Mis-Aligned.

After some delays and a wait for parts, I finished building my Align T-Rex 500. The next step would be to calibrate it, so I had to charge the battery.

The battery is big and heavy and cost $115 plus shipping. The Align battery charger was even more expensive, and the battery connected to it via an adapter. Here are the adapter instructions:

(You might be able to read that by clicking on it, but I'm not sure. I'm using the native Blogspot editor, since my old editor stopped working when Apple upgraded their OS. Apple doesn't really care a lot about backward compatibility.)


Although reading instructions without really having to is kind of girly, I did it. And they didn't make a lot of sense to me. 2.5mm pitch plugs? Thunder Power? - that doesn't appear anywhere. It was all a lot of mumbo jumbo, so I decided to do what I usually do - try it.


There were two plugs on the battery, and they only fit in the three sockets at the end of the adapter. Those are supposed to be Thunder Power sockets but... it was what it was. I started by trying only the 6-pin plug, first in one socket, then the other. Then I tried only the 4-pin plug. None of those attempts worked, so I inserted both plugs in the two sockets on the left of the adapter. That didn't work, either, so I unplugged the 6-pin plug and plugged it into the socket on the right side of the adapter. The wiring from the battery immediately burst into flame, burning a groove though my index finger. I minimized the damage by putting my finger under cold water right away and then again whenever it started to hurt a lot.

 (A few days later.)

Well, that was a bummer. I wrote to Align and asked them to replace the battery and adapter under warranty. They didn't respond, so I wrote again, suggesting they might have liability issues, and the Director of Marketing responded:

First of all I would like to point on in the Instruction manual page 4, illustration 4 at the bottom of the page it shows which type of connectors are to be plugged into the balanced charge adapter. There are Thunder Power or TP connectors, which enable the charging of 2-3 cell packs, and using this same connector with the 6s battery and then placing the second tab into the adjacent battery station for a 6s type pack. The next charge/balance port connection shows 4-5 cell. This is not to be used with 6s batteries. The other ports on the adapter are for JST 2 cell lipo and a 5 cell lipo.

If you have any further questions or would like to order a new connector please call us and we can asist you with the purchase of a new balance connector.

I was like, hello? TP connectors? 6s type pack? JST 2 cell lipo? WTF was he talking about? I didn't know, but it was obvious they didn't want to replace my battery or adapter.

I thought about it. I'd inserted two plugs into two nearly-adjacent sockets on a circuit board, and the wiring burst into flames. My injury was minor, if you don't count the psychological damage. Will I ever again feel comfortable around batteries? And if a woman could sue McDonalds because she spilled hot coffee on herself, winning $640,000, might not a legal remedy be available?

Twice I wrote back, the final time saying that if they didn't agree by Monday to replace the battery, I would sue them. Now, you might think that a company in this instance would rather give me parts that probably cost them $80, rather than having their attorneys go to court to get the suit dismissed, probably minimum $1000. But there is testosterone involved.

I've already ordered a new battery, but I'm really into the idea of suing. Maybe Align will pay for my retirement. I don't know if I'll be able to find a product liability or personal injury attorney willing to take the case on a contingency basis, but I think it will be fun to try.

Any bets on whether I'll hear from Align tomorrow?

Odd Days: Eating fried bees does not make you an adventurous eater

I admit to looking down my nose at individuals I deem to be *un*adventurous eaters. Perhaps I subconsciously associate adventurous eating with a love of adventure in general, even though I probably have more counter examples than examples.

My father would be my prime counter example. He started the science fair in Archbold Ohio and, at his insistance, one of the booths was an exotic foods booth. Each year brave eaters would wander up to the booth to see the current offering -- a new dead bug on a cracker. If the person ate it, the reward was a button or ribbon or something that said he or she had eaten a bee, or a cricket or a cockroach or whatever. If the booth lacked customers, Dad would grab one of his kids (both toddlers) and have the kid demonstrate what adventurous eating looked like. I, myself, have eaten my share of bugs at the Archbold Science Fair.

The important fact to note here, is that as far as I know, my father never ate any of those bugs. Not surprising because I also recall that if my mother placed a dinner on the table that was anything but meat, potatoes and ice cream, my father would turn different shades of green.

Flash forward to today and my own nuclear family. Durf is the most adventurous eater I've ever known. If there's something on a menu he doesn't recognize he'll order it and eat it. Or if there is something horrifyingly familiar but not previously known to be edible, that's even better (snake, kangaroo, bull balls, you name it).

I on the other hand am not an adventurous eater, in spite of my science fair prowess (of which I was quite proud, I must say). Oh I'll try the occasional new thing, but only because I don't want to look like one of those people who won't try new things. But if nobody is looking, I'll continue to eat all of my favorite foods and that's it.

All this by way of saying I tasted mussels for the first time in my life when I was in NY. And damn if I didn't order them again last night, right here in Colorado. Does that make me an adventurer?

Colorado score: +1 (not that mussels are better in CO. the +1 is for trying.)

Home work, Part 2.

Having shown the toilet who's boss, I looked around for new worlds to conquer. And there it was:

We had a garage build a few years ago to house our truck and our boat. It's a nice garage, but there was a problem - no electricity. As anyone with a garage, a boat, a truck, and a Y chromosome knows, power tools, shop vacs, battery chargers, and air pumps will be needed. For years I ran an extension cord out there when any work had to be done, but it was an inelegant (and sometimes illegal) solution. So a few weeks ago I thought, "How expensive could it be to run power out there?"

I had an electrical contractor come out and he estimated $850 - after I had someone dig a trench across the driveway to run the wires. That would probably be another $850, so I gazed lovingly at my extension cord. Then I had a thought - solar! I filled out a form on the web that guaranteed that solar panel installers would soon be knocking at the door and salivating all over themselves in hopes of getting the job. However, no-one responded.

GRRRRR!

I took things into my own hands. I bought a set of solar panels on Amazon for $271, then added an upgraded power inverter and cables for $120. The solar panels were intended to be mounted in a frame that stands on the ground, but I wanted them on the roof of the garage. I had to make some modifications. The panels were heavy, so I decided to take them up to the roof one at a time and do the assembly up there. That was during a week when the temperatures kept going above 100 degrees, so I soon gained added appreciation for the cat, even though our roof was hot steel, not tin. I assembled, clamped, drilled holes, ran wires, built shelves, and finally, voila!

I still have to shorten the wires from the battery to the power inverter and tidy up a little, but it works. I used it for power to vacuum the garage.

Next - a garage door opener.

Odd Days: The world has gone mad

The evidence:

The Texas governor wants to force everyone to pray.
China wants to force everyone not to pray.
San Francisco wants to ban circumcision.
John Fox wants Tim Tebow to start for the Broncos.
Durf has taken a hacksaw to our toilet caddy.
And Congress...where do I start? For a while we thought Congress was synonymous with corrupt do-nothings. Now we know that was way too generous a desccription.

I'm thinking there's a dementia virus out there that's taken hold and we're in the midst of a veritable pandemic.

Don't worry folks, I have a solution.... Just give me a minute. It's on the tip of my tongue. What was I saying?

The toilet from hell.

If there is anything that could get a person blogging again, it's a toilet. After all, we have somewhat of an intimate relationship with them, and when they fail us it can be like a romance gone astray.


Toilets do, of course, fail with some regularity. No doubt everyone has taken the top off a tank now and then to get a toilet to flush or stop it from running. In an age when your telephone is also a computer and we're thinking of sending men to Mars, it's surprising that toilets aren't more reliable.


A few weeks ago the toilet in our master bathroom failed, for some reason. I went to Home Depot to buy the usual parts:

I could have spent $20 for the usual kit and have been done with it for another year, but I was entranced by new technology. Both the water inlet and shutoff device and the flush valve assemblies of this modern design were made by the same company, meant to work together. Instead of a float ball, the inlet device had a bobber around the inlet tube and several adjustment knobs. The flush valve assembly was entirely different. Best of all, you flushed by pressing one of two buttons: one for yellow, the other for brown. Not only would you save water, but flushing with buttons seemed entirely cool. So I eagerly shelled out $50, rushed home, and converted our old toilet into a space age pooper.


It almost worked. It took several adjustments, but eventually the "brown" button did an adequate flush. The "yellow" button, however, did not. As soon as you released that button, flushing would stop. It took a while to work out that the cable from the button was binding somehow. I tried and tried, but I couldn't route it so it wouldn't bind - our tank was just too small. I wrote to the company to ask for help, and they wanted to send a new unit, and they asked that I report after installing it. I guess they'd had other complaints. But by that time I'd decided that pushing buttons was too hard, anyway, so I declined the offer. I went back to Home Depot to get a standard flush valve device.


A few problems appeared immediately. The toilet tank is not only small, but the part where the flush lever goes through it is at a 45 degree angle. Getting the lift rod around the very modern and somewhat larger water inlet apparatus was not easy. Then there is this wooden thing over and around the toilet - shelves to hold TP and whatever. Very handy, but it is screwed to the wall, and it was so close to the toilet that a standard flush lever would not fit. Then there was the issue of the flapper, left over from the high tech device, and which was designed to save water.


I'd purchased a very nice flush lever assembly, but it hit the shelf thing. I went back to HD to get another, but I forgot to account for the 45 degree angle where it mounted. Finally I had the idea to install the nice assembly upside-down, so the lever pointed away from the shelf thing. That required lifting the lever instead of pressing it down to flush, but that was kind of cool. I bent the lift rod so it would fit.


Unfortunately, I soon learned that the flush was not strong enough for "brown". You had to flush twice to get even TP to go down. I figured out that the high tech flapper was the problem. It was attempting to save water. I went back to HD (a 20-minute drive, btw) and bought a standard flapper, but it didn't fit. To install it I'd have to replace the entire flush valve assembly, which would mean I'd have to take off the tank again. I didn't want to do that, so I removed the new flapper to check it out.


There is a valve at the bottom of the flapper that controls the rate at which water leaks out. I messed with that awhile, but without success. Finally I figured out how it works. (How a flapper works... life just keeps getting more complicated.) When the flapper is down, water leaks out from the bottom and it fills with air. When you lift it, air leaks out from a hole in the side, and when the air is gone the flapper goes down and stops the flush. It was going down too fast. I had to slow the rate at which air escapes.


Plugging a hole in plastic underwater poses some challenges. I tried pop rivets and this and that, and eventually used a machine screw, washer, and nut. That seemed to work.


It wasn't long, though, before we realized that the flush still was not strong enough. I discovered that the upside-down flush lever wasn't lifting the flapper high enough. I tried every possible adjustment, but the range of the lever was too limited. By this time I was getting really tired of having my head in the toilet tank. I took the lever off and into our garage, where I modified it on a grinding wheel. I ground the metal that limited the range to 1/4 of its size, and that was perfect! Finally the toilet was fixed!


Then our housecleaner came. She went into the bathroom and pressed down on the lever, but nothing happened. We'd forgotten to tell her to lift rather than press. So she pressed harder. And harder. Then the part I'd ground down broke off completely.


I wasn't having a good day anyway, but toilets are important. I went to Lowe's (30 minutes) instead of HD, and carefully selected a universal lever that would fit on our 45 degree tank. And it did, but it was too long and hit the shelf thingy. There was no way to install it upside-down. That was a final straw. I went out to the garage and got a saw and cut the shelf thing away so that the lever would fit. I don't think Twila noticed that yet, so this is my confession.


At least now, many hours and $75 later, the toilet is working. I've already resolved that if it breaks again, I'm either going to call a plumber or replace it with a new toilet. High-tech.

Odd Days: Durf's not a hypochondriac. Me neither.

Really, I'm not. I have a reasonably high tolerance for pain and I do not run to the doctor when I have a runny nose. However, if I suspect a terminal illness or an imminent catastrophe, I'll be heading out the door in a flash. The tricky part is to be able to identify those illnesses/events. To wit:

1. I woke up one day with a rash on my palm. The next day the redness appeared to be migrating up my arm, following the nerve. And my neck was incredibly sore. I could barely lift my head from a prone position. It was an easy diagnosis: meningitis. I dashed off to the doctor, and as fast as I had diagnosed meningitis, she diagnosed shingles.

2. Last Thursday, I noticed flashes of light in my peripheral vision. At first I swatted at them, thinking I was once again being harassed by insects that swarm around me at night. But the flashes persisted -- that night and again the next. Plus I had a new floater. Uh oh. Diagnosis: Detached retina waiting to happen. Off I went to the doc. Her diagnosis: harmless (operative word) PVD.

Contrast this behavior with Durf's approach to medical care. To wit: We both notice a growth on his leg. I say, "get it checked." He says, "Naw, it's normal." Two weeks later, it's twice the size it was. I say, "Egads, get it checked. It's growing." He says, "No it's not." Two months later it's the size of an orange. I say, "OMG, I can see it growing before my very eyes. Get it checked or it's going to leach all the blood from your brain." So Durf ambles to the doc. He gets his basal cell diagnosis and says, "See, I told you it was nothing."

Colorado score: -1 (Doctor's office is 45 minutes away. I could die before I get there!)

Odd Days: The doctor who lost his patient

In California, I generally loved my doctors. If I didn't, I switched. And for the most part, I felt well cared for. But strange things happened with disturbing frequency. For example, once I went in for an imaging test. I was ushered into the room with the machine and told to undress. And then they forgot about me. Seriously! I won't embarrass myself by telling you how long I stayed in there. Let's just say, I might still be there if I hadn't gotten hungry.

On another occasion a doctor came in and started talking to me about a disorder that I didn't have. Oops, wrong room, I guess.

I believe those things happened because there are too many people in California and too many of them went to the doctor when I did. I know for a fact that the doctors were supposed to keep their appointments to 15 minutes, which makes for a certain amount of haphazardness. And, to be honest, I often felt rushed. You know the feeling...you are about to ask the doctor a question but he has already walked out the door.

Well, that sort of thing doesn't happen in CO. My first eye exam here in this great state took 1.5 hours! I felt as though my eyes were running a marathon. When I see my internist, she comes in, sits down, leans back, crosses her legs and asks to see my list -- but only after asking what adventure I've been on recently. When I cry over a (minor) diagnosis, she doesn't laugh at me, she offers me prozac.

We pay a lot more for health care here, but we get a lot more love.

Colorado score: +1

Odd Days: Twins

I decided to explain why Durf and I both own Subaru Outbacks. I'm explaining it because everyone I know has asked me about it.

Durf and I are rapidly becoming twins. It started slowly, but over the years the morphing into twin-ness has accelerated. Some of you might find that statement pretty hilarious. Even I find it hilarious. On the face of it, the statement is ridiculous, but when I take a close look, I see that it's true.

The latest piece of evidence, of course, would be our identical Subarus. Before that, we both owned Prii. Before that, we both had the same carbon fiber bicycle, the same windbreaker, the same water bottle. The list goes on.

Twenty years from now, we're going to be those two ancient people you see walking down the street. If you don't notice us at first, you'll notice the kids tittering and pointing. Then you'll look. You won't be able tell if the two ancients (that would be D and I) are male or female. However, you will see that they look exactly alike. They are both wearing "I climbed Pikes Peak t-shirts." They'll have on mid-thigh shorts that emphasize their knobby knees and flaps of wrinkled skin. They'll have matching walking sticks (canes, don't you know) and wrap-around sunglasses. And their 20-year-old running shoes will be laced with elastic laces.

All kidding aside, I could offer some well-reasoned explanations for how each of these confluences has come about, but I decided to speak the truth. The truth is that Durf's taste has improved over the years.

Odd Days: The Statistics of Death

A few final (so to speak) words about the Pikes Peak odyssey.

As Durf so artfully described, I deal with my neuroses by obsessing over them. I've already alluded to my detailed investigation into the route up the mountain. I tried to find photos of the scary places to see just how scary they would be. That research produced sweaty feet, as you now know.

Much more reassuring was the research I did on the number and types of accidents that have occurred on the mountain. My research produced a surprisingly short list of 13 accidents in my lifetime.

Upon further reading, I discovered that two of the accidents did *not* result in death. Of the fatal accidents, three were the result of snowboarding and mountain biking misjudgments (euphemistically speaking). And since I'm not a member of the high-testosterone-leap-before-you-think club, I figured I had the number of deaths worth obsessing about down to eight -- a fairly manageable number. I was feeling better by the second.

Then just before we left, I read the story of Inestine Roberts who was found dead of unknown causes in a snowbank on the mountain in 1957. At first I was unsettled by this discovery. But soon I learned that she had gotten into some sort of altercation at the summit. Whew, good to know. She had apparently stomped off the peak in a huff and headed back down the mountain -- in the dark, through the snow. Even more reassuring: that trip was Inestine's 14th. She was 87 years old when she died and had completed her previous trip up the mountain when she was 86. Good lord, if an 86 year old woman could climb that mountain, surely I could too. Statistics were in my favor. Common sense was in my favor. I just had to make sure I didn't get into any fights.

Colorado score: +1 (trail altercations are rare)

My birthday card.

Amen!

Odd Days: Birthday Torture

Today is Durf's birthday, but I'm probably not allowed to tell you that. I love birthdays and celebrating them is one of my favorite things to do in life. But Durf likes to fly under the radar. Could be because he blushes so easily. Or it could be another reason. In some respects he is such a performer. But when it comes to birthdays, he likes to hide out. This is a lesson I have *not* been quick to learn.

Years ago, I had this t-shirt made:


And indeed, I'm wearing it today. The thing is, I'm not allowed to wear it outside -- not even to get the paper!

I have learned that if I plan anything for his birthday, I should let him know in advance -- preferably a year in advance, so he can steel himself. No surprises, that's the rule. I learned that lesson 25 years ago when I told him to get in the car and then drove to the airport. Holy crap, I thought he was going to have a...well, a cow (that's a euphemism).

But in the end we (even Durf) always have fun. And the adventure usually makes for a good story *after* the fact. Durf loves to tell a good story.

Happy birthday, honey. Don't worry, nobody will be reading this but you.

Guest post: Pikes Peak.

I didn't suffer any anxiety prior to the climb. I thought there was a possibility I wouldn't make it, having exercised mostly my butt for a year (except for going up and down the stairs to my office in Tarrytown), but that didn't bother me. Trying was what mattered.

We were somewhat surprised to see three other cars in the parking lot when we arrived at 3:30 AM. Apparently we weren't the only crazies in the area. We threw on our packs and were on our way.

I'd brought a headlamp with 3 LEDs and it was bright, so I was selected to lead. We yelled out "WHOO WHOO!" every couple of minutes to let the bears know we were coming. As you now know, we weren't eaten. That was good.

The first 3 miles of the trail are called "The Ws" because they're steep switchbacks. (A switchback is a turn of more than 90 degrees.) There is general agreement among climbers that The Ws are the most difficult part of the trail, excluding altitude issues. We knew enough to go slowly and not burn ourselves out early, not that we had much choice.

My right hamstring tweaked a couple of times when stepping up on boulders. That freaked me out a little because in my running experience tweaks like that sometimes preceded strains, which would have made it impossible to continue up and very difficult to get back down. I switched to my left leg for high steps and had no further hamstring problems.

There were few respites - level areas to recover a bit. Any that appeared were only a few yards long. The trail just went up and up. It wasn't demoralizing, because we expected it to be tough, but after a while I was wondering if the darn Ws were going to go on forever. I kept hoping to see the trail level out after a switchback, but it was just more grade. Finally, at about the time it was beginning to get light, the trail got easier and wider. The Ws were over.

The next 3 miles, to Barr Camp, are considered the easiest part of the hike, and they were. There were long respites, the grades were less severe, and the trail was wider and smoother. We were in a great mood, chatting, laughing, and enjoying the hike and the scenery. Then we arrived at Barr Camp.

We spent about a half hour there, taking care of necessary business and relaxing on what was a very pleasant day. We were somewhat surprised at how many people were at the camp - of course, as Twila mentioned, many of them were part of a Boy Scout troop. The Barr Camp people told Twila that the 3 1/2 hours it took us to get there indicated a brisk pace. YAY! They said that it would probably take us 4 1/2 hours more to reach the peak, which pecked around in my brain. We'd already done The Ws, the hardest part, so why would it take longer to go the rest of the way?

I soon found out. We left the camp and were immediately on "The Hill That Goes On Forever And Ever". There weren't many switchbacks, just up and up and up. It was unrelenting. There were no respites at all. That was when we started playing Tag-and-Go with the Boy Scouts. They were nice kids, but the pleasant solitude we'd experienced on the first half of the hike was permanently gone.

I was still the anointed leader. It was my headlamp that got me that job in the first place, but by then I think it was that I was likely to be the slowest hiker. I definitely wanted the Boy Scouts to pass us, but, as Twila described, they were prohibited from doing so. It was disheartening to be plodding along, struggling, cursing the hill and having ever agreed to do the hike, and hearing the kids laughing and talking right behind us, as comfortable as if they were walking on the beach. Not that I'd want to be 15 again, no way.

We stopped for a break and the kids stopped with us (of course). I decided to eat some M&Ms for energy. As I was gobbling, a blue M&M popped out of my hand and onto the trail, and one of the scouts immediately said, "You left a trace." Somehow I avoided ramming my hiking stick down his throat. The kids then got into a discussion about why dogs can't digest chocolate, though I can't recall the details, and there were certainly no dogs within miles. I calmly explained to the scout that I had not left a trace, because I had not, in fact, left. It was probably his first lesson in advanced philosophy.

Eventually the long hill ended, which meant that there was an occasional respite. But then there was a sign that said we'd only gone 2 miles, and that we still had 4000' feet to climb. It was still a mile to the timber line. Finally I realized why the second half of the hike takes longer. Well, partially realized.

The hike remained difficult. That wasn't going to change, actually, except to get more difficult the higher we got. The problems were grade, altitude, and the trail itself - many times we had to clamber over rock fields.

Twila, as you know, had different demons. She was by far the best physically conditioned in our group, but she'd built herself into a near frenzy of worry about her acrophobia. She'd done extensive research about possibly scary parts of the trail, ostensibly to assure herself that there would be none. That wish wasn't to be realized, so she was probably twice as fearful as she would have been if she had done no research at all. I'm well-trained in how to deal with her acrophobia - don't draw attention to it, keep moving. But even I made a mistake. We had paused in an area where there was simply no place to fall, and I remarked at how beautiful the mountains were. That was not the right thing to say, because between us and those mountains there was a long way down, and she was already freaked out.

There turned out to be many places where the trail was very narrow, the footing was marginal, and the drop off was severe. I kept moving and Twila kept moving behind me. I don't know how she managed to get past a couple of those places, but she did, and I'm proud of her.

It seemed like forever, but eventually we reached the timber line. The signs at those significant markers were anything but encouraging. It was always still too far to go and too many feet to climb. We were in JAM territory - "Just Always Move". We knew that would happen, so we just kept moving.

Our biggest error was that we hadn't restocked our water supply at Barr Camp. We would have had to take water from a stream, but we had iodine. The problem was that we were using CamelBaks, which are water bladders that were in our packs. Because of the design, it wasn't easy to tell how much water we had left. I'd started with 64 oz, and it felt at the camp like I had enough left - which was far from accurate. Twila had started with 40 oz. Before long, as we began to gasp for oxygen, we knew we also had to severely ration our water usage. Fortunately, Kathy had a couple of bottles of water in addition to her CamelBak, and she shared it with us. She'd carried that weight a long way, and her generosity was very welcome. I'm going to be much more careful about water on future hikes.

The sign at the timber line that said 3 miles to go didn't exactly fall on the positive side of the equation. It had been hours since we'd left Barr Camp, and we'd only covered half the distance. But all we could do was JAM, which we did. Well, not the 'A' part. We stopped more frequently to rest and get more oxygen. We were playing leap frog with the scouts and a few other climbers.

The 2-mile sign was welcome, but it took a long time and a lot of work to get there, and it still seemed like a long way to go, especially since there were no trees and we could see how far we still had to climb. I tried to put a positive spin on things: "Think of it this way. When we get to the 1-mile marker, we'll only have 1 mile to go!" Call it oxygen deprivation.

As we were struggling, there were several runners who passed us, running up or down the trail. One of them was a young female doctor from the Air Force Academy who was training for the Pikes Peak Marathon. She had a dog with her, so I was really happy I'd picked up that blue M&M. She was chatty, and we were only too happy to stop and talk. Or stop and anything, I guess. She offered to give us a ride down from the top, but she probably forgot to consider that she'd be there an hour and a half before us.

Finally the 1-mile marker did appear, and that one was encouraging. It was about then that we could see the top of the roof of the building we were hiking to. It was still a long way up, but we almost jumped for joy when we spotted it.

By that time I'd embarked on a new strategy: shorter but more frequent breaks. We'd hike perhaps 40 yards, then stop for 30 seconds. We didn't sit, just leaned against a rock and tried to breathe. That worked remarkably well for a while. It was amazing how much easier the first 10 or 20 yards after a break were. I kept thinking, "This will take a while, but we'll make it." The breaks became less effective the higher we climbed, but... we were closer!

Finally we arrived at "16 Golden Steps", which are steep switchbacks just before the summit. From the descriptions I'd read, I thought they'd be even more difficult than The Ws, but I knew that being so close would be enough motivation to keep us going, no matter what it took. As it turned out, they were nowhere as difficult as I'd feared. I was so happy that we were near the end that I might have floated up them.

It was a great feeling and sense of accomplishment to reach the summit. After some mutual hugging and backslapping and photos, we wandered around to take in the magnificent views.

The summit was like the worst of tourist traps. There were zillions of overweight tourists who had ridden up on the train and then immediately rushed into the building to load up on special doughnuts "that can only be made at 14,000 feet" (we eventually split most of one and it was nothing special). I did my best by wandering around with my pack on, my hiking stick in my hand, and an exhausted look on my face, but no-one paid any attention. PPPBBBBBTTTTT!

I discovered then that I'd left my camera on the mountain, maybe at the blue M&M place, and having to wait 6 hours for a train was a bummer, especially since my well-exercised butt got sore on the hard seats. But we'd climbed Pikes Peak, and I was proud of all of us.

Odd Days: Pikes Peak Pix

The captions tell all:



















The night before, Kathy & Dan look oh-so-relaxed.




















Durf, on the other hand, looks...well...not as relaxed.




















Kathy treating a hot spot somewhere before Barr Camp. Still looking relaxed.




















Dan at the summit, looking tired. Too tired to muster an exhilarated grin.



















Durf comes a little closer. A tired but happy grin. Note that I managed to cut off the part of the sign that says "summit." My brain lacked oxygen, don't you know. BTW, the summit is now at 14,115 feet, but most signs have not yet been updated.



















That's Twila doing her caged animal pose. All of us were happy to be on the train after waiting six hours for four seats.

Note there are no pictures of spectacular vistas. My eyes were glued to the trail for reasons I have explained ad infinitum. But I will post a couple of scenery pix that Kathy took. Soon.

Odd Days: Whooo Hoooooo

On Wednesday the 13th, four people, each battling his or her own demons (fear of altitude, fear of lightning, fear of heights, fear of hiking), climbed to the top of Pikes Peak in a single day with no ill effects to speak of. Yippeeee!

That's not to say it wasn't a challenge, or that we didn't have a bruise here or a sore muscle there. I for one was leaning so far away from the edge of the trail at one point that I banged my shoulder into a rock and now have an interesting groove there. (Hopefully it will scar!) I am soooo grateful that I didn't bounce off the rock and over the edge on the other side of the trail.

Because we started at 3:30 a.m., we didn't run into humans until we reached Barr Camp, which is the halfway point. We inferred that most people split the hike into two days because Barr Camp was heavily populated (maybe 20 people?).

And now an anecdote: A troop of boy scouts left Barr Camp a little before we did. We played leapfrog with them for a while until half of their group started to lag. We went on, but each time we stopped to gulp some extra air, three or four of the boys would catch up to us. We told them to go on ahead but they all exclaimed, "oh no, you are going the perfect pace for us." We thought, wow, these polite energetic 14 year olds want to hike with *us*. How cute. How sweet. So we moved on and they would trail along behind us.

As the air got thinner, we stopped more frequently, arms akimbo, gasping for air. But when the boys ran up, they always seemed dreadfully chatty and not the least bit breathless. And still, they stopped to join us and wait for us to go on. Finally, we noticed that one of the boys was a tad impatient with the length of our rest periods. He would stand up and sort of lean forward, like he wanted us to get a move on. So I said, "Why don't you guys go on ahead, we need to rest a bit more," whereupon another of the boys blurted out, "We're not allowed to pass you."

The jig was up. We were sharing supervision duty and didn't even know it!

Colorado score: +1 (Duh!)

Odd Days: Pikes Peak

I'm squeaking in under the wire on this odd day. Midnight is just around the corner. Happily, all four of us reached the summit and have retuned to our hotel tired but victorious. More to come on the next odd day.

Odd Days: Fear x 4

The four of us who are planning to climb Pikes Peak on Wednesday are each suffering some level of fear or anxiety. It doesn't help that we all spend significant amounts of time on the internet and are inexorably drawn to articles about the climb, one of which is titled, "The 10 most dangerous hikes in Colorado." And so we are each attempting to address our fears as best we can.

One of us is anxious about lightning. So we plan to start at 3:30 a.m., instead of 5:30, to try to beat the afternoon T-storms. Another of us is anxious about the length and steepness of the hike. So we will start at 3:30 a.m. to allow plenty of time. A third is anxious about the altitude. He is considering carrying oxygen, but probably won't. And the fourth is anxious about the scary places. She is contemplating taking drugs and probably will.

At this point, it's hard for me to think about anyone else's fear but my own. Here's how I'm dealing with it. Yesterday, I read as many articles as I could find about the climb. Then I noticed something odd. After reading the first article, I felt pools of water between my toes and flowing onto my flip flops. My feet were sweating! Weird. But in the end it was good because I figured I could test my acclimation by reading more articles and checking to see if my toes produced less water. Sadly, they didn't.

Naturally my mind began to turn to drugs. Could I somehow drug myself into complacency? Enter serax, a drug that purports to combat anxiety and fear. I figure I could pop one just before the sign for the cirque -- the sign that says "1500 foot drop to your left." What if I accidentally go left? I definitely need to be calm when I come to that fork in the trail!

Never having taken serax before, I decided to read up. I was stopped short by the potential side effects: mental confusion and lack of coordination. Wow, two effects that could easily make me veer to the left. Not good.

So the scientist in me decided to do a trial run: take some serax and see what happens. First I'd pop a pill and go for a run to see if I could stay on my feet. Durf suggested I climb a ladder to the roof of the garage. And I figured I'd try a quick game of scrabble to test my mental acuity. (Probably not a good test, given my less than impressive drug-free scrabble skills.)

And the final test: I sat down, closed my eyes and conjured the cirque and its sign. Then I checked my feet. The verdict: damp but not wet.

Hope lives!

Odd Days: Entrapment!

Now how do you like that! Durf entices me back and then bails out. Hmmmmm. Maybe if I make enough outrageous statements, he'll reappear. For now, however, I'm moving on to mountain climbing.

Living in CO as we do, we find it pretty hilarious when people in the east refer to their hills (hardly anything over 4,000 ft) as mountains. Hard to take such hills seriously when our house sits higher than the vast majority of said eastern mountains. In fact, when you go hiking in CO, the *drop-offs* are higher than said mountains. Which brings me to the topic of acrophobia.

I have it.

You saw pictures of our most recent Rocky Mtn hike, which we did partly in prep for our Pikes Peak adventure (coming right up) and partly to entertain (?) visiting friends. There were no pictures of the piles of snow that covered the trail in spots. That's because Durf's attention was fixed on me and my acrophobia at those points. I knew that if we wanted to survive, we had to traverse the piles of snow without slipping down the side of the mountain, and knowing that was making me decidedly short of breath.

So there I was on all fours (yep), crawling over a pile of snow, trying desperately not to look to my right where there was mostly just air. From behind me, I hear my friend comment light-heartedly on my butt, which she said was in her face and not moving forward anywhere near fast enough. The comments didn't affect me at all. I was concentrating. And with each successful inch of progress, I thanked all powers, real and imagined (god? gravity?), for keeping me in the snow and not pitching me over the side.

You might wonder why I torture myself. Well, I've read that you can overcome acrophobia by exposing yourself to high places. So I think of these activities as therapy.

Our assault on Pikes Peak (or its assault on us) is scheduled for Wednesday. Stay tuned.

Colorado score: +1 (we have real mountains)

I just decided...

...to retire from blogging.

Bye.

Who is Bill O'Reilly?

Even though I'm apolitical now, I decided to comment on this, after I stumbled on his comments by accident. It really isn't a political issue, it's just criticizing a media person.

Who is Bill O'Reilly?

I suppose it depends on your political philosophy. If you're right-wing, he's a guru; if you're left-wing, he's a loud-mouthed entertainer. Here are some things (and my comments) he said about the Casey Anthony case, a non-political issue.

"There is no evidence that Caylee Anthony died from an accident. None. It was a theory from the defense team, and when crunch time came they couldn't present a shred of evidence to back up the theory. Yet Jennifer Ford -- and I believe other jurors -- apparently believes there could have been an accident involved. Based on what? Maybe a Martian came down and put duct tape over Caylee's mouth? Juries have to operate on facts, not irresponsible, unproved theories."

[This might be a shock to Bill, but the defense doesn't have to provide proof of a theory. They just need to create doubt. That is our legal system.]

"If alleged murderers can get acquitted based on theoretical fantasies, then our entire justice system has collapsed. It's that simple."

[Displaying yet again complete ignorance of our justice system.]

"Judge Perry gave Ms. Anthony the maximum sentence because I believe he believes she's guilty as hell. I also think the judge did an excellent job in a very frustrating case, as the defense team tried every trick in the book to confuse the jury. Of course, no proceeding is perfect and the judge made some mistakes, but overall Judge Belvin Perry is a patriot."

[He believes he believes? Well, that's impressive. And how does "patriot" belong in this conversation at all?]

Who is Bill O'Reilly? He's a partisan bloviating dipwad with no regard for facts, and it's a sad commentary on the state of our political discourse that he has a job in the media.

Rocky Mountain National Park hike.

Twila was raring to go

Alberta Falls

Just a place

and another

Almost there (the big lake)!

B.B.

Today is an odd day, I know, but, then again, aren't they all? Maybe not, and maybe that's a lot of the problem, but I digress. I'm trying to blog on Twila's day because I've been suffering from the dreaded "Blogger's Block".

When I was in NY and couldn't think of anything interesting to blog, I blogged about NuSTAR. Back in CO and empty-headed, I could always rant about politics - until I became apolitical. Even though I'm on Medicare now, I'm not at the point where I want to talk about my bowel movements, although they have been really excellent lately. People don't steal my passwords and, if they did, I don't have the chips to complain as elegantly as Twila. Now, I know I just have to do *something*, so here is my attempt, a potpourri of random thoughts.

We had some serious rain today, plus thunder and lightning and all that stuff. It's a +1 for Colorado. We're sitting on our back porch now, smelling the air, looking over our yard and our lake… I'd say it's another +1, and our expert would probably agree.

Hmmm…

Well, Twila said that if there is one mosquito in the area, it will bite her. But that is no longer true! (If you eat orange rinds, mosquitos won't bite you. They don't bite me, even if I haven't had an orange rind in a while, and I don't really know why. The alcohol content of my blood? My lightning-fast bug slap? That I'm a sour kraut? Whatever.) Today we were in a mosquito-intense environment and Twila was not bitten! Her theory is that the zinc oxide based sunscreen she was wearing kept them away, and maybe that's true. Unless she encounters a mosquito with a cold, she might be okay from now on.

Oh, yeah, our environment. We have friends from California, one of Twila's classmates from high school in India and her family, who recently bought a pied-à-terre a couple of blocks from us. (I hate saying "pied-à-terre". I don't even know what it means. Isn't there an English word that would do the job?) They are in town at the moment, so last night we had a nice dinner together and today we went on a hike that proved to be more interesting than we'd anticipated.

We went to the Glacier Gorge trailhead in Rocky Mountain National Park, headed for Alberta Falls. It was the same route Twila and I attempted a couple of months ago, when the park was almost empty and snow was 4' or more deep on the trail, and on which we became hopelessly disoriented and never even came close to Alberta Falls. We still don't really know where we actually went. But it is a popular trail, nowhere near as difficult as Round Mountain, and we expected it to be a walk in the park. Twila didn't even wear her regular hiking boots.

It was mostly a walk in the park for a while, as it happened. The trail was almost all uphill, but gently, and it was comfortable walking. There were plenty of people going up, and plenty coming down. Before long we arrived at the falls and it was magnificent, angry water fed by an unusually deep snow pack. We took photos and smiled and were satisfied. And then, somehow, perhaps overcome with confidence, we decided to hike farther, which absolutely no-one else was doing.

It got more interesting right away. It was clear there was a trail beyond the falls, but it was rocky and uninviting. In moments we were beyond the crowd and on our own, heading into the unknown. In retrospect, if the unknown had been known, we would have made a mutual decision to turn around, mostly because of one particularly hairy segment.

It was, really, a great hike. The views were magnificent. (I'll do my even-day job by posting some photos.) But the trail was both poorly-marked and poorly-made, and several times we found ourselves scratching our heads in the wilderness. It was also very uphill. We struggled from vista point to vista point. (Twila and I didn't really struggle, mostly, and I have a facility for recognizing trails, which helped, I think.)

The trail itself was narrow and very rocky. The hardest parts, though, were over snow. There were really slippery places on slopes, snow bridges over raging streams, and then we came to the biggest test of all.

Twila, the strongest person I know, has acrophobia, and walking on a trail that has a steep drop-off on one side will generally freak her out. Today we hit the exacta. We had gone far enough that turning back was uninviting. We were on a steep part of the mountain, with a drop-off on our right that we would have had no chance of surviving if we fell. Twila was eating her fears and moving on. Until the snow.

With the terrifying drop next to us, the trail disappeared, replaced by a 30-yard long slab of icy snow. There were some faint tracks across the snow, but hardly a path. I was in the lead - what to do? I just went on.

It was creepy, even for me. I had to kick my feet into the hard snow to make steps to support myself and those following. Even then, they were tenuous footholds, nothing that would inspire confidence. I kept moving, knowing that drawing attention to our circumstance would totally freeze Twila. Every few steps I glanced back, and she was bravely moving on, staring resolutely at the steps and supporting herself with her bare left hand on the snow. I had an idea what she was going through, but there was nothing I could do. It was all up to her.

She made it. She was shaking when we finally got off that steep snow slope, but she had done it. I was very proud of her. It isn't easy to face and overcome your deepest fears.

After that, we did know one thing - no matter how difficult the trail ahead of us might be, we weren't going back. There were some scary places, but finally we emerged from the "unimproved trail" section and enjoyed the easy hike back to Bear Lake and the park shuttle.

Odd Days: Uh Oh

Trouble finds me wherever I go. That doesn't mean I'm troubled. It just means that if there's only one mosquito in the area, it will bite me. Or if Ford sells only one exploding Pinto, I'll be the one to buy it. And if only one person has their password stolen at Denver International Airport, that person will be none other than yours truly.

I would say that I take normal precautions in all I do. (Unlike Durf, who takes extraordinary precautions in all he does.) But in spite of, or perhaps because of, taking normal precautions during the internet age, I have had innumerable fraudulent charges on various credit cards, leading to hours of PITA conversations with PITA bank people to get the charges removed.

And get this: Within the last five years, I bought a hat at a neighborhood "wigs for cancer survivors" store where they still use credit card slips with carbons. The clerk there stole my credit card number and began charging his online "resume creation service" fees to my credit card (at $1.95 a pop). What an idiot.

I confess I have pooh-poohed the whole idea that someone might capture my passwords as I type them over a public wifi network. Well, the pooh-poohing is behind me. It happened at DIA this last week during my trip to MA. The good news is that nothing really bad happened (so far). The bad news is that the sleaze bucket who stole two of my passwords hijacked my facebook wall. I'm telling you this so that if you see something on my facebook page that indicates I've become a jesus-loving republican, you'll know the world hasn't come to an end after all!

Moniti estis!

Odd Days: Another thing to do before you die

If you haven't yet had an opportunity to become an officiant and marry two people you are extremely fond of, I recommend that you go in search of such a couple and start campaigning for the role. It is an experience you really should have before you shuffle off this mortal coil.

You all know what a ham I am, so you might expect that I would have no jitters before participating in such an event. But in fact, as I stood waiting for the happy couple to stroll down the aisle, the sweat was sliding down my torso in torrents. Consequently, not only did I have to worry that I might say something weird (I feared a sudden onset of a tourette's-like affliction), but I also had to worry about dark and damp stains under my arms and smelly pits. Ok, too much information.

As if that weren't enough, I knew the family rabbi would be in attendance, and would no doubt be tossing virtual tomatoes and flogging me with his stern eyes. What if I blurted out something that violated some esoteric Jewish law. Would he clutch his head, jump to his feet and call a halt to the proceedings? I confided in my own friend, Rabbi R, that I was concerned about having a rabbi in the audience. She told me to give her his name so that she could call him and tell him to behave. I didn't though, because I knew she *would* call him. In the end he behaved far better than my armpits did.

Bottom line: it was a great wedding, with lots of laughter, great conversation, excellent food and... no blunders. Whoooo hooooo.

I know after reading this you will want me to officiate at the weddings of your sons and daughters and grandchildren. However, I'm retiring my certificate. Nobody will mistake me for Brett Favre. I know how to quit while I'm ahead.

Odd Days: Wedding Bells

Today I will be marrying a happy couple in the great state of MA. Last night I spent a good part of the time I should have been sleeping talking to myself. Mostly I was telling myself all the things I should not say at the ceremony (you know, by accident). Unfortunately, those little chats tend to implant the very words you are trying to avoid right into your permanent memory.

Cross your fingers!

What it is.

The weather is beautiful here in Colorado. I took the tree to the recycling place today, that was my big adventure.

Yesterday was our 27th anniversary.

Today is an odd day, but Twila is in Massachusetts, getting ready to be a celebrant. Or officiant, or whatever.

Everything is pretty much suckworthy.

Except the weather.