You'll be fine", I told him.

As I continued to step through the line, eyeing my watch, I spied my friend Jim walking around the parking lot, camera in hand. He said he'd try to come to the start and indeed he made it. Jim is one person that I typically associate the Ohlone wilderness with. He usually runs up to Mission Peak on New Year's day and I've had the pleasure of joining him a few times. He actually used to do weekly training runs up to the peak, which is astounding. The Ohlone 50K has conquered him with 90+ degree heat in the past and in turn, he has conquered the 50K, running a very strong 6:17 time in a year where we were all rained on through most of the race. He knows the wilderness very well.

We chatted for a bit and he wished me luck, then minutes later, I could hear the megaphone broadcasting Rob's voice, calling people to the start. We all moved through the gate like cattle into a realm where 31 miles beckoned. Rob gave us some simple instructions, mainly reminding us not to litter and to be kind to the volunteers, some of which had camped over night in the wildnerness for the sake of providing an aid station.

After a 10 second count down, we were off. Ultras tend to not have quite the explosive start of road races and given the beginning incline, most runners, including myself, began with a gentle trot at best. Unlike other races where the speedsters in the front are gone if you blink, the Ohlone front runners were visible for quite a long time as we scrambled on. They looked so close, yet I knew that they were traveling at speeds that would probably have my breakfast asking (actually, telling me) to be let out.

I could see the young asian girl I had seen on the bus, running free and easy up the incline, one bottle in hand. As I continued to march through the hills, the distance between us was shrinking. By the time she was 50 feet away, she had her jacket wrapped around her waist. I passed her about 2 miles into the run, then she skipped past me later as I decided to step to the side and start my GU schedule. About a half mile away from Mission peak, she stepped aside on the single track and urged me to go. As I went by her, I said, "Lots of climbing today", to which she responded with what I'd maybe describe as a sigh. It was a combination of confirmation and exasperation, mixed with heavy breathing. As locquacious as she was on the bus, Mission Peak had caught her toungue. "Get used to it", I added, and that was the last I saw of her. I wondered if she would survive.

Boston Marathoner was quietly losing ground behind me, following my advice of walking the hills. He seemed very focused and disciplined at this point in the race. As I ran on some of the flats and down hill, I wondered if he'd ever shoot past me. With a 2:52 marathon speed, I'm sure most speeds on this race would feel like a crawl to him.

At the mile stone of Mission Peak, stood the unmistakeable form of Catra Corbett, cheering on the runners. She appeared to be dressed to run, but I'm not sure what she was up to this time. There had been times when she had traversed the course 3 times in one running. She stood with her tatoos and piercings along with a partner that held a sign. Funny enough, I never even read it, I just wanted to get on my way down the other side of the peak.

After walking most of the first 4 miles or so, it was nice to be able to run hard again. The slope coming down Mission Peak is technically challenging at first, but then becomes smooth as you work your way down to Laurel Loop. There were some pretty single track trails to navigate through as we left the fire road. This is definitely one of the more enjoyable areas of the course.

I hit the Laurel Loop aid station at a 1 hour and 15 minute clip. The orange t-shirts nicely illuminated the respit and the friendly volunteers inside them were ready to serve. I saw my first familiar face in Valerie Doyle, a charter member of the Tullamore Dew Running Club. She was enthusiastic as usual and it was great to see her. My first and most impresionable memory of her is of a Benedict Arnold adventure through Yosemite on trails whose names elude me now. I do remember some incredible views of the Hetch Hetchy river and a very rigorous run which toasted all of us. Valerie, as a 61-year-old, dusted us all. It really struck me at the time that age doesn't have much affect on an ultru runner. She proved that.

I refilled my bottles and picked up some Succeed salt tablets (very good for ultras) before hitting the trail again. I was feeling good, but reminded myself of a time when I felt just as good and decided to pick up the pace, enough to catch the leading woman (What a mistake!). I ended up cramping at mile 14 and turned the rest of the race into a 17 mile death march. I was going to use some wisdom this time.

I continued onto Sunol, feeling fresh and enjoying the cool morning air. I encountered some hikers along the way who gave us ultra runners a second look. It was good to see people enjoying the Ohlone wilderness. As I was running through the course, I noticed the familiar site of golden poppies. It seems this part of the bay area tends to hold onto this California flower for a little longer than most. It must get a little more moisture somehow.

The Sunol aid station was one of the few that contained no familiar faces, but it made up for that with my favorite food of the day, strawberries. They had sliced up a big bowl of them and I was nearly swallowing them whole, they were so good. My favorite ultra food is water melon, but strawberries have just taken a close second. After squeezing a few GU's into your mouth, ripe strawberries serve as a nice way of rejuvenating your taste buds.

I continued on through the single track trails, encountering a boy scout troop, which was smart enough to realize that we bib-wearing folk wanted to get through fast and kind enough to oblige us. They looked a puzzled, but didn't question. Some gave encouragement in the form of a "good job".

The climbing was starting up again as I strode into the Backpack aid station, nearly 13 miles into the course. I heard the familiar voice of Debbie Mayhew pushing runners to eat everything that the table had to offer. She has been through many races like this one and knows what it takes to get through. Her aid station mates were none other than Ann Trason and Carl Anderson. As Rob Byrne is an elite ultra runner, this husband and wife are world class. They were an extraordinary pair to be filling up water bottles at an aid station.

Much walking took place between Backpack and Goat Rock, which stood at the half way mark. I found myself starting a game of cat and mouse with Don Lundell, co-owner of Zombie Runner, one of the race's main sponsers (In fact, our bibs said "Zombie Runner"). I passed him before coming to the Goat Rock aid station, but could tell he was still brimming with energy, seeming to be on a leisurely stroll. He blew by me at the aid station while I refueled and chatted with Helmut, who said, "I think you should stay with Don. That would be good for you." I had no idea of who he was, but sarcastically replied, "Thanks Helmut".

Goat Rock to Maggie's Half Acre is one of the stretches where you earn your finisher's plaque. You just keep rising and rising and rising. There comes a point where you wonder where the peak is, because it's fairly well hidden until the end. Where are you Rose Peak?

It was during this part where I appreciated how beautiful this wilderness is, maybe because I was fresher than usual and didn't have any running partner to talk to. The views of Mission Peak and the bay from the east side are spectacular. The hills are decorated with long golden grasses that move in waves through the cool breeze and the wild flowers up at that height have not given up to summer quite yet. As rigorous as the climbing becomes, that's my favorite part of the course. It's just gorgeous and you feel so far away from everything.

It was also during this time that took out the most road kill. Ultra runners are tough to kill though. In most races, even marathons, generally when you've overtaken a runner, you might see some fight from them, trying to assume your pace, but usually they will die within a minute and that's the last you'll see of them. Ultra runners are much more resilient. They may let you get ahead, even out of sight, but their second wind (or third wind or fourth wind or...) is coming and if you daudle at an aid station like I do, you'll see them again.

It felt like I had just gotten to Maggie's half acre when sure enough, a collection of kills that I had strung together came and went. This included Don Lundell (I called him "Zombie" to myself), who continued our cat and mouse game, which I think I'll rename tortoise and hare. But who was who? Only more time and more running would tell.

Coming out of Maggie's half acre offers runners a time to fly, repaying much of the downhill for all of that uphill. It took a while before I started seeing some of the bastards who gave me the job of passing them again, mainly because I think my strength that day was uphill speed. I took a cautious gate when navigating down the gravel frosted fire roads, choosing to save some energy and my knees.

After taking down a few runners and getting back to a world of climbing, I saw the zombie again. He was out for his afternoon stroll, looking like he just started. He uttered something along the lines of "nice job...lots of hills today" as I passed him for the 3rd time. "Yep...you too".

"This is my favorite part of the run", I heard a runner say to another as I approached the final ascent to the second last aid station. "Why is that?" the other responded. I feel the sarcasm from the 50 feet I was away. "You'll see", he replied. Yes he will, but will the joke be funny to him by then.

The "You'll see" is this ungodly part of the run where their a few false summits at the end of some brutally steep climbs. The air is so stagnant and hot as hell that you feel as if you're at the beginning of summer in Death Valley. I took my hat off and dumped water over my head a few times. I was amazed at how quickly my hair was drying.

I finally climbed out of the valley and into a nice down slope, seeing some familiar fluoresent orange shirts in the distance. This was Larry England's, aid station. He greeted me with his always friendly, "Mr Taylor!". "Mr. England", I said, as I had my water bottle refilled by Ian, another familiar running friend.

Another couple of runners came barreling down the hill, both of whom I had passed at one point. One of them had salt all over his face, which isn't usually a good sign. "What do you need?", asked Larry. "Everything", he said. He looked spent and I think "everything" included a new pair of legs.

Larry England is the other half of the race directing team and very accomplished as a runner in his own right. Four kids and some injured knees (this is an understatment...His knees are visibley mangled) have probably kept him from being at the same level as Rob Byrne, but his boundless energy has given him an accomplished running career nonetheless. He's done over 150 marathons, which is mind boggling and has a few Western States 100's under his belt. Probably the most amazing story I know of him, is when he kept his Big Sur Marathon streak alive (he's done every one) with a broken foot, doing the whole course on crutches. When he came into the finish after 7 hours, he went to the medical tent and asked for some band aids for his blisters. They asked him to remove his shoes. "No, they're on my hands", he showed them.

Without much further chatter, I continued on, ready to tackle the last 5-6 miles of the race, still feeling relatively good. I started down the slippery single track and quickly caught a woman ahead of me that was none to pleased to be passed. Usually when see someone closing on me fast, I step aside and let them through. She was having nothing of it and gave me an insincere "Nice job" (at least I thougt it sounded insincere) when I found a way of getting by her. C'mon lady, I'm working hard in this race too!

The slippery single track became and issue for me as I took a couple hard falls, bruising a hip on each. As I write this, my right hip looks decorated with some sort of abstract art, a collage of scratches and bruises. An ultra just isn't an ultra if I haven't gotten lost or fallen hard enough to come away with some souvenirs. My falling a couple times didn't allow that woman to catch me, but another runner did. I did practice what I preach and stepped aside for him. What's a few seconds when you're out there for 6+ hours?

I caught him anyway when we had our last round of tough uphill, which leaves everyone incredulous. As you're looking down on Del Valle park (which is a spectacular view, by the way), you're wondering if there's enough mileage left to get you down there or it someone will have a parachute waiting for you at some point.

I took down my last road kill not too far away from the last aid station. "This is just not my day, he said, "I just can't run uphill anymore", he said. I was able to amble by him and keep pushing towards the finish. The end was near and I was starting to think about a cheese burger.

I whizzed (ok, so it was a little more like "shuffled") past the last aid station, where I saw Lorri Paulsen, who reminded me the next day that I didn't even use the aid station. I had everything I needed and just wanted the last two miles to be done. "Thanks for being here", I yelled.

The last couple miles are were mainly steep down hill, navigating around hikers, who were using their poles to keep from slipping down the fire roads. A few of them encouraged me as I ran by. But downhill wasn't all that was left, there was actually still some uphill to be had. I thought the climbing ended after the 29th mile, but I need to amend that recollection. It's a little over 30 miles when you can actually stop using your calves.

It's one of the greatest feelings to finish a long race and see the finish line. I was through battling the beast of the howling Ohlone wilderness and saw Rob Byrne awaiting me at the finish line. "Mark! Good job", he said as I crossed the line, starting to zone out after being focused on running for so long. "Here, let me make it official" he said, handing me the wooden plaque that now sits two others on my bookshelf (my first one is at work). I was done.

I lightened my load, which included my pack, goodie bag, plaque and hat and headed straight for refreshments. I pounded a coke and then a water and sat in a fog for a little while. A way-too-fresh-looking finisher asked me if I was ok and told me to drink more. I was fine. Just give me space, lady. :-)

I filled my plate with a beautiful cheeseburger garnished with chips and water melon. What a wonderful lunch to enjoy after toiling in the hills. I sat back and watched others cross the line, sympathizing with that feeling of relief they were expressing. I wondered when the last runner would cross the line and how the others were doing.

Not one to let the grass grow under my feet, I took my wares and headed to my Miata, which was baking in the Del Valle sun. I cranked up the air conditioning and my itunes and made my way out the exit which carried a sign which said, "No re-entry allowed". Don't worry, I'm not coming back. See you another another time, Del Valle, perhaps. :-)

Epilogue

139 out of the 140 starters finished, including the Asian girl I was concerned about. Apparently Debbie Mayhew set her straight on eating right and grazing at aid stations, so I think that must have helped. Larry England said she told him that she had lost 3 toe nails, not realizing she needed some bigger shoes for trail running. She made it though and I give her a ton of credit. The Boston Marathoner finished at a time a little over 7 hours and I saw him basking in the sun, lying on the grass. He said he couldn't hold anything down, including GU, about 10 miles into the race, but rallied and recovered. He said the remaining 20 miles were a lot of fun and felt that he could get into ultra running. Good for him.

The Red Elvises

2007-04-02T16:02:00.000-07:00

On Friday night (3/30/2007) I met up with my friend Vijay to check out a band called The Red Elvises It turned out to be a unique experience. They were playing at a venue called the The Blank Club in down town San Jose.

I followed my google directions to 44 Almaden Blvd, which is not too far from 87 and Santa Clara, and continued along Almaden to find parking. It was deadly quiet in that area, being mostly an industrial section of the city with high rise office buildings and hotels. I parked in a garage near Almaden and San Carlos that almost seemed completely empty and walked north along Almaden, which practically felt like I was in a modern ghost town. As I neared the double digit block of Almaden, I was wondering if I was in the right place. How could a concert be held in such a silent area?

But lo and behold I saw a neon sign on a beat up building that said, "The Blank Club". There was a line along the sidewalk fild with characters of all sorts. I was in the right place. I stood behind a guy in a red hat that looks a lot like the one drawn on the caricature that fronts their website He was also wearing a dark shirt that had "Staff" printed on the back (who knows what that really means) and last, but not least unusual, a black kilt (yes, a kilt). I had a feeling that I was in for an interesting evening.

After waiting in line for a while, I paid my 10 bucks at the door and stepped in. My first thought as I entered was, "why did they have us standing in line for so long?" There was barely anyone in the place, maybe 15 people. It was very dark inside, enough that you needed to let your eyes adjust before walking around. I'd say it's about half the size of Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco with a good sized stage in front and a bar in back, proudly advertising Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It has a little more of the feel of a dance club given how dark it is and the fact that they eventually put on these twirling red disco lights that orbited the floor when the band came on.

A thinly dispersed crowd suddenly became quite thick when the band came on the stage, roughly an hour after I had entered the place and sipped through a vodka cranberry. They were a colorful collection of characters, led by their two originators Igor Yuzev and Oleg Bernov. Both appeared to be 40 somethings attempting to retain their youth by wearing outlandish pajama-looking outfits, completely ready to rock out. They started a set to warm up with that Oleg, in a thick russian accent, described as being "lounge style" music. "So sit back and sip your martini", he said. And so they traveled through a sultry song to loosen the crowd up.

The rest of the band consisted of a drummer, Adam Gust, from "sunny Minnesota", keyboardist Elena Shemankova from Moscow and two people whom I can't remember the names of but do remember where they're from: A female guitar player and vocalist from Texas and a tuba player from St. Petersberg, Russia. They were quite an eclectic mix of players as were some of the numbers they contributed to, some of which used the combination of an accordian, tuba and banjo.

The two women were memorabley adorned in form fitting leopard skin dresses that added some eye candy to the performance. Vijay described the way that Elena played as practically "making love to the keyboard", which is about as well as you could describe it. For some numbers she was tilting the keyboard off the ground and playing from the side in a very erotic way. I was amazed at how well she played despite the karma sutra style. The other woman was not nearly as provocative, but equally musically talented and easy on the eyes, pounding out guitar solos when called upon and switching to a banjo when needed. Vijay said they were additions to the band from the last time he saw them. We weren't complaining.

The band rocked out to numbers that were recognized by the cult following that surrounded Vijay and myself. Many times Igor would dip the microphone into the crowd, encouraging people to sing along, some times orchestrating vocal contributions from different areas of the club The songs were sung mostly by Oleg or himself with thick Russian accents and mostly comical lyrics, not taking themselves seriously, as one might expect. Before one song, Igor said, "Feel free to form a conga line for this one" and sure enough, a 30-person conga line was marching around the Blank Club. At the end of the first set, he said, "We're going to take a short break. Go get some alcohol and we'll sound much better".

The second set seemed to be pure encore with each song preceded by Igor belting out, "Do you want to hear one more?"..."Yeeeeeeahh!!!"..."Come on, you can do better than that. Do you want to hear one more?"..."Yeeeeeeeeeah!!!!!" And so they continued with several crowd favorites, each song seeming to be unique from the rest. At some point during their sets, Igor announced they would be continuing their "2000 City tour" by going to Petaluma and Sacramento, so we should "ask our grandparents to come watch". The guy was hilarious.

I really enjoyed the show they put on as much as they seemed to enjoy putting it on. Each of the players is exceptionally talented and they seem to allow for a lot of individual performances during the sets (Adam Gust put on quite a drum solo at one point). Oleg plays a guitar that looks enormous enough to be a prop, consisting of a huge bright red triangle and long shaft. The only down side I found about the show, is that it's very loud, which makes me sound like an old man. I found that my ears were ringing slightly as I left the Blank Club, not enough for me to not want to see them again, but not what I'm used to. I'd also like to learn their songs a little more so that I can join crowd next time.

Tips and Tid bits:

I'm now finding as I've gone to a few indie style shows that it's not necessary to show up on time. In fact, showing up on time or a little after can be very, very early, as bands tend to play at least an hour or two after the doors open...Pet peeve: This dude that seemed to be about 8 feet tall (probably closer to 6'3") with a ginormous (new word used by a friend of mine - giant+enormous) head that had its own gravitational pull stepped in front of me during the performance and was swaying from side to side (which caused me to sway from side to side). Folks, if you're that big, think about standing off to the side or towards the back. Of course, I'm tall enough that I may have been doing the same thing to some other poor soul, but I had established position for a good half hour before they came on...PBR Boy, one thing I'm noticing is that Pabst Blue Ribbon is showing up everywhere in bars across the bay area. I thought that beer had died, but its made a huge resurgance. Not sure if that's a good thing.

California International Marathon 2006

2007-01-15T19:27:00.001-08:00

I "got up before dawn, went out to the race track". I had fifteen minutes before the 24th Cal International Marathon would be in "lift off" status, just having stepped off the bus and adjusting to frigid conditions that I had yet to grow accustomed to, even after doing this race for the 4th time. My teeth were literally chattering and I was lamenting the fact that I was deploying my usual strategy (or lack thereof) of not making use of the "sweats check". This is a typical amenity available at most marathons which allows you to throw your belongings, which are usually a sweat shirt and sweat pants, into a large plastic bag that they'll bring to the finish for you. But there I stood, in just my shorts and long sleeve running shirt, freezing my you know what off.

The night before I had set a new record for getting through a marathon registration, parking my car near the Sacramento Convention Center with only a quarter and fifteen minutes to spare. When I returned to the meter, with bib, chip and goodie bag in hand, there was still one minute left. I was hoping this P.R. for registering would be a sign of good things to come.

I had checked into the Travel Lodge, which was only a short walk to the shuttle bus, the morning of the race. There were no carpenter ants in the dresser and no flies in the screen. There were no cryptic messages at all to write about, which again, I was hoping would be a good sign of things to come.

Back to the cold morning of the race, with very little time to spare, I tried to warm up by heading to the food mart that we had used last year, but unfortunately they were limiting entrance to the heated oasis. "Sorry, we're limiting the number of people in the store at one time", an employee of the mart told me as I tried opening the door. I looked at the two people who I then realized had been waiting ahead of me. "Don't ask why.", one of them said, with an annoyed look on their face. I looked at my watch, which read that I just had ten minutes before race time, and decided that it wasn't worth the wait. I was probably better off continuing to move through the frosty air.

I stepped onto the road which lead to the starting line, just noticing a large divider that I could have easily tripped on. The incident sparked the memory of last year's marathon, where I witnessed a runner not noticing this same divider and going down hard on his shoulder. He was down for several moments and even when he was up, was still unresponsive to his friends. I still wonder how the rest of his day went.

As I walked towards the starting line I could see a link pink glow, a hint of a sunrise in the direction that we runners would be rambling in. Casting my gaze into no man's land, I wondered what layed ahead for me that day. I was taking a crack at Boston again, for the second time in as many months, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to pass the test. A few of my running buddies had given me some encouragement in the days before. They believed in me. I just wasn't sure if I agreed with them.

Regardless, I scanned the small running crowd near the start for my pace group. I could see a "3:00" sign and a "3:30" and then a "3:40", but "3:10", the time that was etched in my head as the one I needed, had yet to show itself. My watch told me that there were only 7 minutes left. Where was my pace group?

Suddenly, like a cluster of poppies (california poppies) exposed to sunlight, more signs sprang up from the crowd. "3:20", "3:35", "3:15" and oh yes, there it is, my "3:10" magnet. It would be the second time in my running career that I would try to keep pace with this sign. The first was a couple months ago in Portland, which ended at mile 19, where my ham strings stiffened with cramps and I started dry heaving (not a pretty sight). I wasn't sure what would be the result of hanging with this breed of runner again, but I was ready to give it a shot.

Soon enough, I heard the P.A. guy announce that the wheel chair division would be starting in a minute. Soon after we were all counting down from 10 to see them off. And soon after that, we were doing our own count down. It was time to run another marathon.

After the count down hit zero, I slowed myself down as much as I could, waiting until the last possible second before I crossed the starting mat, which would register the racing chip I had strung through my shoes. I wanted to have some buffer between what I saw on the official clock and what my actual time was. In the beginning of a race, 15 seconds is nothing to make up. At the end, it's a god send to strip that extra time off of what the clock says. 3:11:14 could be translated to 3:10:59 with one swipe of my shoe.

Despite the buffer I built up, my pace group was still within sight and with a few hard strides, I was right up with them. The pace felt good, with no need to catch my breath to catch them and my legs feeling nice and loose (and warm, finally). Then again, it was only the start. I quietly wondered how I would feel as the mileage broke into the 20's.

The darkness was broken by the dawning light and the still crisp air felt pleasant against my steaming self. As we came closer to the double digit miles, I still felt comfortable, but the pace was very fast. I needed a 7:17 pace to qualify for Boston, while my group was moving at closer to 7:07. I hung with the pacer, but was curious at that point as to what his strategy would be. He offered words of encouragement and advice to us, which was helpful. He said, "Let's slow down here, 3:10 group" a few times, but slowing down never happened. My watch still told me we were hauling from mile to mile.

We crossed the half marathon mark at a time of 1:33:59, which is identical to my split in Portland. To that point the pace groups (Portland and Can International 3:10) were employing the same strategy, one which I questioned. My best marathons were ones where I ran a slower first half than the second and I found myself second guessing my decision to stick with the Portalnd pace group. Would I be making the same mistake in this race? More time and running would tell.

Between mile 14 and 15, I decided to finally engage with the pacer. Maybe a little conversation would slow him up a little. I brought up the subject of Western States Endurance Run, a 100-mile race that he had done two years ago and one that I had paced on this year. He said that this race should be a "piece of cake" compared to that. Sure, if I actually ran the whole Western States course...pacing was actually the "piece of cake". At mile 16, he asked me how my legs felt, commenting that I didn't seem to breathing too hard. I told him the truth, that they were tight, which he had no response to. He was probably thinking, "Oh boy...this guy's dead". Eventually I weaved myself away from him, not wanting to talk anymore. I had to save my energy for running.

"Stay with me until mile 20", became the pacer's mantra, "stay with me until the bridge". I could start to feel some fluttering in my calf muscles, which is a sign that cramps may be on their way. "Stay with the group until 20" became my mantra. I wanted to push myself to at least reach that point, which would be an improvement from Portland. I felt I could do it, but wasn't sure about the cost.

As we came closer to 20, the pacer said again, "Stay with me until 20", then added, "then we're going to push. That's when the race begins." Huh? To that point, we were still under 7:10 minute miles. Why in the hell would we push harder after that point? Did he mean that it would feel like we were pushing harder, but we would be going the same pace? I didn't get it and I was getting a little frustrated.

The mile 22 marker was the beginning of the swan song for my story of staying with the 3:10 pace group. My legs were getting very heavy and tight and I could feel some light cramping. I fought to keep them near me, but knew that I couldn't stay. "I can't do this pace", I said to myself, getting more frustrated. The group was out of sight by mile 23, which is where I started some damage control as I could feel some spirit draining away and fatigue climbing in to take its place. A psychologic battle was beginning.

I immediately flashed back to the Portland Marathon, where I had lost the pace group at mile 19 and started dry heaving and cramping pretty noticeabley and was able to recover by walking for 10-20 seconds. While I wasn't feeling nearly as bad, I had given up on the idea of qualifying and was contemplating a plan for keeping myself going. I wondered if I needed to walk a bit and where a good point would be.

Several different goals came to mind for me to shoot for. I thought about going for a P.R. for Cal International, which would mean getting under 3:18. Then I thought that breaking 3:15 would be a lot better. I didn't want to fail at reaching two goals in the same race, but needed to find something that I could still push for and be happy with.

I started trying to pump myself up by making note of the fact that I had stayed with the pace group longer than I had ever had and could build on that for the next marathon. Next marathons starting popping into my head, if you can believe it. I was thinking about getting back on the horse again, even as I was still riding.

Disappointment kept lingering. I thought of the people who had encouraged me and thought this would be the day for me. I felt as though I was letting them down. What would I say to them? What would be my excuse?

But there was this little voice that each of us has a personal copy of that was speaking to me any time my mind became quiet. "You can do it", it said, "You can qualify". I didn't want to listen. At the same time, as I was contemplating when would be a good spot to walk, my legs just kept driving as if to say, "We're going to Boston with or without you pal". Especially with the gentle down hill grade that had made an appropo appearance in the final miles, I didn't have the heart to tell them to stop.

"Only 8 blocks to go!", a woman shouted as I sauntered past her. Is that it? I always hate it when people give the wrong distance to the finish, especially when they're short. Note to anyone that's reading this and will spectate or volunteer at a race: Be very accurate when telling runners how far they need to go, if you're going to tell them. Believe me, most runners can tell a big difference between a mile and 1.1 miles.

But I trusted her, and began the count down, saying the numbers out loud so that I could remind myself that it was almost over. In between corners I repeated a mantra that I've used in a lot of races with urban finishes: "street light to street light", "street light to street light". When you're running along a long stretch with no turns, it helps to pick out markers to shoot for. The street lights are what I usually go for.

I was down to "one" on my count down and could see the final turn coming up, accompanied by a beautiful "Mile 26" marker that every marathoner loves to see, almost as much as the finish line. As I crossed the marker and made a turn to the left, I pressed on my watch to get a 26th mile split and then took a glance. It read "8:08" on the split, which I was sorry to see. However, I also caught a look at the cumulative time, something I hadn't looked at the whole race. "3:08:58", it read. Oh my God...I'm going to Boston!

"Full speed ahead" was the command I gave to my aching legs which had found new life. I saw the finish line clock approaching in the distance and saw that it still had a 3:09 sitting in it. It wasn't until I was within a handful of steps that it turned to 3:10, which reaffirmed that I was going to do it. I felt as if I was "floating from branch to branch, lighter than the air." My day had finally come.

I quickly went back to my watch after I had stepped onto the red mat which would collect my chip time. "3:09:58", my watch said. It was nice to be able to peel 15 seconds off of the offical clock that I had just crossed under. Regardless, I had met my goal and pushed two clenched fists into the air as if I had won. I did. I was going to the super bowl!

As I walked back to my hotel room, with water bottles in hand and silver space blanket draped around me like a cape, I felt a zen-like calm inside, which was probably an indication of the weight that was off my shoulders. I have to admit that what I also felt, was surprisingly, a little tinge of sadness. The journey to 3:10 was over. I'd no longer be striving towards that goal in the same way and I can appreciate the fact that the juice was in the getting there, not in the arrival.

Still, victory was sweet and I'm thankful for everyone that encouraged me and belived that I could do it. That's what I think drove me most as I was pushing through those last miles. I received many congratulations from my running friends and some surpise decorations from my running partner Chris, his wife and my friend Antje. I caught them in the act as I came back home. :-)

The end.

p.s. Here are my splits...probably the most interesting thing about this blog:

1. 7:03
2. 7:16
3. 6:39
4. 7:12
5. 7:09
6. 7:18
7. 7:16
8. 7:16
9. 7:08
10. 7:01
11. 7:17
12. 7:19
13. 7:18
13.1 1:33:58 (first half split)
14. 7:11
15. 7:20
16. 6:54
17. 7:22
18. 7:10
19. 7:08
20. 7:07
21. 7:11
22. 7:25
23. 7:20
24. 7:34
25: 7:46
26: 8:09
26.2 1 minute

Hood to Coast 2006

2006-09-04T21:09:00.000-07:00

In the last weekend in August, some running buddies and I took part in the 25th version of the Hood to Coast relay race. We had run the Providian Relay many times, but developed a strong interest in running the race it was modeled after. Unlike the Providian, we had to enter a lottery to get into this one and were actually turned down two years in a row before gaining automatic third try entry. Now was our chance to bring our running legs to a bigger stage. We we ready for the challenge and change of scenery.

By "bigger stage", I mean many more teams than we were used to. I'm talkin' 1000 vs 250, which was mind boggling to think of, coming in. Often times in the Providian, you'll find yourself running along stretches where you won't see another soul, much less another competitor. I had the feeling going in that this wouldn't be the case during this race. I was really looking forward to the mass of runners and teams as logisically complicated as it may have been.

My team consisted of several people from work and a few others that used to be from work. We formed a team called the "Barking Spiders", a name that we had used several times for the Providian, one which could draw chuckles for anyone who understands its meaning and curiosity from anyone that didn't. For those of you who fall into the latter category, consider a Barking Spider to be the imaginary scape goat for anyone who has distributed audible emissions that are gastrointestinal in origin. "Wow the spiders are really barking today!" you might say to fellow runners as you make your presence known. Feel free to try it on your next run.

The Barking Spiders descended upon Portland on Thursday and Friday before our time (5:30 PM on Friday) to begin the race, some by plane and some via road trip. I took the flight option, coming in with three teammates on Thursday morning. I wanted to do some exploring of the city before immersing myself into the 24+ hour relay that was ahead. I had last visited 6 years ago for a wedding and had enjoyed it. I wanted to take in some more.

We spent much of the morning exploring the Japanese Garden and Hoyt Arboretum, which are pieces to Washington Park. The Japanese Garden was peaceful to walk through, containing simple yet ordered arrangements that were pleasing to the eyes. There were sandy court yards with ripples coming from each of the objects contained within. There was a beautiful waterfall spilling into a small pond that contained many multi-colored fish. There were small bridges, switch-back walk ways and trees with branches which had been guided by braces to grow in interesting angles and ways. Supposedly this garden is one of the most beautiful of its kind outside of Japan (Afterwards I had asked some Japanese friends about the garden, who had visited it recently, and they claimed that it was authentic.

One of the Barking Spiders, Dick, was what I would call a "tree buff" and suggested we visit the Hoyt Arboretum. We were not disappointed as we ventured down some of the trails, named for the majority of the trees that we would see on them (e.g. fir trail, spruce trail). Each tree was marked with its english and latin names as well as its current home country or countries. Probably the most interesting tree that I saw was the "Monkey Puzzle". There was not explanation about its name, but it didn't need it as this prickly branched tree would clearly be a challenge to the most cunning of climbing monkeys.

After our day of visiting some of Portland's natural wonders and collecting more spiders from the airport, we were ready for a pre-race pasta feed. Almost every runner knows about carbo loading and we're not a team of newbies. After doing some Googling to see what Italian eateries were available in Portland, we decided to take a chance with Davincis Italiano Ristorante
It was a fairly classic Italian-American restaurant, nothing fancy with a very local feel to it and heaps of tastey Italian food. They had Fat Tire on tap, which we ordered several pitchers of. What else do you really need?

After stuffing ourselves silly, we got even sillier and capped off our night by watching Office Space, which we found among the DVD collection of the son of one the spiders, who was letting us use his house for relay as a crashing point and headquarters. I've seen the movie before, but it was fun to watch again. I think there's something cathartic about watching something that is poking fun at the corperate world that most of us toil in from time to time. The movie also provided plenty of laughter fuel for the relay itself as everyone in my van relayed impressions of the boss in the movie and and also used several expressions, such as "showing the 'O' face" and taking a ride on the "bone rollercoaster". We couldn't get enough of that.

After getting a full night's of sleep, something that would be lacking for the weekend, we all met up again in the late morning at Powell's bookstore in down town Portland. It's a wonderful place for anyone remotely interested in reading as it is a store which takes up a full city block (even has its own parking ramp) and is four stories high. I picked up a couple used books in the award-winning section, Life of Pi by Yann Martel and Charming Billy by Alice McDermott. It wouldn't be hard for most people to spend days in the store and not really cover it.

Afterwards, we ended up grabbing lunch from Whole Foods down the street from Powell's, joining a large lunch-eating crowd that had the same idea. We then went back to headquarters for the last arrangements before heading to Mt. Hood. We were quickly approaching race time.

Backing off for a second, let me try to describe the nature and logistics of this relay. The race goes from the top of Mt. Hood (well, as far as you can drive) to Seaside, which is a small town against the Oregon coast. The distance is 197 miles which causes most people's jaws to drop when you mention that to them. It's not as a bad as you think, since there are 12 people on a team, each taking on a share of course (comes out to about 16 miles per runner). The course is broken up into 36 segments of varying distances, called "legs" (not to be confused with the legs you run with). Before you start the race, your team decides who is going to run what legs, which must be run in a set order on your team. So for instance, the runner that takes on leg #1 also gets legs #13 and #25. That way, everybody gets 3 legs that are spaced 12 legs apart. To pull the feat of completing these legs off, each team is typically broken up into two groups of 6 that will share a vehicle (usually a mini-van) together. So vehicle 1 will transport runners 1-6 and vehicle 2 will do the same for runners 7-12. You basically drive ahead of the runner that's currently completing his/her leg and provide them support (water, heckling, etc.) along the way. You're also driving the next runner(s) that will need to be dropped off at exchange points, so that they can take the baton (which is a braclet) and carry on. Once you get rolling with the relay, it's amazing how quickly it goes.

We decided to drive both vans up to Mt. Hood so everyone could take in the view at the top, and view the teams that we would be up against. On the way, we saw several mini-vans like ours, some of which had absorbed a high level of decorative creativity from the team members within. We saw a familar team to us from the Providian relay in the form of "Snot Rocket". Snot Rocket promotes the use of what a midwesterner like myself might call a "farmer blow" (it's not as dirty as you think) Regardless, just imagine how you might cleanly clear out your nose without any handkerchief or tissue. Runners face this dilemma all of the time (and farmers too :-))

The view at the top was spectacular as we parked among the many teams that would be launching their races shortly before us, after us or even the same time. Every 15 minutes, roughly 25 runners would be flying down the mountainside after a count down initiated from the P.A. announcer and accompanied by the crowd. We were starting to feel the tingles of a running event form as we neared closer to our 5:30 PM starting time.

Compared to the Providian, Hood to Coast had a much bigger event feel to it, which isn't shocking given that it's been going on for 15 more years and they have almost 800 more teams (which is almost 10,000 more runners). There was a pretty good crowd there, with music blaring, teams with uniforms and vans dressed to the nines. A few of us spotted a couple teams dressed as French maids and cheer leaders, which are always head-turning sights to most of the male population. We were quite impressed.

Our lead runner Dennis lined up at the start with the group of 5:30 leaders. I was trying to enjoy the last few moments of sanity, though was ready for what looked to be a insanely fun race. The MC announced each of the teams, getting cheers from their respective teams on hand. He then had every lead runner shake hands and introduce themselves to each other in a gesture of good sportsmanship. With all of the formalities out of the way, all that remained was the count down to go time...10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!!!!!

I was not envying Dennis as we drove drown the mountain, seeing the runners galloping down. He was practically pushed off of the top of Mt. Hood with almost 6 miles of down hill running ahead of him. For those of you who don't run as much as we might, down hill running may sound great, and to a certain extent it is, but the steepness of the slope that he was going down and the length of that slope is enough to given most people's knees and quadriceps a good pounding. Trust me, after doing a run like he was, I think most people would vote for doing an uphill climb instead.

But Dennis was up the task and came blazing through the exchange from leg 1 to 2. It didn't take too long to put one leg in the books as he passed the braclet to Jim, who had some tough down hill to tackle of his own. We now had a relay.

I was assigned to leg 5, which would continue along hwy 26, then parellel to it, up a country road at one point. I caught a glimpse of what I would be running on the way to peak, noticing that there was a hell of a lot of uphill to scale (maybe downhill running is not so bad. :-)). As Janna was completing leg 4 and after we parked at the exchange point, I decided to take a trip to the "Honey Bucket", which is an endearing term and company name for the port-a-potties (It reminds me of another midwest term "Honey Wagon", which is used in place of manure spreaders).

As I casually emerged from the honey bucket, Janna was practically right there. Thank goodness I had all my running gear with me because I actually needed to run from the bucket to the exchange in order to prevent her from waiting for me. That's something you generally don't want to do to a runner. Imagine running your guts out and not seeing your exchange partner waiting for you. It sucks.

But I made it and it probably provided me a little bit of a warm up as I snatched the braclet from her and let my legs rip down the road. I generally go out way too fast, emulating a bat out of hell. The adrenaline of a race often does that too me, but relays are especially the case because of the team element. I feel like I wanted to do my best for the Barking Spiders.

About a minute into the run, I found my first "road kill", which is a term often used by relayers when they pass someone. The second one wasn't too far away, but this guy sped up considerabley when I came within 5 feet of him ("no way you're passing me", he was probably thinking). Some people make it very difficult to pass them, which can be hard on your body for a little while. I just decided to settle into his pace for a spell and see if I could wear him down. A few minutes later, he was toast.

My experience in relays has usually been one in which I tend to always kill rather than be killed, so it was suprising to me to get passed about 2 miles into my leg as a guy came blowing by me. It wasn't quite the standing-still feeling, but it was close. This dude was booking and he wasn't looking back. I figured he was either his team's stud or on a stud team. After passing a handful more of people, I got killed again. This was a much different relay than what I was used to.

My run started in the twilight which became no light, other than the spread out beam of my head lamp. I veered up to the right, off of 26 and onto the wavy country road of cherryville lane. The tall trees with thick-leaved branches blackened my route and turned my race erie. I could only see 15-20 feet in front me and the bouncing ball of light owned by the racer who had passed me a few miles back. That would change slightly for a while as I came into a intersection that was lit by headlights and volunteers preventing runners from making a wrong turn without a mile left. "You've got one mile to go!", they said as I pressed on.

Up to that point, I felt as if the rating they gave that leg of "very hard" was not well deserved. Yes there was some climbing, but I felt as if I had been moving very well throughout. I felt as if I was sitting pretty until they threw a nasty climb in front of me. Ok, now I get it.

I huffed and puffed up the hill to the exchange. I could mark one leg down and two to go as I passed the braclet to Jacques, who was running anchor for our van. The air was cool and felt great against my heated and sweaty self as I made it back to van with Jim. There was a huge line of vans parked along hwy 26 housed with teams waiting for their runner. It felt great to have one in the book.

After we finished leg 6, we drove back to Larry's son's for a very brief snooze. The most challenging thing about relays like this is dealing with sleep depravation. Since it was only 10:00 PM when we ready to settle down, I found it impossible to do much more than lie down. At 1 AM, the alarm clock shattered all hopes of getting a night's sleep (I think I ended up falling comfortabley asleep at 12:30 AM!). Shortly after, we received a call from Larry, letting us know that their 6th runner, Tom, was running his leg. It was getting time to do it all over again, this time through the streets of Portland and the country side which beckoned from the west.

After much navigational folly, we found a parking spot by the Hawthorne bridge that Dennis would be running across, getting our team over the Willamette River. This would probably be one of the more challenging times for each of us to run as our bodies internal clocks thought we were scheduled to sleep. But that's part of the fun and the challenge of the relay is running at the small hours of the night.

Tom came flashing in with braclet in hand and transferred it to Dennis, who was off into the night. We briefly chit-chatted with our other van, asking them how their legs went and so forth. There actually isn't much time for conversation as we had a runner to support and they had showers and beds awaiting them. Time was awaisting.

Fast-forwarding to my leg, which is the most important one for me to describe here, :-), this time I had an "easy" one, complete with gentley rolling hills and pretty countryside that became prettier as dawn approached and I could see the morning star glowing in the western sky. The temperature had dropped to a comfortable 55 degrees, which is a lovely number to run in. I could see the steam coming off of me as I pushed through the early morning air, with a brightening horizon ahead of me.

Leg number two was in the books for me as I turned beside a church parking lot to where my exchange and Jacques were waiting. I found that no matter what a leg is ranked, whether that be "very hard" or "easy", I still feel about the same afterwards. "Very hard" means you're not going to be able to move as quickly, but the terrain should do a number on you. "Easy" just means should be pushing harder now because there are no mean hills to take you down. I ran my best pace on this leg and I was feeling it.

After a brief stop at a high school along the way, which provided us with showers and a pancake breakfast (wonderful), we took our sleeping bags to a open field near the next van exchange, which served as a parking lot and sleeping area. That combination is not a very wise one as Jacques can attest to. He claimed that several vans came within couple feet of my head and the heads of some of my van mates while we slumbered. He quickly gave up on sleeping and decided that living was more important.

Along with the traffic, I was eventually awakened by a very loud team by the name of "Hot Tamales". A few of their runners were standing about 10 feet from my sleeping bag and were speaking at such a volume that I'm not sure if I could yell at. Maybe the volume seemed higher than it actually was because I was trying to sleep, but I couldn't believe that someone could speak so loudly, especially when they see people sleeping around them. One of their teammates even tried to shush them, which worked for about 10 seconds before they resumed their ear-ringing and mundane conversation. At one point I just got up and thought, "Ok, I guess I'm up". They were another reason that Jacques had given up.

But that's part of the relay and our second van was on their way anyway, so it was time to go through the drill one more time. The time was roughly 10:00 AM when I noticed that the temperature was rising awfully quickly. We would be dealing with some semi-serious heat before our job was done.

All of us dealt with some heavy sun between the shady spots as we continued east through the beautful tree-filled landscape of rural Oregon. The weather had saved its toughest spells for last. Like all of my teammates, I would be carrying a water bottle this time, not so much for the intake, but to dump on myself to prevent overheating.

My third leg was the toughest by far as it started on a heavy incline and never quite leveled out until I hit the top after 3.4 miles. My road kill number was rising though as we were starting to come across some of the slower teams with runners who had had enough out there. I pushed myself to the top and then pushed harder on the severe downhill, just for the sake of getting my count up (my running buddy Chris had claimed 30 road kill on his run...I had to take a crack at it). All told, I took out 33 runners, which would sit as the record for a short while (Chris took out 45 on his next leg...bastard :-))

It's hard to find feelings that compare to having your last set of legs done. No longer would we be sleep-running through the mid-day sun. No longer would we have to watch what we ate, for fear of having an ill-timed accident on the course (we brought plenty of tums). Suddenly we didn't feel quite so travel-weary. We were ready for some well-deserved food and beer.

The perfect spot for this was at a place called the Portway, a bar and grill which had some marvelous microbrews on tap. We took down pitcher each of Black Hook and Alaskan Amber, which helped to wash down some tastey cheese burgers (all 6 of us had the same idea). I also had some clam chowder, which was delicious. I'd highly recommend a stop at the Portway if you find yourself in the area and especially if you find yourself in van 1 for the Hood to Coast relay. Though the food and beer amplified our growing sleepiness, it really hit the spot and the restaurant itself had a fun local feel to it.

Off we were to Seaside, the conclusion of our adventure. The town itself made me think of a combination of Santa Cruz and Palo Alto with a nice beach and ocean awaiting, yet a little more of a yuppified feeling to the down town. It was a nice place to finish. The beach was filled with tents surrounding a finish line that several teams were crossing as we approached. The atmosphere was festive and fun and quite a contrast to what I had seen in April at the scaled down Providian relay (you'd barely know that a race was going on).

Tom rambled into the beach over the finish line to capture our official time, then did it again with his team in tow. As hard as it was to get my legs going for a 4th time, it felt great to finish with the team. We collected our medals and posed for pictures, feeling like a group that had found its 15 minutes of fame. Sleepy smiles emerged on all of us as it felt so good to finish.

We gathered at tables strewn around the beach finishing area and grabbed some beers to cap off our weekend in style. Henry's was on tap and hit the spot as we toasted to our success. A bright white sun was slowly being swallowed by a lightly waving ocean, leaving a pink splash in its wake. Another night was coming upon us that would be full of slumber and recovering legs. We said our goodbyes and rode into the night towards sweet dreams in Portland.

The End.

p.s. The next day, Dennis and I tried a couple of great places to stop for eats and treats in Portland. We stopped for very good lunch at the Southpark Seafood Grill and Wine Bar on Salmon Street (very appropriate street for them to be on). I had Sturgeon over polenta cakes sauteed in a wine-based sauce whose names eludes me, but whose taste was memorabely appetizing. This is a nice place to sit outside for lunch. It's slightly pricey, but well worth it. We then resisted their dangerously-appealing dessert menu and headed to Mio Gelato, which is right across from Powell's book store on Brazee street. I've been Italy, tasting what Gelato is supposed to taste like and I'll tell you, Mio Gelato has done the job. I had some Nocciola which was heavenly. I'll be back there again when I complete the Portland Marathon in October.

Western States 100

2006-07-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

The Western States Endurance Run (WSER) was always something of a myth to me. Of course I knew it existed and had even known a few people who had run it, but the experience had only come to me second hand. The distance seemed far too enormous to fathom and a paradox to picture. Imagine people running through snow and then through 100+ degree heat, all within a span of 24 hours or so (30 for those who wanted more hours for their buck). It was the stuff of legend.

That changed about a month and a half ago, when I had to make good on a commitment to pace Rob Byrne, veteren of the race, someone whom I had run a bit with before, but usually that's what it was, a bit. He'd usually tear up most Tullamore Dew Running Club courses that had been set before him, leaving everyone including myself in his dust. This time he "needed me" for an 18 mile segment of the the 100-mile course that he would be doing for the 11th time. I was game to give it a try.

His real goal was not to finish for this 11th time, but to break 24 hours for the 10th time, giving him the acclaimed "1000 miles in 10 days" belt buckle that repeat finishers envy and few have attained. So the 18 miles that I had signed up for took a little deeper meaning and I felt as if I had to some way help him make his mark rather than just getting him through another race. It was an honor to help him try.

The trip started via a ride with Larry England, a friend and fellow pacer, who would be taking Rob in for the last 20 miles after my segment. We drove up in his weathered Suburban and picked Rob up at a park and ride, just off of 580 . The weather was an ominous 111 degrees as indicated by the Suburban's thermometer. Actually, "ominous" is too soft of a word. How about hellacious? Either way, it was frickin' hot.

We made our way up to Auburn, town of the finish, a place which is conisdered by some, if not many, the "mecca" of ultra runners. It's got this very home town feel to it, with lots of pine trees sprinkled around and mountains waiting in the distance. The air is fresh and the area has a clean cut feel to it, perfect for those who enjoy putting their legs to the test.

The opposite of "clean cut" may have very well been the taco joint that we stopped at called "Jimboy's Taco", a place that Rob recommended and wanted to stop at for a bite to eat. Actually, it wasn't all that bad, just a place that I probably wouldn't normally venture into unless I was with a guy that was about to run 100 miles and wanted his burrito. It's his stomach and his race; let him eat what he wants. The food was as good as he had advertised, though there's no way you can eat their burritos with your hands as they pretty much fall apart upon contact. But that's what sporks are for.

After our respit, we continued on awhile to Squaw Valley, the site of the start. I had never been to Tahoe ski country in the summer, but I'd say it's just as beautiful seeing the mountains more green than white (though there was still a lot of snow up there) and not seeing my breath as I opened the car door and enjoyed the 70 degree temperature that the climate had settled to. The evening felt perfect.

The next morning led us to the WSER registration and check in, which started at 9 AM that Friday. There was a pretty good sized line of runners waiting to get registered. It is a little bit more advanced than your typical pick-up-your-bib-and-t-shirt type of affair. You actually have to weigh in at your hydrated weight. This is what they hope for, but supposedly some runners dehydrate themselves a bit so that they might catch a break on the course if they're caught a little under weight. The race experts do mention that this is a fairly stupid thing to do though, given that they've rarely had to pull a runner from the course due soley to a change in weight. It's usually just one of the symptoms they'll use to determine whether someone should be cut off. Anyway, along with the weigh in, the runners get their pulse and blood pressure checked and are invited to go further by offering a sample of their blood to help researchers get a sense of what this kind of activity does to folks. I don't think it's enough to say that 100 miles kinda screws people up.

While Rob went through his ordeal, Larry and I checked out the expo. We found that a lot of the things that the expo offered were exactly what Larry has offered over the years of running his Tullamore Dew Running Club. Every Death Valley and Benedict Arnold run that he's organized features a trinkit that he offers with the TDRC logo on it. He's had head lamps, t-shirts, map/scarves, blankets, gloves, bucket hats (kinda like Giligan wore, but beige), travel coffee mugs, wool jackets and other stuff I'm not remembering. WSER had all of that as if they'd been on the same page with him from year to year. They did finally trump Larry tough with a white pair of WSER briefs of all things. I hope he doesn't resort to copying them.

After the resigtration and the expo, we dropped off three camping chairs (two of them were TDRC chairs) in this grassy open area that would eventually serve as the pre-race meeting space. Obviously I was with veterens that had been through the drill a few times. After killing some time, lo and behold we were sitting in the shade, right towards the front, listening to all of the ins and outs of the race that would follow the next day. We were in perfect position.

Probably the most memorable part of the pre-race talk was the mention of all of the volunteer work that had gone in to clear out a new section of trail that was once overrun with trees, as well as all of the volunteer work that would be going into the race. Supposedly Tim Tweitmeier, the president of the race and another volunteer, whom I unfortunately cannot remember the name of, had spent 100 hours and 500 hours respectively using chain saws to work on the trees, even having to take a class on chain saw usage to get certified. They also mentioned that 1300 volunteers (not inclding crews and pacers) would be working the race, which is an astounding 3 volunteers per runner. I was beginning to perceive the magnitude of the event.

Another memorable part of the talk was seeing the top 10 runners from last year brought up to the front. Among the men was Dean Karnazes of ultra marathon fame through his book and many amazing running feats he's pulled (350 miles in last year's providian relay). But it was the women that impressed me the most. Larry leaned over to me as they assembled out front and whispered "Are these women buff, or what?" Yes they were. Their legs and arms had the appearance of being cut out of stone. I was delightfuly impressed.

The evening brought us a nice dinner at a bar and grill just above Lake Tahoe as we enjoyed the cooled temperature that duplicated the night before. We saw several people with green braclets on their arms, like Rob's, indicating that they were signed up to run tomorrow. The waitress became bug eyed as we told her what Rob was about to do. It's fun to brag about something that just seems so ridiculous and better yet, something I wouldn't actually have to do.

The rest of the evening was all about lounging and getting our running supplies in order. This is a ritual that all ultra runners seem to go through, spreading out their gu, salt, drugs (advil) , adhesives, lubricants and all that fun stuff. It's almost as if you're about to partake in some sort of strange orgy. I guess in some sense, that's what it is.

I took a walk outside of the lodge and tilted my head up into the night sky. Without any moon or major city lights to shade the stars, the view was gorgeous, and with the sounds of crickets coming from the grassy base of squaw, I felt a bit like I was back spending a summer night in Minnesota at my grandma's lake home near Mankato. I always enjoyed the intense feeling I had, staring up into the vastness of the illuminated universe, unhithered by anyone or anything. I need more of that feeling from time to time.

An altogether different feeling came about at 3:45 AM, one accompanied by a thought of, "Is it time already???", as I heard Rob's alarm go off the next morning. The man is deaf without his hearing aids so he continued to sleep soundly as the grating sounds spat out into the room. "Rob? Rob?"..."Rob!!!"..."Thanks Mark". What would he do without his pacer? :-)

Soon enough we were among the mass of runners that were making their way to the beginning of the madness. What we noticed right away was that the temperature was way too comfortable for 5 in the morning. It's not that it was really warm, but we weren't standing there with arms crossed and legs bouncing like most ultras and marathons begin. It was pleasant enough to cause worry about what the passing day would bring to this group of runners that would be toiling in the mountains and more importantly, in the canyons during the hotter hours.

I made my way up about a quarter mile past the starting area, so I could get a better view of the runners as they were rising up and passing by. I didn't see Rob come by in the rush. In fact, the only person I recognized was Tim Twietmeier, who was galloping among the front runners, racing up this mountain for the final time as a WSER participant. As I watched them disappear into the darkness that still enveloped the mountain at this hour, I thought about how fresh everyone looked and how long it would take before that freshness was gone. I was guessing one or two canyon's worth of heat may be all that it would take.

Now that Rob was off, it was time for Larry and I to begin a long day of "hurry up and wait" (Rob had told me that CREW stood for Cranky Runner Endless Waiting when it came to crewing for someone). We had several hours to kill before meeting him at Robinson Flat, the first major checkpoint for the runners at mile 29.7. We killed most of the time hanging out at a Starbuck's in Auburn, then taking a ride along Foresthill Rd., probably the main thoroughfare for pacers and crew as it ran paralell to most of the course after Robinson Flat (30 mile mark). It's a beautiful drive, complete with mountains and valleys of pine and the tallest standing bridge (Auburn-Foresthill Bridge) in California, 730 feet above the North Fork of the American River. Larry commented that it would be a better choice for a suicide jump than the Golden Gate Bridge with a chance of survivial being significantly slimmer. Thanks Larry.

We arrived to the chaos that prefaced Robinson flat aid station, which consisted of a lot of parked cars along the side of the road, lots of cars wanting to get parked and a group of volunteers with flustered yet cheerful looks on their faces. It reminded me a bit of some of the busier exchange points of the Providian Relay, though much busier. Larry ended up nudging me out of the car at one point so I could get to the checkpoint while he found some parking. I think he ended up finding something a half mile away.

A large crowd gathered around the premises of a large tent-covered aid station. A lane made by two parallel streams of caution tape was stretched out beyond the aid station to allow each runner a clear path to continue on after he/she had taken what they needed. Bags of all shapes, colors and sizes were neatly arranged inside the perimeter of another taped-off boundary, representing the drop bags that each of the runners can have left at 8 check points. Rob had this pink and yellow school-bag-looking thing that could have belonged to a 7-year-old girl. He actually was able to find 8 of them at a garage sale and scooped them up, thinking of WSER. There's no way they could be mistaken for anybody else's.

In Rob's bag, along with some snack items, the most important thing to him was a bottle of Ensure. It was this 350 calorie, milky, protein-fortified stuff that he claimed worked wonders for him as a form of runner gasoline. It tasted better than GU and went down much better, even as he got close to the end. He had one bottle in each of his bags that he would end up drinking religously. He even had one in the morning in the room.

I arrived to this site at around 9:30 AM, which according to the program is about 15 minutes after the front runner should have come through. Rob had predicted that he'd come through around 10 AM, though he scoffed at this goal the night before, thinking that the heat would prevent him from making such a time. The first guy that I saw come through was Jim Huffman, who ended up finishing 5th. He wasn't in until around 10 though, which is a sign of how hot it was out there.

I saw Dean Karnazes come through without a lot of fan fare, looking pretty heat-weathered himself. He put his singlet and hat into the bucket of ice water and took the sponge bath they offer. The third place woman from last year, a French citizen, came through soon afterwards and had to be convinced to not bow out (she did finish). "It's too hot", she gasped, as she stumbled into the station. Chikara Omine, a runner whom I've been following ever since seeing him be the first runner to ever break 4 hours in a Pacific Coast Trail Runs event, looked very worse for wear as he came in. As he stood on the scale, I noticed he was wearing trail shoes and socks, which are a far cry from the track shoes that he usually wears, sockless. He looked very pale and somewhat concerned. This is a guy that ran the Ruth Anderson 100K at 7:26 per mile pace. I mean, come on, 62 miles at that pace??? Robinson flat was where his finish was for that day. They listed "Metabolic" in parentheses when I looked at the updated drop list at the next aid station, which I guess meant he had stomach problems. It was a tough start for these runners.

Rob finally came through at around 11:40, which is about even with the 24 hour pace. He was in good spirits and seemed to be in decent shape at the time. He didn't complain about the heat in the canyon, though he didn't seem overly comfortable with the temperature either, spending some extra time hydrating and icing down. This seemed to do the trick for him though, as he came out a new man. We just walked walked him through the shoot and saw him off, nothing too demanding for this crew of his at this point.

We traveled back on Foresthill Road to Auburn to check into the Comfort Inn that Rob had us staying at. Afterwards we had some lunch at a nearby Denny's, where I think I had my third meal of the weekend that included french fries (great diet for a runner!). We were just killing time again before meeting him again at Michigan Bluff, another big checkpoint after a round of some serious canyon running and climbing.

On the way to Michigan Bluff, we picked up Rob's wife Chris, who came up from Oakland to join our crew. After many years of dealing with her husband's addiction to running, she still doesn't quite understand it and doesn't understand why we'd want to take the time to pace him. But she was appreciative of us being there. "So you run?", she asked me, as we walked down the hill to Michigan Bluff. "No", I joked, bringing in a bit of my midwest sarcasm. "I just thought 18 miles sounded like a fun thing to try."

Probably the most attractive part of the Michigan Bluff aid station are these burgers that I had read about in their program and saw first hand, being sold at a counter, completely smothered with fried onions. I have a weakness for hamburgers that I've never tried to fix, but I'm proud to say that I resisted the urge to buy one. Given that I'd be runing in a couple hours, I decided to stay healthy, opting instead for a orange-ice cream dreamsicle. Yes, I know this isn't that healthy, but it is a healthy alternative to a burger (I think). Regardless, I had to eat something fun.

As beat up as the runners looked at Robinson Flat, they looked more so, by a factor of 10 at Michigan Bluff. Several runners staggered in and had be physically guided to the scale and the refreshments. Several runners had to be strapped up to IV's, which essentially ended the race for most of them. To me this was the make it or break it point of the race. The weather was still warm but cooling, and the time spent toiling in the heat of the canyons was over. Yes, there was still that small factor of having 45 miles yet to run, but c'mon, the weather was now perfect. :-)

Chris, Larry and I arrived at Foresthill High School, the checkpoint where pacers could come into the game. As we rode by to hunt for a parking spot, we noticed a famous runner in the unfamiliar guise of a pacer by the name Scott Jurek. I had seen his picture in the WSER program in a few spots and his name by all of the records and first place finshes. I had also seen him at the inaugaral Bizz Johnson Marathon, where he had finished at a time of 2:56. Now he was pacing someone that was actually the front runner at the time until 30 feet from the finish, but more on that later.

I checked myself into Pacer Central, picking up my yellow bib that shared the same number as Rob's (48, the one he picked as it reflected his age). I filled a bottle full of water and the other one with sports drink. I was feeling locked and loaded. At that point, I started to feel the butterflies of being involved in a race. I knew I wouldn't be racing, but somehow I felt the juices flowing like I would be. Though Rob would be beat up enough for most runners to hang with him, I felt like I needed to be on my game to be a pacer to him and not someone he needed to worry about. As I pinned the pacer bib to my shorts and started to stretch my legs, I felt all of the elements of a race coming together. I love the feeling of being part of a running event. It was show time.

There were several runners whom we saw in the distance and spouted out a "Is that Rob?" in reference to. They were ones which either had the same hat, shirt or shorts as he did, but God help us we didn't learn our lesson at Robinson flat nor Michigan Bluff where we were confused by the same people. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me three times, please, have you figured it out yet?

A siren-blaring ambulance sped by in the direction that the runners were coming from. "I hope that's not for Rob", Chris said, then quickly apologized. She claimed that even after all of these years, she still worries about her husband, especially these days when she feels that he's "getting old". I think no matter what age you are, there's always a risk of something serious happening out on this course. An accomplished Iron Man triathlete had a heart attack 11 miles into the race. The winner-to-be (or not to be) collapsed 30 feet from the finish line. Every spouse and loved one related to these runners has the right to worry a little.

Chris's worry vanished, however, as we we saw Rob finally coming in. His energy level seemed somewhat low, but his spirits were high as evidenced by the smile he was still able to flash. Larry grabbed his running pack and proceeded to go get his water bottles filled. I walked along side of him as he appeared eager to depart. He called for a bottle of Ensure, which he downed and followed with a grimace (I think most people might have had that same look). John Medinger (Quad Dipsea director) reminded him that he was just on pace to break 24 hours, to which Rob responded with "I'm not sure if I can do it this year." A few people surrounding John shook their heads and yelled out words of encouragement. "C'mon, you can do it."

Speaking of Tropical John, as he's called or at least calls himself, I found that Western States is quite a who's who of the ultra running crowd. I saw Wendell and Sarah of Pacific Coast Trail Runs crewing at Forest Hill, Guy Palmer of the Marin Headlands 50K running the race itself, not too far in front of Rob, Ann Trason who had won the race several times, walking into Michigan Bluff to check out hte runners. Larry and Rob themselves are in that who's who list as well, being the race directors of the Ohlone wildnerness 50K. Several people recognized both of them, though Rob admitted to me that he recognized very few of the folks that said "hi" to him. He said he probably "handed them a plaque at the finish line" of his challenging race (by the way, if you're looking for a very challenging 50K, this it the toughest one of done...see abovethefog.net for details).

Without much ado, we launched from Forest Hill, taking advantage of the downward slope of the road to gain some momentum. We turned left at the next intersection and soon after, we entered a trail head that was marked with sign reading "Western States Trail" Ahh, so that's where the race gets its name.

From what little daylight we had left, I caught some beautiful views of a mountain ridge across a valley that dropped from trail. The ridge was catching the day's last rays of sun (a gorgeous affect) and below I caught green glimpses of the the American River, raging with a beautiful emerald glow. I'm glad the trail was smooth and fairly flat or I may have taken a header for all of the gawking I was doing at the infrequent vistas of these two magnificent sights. I now have first hand evidence as to why they picked this trail to host a race.

Rob, on the other hand, was not such a pretty sight. :-) Not that he's an unbecoming man, but this early stretch after Forest Hill found him in rough shape. He was battling the digestion of a turkey sandwich, which didn't quite want to go down without a fight. He slowed several times and finally just stopped to let go of it. As good as a turkey sandwich sounded to him at the beginning of the race, it had pretty much lost all of its appeal at that point.

After being doubled over for a spell and collecting himself, he rallied and we were able to pick up the pace again. His stomach may have been out of order, but his legs were working just fine as we came across some down hill and let gravity take on some workload. I could tell he still had that 24-hour finish in mind and was doing his best to keep it in sight. Though we got passed by a couple runners (and their pacers) who seemed as fresh as daisies, I felt like we were moving at pretty good clip.

The daylight started dimming as we approached about 5 miles (for me, 67 for Rob. :-)), dim enough to make the neon feature of an "Open" sign effective, a clever decore for the first aid station that we encountered. "Are you open?", Rob quipped. His sense of humor was still firmly intact. I sampled a few of the goodies at the aid station while Rob was getting his bottles filled. I felt a little guilty, given the fact that I hadn't beat up my body like Rob had, though I was appreciative of the attention that the aid station volunteers were giving me.

I was a little embarrased as I saw Rob in the distance looking back at me, already back on the trail while I was still grazing. I think I enjoy the ultra aid stations too much with all of their junk food and fresh melon. I quickly scampered out of there though and got back to work.

Twilight transformed into nightfall quite quickly as we continued along the trail. We put on our head lamps and flipped on the lights. Outside of running the Providian Relay, I had never done a race in the dark. The section of the trail that we were on was challenging in that there was a very steep and sudden drop off to our left. I kept wanting to look left, down into the darkness to see what perils awaited me, should I have any slip ups. This proved to be the exact wrong thing to do though, as looking left took away my light source on the trail, making slip ups more likely. I found that it was best to keep my eyes (and light) on the road.

I'm not much of a conversationalist on the trail (or off the trail for that matter), but tried to come up with some things to keep Rob awake. Mainly I got him to speak about other ultras and 100-milers he had done, which led to some pretty interesting stories. He told me had done a grand slam (four 100's in a year), which boggled my mind even more than it was. He said his favorite 50 miler is the San Francisco Fear and Loathing, one which follows the 49 mile scenic route through the city. His favorite 100 miler was the one we were running, of course, as he was doing it for the 11th time. Favorite 50K? The Ohlone Wilderness, of course, the one that he and Larry organize. :-)

We came into the next aid station, which was a welcome sight for both of us. For Rob, he was ready to try out his stomach again with something other than GU. For me, it was nice to be able turn off my head lamp and make use of another source of light as the station was well illuminated. One thing I discovered at this aid station were some bite-sized pieces of salted nut roll. I love that candy bar and found it to be a stroke of pure genius to see them incorperated into the junk food table.

Even though it was close to 10 PM, I dipped my hat in the bucket of ice water that they had. The temperature outside was not overly warm, but it actually never quite cooled down and the air even felt a little thick with humidity. This was an indication of what these runners had to go through during the heat of the day. If I was feeling a little warm then, imagine what they were feeling at noon time.

This time, Rob showed no anxiousness to hit the trails. "I need to stay here a little while", he said. I think the heat earlier was finally taking its toll on him. Several runners came through and were out as quickly as they had come in. This had no effect on Rob, he needed some time to feel human again. I needed some more salted nut roll chunks. :-)

Leaving the aid station was the start of what I would call a "death march". That's a point in a run where you're body has pretty much says "fuck you" to you and all you really care about is finishing before you become a casuality of the trails. It's no longer a race anymore, you just want to go home to your shower and bed. Rob was shot and anything that wasn't down hill, was time to walk, that is when he wasn't hunched over catching his breath. It was going to be a long time before we got to the river, which marked the 80 mile check point, where Larry would take over.
After slowly moving up through midnight, we finally did get to the welcoming lights of aid stations that stood on both sides of the American River. Usually runners would have to cross it on foot by this point, using a rope to ensure that they weren't carried away by the current. This time, however, we were aided by an inflatable rowboat, powered by a thick-armed, Austrailan-sounding bloke. "Climb aboard mates", he said (just kidding, he didn't really say 'mates', but he did have a thick austrailan accent...or maybe it was New Zealand). He swiftly brought us across the river, which was high and raging. There's no way anyone without fins could get across this thing.

We made a small stop at the aid station before starting an unfair 2-mile climb up hill to "Green Gate", which is where #2 pacers wait. We saw no sign of Larry, who said he'd come down. We figured he had given up and decided to hang with Chris (which he did). He did meet us with about a quarter mile to go and was in an excitable mood as usual. He had me undo my pacer's bib while he assessed Rob's condition, which seemed to be worsening by the minute. He had to stop several times on the trek up this unforgiveable hill. "Can I get you to do a power walk?", Larry asked. Hunched over again, Rob didn't even answer. I got the sense that whatever motivational powers which Larry posessed, which are many, he was going to try to use them.

We reached Green Gate, where Chris was waiting for us. She had a worried look on her face, which was eventually disipated by a sheepish smile from Rob. He comforted her with whatever kind words he had left. Larry was hopping to go, still hoping to push him across the finish line at a 24 hour clip. He was about an hour behind at that point though and had no second winds to speak of. I don't think Larry realized how spent Rob was, but was taking heed to Rob's words before the race started. "Larry, you're going to have to kick my ass when I get to you". I have a feeling he regretted saying that.

I wondered how those 20 miles would go as Chris and I ascended for another mile out of green gate to the parking lot. To be honest, as fresh as I still felt, that last mile was hell. It felt pretty much straight up and seemed more like 5 miles. She asked me to stop several times to catch her breath, which was reassuring and a good excuse to catch my own. We saw several crew members passing us, going down the hill, some carrying heavy coolers. I didn't envy their trip back up.

We rolled out of the parking area with Larry's suburban back to the hotel in Auburn. It was 1 in the morning and I was starting to feel the lack of sleep for the first time as the excitement of being part of the run wore off. The thought of a shower and bed was lovely even if it would only be for a few hours. I felt a little guilty that the race was taking its toll on me when I had only done a tiny portion of it.

After a wonderful, yet short refresh in Auburn, we were out again, looking to catch Rob and Larry at the Highway 49 crossing, which was 93.5 miles into the race. We took the shuttle to this point and plopped our camping chairs (and our butts) down and stared a slightly listlessly into what was quickly becoming dawn. I had tried to predict Rob's arrival, thinking he could do a 20-25 minute pace, which would place him there at 6 AM.

But that 6 AM arrival was not to be, as we checked several times with the aid station volunteers that had access to the internet and website that tracked runner's progress. The only information we could get is that he had left green gate at around 12:40 AM. C'mon, we could have told you that. After getting to the point that we were their number one pests, they finally gave us a better answer, telling us that he had just left a check point that was 3 miles away. Again the worry drained out of Chris's face and was replaced by relief.

She felt even better as Rob trudged into the aid station with Larry anxiously power walking behind him. He was still moving forward and seemed to have enough in the tank to get through a little over a 10K albeit at a slow walker's pace. He had had enough of aid stations, I'm sure, and mimized his stay there.

We stood at the very last aid station, Robie point, which was 99 miles into the race. One memorable part about standing there, was seeing Tim Tweitmeier drive up and drop something off at the aid station. He was bouncing around, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with the volunteers. Didn't you just run this race? It sure didn't look like it. Apparently he came in at around 20:30, which had been around 9 hours ago. I guess he had recovered.

Rob came through, looking like a man who was ready to finish that last mile. It was his worst finish ever, but one nice thing about it was that his wife could walk that last mile with him. It gave her a new perspective on the race and I think she really appreciated it. Rob asked me how I was. "I'm doing just fine...how are you?", I replied, followed by no response. I guess it's a bit rhetorical at that point.

We let Rob take the final quarter mile lap around the Auburn high school track while we waited at the finish. He posed for the picture, coming in at around 29 hours. There were a few others that came in closely in front and behind him. We found out later that about a quarter of the field finished in the 29th hour, the last hour you could officially finish at.

Not only that, but nearly half of the 400 competitors had dropped out, incuding a couple men and woman who had finished top ten last year. 77 dropped at the 30 mile mark. Later on, I had heard that the race course had been modified to what it was originally and a lot of runners felt that was part of the problem. I had also heard John Medinger made some comment that too many runners were winning the coveted 24-hour silver buckle and they had to do something about that. I think the heat helped keep the numbers down as well.

The biggest trivial (or not so trivial) bit on the race is that the front runner collapsed, 30 feet from the finish line and was recovering in the hospital at the time of the awards cermony. He was the one being paced by Scott Jurek. Sadly he'd only become a foot note for the race, having been carried the last 30 feet to prevent him from going into a seizure, which disqualified him. What a terrible thing to happen to runner.

On a positive note, Tim Tweitmeier was presented a plaque with all 25 of his silver belt buckles, indicating he had done his 25 Western States in under 24 hours. He promptly announced that he would be retiring and looking forward to life as a volunteer for the race. I was just blown away by his accomplishment and the fact that he looked so fresh.

And that, my friends, was the Western States 100. God bless you if you were able to get through all of this post which got completely out of control. For those of you who fell asleep, wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. Would I ever do this race? No way. I'm completely challenged by marathons and 50K's. Those who can complete this race are either not challenged by those distances through wonderful genetic dispotions to distance running or are completely out of their minds or perhaps have not found alcohol or Jesus in their life. I had a lot of fun experiencing what this race was all about, but that's as far as I want to go.

The End.

San Diego Marathon

2006-06-04T22:14:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I completed my 18th marathon, this time venturing down to San Diego for the Rock 'N Roll Marathon that they hold down there, joning around 15 thousand other runners.

The weekend began with a flight out of San Jose, a place that I rarely fly out of and was reminded of why. It's a horrible airport. :-) With about a million people in San Jose, you'd think they could put together an industrial strength airport by now, especially with the construction that's been going on for ages. After I got my ticket, I tried entering what I thought was the security line, but a uniformed man told me, "ahh, line is back there". Oh. Sorry. So I took a marathon-sized walk back to the stairs that lead down to baggage claim at the end of a line that barely seemed to be moving. It wasn't too long before the line extended behind me to another county. Oh well.

As I waited in the "C" line for the Southwest flight (they have a brilliant free-for-all seating plan, where you feel like you're trying to find a seat on an overloaded school bus when they get to the "C" group), I noticed a ton of Team in Training folks and secretly wondered whether any of them would be running the marathon (please excuse my humor...of course they were all running the marathon, but whenever I've seen them "train", it's a nice leisurely walk, like they've been cautioned not to break a sweat). Actually I shouldn't joke because they are a very strong organization, raising money for a great cause and getting people who would not normally engage in marathon-type activities in, well, marthon-type activities. Good for them.

Walking to my Hertz rental car, I noticed these electronic boards that flashed renter's names with an arrow pointing to their car (pretty cool). As I tried to find my spot, I saw the name "Dan Fouts" of all people. For those of you who don't know, there is a Dan Fouts who used to be a star quarterback for the San Diego Chargers and is now a fairly successful color commenator for ABC. The chances of coincidence are pretty slim, I think. I was almost tempted to hang out for a little while and see if he came by, but I had an expo to go to.

Speaking of the expo, I punched in the address to the "Never Lost" system and let the Never Lost lady lead the way to the convention center. Traffic became bad as I rolled closer, eventually coming upon this convention center, which was enormous, seeming to span the length several football fields. Speaking of fields, Petco Field was right across the street from it, home of the Padres. Petco field just doesn't seem to have the majesty of the name "Jack Murphy Stadium", which I think was what it was once called, unless this field is relatively brand new (not sure). But what team would be shaking in their spikes going to Petco Field?

After sitting in traffic for what seemed like forever (I kept looking at my watch and saying, "There's still plenty of time to get my packet"), I finally parked and took a b-line for the expo. This thing is big enough that they actually had 3-4 different things going on, independent of the marathon proceedings. It was interesting to see the different groups, especially the contrast between the laid-back runners with their plastic goodie bags and people in business casual carrying around brief and laptop cases.

Having done 17 marathons previously, I know the drill by now.

1. Find the line where my number falls into the range serviced (1000-2000 this time) and get my bib
2. Get my chip and test it out ("Are you Mark Taylor?"..."Yep")
3. Get a goodie bag
4. Get my t-shirt ("Extra Large?"..."Yep")
5. Get some GU and Body Glide (Somewhere in my apartment are 10 sticks of Body Glide, probably right next to 100 pens)
6. Graze (i.e. Eat and drink some of the sample stuff they have out)
7. Get the hell out of there

Seriously, there's not much more to it than that. I do the same thing practically every time.

Back at the rental I punched in the hotel address, which was the Sheraton in Mission Valley. Of course the Never Lost lady had no idea that Old Town San Diego (the area near the convention center) was under construction, so she kept re-calibrating my route as I tried to figure out where to go. Eventually I did get there, arriving to the hotel in a fairly urban sprawled part of town. I wasn't planning to see a lot of San Diego, even though I had never been there, but wanted to leave my exploration for the race and post-race.

Heeding to that thought, I drove across the overpass from the hotel to the urban sprawl strip mall and had my choice between a Fuduckers and Gordon Biersch. I almost convinced myself that a cheeseburger the night before a race has actually worked in getting me P.R. before, but better judgement came to my rescue and I opted for Gordon Biersch (Fudrucker's would be my reward). Taking my better judgement one step forward and resisting an order for beer or anything exciting on the menu, I opted for a simple pasta dish. Damn I was being good.

I then b-lined back to the hotel and pretty much spent the rest of the evening and night in bed, watching Dirk Nowitski take the Mavs to the NBA finals, which I think will lead to an interesting series with Heat. I then watched Star Wars episode III, which I hadn't seen since the big screen and enjoyed watching again, if at least for the great fight sequences. Kinda fun.

I had a hard time sleeping due to the warmth in the room. It turns out San Diego doesn't cool down at night like the SF Bay Area does, so I ended up cranking down the tempurature a bit. I awoke at what seemed to be every hour, which is indication that I was a little hyped up for the race. I finally caught some z's that were rudely shut down by my mom's call at 4:15 AM. "Hi Honey...are you awake...ok...Don't go back to sleep now." Of course I did go back to sleep only because I had a second wake up call coming from the hotel at 4:30. Some times you need two, and those 15 extra minutes were wonderful.

I jumped out a bed finally and hit the shower. I put on all of my running gear and started taking the elevator down, so that I could make the 5 AM shuttle. I was starting from the 12th floor and the elevator stopped at every floor down to the lobby to pick up another runner or two. By the time we hit "L", we could hear some unsettling creaking.

Soon enough we were on the shuttle and I was staring like a zombie at the seat in front of me. Why are races always so early? My trance was broken by a girl sitting beside me, who asked, "Have you done a marathon before?". After letting her question break through the fog I was in, which was similar to all of the fog hovering around outside, I sheepishly replied, "I've done a few, actually. How about you?" "Yes it is", she replied, "Do you have any tips?" I said, "Don't let the adrenaline of being in a race make you go out too fast, or you'll pay for it. Walk through the aid stations. Make sure you're drinking. Pour water over your head." I just blurted everything out that came to mind. It turned out that 18 miles was her longest run to date, not having ever ventured further. I told her to be careful out there, because the mileage can catch with you in a hurry. We both memorized each other's bib numbers so that we could check up on each other.

After a trip to the port-a-potty, I entered Corale #1,which was just behind Corale E (elite), which was filled with lean, fast-looking runners. I wondered how I had found my way into this bunch, but them remembered that I had said would be going for a 3:15 time. Oh yeah.
A pace runner carried around a 3:10 sign and I warned myself to stay away from that group. There would be another race to catch that breed of runner.

The national anthem was sung by an African-American woman with a beautiful voice. About mid-way through the song I remembered to remove my hat, which is probably due less to lack of memory and more to lack of patriotism. I'm always torn between standing there with some semblance of respect and just standing there as the person I am. I'm not exactly proud to be an American, but perhaps that's a little too black and white.

An army sargeant said a few words to us, wishing us luck and so forth. A gun went off and soon afterwards, I was running. Here we go again.

The first mile came by at 7:37, which is a little slow, though the 3:10 group was only few steps away and there was no way in hell I was going pass them. The second came in at around 7:19, evening out to the pace I wanted to be at. I was starting out at just the right stride and felt like I was comfortabley holding back.

Probably turning point for me was after completing the 10th mile. I had forced myself to use the bathroom just before the mile 9 marker, just to give my legs a little rest and lighten my overhydrated load a bit. I came into mile 9 at 7:48, which wasn't a bad recovery, considering the break. But then I was surprised to see my mile 10 turn out a time of 7:32 after I thought I had pushed myself a little bit more. I was wondering if I was just having a bad day and was feeling discouraged, but then thought to myself that if I wanted to P.R., I had to take some risks. I had put in the training and had lost weight, so I was ready. I had to stop pampering my legs and give them some hell.

Mile 11 was the perfect mile to start, with a pretty good down hill. Crossing the marker, breathing a little heavier, I read 6:34 on my watch. Too fast, but it brought a smile to my face. Mile 12 was up hill and I rattled off a 7:40, which was good for the incline. I followed with a 7:13 into mile 13 and was sitting at 1:37:30 at the half way mark, an almost perfect half for what I was trying to do. I was making a race out of it.

Mile 14 was a solid 7:32, but the important thing was that I was feeling pretty good, which hadn't been the case in my few previous marathons. What would end up being a pleasant surprise was that I would I be under 7:30 for every remaining mile, except for mile 20, which was also at a respectable 7:32 (something special about that number?), afterwhich I got a little faster. All the hard work I had put in was paying off.

I cruised through the remaining miles, barely noticing them, just pushing as hard as I could. As I reached a sign that said "1/2 mile to go", I felt something that I hadn't felt in a race for a good while: Rage. I ran the remaining half with a furrowed brow and furious anger. I wanted blood. I knew that I would P.R., but I wanted to squeeze out every second I that I could. No one passed me in this last stretch as I went by runners that seemed to be almost standing still. I felt awesome.

I crossed the finish line at 3:14:24 and heard the P.A. blare out my name "Mark Taylor from Mountain View". P.R., everyone. Finally, after a few years, I had P.R'd again. What a wonderful feeling. I pumped my fist and walked over to receive my medal. I felt high.

Here's the breakdown of my splits (yes, I'm anal when it comes to tracking pace) :

Mile 1 7:37
Mile 2 7:19
Mile 3 7:23
Mile 4 7:01
Mile 5 7:18
Mile 6 7:35
Mile 7 7:27
Mile 8 7:32
Mile 9 7:48
Mile 10 7:33
Mile 11 6:34
Mile 12 7:40
Mile 13 7:13
Mile 14 7:32
Mile 15 7:21
Mile 16 7:19
Mile 17 7:28
Mile 18 7:29
Mile 19 7:26
Mile 20 7:32
Mile 21 7:23
Mile 22 7:23
Mile 23 7:24
Mile 24 7:25
Mile 25 7:29
Mile 26 7:26

I found what really helped me were the 5K markers that they put on the course. I put myself in the mindset that I was going to run 4 strong 10K's, which is what I did with these splits:

1st 10K: 45:45
2nd 10K: 46:15
3rd 10K: 46:06
4th 10K : 46:13

Like all P.R.'s that I've had in past marathons, I ran a very even race, which is going to be my prescription for future ones.

The rest of my time spent in San Diego included a well-deserved trip to Fudruckers, followed by a traffic jammed trip to the northwest part of San Diego, where I found a nice overlook of the beach. "Nice" might be over stating it a bit. I have to admit that the beach itself looked really ugly to me, being a bit overcrowded and with some sort of dried up seeweed-looking stuff splattered all over the place. They also had horse shoe stakes all along the shore with plenty of people using them. It just didn't have this peaceful, wide-open feel that I like on a beach.

The residential area above the beach was more to my liking. It reminded me of Santa Cruz, seeing a lot of simple homes and condos and people carrying a care-free attitude around with them, along with their beach towels and surf and boogie boards. It felt so much more relaxing than the sandy shore that was a few blocks below.

It wasn't too long before I was sitting on the plane back to San Jose, trying not to keep my aching leg muscles in one position for too long, otherwise they would have had to pry me out of my seat. It seemed like such a long time ago that I had pulled myself out of bed to put the wheels in motion for a marathon. Even with the proof of painful legs and my finisher medal in hand, there's something surreal about running one. Was I really out there?

So that was the San Diego Marathon. I'm extremely encouraged by my time and now I have my sites on Boston. After recovering for a month or so, I'll be ready to train hard again and have high hopes to trim off those few remaining (and challenging) minutes from my time and perhaps some more pounds from my physique (I still have a Krispy Kreme layer that could go :-)) There's some work to do, but I have a rendezvous with Boston.

Oh yeah, about the girl on the bus. She ended up ignoring my advice completely and just tore up most of the course, running at close to an 8 minute pace before crashing in the last 5 miles, which she did at 10 minute pace. Despite going out too fast, she qualified for Boston, coming in at 3:40 and change. Incredible. :-)

Movie Review: Brick

2006-05-07T23:23:00.000-07:00

I'll be writing more about my trip to India, but in the mean time, I wanted to do a quick review on a movie I enjoyed recently called "Brick"

Brick is a fast-paced and mesmerizing journey taken on the coat tails of the main character Brendan, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Yes, that Joseph Gordon-Levitt). The movie begins with Brendan in a catcher's stance, overlooking the limp body of his ex-girlfriend Emily who's found lying next to the shallow stream of an aquaduct that leads through a dark tunnel. The movie is much like this dark tunnel that Brendan moves through, covering suprises that leap out at him and the audience yet leaving much to the imagination as to what will happen next.

The movie's setting is in high school in a California-like area complete with coastal drives and ocean-splashed sunsets. Brendan is an outcast by preference who has distanced himself even further from the teenage society that he loathes after being dumped by Emily who has entered a shady counter culture ruled by sex, drugs and muscle.

He fearlessly returns to this world after receiving a cry for help from her on a pay phone, in the form of a confusing yet angst-filled conversation that is riddled with terms and characters that he must then decipher against the clock. Enlisting the help of his only apparent friend, a coke-bottle-glasses-wearing savant named "Brain", he follows a path that leads him from one seductress in the drug ring, another ex-girlfriend named Kara, to another named Laura as both girls perhaps represent the models that Emily aspires to be.

He trusts no one on his quest aside from his gifted side kick who provides him information on all of the the "players" in this deadly game that he joins in on. He takes multiple beatings and even an attempt on his life, narrowly dodging fatal blows and using his cunning to avoid a ticket out of the high drama that he has partaken in. Though Emily finds him disenchanting and refuses to recriprocate the feelings that he has for her, its these feelings that empower him in an environment that at first seems out of his league. Though he is by far the most clever character on the school campus and its shady outskirts, he must rely on his guts to move forward.

His progress takes him to "The Pin" a character played by Lukas Haas, one who is at the center of the ring and protected by a testosterone-filled and muscle-bound thug named "Tugger" played by Noah Fleiss. Both characters take Brendan into their inner circle as he avoids their suspicions, using his cool demeanor and quick-working intellect. He finds that Laura has also found her way into this same circle most likely by using similar traits along with her seductive charm. Brendan immediately finds her to be the most dangerous of the three as he understands his own lack of immunity against her sexual power.

The movie is beautifully done and filled with wonderful dialog, using some slang that will require some translation (I included a glossary provided through IMDB). I enjoyed the conversational warfare between Brendan and the bad guys as well the banter that he shares with the Brain. The words are very cleverly written and have somewhat of a rhythem to them. All of the main characters are intense and very intriguing. There's a great early scene in the movie in which Laura delivers a piano-accompanied soliloquy that's very easy on the ears (as she is on the eyes). I saw this movie twice, which gives you a sense of how much I enjoyed it.

Glossary:

Blow - to leave, depart
"Did she blow last night?"

Bulls-Cops; can also mean to turn over to the cops
"What first, tip the bulls?";"I bulled the rat".

Burg-Town, City
"He knows every twobit toker in the burg".

Copped-Stole
"She copped the junk"

Dose - To take drugs
"He dosed off the bad junk and it laid him out."

Duck Soup - Easy pickings

Gat - Gun

Heel - To walk away from (and show your heels to)
"I'm not heeling you to hook you".

Hop;Junk;Jake - Drugs

Pick - A ride in a car, (As in pick up)
'Did she get a pick?"

Reef Worm - A stoner (variation of reefer)
"he's a pot skulled reef worm with more hop in his head than blood."

Scape - a patsy to take the blame (scape goat)

Scrapped - Begged off of, cadged from
"Ask any dope rat where their junk sprang and they'll say they scraped it off..."

Shamus - A private detective

Shine - To wield (as with a weapon)
"He shines a blade"

Sprang - Orignated.
"His gat sprang from Tugger's gang."

Take a powder - To slip away
"Why'd you take a powder the other night?"

Yeg - guy
"They'd probably find some yeg to pin it on."

The never ending first weekend in India (final part)

2006-04-23T21:10:00.001-07:00

Trust me, this weekend that I’ve been writing an inexhaustible amount on does have an ending. After our tour of the Hindu temple in Halebid, we headed to a neighboring town called Belur a place with the temple which supposedly is more beautiful on the inside. We arrived to more soap stone carvers, giving us the same lines that we had heard in Halebid. They must teach a class for these folks, letting them in on all of the tips and tricks for suckering the tourists into giving up some rupees for trinkets of questionable value. They got me in Halebid, I wasn’t budging in Belur, even though I have to admit that these trinkets looked a little nicer (damn it!).

Again we went through the same song and dance of removing our shoes and socks, this time a little more gingerly because our feet were cooked to at least medium rare. The temple was surrounded by a 15-20 foot stone wall, and centered inside a good-sized court yard. The distance from the shaded entrance to through this wall was quite daunting given the 4 PM sunshine baking the soap stone to a scalding temperature. We saw a red mat that led up to the temple, but there was still a lot of stone to cross and the mat didn’t offer that much relief. We basically ran to the mat, then skipped up the steps to the cool greeting that the inside of the temple offered.

I walked in one of the main entrances and was greeted by a seven-headed snake, a statue of one, that is. I was finding that snakes tend to be help up as sacred animals in the Hindu culture, which is a contrast to the Christian, which equates this creature to Satan. In fact I’ve heard that a lot of cultures hold a snake in high regards, perhaps because of its seemingly dual nature. It has the ability to move like water, yet its tongue draws analogies to fire. Even if you look at the symbol of the medical profession, its two snakes wrapped around a staff.

I have to admit that I didn’t pay the inside of the temple much mind, given that I was dragging a bit at the time and it was actually pretty dark in there. Even after standing for a while, my eyes couldn’t quite adjust to the light (or lack thereof), making it difficult to see what was going on in there. A tour guide that appeared to speaking in Hindi perhaps was shining a Bat-signal-like spot light on some areas of the temple. I wish I knew what he was saying.

The outside of the temple was much like the one I had seen in Halebid, with layers of animals representing respected qualities of human and animal kind. Again I was distracted by my baking feet, which were probably moving on to medium, with medium-well not too far away. I was ready to get to back into the air-conditioned car with my shoes and socks back on.

The ride back home had most of us in a trance with heavy eyelids. We stopped a truck stop called “Kamat”, which is apparently a chain in the area. It wasn’t quite like an American truck stop. It didn’t have a bar, or bake potato special or any travel-worn truckers to speak of. It was actually a nice little sit-down restaurant with about 8 people ready to serve us (ok, it was more like 3). We had the paneer tikki masala and some naan, which turned out to be pretty good. We saw a couple families come in for dinner after us. It just didn’t have that trucker feel to it, not that I minded.

And so that was Saturday…Sunday was a little more relaxed, with golf being the only thing on the agenda. I had made some reservations at Eagleton golf club at the advice of an IBM co-worker back in California. He told me I could play 18 with a cart, a caddie and a seven-course meal for around 40 bucks. He was just about right on that. That’s about what it costed me, though we had to settle for a lamb burger at the club house after getting through 18.

Speaking of those 18, what a beautiful course. After driving through the dry geography of southern India, it was nice to be able to see some green grass, fir trees and little ponds (though they also serve as water hazards). The course was a little longer than average length, with plenty of fairway to play in. It still didn’t prevent me from losing a few balls, which kinda pisses me off now because the ones I lost had “Eagleton Golf Club” printed on them. I still have the other ones I purchased which are just some “EV” brand.

It took me a while to get used to having a caddie. We had one for each cart, of which we had two, for the four of us. The caddies road standing up, hanging onto the back. I kept putting my own clubs back and reaching for the next one as my caddie, a 21-year-old named Ravi, shook his head and kept saying, “Let me do that sir” (man I hate being called “sir” – makes me sound old!). The kid claimed to have a 2 handicap, which is excellent, and I believed him. He gave me a lot of instruction that improved some of my shots and he seemed to read the green very well. He was brutally honest with me though when I had some tough holes, saying, “You’re not playing so well right now”. Thanks Ravi.

The temperature rose to a scorching 103, making some of the irons in my bag a little hot actually (first time I’ve seen that). But it was a dry heat and I liked it. It reminded me of playing in Las Vegas with a bachelor party. Everyone else seemed to be losing steam as we played, but I just kept pounding water and wore a hat and plenty of sun screen. I felt great.

Probably the prettiest area of the course was one with the goddess Shiva in the back ground. One of the holes (maybe 15 or 16), I’d call the signature hole. It had Shiva way off to the left and a beautiful dog-legged 5-par strolling right into it. It’s also where I probably hit my best shot, a 4-wood (that’s the biggest lefty club they had) I blasted it about 250 yards. The great shots were few and far between, but I liked that one.

We finished up and rewarded our loyal caddies with a good chunk of rupees (600 or so, each). I wondered what they usually made. I also wondered what the future held for them. I got the impression that Ravi wanted to be a professional, which is a one-in-a-million type of move. Would he still be a caddie there if I returned to that same course in 10, 20 years? If he could live off of the tips and money he made there, which is probably pretty slim, it wouldn’t be a bad life.

As promised, the weekend did end…I finished up Sunday with a jump into the hotel’s pool on the roof, which was actually a lot of fun. The view included the IBM and Microsoft buildings, which are talked about in the beginning of the book, “The World is Flat”, still something I need to finish.

I say that about a lot of books…and writing. ;-)

Weekend in India (part 2)

2006-04-03T06:48:00.000-07:00

Let me begin this post by finishing up on last weekend. I was leaving the town of Srvana Begola, having visited the world's largest monolith, feeling like I had seen something pretty cool already. Rhagu wasn't happy when we entered the car, saying that we were a half hour behind. Who hired who? Regardless, the point he was trying to make is that we ain't seen nothing yet. This wasn't the main course.

We continued our travels to Halebid, to visit the Holysaleshvara Temple (say that 3 times fast). We continued on through a few towns, some of them somewhat modern looking. I say "somewhat" because I continued to see sections of what I would classify as something just a notch above a ghost town. Without the people walking around and inside these dilapitated, shack-like store fronts, I'd take them for abandoned. However, where my use of "modern" comes in, is that not too far away from these straw-man shops, I'd see beautiful, glass-windowed businesses. Sure they still had a dirt walk way up to them, but they looked just as nice as most small town, American stores. What was interesting is that most if not all of these places that seemed to have 99% of the town's investment in them were selling motor cycles and scooters. I guess the market for these two wheelers must be practically larger than life in some areas. I did happen to see a fair amount of bill boards in Bangalore, showcasing motorcycles as well. If you want to be cool in this country, you'd better own one.

As we came through Halebid and into the rural outskirts of it, I noticed several people breaking up rock into big piles, using wimpy-looking sledge hammers and other primitive-looking implements. They were not just men, but also women in bright-colored saris, breaking their backs in the sweltering heat. My only guess was the rock would serve as the foundation for the dirt road we were traveling on. It seems that they're building this country one swing at at time, using whatever players are available.

A large temple came into view. We saw several men by a fence and small open gate, with a dirt area that served as a parking lot. Rhagu casted them a glance as one of them raised their hand and gestured for us to park. He ignored their invitation at first, continuing to drive, but we eventually ran into a dead end in the form a large locked gate. We U-turned and decided to take up the man's offer to park afterall.

Again before leaving the car we were surrounded by post-card vendors and this time, soap stone craftsmen, who had carved up mostly small stone elephant figures, a representation of Genesh, one of the Hindu gods. "5 rupees mister, please...Look at these carvings. This took me 3 days to carve. What will you give me for it?". I put my hands in the air as they followed me through the small gate. "How about later?"..."Maybe"..."Great, my name is...".

After dealing with the vendors, we made our way down a dirt path towards the temple, snapping some pictures of two statues that flanked our way. The one on the left appeared to be one of a horse and warrior. The one on the right was of Ganesha, part man and elephant.

We came to the temple's shoe depository. Again we would need to tour with our bare feet, which would prove to be quite a challenge as the hot sun began to bake the dirt and the soap stone that we would walk upon. It only took a few steps up the stairs before I could feel a blister form on my right foot. My soles were getting cooked.

We entered the temple to find darkness. There was no artificial light used inside, which caused me to think that they had to have at least used candle light. A young woman in a blue sari approached and asked if we wanted a tour. She had a name tag with something official written beneath, like "Government of Karnataka". She said the tour would cost 200 rupees (~ 5 bucks) and we agreed. How can you beat that?

She told us that this temple in Halebid was known for its beauty on the outside, wheras the temple in Belur was vice versa. There were a few fenced off door ways that she took us to, with small rooms used as shrines. Inside was what looked like a decorated drum. She claimed these were idols, representing Shiva. We couldn't tell if these were the idols themselves or if the idols were underneath, protected from whatever elements there were. We didn't get a chance to ask as she continued on.

Moving outside of the temple, back onto the scorching surface, we quickly moved to a red matted carpet, which absorbed much less of the heat. It circled the temple that we would walk around, but contained several gaps that we would have to run across to avoid being burned too badly. Desipite the hot feet, the weather felt pretty comfortable to me. It was a very dry heat.

Our tour guide continued to point out the various features and carvings on the outside of this hindu temple. The amount of detail in her words and on the temple itself was mind boggling. Each character or group of characters told a story as we wound ourselves around the beautifully ornate building.

Like a lot of Hindu temples we've seen, you typically see layers of the same carvings starting from the bottom (right). The very bottom was composed of elephants, supposedly 1428 of them in all. They symbolized stability. The next layer consisted of lions, symbolizing courage and in the next we saw the horses, which symbolize beauty. The next layers were varying in their characters, often displaying some story, such as a war or a god getting out of some predicament, like Shiva going inside of an elephant to avoid being killed by it (left).

As we continued the tour around the building the soles of feet were cooking to a nice consistency. It become a ritual to brace ourselves for the red hot surface as we ran from old rug ending to new rug beginning, which was some times 6-7 running steps away. At certain points, even the rug itself was practically unbearable to stand on as the sun was unrelelentingly blaring down upon us. Our tour guide asked us if she was boring us, to which I said, "No, this is wonderful". Our attention was diverted by the heat.

My ears perked up though, when she mentioned a section which depicted a battle with Arjuna (bow-carrying guy, above). I've read a little about him in a yoga book I have. He's the main character of an important Hindu text, The Bhagavad Gita. He basically plays a warrior hero who is faced with the quandry of going into battle against men who are his friends and even his relatives. The Hindu god Krishna offers to be his charioteer (cab driver) in the battle, but ends up being much more as he takes him on a magical ride of self discovery. An American book which resembles the Bhagavad Gita is "The Legend of Bagger Vance", which is about a golfer named Runulph Junah (R. Junah) who is pushed by his home town to take part in a gold tourmament against two golf greats, Walter Hagen and Bobby Jones. I definitely enjoyed the read and highly recommend it. If you've seen the movie, that's not enough. The book is different and hundered million times better.

I'm missing a lot of the details of the tour, but the final stretch of it brought us to a section of the temple dedicated to the Karma Sutra, another Hindu text that's mainly known for the sexual positions it depicts. Our guide told us that this section was not meant to just depict a holy Hindu text, but was also meant to be educational. As my eyes passed over this scholastic wall, I found it pretty funny to think of couples approaching it to get some ideas of what they'd be trying out that night. :-)

We completed our circle around the star-shaped Hindu temple and took a b-line to our shoes. The baked bottoms of our feet were well done. We gladly paid the care taker a few rupees for them and quickly laced up. We then took a bit of a walk about the grounds, taking in a pretty view of a lake that stood nearby.

We left the grounds, battling soap stone trinkets held in front of our faces as we scanned the area for Rhagu. The salesmanship intensified as we drew nearer to the saftey of our car and their desparation heightened. "How much would you give me for these three?", one of them said. I had know idea what to say, so I thought a bit of what was in my wallet and said, "200 rupees?" "The person who asked sighed deeply, feigning the look of being deeply insulted. "I worked on this for 3 days". I entered the car and he put his arm, with the trinkets into door. "I'm going to have to shut the door", I said. "Ok, 300!"...and like a sucker, I dished it out. Sale closed.

Tidbits

One thing that is driving me nuts when I go to a restaurant, even the one in the hotel, is that waiters (and I mean plural) hover around you, watching your every move. As soon as put down a glass or a fork, they are right there filling it up or putting more food from the serving dish onto your plate. It's almost as if every resturant has hired a few too many waiters, because I don't think it's just the fact that they want to provide unbelieveable service, I think it has do with the fact that these guys have nothing to do. They just stand there, waiting to be useful. When I go to breakfast in the morning and find a table, someone is there waiting to pull my chair out for me. When I go to get my cereal from the little buffet table, someone insists on pouring milk into my bowl for me. This isn't all of the time, but if you give these guys enough time to figure out what you're going to do, they're all over it. I feel like saying, "why don't you go lie down in the back and I'll let you know when I'm done"

HOT HOT HOT...so the other night, I went out venturing with Mike to Nhandi, a restaurant he had tried with a local IBMer and enjoyed. It was actually pretty fun to take a walk there because one, I generally get driven everywhere and two, there was a neat little street we went down that was filled with shops and these obscure looking little restaurant/bars with food items pictured on their surrounding walls that we had no idea what they were. But anyway, I digress...So we go to Nhandi, this semi-upscale looking place, where they have like 5 waiters per table (no exaggeration) ready to blow your nose for you. We look at the menu and have no idea what these things are, but decide on some prawn dish and these "fried crispy corn" things (sound harmless, which they were). So we order, and the waiter says, "You need to order a gravy dish too, those two are both dry"..."How about this one...is it spicy?"...."Yes, very spicey"..."Ok, pick one for us that's not"..."Let's try this one". So they bring us our orders and lop it all on our plates. We get through the corn and prawns ok, though the prawns tasted a little funky. But then we get to the gravy dish,which is this chunk of vegetables drowned in this orange curry sauce and garnished with these long, hot red peppers that I know not to eat. So I take a few bites, and it's right at my tolerable limit for spiciness...I feel a little sweat, maybe the sinuses acting up, but not bad. Then I take a bite into this green bean and all hell breaks loose, inside of my mouth that is. I imagining smoke coming out my ears as this happened. So I take some water, which makes it worse, and I'm thinking, "No way am I going to swallow this thing." So I get up and go the bathroom to spit it out. But I get to the bathroom and the #2 area (can't call it a toilet, because they just had a hole) door is closed. There is no garbage can and they have no paper towels. I'm screwed. So ended up using the only thing I could use, which was the urinal. Sorry Nhandi, but you're gonna find a wad of bean next to the urinal cake. Enjoy.

Weekend in India (part 1)

2006-03-28T01:51:00.000-08:00

Six AM came quickly the Saturday, with some beers from a happy hour the night before still lingering with me. I was excited to get a chance to explore beyond the realm of the Royal Orchid hotel and IBM Bangalore. Our driver Rhagu arrived promptly on time, though we were lagging a little bit behind. He had insisted on leaving early because of the many hours of traveling ahead. Remember how I had scoffed at the idea of sitting in the car for 5 hours? Well, I had a change of heart after all.

We pulled into a gas station soon after leaving the hotel. An attendant was there to fill us up and afterwards one was there to fill our tires. One thing I’ve noticed in India is there are always seems to be several people waiting to serve you in some small way. I suppose with a nation of this size and the impoverished population being so high, people will find any slots they can to earn a rupee.

Finally we were rolling and I felt like I was getting my first taste of what Bangalore was really like. The road quality and the amount of traffic was rising, along with the count of characters out on the road and along the streets. We saw many rickshaw drivers, which are these three-wheel, buggy-like things that server as second-rate taxis. They almost seem to be on the bottom of the food chain as Rhagu almost hit a few of them as he was passing by. Their lack of size and speed seems to translate into a lack of respect by the surrounding traffic.

Speaking of the traffic, the driving is absolutely insane. I noticed that lanes started to become marked as we drove through some of the more “modern” areas of the city. I don’t think anyone takes these markings seriously though. Often times you see more vehicles than lanes driving parallel to each other. They leave very little space between each other and if there is any, some motorcycle or scooter will try to claim it.

It gets even scarier though as you head out of the city and hit two-lane traffic. People seem to think that passing lanes can be used as driving lanes. There were several instances where I was ready to push the panic button as I saw two vehicles coming at us from both lanes, not more than 50 yards away. Some times it would be two buses, even. Rhagu showed now sign of urgency though. If things got too close for comfort, he’d drive onto shoulder. I guess that’s what it’s there for. He forced a couple people over there himself with his pass-happy style of driving, keeping two wheels of our car in the right passing lane most of the time.

Rhagu asked us if we had breakfast and whether we’d be interested in stopping before leaving the outskirts of Bangalore. “No” and “Yes” were our answers. He pulled into a lot before a place called “New Agarwal Bhavan” and warned us that we would need to stand and eat. No problem.

The place seemed to be more of a bakery than a restaurant, with several Indian sweets resting behind a glass counter. I had eaten some of the edible tin foiled ones before, though I have no idea what they were called. The restaurant was shaped like a backwards capital “L” with the glass counter of to the left and in the fore front and pick up counter down the other leg. A cash register stood at the intersection.

There was no menu to speak of, so we had no idea what to do, even as Rhagu said, “Go ahead and place your order…”. “We don’t know what we can order. We need some help.”, Mike said. “Get some cho cho ba”, I think I heard him say, but I have no idea. “I think you’re going to have do this for us, Rhagu”, Mike said. So he did. Three cho cho bas for here. I tacked on a tea to his order. I wanted to get my first taste of chai.

Soon enough, our orders were at the pick up counter, so we carried the plates to some small round tables. One these plates were two mounds of what I would describe as being like corn meal. One was sweet and the other salty and ever so slightly spicy. Rhagu advised us to mix the two mounds together, which we did and began consuming. We were eating a tasty breakfast, like Indians would. My chai came soon afterwards, in what I would call a metal shot glass on top of a metal dish. It reminded me of an espresso shot. I sipped from the container and found it quite satisfying to the taste, being quite a lot of milk and sugar drowning out some tea in there.

The locals didn’t seem to pay us much mind, perhaps a few looks here and there. As we walked out and entered our car, a woman that was as thin like a skeleton approached our back window with her hand outstretched. “Please”, she said, “Please”. Rhagu paid her little notice and started the engine. As we rode off her hand was still held out to us.

As broke the city perimeter and rode into the country, I noticed several people walking along the passing shoulder that we were using for an emergency lane. They must’ve been walking to or from the towns they resided from. Several people carried items on their heads, like a basket of laundry, a large pot full of pots and pans, or a bundle of firewood. Most of these people were women and I was impressed with the amount and size of items that they carried. Even more impressive, some of them didn’t have to use their hands, walking with perfect posture to carry their load.

Seeing the families walking reminded me of an Italian paseggia, a time when people all take a stroll through town, usually in the evening after dinner. It seemed to be a common act that they were sharing with each other, many of the woman dressed in beautiful saris. It was an explosion of color.

Again I was awestruck by the lack of infrastructure found in the towns that we passed through, along with the overwhelming poverty. I guess they probably go hand in hand. The communities seemed to be obliterated by some natural disaster or war, but I know it’s just the slow speed at which they’ve gotten to this point. There were a lot of cement businesses lined up in practically every town, which would seem to be a lucrative business to go into because of the enormous need for that material. It seemed a luxury for anybody to just have a sidewalk in front of their house or business, even if it was broken up and uneven.

We arrived in the town of Sravana Beloga, home of the world’s tallest monolith that we had seen several billboards for. We arrived at gate that led to the heart of town, which a guard opened for us. One curious thing that I’m noticing in Bangalore and some of the towns we’ve visited is they have these guarded gates. We, including Rhagu, have yet to interact with the guards though. They just open it for us. Is it because we look like tourists?

Even before getting out of our car, several people were waiting at all doors, holding post cards, ready to sell. I was warned that we would probably get “attacked” by these folks, looking to pull a few rupees from the tourist-types like us. “10 rupees for these post cards, mister? Mister, please look at these post cards. Ok, how about later? My name is…” This is similar to what we heard from a few of these people. Mike remarked that these sellers were not nearly as bad as he had seen. They seemed to take “no” for an answer, at least for the moment, while others he had seen, followed them for several hundred yards before surrendering.

500 feet of stairs awaited us as we deposited our shoes and socks at a nearby counter. No shoes are allowed up the stairs and into the temples that we would climb to. As we began our ascent, we observed there were a couple people taking advantage of a transportation service that was offered. They have these single chairs supported by two long wooden poles that four men take the ends of and haul to the top with willing riders. I scoffed at the idea of doing this, always looking forward to most climbs, but I could see the value in the ride, seeing several elderly people getting a lift.

It wasn’t too long before the views became breath-taking, even a third of the way up. I am a huge fan of vistas and the preview I was seeing all around me was spectacular. Though it’s their dry season here, it was fairly green and somewhat mountainous terrain around me, not what I would expect in India. The only down side is that it’s fairly hazy, which I think is a result of the smog which I don’t think we left behind in Bangalore. The views are still pretty awesome, but are taken in with a slightly cloudy lens.

There was a bit of a rest stop before the summit, with stairs leading to a temple off to the side. I paid a visit before continuing my journey to the monolith, climbing the steps and stepping inside. It was dark and mysterious. My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the light. On three sides of the room there were blocked off entrances to small rooms that contained metal status of what I gathered to be Hindu gods. People were bent forward and chanting with smothered faces in the floor. It felt very peaceful inside.

Each god had a charity box before it and some water in a metal dish that I perceived to be holy water. People were dipping their hands in it and touching their forehead. I did not do the same, but did take a 10-rupee bill and place it in one of the charity boxes, a very meager donation to keep an echanted place like this alive.

I left the temple and noticed my companions continuing along to the monolith. I joined them, winding up a small set of stairs to the top. It led to a building that was surrounded by scaffolds, seemingly keeping the infrastructure in place. There were many people trying to squeeze through a passage way with a metal rail in the middle. I hurdled another metal rail and patiently followed.

What emerged was the monolith, a gigantic statue of the Jain icon, Lord Bahubali, also known as Gomatesharawa. The tradition is that people climb stairs up to the top of scaffolding that rises above this goliath and pour four different liquids on top of his head in sequence. The first is holy water. The second is coconut milk. The third is a yellow liquid called “haldi” (Tumeric) and the fourth is a red liquid called “kum kum”

I learned this from a couple gentlemen who waved me over to sit with them and their young daughters in the shade on some straw mats. “Come, sit with us”, they said. I took them up on their offer and was happy I did, as it was cool and comfortable and I felt at peace. These men were excited to be engaging with a foreigner and encouraged their daughters to shake my hand. They were beautiful young girls, probably seven or eight years old, a bit tentative at first to be interacting with this strange American.

I asked them their names, which I’ve already forgotten, probably due to the fact that I had trouble pronouncing them. They did not seem to posess the ability to speak English as their fathers did, which surprised me. I was just thinking about how easy it is for children to pick up languages. I asked one of the more fluent of the fathers if the girls went to school. It took him a few seconds to comprehend and when he did, he shook his head almost with an expression of what I took as shame. I wondered what kept these girls from being educated. Was it their sex or caste or both? They were wearing pink toy cell phones around their next, which made me think they were well off enough. But perhaps this was the extent of their wealth.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed their company and I believe they felt the same. I joined them in applause as we saw the four liquids being dropped over the monolith. There was music being sprinkled into the air as well, creating a pleasant atmosphere. I felt like I was in the holy place that it was.

I partially enjoyed the view again as we began our descent, taking heed of the steep steps in front of me. A foursome carrying a rider brushed passed me after signaling me with a “hello”. Boy those guys can move. There were several people on their way up, wiping their brows and breathing hard. It was a pretty good climb on a warm day.

When we reached the bottom, we were bombarded with post card sellers, trying for our business again. We held them off for a moment as we went to retrieve our shoes. When we had those on, the beggars came out. An amputee was dragging himself along the pathway to the shoe repository. He outstretched his leather clad hand to me, which was more like a claw. I gave him a 100 and suddenly a few women came out of the wood work. I gave one a 100 and a couple 10’s to some other others, but it wasn’t enough for them. A small girl patted her stomach and said “la la la” to get my attention. A mother was with a baby, whom she outstretched its tiny hand to me. “For the baby”, she said. I had given her 100 and said, “but I gave you some rupees”. She continued. I’m always at odds at how to deal with beggars, especially these people whose situations are much more dire than what I’ve seen. I was giving, but it was so little.

We left the village of Sravana Beloga with vendors and beggars still practically attached to our car. Rhagu was slightly annoyed at how long we had spent watching the statue. He expected us a half hour ago, though we didn’t agree on a time. Chill out, homes.

And with that I end this blog entry until next time when I write on our travels, that same weekend believe it or not, to Halebid and Belur as well as our adventures on the Eagleton Golf Course.

Until then, ciao my friends…

Ready for an Indian weekend

2006-03-24T04:31:00.000-08:00

I am just finishing up on my first week of work here at IBM India and am ready for an action packed weekend. The time has flown by, actually, even though I've spend most of it in either IBM's walls or the Royal Orchid's.

Food seems to be the main topic of my India blogs, so I'll continue. I had some good stuff at the Indian food court today, this time going for something called chicken jhakta paratha. The best way to describe it is by comparing it to a chicken quesadilla, without the cheese. It came with two dipping sauces, one lentil based and one yogurt based. Along with the naan and the water I bought, it came out to about 72 rupees (~1.75), which is the most that I've spent on a lunch thus far. Again though, my favorite pet peeve to complain about came up again. I gave the cashier a 100 rupee bill and he gave me back 3 10's, then asked me for 2 rupees back. Of course, I've yet to see what 1 rupee looks like, much less 2, so I just shrugged my shoulders again and said, "I don't have anything under 10" (Why don't you just give me 2 10's and 8 rupees?) Then I got the ol' "You can pay me 2 rupees next time" routine. I think by the time I leave here, I'll owe every vendor in this place, 2-3 rupees each. I swear, 1 rupee coins are like gold around here.
Anyway, the food was very good actually, though it seems like I always run out of naan to soak up all of the sauces. I notice that Indians are quite adept at eating with their hands and have no conscience in diving into what is usually a very soupy meal. I'm not quite there yet.

Along with my rupee peeve, another unexplained phenomena that I've encountered here is in the bathrooms of IBM. The urinals are very similar to what I've seen in the states, but instead of stalls, they have what I would call closets with toilets inside. Perhaps Indians enjoy their privacy. What has been a mystery up to this point, however, is that in each of these closets, along with the toilet, is a 5 gallon bucket, a 1 pint pitcher and a hose connected to the side wall. Some times the buckets are slightly filled with water. The first thing that came to mind is a make-shift bidet, but these hoses spray quite a bit of water, which would give the user quite a shower. Mike sheepishly shook his shoulders when I asked him and like me, he's been embarrassed to ask any of the Indians. Do they use these items to clean the toilet? What's the pitcher for? As of now, these questions are unanswered.

So that's all I got: Chicken, rupees and make-shift bidets. I'm heading out for the weekend, where I'm hoping for some fun and new adventures...will come back Monday with mucho text and photos.

Until then, ciao my friends...

India Continued - Work, Eat and Sleep

2006-03-22T20:20:00.000-08:00

Barking dogs have been waking me up at 4 AM the past two mornings. They're serving as my pre-wake up call. I'm not sure if this is when they usually wake up and are telling the world that they are alive and well or what. I think my internal clock is allowing them to wake me though, because I'm still feeling fairly wide awake at that time.

Breakfast has been my favorite meal time thus far because it's buffet-style and has a lot of foods that I'm used to. The Indian food that I have tried hasn't been bad, but I'm sure I haven't tried the best yet. We've paid a visit back to the local food court again and had some naan with a couple of sauces, one lentil-based and one cheesey-tomato based. It was good, but I found myself feeling pretty hungry afterwards.

Today we tried the IBM cafeteria, which, believe it or not, is much worse than the IBM Silicon Valley Lab cafe. It almost looks like a bazaar of some sort, with carts spread out on cracked concrete and aluminum dining tables placed haphazardly all around. Ordering proved to be quite interesting. Mike and I picked a cart that didn't seem as crowded and we waited there while, watching two gentlemen prepare some wraps. They were frying tortilla-looking things and laying down various ingredients. The only one I could recognize was onion. The sign had two little menus, one veggie and one non-veggie (chicken) with prices ranging between 20 and 30 rupees (~50-75 cents) . Mike and I waited their patiently while they prepared food for a grouping of 5-6 people. Soon a few more people showed up and handed money to one of the vendors. Mike finally stepped in and said, "Can I get one with chicken" After a while of acting as if we weren't there, the vendor looked up and said, "non-veggie is on the other side". So we walked a couple feet to the other vendor, who gave us the same routine, barely acknowledging us. One guy came around and tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Two veggie". I guess we need to be a little more aggressive in this country. Mike poked his head in and repeated, "Can I get one with chicken". Again, this ridiculous hestation happened and the dude said, "We don't serve chicken" Hello? Mike tried another option, which seemed to be available, but the vendor tried to get him to try something else. "We have paneer", he said. Paneer it is. He started cooking Mike's, while I waited a little more.

I had had enough of that cart though and walked over to counter where I saw bags of potato chips. Ahh, good ol' wholesome American junk food. Now you're talking. At the counter I saw a menu for three wraps, "Veggie", "Paneer" and "Chicken". Let me try chicken again. "We don't serve chicken", he said. Hmmmm. "Ok, let me have a paneer". Whatever that is (I think it's a fried cottage cheese). "We have veggie and paneer". Yes, I can see that. "I'll go with paneer". "Paneer?"..."Yes". Finally, my order was placed and I did receive it, a little wrap with some paneer in it. I splashed some red sauce on the plate that everyone seemed to be using and gave it try. Not too bad, actually. The red sauce, whatever that was, was somewhat sweet like ketchup and surprisingly not spicy. I added a bag of potato chips to my order and it came out to a grand total of 33 rupees (~75 cents). The chips seemed less greasy than American chips, but they went down pretty well.

Probably the most interesting and exciting part of my days so far has been the ride to and from work. Granted I haven't done a whole lot outside of work thus far, but I can't get over the cast of character that we pass by and almost run over during the mile-or-so journey that we take both ways each day. Last night we drove by this sidewalk where there was a guy standing beside some fixture that was on fire that we thought may have been burning effigy. People walked by semi-curiously, trying to avoid the flames. Some of the buildings that we drive by are barely more than shells of their former selves and peeking inside of one as we drove by, I actually saw what looked to be a family sitting on a rotted couch, looking towards something. Was it a TV? I wouldn't have believed that electricity could still be flowing there, but who knows. Regardless, the poverty I'm seeing is a thousand fold of what I see at home in the homeless that I encounter on the streets of Palo Alto at times. The conditions that these people seem to be living in is shocking.

Meanwhile, I carry on within the safe and friendly confines of IBM. I'm impressed with how friendly people have been and the sense of humor that they display. I think the resounding quality that I'm witnessing, is patience. There seems to be a zen-like calm within the corperate walls.

The only thing I have found bothersome is a few security nits. You need to a badge to get into any closed off area and despite getting access to my building the first day, this doesn't mean I can go everywhere that says IBM. Three times now I've had to ask for clearance to enter another area where I've had to go for meetings and presenations. The other weird thing is that some doors that require a badge cannot be left open for more than 5-10 seconds before a siren goes off. The cubicle room that I go to can barely get more than 3-4 people in or out before that happens. So sometimes, that zen-like calm is disturbed. :-)

The last few mornings I've been hitting the treadmill, which has left me absolutely drenched in sweat due to the heat and humidity in their workout area. They have these high-end machines with live TV's on the console, which has been great because I can watch the news every day. I've been watch the BBC, some sort of world news, which has been interesting to me. I'm generally not a news watcher, but it's been fun to follow some of the stories, such as labor protests coming from the youth in Paris and people protesting the election of the prime minister of Belarus. They also bring up our wonderful president George Bush, speaking about the fact that he's denying that civil war is occuring in Iraq. Sure, W. So it's been a good way to start my morning, a good run and some news.

So that's about all for now...Nothing too exciting to report because a good portion of my time is spent at IBM, at the hotel and in cabs, fearing for my life as I take in this show called "Bangalore". More text and pictures (I hope) should come as I get to the weekend.

Until then...ciao my friends.

tidbits -

It's been difficult to buy things from smaller vendors (e.g. coffee counters, food carts) due to the odd demoniations that they use and due to the fact that ATM's only tend to give out 100 rupee bills (~ $2.50). Even 50 rupee bills seem to big for some people. For instance, on Wednesday when I bought my paneer wrap and chips, the cost was 33 rupees. I figured I could just give him a 50, but then he gave me two 10's back and asked me for 3 rupees (ahh, I just have a couple 50's and all 100's, dude). He ended up saying, "You can pay me 3 rupees another time" Thursday, getting a "chicken kabob roll" from a coffee/sandwich counter in the food court, that was a wopping 15 rupees (~35 cents), they told me they wanted something smaller after I took out the 50. They weren't even that pleased when I gave in and showed them two 10's, but comprised as well and gave me a 5 rupee coin. PEOPLE OF INDIA: How am I supposed to get smaller denominations when you won't let me use my bigger bills? I think I'd better find a way of getting smaller bills or I'm going to be out of the market quickly.

Welcome To India

2006-03-15T22:25:00.000-08:00

And so it began...

I was traveling to India, a place of intrigue and mystery to me, a place which brings up images of extreme poverty, yet enormous tech boom. As I waited in the United Airlines check in line, I wondered what India I would see more of and how I would react. I wondered I how I would be received, as yet another American looking to exploit the cheap labor, or as another faciliator to their growth as a country. Would they be able to understand me, and I them? Sure I had worked with people of Indian descent in the past, but these were people who had been fairly Americanized. How would they compare to the people that I would encounter?

The trip itself was fairly uneventful, given that it was 21 hours long with a stop in Frankfurt. A younger Israeli man was sitting next to me on the way to Germany and warned me that Indians are essentially "liars" in nature. He also told me that German girls are easy and that though Israeli woman are conisdered to be some of the most beautiful in the world, this was probably an invention of their own making. Thank you for the global advice.

Coming through the Frankfurt airport, I noticed an ad saying "Die Andere IBM" (The other IBM), basically advertising our business consulting division. I guess IBM is everywhere. Like the Heathrow airport that I had been through before, Frankfurt's aiport was partly like some bizarre mall, selling hard liquor and expensive jewelry. One difference I noticed, is it had an area devoted to slot machines. So maybe it was more like Vegas. Adding to its uniqueness, was the part of getting to my gate. Unlike what I'm used to, they were checking people's tickets before letting them into the seating area for the gate. What was strange is that the guy barely looked at my ticket before letting me through and when they called us to board, nobody was even checking tickets or doing the whole "people seated in rows x through y may come aboard" thing. We just all got in this huge line and walked onto the plane. Yeah, that's secure. I guess maybe they run people through the ringer before getting to that point, but I felt as if I could have gone to India as long as I had a ticket to somewhere.

Regardless of how I or anybody got on, I was impressed with the Lufthansa plane. They had plenty of leg room in economy class and I lucked out by having nobody sitting next to me. Not that I was feeling entirely anti-social, but it's nice to be able to stretch out in all directions, especially when you've been sitting on a plane for 21 hours and grogginess was beginning to settle in. I dozed for part of the flight and watched an Indian movie called "Deewane Huye Pagaal". It was a complete ripoff of "There's Somthing About Mary", which was probably the intent, but it was entertaining due to its over-the-top nature. There were these outrageously elaborate dance scenes that were amusing to watch and everyone seemed so melodramatic. I couldn't get over how high everyone's voice was though, even from the men. It seemed somewhat unmasculine to me.

We descended, which gave me a nervous and excited feeling as Bangalore came into view. Rather than the continuous speckle of lights that would expect from big cities, there were large patches of light and dark. I noticed some areas with colorful, bright and blinking lights coming off of buildings. They reminded me of the outside of strip clubs and casinos, two types of business I wouldn't associate with India for some reason, but who knows what they had going on there. I also noticed a house or building that seemed to be completely covered with what looked like christmas lights. I felt like I would be seeing a lot of things that may be left unexplainable, if not a little strange.

Coming off the plane and into the airport, it seemed as though I was venturing through a place that was under construction. The carpeted and clean sterility that I have grown to expect from airports, was replaced by dirty tiled pathways through a wooden, rusted and smeared glass infrastructure with mosquitoes buzzing all around me. The thought “Third World” came to mind as I followed a long queue of people just wanting to get their bags and be gone.

There was one rickety baggage claim belt that had suitcases scattered all over the floor around it. I scanned the area for my black suitcase, hoping I would come up a winner. People prodded and pushed their way through the maze of luggage and that led to immigration and customs, while I kept my eye on the belt which seemed like it could start smoking at any moment. Not too long in waiting, it appeared and I felt relieved and somewhat lucky that my suitcase and I had reunited, in India of all places.

Next on the agenda was getting through the bureaucracy as I entered the long line of travelers wishing to pass through immigration. There were roughly nine to ten desks of people, all men, taking people’s passports, visas and other paper work and giving them their stamp of approval. I received that same stamp after little ado, thank you very much. Welcome to India.

I felt a little nervous passing through the exit, having been insulated by air travel for the past 22 hours. No longer could I count on signs and itineraries to keep me occupied and on task. I felt as if I’d be on my own now. That changed very quickly; however, as I was approached by suited man who asked me what hotel I was staying at. “The Royal Orchid?” I replied and he brought me to another man who had a list with my name on it. Hooray! “Welcome to Bangalore sir, let me take you to your driver”. Another man took my suitcase (much division of labor here) and we went outside and down a ramp that was flanked by two rails that were absolutely ringing with people. I would have to estimate that there were between 150 and 200 people there with signs displaying mostly names of people and some with names of hotels. I felt like I was at a political rally.

The gentleman took me to the side of a road, where a car eventually pulled up and they loaded my luggage. The man from the hotel gave me his card and advised me not to use the taxis because they can easily try to charge up to 60 dollars for a ride that will some times be the wrong place. I’ll stick with the hotel rides.

Entering the car, I noticed that the steering wheel was in the wrong place. Oh yeah, they drive on the left side. The driver settled himself in on bead-covered seat and we were rolling. He honked as he passed a truck from the right-hand side. There were no marked lanes to speak of. A few people were still out roaming the street at this small hour of the night, seemingly unaffected by any oncoming traffic. My driver just weaved passed them, unaffected himself. Several stray dogs were scattered on the street as well. Battered houses and buildings passed by, with an occasional high-tech-looking building. I’d say of the area I’ve seen so far, there are about 8-10 beat-up-looking buildings to ones that seem well kept and modern.

A bell hop took his turn with my suitcase as I checked in at the Royal Orchid. Even though it was a little after 1 AM, I still felt relatively awake, though a bit travel weary. We made our way up to my room on the third floor, which turned out to be rather nice with a hard wood floor and a comfy bed, which is all I really needed. It wasn’t too long before I was settled and battling my California-ized internal clock, which was telling me it was lunch time. Time for a run and some food, not sleep!

The morning came fairly abruptly. I wasn’t sure about how much sleep I had gotten. The anticipation of seeing this country in the daylight kepts some of the sleep away I'm sure. It reminded me a bit of my first trip to California, which I had come in at 1 AM as well and had awoken to a landscape that had been hidden by the night and was now exposed and wonderfully and unexpectedly different than I had imagined. The view out of my window exposed a scene where people, some barely dressed, were working among the ruins of a damaged city. It almost appeared as if I was witnessing a war zone undergoing the beginnings of reconstruction.

My first breakfast at the hotel was fairly westernized, seeing items like corn flakes, scrambled eggs, toast and pastries. There were some interesting items like lamb croquette (kind of a fried potato pocket type of thing), which I gave a try (and enjoyed) and other Indian-looking dishes that I wasn’t quite ready to venture a try yet for breakfast. I’d have plenty of opportunity to test my taste buds and stomach. It wasn’t too long before my old buddy and co-worker Mike MacDonald appeared at the cafe door. I hadn’t seen him in a few years since he returned to IBM Toronto. It was nice to see a familiar face.

We enjoyed some breakfast together and soon afterward jumped into the car of someone that had become his “personal driver”. Apparently he was affiliated with the hotel and had given Mike his cell phone. He was at his beckoning call.

The ride to IBM consisted of some maneuvering through pot-holed streets and construction along with wandering people, bicycles, scooters and cows (yes, cows). We eventually came to an intersection which seemed impossible to negotiate, given the sheer amount of traffic that was coming from both directions. A car in front of us was patiently waiting, which is probably what I would be doing, but our driver would have none of it. “He should be able to go”, he said. Really? A few honks later, sure enough, he merged onto the ongoing chaos and we followed. Like most lines in India, it’s just a matter of putting your nose in there. Don’t mind the fact that you may get killed.

The IBM site itself consists of three four-story buildings that look like palaces compared to the rubble that surrounds them. Microsoft is here too. In fact, we both share a building. What the world needs now is love, sweet love…oh, never mind. I checked myself in at security, where they took my badge, ran it through a scanner a few times and said I was good to go. Mike was jealous that I could now use my IBM badge to get into the building, whereas he was using some green temporary thing. I’m global, my man.

I was led up to the fourth floor through a maze of cubicles to a room with the sign “Software Lab of India” on one of the windows out front. Inside I’d find my work home for the next few weeks, a quiet cubicle among many. As I walked to this room and to my cubicle, I noticed quite a few heads turn. Perhaps it is due to my overly handsome looks, which could very well be the case. But it was proably due to my newfound minority status among this Indian culture.

My first day flew by fairly quickly, working from about 9:30 A.M. to 8:00 P.M. I had my first Indian lunch at around 1 PM, taking a walk with some co-workers to the food court that stood among the building blocks. While standing in line at one of the main counters, some of the Indian folks I was with advised that I try the “Cheese Uttappam”, so paid for this and a liter of bottled of water. The price: 50 rupees, which is barely over a dollar. Again, waiting in line for my food (they give you a number once you’ve paid) proved to be an exercise in jostling and nudging ability. People don’t seem to mind being bumped and likewise, bumping you. You’d think that with a system where they call your number that you would just hang back and wait, but it doesn’t quite work that way. I noticed some people getting their food despite not hearing their number called, others, like me gave them their slip and were told that it would be ready any minute.

Eventually, I did receive my cheese uttappam, which turned out to be a piece of what looked like pita bread, smothered with a light-colored cheese. It was served on a steel tray that looked like it could have been used back in the 1930’s and had indentions that contained some dipping sauces for the uthappam. One was a red, tomato-based (I think) sauce and the other was a creamy, spicy green coconut sauce. I noticed the Indians that were with us would eat with their hands and use the lone piece of silverware, a large metal spoon, to ladle the sauces on the bread. I gave Mike a hard time for eating with his left hand, which I read is not what people are supposed to do. The right hand is meant for eating and the left is meant for the toilet. Being left-handed myself, I couldn’t eat for very long without being clumsy, so I switched back at the expense of being a hypocrite.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful as I tried to stay awake in my office chair. That was a challenge. By 8 PM, I surrendered and called the hotel for a ride back. Mike’s driver showed up, and suddenly he was my driver too. He told me to plan a trip on the weekend to a place I can’t remember the name of, but remember he said it would be a 5 hour drive. I nodded, but was thinking, “I just spent 21 hours sitting on a plane. I think I’ll stick with Bangalore for a while.”

I tried staying up a little longer to adjust further to the Indian time zone, but it was no use. I thought I’d just lie down on the bed for a few minutes, maybe get something to eat, but a few hours later, I awoke to the week hours of the night. I was done.

So that’s my intro to India…Nothing entirely exciting, but somewhat interesting I hope…Will have more to say as I experience…

A couple more tidbits:

People's cell phones go off at work all of the time with all different kinds of ring tones and they carry on with these pretty public conversations. The funny thing is that nobody's bothered.

I'm finding that I need to remind myself to stay to the left when walking around and especially up or down stairs. I've gotten some wayward glances along with polite smiles as I've tried to stay right. "Silly American".

Movie Review - Munich

2006-01-24T23:53:00.000-08:00

Eric Bana delivers a wonderful performance as Avner, a man who is assigned the task of leading a team of four men set to avenge the eleven Israeli athletes that were executed by a Palestinian terrorist group known as "Black September". Arguably the most revealing line in the film comes from the father of a man whom Bana employs to help hunt down the parties responsible for the massacre. This father asks Bana, a talented cook, to help him with the family dinner and requests to see his hands. He remarks that Bana's hands, like his own, are too thick to be a cook's and that they both "posess butcher's hands, but gentle souls". This line describes the dichotomy of the two men, who share an aptitude for violent means, but also a love of family as well as a fancy for culinary arts. This line can also be used to describe most of the central characters of the film whose alter egos to their cold-blooded killers, would seem barely capable of harming a fly.

Spielberg brushes each of the characters with broad strokes of personality, exposing the audience and eventually Bana to the human qualities of these men that performed inhuman acts during the dark time of the '72 Olympics. Bana is driven by the haunting images of these executions that play out in his mind in operatic fashion, but the calculating style that he employs to complete his missions eventually gives way to hesitation as he connects personally to his assigned targets. These men are not monsters, but perhaps "gentle souls" like him, resigned to the simpler elements of their lives despite the horrific acts they have committed.

The story is yet another chapter of the unending cycle of bloodshed between the two peoples, as the hunters become the hunted, all inspired by an "eye for an eye" philosophy and quixotic dream of completing a genocidal game plan. Bana's character becomes deeply infected with paranoia as he realizes that his "righteous" actions are not without consequence to his own life, but rather induct him into a targeted fraternity that consists of the men he has disposed of. He is forced to live out his life on borrowed time, no longer able to afford the comforts of a night's sleep and conscience-free engagement with his family. Adding to this inner turmoil is the realization that he has been duped, being brought on as a blind-folded player in a strategic game played by the Mossad who has employed him, rather than being assigned a quest to bring justice to the evil doers that were responsible in Munich. As the story progresses, it is only the loyalty that he feels for his small team that drives him as he begins to see less relation between his manufactured memories of the '72 Olympics debacle and the targets he has set out to destroy.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. It had a great mix of suspense and drama and I felt connected to the characters. Led by a rising star in Eric Bana, I felt they carried themselves with a sense of nobility and purpose, but often questioned the things they had to do. Some of the smaller elements of the film that caught my attention were the gigantic feasts that Bana prepared for the others. When asked why he was made the leader, one of the men replied, "because he makes the best brisket". I enjoyed the scene where he is taken out to see the employer and father (mentioned in the first paragraph) of Luis, a resourceful French character that is able to track down the whereabouts of the men that Bana is looking for. This father immediately loves Bana as he can see similarities to himself and ideals that he once possessed and wished he still had. Finally, I tend to enjoy films that are shot in a lot of locations, especially in Europe as this one was. There was something very appealing about the international scavenger hunt that Bana and his men were on, though I could not imagine doing the things that they had to do.

Moving in the right direction

2005-12-05T12:24:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, December 4th, I ran the Cal Internation Marathon, making it my 3rd time for the race itself and my 16th overall. I wish I could say that it was my sweet 16th, but that would have meant running a sub 3:11 or at the very least getting a P.R. But I won't go down that path. My time was a few minutes faster than the one I posted in New York (3:35 vs 3:38), so I feel that I am moving in the right direction.

Enough about time though, let me talk about the race itself. We (my running buddy Chris and I) awoke bright and early, ("bright and early" seemingly always linked to races) gathered our running stuff and jumped on the shuttle which we could practically see from our motel room window. I had slept pretty well that night, feeling fresh enough to try another marathon. The air was you-can-see-your-breath cold and I was thankful that I decided to use the sweats bag for once, which allowed me to bring some additional layers to the start.

The bus was filled with bundled up runners, some looking blankly ahead while others were chatting away. I sat next to someone who fell into the former category, while the two women behind us fell into the latter. I overheard them talking about the pace they were going to run and even talked about future races. "After all of this training, it would be a shame not to use it." one of them said. Good point.

We rolled into the starting area in Folsom, where it was still dark outside. One of the coordinators had entered the bus and told us that we were welcome to stay on to keep warm, which is not quite what I wanted to hear. Still I ventured outside of the bus, not wanting to just sit and stiffen up, though I could argue that the cold can have a similar effect on leg muscles.

A large group of runners had found a temporary home inside a nearby gas station where they could both stay warm and stand and stretch before the race. We followed suit. Before entering the gas station we witnessed a runner tripping on a concrete divider that stood a little higher than a curb and was about as wide as one. He went down like a ton of bricks and was down for several seconds. He wasn't responding to questions of "Are you ok?", but finally did get up with some friends overlooking him. He was holding his shoulder and grimacing in pain. What a way to begin a race.

As we lined up at the start I moved my way towards the pace groups, seeing the "3:10" sign first, one which I would have loved to have hung with, but knew my legs would have something to say about that. I ended up looking back and forth between the "3:20" and "3:30" signs, wishing "3:25" were there to split the difference. For once before a race I decided to use logic. I had crashed badly in New York trying to run a 3:20 pace. Adding the Quad Dipsea race the week before, I was foolish if I thought that I could run that pace. I had to settle for 3:30, which would end up being a challenge for me to stick with anyway.

At about a minute after 7 AM, we were off. Several "pings" were sounding as runner's chips crossed the red mats which captured their true start times. My right achilles tendon feeling tight was the first that that I noticed as I transferred into "marathon mode" a time when you just need to zone out and start piling on the miles. Perhaps the tightness was a lingering effect of the Quad Dipsea, which I had run the weekend before. It would eventually go away, but still caused some concern.

It's a treat to run at sunrise, when the air is frosty and your body is starting to generate some heat from your pumping legs and palpatating heart. I always love the start of a race, when the adrenaline is still thick and body still fresh. You can feel the energy of the stampeding herd which is probably enjoying those same feelings.

After trailing a bouncing 3:30 sign for a few miles, I got a little ambitious and decided to run 10-15 seconds ahead of it, to see how that felt. The mile markers came by me at times of 7:50ish, which was about what I wanted to hit. The course was flanked by the fading fall colors as we passed through folsom and fair oaks. Having run this course twice at racing speed, I decided to look around a bit and enjoy what I was running through. It wasn't as if I was on a stroll through the park, I was still pushing as best as my legs would take on a marathon, but the pace didn't feel so break neck.

As I twisted through town on Fair Oaks avenue, I noticed the little town dentist off to the right of the course. There was a time that I was dating a fellow runner that lived just down the road from that dentistry and even worked there when she wasn't taking the prereq's for dental school. Two years ago she had met me just outside of her apartment and paced me for a mile as I was trying to take a crack at Boston. My ego swelled when she said that she could no longer keep up with me after a mile's worth of running. I felt like superman and it kept me going.

I returned to the present, marching forward through miles 11 and 12, trying to find a port-a-potty to stop at. Surprisingly, every one I passed was occupied until I hit mile 12 and was able to stop for a break after I saw a guy leap out of one. When I re-entered the race, the 3:30 group was a few seconds ahead of me and I decided to hang out with them for a while as we passed the half way point at around 1:44:50.

I thought I could feed off of the energy of the group, somehow using their motivation to fuel my own. It seemed that there was a lot of spirit among them as they chatted with the lead pacer as he trotted on with the sign. I found after about a mile or two that I preferred my own space though and dropped off a few seconds behind, still keeping the pace sign in view.

My my mind was wondering all over the place, which is typically a sign of a tough day. I feel that my best races are ones I do with a focused mind, thinking of mile splits and eating and a sense of how I'm feeling. Everything else is zoned out. For the Cal International there were points in the race where I almost forgot that I was racing, then I'd come back to earth and realize that I had a bunch of miles to run. Doh!

As I ran into the 20's, my focus returned while my legs tired and slowed down. My mantra for many of the remaining miles was "Break 9, Break 9", which meant trying to get under 9 minute miles in my splits. In New York, miles 24 and 25 had me coming in at 10 minute miles, which feels like a snail's pace when I'm fresh, but grueling when my body has been trashed. My goal before entering this marathon was to not end that way, to be able to keep some decent pace at the end. I was able to do that for the most part, hitting 8:40's on miles 22 and 23, then 8:50's on miles 24 and 25. Then I finished very strong.

As I rounded the final turn on mile 26, which I had done in a little under 8, which I was happy with, this older dude clipped me on my right elbow, cutting in front of me from behind. For a few seconds I was really irritated, but then got my revenge by turning on the jets. I was planning on coming in nice and easy, but this guy lit a fire under me and I can't describe how satisfying it felt to blow by him. It was almost as if I was taking all of the little annoyances I felt during the race out on that final stretch. I was almost tempted to turn around and yell out, "Ha!!!" But now in my 30's, I'm a little more mature than that. :-)

After getting my medal draped around my neck, which always feels like I'm being decorated after coming back from some war, and the chip on my shoe clipped off, I took a b-line to the food, then to the sweat bags to pick up my stuff. All I could think about was a hot shower back at the hotel. Unfortuantely, after I grabbed my stuff, I started moving in the wrong direction, noticing the letters on the street signs were going up when I needed down. Thank goodness I noticed right away.

After getting my bearings, I decided to cut through Capital park, a grassy stretch of memorials, gardens and benches, (which I was tempted to sit down on, but knew I'd have a hell of a time getting back up). What caught my eye was a pretty rose garden. In front of each rose bush was a posting of a poem by an elementary school student, describing their thoughts on the subject of "peace". I don't remember what they said, but I was impressed with what these youngsters had written. I think one said, "If everyone loved other countries as much as their own, the world would be at peace" As I walked through, I wondered what Bush would think if he read these (that is if he can actually read). Would he be touched at all by what these kids had said? Is he affected at all by our country's opposition of the war? I just wonder what goes on in his head at night. What about Schwarznagger? Has he had a chance to read these poems? If not, what a shame.

I found some peace walking through this garden. It was a nice way to detach from the marathon and wind down especially since there was hardly anybody walking around there. I like to break away from the crowd and detox.

Walking back to my hotel, passing several people along the way that seemed to have no association with the marathon, I felt as if I was coming back from a halloween party and still had my costume on, all decked out in running gear, a silver cape and a medal. I felt like some super hero who had crash-landed and was headed back to the bat cave in broad daylight.

I hit the shower hard in my hotel room, standing there for several minutes, hoping that Chris would not return soon and find himself waiting there for my deliberate self. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed the room was still empty, waiting for his return. I was hoping he was not lying down in some first aid tent receiving an IV or something along those lines.

I stepped out of the room and leaned out onto the railing that overlooked the street and there he was, moving slowly, but moving back towards the hotel. When he saw me and drew nearer, he flashed two hands at me, showing all 10 fingers. 3:10!!! He had met his goal of hitting that Boston-qualifying time. What a thrill. Mission accomplished.

On the way home we spotted a sign for an IHOP, which seems like an almost perfect post-marathon place. Pancakes were going to hit the spot, big time. We whipped through our meals faster than he was running that day. Chris's plates looked as though they had been run through the dish washer practically without a spot of food on them.

And that was my Cal International Marathon 2005. It was not exactly the speed that I would normally hope for, but I'm moving in the right direction.

Quad Dipsea - 2005

2005-11-27T12:27:00.000-08:00

On Saturday I ran my 3rd Quad Dipsea, a race which begins at Old Mill Park in Mill Valley and is run on the Dipsea trail, home of the Dipsea race, which is supposedly the nation's second oldest foot race (I've never heard what the oldest is). The Quad Dipsea isn't nearly as old, but is now in its 23rd year and still going very strong with roughly 250 runners this year. Quad Dipsea is short for Quadruple Dispsea, which gets its name from the fact that the race has you crossing the 7.1 mile Dipsea trail four times. The trail ends at Stinson Beach where they have you turn around and go back to where you came from, twice.

So that's a short history of the race, but this blog is mainly about my history with the race. Yes indeed, this blog is meant to be all about me and my adventures. :-) My day started with a 5 AM wake up, which ended up being closer to 5:20 AM with a couple of presses on the snooze button. I hit the shower, grabbed my gear and headed north on 280. By far the best part of the ride was driving over the Golden Gate Bridge, which never seems to get old to me, but this time seemed uniquely spectactular as I took in a view made more clear by a rain the night before. The skyline had been turned black by a sleeping city and rose up against a faint pink light acting as a messenger of the sunrise. I've seen the city from the same vantage point, lit up by city lights during the night and illuminated by sunlight during the day, but I had never seen it as it was as I made my way to the race. It was a such a treat.

I pulled out the directions to the start after I crossed the bridge and continued on 101. I took the E. Blithedale exit and drove to Throckmartin Ave, which cuts through the down town of Mill Valley. I always make a mental note to return to this down town some day, since I'm never in condition to explore it after the race (One of these days, I will). I arrived at Old Mill Park finding open parking spots that had to be less than 100 feet from the start. This was definitely a first for me as I usually find myself scrambling for a spot. It only took around 10 minutes more to see all of the surround parking spots filled on both sides of the street. I had arrived at nearly exactly the right time.

I walked to the registration table and checked in with my number of "234" (pretty cool number), punching my ticket to run. I then headed to men's room, where there was a nice long line waiting for the lone stall. This contrasted the ladie's rest room, which had no line, which is probably a first in the history of human kind.

As the crowd started to gather at the beggining point of the race, I noticed some familar faces in the crowd in the form of Rob Byrne, Helmut Roesner and Myles Welze. I would see Kitty Moore later on in the race, crossing paths with her on my first trip back. I greeted a few of those folks with handshakes and good mornings and not too soon after, a funny siren-sounding noise went off that supposedly served as the starting gun.

The start of the race was slow, as usual, with hundereds of people making their way up hundereds of steps. On the way up, this dude in his late 50's was cheering us on from his house, which was just to the left of the stairs. He had long hair and was playing air guitar and singing along to "Gimme 3 Steps" by Lynyrd Skynyrd, which was blasting from his home. Perfect song selection. Going back to the pace, I couldn't really complain because I knew what layed ahead of me. 'Tis better to save the energy for later. At the same time, it's still hard for me to figure out when to run and when to walk during the start of this race. There is just so much uphill until you cross the road and hit the trail. I did end up running some of the road before then, just to see if my legs still worked. They did.

After about an hour of some ups and downs, of which there are plenty of on the course, I arrived at cardiac point, which is at about the 4.4 mile mark and a nice milestone to reach no matter what direction you're coming from because of the climbing it takes to get there and the generous downhill you have waiting for you after crossing it. It has an aid station where I tend to graze a little bit. This year, to my delight, they had water melon, which I think is a perfect ultra food, especially after you've been eating GU and downing GU2O. It's nice to bite into something that has a more subtle taste and is much more refreshing. Though it's not quite in season, the melon worked wonders for me. I took a piece each time I passed an aid station.

After refueling and refreshing I took the plunge down the remaining 2.7 miles to Stinson Beach, which does understate things a bit. There is a fair amount of climbing that needs to be done after you lose a chunk of elevation, but it's not as bad as what it takes to get to Cardiac point. Coming into Stinson Beach, I saw Rob and Myles coming back and cheered them on as they passed by. I came into the turn around at around 1:28:30, which was a tad slower than I had expected, given that I felt as if I had pushed myself pretty hard. Nonetheless, I hung out at the aid station for a brief moment and started on Dipsea leg 2. I think this may be the toughest leg to do, psychologically, because you know you have to come back to the Stinson Beach turn around after a lot of running and climbing.

The sky was clear and sunny, but not too warm given the coolness of the air and a slight breeze. The views of the ocean and San Francisco were wonderful, still reaping the benefits of the cleansing rain. Despite how competitive you might feel on these races, I feel its best to slow down at some points and just enjoy where you are. Here I am running along the Dipsea trail with a light wind in my face and sun spreading out all around me, bringing to light the beauty of the natural and human-made marvels of the area. I took a few deep breaths as I ran along the single-track trail, trying to somehow consume everything around me thinking that it could give me more life.

I finished leg number two in around 1:29, giving me a first half pace of 2:57 and change. I remember the first time I had done the Quad Dipsea back in 2001, I had a first half time of 2:50 and ended up finishing at 6:19. As I came into the turn around, I wondered if had learned something about running this race, enough where I could possibly get under the 6 hour mark. Time and more running would tell.

As I embarked on the second half of the course, my goal was to hit Cardiac Point at about an hour, just as I had done on leg number one. After some hard running and hard climbing, I accomplished that, hitting the one hour mark right on the head.

One thing I'm forgetting about as I'm writing this, is the interesting race that was going on by the front runners. The one nice thing about running a race where you're doing multiple outs and backs is you get to track who's ahead. This race had 4 top dogs. The first guy I came across was this bearded gentleman who I was surprised to see walking up the stairs on the way back on leg number 2. Following in hot pursuit was this guy wearing a red and white singlet with "Denmark" printed on it. He was moving very quickly up the stairs, probably at a level 12 on the stair master (not that I use stair master enough to know the levels, but you get the idea). As I passed them I wondered what strategy would win out, the power walk or the stair master. Time and more running would tell. Following them not too far behind was a Japanese kid whom I had seen at the Skyline Open Space Preserve and is the only person to break 4 hours in a PCTR 50K. He also came close to 4 hours at Marin Headlands and finished top 10 in the SF Marathon, so definitely one of the elite runners in the area and someone I've been keeping an eye out for. Rounding out the foursome was a taller, grey-haired guy who seemed to be the most focused of the four. I found that the bearded runner and the Japanese runner were pretty friendly, returning acknowledgement and even encouragement to me as I gave some to them. The Danish runner would look at me, but not respond. This last guy didn't know I was there. We all have different styles.

I came into the final turn around at around 1:28:30 again, which I was pretty happy with. To this point I had run a very robust race and had shown no signs of slowing down. I was happy to see people who were in front me crossing at closer and closer points to the turn arounds and I was stretching the gap between myself and those who were chasing me. That's another nice thing about a race with multiple outs and backs. You do get to see your competition a little more up close, which can be a nice motivational tool.

I set out on my final leg, which is a comforting feeling knowing that you're not going to see these parts of the course again. I needed roughly a 1:33 final lap and wanted to take a stab at it. I tried to push myself on a little more hill running because I knew my walking pace was declining significantly. I found myself saying "C'mon, just run to that next ribbon" to get the motivation to keep my legs churning. There were quite a few runners that I was able to pass and that gave me extra spark to move on. What was fascinating to me though, was seeing the runners that were still left on the trail completing their third leg. There were quite a few that I was sure would not make it back before 5 PM, which would leave them in darkness. Either they were going to cut off the run short or they were crazy enough to give it a try. I suppose the one benefit they would have is they would be able to take in the sunset and the skyline being lit up at nightfall. Still, I don't think I'd want to navigate the trail without some day light.

I hit Cardiac a point a little later than I wanted too (running time of 5:13), still feeling like I had a chance, but my legs were definitely gaining weight, or least that's how it felt. I rumbled down the hill, trying to stretch my legs as much as possible. One mistake I had made earlier was patting myself on the back for not falling during the first 24 miles of the race -- I talked about this with Rob at the end of the race, who concurred that its a big mistake to pat yourself on the back because you'll pay for it later. I laughed when he told me that his biggest fear was losing his teeth and that he had a plan to put them in his water bottle if he ever ran into that situation -- Anyway, I payed dearly, tripping up down a steep descent and barrel rolling into a lovely thorn or thistle patch, whatever those nasty things were. I scrambled to get back up and collect my water bottle which had gotten away from me. I continued to run down the hill, trying to be as careful as possible while I picked thistles out my hands, arms and even my back.

Despite the tumble, I was able recover pretty well and move at a decent pace to the parking lot that marked the beginning of the final climb of the race. My calf muscles popped out on me, cramping as I tried to muscle my way up the first hill from the parking lot. I was in what I call "Frankenstein mode" as I tried to walk with very little knee bend to keep my calves out of the equation. It actually works pretty well.

Each stair seemed to get harder and harder to ascend as my legs lost power and my lower back and hips started to complain. Damned body. What kept me motivated, along with just wanting to be done, was being able to pass a couple of runners on the way up. One of them was stretching against a tree and I noticed his calf muscle was bulging out. "Cramp" he said, as I asked him if he was ok. God do I know what he was feeling.

Before hitting the street crossing at the top, there was a little bit of trail running left to do with some gentle down hill. I took that opportunity to take a second spill when my right foot caught on a rock and I went flying. I let out a groan so loud that it seemed to be coming from somewhere else as I hit the ground with my shoulder and rolled onto my back. I grabbed onto some branches as my legs spun and dangled out above a deep drop to the right of the elevated trail. I chuckle at this now because my only thoughts at the time were of getting up and running when I could have been in some dire straits.

After I collected myself and moved onward, I noticed that a stone, about half the size of dime, had wedged itself into the palm of my hand. I plucked it out immediately and tossed some water on the cut, which continued to bleed for a while. It was by no means a big cut, but the problem was dealing with the fact that I can tend to get a little queasy at the sight of blood, especially my own. It doesn't happen very often, but once in a while an incident like this will creep into my psyche and causes some problems. Normally it's just a matter of lying down and getting the blood back to my head, but I didn't want to take that option. I was facing a serious problem as I approached my final descent down 200+ steps that I overlooked with wobbly legs and a dizzy head. I spent the rest of the race balancing caution with speed, favoring the former. I rose my left hand, the one with the cut, above my head in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It must have looked a little ridiculous, like someone trying get called upon in a class, but it worked.

As my foot dropped down the last step and I ran towards the narrow bridge preceding the finish line, I heard some racing footsteps behind me. "Fuck you", I muttered to myself. Excuse my diction and attitude, but no way was I going to get passed in the last 50 feet after taking a beating over the course of 28.4 miles with nearly 9300 feet of elevation gain. So I turned on the jets and guess what, they were working just fine. "Oooh, these guys are hard core" I heard someone say as I blew past the finish line. I didn't even turn around to see who this guy or gal chasing me was, but I didn't care at that point. I was done.

My time was roughly 6:02:30. My three goals for the race were to finish, P.R. and break 6. I knew I could do the first 2 without much problem having done my previous best time during a day filled with rain, high winds and hail to go along with slippery trails. The third was a stretch goal and I was pretty happy to come close. My 4th and final leg was done in roughly 1:35 and change, which is not a huge drop off in speed. I don't think I would have run the race any differently than I did because I ran it about as evenly I as I could have.

Oh yeah, the front runners...I'm not exactly writing this entry in chronological order, but here's what happened...On my second crossing of these guys, the bearded runner had been passed by Danish one, who had built a pretty comfortable lead. The focused runnner had passed the Japanese kid and was holding the third position. Both still looked pretty good. On my third and final crossing, the bearded runner had taken the lead again and still looked pretty fresh, but the focused runner was hot on his heels, now in second place and probably about 2 minutes behind with a few miles left to go. The Danish runner had fallen off significantly and looked pretty tired. The Japanese runner had fallen off even more so and I belive was not 4th anymore, but perhaps 5th or 6th. At this point I do not know how this race ended, so I'll need to wait for the results, as will you. :-) If it helps, I believe the focused runner's name was Roy Rivers because I heard some runners behind me yelling "Go Roy! He's only 2 minutes ahead of you.". I looked up some past results and found this name among the top Quad Dipsea finishers in the last 3-4 years. I guess we'll wait until results come out with bated breath. Supposedly the top runner finished at a time 4:14, which is about the norm for the top dog in the Quad Dipsea when the field doesn't contain the incompareable Karl Anderson, the only one I've known to break 4 hours.

And that was the 2005 Quad Dipsea, my 3rd one now complete...I heard a few people being signaled out as finishing their 10th as they came across the line. Some day, I would like to get there. I mean, I've done 3...what's 10? :-)

UPDATE - Roy Rivers ended up taking the final lead, finishing in 4:14 and change.

Madison Trip

2005-11-17T00:31:00.000-08:00

I didn't want to stop Blogging, so I'll continue with a delayed post on my trip to Madison.

As usual, it was awesome to return home and spend some time in my college town, which contains so many happy memories, ones which I continue to build. It started with a stop in my home town of West Bend after a flight to Milwaukee, coming in at around 1 AM and crashing in the bed housed by the room that my sister used to sleep in. A room which still has some glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling of stars and a moon, something which seems to give me a little bit of comfort before I drift off to sleep.

I rose in the morning around 8:30 AM, half suprising my mother who expected me to be sleeping in a little later after such a late night. I was excited to get going though with my short vacation. My brother, mother and I took a little ride to Sandy's cafe in Barton, WI a little smidge of a town on the outskirts of bustling West Bend. It's a place my great, great granparents actually used to live, way back in the day. My great grandfather was a shoe maker there, is what my mom as told me. By synchronicity, she found her way back to the neighboring town, all the way from Mankato, Minnesota, a seven hour drive away. I guess we some times tend to go back to our roots.

We walked into the Sandy's greeted by a friendly smile by the lone waitress there. We sat ourselves down at a middle table. What I noticed about the locals right away is that a few of them were smoking, which is not seen in California. What a wonderful law that I'm hoping makes its way to all necks of the woods. Who wants to taste smoke with their meal? Anyway, my eyes found themselve on the chalkboard behind the counter, which displayed the daily specials, one of which was eggs benedict, perhaps my my all-time favorite breafast. I had to go for it and so did my brother. We ordered the specials with large chocolate milks, Mike going for the home fries and I went for the hashbrowns. My mom went for scrambled eggs with some home fries and a coffee. When we had consumed all of this, the damage turned out to be a paltry $17.57. Gotta love midwest living.

After running some errands my mom and I packed our stuff and headed to Madison, which meant heading west on hwy 33 and then south on 151. As we were driving there, I decided I'd like to head to my favorite shoe store, which is west of the Mad town in a town called Black Earth. It's a very scenic drive as you get off the hwy and head to Black Earth, a drive in a rural area of steep hillsides, not commonly found in Wisconsin. If we continued west past the shoe store, we would run into Spring Green, a beatiful part of the state and former home of Frank Lloyd Wright, a place where he started an architect school called Taliesin. Spring Green also has a nice outdoor theater where I had gone to a couple plays in high school, King Lear and Enemy of the People, both starring a man by the name of Randall Duk Kim, an actor who eventually has found himself in a few movies, the most famous being "The Matrix" where he played the role of "The Key Maker" in the second film. What's strangely coincidental of my encountering of this of actor during my highschool years is that he had attended high school in Hawaii with a very good friend of mine's mother. Supposedly it was a very small high school and she remembers him tugging on her hair as boys have been known to do.

Well, I need to end here actually because its late and I need to go to bed. I'll continue on the riveting details of my Madison trip next time, which I hope is tomorrow...

11/6 marathon man

2005-11-06T18:06:00.000-08:00

Foothill Scrambler: Today we talk to Mark after he's run his 15th marathon, this time doing New York City. Take us through your day, Mark.

Mark: The day started with a 4:30 AM wake up call, which I probably didn't need because it seemed like I barely slept a wink. Though I did feel very well rested. After getting up, I showered, put on the running gear, grabbed some food and other essentials and started working my way down to the NY public library, where the shuttles to Staten Island would be waiting. I ended up getting there by 5:30ish and was at Staten Island a little after 6. Again I was taken aback by the friendliness and enthusiasm of all of the marathon volunteers. They were excited to see the runners and one of them yelled out "There's no place like home, there's no place like home" to me in reference to my running shoes.

FS: I take it they're a nice ruby red.

M: Probably not ruby red, but definitely bright red. Quite a coincidence too, having just seen Wicked, which brings up those same ruby red shoes.

FS: So you're at your Staten Island and about ready to race.

M: Yes, but one of the early challenges was waiting for the race, which didn't start until 10:10.

FS: You were waiting for 4 hours?

M: Yeah. Pure torture...I ended up finding a curb, laying some plastic bags down on the wet grass and tried to take a nap. Maybe "Pure torture" overstates a bit, the time went faster than I thought it would and it didn't seem to long before they were lining us up in the shoot. Someone that I couldn't see sang the national anthem, mayor bloomberg said a few words and off went the gun or some explosion of some sort.

FS: Were people moving pretty well at the start?

M: Painfully slow actually, but I had read and heard several warnings about that happening. My first mile was about 10 minutes, which was halfway across the Verazzano bridge a beautiful crossing. There several boats in the bay firing water out of their hoses, some of the streams were colored. It was a pretty sight. Coming down the second half of the bridge, it started to open up a bit and I was able to run a sub 7. Towards the end of mile 3, it started to bottle neck again, though I was able to keep a decent pace at that time. What was kind of interesting about the race is that hey had 3 different shoots and it seemed that one of the shoots was running a slightly different course up until mile 8 or so, when we intersected. We were actually running side by side before that with their mile markers coming about a 200 yards past the ones I was running by.

FS: Did the course cover all 5 burroughs?

M: Yes, we crossed over into Brooklyn, then up into Queens, took the Queensboro bridge over to Manhatten, which was a delight because you come into the city seeing 100,000 spectactors and they're all going crazy. What was really awesome about this marathon, along with the support, was the different nationalities represented. There were lots of people from Italy, Mexico, England and there were people in the crowd shouting out "Italia" and "Me-jico". The biggest representation though was the orange of Holland. The crowd all brought whistles and I saw a sea of orange and different points in the race. It was a amazing. Rounding out the course, we crossed one bridge into the Bronx and another back into Manhatten. I can't think of the names.

FS: Did the crowd help you?

M: Yeah, definitely and it was probably is what saved me.

FS: You struggled.

M: Yes I did. 3:38 and change, which is my third slowest time. I'd like to say that I was doing the course for fun, but I crashed, big time.

FS: What happened?

M: The short answer is that I'm probably a little out of shape and probably carrying 10-15 more pounds of weight than I'm used to. I'm not surpised by the result.

FS: Disappointed?

M: Yes and no. I hate seeing my times regress like that. I don't think anyone would. I do have this dream of Boston and that seems to be becoming more and more of a dream than reality. But I have to give myself some credit for gutting it out. There was a time when I thought my chances of breaking 3:40 were gone and I thought, "This will be my second worst time ever, my first being my first marathon". That's the power of positive thinking (ha ha). I actually walked for a few minutes during a couple of my last 6 miles, which were brutal. The the crowd inspired me to push on and I was able to salvage the race a bit.

FS: Did there come a point where you felt like you were going to crash completely?

M: Yeah, it did cross my mind. I see running a marthon similar to being shot out of a cannon.

FS: That's a interesting analogy.

M: Not that I know what that feels like, but a marathon starts with being launched out onto the course and the intitial feeling is one of exhileration. Your adrenaline is high. You're fresh. It feels great. But then there comes a time when you feel exposed. You're out there, your momentum is fading and it hits you that you're going to have to land at some point. A lot of the time, you can see where you're going to land and your body is in position to do so. Today I hit mile 20 and felt like I was all tangled up in the air and couldn't see where I was a going. I saw several people along the way that looked a lot more fit than I am and they had crashed completely. I saw one guy about my age lying in the middle of the road with police and paramedics around him and something like an oxygen tank, or whatever that was, hooked up to him. I sit here wondering how close I was to being that guy because I was competely wasted by that point. I wish I could have seen how I was a running because my stride was gone and I was in "shuffle" mode.

FS: It's sounding like you didn't have a fun day.

M: No, that's not true. I did. The course was beautiful, the spectators were awesome and I just gutted it out the best I could. Another thing that really kept me going was seeing this team called "Achilles". It was this pairing of a runner with someone that had a severe disability. I saw blind people being led and others with a leg missing. These people were the true heroes of the marathon. None of them had less than a smile on their faces and I know that it was quite a challenge for a lot them to get through the course. They were running on pure pride. I couldn't let my heavy legs take me down if they were going to eke it out like that.

FS: Would you run this marathon again?

M: Yes, but I think I need company next time. I've loved my stay here in New York and have enjoyed the time alone, but it would be a lot more fun to share the city with people I know.

FS: Any post race activities?

M: Yes, I took a walk down to Times Square to get my legs moving a bit, then took the subway to Little Italy where I had dinner at a place called "The Peasant", which isn't as cheap as it sounds. They have Tuscan specialities and I wanted some sort of a treat.

FS: How was it?

M: Very good. I had some risotto along with a couple glasses of wine and suddenly I was full, which was a shame because they had this pear torte with hazlenut gelato, which would have been heavenly. I liked the atmosphere there and in Little Italy/Noho in general. It's nice to get away from the tourist scene at Time Square and get more of a local feel. There were lots of younger folks around and sime nice little shops, bars and restaurants. Very charming area.

FS: Would you live in New York?

M: Good question. I think I would for a small stretch. Given that I could have some sort of a social network, which isn't always that easy to build, at least for me, I could probably stay there for a couple of years. I'd probably end up missing the California outdoors after a while, but I do like the charm of New York and it seems like outside of Times Square/Broadway there are some areas worth exploring. I think the next time I'm here I'd like to branch out a bit.

FS: Sounds like the trip was successful.

M: Yes it was. I covered a lot of ground in the half week I was here, seeing a couple shows, going to a couple big art museums, exploring central park, running a marathon and getting to Little Italy. Not bad. I'm fortunate to be able to make a trip like this and enjoy a lot of what this city has to offer.

FS: Indeed.

M: And thus ends my tour of the big apple. Thanks to those who have read my ramblings. Cheers.

11/5 - Day before the big day

2005-11-05T17:06:00.000-08:00

Since I'm sitting here the night before the marathon and would like to hit the sack as soon as possible, I'll make this post relatively quick and without the interview format I had been using.

Today was a relatively slow day, as it should be, leading up to a marathon. I did a lot more walking than I probably should have, but we'll see how that plays tomorrow. I started the day with a walk to Barney Green's on Amsterdam Ave in the upper west side of Manhatten. I was looking for a good breakfast spot and this place was recommended by a NY website. Remember how I said that I've been noticing a lot of diversity while in New York? Well, that changes quite a bit when you go to the upper west side of Manhatten. That area seemed very white to me. But anyway, the breakfast spot was this little hole in the wall that seemed to be filled with locals, which is exactly the kind of place I want. I have to admit though that the menu was a bit intimidating to me, not in price, but in some unusual items like a "Toungue Omlette" and handfull of meals with chopped liver being one of the items. I saw a fair amount of pickled foods as well. Yes indeed, I was a kosher diner and my appetite wasn't exactly inspired by what they had to offer. Still, I rallied and came up with an order of a pastrami and swiss omlette, which wasn't all that bad, though I really liked the toasted bagel with cream cheese that came with it. Those New Yorkers really know how to bagel. I was impressed with the service at the place, when I asked, "Do you have orange juice", the guy said, "Just for you we do. " Very friendly place and I'm glad that I made the visit.

I walked back to my hotel, coming through Central Park, which reminds me of the way my morning really started. Bright and early for me, at 8 AM, I heard some noises outside of window and looked out onto the street. There was a race going on. No, it wasn't the marathon (ha ha). I think they had some sort of 5K or 10K going on that brought in more participants to the marathon weekend. I saw people running with flags from their home countries, I saw Brazil, France, Italy to name a few. It was a nice sight and I was able to see a lot more people as I made my way to breakfast.

So after I rested in the hotel, I made my way to the Gershwin Theater on W 51st street, the current home of Wicked, the other musical I had purchased a ticket for. It's a nice little theater, I think even a little better in terms of seating than the Shubert. I was smack dab in the middle of the theater, a very nice seat to be in, though I was regretting during the first act to some extent. Towards the end of the first act, my knees started to ache. It seems that theaters of this type are not really designed so that you stretch your legs a bit, they're designed for maximum capacity, and I was payin' for it. What's weird is that I started to sweat a little bit, which I wonder if that may have been a little bit of claustraphobia, which I don't think I've experienced, but I guess I did feel a bit trapped and uncomfortable. But enough of that, I should focus on the show. The first act itself was decent, though I'd say that the second act much, much better and it would have been a shame had I decided to skip out on it, which I was actually contemplating doing, given the way I felt in the first act. But some stretching helped a lot and again I was able to tough through it. Imagine, having to "tough through" a musical (ha ha). Wicked is a show that's playing in several cities and is essential a prequel and a variation on the Wizard of Oz story. I thought it was pretty creative and a fun story to follow. I had a hard time hearing some of the musicals when they had multiple people singing. I'm not sure what my problem was, but I had to strain at times to figure out what they were singing. The solos were much clearer.

After the show, I raced back to the hotel to watch my Badgers get sacked by Penn St. I then went for a walk to get some breakfast food for tomorrow and now I'm ready to turn in. My shuttle leaves at around 6 AM tomorrow, so I had best get to bed early. I'm having trouble believing that I'll be doing another 26.2 miles, but am looking forward to the run., which I'm hoping to write positively on tomorrow...til then

11/4, NY trip continues

2005-11-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

Let's try the self interview technique again...

Foothill Scrambler: Welcome back to an interview on the continued adventures of Mark in New York. How are you doing today sir?

Mark: Wiped out, which I think is good thing. It means that I covered quite a bit of territory.

FS: Let's start from the beginning. What did you do after you got up today?

M: First of all, I can't believe how slowly I'm acclamating to the Eastern Time Zone at 10:00 AM, I was still completely exhausted and barely was able to get out of bed under my own power.

FS: That doesn't bode well for Sunday.

M: No, not at all, at least at this rate. I need to get to bed earlier so I can have chance of getting up on time. So you asked me what I did after finally awakening. I felt like I needed to break a good sweat and what better place to do that than Central Park. I put on the running gear and started heading north through the heart of the park, which also happened to be part of the marathon course. I saw mile markers for 24 and 25 and when I was walking back I even saw the finish area. I usually don't like to see the finish area. For some reason it just seems like bad like, kind of like seeing the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding.

FS: That's an interesting analogy. Has it bitten you in the past.

M: No, but there's something that bothers me about seeing the finish before I've gone and done the race. Anywho, so I ran about 3-4 miles northward through the park, running with my camera so that I could snap some shots on the way back. I saw a fair amount of runners actually, some seeming to be doing during their lunch time and others probably tourists like me. It was great see. After I built up a bit of a sweat, I pulled the plug and started walking back.

FS: How has the weather been?

M: Beautiful. I couldn't ask for better weather out here. Yesterday it was in the low 60's the whole day and today I think it even hit around 70. It's been sunny and warm and just wonderful, especially going through the park.

FS: Are the fall colors still around?

M: Yes! One thing I remember from my trip to NY last year was that Central Park was still blooming with lots of color even in the middle of November. It seems like it takes the park a little longer to move from fall to winter with respect to the foliage. I took a ton of pictures.

FS: Where were the nicest spots to be?

M: I really loved this area called "The Reservoir". I have no idea if it has another name, but that's what it says on my map and that's what it says on the park map. It's this nice round body of water that is about as wide as the park itself and has a nice dirt path all the way around it. It also has trees lined all the way around its circumference and with the colors still being around its like having a yellow, orange and red wreath draped around it. Gorgeous.

FS: Anything else stick out about the park?

M: Yeah, I think what I enjoyed even more was this area called the "The Lawn" - I know they use very dinstinct names - that was just south of this pretty little pond called turtle pond and just to the south of that is this Belvedere Castle.

FS: A castle in Central Park?

M: Yeah, a little one. Very cool. You can climb up this inner spiral stone stair case to the top and get this gorgeous view of the pond the lawn, where people are all out taking in the day. I saw a lot of mothers with strollers, lots of couples and lots of families out there. It made me forget that I was in the middle of a city.

FS: How does Central Park compare with Golden Gate Park.

M: Wow, that's a good question. I'd first say that it's very comparable. With the little ponds and lakes that this park has along with all of the beautiful athletic fields, along with an ice skating ring, I'd have to give the nod to Central Park. Part of it may have to do with the fact that it's fall here, which makes the park so much more spectactular I'm sure. Maybe if I went back to Golden Gate park my vote would sway, but man, this park is awesome.

FS: After you left this Oz-like place, what was next on the agenda?

M: After leaving the park, I finally convinced myself to go to the NY Marathon Expo, something I had been putting off.

FS: To pick up your bib and chip?

M: You got it. And to pick up some GU, body glide, all that good stuff. I was almost run over by a car on the way there.

FS: No kidding?

M: I'm noticing that NY drivers don't really respect pedestrians one bit. I think Californians are spoiled by the fact that that cars generally stop at cross walks. In Wisconsin, this isn't a law, so I'm fairly used to being on my guard before crossing, but New York takes it up a notch. I had the "walk" sign when crossing over to Jaccobs Convention Center and it wasn't like it turned to a blinking "Don't Walk" I had it the whole way, but this van decides to take a left turn right in front me and my elbow actully bumped into it. And the funny thing was, is that the guy was pissed at me. I mean, fuck you! I had the right of way all the way asshole.

FS: Geez.

M: But all of that hostility went away as I walked through the admission area of the expo. This guy took my ID and said, "Mountain View, huh? I know that place. Is this your first marathon?"..."No, I've done a few"..."Awesome...well, we have some nice California-like weather for you, so you should do fine" I got the same kind of treatment from the person that gave me my bib and chip and goodie bag. Very friendly.

FS: So it was good expo?

M: Probably the best I've ever been too. One noticeable thing is that carpet they used was softer than anything I've walked on in a long time, very easy on the feet. I guess it behooves them to keep people around, buying some additional gear, but I really appreciated that walking surface. It's not something you really consider. I also noticed a booth that was advertising the marathon for Prague. Wow, what a beautiful looking city. It reminded me of Dresden, Germany, which is supposed to be a "sister city". I've heard a lot of good things about Prague, but seeing a nice arial shot with people running the course, I'd have to say I've filed that marathon away into my list future races.

FS: What came next?

M: Next I was on the way to MOMA for its free Friday night entry.

FS: Did you grab anything good to eat before going there?

M: Yes, actually one thing I forgot to mention was that I took a walk through Hell's Kitchen on the way to the expo. To be honest, and this is a bit embarrassing, but I don't know why it's called that. I've just heard about it and saw it on my map. I did notice that there were many restaurants, including many "to go" type of venues all along 9th avenue as I was heading to pick up my bib, which was at 11th Ave and 38 St. On the way, this burger joint caught my eye, a place called "Island Burgers and Shakes" . I noticed it was Zagat approved, for what that's worth, but also had a picture of a cute local anchor woman, who signed and said something like "Thanks for the best beef in town". Good enough for this burger eater.

FS: Did it work out?

M: Yeah, definitely. Tasted very home made, not having this perfect circle, disk type of shape, just a good chunk of meet with some nice swiss on top. It really hit the spot.

FS: Back to MOMA, what was that experience like?

M: For starters, I needed to weave my way through this enormous line, which my friend Chris said I would find. But what he also said was true, in that the line moved really fast and I was in like flynn in no time in no time. What I noticed as I went through the line, passing many people weaving their way by, was that I hardly heard any english being spoken. I heard lots of French, German, Spanish, Russian and who knows what else. It reminded me of being in some of the more popular tourist spots in San Francisco, only I think more amplified. Just such a huge international scene.

FS: Not suprising. Go on.

M: Sure. like the Metropolitan, MOMA is huge. They have 6 floors of exhibits and two cafes and believe it or not, in the 4 hours that I had to work with, I covered every floor. Maybe I wasn't in every room, but I did a pretty comprehensive job on every floor, except maybe 4, which I skipped to get to the special exhibits at the top after floor 3 and worked my way back down.

FS: What did you like?

M: One of the special exhibits contained some works by Elizabeth Murray, whom I've never heard of before, but was very impressed. It's very hard to characterize her work, as is true with most modern artists I think. Actually I have know idea what I'm talking about, but that sounded good (ha ha). Apparently she was inspired by people like Picasso and Matisse having somewhat of a "cubist" theme apparently. She seemed to be focusing on everyday objects and took them to abstract levels, which also appears to be a goal for most artists that do "modern art". I took a few pictures of her work, which is something I've never done before in an art museum, but I saw others doing it and security wasn't bothered, so I said, what the hell, let's take some shots.

FS: What else caught your eye?

M: There was a big exhibit by Odilan Redon, another artist I had never heard of, but seems to be quite famous in the classic sense. He had this set of paintings that fell under a genre called "noir". These were mainly black and white and focused on mysticism, christianity in parts, monster, ghosts, etc. He seemed very appropriate for a Halloween exhibit. He also had a fair amount of pastel paintings as well, with some brighter subjects, but still some of the same themes. Apparently he moved from black and white to color later in his career, which reminded me of Van Gogh. It was said that he had really mastered the black and white to the point that he could really do no more.

FS: So you liked his stuff?

M: Yes I did. You know it's funny though, I kinda whipped through a lot of his paintings until I started reading what was written about him. I think I really need the background before I can start to truy appreciate the works of an artist. I can't simply look at a painting and make a fair judgement, which may sound a little strange, but I feel like I need a little more input before I decide how I feel about a painting. Maybe it shouldn't be that way, but that's just the way it is.

FS: What else did you discover in your four hours there?

M: Picasso. They had a terrific exhibit of his work. In particular, they had this huge painting called the "Three Musicians" which featured himself, dressed as a harlequin, flanked by two of his friends and a dog. Very abstract, maybe cubist in genre. I don't know. But I really liked it, to the point that I'd like to find that print online, which is something I don't generally do. He had himself playing a guitar and his friend was playing wind instrument of some sort, like a clarinet and they had this sheet music all broken up and off to the right. It just looked very cool. I notice Picasso uses musical instruments, especially guitars, in a lot of his paintings. I like that.

FS: Any other surprises?

M: I noticed a sculpture that looked very similar to one in the San Francisco MOMA and sure enough, it was called the "blonde negress, 2" done by this artist named Brancusi. I remember that name of the sculpture in the SF site and it's always been appealing. It looks a lot like an owl , which I don't think was the intent, but who cares. That's what I see. Owls are one my favorite animals and this sculpture kind of reminds me of the mechanical owl found in the Clash of the Titans, only this sculpture is much more elegant. Another thing that suprised me at the museum is that they have "Starry Night" by Van Gogh, which I was able to snap a picture of. I didn't know that they had it.

FS: Again, you look like you're about to nod off to sleep...probably best to get some rest and do this another time.

M: Agreed.

FS: Good night all.

Rest of 11/3

2005-11-03T21:16:00.000-08:00

As I read through my first BLOG on the trip to NY, I find that it's pretty damn boring. I guess I just kinda whipped it up without editting content, which may explain for some of it. Rather than ramble on about the rest of my night, I'd like to experiment with a new format: a self interview. Bear with me.

Foothill Scrambler: So Mark, last time you had left a BLOG entry you were on your way to spamalot, leaving your readers hanging.

Mark: Yes, sorry about that. Time seemed to get away from me and suddenly I needed to high tail it to the Shubert Theater.

FS: You had mentioned that you were going to say something about the Metropolitan Art Mueseum. What prompted you to go there?

M: Good question. My original goal on this trip was to be able to hit the MOMA and the Guggenheim museum, but as I was working my way through Central Park ending up on a stretch called "Museum Way", I came across this other museum that I hadn't really thought of. My initial reaction to it was that I could add it to my list and possibly hit it on one of the mornings, but as I walked passed it, I noticed an ad it had put out for "Van Gogh: The Drawings". It slowed me in my tracks a bit and as I walked further I saw another big ad for it and decided that I had to see it.

FS: Are you a fan of Van Gogh?

M: I'm not sure what you characterize as being a fan of an artist. I do like a lot of his works. I enjoy the intensity that his paintings seem to posess. I typically don't like to go to museums just for the sake of going to museums. I felt that this was something that had caught my eye and interest and I didn't want to regret not checking it out. Good job to this museum for pulling this sucker in.

FS: Sucker? Did it end up being a waste of time?

M: Not at all. I'm just being funny. I really enjoyed the exhibit, seeing works that he had done prior to his more well known pieces. He was trying to get black and drawings down well before he moved to color. I learned quite a few things about him that I didn't know.

FS: Such as?

M: He had a brother named Theo who was a art dealer whom he exchanged many letters with as he was studying and working in France. They even had a few of these letters on display. He talked a bit about the difficulty of bringing colorless drawings to life. He was very interested in vitalizing the common people that he had captured on canvas and wished to bring that same life to the landscapes the he had painted. He felt that all life is intertwined and should be represented that way.

FS: What else did you learn?

M: A couple things come to mind. They showed several iterations of some of his sketches and paintings, some starting out as being very rough and he recognized that, saying so in his letters. You could see the process that he had go through, something you don't generally associate with great artists. I think we have this notion, or at least I do, that artists just suddenly produce this amazing art, just by making a few broad strokes onto their canvas. Obviously Van Gogh was a genius, but he struggled. He taught himself how to paint and went through plenty of growing pains. The other thing that comes to mind is that on one of the museum write ups it was stated that he died of a "self inflicted gunshot wound". It was funny to me how that was written. Like, isn't that suicide? Regardless, I knew that he had spent the end of his life in asylum and had lopped a good chunk of his ear off, but I didn't realize that he had caused his own demise.

FS: Did you try any of the other exhibits?

M: Yes I did. One thing I should say is that this museum is enormous to the point that you can get lost in it. It took me a while to find the exit and that was after people started heading for it at the close. They seem to have a little (or actually a lot) of everything. One minute I felt like I was back in an Italian museum, looking at renaissance art, which does seem to get a little boring after a while to me. How many times can I look at the virgin Mary, Jesus and John the Bapist?

FS: Probably gets a little old, huh.

M: yeah...but next the next minute I'm looking at South American gold crafts from pre-Columbian times. I mainly gravitated to the stuff I knew though. They have a nice Picasso collection that I spent a fair amount of time in. They also have this great exhibit on Santiago Calatrava, known primarily for his architecture, but they had a lot of cool sculptures from him. I know squat about archicture and sculpting. The only way I know his name is that he designed the Milwaukee Art Meseum( http://www.mam.org/thebuilding/index.htm) and it turns out he designed a lot of the sports facilities used in Athens for the olympic games. He has a very exciting style to take in. I was proud of myself...As I was walking out I noticed a sculpture that looked very much like the Burghers of Calais, which is what Stanford has a sculpture garden of. Sure enough, it was it, recast.

FS: Well done Sherlock. So you're looking kinda sleepy my friend. Is it bed time?

M: Yes, but I can probably talk a bit about spamalot before I sign off.

FS: Exellent. Do tell.

M: I very much enjoyed the show, in the Shubert Theater, an old-time theater just off Broadway on 44th Street. If you enjoy Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail, you'll enjoy this. They have many of the schticks from the movie, which are fun to relive, and this show also has a nice contemporary feel to it as well some self awarness that makes it fun. David Hyde Pearce and Tim Curry lead a very good cast, including a main actress Sara Ramirez, who I believe has won a Tony. She was terrific (great voice and very funny) and pretty easy on the eyes as well.

FS: So you would recommend this show?

M: Definitely, though I think you need to be a fan of this type of humor. There was a guy sitting next to me that didn't laugh one ounce during the whole show. Some people just don't really get british humor. If it's not your cup of tea, you may be better off finding another show.
Before I head off to bed, I should mention that I made a late night visit to serendipity 3, a dessert place that my girl friend had told me about and warned that I shouldn't go there without her. Naturually I paid a visit and have no regrets. They have this "frozen hot chocolate" that they're known for, so I went for one (peanut butter frozen hot chocolate, actually) and it's very tasty. Just imagine kind of a chocolate smoothie type of thing with whipped cream, cocoa sprinkles and peanut butter mixed in. mmmmmmmmmmmm...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

FS: Well, I think this interview is over. Thank you all for reading.

New York day 1 and a half

2005-11-03T15:19:00.000-08:00

I took my trip from SFO to JFK on Wednesday and it was completely uneventful, which is the way I like plane travel, or any travel for that matter. We made it to JFK in a shocking 4 hours and 45 minutes, which I didn't think was possible, but the pilot mentioned that we had a nice tail wind at our back and maybe that's the usual result of something like that. The things that I noticed right away as I walked from the deplaning ramp to the baggage claim was more diversity in the people than I'm used to, which feels funny for me to say, feeling like the Bay Area has a fairly diverse set of folks. But I guess coming from white bread Wisconsin, there are definitely different levels of diversity. The two groups which seemed more represented were those of Jewish descent, which wasn't too surprising, but still somewhat eyeopening to see folks dressed competely in black with the black top hat (not sure that should be called) and long beards, and those of African American descent. For whatever reason, you just don't see many black people in the Bay Area. In fact, I feel that see more black people when go back to Wisconsin of all places. Anyway, enough talk on that...just one thing that I noticed right away as I was acclamating myself to being in NY.

The in-flight movie was The Italian Job, a movie that I've heard good things about from several acquaintences and friends, but I've never had a chance to see. So there was my chance. I'd say that it was good movie to watch on a flight. I'd call it a poor man's version of Ocean's 11, kind of a "heist" type of movie with a variety of characters and a sense of humor. I say "poor man's" because it doesn't quite have the star-studded cast of Ocean's (Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Don Cheadle, Andy Garcia, Matt Damon, Julia Roberts), but a pretty good B+ cast (Edward Norton, Charlize Theron, Mark Wahlberg) and it showed. The characters aren't quite as appealing and I think expected a little more from Norton whom I've enjoyed in previous films (Fight Club, Rounders, 25th hour). But it was still an enteraining film, with some nice chase scenes through Venice (on boats) and in L.A. (I think) with mini coopers ( did they get the idea from the Bourne Idenity?) and pretty funny interactions between the characters. I give the movie 2.5 stars, probably perfect for a in-flight movie.

So I checked into my hotel near the airport and tried to go to sleep to get used to the time difference, but it didn't quite work, falling asleep close to 2 AM. I'm hoping I can beat it a little tonight. I took a cab ride that that took a little over an hour into Manhatten from this Indian guy that I could barely understand, but understood that he had a lot of family, including in his son, living in the east bay (small world).

He dropped me off at my hotel near Central Park and I proceeded to deposit my stuff and proceed directly to a Italian deli-looking place that I had spied as we got closer to my hotel. Iammo Bello is its name and looked exactly like a place I'd like to eat, kind of a little cafeteria, hole-in-the-wall type of place with plenty of pasta dishes, salads, pizza and a lot of local-looking folks coming in to pick up some lunch. So I picked up some mosticelli, a little ham and cheese sandwich, and worked my way towards Central Park to find a nice bench to sit on and enjoy some eats.

And that's where I'll end this BLOG, for now, because in 1 hour I need to be the Shubert theater, watching Spamalot...later I'll talk about my visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art...as well as spamalot

Test run

2005-07-18T15:47:00.000-07:00

This is a test of my new blog. In fact, I have never blogged before until just this moment. Let's see how this thing works.