The other side of the bib

Reed and Andrea are adventure racers. Unlike my puny efforts, they punish themselves with 24 hour and more races that may include running, mountain biking, kayaking, mountaineering, rappelling, and maybe even spelunking.

They had signed up for the Gorge Games this summer to do a 24 hour race, but the volunteer base was very thin. I like to support them when I can, so I signed up to volunteer. A few days later I received my assignment, which was at a 10K off road race. A realization settled in - a fixed race with a start time was not likely to be part of the adventure race! I was disappointed for two reasons - the first and foremost was that I would not see Reed and Andrea on their course. I was really hoping to cheer them on. The second was selfish - had I known there was a 10K trail run in advance - I would have entered!

However, having been on what I'll call "the other side of the bib" (see bottom of the post if explanation is needed) many times, I'm always appreciative and show my support of the volunteers that make a race possible.

I set my face to then be the very best volunteer that had ever helped at a race. I decided that I would take Kadie up to the gorge, knowing she would enjoy the great outdoors. The day dawned with a few sleepy clouds but the forecast was positive. I left before dawn, I'm one of those early rises who has to be early for a race early in the day before my early appointed post time. We drove the gorge and stopped a little park for a while to throw the ball for Kadie and wear her down a bit.

We then headed across the Columbia to White Salmon where the race location was. Even with my dilly-dallying I arrived an hour before the race. My assignment was to stand two blocks away from the start location with an orange flag. The printed directions given to the competitors had been wrong, and the organizers realized that a portion of the races would take the wrong turn and have to be flagged by none other than myself to go around the block and to the start.

I stood at my corner and as the first few cars came by me I gave them the appropriate wave of the flag guiding them down the correct street. I realized that this could then become very boring, for both myself and the drivers. So, I decided to spice things up a bit. As a car approached, I would go into elaborate flag drills, ending up with the flag pointing down the correct street! I contorted myself in various ways - whipping the flag over my head, behind my back, under a raised leg - in multiple permutations with a serious "this is my job" look on my face.

The drivers began to respond to my antics. Although there were a few sourpusses, most of them gave me an enthusiastic wave and smile. A carload of girls of the opposite sex even hooted at me, which only encouraged my direction pointing gymnastic endeavors. Soon, my back was aching and I was beginning to be plagued by a sore torso. Nay, physical hardship would not cause me to cave on my duties. I tried even more poses, getting sillier (and funnier) if I do say so myself. I was pleased when one driver reported to the race director that I was the most enthusiastic volunteer she'd ever seen. I'll say though that Sherry is the ABSOLUTE best athletic supporter, .....ah let me rephrase that - "motivational enthusiast" anyone will ever encounter.

Soon, all the cars had arrived and the race had started. It was an out and back down into a gully. I drove down to the gully to see if my services were still needed. Sure enough, I was placed at the finish to remove the timing chips from racer's shoes. I was intrigued because unlike the usual championchip that you affix to your shoes via the laces:

They had a timing system I had never seen before, it was like a credit card:

Very cool, except for one problem - because the chip card could be attached so firmly to the shoe it was very difficult to remove. The timing vendor gave myself and another volunteer those little blunt scissors they use for grade school projects. The blunt tip would not easily fit between the card and the shoelace, additionally the tiny finger holes on the handle cause my thumb to go numb after removing 3-40 of them from racer's feet. My thumb was actually numb for two days afterward, I feared I had some nerve damage or something but all is fine now.

The race medals were very cool, and every finisher got one. I had another few moments of envy when I saw the medals. But that's OK - I had a good time, Kadie had a good time and I was proud to help. And next year - I'll be racing and thanking some great volunteers!

Number Bib - a rectangular piece of Tyvek material printed with the race number of the individual wearing it. Typically affixed to the shirt with safety pins. I save mine from all the races I do and make comments on the back.

Book Review - Brighton Rock

Graham Greene was a prolific author. I have an anthology that includes 3 of this best known novels, Brighton Rock, The Power and the Glory, and The Heart of the Matter. From the back cover of this edition (QPB, 1991) this short bio is given:

"Greene was an adventurer and world traveler with a thirst for danger, and many of his novels are set in the vaired and distant locales he sought out. In all he wrote 54 books including novels (24 of them), short stories, plays, essays, travel and children's books; and two autobiographies"

Greene is noted for his much publicized conversion to Catholicism, largely due to the influence of his fiancee. I believe this was a significant turning point for his writing, as he became absorbed, and although some may disagree with me I don't hesitate to say obsessed; with moral dilemma and struggles.

Brighton Rock folds neatly into the pocket of moral dilemma. The characters are rich and as always Greene's eye for detail allows great visibility into the drama that unfolds before us. The book has two conundrums with which I struggled. The first is the era. Brighton Rock was copyrighted in 1938. Therefore, much of the language, culture and dialogue is 70 or so years old. Add to that the setting in an English seaside town with the nuances of a foreign culture and a good portion of the reading included attempting to understand the words and setting.

For example, upon embarking on the novel I had assumed that Brighton Rock was the name of the seaside town in which the drama takes place. The town is Brighton, but Brighton Rock as pointed out by the editor is

"..a form of stick candy as characteristic of English seaside resorts as salt water taffy is to Americans. The word "Brighton" appears on both ends of the stick at no matter what point it is broken off."

The story begins at full speed:

"Hale knew they meant to murder him before he had been in Brighton three hours."

Hale was a newspaperman. In that time, in English seaside towns; it was popular for newspapers to have contests. The itinerary and picture of a journalist was published in the paper and the journalist was given a fictitious name, in this case Hale was named by his paper Kolley Kibber. If a person approached the journalist, called him by the fictitious name and was carrying the appropriate newspaper a cash reward was given on the spot.

Hale was the target of a ragtag band of petty thieves out to get the reward money he carried. The leader of the band was a 17 year old nicknamed Pinkie, possibly due to his young age. Greene also refers to him frequently as "The Boy". The gang is involved in other extortion rackets, but the nucleus of the story revolves around the murder of Hale. Pinkie is ruthless and commands men older than him. The murder is carried out, but there are two figures introduced who have great potential to bring Pinkie and his gang down.

The first is Ida. Ida is a blustery, bosomy whirlwind. Her slightly flawed character is buoyed by her cheerful disposition (especially after a few glasses of beer or sherry), love for song and her unflagging optimism. As Hale realizes the plot unfolding around him, he seeks solace in Ida's company, which she readily signs up for. Hale's paranoia and disappearance ignite in her an unflagging, deterministic quest for his justice.

The second is Rose. Rose is young, impressionable and the product of a lower middle class family (like Pinkie) scraping by on a waitressing salary. Rose is party to a clue which could bring Pinkie and the gang down. Although she doesn't realize it, the power of her knowledge causes Pinkie to react in an unusual manner. Although he is sickened at the thought of it, she becomes his girlfriend, and then solely for the reason that a spouse cannot give legal testimony to the other spouse; he marries her. The romance is vacous and one sided. We feel pity for Rose - she is consumed by a love for Pinkie that is not reciprocated. He at times berates her and then comforts her.

Pinkie has a scarred psyche, exacerbated by his experience as an altar boy. At times of uncertaintly or fear, he lapses into reciting latin phrases he had been trained to memorize. His faith though is non-existent, he acknowledges that the only road before him leads to Hell and punishment.

It is on this road that the story traverses. The downward spiral of Pinkie's amoral actions accompanies his treatment, or mistreatment; of Rose. Even to his own ragtag band Pinkie displays cruelness and disdain. Ida plunges recklessy on, determined to find and bring Hale's murderers to justice. Once she gets close to Pinkie, his damaged psyche and the imminence of arrest and trial feed his downward spiral into greater acts of cruelty.

The story's climax is only slightly predictable, and is craftily done to the extent that I was swept up right to the end. I'll not provide a plot spoiler but only leave you with the main characters on a dark cliff in a storm. You'll have to read the book, and I heartily recommend it; to find out the ending!

Dream Diary

Many of my dreams involve water. I suppose that's natural as I love the water, love to swim. If I believed in reincarnation I'd probably be a dolphin.

Anyway, last night's installment had Sherry, Kadie (our beloved dog) and I camping at a lake. Kadie had wandered off and we were frantically looking for her. The lake was huge, and one end was shallow and there about 40 adults and kids swimming in roughly a 5 acre expanse. All of a sudden, people started screaming. A monster had eaten one of the kids, and then disappeared! Everyone got out of the water as quickly as they could. We all looked hard at the lake, and then someone spotted movement on the bottom. Emerging from the mud was an enormous snake, probably 60-75 feet long. It was black with red stripes. It swam from the bottom to the shore, and then attacked a small village on the perimeter of the lake.

It thrashed it's tail and smashed houses and threw cars into the air. We were all petrified in fear. The snake slowly moved to us, and then raised up out of the water and we could see that it was not really a snake but some kind of a lizard. It began very politely talking to people, introducing itself and letting us know it really wasn't that bad. It moved down a line of people and then to me.

The snake/lizard looked at me and I said "wow, you are really strong to knock down a whole village". The thing smiled shyly and said "yeah I suppose I am. Watch this - I'll lift you up!" He then proceeded to grasp me under my armpits and hoist me into the air. He exclaimed "don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you." He then put me down with nary a scratch or bruise.

Then I woke up.

Highway Haiku

Wow! Corvette flies by.
Now a Porsche roars past me.
Wish my truck was fast.

The smell of diesel...
exhausting, just like my day
off ramp - please save me

Old truck, engine roars
Dude! Shift that tranny up now!
Maybe clutch is fried...

What do you get...

..when you cross a backwoods country boy with a Buddhist monk?



A hillbilly that believes in rein-
tarnation!