March 19, 2013
Occasionally I get emails from alert readers and friends who (reasonably) think that something ridiculous or obscene or disgusting fits right in my blog wheelhouse. I have no idea where they get this idea. So mostly I simply ignore these “helpful” suggestions.
But today, Jon, friend, beloved bike builder, and all around good guy, sent me two pics from a bathroom in St. George that I could not leave alone.
First, the scene:
Okay, no big deal. Just a regular bathroom. But let’s zoom in a bit. What’s that on top of the soap dispenser?
Why, that’s gum.
And that’s a thing that makes you go Hmmm. Because
- the gum is chewed.
- there is a trash can nearby, but the gum was instead carefully placed on top of the soap dispenser.
- if the gum is chewed, and not thrown away, does that indicate the chewer needed the space in his or her mouth for something else?
- after consuming the “something else” (in the bathroom!?) was the chewer planning on retrieving and chewing the gum again?
- this is a bathroom. most things, including solids, give off some form of airborne particulate matter.
Jon, thanks for sharing. These things are too much to carry alone, and we are with you.
May 1, 2012
Bringing a Smile to Utah
National Smile Month is coming to Utah, as West Family Dental will be holding a special event to back the international campaign.
To show their support, the team from West Family Dental in Murray Utah, will be holding a ‘Best Smile in Utah’ contest from May 1 through May 30, 2012 that aims to put the smile into National Smile Month. By holding the contest on their facebook page, the team hope to raise awareness of how important oral health is. The grand prize is up to $4000 worth of free dental procedure(s) for the winner’s friend, family member, or themselves, plus a $250 gift card.
Dr West from West Family Dental said: “National Smile Month is an excellent opportunity to bring an element of fun to a serious issue.
“Good oral health is vital for a healthy smile as well as a healthy body, and we’ll be spreading that message at our facebook page via the contest.”
The Foundation’s Chief Executive Dr Nigel Carter said: “I’m delighted that West Family Dental has joined the many schools, colleges, health professionals and other dental practices in engaging with National Smile Month. It is a great reflection of local community spirit and an excellent way to promote good oral health.
“Taking place from May 1 to May 30, the campaign is an ideal opportunity to learn about oral health in a fun and positive way.
“By making an event as fun and imaginative as possible, we hope it will inspire more people to join in the fun than ever before while delivering the Foundation’s three key messages for good oral health of brush for two minutes twice a day with a fluoride toothpaste, cut down on how often you have sugary foods and drinks and visit the dentist regularly – as often as they recommend.”
January 23, 2012
My company just relocated from some pretty low grade class B office space to some pretty awesome Class A office space that I can see from my house. Almost. (It’s right behind Russia.)
The break room is sweet, with a giant electronic key card honor snack/drink area, the lobby is full of cool glass sculptures, and I’m ten minutes from Corner Canyon.
But let’s cut to the chase. It’s all about the bathrooms.
Yup, that’s soothing art on the wall.
No touchy water fountains and paper towel dispensers, no touchy flushers. Nice.
Oh. And we’re a Leed Certified (Eco SUPER Friendly–hybrid cars get front row parking) building. So, no water in the urinals (that we don’t put there ourselves).
I guess this is nice. Here’s my problem–that pee turf matt is crooked. I’m going to need some Leed Certified tongs to straighten it.
January 6, 2012
According to most reports, the Wasatch is off to the fourth worst (worst being driest) starts to Winter in, like, forever. Since people who cared started keeping track, anyway. And it’s the worst in over 35 years.
I stole this from a Backcountry.com Facebook post:
This winter of my discontent has not helped alleviate the year of the Great Suck, nor has it diminished my ennui.
However, THIS has helped:
The snow may not be deep, but it’s kind of like Utah lake–8 feet isn’t deep, but it’ll float your boat.
It’s deep enough for this:
In short, we’re getting by.
We’ve missed you Ian:
Maddy, it may be deep enough to ski, but if you’ve gotta sit one out, this is the one to do it.
September 14, 2011
Apparently, I now smell like your refrigerator:
Also, it’s decidedly NOT invisible.
One other thing. I spent a few minutes today getting up to speed on upcoming movies, checking out the trailers on Rotten Tomatoes, reading IMDB, that sort of thing.
The latest from Lars von Trier and Kirsten Dunst, Melancholia, had a really effusive user comment that was also really really stupid.
So, here you go, today’s stupid user movie review of the day:
The only reason why I give this movie a 9 and not the perfect 10, is the signature Lars Von Trier’s always moving camera. At times, I thought I’d really like him to use a tripod and stop making ugly pans, because I nearly got dizzy :)
[sic. that is, her smiley face, not mine. also, i don't know that she's a she, but i suspect it.]
Really? You’re upset because you “nearly” got dizzy? You didn’t get nauseous. You didn’t faint and fall down. You didn’t get a headache.
You “nearly” got dizzy.
Yes, and I nearly lost weight this week because I nearly didn’t eat the entire package of Double Stuff Oreos.
June 8, 2011
The other day I wandered into the breakroom/kitchen to heat up my cup o noodles, and noticed a guy pounding on the vending machine. Apparently the previous customer had tried to buy some peanut M&Ms, only to have the package hang up in the curly dropper mechanism, and this guy was expending considerable energy trying to get a free bag of M&Ms. The bag was just hanging there, by a thread, and could only be saved by the elders of Israel.
Anyway, getting free M&Ms from a vending machine is, of course, is a very worthy cause. So I helped. We went so far as to do the “one, two, THREE!” tilt of the machine toward us to try to wiggle the M&Ms free. I’m sure we would have made a captivating entry in the Darwin Awards for 2011. Just our limbs poking out from under a giant metal vending machine.
But no luck, and no M&Ms. So I said “hey, I’ve got a spare single in my pocket, let’s see if I buy a pack, the other pack drops. I’ll split it with you.”
I put in my dollar, and the hanging-by-a-thread M&Ms fell, but the next pack just assumed the hanging-by-a-thread position. Denied.
But my partner in crime whipped out a heretofore hidden dollar of his own.
And then he put both packs of M&Ms in his pocket and walked out. Without a glance, without a word.
Seriously? Is there not a shred of honor among thieves?
I guess the question is, am I different with different people, or am I the same, and the people are different with me?
For example, when I first started talking to Steve W about going into the backcountry with me, all I had to do was show him one picture of Bonkers with a foot of fresh, and he was in for anything and everything I would take him on. I’ve never heard Steve say “is it safe?” Rather, he says “How much did they get and when are we going?”
On the other hand, Burke, whom I got out a couple weeks ago for a foot of fresh in Days Draw (without Steve W, coincidentally, maybe even ironically), is 1 for 3. That is, the first time I asked him to come, he clearly wanted to go very much, but just didn’t trust me to keep him on top of the snow, rather than under it. After he saw the pictures, he vowed to never say no again. And so, he got his foot of fresh from time number two in Days.
But last night, when I told him we were headed up to take advantage of a late Spring snow storm that had dropped 12 inches and counting up Little Cottonwood Canyon, he spent the next hour on the avalanche website learning about the many ways to die in the backcountry. And thus, he’s 1 for 3.
Speaking of which. Here’s a terrible video from this morning. Until my 16 gig memory card arrives, I’ve been carrying the Flip for the climb and using the Contour on the goggles for the descent. But when we topped out on Flagstaff today, I discovered, or rather failed to discover, a missing goggle mount. So I tried filming with the Flip in hand. The results of which validate Cisco’s decision to discontinue the Flip.
April 5, 2011
Like Chaucer said, April is the time for pilgrimages. Around here we call it peak bagging.
I’m no mountaineer. I just like to hike peaks and ski them. Eventually, I want to ski all the peaks I can see (or imagine) from my house.
Saturday was going to be East Ridge of Timp day for me, Steve, and Rob, but Jared did a Timp Traverse Friday, and saw myriad giant crown lines all of the same aspect we wanted to ski. So we let some air out of our tires, and hiked the Pfeiferhorn from Alpine instead.
We spent the morning hoping the sun would come out, because the 40 plus degrees of the southwest face is less appetizing when it’s bulletproof. Nothing compared to the Northwest couloir of the Pfeif, which has a mandatory rappel in the middle of it, but for the likes of us (me), it’s plenty spicy.
This is a picture post. Because the views are one of the main reasons we go up there.
Just have to comment here. Don’t those look like the perfect big peak corn skis? Yeah, I like carrying them.
It’s a big mountain, and the scale of it isn’t really apparent until you’re on it. So big that we were like little rollerballs on the face.
And, if you’ve gotten this far, you might as well go all the way with a little video. I wish the battery had lasted to the survival skiing down to the car. That was way sketchier than the top.
March 2, 2011
I have two things to relate about my favorite ski company today.
First . . .
Oh, yeah. My favorite ski company is Black Diamond. They rock. How’s that for a technical review? “Brah, they rawwk! So steezy!”
I have taken items to Black Diamond’s warranty shop about 5 times in the last 4 years. Each time, they have simply looked at the item in question, and fixed or replaced it. On the spot. I heart Black Diamond.
But that’s the less interesting thing I want to say about Black Diamond.
I got a call today from the director of r n d at black diamond. He was travelling, stuck in an airport, and preparing a presentation. He did a Google image search for Black Diamond logos and images, and right there in the middle of a page full of ski and climbing pics, logos and stickers, was a picture of a toilet.
Kind of out of place.
Senor director said “I didn’t wonder for a second why there was an image of a toilet in the sea of BD logos and pictures. I knew immediately—that must be dug.”
Sure enough, on one of my many visits to the Black Diamond shop, I took a picture of their toilet.
Turns out, if you do an image search of other fine establishments I’ve frequented, similar things happen. Try Salt Lake Bike Company, for example.
I’m so proud.
February 28, 2011
I feel a little bit like Steve Martin in LA Story the way I’ve become obsessed with billboards. Although I haven’t started talking to them.
Wait, actually, I DO talk to them now. They just don’t talk back. Yet.
This one bugs me enough that I yell at it every time I see it.
Maybe I’m picking at nits, but when something says they give me information in Real Time, I expect it to be live. As in, real time.
So it says “ER wait times in REAL TIME, updated every five minutes.”
That’s not real time. Real time is something else. Not updated every five minutes. That would be, well, NOT real time.
I need to get back to the library and get me another audio book.
February 25, 2011
I’ve tried to keep my friendship with Elden secret, because, frankly, I don’t want anybody to know I’m friends with him. That’s why, when we were being investigated by the FBI [well, the National Park Service--but it's still the feds, right?] for the egregious crime of Trundling, while he told the investigator that I was one of his best friends (kind of throwing me under the bus, I’d say), I said I knew Elden “pretty well.”
It was for his own good. Since Elden is widely regarded as a genuinely nice guy, and a noted philanthropist.
And I’m not as widely known, and the unfortunate few who do know me, know me more as, well, a misanthrope.
But I do troll Elden’s blog a bit. Lurk, really. Sometimes I read the comments. Usually I read the comments when he writes one of those jokey posts that are obviously, well, jokes. Because that’s when you can expect the crazies.
And I loves me some crazies.
The other day, Elden wrote a funny post about meat filled energy bars. Meat-ergy bars.
Joking about meat is like an invitation to the cast and characters of One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
Or maybe Girl Interrupted. Whatever.
Predictably, the Meat-ergy post attracted attention from humorless Vegans. Usually they come late to the party, because there is a network of humorless Vegans who monitor the Internet for Meat-ergy posts. And then they send in their champion.
This week’s Vegan super hero is Scott Spitz, a 24-year-old [oop--34 years old--suncrestdug regrets the error] vegan who is also:
- an anarchist
- an atheist
- a metal head
- a husband
- a father
So I started thinking very seriously about the very serious things Scott had to say about meat. Etc.
Because Scott is, as I think you’ll agree if you’ll take a close look at his picture, a very serious person. Etc.
Wherein I Give Scott’s Comment Very Serious Consideration
Until I read Scott’s comment, I was pretty sure it was obvious that the Meat-Ergy post was just an absurd joke: a pitch to one of Elden’s sponsors — a VEGAN energy bar company — proposing bars made of various kinds of, well, meat, including suggestions for how thoroughly cooked they should be and what kind of condiments they should use. On the meat. In their meat-ergy bars.
Clearly, that was just wrong. Which Scott wanted all of us to know, in very serious terms. Etc.
And so now, I’m seriously happy to present Scott’s comment. Because I think the whole world needs to know his point of view, that’s why. Because it’s serious. Seriously serious. Etc.
I bet all the animals currently languishing in horrific factory farming conditions think this post is just ridiculously hilarious.
When I read this bombshell, I was astounded. Or flabbergasted.
No, it’s definitely astounded. I still am astounded. How could I not be astounded? I mean, I learned so much. For example:
- I learned that these animals have Internet access. Which leads me to believe that maybe these factory farming conditions aren’t so horrible after all. Or maybe their internet connection is really slow — like it could be some crappy ISDN line attached to an overloaded wireless router, and maybe the router only supports the 802.11a spec. Or maybe they only get internet over a modem. That would be pretty darned horrific.
- I learned that animals are sentient and have the ability to make judgment calls on the quality of humor. Which means they have the leg up on, um, some of us.
- I learned that animals read blogs. Hi, animals.
I’m not offended, but don’t think humor erases the severity of the situation. Here…. http://www.meatvideo.com/
As far as the “I’m not offended” thing goes, here’s the thing. Suppose you just stubbed your toe and you’re dancing around and screaming and your eyes are watering.
Then you say, through the pain, “My toe doesn’t hurt.”
That doesn’t make people suddenly think, “Hey, his toe must not hurt.” Instead, they think, “Hey, this guy thinks we’re too dumb to tell that his toe hurts.”
And then there’s the “severity of the situation” called out in that video. OK, that was in fact pretty gross. No, exceedingly gross. But I think that might be a better argument for more ethical farming, not for veganism.
And I wonder: any time any stranger makes any joke, do you jump on them and tell them why that joke doesn’t save the world? Because — and you may want to sit down for this — jokes don’t usually save the world or otherwise erase the severity of any situation. Almost never. Unless you’re Bill Maher. Which I’m not. Nor is Elden. Wait, come to think of it, I’ve never seen those two together . . .
Anyway. If I were to make a joke about the horrible factory farming conditions of cheerful, sentient vegan marshmallows that wear cute little bowties, it wouldn’t really be very realistic for me to expect you to stop eating those happy little guys, would it?
By the way, I’d think that eating all those happy marshmallows would at least make you smile. You know, like because of osmosis or something. So I have provided a sample image to show what you might look like. For illustrative purposes only. This isn’t a joke, just a comp. We can go a different way if this doesn’t work.
Also, there’s a reason your a fat cyclist.
Why yes, there IS a reason Elden’s a fat cyclist. I’m pretty sure it’s the same reason that Jennifer Aniston continues to make crappy movie after crappy movie.
But you know, there’s a also a reason no vegan runner has qualified for the Olympic marathon trials. Not the Olympics. The trials.
There might even be a reason why you essentially identified and then shamed one of the children you coach in your public blog for eating (cue gasp) ice cream and candy. And I’m sure that you have won that kid over just as thoroughly as you have the rest of us. Really. We’re all on board now. Ice cream and candy bad.
Finally, you should REALLY do some research into the diets that not only avoid cancer but help reverse the promotion of it. This coming from someone whose sister died of triple negative breast cancer.
Really? REALLY? So, you swoop in on someone’s obviously fake joke post about MEAT-ERGY bars, and start talking about cancer? And losing loved ones?
That’s horrible about your sister. But that loss doesn’t make you an expert on diet, or cancer. It clearly doesn’t make you very nice.
And even if you were a recognized expert and not just some stranger offering advice hot on the heels of an otherwise outrageously insulting comment, I’m pretty sure you are currently the very last person any of the rest of us would go to for guidance.
Oh. One last thing. I hate to be the guy to tell you this, but you should know: a long-hair combover still looks like a combover.
February 17, 2011
Can I include here an extended dialog from season six of Seinfeld?
If you’ll indulge me a moment.
JERRY: So lemme get this straight: you find yourself in the kitchen. You see an eclair, in the receptacle. And you think to yourself, “What the @#!*% , I’ll just eat some trash.”
GEORGE: No, no. No, no, no. It was not trash!
JERRY: Was it in the trash?
JERRY: Then it was trash.
GEORGE: It wasn’t down in, it was sort of on top.
JERRY: But it was in the cylinder!
GEORGE: Above the rim.
JERRY: Adjacent to refuse, is refuse.
GEORGE: It was on a magazine! And it still had the doily on.
JERRY: Was it eaten?
GEORGE: One little bite.
JERRY: Well, that’s garbage.
GEORGE: But I know who took the bite. It was her aunt!
JERRY: Well, you, my friend, have crossed the line that divides Man and Bum. You are now a Bum.
Is it trash?
Apparently the expiration date was no hindrance:
The Incident happened on Feb 16. 8 days after the date you see on the label.
Apparently, this cake was in the fridge for a week. Then, one day, it was in the trash. This trash and this fridge:
Forget for a moment that we apparently store our Christmas tree in the corner of the lunch room, all year long.
And focus on the idea that someone saw it in the fridge one day, where propriety prohibits one from eating someone else’s cake.
And the next day, the cake was in trash. Where no such sticky ethical dilemma poses a problem. Kind of like in the Star Chamber, when the one cop stops the other cop from looking through the suspect’s trash can until the trash has been emptied into the garbage truck.
I’ll try to be clearer. The cake was in the fridge, sampled, but not consumed, for a week.
Then someone threw it away.
Then someone else (not the owner) saw it in the trash, and rescued it. And shared it. And THEN shared the origin.
And then threw it away. Again.
Let’s see that cake again:
I’m going to have to side with Jerry on this one. It may be free game. But like Ian Malcom once said (sort of), just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
JERRY: Well, you, my friend, have crossed the line that divides Man and Bum. You are now a Bum.
January 8, 2011
We haven’t seen new snow here in the Wasatch for like a week and a half, so if you want to ski the soft stuff you have to go where people don’t generally go.
I mean, I’m not necessarily hoping for totally untracked, giant open bowls. Soft settled powder in the trees will do fine.
I’ll even take sloppy seconds to Ben and crew when he gets up for a true DAWN PATROL (WOLVERINES!) on a day I can’t get to the trailhead before 7:30.
There’s room for everybody.
And, without further ado, my first Contour HD helmet cam production. Kim gets producer credit because she gave me the Contour for Christmas. Ian gets executive producer credit because he turned me on to Dubstep.
[Yes, I know, it says 2010. I'm sorry. It just happened a week ago, I haven't updated my mind yet.]
January 7, 2011
I think I’ve revealed already how I steal stuff from Holden, right?
Let me go check.
Okay, yes, yes I did. It’s here.
Well, here’s the thing. Sometimes Holden forgets he has stuff. Like, for example, sometimes he gets a Panda Express gift card for Christmas. Because he likes the orange chicken at Panda Express more than pretty much anything in the world.
Except chocolate cinnamon bears and chocolate oranges. But apart from them, he likes Panda Express Orange Chicken the most.
But c’mon. A gift card to a fast food restaurant for a 12 year old is kind of weird. It’s not like he can just run down there. Really, it’s more of a reminder to him of how much we love him because we know what kind of food he loves. It’s like a great Christmas card.
He doesn’t carry the card around. It just sits on his counter, in its holder.
And when you think about it, the holder itself is just as good a reminder of how much we love him as the card. Right?
On a completely different note, I spent some time on Google today looking for a Panda Express near my office.
You know how the the huge middle portions of oceans are largely devoid of life? Or how oceans have humongous dead zones?
Turns out, my office lies smack in the middle of a Panda Express desert. Nuthin around for miles. I’ve got my pick of authentic Vietnamese and Mexican food in walking distance. But fast food Chinese? Nope.
I need it to be near here. It’s not like I can pick up Panda on the way home. That would be awkward.
January 5, 2011
I realize writing up a ski day from Saturday the following Wednesday is a bit lame.
But I also realize that for most of you, you know, since I don’t actually KNOW you, well, you don’t know if I’m actually skiing at all, or if I’m just making this s$%t up.
Anyway. Saturday I hiked and skied. And it was spectacular. In fact, I’m going to call it one of my top five all time ski days, hereafter known as the Reed Benson Tour.
As in, we did all the northeast facing shots (not ALL, but all of the main shots) off of the Reed Benson ridge into Days fork.
We’re enjoying one of the deepest, stable-ist early season snowpacks I’ve ever seen in my decade of touring. Last week we got about 3 feet of snow on top of an already great base.
So, Saturday morning, an entire passel of us met at the Church across from Alta, and headed up to Flagstaff. Passels tend to sort naturally, and this passel was no exception. By the time some of us arrived at the ridge, some others of us had already dropped into Days. Which is as it should be. Because some of us had miles to go before we slept.
From the bottom of Days a portion of the passel went back up and down to the Church, and the rest of us went up to do Main Days, the next shot to the north.
Jamie wore his helmet cam, and posted a video of his Main Days shot to Youtube.
I know, I know, it looks like it’s totally flat. Well, it’s not. You’ll just have to trust me. Helmet cams do funny things to slope angles.
More Main Days:
Oh, except Jon couldn’t stop and went ahead and skied the last pitch to the flats. Jon, hope you enjoyed skinning back up that thing. Ouch.
At the top of Banana Days, we reached the best skiable chutes just as the wasatch powderbird helicopter started dropping groups of skiers on the summit.
Go ahead and ask me, How satisfying was it to drop into Banana Days moments before the heli skiers?
Well, I’ll tell you, I might have joyfully flashed them some hand gestures and said some things I’m not proud of. All of which was drowned out in the helicopter wash. So it’s as if I never did it, right?
But I still meant it. We were in that drainage for an hour, and the entire time, the helicopter was shuttling groups to the top of that ridge. I felt like I was back in Nam.
But enough about me and my flashbacks. Here is Banana Days.
Me, killing time, after I cut the chute and was waiting for Mark to drop:
And Paul, disappearing:
The final skin up to Days Draw was actually really pleasant. Mostly because Paul had forgotten to bring water, so I gave him my full Gatorade bottle and said “okay then, this means you break trail.”
I was only half joking, but Paul is a very serious guy. And he broke trail all the way up. Thus, it was very pleasant.
Jon shot some really sweet video of me dropping into Days Draw.
Okay, I lied, it wasn’t that awesome. But the shot itself was awesome. Here’s the view back at that damned heli, still dropping skiers off on Banana Days:
The view from the top of Days Draw into Cardiff:
Each of the four lines was better than the last. Scads of fresh snow. (What a word, “scads.” It sounds like a word my Mom would use. Well, now I’m my Mom.) No tracks. Four big drops. So, so good.
I’m telling you. If you don’t do this, all I can say is WHY?
December 21, 2010
Today I present offsetting penalties. Sort of.
I’ve done something manly. And I’ve done something UNmanly.
I say they offset. It’s important that they offset so that I don’t have to turn in my penis.
What, you’ve never seen Penny Arcade?
Terrifying, right? But not liking 300 isn’t my sin. I mean, I didn’t particularly like 300, but my point is, that’s not my sin.
Here is my sin:
My friend Jen emailed me yesterday and asked if I still baked cookies on the same baking stone. And duh, of course I do. I’m proud of my baking stone. I’ve had the same one for over a decade. It’s quite seasoned.
And normally, having a baking stone you’ve been using for over a decade to bake delicious cookies would be a qualifying event for turning in your penis.
Except, remember, offsetting penalties?
This morning my snowblower broke down, so I shoveled the entire driveway. With a shovel. It’s like an acre. And then, when I got in the Landcruiser, the battery was dead.
So I pulled the 98 Explorer in next to it, jumped it, drove it to Walmart, bought a new battery, and installed the new battery in the Walmart parking lot. In a snowstorm.
So I’m keeping my penis.
Not that I was putting it up to a vote.
December 6, 2010
While I want my progeny to be independent thinkers, to have strong opinions, to make their own way in the world, I would be lying if I told you I didn’t care if they hated what I love or loved what I hated.
For example, it pains me that none of my kids loves Radiohead. And I am gratified way out of proportion that, when Kim and I took Holden for a mountain bike ride a few months ago in Corner Canyon, Holden delayed us a few minutes because he was searching his room for just the right pair of plaid shorts.
(Note that the shorts do not appear in this picture, but trust me, he’s wearing them.)
So. So how happy does it make me that Holden, who is 12, has been pestering me non-stop to take him backcountry skiing for about 2 years?
Very happy, that’s how happy.
Saturday, the avy conditions were about as safe as they can get, and while there wasn’t any super fluffy pow pow to shred on a raging dawn patrol, there was plenty of soft creamy snow on sheltered north facing stuff.
So out we went.
Yes, we were beeping.
It was warm. And we didn’t bring water. As Holden has reminded me of once or twice:
He found a granola bar in the back he borrowed from Kim. “Thanks Mom!”
Evidence that I was there:
He killed it, especially considering that he was using old skis that were about 35 cm longer than his usual skis, and the snow was a bit on the manky side.
He even worked it in the trees on the exits:
He liked it.
Next up—musical indoctrination. I’ll start by loading his ipod myself for the next BC outing.
October 17, 2010
So. These suckers are real.
I, um, well. That sucks.
But, what really gets me about this headline is not that a goat can kill a man. Oh, I know they can.
What gets me is that the goat is only SUSPECTED of killing the man.
I mean, read the article. The goat gored the man in his leg. The goat then stood over the man for a while. The man later died in the hospital.
I’d say we have enough evidence to convict the goat. We can drop the “alleged.”
Say, this reminds me of something. Someone I know had a similar encounter and only barely escaped a similar fate. Who was it?
Oh yeah. This:
April 24, 2007
Today we interview local cyclist and alleged “ hero,” Rick Sunderlage (not his real name). Last Thursday evening Sunderlage, who lives at Suncrest atop Traverse Ridge, in Draper, UT, stopped in the Corner Canyon area below Lone Peak for a quick mountain bike ride on the way home from work. He planned to climb the new Clarks trail to the Hog Hollow saddle, climb to Jacob’s Ladder, and descend Jacob’s and Ghost Falls down to his vehicle.
Fate had other plans for Sunderlage. A relaxing ride quickly turned into something else—an encounter in a rainstorm with a mythical beast.
Dug—Rick, tell us a little about yourself.
Rick—Well, there’s not much to tell, really. I like to ride bikes.
D—Are you any good?
R—Ask around. I’m kind of a big deal.
D—Ha, ha, okay then. Anyway. Tell us what happened Thursday evening.
R—Sure. So I’m on my way home from work, it’s about 6pm. I’m thinking, I just want to get a quick climb and descent in before dinner, you know, just stretch the legs a bit. I park at the bottom of Clarks, a nice winding, brand new singletrack that climbs from Corner Canyon to the Hog’s Hollow saddle.
D—Are you sure you don’t mean Hog Hollow? I mean, have you actually seen a hog up there? You know that the hogs don’t actually own . . .
D—Yeah, sorry. Anyway. You’re climbing Clarks, in the trees, just enjoying yourself.
R—Right. Just climbing, all alone, no big deal. Suddenly . . .
D—Did you say “suddenly?”
D—Well, seems like you’d have had some warning. Nothing really happens “suddenly.”
R—Seriously, chill. Let me talk.
D—Um. Okay. Sorry. Go ahead. Suddenly, without any warning WHATSOEVER . . .
R—Whatever. Anyway. I see a very large white animal on the trail ahead of me, and I figure it’s a horse, since I’ve spent the last ten minutes dodging nice fresh horse crap all over the trail. But as I get closer, I realize it’s a mountain goat. Now I know you’re going to say, “Mountain goats don’t come down to 5,000 feet, least of all to 5,000 feet a quarter mile from several well-populated neighborhoods.” But don’t you think I was thinking the same thing? Of course I was. I was thinking “No Way, a mountain goat all the way down here? Cool.”
D—That is cool.
R—I just said that.
D—I know, I just wanted to . . .
R—Just let me tell it, okay?
R—No YOU chill.
D—Just tell the story.
R—Shut up. Okay then. So, like I said, mountain goat, right in the trail, like fifteen feet in front of me. It’s huge, and has quite a rack.
R—Dude, grow up.
R—So after we stare at each other for what seems like forever, the goat just turns and walks up the trail. I get back on the bike and start climbing again. About five minutes later, I come around a pretty tight corner, trees all around, and suddenly, and yes, I mean SUDDENLY, I hear very loud snorting and huffing, and something moving very fast. The freaking mountain goat had climbed the trail ahead of me, hidden around a corner, and was ambushing me.
R—Seriously. He’s charging me at a full sprint, head down, huge rack of horns coming right at me. So I jump off the bike and swing it around in front of me and I start yelling like crazy.
D—What did you yell?
D—What did you say when you yelled?
R—Really, just shut up and let me talk.
R—So the goat runs right up to me, and actually runs into my Gary Fisher Rig, which I’m holding between us. I’m thinking I’m dead, that my only hope is the goat gets his horns tangled in my bike and I can get away. But as soon as he hits my bike, he stops, and just stares at me. After I yell some more, he gives me a long stare and then takes off into the scrub oak and I can see him circling around behind me.
D—Like he’s stalking you?
R—Right, he’s following me. I get back on my bike and just keep climbing. And by now, it’s raining like crazy, so I can’t see or hear that well. I feel like I’m being stalked by the damned Chupacabra.
D—Really? The Chupacabra?
R—Yeah. You know, the goat sucker.
D—Oh, I know what the Chupacabra is.
R—Anyway, the Chupacabra is after me. I get to the saddle, and decide, maybe it’s best not to head to Jacobs and Ghost Falls, so I just turn and take a good long look around to see if the goat is still after me, and I head down. I never saw him during the entire descent, but I fully expected him to jump out from around every corner and knock me off my bike and trample me.
D—You know the Chupacabra isn’t real, right?
R—All right, that’s it, we’re done.
October 1, 2010
I haven’t mentioned my dog for a while, and my blog cuteness rating has gone way down.
I don’t think this post is going to help with that though.
Nala has had some, how shall I put it, gastrointestinal issues the last week or so.
In short, diarrhea. I’ve been getting up with her a couple times a night to take her out. Which, since she had been sleeping soundly all night long, has been a pain in my ass.
And maybe hers too I guess. I hadn’t thought of that before. I should think about someone besides myself.
Okay, I’ll try to stay focused here.
Anyway. Kim took Nala to the vet yesterday. She described the problem, they talked about what was going on, discussed diet, all that. At one point, she mentioned that I had put some hamburger drippings on Nala’s food, to make it tastier for her.
And he said “I’ve never understood why people do that. Why would you give dogs all the fatty stuff? Dogs like food in the same way people like food. Don’t give her stuff you wouldn’t eat. Would you eat grease?”
So I’m thinking, you know . . . WHAT? Would I eat grease?! Really?
Well, no, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t eat grease.
But you know what else I wouldn’t eat?
My Own Butthole. Or Another Dog’s Butthole. Or My Own Feces.
Just for starters. There is probably a longer list of things my dog would put it in its mouth that I wouldn’t. Probably.
But I think that’s long enough.
Anybody know a good vet in the Draper area?