tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15717648273273656152024-02-19T04:37:32.926-08:00the otis G experienceotisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-24163051566258975042013-05-21T21:33:00.000-07:002013-05-21T21:33:29.214-07:00Columbia Plateau Trail, Amber Lake to Martin Road<u>Sunday, March 31st, 2013</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
<i>11:00 AM</i><br />
Left the homestead in Post Falls. Amber Lake is just a short drive south of Cheney, and you drive through the <a href="http://www.fws.gov/refuge/Turnbull/" target="_blank">Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge</a>. If you're into that sort of thing.<br />
<br />
<i>12:30 PM</i><br />
Arrived at Amber Lake trailhead/boat launch, where parking was definitely not an issue. As it goes in Washington, make sure you have a dumb <a href="http://www.discoverpass.wa.gov/" target="_blank">Discovery Pass</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOMLGyitB8X5IuYJwS5dFyVK4HwMbPuOxq1OWs6ci1KqeuNIGLQm8NTYT1CKE6zoKvCi8h0eYu6Nu-njRocBOVQMTliS4TcveLxmdVFGjaDDUeQuhOT4jxeD5LOiu2heMJH-_HdUX8SBP/s1600/IMG_0584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOMLGyitB8X5IuYJwS5dFyVK4HwMbPuOxq1OWs6ci1KqeuNIGLQm8NTYT1CKE6zoKvCi8h0eYu6Nu-njRocBOVQMTliS4TcveLxmdVFGjaDDUeQuhOT4jxeD5LOiu2heMJH-_HdUX8SBP/s320/IMG_0584.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup, people are flocking to this place</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxtX5GV4w1owR6yD87WImUKPZNWijIKkQxphTU57lZ11aPds2ovXaBs3F2dVTaYcneRFWhNKQIYJf5wT8yTdxN6EEaa56HvbzqkZImjYJMG0JcTt-fpwe-Jt-ne0Z6-mXXniXcE4OQa6U/s1600/IMG_0567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxtX5GV4w1owR6yD87WImUKPZNWijIKkQxphTU57lZ11aPds2ovXaBs3F2dVTaYcneRFWhNKQIYJf5wT8yTdxN6EEaa56HvbzqkZImjYJMG0JcTt-fpwe-Jt-ne0Z6-mXXniXcE4OQa6U/s320/IMG_0567.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crew ready to roll, Amber Lake behind.<br />
Mavis is wondering why my bike cost more<br />
than hers and doesn't have a kickstand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>12:40 PM</i><br />
On the trail. The section right at the trailhead was fairly loose, course, and rough, so we questioned how far Mavis would make it on her cruiser bike. It smoothed out once we got going.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwPFO5XfeugGQIh5KzmxZy6P4uOjcoYwGWv1cpINWsJ5IZ4i4SQ_td8BlW4-8rhfmP_0M23MZwsib6McMrO6lAgJqCs0la_W6Vww7DVteoNV90LkGYTQIeo4qyIQ-SH-OzKvkQWcDe1L8k/s1600/IMG_0568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwPFO5XfeugGQIh5KzmxZy6P4uOjcoYwGWv1cpINWsJ5IZ4i4SQ_td8BlW4-8rhfmP_0M23MZwsib6McMrO6lAgJqCs0la_W6Vww7DVteoNV90LkGYTQIeo4qyIQ-SH-OzKvkQWcDe1L8k/s320/IMG_0568.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loose, course, and rough. Like I said.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>1:15 PM</i><br />
Didn't take long to get into the groove. We immediately started riding through some rock cuts and large fills, one of my favorite aspects of rail trails.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5RfBg72P4WvHPNzmA6-4J6Mo1jW1O_7-kXYGRZErXvDvhz4XSUok0HAKqT3Vp2GzOuQzymDfnmjg1fSCBZ1GZvKvixGqTVjyZ2pcUrVcdJ4T7SOr_GeJuCVTnjzejl8eOIwAdeYuw9PN/s1600/IMG_0569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5RfBg72P4WvHPNzmA6-4J6Mo1jW1O_7-kXYGRZErXvDvhz4XSUok0HAKqT3Vp2GzOuQzymDfnmjg1fSCBZ1GZvKvixGqTVjyZ2pcUrVcdJ4T7SOr_GeJuCVTnjzejl8eOIwAdeYuw9PN/s320/IMG_0569.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Into a rock cut, full steam ahead</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>2:00 PM</i><br />
After paralleling a beautiful canyon for awhile, we decided to stop for lunch. We picked out a nice little shady spot between the trail and the canyon (keep in mind, most everything outside of the trail itself is private property. Respect!) I took the opportunity to do our own version of a baptism for Kewpie. Places like this are what we consider church, and after all... it was Easter Sunday!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd27JjIJ1MyFFxqAA9RxDzlULo2_tq0b6T1EDlevmbaJihxo4MNApMMGvAAGgQJ7bromuq8jcbyBi1riCsgu4KkBvQLFoeNUcHjOQ1EXCTa1GgsO_O39ex-nF2fkkexAEtz2Co_YYasNI3/s1600/IMG_0577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd27JjIJ1MyFFxqAA9RxDzlULo2_tq0b6T1EDlevmbaJihxo4MNApMMGvAAGgQJ7bromuq8jcbyBi1riCsgu4KkBvQLFoeNUcHjOQ1EXCTa1GgsO_O39ex-nF2fkkexAEtz2Co_YYasNI3/s320/IMG_0577.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chillin' in our church pews after Kewpie's ceremony</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73A5idlMknoYHigEa7cVtnwxMQOzkZ8F_p6Ytec5oaWnu6u-05kZvwg2B1W2LSy1ZvUf_tRRSY4rJMwJOsjpXWm0OYUgjj0Xzf3swVwaB1odY2aIp7R5CuSqSQTKTglq3QurH8BCInUp7/s1600/IMG_0581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73A5idlMknoYHigEa7cVtnwxMQOzkZ8F_p6Ytec5oaWnu6u-05kZvwg2B1W2LSy1ZvUf_tRRSY4rJMwJOsjpXWm0OYUgjj0Xzf3swVwaB1odY2aIp7R5CuSqSQTKTglq3QurH8BCInUp7/s320/IMG_0581.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never ones to pass up climbing opportunities</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>3:00 PM</i><br />
Back on the trail for the return trip. We ended up being a couple miles short of the Martin Road trailhead, but we're not really into pushing the kids until they're miserable. The distance we went worked out perfect.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oZuDMw6wyEDUM1yFMFEWX7b6TfhklADh0wf9iZyCISeArxbf2NF45HP1d0VwS7ZALSd4a2KnFF9LnOgcGYGDxyEcb9lwwMpaxzZfWxdx7STs-F-zI9jlRbLEtpant39pmMh8RXcpGio6/s1600/IMG_0570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oZuDMw6wyEDUM1yFMFEWX7b6TfhklADh0wf9iZyCISeArxbf2NF45HP1d0VwS7ZALSd4a2KnFF9LnOgcGYGDxyEcb9lwwMpaxzZfWxdx7STs-F-zI9jlRbLEtpant39pmMh8RXcpGio6/s320/IMG_0570.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Boo enjoyed finding old<br />
railroad artifacts along the trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>4:30 PM</i><br />
Back at the trailhead. Mavis nursed Kewpie while we went down to check out the boat launch, where we found MORE rocks to climb... which I made somewhat of a scene almost falling off of. Overall, this is a great trail that actually runs all the way to the Tri-Cities. However, much of it is not really improved, and currently some of the trestles and/or bridges are blocked off. I do know that just west of the Martin Road trailhead, the trail is nothing but huge chunks of aggregate roadbed. Hiking would probably be okay, but riding it would suck. It was around 65 degrees when we rode, which was fine. I'm not sure we'd have enjoyed doing this trail with it much warmer. The Palouse scablands get hot!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fE3retNCiKHcJ2ZKEalbOt4A1dUNUTEWAkUntAKhhFsck08eWArgNt06ml2Hu55tlCmL5QjMVG1p3DyKeRhMDDXpPHmYop81RJpfoOSEtSp19ZsuExo_4UUN9Pvba2ihh9arcMH60eEW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-04-02+at+1.06.20+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fE3retNCiKHcJ2ZKEalbOt4A1dUNUTEWAkUntAKhhFsck08eWArgNt06ml2Hu55tlCmL5QjMVG1p3DyKeRhMDDXpPHmYop81RJpfoOSEtSp19ZsuExo_4UUN9Pvba2ihh9arcMH60eEW/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-04-02+at+1.06.20+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Distance: 7.5 miles one-way<br />
Elevation Gain: Negligible</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-73607674606982185832013-04-02T02:40:00.000-07:002013-05-21T19:04:47.662-07:00Bowl and Pitcher Loop<u>Friday, April 29th, 2013</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
Bowl and Pitcher is a sweet spot, no matter what your business is there. There are hiking trails (that exclude bikes), combo trails (that don't exclude bikers, a little to hiker's dismay), climbing rocks, and just plain great scenery for if you only want to sit on a rock and play a guitar. Or eat a sandwich. Or smoke a cigarette near the trail as non-smoking families ride by. I happened to be in Spokane to visit Mavis at her work, and decided to take the kids on a little adventure while we were there. This ride (and others in this area) are described in the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Biking-Spokane-dAlene-Regional/dp/B008SLRKBA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1364894753&sr=8-1&keywords=mountain+biking+spokane" target="_blank">Mountain Biking Spokane and Coeur d'Alene</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>1:30PM</i><br />
Left from the Riverside State Park parking lot. Make sure you have a dumb <a href="http://www.discoverpass.wa.gov/" target="_blank">Discovery Pass</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZL-PAwm-VhacaBpP5K8i_EuvKuz_8aitMNnx8L1GCnPW1Ave7D73_UloBoWrqMA_AIqY2u59uQMrODOwM5xhwImsgaIAL7CgM1EUyYVhtOUljMnXSzmsFKngz1ro142rh0VSh0AfdvUv/s1600/IMG_0542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZL-PAwm-VhacaBpP5K8i_EuvKuz_8aitMNnx8L1GCnPW1Ave7D73_UloBoWrqMA_AIqY2u59uQMrODOwM5xhwImsgaIAL7CgM1EUyYVhtOUljMnXSzmsFKngz1ro142rh0VSh0AfdvUv/s320/IMG_0542.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very cool suspension bridge. There are some stairs you <br />
have to carry your bike up, which kinda sucked </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>1:45 PM</i><br />
We'd barely started, and the kids already found rocks to climb. Which was perfect. This was a fun little knob that was safe enough for someone who takes their kids climbing regularly, sketchy to people walking by who didn't know that.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDMeFZdA8N0ajrqAGXI87bWv5A2M0-YfRzK7-vZvcNMLv1ZVpo_iIfo4Zmthd2UUK-I7FZbPsHvaaESoVkJN-5IIRKhcPf-8gZsdLpcY0WdWsYXvHtDXoHu6TZiCWGd9O4Kcsmr-TjFI8/s1600/IMG_0543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDMeFZdA8N0ajrqAGXI87bWv5A2M0-YfRzK7-vZvcNMLv1ZVpo_iIfo4Zmthd2UUK-I7FZbPsHvaaESoVkJN-5IIRKhcPf-8gZsdLpcY0WdWsYXvHtDXoHu6TZiCWGd9O4Kcsmr-TjFI8/s320/IMG_0543.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going for the biking/climbing combo deal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>2:15 PM</i><br />
Reached the first Centennial Trail junction, which has one of those forest service-style outhouses. From here, you could ride north or south along the paved trail. We opted to cross and follow a dirt single track through a burned area.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhai7H1qm9NuYC1LFom_LcEhi2p2De7Q_NLL6wxDXrUzXVdr0ncodDMfsnYpJYSaOQlPcBtH0IccfxCd3nHysj4rWQAAmHYojSBd_kT4JzAoF8tukjQx-vjd_9jRPpw-SygWS3s7TZh2Hfc/s1600/IMG_0544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhai7H1qm9NuYC1LFom_LcEhi2p2De7Q_NLL6wxDXrUzXVdr0ncodDMfsnYpJYSaOQlPcBtH0IccfxCd3nHysj4rWQAAmHYojSBd_kT4JzAoF8tukjQx-vjd_9jRPpw-SygWS3s7TZh2Hfc/s320/IMG_0544.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Representative of the lower section. We came<br />
across four deer, which I'm sure is common</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>2:30 PM</i><br />
While riding through the burned area, several other bikers came screaming down from trails above. You could spend a lot of time exploring just this area.<br />
<br />
<i>2:45 PM</i><br />
Curved around and ended up running into the paved Centennial Trail again. You could just double back on the single track, but The Goo was whining a bit (as was anticipated) so we rode back on the pavement.<br />
<br />
<i>3:00 PM</i><br />
Back at the first Centennial Trail junction, and decided to stop and enjoy some view.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB88o5Ja4PDhDXEyl_tkQK87HC7RQQYPx1RCBuArkkXioqjvXIOoFJWEo3HXw6qZi5a1LooFgXz_CjSvp9vcr60cd3rcvPjFS3YaWaBVWBquQRF5O3tIOydX5fiXQfLBDYo4-b8UXE5iAH/s1600/IMG_0548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB88o5Ja4PDhDXEyl_tkQK87HC7RQQYPx1RCBuArkkXioqjvXIOoFJWEo3HXw6qZi5a1LooFgXz_CjSvp9vcr60cd3rcvPjFS3YaWaBVWBquQRF5O3tIOydX5fiXQfLBDYo4-b8UXE5iAH/s320/IMG_0548.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kinda makes you forget that you're just slightly<br />
downriver from busy downtown Spokane and a <br />
gigantic sewage treatment plant...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>3:30 PM</i><br />
Back at the parking lot. Keep in mind that we rode fairly slow and stopped a lot.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbicPpHZ-hlWp0gO8MzQovWNM-G4EUwOdQ4oPJtX6YrjLHkuXAitlPwwruQZypFuegFA62fS0_v9OmSxAK5_-I8pf6nBdZmJ5igfDlxgzS0kVHAYMVeGcB1bNCJEV-smk4Bvy_HSQ7L4UD/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-04-02+at+1.21.32+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbicPpHZ-hlWp0gO8MzQovWNM-G4EUwOdQ4oPJtX6YrjLHkuXAitlPwwruQZypFuegFA62fS0_v9OmSxAK5_-I8pf6nBdZmJ5igfDlxgzS0kVHAYMVeGcB1bNCJEV-smk4Bvy_HSQ7L4UD/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-04-02+at+1.21.32+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Distance: 1.82 miles one-way<br />
Elevation Gain: Negligible</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><br /></u>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-89622997425092251762013-03-25T16:07:00.002-07:002013-05-21T19:04:18.719-07:00Lewis & Clark Commemorative and Cowiche Canyon TrailsIt's been awhile (almost 3 years!) since I've posted on this thing, but Mavis has encouraged me to start posting some of our weekend "experiences". So, here goes!<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Friday, March 22nd, 2013</u></strong><br />
<strong><u></u></strong><br />
<em>5:00 PM</em><br />
We left Idaho at the time we had previously agreed to. Weird.<br />
<br />
<em>7:30 PM</em><br />
Stopped for dinner at Michael Jay's in <a href="http://www.cityofconnell.com/">Connell, WA</a>. I asked the waitress to tell me about Connell. She thought for a moment, and replied, "Well... we have a prison. It's one of those prisons for criminals who follow the rules." If only criminals could follow the rules PRIOR to going to prison...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYCTXBOx2ehLGUq8eWUDXb-WJvdYpCL8M_U6pwx5q7xaWGqJPAP8xpryEiX947lk3S6OA8icUXhSlbKM6RLGDi1WAgW6WtzLJO_fmsBcAYX_BZiWZqT6mn6w8HX8jqlJhEiQKRNua3_4zb/s1600/IMG_0480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYCTXBOx2ehLGUq8eWUDXb-WJvdYpCL8M_U6pwx5q7xaWGqJPAP8xpryEiX947lk3S6OA8icUXhSlbKM6RLGDi1WAgW6WtzLJO_fmsBcAYX_BZiWZqT6mn6w8HX8jqlJhEiQKRNua3_4zb/s320/IMG_0480.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mavis enjoying a signature "MJ" burger: <br />
beef patty, ham, bacon, and fried egg! At least<br />
she opted for the side salad, I had the same<br />
thing with fries.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em>8:30 PM</em><br />
Arrived at the <a href="http://www.qualityinn.com/hotel-kennewick-washington-WA190">Kennewick Quality Inn</a>, which I had previously booked on <a href="http://hotels.com/">Hotels.com</a>. I immediately noticed while walking to the room that the floors were incredibly creaky. The room itself was fairly dated (I haven't seen a Zenith TV in years!), but clean and comfortable. Having a TV with cable is a bit of a treat for us, because we don't really watch TV at home. I ended up watching a couple reruns of <a href="http://www.history.com/shows/american-pickers">American Pickers</a>, and found myself irritated with how Frank talks to Danielle on speakerphone while they're driving... like she's an annoying idiot. Get over yourself, Frank.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHt1uMBAeOIzq2VyijAToh_iQG4jA6twQMUbwdz7BoOCnlCcy1FBgD_279Y5DyE7O9H4_-gFVdCJzWayzL1TxwBUq_qfwr-HeHqzHUCpW2q_LNnZGiNXZHtugZZWkMm2V69xFfZMGLIBP1/s1600/IMG_0484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHt1uMBAeOIzq2VyijAToh_iQG4jA6twQMUbwdz7BoOCnlCcy1FBgD_279Y5DyE7O9H4_-gFVdCJzWayzL1TxwBUq_qfwr-HeHqzHUCpW2q_LNnZGiNXZHtugZZWkMm2V69xFfZMGLIBP1/s320/IMG_0484.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extra bed for the baby... nice!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<strong><u>Saturday, March 23rd, 2013</u></strong><br />
<strong><u></u></strong><br />
<em>6:00 AM</em><br />
I woke up expecting, as usual, for it to be caused by Kewpie G fussing. He and Mavis were out cold, but the neighbors were loudly "renewing their vows" (turns out, the beds are creakier than the floors in this joint!) Good for them, I say.<br />
<br />
<em>8:00 AM</em><br />
Dressed and ready to go, we headed down for breakfast. We love hotel continental breakfast rooms, partly because it's fun to watch the freak show and/or train wreck people milling around trying to figure out how to operate toasters and such. My favorite pick on this morning was an old couple watching cartoons on an iPad (with the volume cranked) laughing hysterically... like they were 6 years old.<br />
<br />
<em>8:30 AM</em><br />
On the road to Umatilla, which is near the trail we were going to ride. Mavis asked why we didn't just stay in Umatilla, and I said that I only found one hotel there... called the <a href="http://www.tillicuminn.com/">Tillicum Inn</a>. And it was full. She asked if it was named as such because it was an "hourly rate" kinda place. Oh, that Mavis.<br />
<br />
<em>9:00 AM</em><br />
Made it to Umatilla, and realized I forgot to get gas before we left Kennewick. Which really bothered me, because I absolutely hate having someone pump my gas for me. Feels incredibly awkward, for whatever reason.<br />
<br />
<em>9:30 AM</em><br />
Arrived at <a href="http://www.nww.usace.army.mil/Missions/Recreation/McNaryDamandLakeWallula/McNaryBeachPark.aspx">McNary Beach State Park.</a> It was 34 degrees, which I felt would be fine for Kewpie because I had a covered bike trailer, and he could wear his coat. Unfortunately, I forgot the bike trailer cover, and Mavis forgot his coat. With bike ride cancellation looming, Mavis decided to feed the baby a bit, and I explored the parking lot. I discovered that the rock wall nearby had some great climbing potential, and even ended up free-soloing a 5.4-ish wall... all while carrying a Dutch Bros. coffee cup! (How do you like them apples, <a href="http://video.nationalgeographic.com/video/adventure/featured-videos-adventure/adv-beyond-the-edge-honnold/">Alex Honnold</a>!)<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaY3c67VkNDycARkd2G08QVSh-dS-5MqEbymgGjz2gdttfDTKhQUmCjgCBmPzl0HCfr5etFKEWbItUkjDuF5-i0mSpqw48q-Nv-YpVP-JHF2pMeHxMxdDCfSTH8O-GK1IgCGjJGg810RLQ/s1600/McNary+Parking+Lot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaY3c67VkNDycARkd2G08QVSh-dS-5MqEbymgGjz2gdttfDTKhQUmCjgCBmPzl0HCfr5etFKEWbItUkjDuF5-i0mSpqw48q-Nv-YpVP-JHF2pMeHxMxdDCfSTH8O-GK1IgCGjJGg810RLQ/s320/McNary+Parking+Lot.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Google Street View image of parking lot rock wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
When I made it back to the car, Mavis had bundled Kewpie up in a pair of pajamas under his clothes, and we papoosed him up with blankets. It was supposed to start warming up, so we decided to hit it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yoG2uwQr-GeKIP6wSD77OyS35jAYjwZTLX1jtLw_rtn8glK-lYi4BCmcB7Z6W3UTFtbc8Snn2CspMuyjV_MBWB2dM8Q4kj3TeumS3_GH4iO7WReNey1YwsDbAaLovte_5slv0VhZJPPH/s1600/IMG_0488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yoG2uwQr-GeKIP6wSD77OyS35jAYjwZTLX1jtLw_rtn8glK-lYi4BCmcB7Z6W3UTFtbc8Snn2CspMuyjV_MBWB2dM8Q4kj3TeumS3_GH4iO7WReNey1YwsDbAaLovte_5slv0VhZJPPH/s320/IMG_0488.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kewpie G, in the mix!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>10:00 AM</em><br />
We were now riding on the <a href="http://www.nww.usace.army.mil/Missions/Recreation/McNaryDamandLakeWallula/LewisClarkCommemorativeTrail.aspx">Lewis & Clark Commemorative Trail</a>. (Described in the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-Rail-Trails-Pacific-Northwest/dp/0762746076">Best Rail Trails Pacific Northwest</a>) It's an old railroad bed, so it's fairly level. My Marin mountain bike had no trouble on the gravel/sandy surface, but Mavis rides a Cannondale cruiser that bogged down in a few places. The worst spots were where the original roadbed washed away, and they had to reroute up and over. The powers that be surfaced these spots with loose basalt rock that is somewhat sketchy to traverse. There were three areas like this, but they were short. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wyt9i6uDMe_Fd0iuE4NvTfUXtV4behgkCLaAdWOw8yg_HUK_TnvQsdYfPeZapEjQoVHrIDnCvWoF7hu7F4NHNkqAkFOKTvTVk5vc9TfW4KLUYwxPb1imWWEzREP6j2k0qcFYtor5V7f2/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wyt9i6uDMe_Fd0iuE4NvTfUXtV4behgkCLaAdWOw8yg_HUK_TnvQsdYfPeZapEjQoVHrIDnCvWoF7hu7F4NHNkqAkFOKTvTVk5vc9TfW4KLUYwxPb1imWWEzREP6j2k0qcFYtor5V7f2/s320/IMG_0507.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mavis walking her bike around one of the washout areas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfyOaOSITfk8nYICHf87X9syswrGvaHJY6NFxRdUkE-vpA4wvjsjEOwGlLcke4xrZP97LUkaTQ1yFQjxOTBIm7rmuieUMFd_XqU6_-rx_WvCoMzMxo-1kwmoiT9r9Y_9i8UogYyrjeFt0/s1600/320554_10151583941276214_242792763_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfyOaOSITfk8nYICHf87X9syswrGvaHJY6NFxRdUkE-vpA4wvjsjEOwGlLcke4xrZP97LUkaTQ1yFQjxOTBIm7rmuieUMFd_XqU6_-rx_WvCoMzMxo-1kwmoiT9r9Y_9i8UogYyrjeFt0/s320/320554_10151583941276214_242792763_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful undeveloped stretch of the Columbia River Valley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<em>10:45 AM</em><br />
Arrived at Hat Rock State Park. Nice area with grass and picnic tables, and several people were fishing in a little pond. Hat Rock itself is a little underwhelming, kinda reminded me of a miniature <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devils_Tower">devil's tower</a>. It is cool that it was named after a description in the original <a href="http://lewis-clark.org/content/content-article.asp?ArticleID=958">Lewis & Clark journals</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Emjn5H4rtw8qtCWnPxtjho2Igmu1XgM2vxyI-21NQVnRwxBZB6Tiisofw4FdkivFuqx-b09jL1lWgw9HwSzmC9-5B1ddc1LiF7wgTxVSdLeTNLSprWu-tVXEmG9obTQVRdzHeOMM0Ldv/s1600/IMG_0491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Emjn5H4rtw8qtCWnPxtjho2Igmu1XgM2vxyI-21NQVnRwxBZB6Tiisofw4FdkivFuqx-b09jL1lWgw9HwSzmC9-5B1ddc1LiF7wgTxVSdLeTNLSprWu-tVXEmG9obTQVRdzHeOMM0Ldv/s320/IMG_0491.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mavis doing her favorite thing with Hat Rock in the background.<br />
I realized I had previously made this landmark out of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqhE7ieH2R8">mashed</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqhE7ieH2R8">potatoes</a> during dinner one night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqju4Zg6ApQxz8BhC7bVzfO1uO6wIyADG7O34g67zogH2Oklr7WGOgIHyOOQYgFKIcIlesV2ok86SHNNDF1NePOKEFPdY70knenFLV9VnnNtAmfSDVrGdQw7JWqWNpvRBAHaYk-lTSZOvt/s1600/IMG_0497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqju4Zg6ApQxz8BhC7bVzfO1uO6wIyADG7O34g67zogH2Oklr7WGOgIHyOOQYgFKIcIlesV2ok86SHNNDF1NePOKEFPdY70knenFLV9VnnNtAmfSDVrGdQw7JWqWNpvRBAHaYk-lTSZOvt/s320/IMG_0497.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know those cool pictures where people<br />
are <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=holding+sunset&hl=en&qscrl=1&rlz=1T4ADRA_enUS436US512&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=VLFQUciGDI_k4AOe9oCgBQ&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAQ&biw=1280&bih=861">holding sunsets</a>? Hat Rock is not an<br />
awesome application of that technique.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDig04ZFiRlMjQbL-GPPzLPCIr7JOnu7ZBfLa-aeWt9aOJw1HwiDTkwuIm9s1m3R3GqwjFVz-sDbONtqITZGmiQ2yrL6T5zRKMXz-8SykLebauBtX6JgzpXKkEwkMvIWD5tcur4FZDZb84/s1600/IMG_0500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDig04ZFiRlMjQbL-GPPzLPCIr7JOnu7ZBfLa-aeWt9aOJw1HwiDTkwuIm9s1m3R3GqwjFVz-sDbONtqITZGmiQ2yrL6T5zRKMXz-8SykLebauBtX6JgzpXKkEwkMvIWD5tcur4FZDZb84/s320/IMG_0500.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This thing would be fun to climb on, but it's <br />
fenced off. At least this interpretive sign was <br />
incredibly informative.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>12:00 PM</em><br />
Back on the trail for our return trip. By now it had warmed up a bit, and Kewpie was sound asleep in the trailer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtgwtRc3UNlgVZ1XF6nbYc2feT3k-FfcJX8aMo5HyW8tX44FtCvKL0yQPqtF2sPxo9kZNcRbxHjwk2ul8MLSqifwUhArMvRdapmkd_vbJyNpRfD9JQMyF09x2FH41AN_kp4esLnHt033-/s1600/71956_10151583798966214_1178172292_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtgwtRc3UNlgVZ1XF6nbYc2feT3k-FfcJX8aMo5HyW8tX44FtCvKL0yQPqtF2sPxo9kZNcRbxHjwk2ul8MLSqifwUhArMvRdapmkd_vbJyNpRfD9JQMyF09x2FH41AN_kp4esLnHt033-/s320/71956_10151583798966214_1178172292_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock cut near Hat Rock was completely full of tumbleweeds!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>1:00 PM</em><br />
After knocking off the trail, we decided to visit nearby <a href="http://www.nww.usace.army.mil/Locations/DistrictLocksandDams/McNaryLockandDam.aspx">McNary Dam</a>. Interesting place that you can actually peruse without much oversight (suck it, terrorists!) There's a fish viewing room that allows you to watch migrating fish run up the ladders, and an interpretive center with a viewing platform that would be fun to watch when they're actually sorting and routing fish. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExAN-vOf8u8pGtvkALK4yuhczr4LEJ3W6v01cevnaMZ-FYBKypvnLNxPDordVQgDIdk4QWzX6_pOO9PD1hf6fF4X_ZPwDdIyakOHuGHV0KaJIyGUIJ7d2G0RJ9xhObZewbm6tGduDvec2/s1600/IMG_0510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExAN-vOf8u8pGtvkALK4yuhczr4LEJ3W6v01cevnaMZ-FYBKypvnLNxPDordVQgDIdk4QWzX6_pOO9PD1hf6fF4X_ZPwDdIyakOHuGHV0KaJIyGUIJ7d2G0RJ9xhObZewbm6tGduDvec2/s320/IMG_0510.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kewpie at the fish viewing windows (minus the fish), <br />
hoping that we will not be leaving him there</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaoefprbjH0ey6j43JHofBbW4RMEcYCJsCixxCNh5fXVCiUiJsNKuaONYvcJ1WXzvwNT3MvCDiWWfuQy45E9U3R-9Tz91bDVPd5lNlDjqET0P8LfaD8567M2GMaGU96AwS4ahHDVL-L7rt/s1600/600385_10151583965081214_1284594051_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaoefprbjH0ey6j43JHofBbW4RMEcYCJsCixxCNh5fXVCiUiJsNKuaONYvcJ1WXzvwNT3MvCDiWWfuQy45E9U3R-9Tz91bDVPd5lNlDjqET0P8LfaD8567M2GMaGU96AwS4ahHDVL-L7rt/s320/600385_10151583965081214_1284594051_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McNary Dam from the visitor center</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<em>4:00 PM</em><br />
Back in Kennewick. We relaxed for a few, and then walked to an Indian restaurant that Mavis had eaten at before, and was excited to take me. It was closed. For good, apparently. So we walked to Red Robin. Which was packed. So we walked to Red Lobster. Which had a 30 minute wait. So we walked to Shari's, where we had the nicest waiter ever... along with some of the crappiest food ever. Back at the room, we had a quick swim in the decent pool and cashed out.<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Sunday, March 24th, 2013</u></strong><br />
<strong><u></u></strong><br />
<em>10:30 AM</em><br />
On the road again (headed for Yakima) after a leisurely morning. The continental breakfast group was not nearly as entertaining that morning. Although there was the chunky woman in the mini-skirt ranting about an upcoming Stevie Nicks concert...<br />
<br />
<em>12:00 PM</em><br />
After being misguided by our GPS (which was fun, because we ended up driving through some vineyards), we arrived at the <a href="http://www.cowichecanyon.org/">Cowiche Canyon Trailhead</a>. (Described in the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-Rail-Trails-Pacific-Northwest/dp/0762746076">Best Rail Trails Pacific Northwest</a>) It kinda feels like you're in the wrong place, as some of the nearby houses look as though the occupants would not be pleased that you're there poking around. Regardless, we loaded up and headed out.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4EEXmtEfSh7be6Wkftg7ArQT7M1a55VgX-MpxYnd-15vWqAkhmqjFbIIta2lLWq5KWpuYZlb7b80nwRbiSpcdJVol78yomnIiGeTrefhBNVqOP2SeJv_4C_AuGeQ3Y8iPuwR_990Afw1j/s1600/IMG_0514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4EEXmtEfSh7be6Wkftg7ArQT7M1a55VgX-MpxYnd-15vWqAkhmqjFbIIta2lLWq5KWpuYZlb7b80nwRbiSpcdJVol78yomnIiGeTrefhBNVqOP2SeJv_4C_AuGeQ3Y8iPuwR_990Afw1j/s320/IMG_0514.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trailhead/broken vehicle storage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Cowiche Canyon is beautiful. You have somewhat of an "old west" feeling riding through it. While it's only around 3 miles long, the narrowness of the canyon coupled with the substantial basalt cliffs really gives an impression of enormity and length. There are several river crossings over old trestles (no railings, so be careful!) and deep rock cuts. The trail itself was easily navigable (another old railbed), even for Mavis on her cruiser bike. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61Eg09ee3Nx2Yl6tRZ4ncnu34tgc657bkHg8OdVRJe73a_smOFjMIRjETpqsIsGdRB_Axd3V52XTLvdBncnNPplkh6kTFCujutedHAsfdPdPKs74gpjSH_R5AQE0ljkRHc43xL2aqhkJQ/s1600/246561_10151585584431214_694180486_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61Eg09ee3Nx2Yl6tRZ4ncnu34tgc657bkHg8OdVRJe73a_smOFjMIRjETpqsIsGdRB_Axd3V52XTLvdBncnNPplkh6kTFCujutedHAsfdPdPKs74gpjSH_R5AQE0ljkRHc43xL2aqhkJQ/s320/246561_10151585584431214_694180486_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always finding things I want to climb...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzw5LK42_i-B2V8Tsnlv6U6iLkl1O2PhSK7aw4isslSVkS8nlTrDwU7p53ZRWgDNsf__vigAPUpZLX9NG2S6kNZG1il5rkpuCqvEmG5rEWcCwcw-ZfrJYcaDPBoQiHSoKuu9fo16Ckzv-d/s1600/IMG_0520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzw5LK42_i-B2V8Tsnlv6U6iLkl1O2PhSK7aw4isslSVkS8nlTrDwU7p53ZRWgDNsf__vigAPUpZLX9NG2S6kNZG1il5rkpuCqvEmG5rEWcCwcw-ZfrJYcaDPBoQiHSoKuu9fo16Ckzv-d/s320/IMG_0520.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the bridges that had been replaced at a higher elevation.<br />
In the distance you can see the Upland Trail, which leads<br />
to some wineries up on the bluff</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dPlOEmVkXj2CaLDdlxpqiJYiyLT9PcLiJO7TYE2Q3GazlXQmz3imPk5yltNFYaz7FvR2UAvf3BLF6tcx_9o0M0lS63WDMb4e9yYKsKVIHslGs4Xc8H2opZbLXwLXjnPQbUMznjPfPJqN/s1600/IMG_0516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dPlOEmVkXj2CaLDdlxpqiJYiyLT9PcLiJO7TYE2Q3GazlXQmz3imPk5yltNFYaz7FvR2UAvf3BLF6tcx_9o0M0lS63WDMb4e9yYKsKVIHslGs4Xc8H2opZbLXwLXjnPQbUMznjPfPJqN/s320/IMG_0516.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch break at the eastern trailhead, where Kewpie enjoyed<br />
rubbing a banana in dirt... and then eating it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvcicYoNz7cROgnEwvLXKjWJb0MR93Wn1i12Ln6q9WPwV_XhHyjb6KARdbr5YKJoX3cc4NW3yiLTDcQ9ttUc0yrY9ZlGAfXe5RdL0noEqZRJXg0w0DQdAeYE06EAlVGRoWbmWS0fp2Mfy/s1600/IMG_0519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvcicYoNz7cROgnEwvLXKjWJb0MR93Wn1i12Ln6q9WPwV_XhHyjb6KARdbr5YKJoX3cc4NW3yiLTDcQ9ttUc0yrY9ZlGAfXe5RdL0noEqZRJXg0w0DQdAeYE06EAlVGRoWbmWS0fp2Mfy/s320/IMG_0519.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the ride back, I asked these young fellas if they<br />
were headed in to climb some stuff. They said no,<br />
obviously thinking they shouldn't admit it. I was<br />
thinking yes, looking at sweet walls such as this one</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<em>2:00 PM</em><br />
Back at the car, ready to head on home. Just outside of Yakima we stopped at a large fruit/antique stand place (similar to the <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=thorp+fruit+stand&hl=en&rlz=1T4ADRA_enUS436US512&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=TLxQUbClIMfb4APk5oDwAw&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAQ&biw=1280&bih=861">Thorp stand</a> near Ellensburg, for those who know). Mavis picked up some fun jars of stuff, and a few other goodies... including some white-chocolate covered pretzels that lasted about an hour.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmC1pqOaX0zE2eGpFKNWLqzX0tp5UuCb1Q1aRLCabCsFUPdtCvdBaK7GP__8-Oh3-rQ7RZ5E8ppexrPattsnHUyrOTdxDW935ivXcStlUP47R6Yj1gYnUwubdZ1F81L_b2nLccR2t7_nWW/s1600/216734_10151585686061214_1607481646_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmC1pqOaX0zE2eGpFKNWLqzX0tp5UuCb1Q1aRLCabCsFUPdtCvdBaK7GP__8-Oh3-rQ7RZ5E8ppexrPattsnHUyrOTdxDW935ivXcStlUP47R6Yj1gYnUwubdZ1F81L_b2nLccR2t7_nWW/s320/216734_10151585686061214_1607481646_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd never heard of this organization, but I thought the sign was<br />
super cool. Before buying it, I googled <a href="http://www.altrusa.org/Who-We-Are.aspx">Altrusa</a> in the parking lot...<br />
and it was legit. I have a few other things like this hanging in our<br />
living room at home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>4:30 PM</em><br />
We stopped off in the town of Sprague to get some gas. While there, I noticed some "<a href="http://www.parks.wa.gov/parks/?selectedpark=Columbia%20Plateau%20Trail">Columbia Plateau Trail</a> State Park" signage. We followed those for awhile, and ended up at the <a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?q=martin+road+trailhead&ie=UTF-8&ei=yb5QUfiXFLGg4AP2qYGQCg&ved=0CAsQ_AUoAg">Martin Road trailhead</a>. While we didn't have time to try it out this time, this trail looked out-of-the-way fun and is definitely on our "pretty soon" list.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rOuVdgf_eO3IhGeU0q5HjulLZcoBEIYjkeb_fCysJ6_xx1YQhcDxOSqc29_-0yxeH3JbKuPwh_iQqLcz26nq0YMmC49CHkqhpHjuaxTKzvivQYfZ9iIj_gimen3yW47v5Z4boLbINZyH/s1600/IMG_0524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rOuVdgf_eO3IhGeU0q5HjulLZcoBEIYjkeb_fCysJ6_xx1YQhcDxOSqc29_-0yxeH3JbKuPwh_iQqLcz26nq0YMmC49CHkqhpHjuaxTKzvivQYfZ9iIj_gimen3yW47v5Z4boLbINZyH/s320/IMG_0524.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stopped in downtown Spokane for some victory sushi at <a href="http://sushimaruspokane.com/about/">Sushi Maru</a>! <br />
Kewpie decided he likes the spam and egg sushi. Sort of.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>7:30 PM</em><br />
Back at the homestead.otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-47613349273537039442010-06-15T18:49:00.000-07:002010-06-15T19:01:06.943-07:00Milk, Cigarettes, and Wedding RingsOnce in awhile, I'll cruise the local pawn shops at lunchtime with my buddy Boggs. He's always in search of music gear, and I'm always in search of life's meaning.<br /><br />A couple days ago, we stopped into Axel's Pawn Shop on Sprague Avenue. A couple walked in the same time as we did, the guy holding a motorcycle helmet. They approached the man behind the counter.<br /><br />"Any chance we can sell this helmet? We need to get milk. And cigarettes."<br /><br />"Sorry," the man replied, "We're loaded up on helmets right now." The couple gave each other a frantic look, and then the woman said, "How about my wedding ring?"<br /><br />"Sure, let's take a look," the man said as he leaned over the counter. "Yeah, I'll give you (whatever) for it."<br /><br />"Great!" the husband exclaimed. "That's perfect! Now I can still ride my motorcycle!"<br /><br />Boggs and I left... neither of us finding what we were looking for.otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-43647705607461221982010-05-14T11:54:00.000-07:002010-05-14T12:39:22.228-07:00To Scream or Ask Not to ScreamAt my son's Little League game yesterday, I witnessed a scenario that I found somewhat interesting.<div><br /></div><div>Another kid on our team got out. He immediately started to throw a fit, and was escorted out of the dugout to an area adjacent to another field. Once there, he proceeded to spend... oh, about 10 minutes or so... wailing. He kept ranting "I ALWAYS get out!" accompanied with a "Give me attention!" cry, which was working. At one point, a woman at the adjacent field had had enough. She came over and politely said, "Honey, if you want to cry, maybe you should move away from the fields. It's distracting to the other players." Mom #1 exploded with, "You don't talk to my son like that!", and the other woman responded by going back to the other field. Mom #1 starting pacing around and ranting herself, saying things like "If she thinks THAT'S bad, I should make him REALLY cry!" Eventually, the howling kid received a stern talk from his coach about being a "big boy", and he was escorted to the parking lot. Situation... settled? Not quite.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other woman apparently felt guilty about saying anything in the first place. Later, she walked by, and made a point of apologizing to Mom #1. Mom #1 wouldn't take it, as she was just "too offended". The other woman gave up, and started walking towards the parking lot... at which point Mom #1 belted, "It's a baseball game, not the library!" Well, that's true... but part of playing baseball is being a good sport, of which her son was definitely not.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of this makes me think about how I handle my own kids, and what I hope to see from other people's kids.</div><div><br /></div><div>First of all, I've never allowed my kids to misbehave in a public place. If we're in a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">restaurant</span>, I take them outside. I know I don't like listening to other kids cry when I'm enjoying a meal out, so I don't expect anyone else to have to listen to mine. In the grocery store? Take them outside until they calm down. And if they don't? Go home, and come back for your stuff later. I also struggle with wailing kids in churches, movies, or other sit-down public events. The parents are spending so much time fussing with them, they're not even aware of what's going on. So why go? It never really seemed that big of a deal to me to just remove them from the situation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, back to the game scenario... I could never do what the other woman did. I would never have the gumption to actually say something. I just grin and bear it, and hope that they eventually stop. I also think it was quite admirable on her part to go apologize, feeling full well (I'm sure) that she was right. Still, I don't blame her for saying something. Quite frankly, I was tired of listening to him wail myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess my question is... who was out of line? What's more obnoxious, letting your kid scream, or telling someone else's screaming kid to stop? I'm a bit biased, as I'm fairly militant about disciplining my kids. I'm curious what the common consensus would be.</div><div><br /></div><div>And one disclaimer: I'm not claiming my kids are always perfect angels; as they also have their moments. This thought is more about what you allow them to get away with in public. </div>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-24038102987139122492010-04-26T20:21:00.000-07:002010-05-04T22:47:56.104-07:00Saga of a Broken LegWhen I was younger, I told myself that I'd skateboard forever. It stemmed from a fear of growing up; as if stepping off that skateboard would mean I was suddenly old. I made a pact with myself that I would continue doing it as long as I was physically capable. One day, I found myself in my mid 30's. My skateboarding days were long gone, and I actually felt a little guilty, like I had cheaped out.<br /><br />Last November, I decided to go see my buddy Brent in Nashville, Tennessee. He'd ventured to North Idaho many times; one visit even lasted a few years. But, nobody had returned the favor by going down there, so I figured it was time. It turned out to be a great trip, complete with civil war battlefield visits, a night in downtown Nashville, and even a leisurely drive across the beautiful Tennessee countryside. The night before I was due to fly back home, Brent asked if I'd like to check out the Nashville skatepark.<br /><br />It was time to revisit that childhood promise I had made with myself.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxMG8q9uQqXhuY9n-m6WNkn04EcA15lmvktGBZUS9KweXh1Cb-OnLvf2doKBDb0p3obBTl4WAipFIoQUAKYbw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I wasn't any good anymore, but hell... I could do it, and I was having a great time. We skated until the park was due to close in a few minutes. I was determined to stick that 50-50 grind... a trick that was so easy when I was younger. I went for that infamous "last try"...<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyJhDt5DWz2AOj4RQaSgGH2F7aE3Bh00HgQ2IpxEKRC1HqmwDHb2vR3Rr_xjChlDndwNgCczaXkfAWDnSyE7Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I'm still not sure why, but my board flipped out from under me. When I hit the transition, I felt something slide in my knee. As I lay there assessing the situation, Brent asked what I thought was wrong. At that point, all I knew was that it felt really weird... and my foot was pointing in the wrong direction.<br /><br />"I think my knee came out of joint. Maybe I can twist it back."<br /><br />"Dude... if you can get yourself out of this pool, then I could get you to the hospital... and you won't have to pay for an ambulance."<br /><br />I was immediately feeling the weight of hospital bills. Skipping the ambulance sounded good, so I did probably the worst possible thing - and tried twisting my leg back into joint. After feeling a couple snap crackle pops, I decided that probably wasn't a good idea. <p></p>"I'm not going to make it out. Call 911."<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUITpBSYp8wU7eWG4EEdJp_2mmQlaslgvmXBjrEqdLI748RcftHWDnEEEkROO136SSLoknJUwprejkZcRQgFnAinClQSbuNlVM4GXWp5sbc3VZx8fOumpXxh_zFEmf42JqdTn62DmSwJ3l/s1600/DSCF9821.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464669130808025058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUITpBSYp8wU7eWG4EEdJp_2mmQlaslgvmXBjrEqdLI748RcftHWDnEEEkROO136SSLoknJUwprejkZcRQgFnAinClQSbuNlVM4GXWp5sbc3VZx8fOumpXxh_zFEmf42JqdTn62DmSwJ3l/s320/DSCF9821.JPG" /></a>After what seemed like an eternity, Nashville's finest was on the scene. I was immediately given some morphine (not nearly enough), and strapped to a gurney. It took some effort getting me out, since I was in the bottom of a pool. They even enlisted the help of some straggler skateboarders to help push me out. They slid me into an ambulance, gave me some more morphine, and headed for Summit Medical Center. On the way, all I could think about was how much morphine I'd had, how much my leg still hurt, and hoped that all those shot-up Vietnam vets back in the day had received a way bigger dose than I had.<br /><br />"Isn't this stuff supposed to make the pain go away?" I asked the emergency tech.<br /><br />"No," he replied. "It just makes you not care that it hurts."<br /><br />We made it to the hospital. They immediately took some x-rays, and stuck a needle in my leg to drain all the fluid that was accumulating. I didn't care at this point, as the drugs had finally kicked in. The resulting x-ray didn't look good.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQLbDBSkqE1H-E9Y5iYNhmJDyVlCXqWUMwTCJAu6J0evK3sXgRvXyYQzQgED0AjjybpPZKcfWCCL5YDON7_llHzoYl3QUnGZLPcxPs2g0nHKyEivmKehfA2LHddpgpwSMws5fgmAo0_ix/s1600/Xray+Broken.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 309px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464690693741575314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQLbDBSkqE1H-E9Y5iYNhmJDyVlCXqWUMwTCJAu6J0evK3sXgRvXyYQzQgED0AjjybpPZKcfWCCL5YDON7_llHzoYl3QUnGZLPcxPs2g0nHKyEivmKehfA2LHddpgpwSMws5fgmAo0_ix/s400/Xray+Broken.jpg" /></a> Before saying anything to me, the ER doctor high-fived some other dude, and said, "I knew it! A tibial plateau fracture!" which really meant nothing to me at the time. Apparently, my femur (thigh bone) had pile-drived into my tibia (shin bone) and completely blown my knee apart. Even worse, it had split the tibia like firewood... from my knee to about halfway down my shin. The dark space in the x-ray (outlined by the dashed line) isn't supposed to be there. By this time, it was around midnight. They called a surgeon, and he said that he'd be there in the morning. I was carted to a room, where I immediately called Mavis.<br /><br />"Hey."<br /><br />"Hi. What's up?"<br /><br />"Well... I blew it, Mavis."<br /><br />"Oh. What's going on?"<br /><br />"I broke my leg tonight. Skateboarding."<br /><br />"Oh. Well, I just got back from a debate tournament."<br /><br />Pause.<br /><br />"I guess I'm having surgery in the morning. I gotta go."<br /><br />"Okay. I love you!"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZGLKvXqJnu7XE53UqnZTqPOmadFc_EczjDota1T6zx3eKivc9VX0BiRWIIM3_y1CnBC7m6wmXmIOtDV-4T2HQ12TyJOXwOIhIIU0QianCBnlQf4TRZ-W3aGi41gHi_l4TOBElT6JlK9I/s1600/Cook.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467639844294935058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZGLKvXqJnu7XE53UqnZTqPOmadFc_EczjDota1T6zx3eKivc9VX0BiRWIIM3_y1CnBC7m6wmXmIOtDV-4T2HQ12TyJOXwOIhIIU0QianCBnlQf4TRZ-W3aGi41gHi_l4TOBElT6JlK9I/s200/Cook.jpg" /></a>Suddenly, it was morning, and the surgeon had come in. His name was Dr. Cook, and he had a very calming, pleasant demeanor. Honestly, I really have no idea what he said to me, other than I was going in for surgery. All I knew is that I trusted him. They put me out, and after a day-long surgery I woke up back in the room to find Mavis sitting there looking at me. It was almost like she had teleported down there. Dr. Cook came in, and said the surgery went well. I asked for some pictures (kinda hoping for some gory shots of my leg cut open), but instead he brought in the x-ray of my new leg.<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkSpOHnDLKWuBKXuHXdk_z_XtpQplHzofW7z4zXiyVGCFYpev0uj7bfd6aAZzc5BmVc9gmRX9K4WRyj9p-_f7e2QfYLfh28yjPEhcnNOzlgdm6FaYXisQGtn62PgtXFksa91y1ARw32gv/s1600/Xray+Fixed.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 309px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464688570558172882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkSpOHnDLKWuBKXuHXdk_z_XtpQplHzofW7z4zXiyVGCFYpev0uj7bfd6aAZzc5BmVc9gmRX9K4WRyj9p-_f7e2QfYLfh28yjPEhcnNOzlgdm6FaYXisQGtn62PgtXFksa91y1ARw32gv/s400/Xray+Fixed.jpg" /></a>It took 2 plates and 15 screws to put me back together again. I immediately felt a little strange, knowing I had a pile of foreign metal objects in my leg. Soon after, the bandages came off and I got my first look at Frankenleg.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lF0VmttSYZjOQbN8YnoHqzjYJFj59kQkStalo-ND4l1gTxyI9YzP_k0M8d5EzBjwI_hJma62lm3OAVSWiUJMxQSuAIFocyEWLYp9yd_MTk50BbXJNpPcq2MhEntZeri0Ccif4KaYb7WI/s1600/DSCF9880.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464689731925143154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lF0VmttSYZjOQbN8YnoHqzjYJFj59kQkStalo-ND4l1gTxyI9YzP_k0M8d5EzBjwI_hJma62lm3OAVSWiUJMxQSuAIFocyEWLYp9yd_MTk50BbXJNpPcq2MhEntZeri0Ccif4KaYb7WI/s400/DSCF9880.JPG" /></a><br /><p>I had two huge incisions, around 50 staples, and a gigantic swollen foot that looked a bit like a haggis sausage. I knew I was in for some good times. To make an already long story shorter, I'll sum up my week stay in the hospital:</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKox4oCsBqeo6EtarSQHqE5Vq3P-EFULglRlF85neva8YM9Q1IE8P5gO15lfXJpm9qgeLx5ZjnHwDY5hbZF42dF2D7AHkAtDj-_SSkd53B7sOfLgUYY1uzeRtztFz8umregmBwHP_GHKc/s1600/DSCF9833.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467638069274492034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKox4oCsBqeo6EtarSQHqE5Vq3P-EFULglRlF85neva8YM9Q1IE8P5gO15lfXJpm9qgeLx5ZjnHwDY5hbZF42dF2D7AHkAtDj-_SSkd53B7sOfLgUYY1uzeRtztFz8umregmBwHP_GHKc/s200/DSCF9833.JPG" /></a> </p>Having to use a walker instantly makes you feel about 80 years old.<br /><p></p><p>I really don't understand why people steal Oxycontin. I woke up feeling like I had bugs crawling all over me, and saw creepy apparitions all over the place.</p><p>Percocet, on the other hand, was a little too wonderful. Mavis did a great job intervening, and I felt like I'd been to rehab about 27 times.</p><p>I had one physical therapist who was really pushy about me getting out of bed, and I couldn't do it. I got another one who made me feel like I could do it, and I got right up. Big difference.</p><p>I'm not sure how anyone could survive in a hospital room without a loved one. Mavis made all the difference, and guided me through figuring out how to get around (and... uh... do other things!) all over again.</p><p>After my extra week of... vacation?... it was time to figure out how to get me home. Remember that movie "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles"? Imagine John Candy's character... only with a broken leg, and that's kinda how it went. We crammed my broken self into a rental car, airport shuttle bus, taxi, train station, and finally into an Amtrak sleeper car. A couple days and several pain pills later, we finally made it home.</p><p>A few days after that, I was back at work, lucky to have a desk job.</p><p>Around 2 months later, I was down to using a cane.</p><p>At 3 months, I started walking on my own, and was able to go to the gym again.</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLB0qs-eiRIcEt3bGbz6WSLExSt-67_JiKSFBpR2sL1JH_jyK-Wp9_GA2-nA0Bcx8fJx3mZghBgpqzGF8F08j0aWLHv85nfDMs2piO7uLP3liGR2JPGB3ivu1HQJORvjAND96gMkvXVsBM/s1600/Run+Finish.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467650144810056434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLB0qs-eiRIcEt3bGbz6WSLExSt-67_JiKSFBpR2sL1JH_jyK-Wp9_GA2-nA0Bcx8fJx3mZghBgpqzGF8F08j0aWLHv85nfDMs2piO7uLP3liGR2JPGB3ivu1HQJORvjAND96gMkvXVsBM/s200/Run+Finish.bmp" /></a>At 5 months, I walked and finished a 3 mile fun run. </p><p></p><p>Now, I'm approaching 6 months of recovery time. Last weekend, I went on a whitewater rafting trip I do every year and didn't have any problems. I still can't run (or even jog) at this point, but I do feel like I'm easing back into the things I was able to do before.</p><p>So... I guess it's time I accept the fact that somehow along the line, I got a little older. But, at least I can now confidently say...</p><p>I've officially retired from skateboarding.</p><p>And that's okay. :) </p>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-92070020630175588172010-03-21T21:23:00.000-07:002010-03-22T09:41:17.714-07:00Dirty Dogs and White LiesI came in through the back slider door, to find Mavis sitting on the couch petting the dog.<br /><br />"Honey, why is Cleo all wet?" she asked.<br /><br />I drew a blank. "I don't know."<br /><br />"Well, it's all over her face...," she retorted as the dog licked hers.<br /><br />We went upstairs to get ready for bed. She carried up the dog, and said, "Whatever it is, it smells weird and is kinda sticky."<br /><br />I suddenly realized what it was, and was immediately horrified. It seemed too late to tell the truth, so I replied, "Uhhhh... maybe it's water from the kids' pool behind the shed."<br /><br />About 10 minutes prior, I had been in the backyard with the dog. There's no easy way to say this... but I have this thing. A guy thing, a freedom thing, a whatever you want to call it "thing."<br /><br />I like to pee in the backyard.<br /><br />On this particular occasion, I was in a dark corner of the yard doing my business... hoping the dog was doing hers. I looked down, and realized she was next to me in her pounce position. She had never seen a pee stream before, and was ready to attack it. I shooed her away, and finished up. Afterwards, I went over to the shed to put some tires away. Meanwhile, Mavis had let the dog in. I didn't think anything of it.<br /><br />By the time I realized what was on her, Mavis had been petting, playing with, and... (gulp)... kissing the dog. I really didn't know how she would react.<br /><br />"I think I better give her a bath," she said.<br /><br />While trying to sound nonchalant, I replied, "Ohhh.... yeah! That would probably be a good idea."<br /><br />She washed her off, and got ready for bed. I slithered in with her, and laid awake for awhile. I really wanted to say something, but by that time it didn't seem to matter anymore. Regardless, I felt very guilty. VERY guilty. I have an insanely guilty conscience.<br /><br />The next day at work, I told a few people about what had happened. It was a fairly even split over me being a Big Fat Liar (with pants on fire), and it being something that I should NEVER tell her. I was extremely torn.<br /><br />A few nights later, Mavis and I were driving home from having dinner. As we pulled into our driveway, I blurted out "I THINK I PEED ON THE DOG!"<br /><br />She stared at me blankly for a moment, and replied, ".....What?"<br /><br />"The other night, when the dog was all wet... I'm pretty sure it's because she jumped into my pee."<br /><br />This was possibly going to be a major turning point in our relationship. If she lashed out in anger, I knew I'd forever be perceived as the disguting lying backyard pee-er. If she forgave me, I knew I would be forever grateful and appreciative.<br /><br />Another milli-second of silent eternity passed, when she suddenly burst out laughing.<br /><br />I knew immediately I had made the right choice. In many ways.<br /><br />"Why didn't you just tell me, silly?" she asked. She seemed to find it a little bit cute that I had been so tormented about the whole situation, with an emphasis on "little."<br /><br />So, we both survived. From now on, I think I'll save the white lies for haircuts, apparel, and ugly babies. :)otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-43619902124692248082010-02-20T22:15:00.000-08:002010-02-21T00:00:47.275-08:00Blogfest, 2010!I haven't posted for several months, which I kept telling myself was because I was dealing with a broken leg. In reality, it was much deeper. I was coming to grips with several big life changes, and more than anything... I just didn't feel all that interesting.<br /><br />Today, I attended the <a href="http://www.spokesman.com/blogs/hbo/">Huckleberries Online</a> Blogfest. It's something I've gone to previously, but for whatever reason... this time it felt like seeing an old friend. After hearing kind words from several people that I won't mention (IdahoDad, Cindy H, and MamaJD), I'm inspired to get back into the game.<br /><br />There were several things I needed to bring with me when we left the house. What better way to remember them than making a list on your hand!<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440579303602573778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_WbT16pKxflLJTycyVYT4OJUW6DHsAkX7mfQ7mtP_ltbQp11xx8wD6cST2AeF4ulNAyXkr63ciFbNhfLod9TvfP_3LWcPtz-gk55_lc4Ojr4nP1Odhkxoan-5LkyDBrnfrTxm0TGjnX9/s400/DSCF0339.jpg" /><br />I was determined that the kids and I would ride bikes to get there. We were completely unprepared for how cold it was going to be, but my little guys were tough.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440578854644879282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymBEnKxN1fGuR6MHB6qM4cb0sg3AkH43DY7dmCA2aOAtlZNnXORZbfoY2N_VwVT7YeU7WGxrLqzW3Clb_rZZcG5wX4HAPYnND603AECDRq0nVenCF0nfAbID_tx84XpLPYteakb3PII93/s400/DSCF0331.jpg" /><br /><p>Well, they were mostly tough... until they weren't anymore. We showed up at the Fort Ground about a half hour early to warm up. Luckily, the drink menu included hot chocolate.<br /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440582908630591202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhan9Hpe0urFfu3DloRjAaseLzBlHKa_6Dhp3JxWC3OPrHdXYoOvkBrky2DaytvvryGQpgLXKvydpB3-mM4KbI8wqrNv_aaIzJqjR7UYK2o35eYJmfi4nx8RSTHcLDRbc-C7QRfYGgCQzPB/s400/DSCF0334.jpg" />Mavis was off coaching a debate tournament, but fortunately it ended early enough for her to come join us.</p><p></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440581578428879506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTFTY7cT2Jz7h3rJbDPUejpB837MEah1xHsXHs6FSUjqTzY4df7gqB8SvU7vth4_ah2PbrP9RbodL3qnm-xQLDD9dAGVVh8FqTIFWynrlxJjOeZwXHsiyb0YLXXxvPEGIjgfOdBcKB_9S/s400/DSCF0336.jpg" /></p><p>The blogmeister himself, DFO, was of course on hand (along with <a href="http://bentsbeergarden.blogspot.com/">Sunny's</a> Mini-Me).<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimeTkQFcddSSqk8OutwnCV_5TQvqOvETeVn2CGKVLetg4JhB_inXmJRpzFWuys7dwCbChjeaX24sc8DlQZfOgLr04E9tgjpgE81vUCyoLYe4_c0AbXVUi7V9ak9Q-QSkhrhXFPoCuQcd-s/s1600-h/DSCF0344.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440584600218787986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimeTkQFcddSSqk8OutwnCV_5TQvqOvETeVn2CGKVLetg4JhB_inXmJRpzFWuys7dwCbChjeaX24sc8DlQZfOgLr04E9tgjpgE81vUCyoLYe4_c0AbXVUi7V9ak9Q-QSkhrhXFPoCuQcd-s/s400/DSCF0344.jpg" /></a> Here's <a href="http://bentsbeergarden.blogspot.com/">Bent</a> suffering through drinking beer that he didn't personally make...</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjXFlk5l0oS7Jbx0k_j5yARyr6IUA2lrJTAQ-0MXcJJesXrPy3AITetJN_ESc_efkTFR1FKbeJmFmM-VE3iFpmSysd00c9guvQYJwpvNUGdlh3kY74WYI_X13BqAl1uRifs099rv6JF2u/s1600-h/DSCF0343.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440586240222607074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjXFlk5l0oS7Jbx0k_j5yARyr6IUA2lrJTAQ-0MXcJJesXrPy3AITetJN_ESc_efkTFR1FKbeJmFmM-VE3iFpmSysd00c9guvQYJwpvNUGdlh3kY74WYI_X13BqAl1uRifs099rv6JF2u/s400/DSCF0343.jpg" /></a> And old friends <a href="http://blogs.bellinghamherald.com/politics/">Sam</a> and Meghann.</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEpiyIm78riNb2AqWzpE4UQqVXLsOD2z_udBmb9gniVNSM0MuNGz7SHvkqm80E0KvO6XbcgoRyx9Vq1sYqfQeXkhFHdXf5GaMEvrwRdqvBScI5U-OtYwlXfF9SxkRnE7jjRo3N8v3plWP/s1600-h/DSCF0345.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440587295337930722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEpiyIm78riNb2AqWzpE4UQqVXLsOD2z_udBmb9gniVNSM0MuNGz7SHvkqm80E0KvO6XbcgoRyx9Vq1sYqfQeXkhFHdXf5GaMEvrwRdqvBScI5U-OtYwlXfF9SxkRnE7jjRo3N8v3plWP/s400/DSCF0345.jpg" /></a></p><p>This peculiar fellow kept showing up, but nobody knew who he was. He preferred to remain anonymous.<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0bDNdaCcTa5WtnSnGX19Z8EJc-rCbquCNGI1ytp7mDOuLZamCsz5q5_Qw2NrlJiqIONST1wEwPNboDPZxM7YzibZ58dmMq43uroP5Ta9ojEwd49aFGkkGARx89MfAUO0pFTRLRkVl-RV/s1600-h/DSCF0348.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440588297985026914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0bDNdaCcTa5WtnSnGX19Z8EJc-rCbquCNGI1ytp7mDOuLZamCsz5q5_Qw2NrlJiqIONST1wEwPNboDPZxM7YzibZ58dmMq43uroP5Ta9ojEwd49aFGkkGARx89MfAUO0pFTRLRkVl-RV/s400/DSCF0348.jpg" /></a></p><p>I thought the Fort Ground staff did an incredible job. They were more than hospitable when we showed up early, and it was obvious that they were excited about hosting the event.</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJye-Ibl2j_8EBs2o6wfF38D7J83AFJc6w93qcXQdzbv7gI2RdJ3B_CNn5vhlVI4bkHzb94Fvv3Swp7m9OATUJj4D3z7AxEMTa2Cm5E0V5__7FTOfpaNb3OEQJhGgvASME9LP1qv_FTOff/s1600-h/DSCF0346.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440590002441301458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJye-Ibl2j_8EBs2o6wfF38D7J83AFJc6w93qcXQdzbv7gI2RdJ3B_CNn5vhlVI4bkHzb94Fvv3Swp7m9OATUJj4D3z7AxEMTa2Cm5E0V5__7FTOfpaNb3OEQJhGgvASME9LP1qv_FTOff/s400/DSCF0346.jpg" /></a> We had a great time. After a cold bike ride, the hot wings were perfect. And for some reason, having a cold beer seemed to warm me up as well.</p><p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAT5GqxmEKiCGuGrqfA_G5wQUr7kiQEjeZzsNnyVihyKBX4UQyaIp6BIIqDY8rS-zkk0ByX11bPNvK7qWkOAZr_SahBx0NqA7YZnDOoNQnx2KjRKNZmrtZrVuc33wou6ixD4B6nxhN8n-/s1600-h/DSCF0352.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440591029448954338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAT5GqxmEKiCGuGrqfA_G5wQUr7kiQEjeZzsNnyVihyKBX4UQyaIp6BIIqDY8rS-zkk0ByX11bPNvK7qWkOAZr_SahBx0NqA7YZnDOoNQnx2KjRKNZmrtZrVuc33wou6ixD4B6nxhN8n-/s400/DSCF0352.jpg" /></a></p><p>If only my 'ol buddy Brent from Tennessee had made an appearance...</p><p>The Otis G Experience is back online.</p><p>I think. :)</p>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-31979564307798738682009-10-19T12:30:00.000-07:002009-10-19T14:56:06.673-07:00Getting Away From Julia"Dad, can you make me a shelf or something... so I can put my Lego sets on it?"<br /><br />It was the exact phrase that I had been wanting to hear from him for years. Enough years that I had forgotten I wanted to hear it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuUJcwCcxAqdN6W7HZyahVqzyvnVB0X-d2Dq6LSFr_WD1mAfGVrwI1tAG5owpYG0VQF4yjco28VyeFI1RUMdf5k7ndxDFANbqJxP0WhnV5a4FW6__rV-eldLedo2DyZqAyuPuYgy6Mrmj/s1600-h/DSCF9169.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394427209901791602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuUJcwCcxAqdN6W7HZyahVqzyvnVB0X-d2Dq6LSFr_WD1mAfGVrwI1tAG5owpYG0VQF4yjco28VyeFI1RUMdf5k7ndxDFANbqJxP0WhnV5a4FW6__rV-eldLedo2DyZqAyuPuYgy6Mrmj/s200/DSCF9169.JPG" /></a>I loved Legos when I was a kid. I would ride my bike to the old Black Sheep next to Davis Donuts on 4th Street, and spend every penny of my paper route money on new sets. Once home, I would put them together, take them apart, and put them back together again. I would do it so many times, I wouldn't even need the instructions anymore. In fact, I hardly remember even playing with them once they were together. I was more fascinated by how they were built, and looking at them on the shelf.<br /><br />From the time my son was born, I started buying him Legos. I wanted him to put them together, and cherish them as I did. Much to my dismay, toddlers are more into destruction than construction. Over time, the sets ended up taken apart in a storage bin, mixed up with all the sets from my childhood. We moved. He grew up a little, but still wasn't ready. We moved again. Not ready. His Mom and I got divorced. The Lego bin went into a storage unit, where it stayed for a year. I finally bought my own house, and the Legos surfaced once again. By this time, I had given up (or just plain forgotten) the notion of building the sets to display. Besides, after everything... I doubted the pieces would even all be there.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_TTbmEFr2YFofCN7AM-5kbpk2U3I-HIDDEgz4iw5TUW-tColcZ5gCXAe-fF4zswkoz2BSdhDelHNQ-TJDm40suF95WrAEp3IecnDktchRgX4sswp5gZk1GVWy3cW096EZwXQgVehGOuE/s1600-h/DSCF9168.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394427728999401378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_TTbmEFr2YFofCN7AM-5kbpk2U3I-HIDDEgz4iw5TUW-tColcZ5gCXAe-fF4zswkoz2BSdhDelHNQ-TJDm40suF95WrAEp3IecnDktchRgX4sswp5gZk1GVWy3cW096EZwXQgVehGOuE/s200/DSCF9168.JPG" /></a><br />Before I knew it, my son turned eight. For his birthday, he ended up getting several Lego sets. After putting them together, he decided he didn't want them thrown back in the bin. It was a huge milestone for me. I immediately got him some under-his-bed storage bins, where he could keep the sets together.<br /><br />This last summer, he got into watching Lego "stop-motion" videos on Youtube. It's the type of thing I would have loved doing as a kid... a way of bringing your Legos to life. One day, he asked if I would set up a camera for him so he could try it out. Here's what he put together, completely on his own:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uqGKwtKhykk&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uqGKwtKhykk&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFsKgyMZVLVMnINd9Q9M5ax3f16JpXYYfpgrtCq-W5FHyC5lV0ItGkTXbHLSqR-ihQzGA9xNljzc46wOVeffnLJ5nX1EUN8JDGXLiU_v7Mo5CmLPPackiK3U9PJvzqSzXoLYFgxk-n7xjk/s1600-h/DSCF9162.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394428301496007490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFsKgyMZVLVMnINd9Q9M5ax3f16JpXYYfpgrtCq-W5FHyC5lV0ItGkTXbHLSqR-ihQzGA9xNljzc46wOVeffnLJ5nX1EUN8JDGXLiU_v7Mo5CmLPPackiK3U9PJvzqSzXoLYFgxk-n7xjk/s200/DSCF9162.JPG" /></a>I was amazed. And super excited. While he was at his Mom's house, I decided to sort out that huge bin of Legos, so that he'd have all the sets to use for making more movies. I don't know how many hours I spent sorting those pieces out, but to be honest... it was really fun for me. Much to my surprise, even my old sets were still in intact. When he came over next, I loved the look on his face when he saw all those sets... new and old... assembled and ready, props to be used for whatever movie he wanted to make.<br /><br />We worked together on the next one. Starting out, we really didn't have a story in mind. We just played together, and his five year-old sister helped out as well. Once together, we decided on a plot, and recorded the dialogue. Here's how it came out:<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1xcNPtv7oLs&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1xcNPtv7oLs&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />There's always a part of us that wants our kids to do the same things we did. Sadly, often times you see parents trying to force their kids into doing the same things they did. I've realized the best thing I can do for my kids is to expose them to as many things as possible, and encourage them in whatever they're interested in. But I will say that it sure is fun when our childhood worlds collide. :)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihIOPLsk_JGihl36RoozIoKkpnbFhwwd1NNUqUt-aRuVNxxb2mwrfQTREuvhe9xvq5yGxSf7mUWyu4rm94AKAzRdb5eC9DSjVJJ_aGIv684ZWeYh4bk_sF48oclgVXF-pnJGODCnpmC6lD/s1600-h/DSCF9180.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394431091549299682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihIOPLsk_JGihl36RoozIoKkpnbFhwwd1NNUqUt-aRuVNxxb2mwrfQTREuvhe9xvq5yGxSf7mUWyu4rm94AKAzRdb5eC9DSjVJJ_aGIv684ZWeYh4bk_sF48oclgVXF-pnJGODCnpmC6lD/s400/DSCF9180.JPG" /></a>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-82626489809256039702009-09-15T12:11:00.000-07:002009-09-15T12:43:23.982-07:00Spokefest!Riding a bicycle for 21 miles used to seem like a long way. I remember riding my bike around the neighborhood, and thinking "Phew! What a workout!"<br /><br />Times have changed.<br /><br />A couple weeks ago, Mavis' buddy asked if we'd ride <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.spokefest.org">Spokefest </a>with her. After all the riding I've been doing with my new bike, it sounded like a great idea. I also just got a new helmet "action cam" that I figured I'd try out.<br /><br />The morning of the event was a little hectic, so I ended up attaching the camera at the last minute. Unfortunately, the mount had a bit of wobble to it, and the footage came out a little shaky. Actually, we were having such a great time, I didn't really give much thought to the camera... just as it should be. :)<br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/837AInVyGmo&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/837AInVyGmo&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Here's me a little before Doomsday Hill. You can see the camera under my left hand:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381777440463898738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheyPpqayexcA1dw57IW7tsMsm89f3E7Ysr9N_ugGD5bUq8qoKYuj_ZhMeDqiK0v8DFvFucTaU7-X8GZ08fc_4_MZUs-Q8iZse4c6PUi61276BnPYnJzt5gKtrpZIA0jCFvpJEJbHofbrZ5/s400/Ryan+Riding+2.bmp" border="0" /><br /><p>Here's Mavis in the same spot... after getting up at 5:30 A.M., driving to Spokane, playing a tennis match, driving back to Post Falls, getting me, driving back to Spokane, parking, and riding to Riverfront Park by 9:30 A.M.:</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381778840682583618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMLYA-ilfM2M18AY6f4XwYuZvPmfUOEyX7hP_1lDjXxXGyoRWWuz0cPuCprSaL7632CANlGttS3Uv8ARsxutLkcnd8THUYb1b2a3La09xRqb-xDaqjObQyGmDicAm5R8Yx_1SgYx2IkB-S/s400/Mandy+Riding.bmp" border="0" />She thinks I'm hardcore for biking down hills and off rocks. To me, that seems easy compared to getting up at 5:30 A.M. :)otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-52917550022300153782009-09-03T12:30:00.000-07:002009-09-03T14:54:21.679-07:00Peace Out, Bank of AmericaI heard that Bank of America is trying to pay back some of the money they received from the bailouts, because they don't want to be under the governments "watchful" eye. Predominately, they still want to be able to pay out-of-touch salaries to executives (read about it <a href="http://www.wfae.org/wfae/1_87_316.cfm?action=display&id=5399">here</a>). Hmmm... where are they getting the cash to cover all of this?<br /><br />I made a few online transfers from my savings into my checking this month. Fairly common occurrence, I would think... and probably doesn't take a whole lot of effort on their part, if any. Today, I check my savings statement, and what do you know:<br /><br /><strong>08/31/09 EXCESSIVE ACTIVITY SERVICE CHARGE -$1.00</strong><br /><br />Several $1.00 "excessive activity" service charges. For transferring money online.<br /><br />I know several people who have dumped Bank of America, for various reasons. I think I just found mine.<br /><br /><strong>09/03/09 (EXCESSIVE) EXCESSIVE ACTIVITY SERVICE CHARGE -$ONE LESS CUSTOMER.</strong>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-67911961338108118472009-08-31T21:14:00.000-07:002009-08-31T21:52:23.584-07:00Crush the Castle!Every once in awhile, you come across an incredibly stupid, senseless, waste-of-time online game... that you just can't stop playing. I feel like putting a link to it on my blog is comparable to offering young kids cigarettes. And there's no patches or gum to cure this addiction. :) I tried embedding the actual game, but the size was all messed up.<br /><br /><div><a href='http://www.addictinggames.com/crushthecastle.html?r=user_posted_link' style='color:#2e4b82;'><img src='http://www.addictinggames.com/fimages/5811.jpg' width='50' height='50' align='left' style='float:left; border:2px solid #006; margin-right:5px;'><b style='display:block; padding-top:18px;'></b></a><br clear='all'></div>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-11546557570919417022009-08-28T07:30:00.000-07:002009-08-28T09:38:51.722-07:00Interest # 127Like my motto says, I don't really excel at anything... but I'm kinda okay at a lot of things.<br /><br />I'm adding mountain biking to that list.<br /><br />I've never had a nice bike. "Nice", as in... anything that cost over about 100 bucks. When I first got together with Mavis, she had a nice bike. I rode it around a bit, and realized something: you get what you pay for. It was light, easy to maneuver, and had gearing that was functional. She was determined that I needed a nice bike, too. Next thing you know, I'm at REI, where they actually measure you for proper bike "fit". I was torn between a road cruiser and mountain bike, so I thought I'd get something somewhat in between. I wanted to be able to cruise with Mavis, but I also have several buddies that are into mountain biking. I ended up getting a Marin Alpine Trail 29er, the 29er meaning it has larger 29 inch wheels (26 inch is standard). It fits my large frame, has super-cool disc brakes, and best of all... feels incredible to ride. Mavis and I have already gone on several bike rides (including the Hiawatha Trail), and are planning on being part of the upcoming <a href="http://www.spokefest.org/">Spokefest</a> in Spokane.<br /><br />Meanwhile, I've been hitting Beacon Hill in Spokane, which is a very well-known mountain biking destination. This week, I talked Mavis into coming with me so she could shoot some video. So, I now present...<br /><br />Otis G's third time riding Beacon Hill. Otis G's third time mountain biking, actually. :)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WnEB-Q493uQ&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WnEB-Q493uQ&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-71470609990981406062009-08-20T06:53:00.000-07:002009-08-20T07:31:35.018-07:00Afraid of Living in FearI'm a fairly optimistic person. But somedays, you've just had enough.<br /><br />Our government just bailed out huge corporations (ultimately keeping the general population in debt), while several good, hardworking people I know are dealing with unemployment, foreclosure, and/or bankruptcy.<br /><br />People who could afford to buy huge SUV's a few years ago are now being rewarded with brand new cars... while I continue to drive my '87 beater car because it gets good gas mileage. With the knowledge that anyday, it will die on me... forcing me to probably get a loan for a new car.<br /><br />Our elected officials continue to debate on the best way to NOT provide healthcare. (Check out this hilarious parody at <a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news/congress_deadlocked_over_how_to?utm_source=b-section">The Onion</a>.)<br /><br />So what are we left with? Travel! To get away from it all.<br /><br />I dropped Mavis off at the Spokane airport this morning. Her flight was at 7:15, so of course we had to get up at buttcrack to get her there in time for all the security checks. She had a small carry-on bag, and a book bag. Unfortunately, the carry-on contained several bottles of potentially harmful liquids (shampoo, lotions, etc.)... so she had to check it to avoid throwing it all away. Turns out, the airlines now charge $20 to check a bag in. Which was a substantial portion of the money she had for the entire trip. All to deter terrorists, who if they're determined... will find a way to do what they want anyway. Hell, the current restrictions would have done nothing to stop the guys who instigated 9/11.<br /><br />So, we continue to live in fear. People have been saying this for quite some time... but I'm finally starting to believe it, too.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-b37A7K1Tvg&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-b37A7K1Tvg&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-73360325945406098552009-07-22T12:49:00.000-07:002009-07-22T13:41:10.293-07:00Learning to Let GoI couldn't wait for the day that my son was old enough to try riding his bike without training wheels. To me, it seemed like one of those "father-son" moments that's imperative to our relationship.<br /><br />One day, I went to pick him up from daycare, and there he was... riding a bike around the playground - without training wheels. Shocked, I asked his teacher, "When did he learn to do that?" She replied, "Oh! He's been doing that for a couple months now!"<br /><br />I was devastated. Not only did I miss out on that moment, I also felt like a horrible father for not knowing that he was ready for it. At that moment, I pledged to myself that I wouldn't let that happen again with my daughter.<br /><br />A couple weeks ago, we all went camping at Farragut State Park... the perfect place to try such a thing. As I watched her cruise up and down the road with her training wheels, I figured she probably wasn't ready. I reluctantly asked her if she wanted to try it, and she excitedly said yes. I wrenched those suckers off, and we were ready to go.<br /><br />I immediately realized why the bike-riding ritual was so important to me; it's representative of a child's entire life.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwBExsxjQknl3aEqrFvZ3UH_rag9HlpXhUXm0tYJClZpe2UCXetd5IyyQvF4z7ZV13tlTT80JpkWnpCrnMfsnGhpgIpK0nsoy1rufBNWrf26p81VBFVCr1IZNxuM6g8dsAGuDtgN0nNBj/s1600-h/Faith1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361374596384834082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 241px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwBExsxjQknl3aEqrFvZ3UH_rag9HlpXhUXm0tYJClZpe2UCXetd5IyyQvF4z7ZV13tlTT80JpkWnpCrnMfsnGhpgIpK0nsoy1rufBNWrf26p81VBFVCr1IZNxuM6g8dsAGuDtgN0nNBj/s320/Faith1.JPG" border="0" /></a>I wanted so badly for her to grow up (just a little), but knew I was going to miss seeing my little girl with her training wheels. We started off slow, and made a few passes while I held onto her seat. I could feel her leaning, and sensed that she wasn't ready. At one point, as I will do throughout our lives, I realized what I had to do.<br /><br />I let go.<br /><br />And was prepared for her to crash and burn.<br /><br />When she realized I wasn't there to stop her leaning, she righted herself. Next thing you know, she was riding along... all by herself. I ran alongside, wanting so badly to grab her and make sure she was safe... but I kept a distance, hoping I was close enough to scoop her up if she crashed. She never did. I was so incredibly proud of her...<br /><br />And at the same time, sad.<br /><br />I know I will have many such moments with both of my kids, for years to come. All I can do is hope that I will know when they are ready, but most importantly...<br /><br />Know that sometimes, the best thing you can do for your kids... is to let go. :)<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzS07X2BTJ93eIRnPSmGevmSp0TVtzkCXfnhaqBK8yZEnRJ6-S65unA9MJ3ZxNsHm1cYYFxt6pkjqyOP1Jy5g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-1038016799565112252009-06-29T12:31:00.000-07:002009-06-30T11:37:00.158-07:00Introducing... The Athletic Wimp.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsK3fnrBXXrqsv62W7jUfGGNOrLRWITaRMoAXIIB062t-4FarY5vO9ok8YYhbuHjF8QiJwGD2ISdFZvjuvosWW0jCel5mRB1apZAyto_nQW6GNQ4fJhK_7RVqJ2WGjnYFtPXkfD4b-vlc0/s1600-h/IMAGE_084.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352835808503276434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsK3fnrBXXrqsv62W7jUfGGNOrLRWITaRMoAXIIB062t-4FarY5vO9ok8YYhbuHjF8QiJwGD2ISdFZvjuvosWW0jCel5mRB1apZAyto_nQW6GNQ4fJhK_7RVqJ2WGjnYFtPXkfD4b-vlc0/s200/IMAGE_084.jpg" border="0" /></a> I've never been much of an athlete.<br /><br />As a youngen, my parents signed me up for t-ball. My first time at bat, I hit the ball... and ran to the pitcher's mound. Then to 2nd base. Then to 1st, across to 3rd... and then home.<br /><br />A couple games later, I really had to pee... but the restrooms were locked. While playing right field, I couldn't hold it any longer and soaked my pants. After the last out, I ran to the dugout and desperately said "Coach! A sprinkler turned on, and got my pants all wet!" He looked me over and said, "Whatever. You peed your pants!" I sat out the rest of the game in the dugout, wishing I wasn't such a wimp. I only played one season.<br /><br />In flag football, I got the ball for the first time... and ran to the wrong endzone. I wished I wasn't such a wimp, and only played one season.<br /><br />In middle school gym class, I was usually the last one picked for dodgeball teams. I was tall, lanky, and not exactly aggressive. I was always terrified of getting hit in the face. So, of course, it happened. I woke up flat on my back, with my glasses nowhere in sight. The gym teacher whisked me off to safety, while looking bewildered at how someone could be such a wimp.<br /><br />In high school, I played the tuba in band. The closest I got to a sporting event was playing the school fight song in the bleachers. I'd watch the guys playing football and/or basketball, the girls oogling over them, and wished so badly I could be them... instead of a wimp.<br /><br />After graduating, I joined the Marines. I was 6'4" tall, and weighed 143 pounds. Underweight, as it turned out. I was put on "double rations" to bulk up, which meant I had to eat twice as much as everyone else. Of course, this put me in great graces with the fat kids who had to eat cottage cheese... for every meal. One night, while standing in our underwear for hygiene check, the Drill Instructor looked me over. He paused a moment with a confused look on his face, and belted "What the hell, Recruit? What did you think this was... the Peace Corps?!?" I was probably one the few wimps to successfully become a United States Marine, and I was proud.<br /><br />Recently, Mavis signed us up at a health club. She wanted me <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZecxKKRrAAuiXfWLDpt5lDXBvV_uTffCTQ2zOZ75P7GsPQekFY6-v8iyoS9I1jG4y6djBWu5KV7jT3U4ilveP22TqvO0xWo_-9p0OuqwaMGTfwB-FAHhy3lYjRjfrZgLzCWWVHUMjQQHy/s1600-h/IMAGE_083.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352848535726844354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZecxKKRrAAuiXfWLDpt5lDXBvV_uTffCTQ2zOZ75P7GsPQekFY6-v8iyoS9I1jG4y6djBWu5KV7jT3U4ilveP22TqvO0xWo_-9p0OuqwaMGTfwB-FAHhy3lYjRjfrZgLzCWWVHUMjQQHy/s200/IMAGE_083.jpg" border="0" /></a>to play racquetball with her, clueless to the fact that I would in no way challenge her. Mavis is very athletic, and plays a lot of tennis and basketball. I reluctantly agreed... being a little weary of her finding out what a wimp I am. At first, she went very easy on me (without me knowing) so I wouldn't get overly frustrated. Eventually, I even "won" a couple matches. Over time, I found myself improving to the point that she was actually getting a workout. I really started feeling confident when I could finally return her "signature" serve, that she masterfully hits into the corner right where I can't get it:<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dylkdRbhSl0xO8k42HQ5DJLYUIdoNLGmZ9qkV8iAweDDEYA8VjfhIhB0oTXN-9sSt1wZIUjFUU_oB7l_23IHw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Last week, a miracle happened. We hit the court after not having played for awhile, because Mavis was in Arizona visiting her Dad.<br /><br />Match 1: Mavis won, as usual.<br />Match 2: I won, by a surprising margin.<br />Match 3: I narrowly won.<br />Match 4: Otis G takes it again.<br />Match 5: Somehow... I won.<br /><br />I squarely beat her 4 out of 5 matches. I never thought it would be possible, and for the first time I kinda felt like...<br /><br />An athlete.<br /><br />I needed my own signature move, and quick. This is all I could come up with.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzUKmLIm0mZRbX7YT-O107BMxgmGItjLfjIuLByh8fgwhtnuzhnxBwsCcu81YLLEOMNgn43DfqKoHWVN7rulg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I still think she's probably holding back a bit. But as long as I win once in awhile, I don't mind.<br /><br /><em>In the "serve" video, you'll notice how I politely ask her to "not hit me". Some things never change. :)</em>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-3387465885679625362009-06-24T22:53:00.003-07:002009-06-24T23:02:15.931-07:00Neighbors... Being Neighborly?!?<div style="text-align: left;">I came home to find this flyer tucked in my front door:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuOJpf1wOy5fYGuVmov9opRqLB7TmZZOH5kwS7_WcnQe87tJHQ2WwYtQOQBtOXhENic19GPkIdTet7bmnO2dJGIPoIGrzCtJGRQe-HZu523neSCnA4tNT6Ze3FcfdhHHcDv-6xFT1LupN/s400/IMG_0002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351139781694423762" /><br /></div><div>Holy crap! This is the sort of thing neighbors did back in the... like... 1950's! I hope they have a great party, and as far as I'm concerned... if anybody DOES call the cops, THEY'RE the obnoxious ones. :)</div>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-7483777160340223332009-06-23T12:41:00.000-07:002009-06-23T13:36:32.101-07:00Hiawatha Trail, Back in ActionAnybody who knows me knows that I have many varied and somewhat eccentric interests.<br /><div></div><br /><div>Occasionally, they slam into each other.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPapucIyRtRlBtKQtGdtxKQpzOq1HCOAxwPu9nU4-xd85fepPNuHF7Kr6eCmzSCRB-wezdp2BXA-uViqfZ6jSzroiJ3wO_hALjDuT52-RPKRpUJAZYyzAZdntC2Cy6kCqZRFTV5S_fWNFq/s1600-h/51881Z7Y7GL__SL500_AA240_.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350611481664969666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPapucIyRtRlBtKQtGdtxKQpzOq1HCOAxwPu9nU4-xd85fepPNuHF7Kr6eCmzSCRB-wezdp2BXA-uViqfZ6jSzroiJ3wO_hALjDuT52-RPKRpUJAZYyzAZdntC2Cy6kCqZRFTV5S_fWNFq/s320/51881Z7Y7GL__SL500_AA240_.jpg" border="0" /></a>Everytime I drive up the St. Joe River from St. Maries, I try to find hints of the old Milwaukee Road roadbed. A couple weeks ago, I came across <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Milwaukee-Road-Idaho-Locations-Expanded/dp/0972335609">this book</a> in the Avery fly fishing shop. It's a guidebook on where to find old Milwaukee Road roadbeds throughout Idaho. Part of this route is now the <a href="http://www.skilookout.com/hiawatha/">Hiawatha bike trail</a>, that many know of as an extremely popular all-purpose recreation trail on the Idaho/Montana border. I've ridden it a few times now, and I was initially amazed by the fact that anyone had the gumption to build a railroad there in the first place. Now, it's amazing to me how something so spectacular could suddenly cease to exist... almost to the point of oblivion. This book was an incredible find to me; it not only describes how and why the railroad was built... but describes how to get to everything that's left. Amazing.<br /><br />Of course, the more I read into the Milwaukee Road... the more I wonder what it was actually like seeing trains carve through the Bitterroots. Today, out of nowhere, I stumbled across this video on YouTube. Some german guy made a computer simulation of a Milwaukee Road train traveling between Avery and St. Paul Pass. It's set to electronic music, of course... those germans just gotta have it. Anyone who's ridden the Hiawatha bike trail will recognize the terrain; I think it's incredibly accurate.</div><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3V09XezaTDY&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3V09XezaTDY&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />And as if that isn't cool enough, he's also made a version showing the Northern Pacific's route over Lookout Pass. I've always wondered whether or not a railroad went over that pass... and if it did, exactly how. Here it is! I think it's especially interesting at 3:28, where it's traveling through Taft, MT (where you get off I-90 to access the Hiawatha Trail). Up in the distance, you can see the Milwaukee Road roadbed veering into the mountains towards St. Paul Pass. Cool.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DGMHeo8qAqA&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DGMHeo8qAqA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Railroad modeling, the St. Joe River, and techno music. Who knew? :) That "german guy" has a <a href="http://www.myspace.com/tume_um">MySpace</a> page, with even more virtual tours of the Milwaukee Road and other stuff.otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-50910515160245479412009-06-22T21:02:00.000-07:002009-06-22T21:14:09.746-07:00Otis G's Guide to Stopped Freeway Traffic<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1sSOhdFOe3SM7V62NHYQIMLnRN2gGMyebmsryEjBpoRm8WSg_MHb4A0aFKssFm-yAc1iLeZNL8ITUpJrGmumw2UUiifM4Nz3VShpYN5wpvneAZpdAFIYgaQOM4UegvoLzs28VVFjMeiO/s1600-h/FreewayTraffic750.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350370753144419538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK1sSOhdFOe3SM7V62NHYQIMLnRN2gGMyebmsryEjBpoRm8WSg_MHb4A0aFKssFm-yAc1iLeZNL8ITUpJrGmumw2UUiifM4Nz3VShpYN5wpvneAZpdAFIYgaQOM4UegvoLzs28VVFjMeiO/s320/FreewayTraffic750.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>No need to memorize; it happens automatically.</div><ol><li>Wonder why semi trucks are driving slowly with their flashers on. Assume that they're confused, and speed around to pass.</li><br /><li>Nearly slam into the stopped vehicle in front of you.</li><br /><li>Watch vehicles scatter to avoid any possible delay. This includes SUV's and trucks scaling on (and off) ramps and cars crossing the median to turn around. Some just pull over in instant defeat.</li><br /><li>Merge into the left lane, because everybody else is.</li><br /><li>Get irritated by the people flying by in the right lane, while wishing you were doing the same thing.</li><br /><li>Get even more irritated at the people who let them in.</li><br /><li>Let someone in from the right lane.</li><br /><li>Realize there really was no reason to get in the left lane.</li><br /><li>Watch emergency vehicles speed down the shoulder, and wish you could do the same thing.</li><br /><li>Feel like the other lane is moving faster, regardless of which lane you're in.</li><br /><li>Consider taking an exit. Decide not to, and then immediately wish you had. Repeat at the next exit.</li><br /><li>Listen to people honking, and wonder what they possibly hope to accomplish in doing so.</li><br /><li>Get extremely agitated when you realize the accident is on the other side of the freeway, and the only reason your side is backed up is from people gawking.</li><br /><li>Gawk.</li><br /><li>Speed away.</li></ol>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-91098463811185478552009-06-03T12:30:00.000-07:002009-06-03T15:27:02.222-07:00Craving Chaos, In Search of SilenceThe radio in my beater commuter car sucks.<br /><br />I'll be cruising down the highway, singing along with a song, when wham!... it goes dead like it was thrown in a bathtub. It's always temporary, sometimes it comes back on later that day... sometimes it takes a couple days.<br /><br />I live in Post Falls, my kids go to school in Spirit Lake, and I work in the Spokane Valley. Four times a month I pickup/drop off my kids in Spirit Lake, which ends up being about an hour and a half commute each time. That doesn't include any additional trips to attend baseball games, dance recitals, and everything else parents want to be a part of.<br /><br />As a result, I do a lot of driving. When my radio first started crapping out, it drove me insane to drive in silence. It felt very disconcerting. Over time, however, I realized what was starting to happen: I was forced to think about things. Sometimes, I'd even find myself talking out loud... as if I was discussing the things I was thinking about, with the person whom it was regarding.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Every time</span> I caught myself doing it, I immediately stopped. In our society, when we think of people talking to themselves, we instantly view them as crazy. I'm fairly confident that I'm not crazy, and even if I am... I don't care. It was highly therapeutic, and helped me work out a lot of stress that I was going through. We all know that writing thoughts down can help get it out of our head... so why wouldn't saying it out loud have the same effect?<br /><br />It did for me.<br /><br />All of this brings me to a thought on basic human <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">behavior: </span>Everyday, we are surrounded by chaos. Hectic work places. Busy schedules. Negative news. And... we all hate it. About the only thing that gets us through is the idea that someday, somehow, we'll find a way to "get away from it all". Spend an afternoon at the ocean, hike to a secluded mountain lake, or hang out in the backyard for a lazy weekend.<br /><br />So... if peace and quiet is what we're longing for... then why do we surround ourselves with chaos? We even do it when we have the occasional opportunity for peace. Many people leave their TV on all the time, for the noise. We crank the music in our cars, to keep our brains occupied. We schedule out every spare second of our lives.<br /><br />Why? To keep from actually thinking about, or dealing with anything?<br /><br />We surround ourselves in chaos, while searching for silence.<br /><br />Now, I find myself enjoying my peaceful commutes. I've also found that with the radio off, I'm more apt to have conversations with whoever is in the car. Something else people tend to try and avoid.<br /><br />And yeah, okay... I'll admit it. I still wish I had a car radio that works. :)otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-11701522691434895942009-06-01T16:45:00.001-07:002009-06-01T16:58:35.992-07:00Who Needs the Month of May?I just realized I didn't post a single thing in May. Oops. I've got a lot of stuff coming up, bear with me... including some new tunes from the latest <a href="http://myspace.com/40ouncej">40 ounce J</a> lineup. Wait till you hear Mavis sing our punk rock version of the song "Angel of the Morning"...otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-26324542214111451872009-04-30T09:11:00.001-07:002009-04-30T09:50:42.639-07:00Gotta Love FacebookI got a new friend request today, with the attached message:<br /><br />"Hey you! This is (so-and-so)! Remember me? We went to high school together. We were friends... I think."<br /><br />I confirmed the request, of course. I'm excited to reminisce about all the old memories...<br /><br />If we have any.otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-91979642346238600652009-04-08T12:50:00.001-07:002009-04-08T13:35:52.120-07:00She Wore a Pearl Necklace<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQ8D0s1r8fClhqLNQd5reHDGj39ia1-bmmaK_mO3i5y66MqX3vK-sek0Zn7WGtwu4VTv7N5niJatchHS-UJB94qKVRzlmP42iygs8j3qxjbskhxXfgnUXX0raYngTiPyiuuiu_8LCdxwu/s1600-h/ScannedImage-2_(2).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322410640764015810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 59px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 323px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQ8D0s1r8fClhqLNQd5reHDGj39ia1-bmmaK_mO3i5y66MqX3vK-sek0Zn7WGtwu4VTv7N5niJatchHS-UJB94qKVRzlmP42iygs8j3qxjbskhxXfgnUXX0raYngTiPyiuuiu_8LCdxwu/s320/ScannedImage-2_(2).jpg" border="0" /></a> Following my <a href="http://otisgexperience.blogspot.com/2009/03/just-call-me-teach.html">recent teaching experience</a>, I still have one part of the ordeal stuck in my head:<br /><br />When did kids become so rotten?<br /><br />I was assured that the class I taught is a "fun" class, so kids aren't always on their best behavior. Still, I don't remember kids being that obnoxious in school... even in "fun" classes. I'm stopping short of saying "When <strong>I</strong> was your age..."<br /><br />Then we take it back a few MORE years... let's say... to 1962!<br /><br />I was perusing my Dad's high school yearbook the other day, and got a few laughs out of it. It was a time when picture day was a big deal, and every girl is wearing a dark dress with a pearl necklace. Every guy is wearing a coat and tie. What a bunch of squares! These people still knew how to shake things up, though. Check out the antics of 'ol Patrica Ann:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322418979536837314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 192px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YwTdtSKFleJOZoz72IEgoLgyvlo8pbtyby9vB2WyINbHMsjviEZ7j2eo_XuEr4wW0uiQRc5ocCEroiP4hSmFt_9dfHgQLEGQgL1S7iR3Bo-xSt7a2kNHZdwdE5QrLMF234-zrGzXQlSm/s400/ScannedImage_(4).jpg" border="0" /><br />Yeah, you definitely wouldn't see the student's home address in the yearbook nowadays. And who can forget good 'ol Fred:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322414443564224882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHsv15jEhBZZ-U-BAVrbpWcWVEiCLchI3yQf99916yJeexMGvZMX4E4RQzZ_f8f3BGhNKxfJd9kcP8r-Jc4uJqLIYD9Dj8NMljN_KDWbugXBRsbOupw3wko_VUU6p63u7TWNjU3EF-MKI/s400/ScannedImage-2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />And what did these people do for a swingin' good time, you might ask? Well, I think Dianne had a great pastime:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322415692890506418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 206px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskW2omY_dut-6M7gC5lwqvTiS2cFbI4fq4vqm3f29vvIDzK5YVJGcGWddLUa_RWY2rFc25uqgaE-EeMWWR0HOLK5o6PuN25FSqpPLa2JsLzRSM_xLLEyNihWEsjGZwyNuDpdlQ2v2WPe5/s400/ScannedImage_(3).jpg" border="0" />This guy had a promising yearbook caption:<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322416202828808338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 206px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmnMjjvFlcrdBwmjMYT8PXiGxLPtJmVB79NrQLv32sN0i44FNLKLJDauaieXZJGR_wogCujvoHI-uc_0lmxykvcPhb2NN_t1nLl0UPcASDwslBPn1CB707SV-zj63KHqjiSPLZuvLCvOT/s400/ScannedImage-2_(3).jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p>Golly! I hope he turned out all right. And the man who planted the seed for this post:</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322417135595191618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 166px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6z0-LHeinPXM9K69XhOxAyky-fElQpT2zOYr5xfkIn7UDcRNBCX_blBZlpD4_XB9XVATU72tz_HCBXDRHkYYSjXasPFq0UQgOPGelOIVtFeUwhuV24lt0K0h2rfyML91mQq8-sNuiiRF7/s400/ScannedImage.jpg" border="0" />What a strapping young fellow. We better throw in my Momma for good measure (from an entirely different geographic location):<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322421823102438514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 191px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvPpb_PIn85lPSxCkEI6jZgTwBJ2lV_jwqfDlRPsMnwNA7SF1iqmuKfFr3ebfyKioTJKk-9b9HwuMHU22xUfryR4TvN88mLOtr7U9gBIY6SGL_J5m3_Il20KdJexIVfyYZSw9YFHRY-wY/s400/ScannedImage_(2).jpg" border="0" /><br />Her outfit is a little spicy compared to the chicks at my Dad's school. It's no wonder he held out for her.<br /><br />Ah... yes. The glory days of 1962. And to top it all off, school violence was unheard of.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322419434027349842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 294px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyfe8e9cJdmWRNXlVVEyLn_zcyZXqZtGov9b2Vr951FCWEpeESx2DaHegY9lUC5vpfVTerjwsVXWUZ-eQmDhNo6acAe_JRqGRjYT51FzakKR1TprAN1st8ApN0Ludk6VHsmxt6TS3mEqr/s400/ScannedImage-5.jpg" border="0" /><br />Oops. Never mind.</div>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-40407020252638076692009-04-07T12:25:00.000-07:002009-04-07T16:45:34.217-07:00Living Green Isn't Just For Hippies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLN3ohwdB4fThyphenhyphenb5w3sSKrb9pFjZh2rW5-xNgPwvIOoUUT14AC3G_8HPxXp2C9Es7R36gMSiDlSAgjue9xJrechHtvN4pUV-sPvWBQmN2xxVAdTBOkFjhPt8bhwFGnYGMUSSGELLUTqNl/s1600-h/040709_12202.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322037132082525954" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLN3ohwdB4fThyphenhyphenb5w3sSKrb9pFjZh2rW5-xNgPwvIOoUUT14AC3G_8HPxXp2C9Es7R36gMSiDlSAgjue9xJrechHtvN4pUV-sPvWBQmN2xxVAdTBOkFjhPt8bhwFGnYGMUSSGELLUTqNl/s200/040709_12202.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://otisgexperience.blogspot.com/2008/08/ode-to-senorita-makita.html">O'Malley</a> never ceases to amaze me.<br /><br />He's the epitome of what we term Green. And I don't mean he just recycles cans. He lives his life, everyday, wondering what else he can do to protect the environment. I jokingly call him a "hippy" (which he doesn't appreciate very much, I just think it's fun), but he says living Green really has nothing to do with being a hippy. A few months ago, he took it to a new level... and decided to start a new Green business.<br /><br />It's a franchise called <a href="http://www.cleanairlawncare.com/">Clean Air Lawncare</a>, with humble beginnings in Fort Collins, Colorado. Apparently, someone over there decided that gas-powered lawnmowers are a major source of pollution (and noise). They started a new lawn service, using electric mowers and organic <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-s16CAwz19TTbcfvftA4T19ZIhWEZmbxhjAcWt7EcchpVriAHP7Sc4zetBTnNtShgeG-1GhkshteTbQoS4NWj1XivmhkhcypcJ3s7BsrXpRmNz3JwuGtA0E_zX5oqPWSwgPrh5cVmQHXG/s1600-h/040709_12211.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322045108426583122" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-s16CAwz19TTbcfvftA4T19ZIhWEZmbxhjAcWt7EcchpVriAHP7Sc4zetBTnNtShgeG-1GhkshteTbQoS4NWj1XivmhkhcypcJ3s7BsrXpRmNz3JwuGtA0E_zX5oqPWSwgPrh5cVmQHXG/s200/040709_12211.jpg" border="0" /></a>fertilizers. The thing took off, and now there are several franchises around the country. O'Malley realized noone had laid claim to the Spokane area yet, and decided to jump onboard. He made a business plan, went to Colorado for training, and a couple weeks ago picked up his first company rig out of Portland. I saw it for the first time today, and immediately noticed the solar panels mounted on the roof. They serve as chargers for the mowers, so the environmental impact is practically zero. Very cool. And... the idea of not having to listen to noisy lawnmowers is quite appealing, too.<br /><br />I wish him the best, although if the thing takes off... I'll possibly lose my best cubicle friend. But then again, when you have a desk job... mowing lawns sounds pretty good sometimes. I guess I better stop calling him a hippy. :)<br /><br />He did get me back recently, and found this photo somewhere:<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322044887156877826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKUS9tdmeGxGU6njEwxMdubC_dgL3JM-fNhzWOgCLKDYcunGOVPbUQisgM-TIZ0jX0n7zVHWB1qEtvTXF-i_-idzbE8Uv6GgpVV0Qmp1adjHjN4za31TYUrBHLmM1TkKPytN4ji9n2bDT/s400/040709_13061.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>Strange... you'd think I'd remember being at Woodstock. But then again, I don't know if many do. :) </p><p>If you think this all sounds good, and live in the Spokane area, shoot O'Malley an email at <a href="mailto:tavis@cleanairlawncare.com">tavis@cleanairlawncare.com</a>. </p>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1571764827327365615.post-50842780709523227872009-04-02T12:30:00.000-07:002009-04-02T14:15:02.478-07:00It's Just Not Right.While I'm waking up to 3 inches of new snow (during our alleged "Spring Break"), Mavis sends me a picture of herself on the Brooklyn Bridge in New York this morning:<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320204479740357330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAWowoPiok9TEl5UvmICRCgtGuro7dpDMXAfmcUVpdIzoCc38pSXLKOQApmdoPA3yww-wRpDjcaT18cLhLmQmVOF3xfgj105MXJ87cG0GEa-0vWcIsd5wjmdZaEehPjjUj7LtwrtX9q6p/s400/IMG00424.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>The dude behind her in a t-shirt just adds insult to injury. :)</p>otisgexperiencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16804580017271102680noreply@blogger.com0