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June 23, 2005

Camping: Pros and Cons

Reasons why a sensitive gentleman would not like camping:

  1. Physical effort: Canoeing, portaging.
  2. Biting insects.
  3. Limited food selection: no cold beverages (pop, chocolate milk) to have at any time.
  4. The caibo.
  5. Thin sleeping pads.
  6. Breakfasts of coffee, oatmeal, and bannock.
  7. Constant activity: paddling, pitching the tent, cooking, cleaning, filtering the water, hanging the food-pack, lowering the food-pack, breaking camp etc.
  8. Dirty hair and clothes.
  9. No TV, videos, DVD's, or computers.

Reasons why he might:

  1. Aurora Borealis.
  2. A still and quiet lake, mirroring the sky.
  3. Wildlife viewing.
  4. The great unknown, adventure?
  5. Candy and sweets for breakfast and lunch.
  6. No TV, videos, DVD's, or computers.

Posted by Underblog at 6:55 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

June 21, 2005

Cub

Roomie guessed it: The iPod was a great asset in the grocery store when a child screamed. iPods provide a soundtrack for everyday life; if any part of my life needs an improved soundtrack, it is the ritual of going to Cub Foods on University, in the poor people's mall.

I had resisted going to Cub for about a year or so. The lines tend to be long, and I feel bad for holding everyone up as I pack a cart's worth of groceries. Today, I gave in to the inevitability of shopping, and I knew that given our list it would cost a bunch more at Kowalski's. We don't spend less at Cub, but we sure take away a lot more food for the same amount of money. Giant things of strawberries, two large packages of skinless boneless breasts, Bugles, Wheat-Thins, and Triscuits.

The people-watching is better at Cub too. The Kowalski's crowd are always talking on their cell-phones and appear to picking up the things they could not trust the nanny to buy. As I slowed my cart to pick up some soy milk, a man with a pony-tail about my age or a little older grabs one for himself. Then, he goes for the Claussen pickles. Those are the pickles I get! What a coincidence. A dreadlocked man takes in interest in my look; is it the plaid shorts, the blindingly white legs, or the look on my face that says my life has a soundtrack? By the Tropicana Juice section, a pair of young women appear to be having a good time at the grocery store. One is blonde and kinda cute, but she wears too much makeup. The other has a rather severe look: tank top and very short hair.

A downside to Cub (in addition to having to pack your own grocery bags) is that it is just too big: I tried in vain to find the enchilada sauce with the salsas because the liquidy salsa type goods have their own section across from the other Herdez products. I might never had found the stuff had I not averted my gaze from uncomfortable eye contact with another shopper. After criss-crossing the store several times to get everything on the list (and then some), I wait in a short line. Two carts ahead of me is the soy milk and pickles guy. Looking at the women's magazines next to the checkout are the two young women. The man ahead of me has a dozen bags of rice flour. I am thankful for the soundtrack.

Posted by Underblog at 5:30 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

June 16, 2005

Success

After school work yesterday, I ran off to the REI in Roseville (which we do not so much as the one in Bloomington) to score a Noah's Tarp 9. I had considered buying one off eBay, but with the shipping cost, the eBay one cost the same amount. The eBay tarp description mentioned that the tarp did not include tent stakes. It seemed odd to me that the 12' version would and the 9' would not, but oh well. Once I found a NT 9 at the store, I copped a good feel for tent stakes that might be lurking in the bag. If I had really wanted to avoid buying shiny new red anodized tent stakes, I would have had an associate come over and empty the stuff sack for me. Instead, I purchased a set of the crimson flechettes.

I am sure that Roomie thinks that I am seriously insane. However, one can never have too many tent stakes, and it definitely sucks to have one too few.

Posted by Underblog at 8:24 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

June 14, 2005

Thwarted

Roomie and I returned to IKEA for dinner, the lure for me (once again) REI and the list I had made up.

  1. 9 * 9 Kelty Noah's Tarp
  2. Lightweight belt for camping
  3. New tube of tent seam sealer
  4. tent poles?
  5. Sno-Seal
  6. compression straps for the clothes and tarp bags.

The real drawing card was the tarp. I have been agonizing whether to get a smaller tarp ever since we pitched our Noah's Tarp 12 twice in the wind. It seems oversized for the packs of two campers. The smaller size would shave 3/4 of a pound off the packs. After two weeks of thinking over the advantages and disadvantages of the smaller tarp, I had finally decided to take the plunge. To the list above Roomie quickly remembered the Fisher F-9 map which contains inter alia Burntside and Crab lakes.

While I decided on a belt, Roomie went to look at the 1/3 off tees that had caught her eye. I noticed that the tarp / bivy wall had a large blank spot: The 9' tarps were all gone.

I looked at the tarp poles and tent stakes (Roomie so busted me checking them out); deciding against the poles (too heavy for their marginal utility, though I would consider them if I was using the tarp for a sleeping shelter like the ultralight backpacker types do).

Back by the missing tarps, Roomie approached with pink and light green versions of the tee. I offered a most unhelpful opinion: "You already have a shirt in the light green color that you wear a lot, so maybe the pink would add variety." Then I added "But then again, perhaps you wear the green shirt a lot because you really like the color." Roomie placed the green shirt in the basket.

I give the basket to Roomie and move toward the shoe-treatment department by the men's boots. Unfortunately Sno-Seal was nowhere to be found. I picked up a handful of compression straps as I made my way to Customer Service to see if someone had managed to leave a spare tarp in the back room. Indeed the folks at the Roseville store had three, and the distribution center had a bunch. Only I would be denied a tarp tonight. Roomie appears, the basket now containing the pink shirt.

At the register, we find out that the belt does not have a price tag or UPC label. We hold up the line while Roomie goes back over to find a similar belt. Eventually, the high school age appearing clerk puts pur tab on hold and starts helping other folks. After five minutes, I begin to worry about Roomie. I stroll back over toward the belt rack. "None of the other belts have prices either" she says. We walk over together to the belt rack where we find a matching style of belt with the price tag intact, another belt like the one I picked without a price tag, and two price tags on the floor. The tag for the "Tan" belt says $23.00, the other (NV-TL) says $12.50. The first set of numbers are all the same. I bring the unmarked belt, the marked one, and the fallen price tags, and another belt (a different style, just in case mine is the 23 dollar version) to the counter. The clerk sees the mess and confidently claims "This will work." For reasons unknown to me, she charges me the lower price for the tan belt. I like to think that it is because I am a member of the co-op.

We exit once more without buying what we really came for. Except for the frozen custard yogurt.

Posted by Underblog at 8:49 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 6, 2005

Grand Old Day

We usually do not get too excited about Grand Old Day. The day after Roomie and I made an offer on our house, we attended our first. The streets were choked with folks eating corn dogs, popcorn, and corn on a stick. By this time, beer had already been relegated to designated "beer compounds." Nothing like Grand Old Days past, where young men would tote beer kegs in shopping carts offering free beer "vom Faß," no cups allowed. We did see a good band play at the Teenage Battle of the Bands, however. We took this as a good omen for our new neighborhood. Since then, we had been back once for a bratwurst and a stroll.

Grand Old Day takes place close enough to our house that parking becomes tight. One of our neighbors once had the misfortune of having to hose down youth's excess on her driveway: Evidently someone's Grand Old Time included puking in public. Nice.

But this neighbor called yesterday and invited me to see local boy Har Mar Superstar at one of the beer compounds down Grand a bit. She also hinted that if I did want to go and I did bring the scooter, she would appreciate a ride. I had been intrigued by the local near cult status and self-promotion ability of Har Mar, and so I showed up around the corner on the Letta, which was now sporting two new Shinko tires (I had replaced the front earlier in the day). "I really needed to clean myself" she said from the top of the stairs." "Me too, but I didn't bother" I replied. We proceeded down Summit until we saw a large tent from which loud music emanated. This must be the place.

One of the things I like best about scooters is that they are so easy to park. Special events add a premium to this convenience, since even the barricaded streets have a row of motorcycles into which one can insert one's bike. I parked the Letta between two bikes and we strolled over to the tent, purchased our wristbands (making it impossible to look for our peeps on the outside), and saw most of the opening acts act. I imagine they sound better recorded than they do live. Like most parking lots, there was a distinct lack of shade. I could feel my skin burning, which might have been distracting but for the Summit Ale I managed to scrape the five dollars out of singles and coins to pay for. When an occasional cloud blocked the sun for a moment, we breathed a sigh of relief.

As Har Mar took the stage, he pointed to the clouds and told us that the Devil was going to visit. At first, I would feel a rain drop fall but it would evaporate as soon as it landed. But by the second song, evaporation would not keep up with the rain. Then the skies opened up in earnest. The weather did not appear to dampen anyone's enthusiasm, much less ours. Har Mar has made a career of being a charismatic and talented humunculus. But he knows how to the work the crowd. It is a mystery to me why that man objected to his wife / girlfriend making out with him onstage: She seemed game. Dancing in the rain was the latest of the day's series of small firsts.

Once the set ended, I was ready for the rain to stop. I had been thoroughly cooled. Two Harleys now bookended the Letta. One was an old hard tail panhead with a springer front end. Nice. The other was an 883 XR750 replica. Personally, I prefer the Storz conversions, but I applaud the Harley folks playing to the great look of the old XR's. As we were getting ready to pull away, a man crossed the street to say "Nice old bike." As we took off the rain gradually tailed away and the sun returned. A football player type walking with his wife over the Ayd Mill Road overpass gave me the thumbs up. Nice to know it met with his approval.

Posted by Underblog at 5:53 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

June 1, 2005

Camping Made Complicated

This morning, I spent 1½ hours composing an email about canoe camping in the BWCAW. I am hardly an expert, but it surprises me to see how much I learned in the in the trip we made last year.

  1. Good rain gear is worth every penny. It is especially nice to find it on sale.
  2. Tarps really come in handy.
  3. Wool socks are much preferable to cotton.
  4. You can eat about half as much trail mix per day as you think you can.
  5. Chinese snack mix rules.
  6. Keeping the paddle low prevents a good portion of upper body soreness.
  7. Camping in even the worst weather is still one of the best things in the world.
  8. It is entirely worthwhile to try to get your pack weight down to where you can single portage.

I look forward to testing these rules and learning others over the course of the summer.

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