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March 16, 2005
Downhill
Roomie does not care for downhill, so I was on my own yesterday. I think some of the "Green Circle" runs at the Taos Ski Valley would be "Blue Square" runs elsewhere. The mountains at TSV dwarf anything in the state of Minnesota. I managed to fall not once, though I did get a little out of control at times. Just enough to get the adrenalin flowing. By the end of the day, my quads were throbbing. I had hoped to ski until 3, but I made it only until 2:20 or so.
I was surprised by the numbers of old people skiing. Fortunately, most of them were wearing helmets. It may well be that I am simply too careful to be a really good skier, but I really enjoy skiing. Perhaps I need a ski buddy of infinite patience to tutor me. Or a season pass at a ski park nearby. The expense and effort of skiing requires more commitment than I am willing to make now.
In other news, Roomie and I were pleasantly surprised by the accommodations at El Pueblo Lodge in Taos. She remembered it as a kid, and it seemed so contemporary then. In fact, our room had the traditional kiva fireplace and viga-and-latilla ceiling that were common here once, but are too expensive to build now for all but the richest Taoseños (there are plenty, including Donald Rumsfeld, Julia Roberts, and David Hasselhof).
I really enjoy the captive audiences that ski lifts provide. One of the locals with whom I shared a lift gave me the location and name of both a decent place for New Mexican food in Taos (Orlando's) and the internet cafe from which I presently post (Wired). Thanks dude!
Posted by Underblog at 8:58 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
March 14, 2005
Heights
Yesterday, we took the tram to Sandia Peak. The most surprising thing for me was the change in seasons. At the base, it was t-shirt weather. At the peak, I found myself jealous of Roomie, who brought her wool cap along for the ride. My gloves and hat remained at the motel. We hiked a bit on the service road, where a nice old lady on snowshoes guided us to the nature trail above. On the top of the mountain, we met the King of the Mountain. We were impressed. The altitude caught up to us, and we headed back to the tram for the ride back down.
After coming down from the mountain, we took some pictures of rocks and the views from the high country above Albuquerque. En route to Corrales, the town to which that we suspect our friend referred, we got a call from his nephew. He extended an invitation for us to come visit his house and join him in walking his dog. We appreciated the opportunity to stroll around his neighborhood, which (to us) seemed reasonably priced and a decent place to live. We really like Albuquerque.
Now we are off to Taos, where I (and hopefully Roomie) will do a little skiiing. It is a rich person's hobby, but it is a sport in which I too seldom indulge. Let's hear it for indulgences!
Posted by Underblog at 8:37 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
March 12, 2005
The Plane, The Plane!
Our plane was late leaving. The estimated time of departure was ten minutes late when we arrived at the airport. Shortly after we seated ourselves at the gate, we learned that the delay had been extended to 40 minutes. This necessitated a call to the car rental agency.
The 800 number I was given with the reservation was worthless. I was given the rental agency’s 800 number. Alas, they too had nothing to offer me but the number of the local site. These folks (whom I contacted after we had boarded) were reassuring.
In the meantime, we boarded and sat. The realization dawned on me that we were waiting for the passengers from another plane to join us. Once we were in our seats, our third seatmate joined us. She had run from her connecting flight, which was late getting in from Fargo, because it was late boarding. It was late boarding because of weather in the Twin Cities. More late arrivals showed up. I felt sorry for them since all the prime overhead space had been taken up already. Heaven only knows if their luggage followed them.
Posted by Underblog at 9:20 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Taxi
Small towns tend to be overstocked with colorful characters. Dunsmuir is no exception. One of the “customers” (scare-quotes denoting that she never actually purchased anything) with which we had to deal was a paranoid schizophrenic woman that the people in town called “Whoopi.” Whoopi would engage anyone in conversation, though her favored prey were shopkeepers. Shopkeepers cannot leave the premises as a general and simply walk away as can people on the street. Also, the option of raising a voice in anger is seldom available to the shopkeeper. Whoopie would come into the shop, and start up a very normal conversation. The weather, how’s it going, that kind of thing. Then she would notice something in whch her interlocutor was genuinely interested, like clothes or old building. Then she would get progressively more paranoid in her references. Invariably, Whoopi got more paranoid and upset and in the process upset both shopkeeper and any customers that happened to be present.
The cabbie who drove us to the airport tonight reminded me of Whoopi. He looked like a cross between Michael Moore and Dennis Franz. Like Whoopi, the cabbie started off reasonable and inquisitive. He asked what someone with a degree in political science could do with such a degree. He claimed that his self-effacing ignorance was a result of his eighth grade education. By the time he told me that conservative groups were banned from college campuses, I protested. When he got to the part about how the Somalis and the Hmong immigrate here for the welfare benefits (“30 years ago, it was other groups coming up from the South to places like Gary Indiana and Chicago ‘for jobs’. Now they are all on welfare.”) When I mentioned that 75% of welfare payouts go to whites he responded that, on a per capita basis, more blacks than whites are on welfare. This was a debate I was not prepared to have on the way to the airport. It was obvious to me from the conversation itself that the spirit of racism is still alive and well in St. Paul.
I like cabbies, as a general rule. I knew several in San Francisco, and some even in Dunsmuir (these hacks would work like devils for three or four days and then make their dollars last much longer 260 miles north. Truth be told, I prefer the Somali cabbies that work for the airport cab companies to the racists at the local fellows. As much as I like to give my money to a cab company that is right around the corner, I think I will be calling the Somali cab companies from now on.
Posted by Underblog at 9:17 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
March 10, 2005
Heraldry
My parents were fans of the Time-Life series: I remember in particular the "Nature Library" and "This Fabulous Century." Many were the afternoons that I would lie on the floor of the living room or the office of the Palo Alto houses in which I spent my tween and adolescent years, reading some articles but mostly observing the pictures. The pictures drew me in. I wanted to learn everything about everything.
It was books on design that particularly interested me, perhaps since these books were in short supply. When I moved out of the house and built a library of my own, this deficiency was gradually remedied by the spending of hundreds of dollars at the local bookstore on Hayes Street and (occasionally) William Stout Books in North Beach.
One of the few books on design on the shelves in Palo Alto was Moncreiffe and Pottinger's Simple Heraldry. I learned how coats of arms were "differenced" so that siblings could tell each other apart on the battlefield. I think the book resonated with me on both elitist and designy frequencies. I liked the idea that someone was entitled to wear a particular coat of arms that had specific meaning and expressed some (usually insignificant) part of their genealogical history. "I know who I am because I wear a coat of arms that tells me so." I did not inherit the dedicated Royalist gene from my maternal side, or at least it is not expressed in me. For that reason I was never as interested in M&P's Blood Royal. But the idea that people adorn themselves with personal symbols of their identity still appeals to me.
Much later, I discovered that Formula One racers designed their own helmets for basically the same reason coats of arms were used. On the racetrack, drivers move from team to team from time to time, and so the helmet tells the viewer (and posterity) who piloted the automobile. It turns out that motorcycle racers have done the same thing for ages as well. Giacomo Agostini's tricolor helmet (a design still produced by AGV) has become an icon of the Italian motorcycling world, but in my estimation, no helmet tops Renzo Pasolini's sly "Four-Eyes" reference.
As I ask about the color of my parachute, perhaps I should also ask what symbol(s) have particular meaning for me. Something with wheels, no doubt.
Posted by Underblog at 6:48 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
March 5, 2005
Home Away From Home
Warning, while this entry is not about the food we ate, it is about shopping, and thus comes perilously close to achieving the same level of boringness.
We bought the tent, though not the tent that was advertised. Last night, Roomie was too claustrophobic in the Quarter Dome UL, which at 4 lbs. 11 oz. was my choice. Oddly, the two doors and the side entry made her feel more confined than less. Instead, she went straight to the Sub-Alpine UL which ways in at 5 lbs. 1 oz. I am sure it is the right tent for us, because Roomie is usually right about these things. REI Roseville was down to their demo model of the Sub-Alpine, and so we arranged for Bloomington to hold one for us and made a plan to pick it up in the morning.
Over the course of the morning, we debated the virtues of a 3-person tent. Our canoe-camping guru Michael Furtman (known to us as "Mr. Smarty Pants") is a big fan of traveling light, but we get the impression that he and his wife are too cramped in a 2-person tent. It is hard for me to understand how orthodox I have become to his way of camping since I usually take more enjoyment of breaking down boxes than fitting into them. REI Bloomington did not have the 3-person tent I wanted to look at, and Roomie and I did a good job analyzing our needs right there at the store. I suppose if we had been unable to do so after a dozen years of making large purchases together, it would have been very sad indeed. Although a 3 person tent would be roomier for 2 people and a dog, we already had a biggish tent. We wanted a small and light tent—just not as small and light as the QD-UL. We also picked up a lightweight tarp to use as a shelter for the pack and for eating under.
We set up our new tent in the living room so we could see, rather than guess, how much room the dog would have in the tent with us. The short answer is not much. However, Selkie entered the tent as soo as she was bid to, and proceeded to roll around and make her "contented" noises. Only she (in our house anyway) enjoys camping as much as I. The front of the vestibule reminds me of a burkha, with its little oculus under the (fortunately for us, ventilated) brow. It is a snug fit for all three of us, but it is a reasonable size for one person to use and carry by themselves. One of the real treats of the tent assemply was the little collection of tent stakes they give you nowadays. These weigh nothing and they looked as if one could shoot them from a crossbow. Nothing like extruded aluminum to make you want to guy-wire the vestibule out!
More good news arrived as I discovered that I had (to use a Bushism) misunderestimated the weight difference between the Camp Dome 4 and the Sub-Alpine. I thought we would save about 8 lbs.; as it happens we will save closer to 10. If I pass on bringing the 3 D-cell Maglite, I think I can get the Duluth #4 to 35 lbs., or the weight one person can reasonably carry on their back while they portage a 17 1/2 foot We-No-Nah Minnesota II canoe. Maybe I will go into the basement right now and see what we are down to.
Posted by Underblog at 2:33 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack