Lobstery

So I’m going to NYC over Labor Day weekend. Like a true geek, I’ve already got my food tour mapped out. On the list are two Jewish delis, two pizza places, and Mario Batali’s restaurant. Also on the list (for reasons that would take entirely too long to explain here) are three, count-em… *three* different places for lobster rolls. Is NY even known for lobster rolls? Shouldn’t I be going to Boston or Maine for that? It’s a good thing I like lobster and mayo.

In the spirit of science, I decided that I needed to eat some sort of baseline lobster roll in order for me to properly judge the awesomeness of its NY counterparts. As I was researching online for a suitable version in LA, I find out that this place I drive by all the time in Alhambra was having a “lobster fest”. They had lobster bisque, steamed lobster with butter, and of course lobster rolls. I pretty much went to try it that night.

Not recommended. Guys, this thing was so pitiful looking that I didn’t know whether to eat it… or bring it home, feed it, and take care of it until it grew into a proper lobster roll. I’ve had maybe one of these in my life (in Boston), but even I knew it wasn’t supposed to be this bad. First of all, the sandwich was tiny. For $11, was I wrong to expect something a bit more substantial? It also wasn’t very lobstery. When you’re selling a lobster sandwich as part of a “lobster fest”, you generally want to make sure that your sandwich contains recognizable pieces of you know… lobster. Even Rubio’s does a decent job with this with their lobster burrito. Now I’m not saying there wasn’t a legitimate amount of lobster in there. If this sandwich were a multiple choice question, lobster would definitely be an option. It’s just that the filling was so chopped up and mixed beyond all recognition that it took on this fibery consistency that actually reminded me of crab. Add to that the waaay overbuttered roll, and the whole experience was rather disappointing. The good new is that with this sad little guy as the baseline, my NY lobster extravaganza has nowhere to go but up.

[in case you were wondering, this post used the word “lobster” 16 times. 17 if you count “lobstery”.]

You know what’s been annoying me lately?

People who don’t swim freestyle at the gym pool.  You can easily spot these people because they’re the same one who are either lounging around chitchatting, playing in the water doggy paddling or some other shit, swimming a crooked backstroke and crashing into everybody, or taking up an entire lane to themselves with the butterfly or the breaststroke.  Hello?  Asshole?  There’s only 3 lanes for 10 swimmers here.  How ‘bout you NOT be an idiot and share the lane?  Wanna practice your Olympic form Fly?  Go join the Rose Bowl and pay for your own fucking personal lane.  People are trying to work out here.

Also, WTF is it with Asians and the breaststroke?  For the older generation especially, it’s like the only goddamn stroke they seem to know.  Almost invariably, the older Asian man with the ass slow breaststroke will decide to hop in a lane with 3 freestylers who have been harmoniously swimming circles for the past 1000m and completely fuck up our rhythm.  God that pisses me off.  They should just outlaw this slow as fuck, lane hogging stroke when there are more than 2 people per lane.

Before you say anything, *of course* I understand that everybody’s a paying customer, and that people should have the right to use the pool as they please.  That’s why I never actually complain to these people.  I just bottle it up and let it stew.  It’s healthier that way.

So I went to the track yesterday...

A good friend of mine decided to spend her birthday at the Del Mar racetrack near San Diego. Apart from a visit to Santa Anita years ago, it was only my second time to a race track... and I ended up having a lot more fun than I thought I would. Maybe all that tequila had something to do with it. Okay. That, and winning almost $400 on a single race.

See, I have this coworker who is crazy about horse racing. Naturally I send him an email last week asking who I should bet on this weekend. He promises to text me that morning if he found anything interesting. So on the way down yesterday, I finally get a text from something out of a spy novel:

"Just a hunch. Race 4, Horse 10."

I grinned like I just received the coordinates of Osama bin Laden's secret lair.

By the end of Race 3, I was already 2 beers and 4 shots in as I marched towards the betting window in that resolute way only a drunk man can march. Apparently, there is a "right" way to make a horse bet, and I didn't want to F it up and look like a noob. I practiced repeating the bet over and over in my head like an inebriated actor rehearsing his lines. When it was finally my turn at the window, I aced it:

"Del Mar Race 4. $50 to win on 10."

I'll tell ya now, there ain't *nothing* more exciting than a horserace when you have $50 on a horse chosen by text message. And few things more exhilarating than when said horse WINS. My throat is still sore today from all the screaming I did in that one race.

What followed was a series of text messages in quick succession:

"WINNER!!!! I *so* owe you lunch!"

"How much your win ticket pay?"

"$370!"

"OK you can buy me a lunch!"

One friend also made $370 off the same tip, while two others made $168 each. We were a very happy bunch. 

Giddy off the win, we decided to bet $5 in the next race too, on a horse because we liked his name--"Where's the Remote?" He won too! Made us $15 each. Feeling like we had a good thing going, we bet $5 on the race after that based on the winner of a 3-way game of Rock/Paper/Scissors. Yup. These are the ridiculous ideas we come up with when we're drunk and playing with house money. Alas, that was when our luck ended. With an extra $380 in my wallet, I decided that was the end of my betting for the day. :)

This I Believe

I believe in signing up for swim races before signing up for swim classes, in long morning workouts followed by lazy afternoons, and that one day I’ll qualify for Boston and finish an Ironman triathlon.

I believe in Science over Religion, logic over zealotry, and NPR over Fox News.

I believe that religion is personal, but morality, kindness, and love are universal. The Mountains are MY cathedrals. I am baptized in alpine lakes.

I cannot believe we’ve spent over a trillion dollars on war while our schools lay off teachers. It makes me feel sad and helpless.

I believe in ninjas (not pirates), narwhals, and bacon. Sweet, sweet bacon in all its forms. Prosciutto is a particularly fine incarnation.

I believe in USDA Prime pan fried on cast iron, in duck fat. Oh Boy do I believe that!

I believe I can teach anybody how to dance salsa.

I believe some beliefs aren’t socially acceptable and shouldn’t be shared on Facebook.

I believe in kissing in public, holding hands, and all sorts of mushy embarrassing things.

I believe in fun-crazy. Not drama-crazy. Much like the definition of porn, the line isn't clear, but I know it when I see it.

I believe in instant connections, effortless conversations, and writing love letters by hand.

I believe the best is yet to come.

Country Songs

I was in my car the other day when the first few bars of a familiar song comes on the radio just as I got home. It was a favorite of mine by Tim McGraw, about a cancer patient who finally realized that he had to make the most of the one chance he had at life.

“Like tomorrow was a gift and you got eternity to think about what did you do with it. What did I do with it? What would I do with it?”

So there I was, sitting in my parked car, engine off, belting out this song along with Tim. Now I don’t tear up at many songs. But sometimes if my mood is right, certain ones will do that to me. This one, like many country songs, has a simple message. It's an affirmation of living life to the fullest and pursuing what you love.

“Skydiving. Rocky Mountain climbing…”

The Rocky Mountain climbing part always gets me!

And to be honest, while this song was not directly responsible for me signing up for the Ironman, the message in this song and how that message reinforced my life philosophy, played a large role in why I will be in Arizona in November.

Do you Live Like You Were Dying?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxDkWBvxHEI

So here's the deal if you're ever thinking about...

...crossing the Grand Canyon by foot. Don’t do it in one day. Unless… well, if you’re the type of person who feels a NEED to walk 21 miles down and up 6000 feet in one day in 90+ degree heat, then you’ve got your own reasons, don’t you? But for the rest of you who just want some advice, mine is to spend 1-3 nights camping down in the Canyon. It might take a bit more planning, but it’s just so worth it.

My planning started on January 1. That’s when backcountry permit applications open up for trips starting in the month of May. I was attending a dance convention in Palm Springs at the time, so it was kinda weird that in the midst of all the dancing and workshops, a small part of my brain was still focused on making sure the application got faxed in on time. In preparation for a South Rim to North Rim hike, I asked for the maximum of 6 permits for Bright Angel campground near Phantom Ranch for the first night, and Cottonwood campground the second night.

A month later, I got my permit in the mail! Filling up the other 5 spots was not difficult. R2R is on a lot of people’s to-do lists. The final party consisted entirely of friends I met through the Sierra Club. Mike, Tiffani, Karin, Diane, Justin, and myself.

We started our hike at around 9am, which was probably about 4 hours later than ideal. But since we were part of a larger group that were there over Memorial weekend for a car camping trip, I kinda wanted to see everybody off before we began. There are two trails from the South Rim that take you to the bottom. The Bright Angel trail is a bit more gradual and has more water available, but we chose the South Kaibab trail because it had no mule poop.

Switchbacks all the way down.

Like I said, 9am is a bit late. It was already starting to warm up, and the first group of us didn't arrive at Phantom Ranch until noon. The last couple didn’t get there until 1:00. Try to start between 4-5am if you can.

Justin taking in the view.

On our hike down, we saw a group of young college-aged rangers working trail maintenance in the heat of day. They were working with heavy rocks and logs, rebuilding the trail one section at a time. I joked with Justin that they must be noobs because what senior ranger in their right mind would want that job over say… giving nature talks, manning a ranger station, or patrolling? Bless those poor newbies! That’s how I like to see my tax dollars spent!

About half way down, the guys waited by the shade of an outhouse for the girls to catch up. We watched a couple squirrels dig holes, then plop their bellies right on top of the hole, presumably to cool off. It was already in the 90s at this point.

A bit further down, we saw the footbridge across the Colorado! There's actually two. This one is the black bridge. The silver bridge crosses from the Bright Angel Trail a little bit downstream.

You reach it by first walking through a nice cool tunnel blasted out of the rock, which you can see in the picture. Justin and I rested in this natural air conditioning for about 10 minutes. A ranger who was commuting to work at Phantom Ranch spritzed us with her water bottle. It felt sooo good. Also, how great of a job is that? She hikes to work, which apparently involves listening to noob rangers give nature and geology talks. Sometimes, I need to be reminded of what is possible in life.

As soon as you exit the tunnel, you're on the black bridge crossing the Colorado!

Looking down at the Colorado, it’s hard to believe that this non-descript river of average size is responsible for all of the grandeur we see today. It’s not like we have the Mississippi down there. The Earth is so awesomely magnificent sometimes that it blows me away.

When Justin, Mike and I reached Phantom Ranch, it was starting to get really really hot. I felt kinda bad for the the girls who were still another hour behind us, hiking through that heat. Phantom Ranch is a group of buildings down by the Colorado. There’s a ranger station, a hiker’s dormitory, a bunch of cabins. There’s also the ranch itself, which is a one-room structure with a bunch of tables and a counter where you can buy snacks and souvenirs. 

Me standing in front of Phantom Ranch.

You can send postcards out by mule.

When you're embarking on something like crossing the Grand Canyon, there are some things that you just have to do. Me? I had to touch the Colorado River. It wasn't enough to just see it or cross it. Touching it made the trip complete somehow. I had hiked all the way to the Ranch before I realized that I had forgotten to do this. Since our plan was to stay at the ranch for several hours to wait out the heat, I felt like I needed to hike the quarter mile back to the river in order to properly baptize myself.

The water was friggen cold! The perfect way to beat the heat.

At 3:30pm, we started our 7 mile hike out to Cottonwood campground. Our permit was technically for Bright Angel campground near Phantom, but we decided to risk it and try our luck at Cottonwood instead. The idea was to hike the Canyon in 2 days instead of 3, and to make the last day a little easier by leaving ourselves only 7 miles up.

The section between Phantom and Cottonwood was absolutely gorgeous. Tall canyon walls towered above you on both sides, with the walls so close together that my GPS watch malfunctioned due to lack of sky. You hike along Bright Angel Creek, crossing it six times.

The hike to Cottonwood was fast. 1500’ gain over 7 miles was not bad at all. Although they say that if you were to try to hike this section in the middle of the day, the heat would reflect off the dark canyon walls and cook you like an oven. Fortunately by the time we got started, the sun was low enough in the sky to allow us to hike most of the way in the shade. In addition to the beautiful scenery, I also saw a pretty decent sized brush fire. Not sure what started it or how it got put out, but helicopters were flying in and out of the burn area the whole afternoon. Only a few hot spots remained by the time I got there.

Cottonwood is a pretty little campground next to the creek, marked by several very large cottonwood trees. As a rule of thumb, cottonwoods require a lot of water, so when you see one in the distance, you know there’s water nearby. They have distinctive leaves that tremble in the wind and glitter in the sun. Very pretty. I rolled into camp around 6pm and decided to wait for the next person to get in before eating my dinner. If I had known then that it’d be 2 hours before any of my friends would show up, I would have started eating without them. Speaking of which, let’s spend some time talking about food.

If you’ve ever done any sort of physical activity for 6 or 7 hours straight then you know how food can tastes 10x better when you’re super hungry like that. I once ate the most delicious hot dogs in my life after hiking 16 miles up and down Half Dome. Anyways, that how I felt that night. I was famished. Ended up sucking down a foil pouch of tuna and an apple while I waited for everybody else to arrive.


When they finally got in, we got down to business of cooking dinner and setting up camp. Karin and Diane set up tents. Everybody else pretty much threw their pads on the ground and slept out under the stars, scorpions and tarantulas be damned! I learned later that Mike, Justin, and Tiff didn’t even bother bringing tents. Sneaky! I could have saved 2 pounds of pack weight if I’d left my tent at home. Dinner for me was a Lipton Pasta pack. Of course it was delicious. The best damn instant pasta ever. The best part of it all is that the thing that would normally keep me from eating it all the time at home—the high sodium content—was exactly what my body needed the most after a long day of hiking. How often can you down all that salty goodness completely free of guilt? Isn’t hiking is awesome?

We saw the North Rim Lodge glowing like a beacon off in the distance that night, knowing that by this time tomorrow, we would be having dinner in its dining room. Sleep came easy. We were all tired. The Milky Way was our nightlight.

We got up at 4:15am the next morning, and I was out of camp by 5:00. With only 7 miles and 4200’ to climb, I knew I wanted to reach the top before it started to get warm. Three, four hours tops.

Sunrise from Cottonwood.

About 1.5 miles up from Cottonwood, I see a couple college aged guys in red t-shirts come tearing down the trail like they were on some sort of mission. It was about 5:45 am, so they must have started down around the same time as I started up. I wondered how far they were going, and got my answer later that evening when I saw them again back at the Lodge, walking very gingerly. Turns out they ran to the river and back. 29 miles in one day. I think they said it took them 2.5 hours to get to the river, and 4.5 hours to climb back up. We were impressed.

Shortly after that, I arrived at Roaring Springs. It is quite literally a waterfall gushing out of a hole in the side of the canyon wall. It’s said to supply all the drinking water for all the structures in the entire park. Judging from the amount of water that poured outta there, I believe it.

Roaring Springs

I judged my progress by looking at where I was in the many different layers of colored rock. As I climbed out, I imagined myself a time traveler, moving through thousands, even millions of years with each step of my slow march back to the future.

When I finally reached the top at 8:30am, the first thing I did was unclip my 25 pound pack and raise my arms in silent victory. Woo hoo! Boy did that feel great!

I then proceeded to hitchhike for the first time in my life. Stuck my thumb out and everything. Got picked up by the mule bus. :) See, the North Rim Lodge was 2 miles away, and there was just no way I was going to walk those two miles. I certainly coulda. But didn’t. Call it principle. The hike was over. I didn’t need to prove anything to myself by walking another 2 miles when I could just as easily hitch a ride.

The North Rim could not have been more different than the South. Whereas the South gets 4,000,000 visitors a year, the North only gets 400,000. The South has a railroad station and a ton of buildings everywhere. The North has a Lodge and a campground. The South is lower and hotter. The North is higher and cooler. There was still snow on the ground when we were there.

North Lodge Great Room

The North Rim Lodge was very impressive. Perched on the edge of a cliff, it overlooks the length of Bright Angel Canyon, which was basically the route we took from Phantom Ranch up to the top. As soon as you walk in, you’re greeted by a Great Room with three gigantic windows that look out over the Canyon. Music from the 1920’s plays softly in the background. Giant leather sofas are placed strategically around the room to soak in the views. I collapse into one, gaze out over a pastel paradise, and start daydreaming about my next adventure.

Highway Robbery on the North Kaibab Trail

So there I was, chugging along the bottom of the Grand Canyon when I see this:

It's a little blurry, but it's a black wasp that's slowly dragging the carcass of a dead (or possibly paralyzed) grasshopper maybe 3x its size along the trail back to its lair or something. As I was watching the wasp do its thing, a lizard suddenly appears out of nowhere and straight up JUMPS her! Snatches the grasshopper right out from under the wasp's nose and starts hightailing it back to whatever hole he crawled out of.

Needless to say, the wasp was PISSED! It starts stinging the shit out of the lizard until finally the lizard lets go of the grasshopper and runs to hide under a rock.

The wasp then takes about 10 seconds to figure out where exactly the lizard dropped the prize before resuming her grasshopper dragging. Not 10 seconds after THAT, the lizard reappears like a fricken BOLT OF LIGHTNING, snatches the grasshopper away and this time with a proper getaway strategy figured out zooms right back under the rock before the wasp knew what hit her.

The confused wasp flew little circles, trying to figure out how the hell she got mugged twice in the span of a few seconds, all the while looking for the perp. Since the lizard was now safely under the rock probably already chowing down on delicious grasshopper, all the wasp sees is ME, and starts bee-lining... err... wasp-lining it right towards ME!

Since I didn't know how to say YOU GOT THE WRONG GUY in wasp, I got the hell out of dodge... which wasn't very easy to do when you have 30 pounds on your back!