Modified Race Report

For all of you who didn’t know, ten of our Multisport Club, The Trilanders, did the Phoenix Rock and Roll Marathon…one, and Half-Marathon…nine. Since I was the last to finish, I’ll give you a quick, down and dirty version of the results.

Diane finished first, hopped in a shuttle to a local hotel, and flew out by 3PM. They tell me she was in the 2:08 range for the half. Jean ran the entire run, still hasn’t checked her time, but thinks she is in the 2:20 range. Patti and Nancy started out together, did finish but not together, and no one has told me what their times were, so there. Stacy started with Jean, started feeling not so well, and finished, but was quite sickish for quite some time. I don’t know her time either. Tom started several corrals in front of me, told me his entire training schedule included 15-18 miles of running (total) between Memorial day weekend and the race. He says his time was in the 3:15 range, even with all that training.

Judy and Kevin were supposed to start in corrals 22 and 23, I think, but moved ahead and started way before I did. They walked most of the race and finished in the 3:30 plus range which included two long bathroom breaks. Not the “reading the newspaper” long, but had to wait a while for a porta john to open up. That leaves two of us. Bill did the Marathon and had his usual pre-race barf to start things out right. He had trained well, but was having some achilles issues during training. A short version of his race goes like this…he was on pace until mile 18 or so. The sick-to-the-stomach feeling reared its ugly head again for a couple of miles. He then hit the proverbial “wall”, and his pace slowed. Sometime during the last six miles his quads, yes both of them, cramped, and he limped into the finish in 4:40 or so. His first and, he says, last Marathon. Congratulations Bill!!

That leaves me, and I know all the gory details. Most of you know I’ve been having right knee issues since May. I tried some limited running and in September ramped it up. The knee rebelled and I couldn’t run at all since then. The most I had done was a couple of five mile walks in Florida, and a couple of 4.38 mile walks in Phoenix. So who in their right mind would actually do the 13.1 mile half marathon? No one, which proves that I’m legally insane.

The debacle began before the race ever started. I got an e-mail from the race director who said that I had two entries to the race. One would be canceled and my entry of $85.00 would be refunded on my credit card. I sent back an e-mail saying there must be some mistake and that I had only been charged once in September. She sent back a response that said someone else must have signed me up and that my money would be refunded. I responded by asking if there was more than one John Walker. She sent back an e-mail saying that they matched name, birth date and e-mail address, so unless there were two people with all of those things the same, I would be refunded my entry. I sent back an e-mail saying no one had taken responsibility for signing me up, so I shouldn’t get a refund. She responded by saying “have a nice race”. Case closed.

I should have known that things may not go well. When we all went down on Friday to pick up our packets, I got mine right away. I had told them when I signed up that I should finish in about 2:10. With the knee thing going on, I didn’t update that information, knowing that I could move back in the starting area to a later corral. For those of you who don’t know what a corral is, it’s just what you would think. All the people who plan to run at a similar pace are placed in a group, separated by clotheslines. The fastest start first and then the corrals leave at equal intervals, but your race time doesn’t begin until you cross the start line.

My packet said that I expected to finish the race in 4:40 (not 2:10), so they put me in corral 26, the very last one. Since I was going to walk the race anyway, I didn’t mind. But when I went to pick up my race shirt, they had medium for my shirt size, so that’s what I got. You all know that there’s no way this body is getting into a medium t-shirt without me looking like 10 pounds of crap stuffed into a 5 pound bag. Apparently they deleted the wrong John Walker, or they changed all the details to get back at me for all the e-mails. At any rate, the race started, and it was 47 minutes before I crossed the start line.

I walked what, for me, was a brisk pace (16 minute miles), never stopped for anything, and finished at a 16:45 minute mile pace. The knee was sore every step, but not sore enough to quit. Afterward it didn’t bother me any more than if I had done a 4 mile walk at a slower pace. I forgot to hit my Garmin at the finish line and hit it a minute or two later, so I think my time was 3:37ish. I was happy with that considering I had no business doing the race at all, but my feet were another matter. Since walking is a different foot plant and push off than running, I had forgotten about the issues I have with long walks. Blisters!! I had a blister the size of a silver dollar on the pad of my right foot, one the size of a quarter on the pad of my left foot, and one the size of a quarter on the bottom of my left heel. My big toenail on my right foot had turned a blue (several shades) and was on its way to black.

Afterward I walked like I had done an Ironman race, but the only thing sore was my feet. The blisters are not sore any more, but my big toe throbbed all last night and all day today. Jean picked up some peroxide, I have a needle in my dop kit, and I’m contemplating drilling a hole in my toenail with the needle to relieve the pressure. I cringe just thinking about it, but the throbbing is keeping me awake and Jean doesn’t want me catching up on my sleep while barreling down the road at 70 mph.

Just (Where’s The Doctor When You Need Her) Jack

We All Can’t Be Perfect

img_0860.JPGFirst of all, my apologies to all of you with dial up that hate getting e-mails with pictures attached. If you, like I used to do, download the e-mail without the picture, you won’t understand what I’m talking about. I’ve walked by this Saguaro Cactus three times now (actually four if you count today’s out and back walk). The first time I saw it, I thought to myself all the captions you could put on a picture like; “Polluted? What do you mean this land is polluted?” or; “Arizona Postcard Contestant Rejected” or; “I remember everything until the 9th shot of Tequila—I don’t feel so good” and, you know me, I could go on and on. I went out and took a picture and had planned to get a few laughs about it.

Then I got to thinking. I know! Dangerous! What I thought about was that the cactus started out in a very harsh environment, trying to get enough of a foothold to grow. It struggled to find its niche in that particular spot and probably had to defeat several other plants just to survive. The struggles it endured show in the “arms” that broke off, or twisted the wrong way, or the holes that the birds pecked in its skin. And it still is there, hanging around until the land is bulldozed down for another development. It is what it is, and what we see on the outside, and make jokes about, don’t begin to praise the strength and perseverance it took to make it this far.

So now is the time I’m supposed to compare that cactus to an old broken down man (me, at the moment, with the knee thing going on) and say something about how we shouldn’t judge something by what we see. Some of us will never look like the guys on the cover of Men’s Health, so maybe we shouldn’t be ashamed of what we look like. What we think are defects and malformations may be scars from many courageous battles that were fought and won. But that would make me sound too preachy and it’s way too deep for my intellect. So let’s just say it’s a nice picture and leave it for you to interpret for yourself.

In my last e-mail, I failed to mention that Rocky took me to a New Orleans Saints game, my first regular season professional football game. They only had one loss at the time, ended up losing that game, and the next. But it was a fun game to watch and we had a good time. The only downside was the guys sitting behind us. There always seems to be someone in the stands that everyone hates, and these guys were, by far, at the head of that list. To say they were foul mouthed would be an understatement. Every swear word you could possibly think of, and some that I didn’t even know, came spewing out of their mouths non-stop. They were extremely derogatory toward women, and described them in every degrading way you could imagine. The plus side was that the game lasted so long they began to sober up (yes, drunk to the point of losing the power of speech) and the early hangovers were setting in. We had fun afterward touring the location of Rocky and Nina’s rehearsal dinner and riding around in the French Quarter chauffered by Nina’s mother.

We think we’ve decided to head for Michigan shortly after the race on the 17th. We’ll probably leave when the weather looks like we can make the three day drive without heading into storms. We plan to get back no later than the 24th so I can have a day to prepare for my board meeting on the 26th. If the travel weather looks bad, I can fly back and Jean can drive back when it clears up. At 100 miles a day, she should make it by Super Bowl Sunday…who’s having the party?

Just (Waiting Around For The Trilanders To Get Here) Jack

Lost In Arizona

Well, actually I’m not lost, but you don’t realize how much you rely on a computer until you don’t have one at your fingertips 24/7. While we were in Florida, you probably remember, the rental didn’t have a computer hookup, so we had to go to the activities center to pick up the wifi signal. We stopped at Rocky and Nina’s for a couple of days, and they didn’t have wifi. We could use their computer to check e-mails, but it didn’t have my address book in it, so there was no way for me to send e-mails from the yahoo website without knowing what the e-mail address is.

Now we’re at Kevin and Stacy’s in Arizona and, since they’re only here on short vacations, they don’t have a wifi signal here either. Luckily, we’re able to use Stacy’s parents’ computers and hook into their wifi, so we aren’t totally incummunicado. We were sitting here last night watching the Fiesta Bowl and talking about Kevin and Stacy’s condo in Middleville. Kevin had told her that they were building townhouses across the street. None of us knew the exact definition of a townhouse and how that differs from a free standing house or a condominium. I would normally go to my computer, type “townhouse definition” into Google and see what came up. It probably would have taken me to Wikipedia and it would have told me way more than I ever wanted to know about townhouses in easy to understand language.

I’m typing this Tuesday afternoon while Jean and Stacy are shopping. I decided to stay here and guard the house rather than follow a bunch of women around in several stores, getting in the way of other shoppers. I need solitude to write these e-mails. Things are going around in my head and I can’t type fast enough to get them all down. When Jean comes in, she usually starts talking the minute she hits the door and telling me extremely important information that I need to know to survive. I lose my train of thought (a short train with an engine, a coal car, and a caboose) and my thoughts are gone.

We had a great Christmas with Mom, brother Bob (aka Bobbie Butane), his friend Patti, my Aunt Sharon and Uncle Fred. We often have Thanksgiving and/or Christmas with Becky and whatever kids can make it home. For some reason, the conversation usually turns to Becky and her ex husband raising dogs, which degenerates to discussing the exact process of the collection of materials for artificial insemination. I knew that wouldn’t be the case with Mom, Aunt Sharon and Uncle Fred there, but it wasn’t much better.

Bob was talking about his friends who were naturalists. I was naive enough to think that he meant those people who walk around watching birds. They are usually wearing khaki shorts and pith helmets with a pair of binoculars (the people, not the birds). WRONG!!! He meant they were wearing nothing at all and they lived in one of those communities that junior high boys try to sneak into all the time. Then he told us they were in their late seventies or early eighties. For some reason, we all stopped eating and that was the end of a very good Christmas dinner.

The trip through Texas, New Mexico and Arizone was relatively uneventful. However, if I never drive through Houston or San Antonio again, I’ll be happy. The cities go on forever and ever and, since they’re otherwise in the middle of nowhere, a whole bunch of interstates converge there. We went though in the middle of the day, but the traffic was heavy and the lane I was supposed to be in was not always obvious. The Tom Tom told me where to go, but I couldn’t look at the picture on the screen and stay out of the way of maniac cowboy drivers at the same time. We made it OK and only got the “you’re number one” wave a couple of times.

We stopped for the night in Ozona, Texas. The towns with motels are all about 60 miles apart in West Texas. We had planned to get to Fort Stockton (I expected to meet he cavalry there), but it would have taken us until past 8 PM to make it. We had gotten up at 5:30 AM and started at 6:15, so we were both very tired. We went into a Best Western that looked nice and were third in line to check in. The guy at the counter was about 5’3″ (both tall and around). He asked what the price was and the clerk told him $89.95. He said, “I only have $80.00 in the budget. Would you drop it to that?” Jean and I both could have strangled the guy. I was thinking to myself, “You’re out here in the middle of nowhere, and the only other choice is a Holiday Inn Express for $119.99. What makes you think you are in a strong bargaining position?” The clerk told him he had a room on the second floor with one bed for $85.99, so the guy took it. The clerk was kinder than I would have been. My answer would have been, NEXT! We saw the guy and his wife at the only restaurant in town while we were having dinner. After seeing her, that bed was going to be stressed to its limit (weight…not action).

We drove along the Rio Grand for about 50 miles on the way to El Paso. I’d like to say it was beautiful, but we couldn’t see it. The air temperature was 31 and the river was much warmer than that, so we drove in a fog bank for all 50 miles. Since we were so close to the border, we saw a border patrol stop on the Eastbound side of the highway. All cars and trucks had to stop and traffic was backed up a half mile or so. After we got past El Paso and crossed into New Mexico, we had a border patrol stop on our side. There wasn’t much traffic and we were the first ones in line. We slowed to about 20 mph and I was preparing to stop when the young girl waved us through. Jean wondered why we didn’t have to stop, and I said “Just look at us. We’re a 60 plus year old couple with bikes on the back and Christmas presents sticking up all over the place. What could we possibly be trying to sneak into the United States?”

A short note on the knee recovery…it’s not happening! It’s no better and may be just a shade worse after helping some people move on Saturday morning, touring new home models on Saturday afternoon, a four plus mile walk Sunday partly through trails, and a 13 mile bike ride today. Maybe I can rub some Tequila on it to numb the pain.

Just (Maybe Not Even Able To Walk The Rock-And-Roll Half Marathon) Jack

PS – The weather here is relentless. Day after day of sun, no clouds, and 70 degrees. You would think we’d be sick of it by now. We aren’t. We feel sorry for all of you enduring crappy weather. But remember, you were all kind enough to tell me how good the weather was on spring break, knowing that I hadn’t had a 1/1 to 4/15 vacation since 1972.

Dad Of The Year

I thought I was in the running for Dad of the Year until this Florida trip. Now, granted, all but one of our kids live out of state, but that shouldn’t matter. For Sara, my middle child and oldest daughter, it was when we told her at Thanksgiving that we would be going to Florida and wouldn’t be around for Christmas. Her look, and her question “Where am I going to go for Christmas?” dropped me down on the list of Dad of the Year finalists.

Then came the Christmas gifts. We all like to think that our kids are still three or four years old, and we can’t wait for them to get up on Christmas morning, excited about what they might get. Since I won’t be near Matt, Sara or Anna for Christmas, I’m relegated to getting presents to them from a distance. It usually isn’t that difficult, and I send them via computer. I always get a list of things they want, sort it out with others in the family, and get them sent soon enough to get there before the big day.

Sara wants a ticket to San Francisco, but she won’t be able to go until her birthday, so I’ll get her ticket sometime before May. She just moved and I don’t have her address, so I couldn’t send anything to her anyway. Nothing for her to open Christmas morning and no family to be with. One more notch down the ladder.

Anna was good this year and sent me two or three links to things she wanted. They were all clothing, and Dads aren’t good at buying exactly the right things, so I opted for a gift certificate. I clicked on the link she sent me, went to gift certificates, clicked on add to my shopping cart, and it threw me out to Google with a message like “unable to find http:\\whatever” and suggested several other sites to visit. This happened two more times before I gave up. I sent her a check yesterday morning. Another notch down the ladder.

Matt sent quite a list, but most of the items were taken up by other family members. One of the items was a Costco gift certificate for a large purchase he was planning. I figured that would be safe, so I went to the Costco website. I added a gift certificate to my shopping cart and went directly to cash out. After I enetered much of the personal information, it said I needed to buy a membership to buy the gift certificate. I wasn’t ready to spend $50.00 to do that, so I backed out of the website, and now I’m getting spam from Costco. I sent him a check yesterday morning too. I hadn’t gotten a list from Heather, and planned a gift certificate for her too, but I didn’t want to choose the wrong place. I sent her a check yesterday as well. Two more quick notches lost.

Usually, when I send the kids cards for birthdays or Christmas with checks, I’ll send ones that charities send me, enticing me to send more money, or feel sorry for the poor person that made the card, also to make me send more money. I didn’t bring any of those with me, and I’m too cheap to buy cards, so I had to use plain paper. I didn’t bring any of that either, and we’re in a rental here in Florida, so I used the back of three flyers the sales office gave us along with the keys to our manufactured home. Yes, down even farther.

We’ll see Robert the day before Christmas and Rocky and Nina the day after Christmas, and I haven’t bought anything for any of them yet. I usually get them gift certificates too (do you think I’m in a rut?). Robert hasn’t given me a list and neither has Rocky. With the wedding coming up for Rocky and Nina, and Robert being a new college graduate (congratulations Robert), a gift certificate or money may be just the thing they need. I’m not sure whether that drops me down another notch or keeps me even. I’m sure it doesn’t raise me up any of the notches I’ve lost.

I was out of the Husband of the Year contest way back in January. I had the knee thing going on all summer and fall, so Tiger Woods beat me out of Athlete of the Year honors. But, with his recent escapades, I think I’m still above Tiger for Dad of the Year and Husband of the Year. At least I can beat him at something.

Just (Missing Another Friend From The Four O’Clock Round Table) Jack

I Broke It

We have been here less than a week and, already, I’ve broken the shower. On Saturday morning, after a lengthy walk, I jumped in the shower. Not literally, “jumped in”, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I let the water run for five minutes and never got anything close to warm water. The handle turned to the point where it normally is all the way open, then continued to turn, not very smoothly. Since I wasn’t getting any warm water, and I’m not inclined to take cold showers, I went to the other bathroom and took a shower there.

When I came back to the master bathroom, there was a half inch of water on the floor. I sopped it up as best I could with the bath mat, but it was still quite wet. I found another towel (white…not a good choice for cleaning the floor) and sopped up the rest. Jean came in, found a reddish pink towel, and we placed that against the spot where the water was coming out. It was the weekend, and we knew we couldn’t get hold of anyone in the office ’til Monday, so we used the second bathroom.

Later Saturday evening, after Robert and Danielle left, Jean went to use the bathroom and the door wouldn’t close. I looked, and the door jamb appeared to be made of pressed wood products, not just plain wood. When that stuff gets wet, it expands like an accordion. It expanded so much that the door couldn’t close all the way. You know me to be not very shy, but bathroom time should be private time. Even when I’m alone in the house, I always close the bathrrom door. Now what? We contacted the office on Monday mid morning. They got back to us later in the day and said they would send a guy from maintenance over to fix it. We waited around until 5:30 and, then, went out to dinner. Apparently the guy came at 5:31 and we weren’t here.

He came yesterday, looked at the problem, and was perplexed about where the water was coming from. I told him I thought it was going into the channel that runs along the molded base and, when it gets to the low spot in the corner, leaks out. He agreed and went back to get a hair dryer and some silicone caulk. He shaved off some of the extra thickness in the jamb so the door would close. I left to go to the pool (yes, I was able to swim with very little itching…hooray!!) and he came back and fixed it. I just went in to turn the water on to see how it works, and now it leaks out from the middle of the base, right before where the silicone caulk starts. Ugh!!

We got roped into being in a parade of golf carts Sunday evening, against my will. We were supposed to meet up with some friends from Hastings who live here now, but they had friends stop by and they had to cancel. That was fine with me. Jean went down to tell another friend from Hastings that we wouldn’t be using her golf cart and, when she came back, I found out we were still going and meeting up with someone from Canada that she just met. We went to meet up at 5:30 and the parade was to start at 6:00. A group of carts met in each of the five or six “villages” and were all riding around looking at Christmas decorations. We were all to meet at the Founders Hall for a Christmas party at 7:00.

What we didn’t realize was that our cart was the slowest in the whole complex. We stayed with the group on the turnarounds, but fell way behind on the straightaways. This went on for about 40 minutes until we got tired of holding everyone up that was behind us. We peeled off and went to the hall to wait. There were lots of people and we stood and talked to a woman from Wisconsin whose husband had gone back to the house ‘cuz they forgot their booze. Jean had a Gatorade bottle almost full of wine and I had a couple of beers. We sat with the Canada friends and the couple from Wisconsin, and talked most of the way through the show (the chorale was doing Christmas songs). We only got “shooshed” once by the people at the next table.

We’re meeting lots of people, many of them our age, and we like it around here. We haven’t found all the good restaurants yet, but we’re trying. Actually, Jean is trying. When we got here, we looked around and they have everything we might need except a frying pan. I was quite disappointed and Jean pretended to be put out, but the wheels in her head were turning and I could tell she was thinking “Thank goodness I don’t have to cook”. We spoiled her fun by buying a frying pan at WalMart yesterday. We need one at home, so we’ll just take it with us. Let me guess…Jean will come back from her morning workout with a sprained cooking wrist.

Just (Dinner Tonight At The Paradise Grill With Friends) Jack

In Florida

Well, we made it to Florida, all in one piece. We left Hastings at 3 PM on Tuesday after a couple of hospital board meetings. The coming storm was on its way and we seemed to stay just ahead of it. We only got as far as Anderson, Indiana where we stopped for the night. It was raining really hard and these old eyes just don’t see as well as they used to, so we thought it best to get a motel, get to bed early, and get an early start. We were both pretty wired, and we had brought a case of wine, packed on the bottom of course. Jean offered to crawl over everything to get to it. We could have opened the back, but it was raining so hard, we didn’t want to get drenched. We knew it was best to not get one out, so we didn’t.

We had a condo association meeting at our house Monday night, and it was somewhat stressful. I didn’t get to sleep until after 1 AM, and woke up at 6 AM with plenty of things to do, one of which was to turn in my resignation on the association board. To quote part of the letter, “I have always said that the pride and satisfaction of volunteering in a non-profit organization far outweighs the confrontation, criticism and second guessing about unimportant issues. I stand corrected.”

We left the next morning at 6, and fought rain and wind all morning. There was an accident on the ramp that goes from I-69 to I-465, so we crawled for 20 minutes or so. The rain wasn’t heavy but it came and went every few minutes. The crosswinds blew 30 or 40 mph with some higher gusts. We fought the steering wheel until we turned East at Nashville. Halfway between there and Chattanooga, the sun came out and it was quite pleasant. By the time we headed back South, the winds were calmer and the driving wasn’t so bad until we hit Atlanta. We hit downtown at 4:15, a bad time to be just passing through. There was an accident on one of the interstates going out to the West and that backed up traffic. After about 30 minutes of stop and go, we were back to smooth sailing.

We stayed in a small town in Georgia that had every train in the United States (or so it seemed) going through town in the middle of the night and blowing its whistle at every cross street. I was asleep by 9, tossed and turned until 3, and was wide awake from then until we left at 6. It was warm, somewhat breezy, and rained on and off until we got to Sebring. We decided to stop for a bathroom break about 30 miles up the road ‘cuz we knew we would have to take some time to check into the place and didn’t want to get caught in an uncomfortable position. Jean went in while I filled the car with gas, then it was my turn. Apparently, after all that driving, I was too dumb to get the light to turn on. I could get the fan going, but it must not have worked all that well ‘cuz it didn’t smell all that good. It was pitch black, so I didn’t dare try to guess where the toilet was and hope I didn’t go on the floor. Jean said she’d hold the door open a crack (no pun intended) so I could see, but it was noon and the area workers were lined up outside the door for Subways, so I skipped the pit stop.

We’re in a gated community that has an Avon Park address, but is closer to Sebring. We asked for directions to the nearest WalMart. Jean and I both listened, but neither of us got them right, so we stopped and asked for more directions. We never did get to WalMart, but stopped at a grocery store for a few supplies to tide us over. I remembered that you need to calm down, take a breath, and not be in a hurry to do anything down here. Everybody was in there, they had nothing else to do. The husbands (me included) pushed the carts, while the wives looked at every single item, making sure they got the best price. $104.72 later, we headed for our digs. I fired up the GPS, punched in our address, and it told us where to go. I’m sure it was the quickest route ‘cuz the voice kept telling us that. But it took us through a seedy (huge understatement) part of Sebring. There seemed to be a couple of “ladies of the evening” and a couple of guys who looked like either pimps, drug dealers, or both. It got us back, but next time I’ll second guess the route.

I know when I was in San Francisco I promised Heather I would practice using chopsticks before I came out the next time. Along those same lines, I knew that I should have practiced Florida driving techniques before I came down here, but I didn’t do that either. Everyone who comes down here should practice driving at least two miles with their blinker on and then, when you finally turn, turn the opposite direction. You should also practice driving in the far left lane of a three lane highway going 20 mph slower than all the other traffic ‘cuz you know you have to turn left five miles up the road. The third skill you need to sharpen is driving in the center lane of a busy street and then braking quickly ‘cuz you aren’t sure where the next grocery store is that’s handing out free food samples. There’s no need to practice turning left from the right lane and turning right from the left lane ‘cuz everybody does that and it soon becomes second nature.

I have to admit…it’s a heck of a lot nicer being here in 75 degree weather than being in Michigan, fighting the wind and cold, hoping for a day close to freezing. We took a bike ride this morning, driving in and out of all the streets in the complex. I never shifted the bike once, so you know it’s flat as a pancake. We stopped and watched a few people playing pickle ball. It’s kind of like tennis with a paddle instead of a racket, and it’s played with a whiffle ball instead of a tennis ball. I still don’t get the scoring, but that will come I’m sure. Robert should be here in a while, so we’ll try to bore him and his girlfriend all day with old people stuff that we think is interesting and they will think isn’t.

Just (Sitting By The Pool Writing This E-Mail) Jack

None The Worse For Wear

I made it home safely and I appear to be none the worse for wear. I was less tired from the trip back than the trip out, but was just as anxious to get out of the car. Matt and Heather flew back to San Francisco from Denver and were happy to not have to drive the rest of the way. I don’t blame them.

I should clear up a couple of things from the last message I sent. First of all, I used the term biannual to describe my sinus issues. Wiktionary says that the term means twice every year, but is often confused with biennial, which means every two years. So it is better understood to use the term semiannual, which also means twice a year. I stand corrected. Who said English is an easy language?

Secondly, I talked about wanting to wake up in Park City, Utah and see the mountains. I expected them to be beautiful, but we had driven into town in the dark, so really didn’t see much. In comparing Park City with Lake Placid, the downtown area goes to Park City. But the beauty of the surrounding mountains, hands down, goes to Lake Placid. The mountains around Park City don’t have many trees and, at this time of the year, are brown and not very attractive. Both were home to the Winter Olympics, so they have much to offer as far as winter sports are concerned.

Lastly, Matt and Heather had gone to the pool and sauna at the Holiday Inn Express we stayed at. They said I would have loved it. The pool had a set of rules that topped my cottage rules. We’ve all seen the signs that say, DON”T PEE IN THE POOL, but these went farther, and mostly included bodily functions. They couldn’t remember them all but they included, DON’T ENTER THE POOL IF YOU ARE HAVING DIARRHEA; IF YOU CHANGE A BABY’S DIAPERS BE SURE TO WASH THE BABY’S BOTTOM AND YOUR HANDS BEFORE GETTING BACK IN THE POOL; DON’T USE THE POOL IF YOU ARE INCONTINENT; BABIES AND INCONTINENT ADULTS MUST WEAR PLASTIC LINED DIAPERS WITH PLASTIC LINED UNDERWEAR, and on and on.

Other than the sinus thing, we had a great time in the Denver area. We stopped in Fort Collins at New Belgium Brewing Company, makers of Fat Tire Amber Ale, did a brewery tour where they served samples at three locations, and finished with a couple more samples in their tour lounge. Near the end of the tour, we went down a circular slide from the second floor to the first. It was small and you were supposed to keep your feet from touching the sides to slow you down. I didn’t, and my foot hit the side twice, slowing my descent. The woman after me pointed her toes directly toward the heavens, squealed continuously, and didn’t slow down at all. I think I have a butt print on my bald spot, but I can’t see it to check it out. She was from Wisconsin, so if it’s a big W, let’s say it stands for Walker and not rehash the details of how I got it.

I really felt crappy that evening, so we didn’t stay out long, and I didn’t get carried away sampling beers from the area. Matt said he would try to ply me with beer, and get me to tell them how I “lost” my hat. I felt bad enough that my defenses were down, and I told Matt and Heather on the way back to the hotel. I made them promise not to tell anyone, so we’ll see how true they are to their word. All three of us were laughing so hard we had tears rolling down our faces.

The drive over the next two days was pretty much uneventful. Surprisingly, I only noticed a couple of people who did stupid things driving that could have resulted badly and they both happened in Illinois, right after I crossed the Mississippi River. I was using my cruise control and was coming up behind a semi. I checked my mirrors and a couple of cars were passing, so I continued behind the semi getting closer and closer. Just then, the lead car passing pulled in between me and the semi and hit his brakes. I had to hit my brakes, check the mirrors, check my blind spot, and pull over into the passing lane, all within a second or so, to keep from hitting his little BMW. He immediately took the exit that he wanted. Why did he feel he had to pass me when he knew he wanted to get off the expressway? Apparently it was his Alpha Male testosterone kicking in. I’m sure his passenger, young enough to be his daughter, was impressed.

The second one was a car in the center of three lanes. It hit its brakes and instantly went from 65 to 30 in fairly heavy traffic. They wanted to exit and hadn’t thought far enough ahead to move over gradually. This was a twenty something woman with, you guessed it, blond hair. As the chaos subsided, she moved over in front of a couple more cars and took the exit. I was happy she was off my road, but felt sorry for the cars on the road she terrorized next. Luckily I had seen this move often in Florida, when geezers would stop in the middle of the road, not knowing where to go. I know, I know…it’s wrong to compare blond girls with seniors having dementia. My apologies to the seniors.

Just (Resting Before I Start Raking Leaves At The Cottage) Jack

On The Road Again

We’re on the road again, headed back to Michigan. I told you in the last e-mail that we’d be stopping in Reno the first night, and we did. We stayed at The Peppermill, a fairly upscale hotel. The casino part wasn’t any larger than a couple of the ones I’ve been to in Michigan, but is much more opulent. There are so many lights and mirrors in that place, it’s hard to find your way around. We checked in at around 7:15 (10:15 in Michigan), went to our rooms and freshened up (the guys would say “hit the john” but I’m trying to be polite), and went to one of the six restaurants embedded in the glitz. I had a lobster bisque and a Caesar salad. Matt and Heather had sushi. Then it was off to the games.

Matt and Heather played cards for about four hours, took a fifteen minute turn at the roulette table, and cashed in for the night. I didn’t write down all the details, but suffice it to say that The Peppermill did not come out ahead. I broke even. I walked around the gaming floor twice, got lost each time, then packed it in and went to bed by 10:00. Since I didn’t bet, I didn’t lose. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against gambling. I just don’t get the “charge” out of it (no pun intended) that some people do.

We got up yesterday morning, checked out of the hotel, and headed across Nevada. The only other time I was in Nevada was when I was discharged from the Air Force in 1970. On that trip, we took a quick trip through Las Vegas (three hours or so…I was poor so “risked” a roll of nickels), then angled up toward Utah. So I had never been across the northern part of Nevada. What a desolate place. I usually like to get an hour or two of driving in before stopping for breakfast. Matt and Heather had cereal in their room, so they were fine with that. At around 8:00 we came to the first place available and it was a tad bit early, so we went on. As I passed by the exit, I saw a sign that said “NEXT SERVICES 57 MILES”. For the next 57 miles there was nothing.

We went by one spot that had what I thought was smoke coming up from behind a hill. As we passed by the hill, I realized that it was steam and we were going through an area of hot springs. Unlike Arkansas and Yellowstone, the people of Nevada had not exploited the hot springs to gather in tourists. Other than a few pipes stuck in the ground to capture the steam, there was nothing else there. I’m not sure why they did that, because there wasn’t anything within 20 miles to use the steam for. And it’s my guess that if they’re saving the steam in case the place ever turns into a tourist trap, it will have cooled off by then…just a thought.

We stopped at the next town that had anything at all, and went to the local diner. It had a sign that said something like “MEXICAN RESTAURANT” followed in smaller letters, “WE SERVE AMERICAN FOOD TOO!”. It looked like any other small town restaurant with five or six of the local retired guys lined up at the counter, telling stories and laughing. I noticed one of the booths by the front door hadn’t been cleaned up yet. It had two empty beer bottles and glasses, and it was 9:00 AM. We took a booth against the wall and it was obvious that we were the only strangers in there. The food was good, relatively cheap, and the coffee tolerable.

As we left, I was getting into the car when I noticed a spent shotgun shell on the ground. We made a couple of comments about it and were on our way. We weren’t very far down the road when I noticed a sign that said “REPORT ALL SHOOTING FROM ROADWAY”. It started the wheels turning in my head (there are actually wheels in there…an MRI confirmed that when I had the bike wreck of ’03). I guess we were in the Old West where people actually do carry guns in their pickups and, it appears, aren’t afraid to use them.

After driving through five more hours of nothingness, we entered Utah. If Nevada had nothing, that part of Utah had less. We dropped out of the high desert, with nothing but scrawny sagebrush, to the Bonneville Salt Flats where there was nothing but salt. No trees, no sagebrush, no grass…nothing. This went on for thirty or forty miles of exactly, and I mean exactly, straight, flat road. The only things to look at were where truckers had gotten into a highway trance, drove off the edge of the road into salt sludge, and were dragged back to solid ground by a wrecker.

At around dusk, we drove along the south end of the Great Salt Lake, into Salt Lake City (I wonder how it got its name) and up into the mountains. We spent the night in Park City. I can’t wait for the sun to come up ‘cuz I think it’s going to be spectacular. We went to the “historic downtown” for dinner, played some cards in the joint we chose, and came back and crashed. Well, I crashed. Matt borrowed my workout shorts and he and Heather headed for the pool/spa/sauna. I’m not asking what Heather wore. Their business! I spent a fitful night, suffering from my bi-annual sinus crud.

Just (Feeling Like I Was Dragged Through A Knothole Backwards) Jack

Packing Up

I’ve checked out of Inn 1890 Bed & Breakfast, and I’m packing to come home. I’ll stay with Matt and Heather tonight, then load the car, and we’ll leave tomorrow mid-afternoon. Matt has a meeting in Japantown (a section of San Francisco) and we’ll pick him up there. We’ll drive as far as Reno (I’ve never been there) to spend the night. Matt and Heather will gamble and I’ll walk around and people watch…my favorite pastime in casinos. Matt and Heather will accompany me as far as Denver, where we’ll take a tour of the New Belgium Brewing Company (actually in Fort Collins…they make Fat Tire Amber Ale). They’ll stay until Sunday and fly back to SF, and I’ll head out Saturday morning for the last leg of a long, long drive.

I’ve played poker out here with Matt and his friends four or five times. Each time I’ve lost…never more than a few dollars, but always on the minus side. This past Saturday night I won. Not much, maybe $10.00, but on the plus side for once. We had a long day after an afternoon in Hayward at a Barrel Aged Beer Festival (some awesome beers); a couple beers and a light snack at The Trappist, an excellent beer bar in Oakland; and a night of poker at Eric and Heather Gahan’s. Their kids were just going to bed when we got there, so we spoiled that. They were wound up for quite a while, so Heather and Eric took turns playing and coaxing the kids to sleep. We got back around 2:30 AM. My body clock is somewhere between East Coast and West Coast time, so my sleeping has been erratic.

We got massages again Sunday. Yes, they allowed me back, but a different girl, the one at the front desk, took me on. I found out that you were supposed to lie down on both towels, and cover yourself with the towel and blanket at the foot of the table. Last week I wondered why you would have to weasel your feet under that pile of stuff. So no rub noises from “body on synthetic leather”. Lucky for her I had left my underpants on ‘cuz the towel slipped off when I turned over. Also lucky for her, I didn’t wear any old underpants with holes…’nuff said!

We went to Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant afterwards, had margaritas and I had an enchilada. I was going to order two, but one was just right and, for once, I wasn’t bloated with too much food. Yesterday, Heather and I went down to Fisherman’s Wharf, went to a couple of shops, and then stopped by the Buena Vista for Irish Coffee. After that we met Matt and Anna for Japanese food in Japantown. Today, for lunch, we went to a Korean Restaurant in Daly City. Just when I’m getting used to using chopsticks, I’m headed back to Hastings where chopsticks are used as kindling to get the wood stove going.

I have some sad news to report. I’ve lost my favorite hat. It was the one I bought when Diane, Harry and I did the Escape From Alcatraz Triathlon in 2002. It was just a San Francisco tourist hat, but I liked it and it fit me well. I guess I should be honest and tell you that I didn’t really lose it. It’s in a waste basket at Inn 1890. Why would I throw away my favorite hat, you may be asking? I’m embarassed to tell you. It fell in the toilet. You also may be saying, that water isn’t all that bad. It can be washed. Without going into the sordid details, the toilet had been used. You’re probably wondering why I would be wearing my hat when I was going to the bathroom. Well, keep on wondering ‘cuz I’m not telling. Just use your imagination.

A couple of quick side notes. From the e-mails, you can gather that we’ve been to quite a few breweries and beer gatherings. I may need a stay at the nearest Betty Ford Clinic after I get back, but let’s wait until after the third annual beer, wine and mead tasting at our place on December 5th. Secondly, Heather showed me pictures of Matt wearing her clothes. Just when you thought you really know your kids…

I never get used to seeing the weird people in big cities (nice segue from the last paragraph). This is the one I’ve been in the most, but San Francisco seems to have more than it’s share of strangeness. Most of the people are street people, can be mildly mentally ill, and you can learn to ignore them. They beg, but usually aren’t “in your face” obnoxious. There was a guy on the BART train Saturday that was “creepy weird”. He looked like one of those guys that could have easily been a serial killer, or one of those guys that could have been from a planet different from our own. Those are the scary ones to me. There was a guy on the bus on Sunday after we left Tommy’s, that could have ben the subject of the “Rainman” movie (Dustin Hoffman). He was dressed nicely, looked perfectly normal, and sat there quoting an advertisement for American Airlines, then quoted an advertisement for the New York City Tourist Bureau. Then he would cross himself about ten times (he must have been Orthodox ‘cuz after forehead, chest, he went to right shoulder, then left), and started all over again.

I can’t help feeling sorry for them all…the ones who are mentally ill and don’t know any better; the ones who have mental “issues” but aren’t bad enough to be institutionalized; the ones who know better but have abused alcohol and/or drugs way too long to have the capacity to change; and the very few who are really down and out due to a crappy economy. Matt and I have duscussed this issue back and forth each trip and haven’t come up with a conclusion. I guess all we can do is offer help to those who want it, and let the others live the way they choose.

Just (Nobody Knows You…When You’re Down, You’re Down And Out) Jack

Wine Country

Sorry for the long blog…I just got back from a couple of days in wine country. Actually, it included Sausalito and Tiburon, which are both just across the Golden Gate Bridge on San Francisco Bay. We have talked about coming to Northern California next fall after I really retire. I’ve been on the Pennock Foundation Board for 23 or 24 years and this is my 14th year on the Pennock Hospital Board. We don’t have term limits or age restrictions and we’ve generally done a good job of policing ourselves. So it’s time for me to hand over the reins to someone else. I love what I do, and have plenty of good years left, but I’ve been there long enough and it’s time for new blood (and I mean that literally).

Jean will begin collecting Social Security in March, so she may not want/need to work so many hours at the fitness center. This winter will be a good test, I guess. Since we both retired from our full time jobs/careers, we haven’t spent all that much time together. I spent some time in Florida in the early years, but Jean stayed up in Michigan, for the most part. In the summer I’m out at the cottage a lot, and Jean isn’t. I suppose if we can spend two weeks in Florida in December, travel to Arizona between Christmas and New Years stopping in Baton Rouge, spend three weeks or so in Phoenix, go wherever (needs to be warm) from late January until March, then go to Rocky and Nina’s wedding in New Orleans without killing each other somewhere along the line, I guess we can make a deposit on something for next year.

Back to the trip across the Golden Gate Bridge. I got a Tom-Tom gps for the car before Matt and I drove out here. It’s been valuable in getting us around so far, but Matt did the navigating. So on this trip I was on my own. Lesson one…it’s best not to navigate to the “center” of the city you want to go to. My first stop was Sausalito, so I told it I wanted to go to the city center. It told me how to get from Matt and Heather’s apartment across the Golden Gate and which exit to take on Highway 101. After I got off the freeway, it told me to make a right, then another right, then another right. It led me to the on ramp to go back to San Francisco, so I guess the city center is under the overpass.

I knew better than to do that, so I turned left instead (after I backed out of the onramp) and pulled into a Presbyterian Church parking lot. I set the gps for an address, the Chamber of Commerce, and went out the driveway past the sign that said wrong way, do not enter. The police didn’t see me, so I headed for the Chamber office. I couldn’t find a parking place anywhere near it, so after driving back and forth for fifteen minutes, I put in the address for the Tiburon Chamber of Commerce. It took me back to 101 and I went a couple more exits down before I took the Tiburon exit. I was somewhat familiar with the streets since I swam the Tiburon Mile a couple of times.

It took me to the dock area where there are a series of historic buildings, Ark Row, and around to a parking lot. Apparently the gps doesn’t know me very well ‘cuz the parking lot was $2.00 for the first hour, so I backed out of the driveway and drove three blocks back to where I came from to park for free. After doing all that, I walked to the Chamber of Commerce office. It was on the lower level of Ark Row and couldn’t have been any larger than six feet by ten feet. The door was locked, the light was on, no one was there, and there wasn’t a note saying when someone would be back. I walked around the town for a half hour or so and no one showed up. 0 for 2 so far.

I programmed in the address for the Chamber of Commerce in St. Helena, and I was off. It took me through the Napa and Sonoma Valleys. Beautiful views and mile after mile of vineyards. I stopped in Napa and did a quick driving tour of the town, then got back on the highway and I was off again. I made it to St. Helena, parked on the main street of town, and walked both sides of the street. I went down to a building that looked like an old fashioned Dairy Queen and got sweet potato fries and a root beer. It was three in the afternoon, the place was packed, and that was my lunch.

I walked over to the Chamber office and went in. An older woman was behind the desk. When I told her what I was looking for she gave me a handful of brochures and magazines, told me about the new oncology unit at the local hospital, talked non-stop for 10 minutes, and told me if I would retire there, I could be the treasurer of the senior center. She was either trying to pack in as much information as she could before I ran away, or she was starved for someone to talk to. In either case, I politely told her no and was on my way. Next stop Santa Rosa.

It’s a town about the size of Kalamazoo, and I had no intention of looking around there for a place to come to next year. But it’s where Russian River Brewing Company is, and the sun was “over the yard-arm” somewhere. The drive from St. Helena was through the coastal mountains. Jean would have hated it. Going up the east side was switchbacks all the way. The speed limit was 35, but dropped to 20 several times on some tight, hairpin turns. Once to the crest, it was an 11% grade downhill, again with hairpin turns. The shoulders were non-existent, and the road dropped off at the edge a foot or more. Once into town, the gps took me right to the front door of Russian River Brewing. I was forced, forced to pay $2.00 for parking in the downtown area. I sat at the bar and the guy next to me started trying to get me to talk, but when a young, blonde, twenty-something girl came in and sat in the open seat next to him, he stopped in mid-sentence and his attention turned elsewhere. After a short stay, I was off again.

I drove to Guerneville, which is the starting point of the Vineman and Half Vineman Iron distance race. I got there after dark, and the gps took me down one of the desolate country roads to an address that was supposed to be a motel. It wasn’t, so I guess that one was my fault. Then I used the “search for hotels in your area” feature, selected which motel I wanted, and it took me right to it. The room was actually a cabin, but one of the smallest cabins I’ve ever seen. It couldn’t have been more than 10 feet by 10 feet, with a 3 foot by 8 foot bathroom. What about the other two feet you say? A 2 foot by 2 foot closet. But it was plenty big enough for me.

The proprietor of the motel recommended a place just down the road for dinner. After a Lagunitas IPA, a half pound hamburger and seasoned fries, I was ready for bed, and it was only 7:30. I sat outside under a heater with another couple and an older guy. The older guy, the waitress told me, lived alone way back in the mountains. I could tell ‘cuz he talked from the minute I got there ’til the minute I left. Luckily he was talking to the couple, so I didn’t have to pretend to be listening.

I went back to the cabin, stayed awake until 10, then zonked out. I woke up at 1:30 and stayed awake ’til 4. After checking out of the motel, I headed back for San Francisco. I stopped in Tiburon, where the Chamber office was open, and got another handfull of brochures. I tried again at Sausalito and still couldn’t find a parking spot. I stopped at Fred’s Restaurant, where I had 1 pancake and 1 piece of french toast. It doesn’t seem like much, but the french toast has ice cream in the batter and, after grilling, is deep fried. If you know anyone who has a problem gaining weight, a couple days with me will cure their problem.

I got back to the city around noon and drove around for 25 minutes trying to find a place to park. After getting frustrated, and getting low on gas, I called Matt on my cell phone (no, I wasn’t driving…I was parked in a no parking zone with my hazard lights blinking). He came down, hopped in, and we were parked within 5 minutes.

Just (I Feel Like I’m Gaining Weight By The Minute) Jack