All I want for Christmas

...is a really hot car. This Christmas, I'm making an exception. Typically, I would always without hestiation take a 1970's era American musclecar over a foreign automobile, even if it was a firecracker of a sports car.

Well, I found a firecracker. And Sherry, I want one. It is a Bugatti Veyron. Say what? Yeah, a Bugatti.

know it sounds stupid, it doesn't have the mystique of Ferrari or Lamborghini. But, it's a pretty fast little car. How fast, you might ask? I might tell you. It goes 252 miles an hour. Yep, that's right - over TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY miles an hour. The tires are specially designed as even normal very high performance tires will melt at that speed. At 735 horsepower it will take your head off, going from 0-62 MPH in 2.5 seconds. Yes, that wasn't a mistype - from a standing start to 62 miles an hour you will spend 2.5 SECONDS.

I really want one bad Sherry. And at $1,700,000 I don't want anything else this year.

You know you're old when...

I took my truck in for service recently. They provide a car service to take customers back to our households or other destinations. A young kid was my driver. As we neared my neighborhood he remarked that he used to have some friends on my street that he would hang out with. I said "oh, at the house where they have the football games and a bunch of guys come over and get drunk and loud?" He said no, "those guys are in their twenties and too old for me and my friends". Young whippersnapper.

What a novel idea!

I've been waiting since last year. I came across a concept that intrigued me, and I waited an entire year to embark upon the voyage. I've always wanted to write a book, and as you know always never comes. I needed some motivation. I needed the fellowship of kindred souls. I needed the National Novel Writers Month.

The NaNoWriMo happens every November, and I had been waiting for a year to enter. It's very simple. You write a novel of a minimum of 50,000 words. You upload the novel for word count verification. You win a certificate, and an icon for your website. That's it! It is possible to cheat, but the honor system works well - because there is no financial prize, there is no guaranteed book review or promotion, if you cheat it only hurts yourself.

In November 2007 I joined 101,767 aspiring novelists - ready, set go! Out of the 101,767 there were 15,335 winners for a cumulative total of 1,187,931,929 words. Yes, more than a billion words were counted! Mine were not counted, I dropped out! Here's the schedule I put together and the results:



As you can see, I started off slow and got slower! At just under 30,000 words I threw in the towel realizing that I would have to write at an insane pace to finish. One night I even fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard. I woke up to find a paragraph that looked like this:lllllllllllllllldddddddddddlllllllllllllllllllll etc.

You think I'm kidding, right? Wrong! It really happened. If you look closely there is an embedded code that when decrypted says "go to bed Dave".

The basis for my novel is rooted in reality. Many years ago while I was in college my grandfather passed away in Southern California. I took a Greyhound bus back to Portland, and made friends with 3 people. Each of us had a very different background, and were on the bus for very different purposes. But as we shared our stories a friendship grew. I've created characters around those people, and launched off into what might have happened if we had stayed in touch.

I know what you are going to ask: Will you finish? Yes, I will. Although I didn't make the goal, I learned a lot. I learned what writer's block is. I learned how to finely craft a sentence. I learned to use an economy of words (true story!). I learned a new respect for writers. And someday, I might be one!

Dream Diary #5

I dreamt I was in Hawaii with my Ford Ranger pickup. I had gone to a popular outside bar & grill, but was wondering why it was so popular. Although the warm breeze and swaying of the plam trees as I sat outside under an umbrella sipping a lava flow captured the essence of the islands, the scenery was somewhat limited. The bar & grill was on the canyon floor, if you will; with a towering condominium on one side and the enormous side of a cruise liner forming the other wall. It was a very narrow space at the bottom that the establishment sat.


It was for the reason of the limited view that I decided to leave. I went out to my truck and as I approached on the passenger side, little reddish spiders began falling like rain on the truck and then all over me. I panicked and unlocked the passenger door to slide over to the driver's side, brushing spiders off of me in a frenzy. As I opened the door though and got in the truck an enormous yellowjacket wasp followed me in. As if taunting me, he perched on the window button so I couldn't open the window. I sped off, and he moved; and I punched the button and as the window lowered he was swept out of the truck.


I drove on a road that sooned turned into a frontage road paralleling a freeway. In between the frontage road and the freeway was a large area about a quarter mile wide where off road riders would cavort in the dirt. I thought "why not" and swung the truck off road. I powered up a hill and clouds of dust began to fly. As the truck began to slip sideways I stopped by a family having a picnic. Rather than being offended by the dust now settling on their fried chicken and lemonade, the father began explaining to his son how I would soon need to put the truck into four wheel drive. We had a nice chat. As I drove up the hill the dream changed and I was out of my truck and onto a four wheeler. The dust turned powdery and the front wheels began to churn a circular ring of dust as they rotated and pounded the dust into powder.


I can see all of this that I just related to you in remarkable clarity and color. Then I woke up.

A Perfect Day

My life can be mundane at times. Well, most of the time. However, yesterday was an exceptional day. I ran some errands in the morning, and it was warm and sunny enough (in late October!) to roll the windows down and put on sunglasses. I glanced in the rearview mirror and admired how cool I look in shades, and almost rear ended a car in front of me that had stopped for a light.


Then, I went to the gym and lifted. I enjoy running, cycling and swimming but I really enjoy weightlifting. As I had focused on cycling in the spring for the Pole Pedal Paddle and ran all summer in preparation for the Maui Marathon, it had been months since I was in the gym. I saw a buddy name Seamus and we chatted and he remarked how good I looked with all the weight loss. It was a nice moment of narcississm and to catch up with him.


Then, I took Kadie to a park and threw a ball for her until she was near collapsed. I love watching her run. She kept returning the ball though and when I saw that she would have barely enough energy to even jump into the truck I grabbed her and heaved her up.


Then, with the opportunity of sunshine and dry leaves (a rare occurence in the Portland fall) I worked in the yard. Out came the leaf blower. Of course I had purchased an expensive, powerful leaf blower and relished the experience of moving those leaves closer to their destiny in a black leaf bag waiting to be banished to the mulching plant. Still wearing a sleeveless workout shirt I was showing off my biceps a little bit. The sun was an orb in the sky and my biceps were like two moons in my yard.


Then, Kadie had recovered and wanted me to throw the ball again. Tired now from lifting and carrying the leaf blower I went to throw the ball and unfortunately my massive bicep finally said "enough" and the ball rolled off of my hand and bopped me right on the head. Kadie was amused. I was not. I returned to blowing leaves around and leaned around a corner. The intake for the blower sucked part of my untucked shirt into it and I had a moment of panic thinking it would rip my shirt right off of my body and expose my six pack abs and massive chest to the neighbors. Fortunately for my neighbors I managed to extricate the shirt.


Still enamored with blowing everything not tied down around (you should have seen the cat go! Not really but I thought about it) I had remembered that I had thrown a pair of running shoes into the washer and set them out to dry. Ha! Leaf blower to the rescue. I stuck the nozzle into one of the shoes and let 'er rip. A bit full of myself for being so clever I proceeded to blow one of the shoes into the pile of leaves. I was able to find it.


Then, I thought it was time for a run! I sat down in the sun to rest a little bit. As the rays bathed me in warmth I thought it would be nice to have a beer. I fetched a beer and returned to the sun.


Then, I thought it would be nice to sit in the sun, drink a beer and read. I fetched a book on philosophy and read Socrates, Plato and that other guy. I dozed off and dreamt a little bit that I was a philosopher in Athens pontificating to the rapt audience. Then I woke up.


What a wonderful day it was!

Highway Haiku

Rain is falling hard,

wipers are barely working,

Grip faithful tires - hold fast!

Silver car speeding,

passing cars recklessly now,

slow your @$$ down idiot!

Maui Marathon 2007

I had decided in the winter of 2006 that 2007 would be a marathon year for me. The term can sometimes be used to signify the exertion of energy to obtain various goals in life, but I meant it in the literal sense - once again I would rise up on these massive pillars of energy I call my legs and transport my body over 26.2 miles of road. Although the Portland marathon in my home town is consistently rated as one of the best marathons in the U.S. I thought if I'm going to spend that much time training then I wanted to do a destination marathon. We go to Maui every other year, and 2007 was our year. I found that Maui indeed has a marathon, and we planned accordingly.

Our condo is on the west side of the island, and the marathon start is near the airport in the town of Kahului, then south on the 380 to the Honoapiilani highway where we then run northwest through Lahaina to the finish at the Westin Maui at Whalers Village. You can visit a detailed map of the route here.

The race would be at the end of our stay, so we had plenty of activities to look forward to with the marathon being the capstone. I decided to get in a few runs to acclimate myself to the island but being careful to not burn out so close to the marathon. Sherry and I have a nice route that we enjoy through lower Honoapiiliani highway and then winds up a steep hill to a luxuriousy neighborhood with fantastic multi million homes. I ran great and blasted up the hill like it was nothing. Later in the week I ran a few short runs on the treadmill at the resort. Our resort has a fitness center with four treadmills, two looking out at the pool and the other two facing a wall sized mirror. The two 'good' treadmills were occupied so I took one facing the mirror. It was interesting to watch my gait. As I ran I noticed that my right leg splays outward at a very slight angle, maybe 2-3 degrees. I had a remarkable moment of clarity! When I tire on a long run, I've noticed a peculiar very light scuffing, actually more of a brushing; as I lightly touch my left heel with my right heel. Now I could see that it was because of the slight angle when I run. Mystery solved.

Race day! The buses left the Maui Westin at 3:30 AM to deposit us in Kahului with plenty of time before the 5:30 AM start. I need time to wake up and not be rushed, so I set the alarm for 2:30 AM (the Westin was a 10 minute drive from our condo). I had carefully laid out my running gear the night before, so I enjoyed a leisurely shower and dressed with a half hour to spare to sip coffee and enjoy the pre-dawn warm breeze on the lanai. Sherry rose about 3:00 AM and drove me to the buses, kissed me goodbye and wished me a great run. I boarded the first bus out of the Westin and we headed down the highway on the marathon course. It was not lost on me that in the pre-dawn blackness that many hours later I would arrive back at the same place with my only means of transportation being the legs beneath me.

We arrived at the start line with more than an hour to kill. The time went fast though, wandering around, looking at everybody and stretching for the race. As I watched everyone gear up it dawned on me that I had not brought my goo! I was munching on some sourdough pretzel bites I took on the bus and realized that they must suffice to be my energy source throughout the race. I crammed the back pocket of my running shorts with bites.

Soon it was time to move to the start line. A nervous energy was apparent, everyone was ready to get the show on the road! As we queued up, the announcer asked us to observe the singing of the national anthem. Tears welled up in my eyes as groups all around the crowd (there were about 1,200 runners total) softly sang along with the singer. Then, we received a traditional Hawai'in blessing. I'm not sure what the words were, but it lifted my heart nonetheless. Instead of a starting gun - a blowing of the conch shell set us off!

I don't see well without my glasses, OK I'm probably close to legally blind but Sherry and I did not know what to expect. I was hoping she could meet me on the course and swap my prescription sunglasses for my regular clear glasses that I would need to start in the darkness with. Not wanting to risk it though I decided to leave my glasses at the condo and start with my sunglasses even in the dark. I bought some croakies to let them rest around my neck so I ran the first 5-6 miles in darkness, and with some focus issues! However, there were runners all around me and it did not present a problem.

As we began the run, some people around me were chatting and I met a girl from Beaverton Oregon, which borders my town of Tigard! Cool to meet a neighbor at a race on Maui. I broke a rule of racing three times - I have a tenet of never trying anything new in a race. So here I was - a hat on my head, which I've never done; carrying pretzel bites to eat; which I've never done in a race, and running a race with my iPod. We'll come back to that in a moment.

As we ran down the highway bordered by tall sugar cane fields, an unusual sight began to appear in my blurry vision. Ghosts were coming out of the sugar cane! Multiple apparitions began to move in and out of the cane. Indulge me in an indiscrete moment gentle reader - I realized that it was runners leaving the road to relieve themselves in the privacy of the sugar cane fields. I would NEVER do anything like that...

Anyway, as the light of the dawn broke behind us I saw a shadow of what appeared to be the horns of a bull behind me! Glancing back I saw a guy running with a Viking helmet. OK, whatever. But he had hand written on his shirt "running for peace". In a Viking helmet. Well, we all know that in our history classes we were taught that Vikings were a gentle race, interested only in a peaceful harmony and coexistence with those that they came into contact with.

Soon I saw Ma'alea harbor, and our first glimpse of the ocean. It was inspiring to then see, even without my glasses, Molokini rising up out of the sea. I had created a running playlist and as OMC started singing "How Bizarre" a bizarre thing happened. Two Japanese runners dressed as bowling pins passed me. Bowling pins? I had no idea what the significance was but it was truly bizarre.

The miles went by, and for the rest of the course I would have the ocean in view. It was overcast but not cloudy, just a haze that took the edge of the sun off. About mile 10 I figured it was time for a little sustenance. Hmmm - the sourdough pretzel bites to the rescue! Well, let me brutally honest at the risk of being potentially disgusting. The miles and the sweat had began to break down the bites, so you might say they were kind of mushy and pre-digested if you will. Hey, it's just carbohydrates - a little mushy, I just pretended they were salty oatmeal and gagged them down.

I suppose it was mile 13 when Sweet Child 'o Mine by Guns and Roses came on. I was in my moment - a good solid pace, the ocean next to me, and slowing a bit so I could sing at the top of my weary lungs "she's got a smile that seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky". Seeing some local surfer dudes and wahines I nodded to them like "hey, we're cool - your're surfin and I'm running, and like we are so cool doing our thing man". I thought they would understand as I started wailing the chorus "ooooOOOOO sweeeEEEEeeet cHilD 'o MiNe". I tried to flash them the Hawai'in 'hang loose' salute but got confused and flipped them off. OK, just kidding.

However, I'm sure that there is a luau going on somewhere right now on Maui, and as the Poi and the pork is flowing that same group are watching some waves ushering in a sunset, and one of them is saying "hey remember that dork on the race" and they will all laugh except for the beautiful girl with the long brown hair and green eyes who secretly thinks I'm the most studly thing she ever saw - I swear I saw it in her eyes as a smile creased her delicate face as I plodded by, but then perhaps it was just gas.

Mile 16 approached and went into mile 17. I stopped at a water station and grabbed cup of water. As I slowed to drink it, my knee started hurting bad. Real bad. I'd never had the kind of pain I was experiencing. The thought even crossed my mind that I may DNF (did not finish). I have never, ever not finished a race. I walked, nay limped; for about a quarter mile before I started to run again. Oddly enough it did not hurt when I ran. But I could tell my pace was in ruins. That's OK though, my goal was just to finish.

At mile 19 I was struggling. I thought I would disassociate from the pain and selected a philosophy lecture I had on the iPod. I started to listen and contemplate the relationship between the material brain and our soul, mind and matter. Does the mind matter? Never mind. What's the matter? Oh yes I pondered the breadth and depth of our metaphysical, existential lives. And had slowed down to about a mile per hour pace! OK Dave, time to start associating with the race again.

I cranked up the playlists to some running favorites - "dum, dum dum dum, dum dum dum, dum - dum. It's the eye of the tiger it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rival". Like Rocky Balboa I pummeled the air with my fists and summoned the courage and energy from deep inside and passed a 70 old runner. Who then passed me back. I kicked him in the shin and kept going.

Finally - mile 20! Six miles to go. Six miles is nothing. Six miles is not even a warm up. In my training I was consistently running 8 mile plus runs without even breaking a sweat, negating any need to apply deodorant to my underarms. But six miles after 20 was a little daunting. At mile 22 there were some Japanese kids with a big basket of treats. One of them handed me something, I don't know what it was; in a cellophane wrapper. It kind of looked like a round Hostess Twinkie. I tried to talk to them but the langauge barrier was insurmountable. I still don't know what it was I ate that day, but it was good and I was grateful.

Mile 23 was painful. It was just flat hard. My knee was still hurting bad, and everything in me was screaming to stop. But with only 3 miles to go I perservered. The 70 year old guy had caught up with me, and I had to kick his oxygen bottle away from him to get him behind me again. Running through the Front Street mile, past Snorkel Bob's and the Jesus Coming Soon church (yes, right about now would be fine with me Lord) I had two miles to go. Then I saw something that brought tears to my eyes. A purple unicorn was offering me a latte! Oh, sorry that was another hallucination talking.

There was a sign on the road that said "BELIEVE IN YOURSELF". It was a very emotional moment. Seriously, I had to brush away a few tears. It wasn't a commercial made-Nike logo'd Alberto Salazar type of bling - it was just a piece of cardboard that someone had scrawled on with a felt tip pen. I was so moved, I'll never forget that as long as I live - two miles to go now - I believe in myself! I could do anything for two miles. I could do cartwheels for two miles. I could hopscotch two miles. I could crawl for two miles, grinding the asphalt into my knees and leaving a trail of blood, sweat and tears as my legacy as I hobble across the finish lines on the stumps of my legs. But of course that was not necessary.

Oh dear reader, lest you think I'm bloviating, do let me assure you that those two miles were painful. But, I dug deep down inside again and actually ran those last two miles hard. I earned those miles. I had just run TWENTY FOUR MILES and two measly more were not going to stop me. As I looked across the water to the Maui Westin it seemed 30 miles away, but it grew gradually closer and closer until finally I had one mile to go. Perhaps it was coincidence, but the timing couldn't be better - the familiar strains of one of rock's most famous songs caressed my tired ears. To some, the Maui Marathon may have been run on the "Highway to Hell", but I finished to "Stairway to Heaven"! Isn't that awesome. And then, there was Sherry. Screaming her lungs out for me, ahh it lifted my heart! Seeing the finish line at last! "And as I wind on down the road, my shadow taller than my soul...yes I'm buying the stairway, to..heaven". I DID IT! I FINISHED THE MAUI MARATHON! I had just enough energy to blow air kisses to the crowd.

And I'll probably never do it again!

Hood to Coast 2007 - The Race

A long race such as Hood to Coast is a series of many small events. Here's a few from this year!

The first major exchange (where we hand off one van to another) took place at the Sandy Fred Meyer. With no exaggeration there were hundreds of runners and the parking lot was clogged with people. Not that they were wearing clogs, running shoes were the fashion statement. Sing with me now to the tune of "My Favorite Things" (bonus points if you sound like Julie Andrews) and you will start to get a sense for event:

Addidas and Brooks and racing flats too,

Velcro and arch support and running socks for you,

running shoes laced up with twine and with string,

These are a few of my favorite things,

Shorts made for running with liners so sweet,

Fashion statements matching the shoes on your feet,

Tops made for women and shirts made for guys,

Beautiful and handsome just made for your eyes,

Mizuno, New Balance, Asics, Saucony also,

Competitive shoes that you don't sing with falsetto,

So many Nikes it looks like a zoo,

Never five feet away from a swoosh it is true,

When the blisters start,

When the thirst kicks in,

When the sun is in my eyes,

I simply reach into my gear bag for relief,

And smear Bodyglide......on my thighs!

Well, didn't that set a lovely tone. Anyway it was amazing. Parked next to us was a team from europe with runners from Germany, Switzerland and Denmark. No kidding. We engaged them in conversation just to hear the broken english and the lilt of their native languages.

Soon our Van 1 runner came in and handed off to Jesse, our first runner in Van 2. As we egressed the exchange and began our first set of legs, there were a few demonstrators holding signs demanding troop withdrawals from Iraq. Now I'm all for that, but it was just kind of a twilight zone moment - thousands of runners and 2 demonstrators. But hey, whatever!

Jesse sucked up the miles like Jimmy Buffet on Long Island Teas. Kelly then ran like a duck on a June bug. Steve ran hard and fast like Oprah on a ham. Lauren blew away her competition like leaves before the unassailable force of a gas powered leafblower. Lauren handed off to yours truly for my first leg. I advised the newbies not to blow themselves out on their first leg, but enjoy the experience, run just hard enough but save energy for later in the race when you will need it. Of course I ignored my own advice. I left the exchange like the Road Runner fleeing from Wile E. Coyote. Bam! I passed 2 runners. And then it happened - the thing we all dread. Not blisters mind you, a red light - with a race official! He kindly informed me that if I crossed on a red my team would be disqualified. I watched in frustration as the 2 runners I passed caught up with me. When the light turned green we all bolted and I had to pass them yet again! But I felt great and ran strong.

I kicked it up at the exchange and ran in to handoff to Alisha. As I walked around a bit to regain my breath, one of my favorite things on Hood to Coast happened. Put this into perspective - there are one thousand teams with 12 runners - yes, do the math and that means there are twelve thousand runners on the course! I love seeing someone I know out there. At my first exchange I saw a guy named Jerry that was on our team in 1995 or 1996, I don't remember for sure. It was his first Hood to Coast and at that time he had just taken up running and it was awesome catching up with him and seeing that he was still running.


Alisha ran us in to Portland, and we met with Van 1 for the exchange. They took off and we drove to Hillsboro to Corillian, where half the team works. I don't remember the exact time but it was around 10:00 PM. We have a "Campus Center" that includes a small gym and locker rooms. We all prepared to take showers but...realized that my badge gave me access to the men's locker room, but not the women's! Sure, that makes sense but it left Lauren and Alisha in a small predicament. Gallantly, the gentlemen invited them to shower first while we stood guard. Everything was going fine until a guy from our neighboring business wandered in and headed for the men's locker room door! We screamed "hey don't go in in there!" Puzzled, he turned to look at us and I explained that there were women in there. Now, he really looked puzzled! I can only imagine (or maybe not) what was going through his head.


We quickly showered and jumped in the van to head down to the Old Spaghetti Factory (in Hillsboro not in Portland). I didn't want to gorge myself so I ordered a half portion of lasagna. Mmm good! Off to highway 30 and St Helens where we met Van 1 again for the major exchange. We started about 12:30 AM as I recall. At the exhange I was trying on Kelly's headlamp. I was in the middle of probably 60-70 runners, and I looked down so as not to blind anyone and flipped the light on. It was a surreal moment as in the dark, dozens of reflective piping on running tights and shoes lit up like the fourth of July. Very cool!


Soon it was time for me to begin my second leg. I'm guessing at this point it was around 3:00 - 3:30 AM. The exchange was very dark, with harsh divisions between the black night and the glare of the generator powered floodlights. I heard the race official down the road yell out our team number, and knew that Lauren would imminently come into the exchange and hand off to me. Sure enough, she came flying into the exchange and I stepped into the exchange zone to accept the wristband. She slowed down and I detected a funny look in the glare. She bolted past me to exchange with another runner! I realized then that 'she' was the wrong 'she'. I sheepishly (haha get it? she? she-eplishly?) turned toward the crowd and in a self deprecating confession mentioned that it is not unusual for girls to run toward me then at the last minute turn away! Everyone got a good laugh as Lauren did run in and handoff to me.


Another easy one where I could run strong and hard, but save enough gas for my third leg. Speaking of gas....as I ran in the pitch black, sweeping my flashlight along the road; I saw ahead of me another runner. I realized that at my pace I would pass her soon. Suddenly, being familiar with my bodily functions I knew that soon I would also engage, how can I say this delicately; in a wee bit of flatulence. Everyone says I'm a stinker but I don't think they mean it in a wooden, literal sense. But maybe so! Well, not to embarrass myself I timed the 'release' with the passing of a van at the same time I passed her. My strategy worked where the noise of the van effectively masked an audio expression, if you will; of the workings of my intestinal system. But, I also knew that an odiferous occurrence would likely hit our olfactory senses. In plain words, yes - I was a stinker. Thinking quickly, as I passed (get it - passed her, 'passed' gas? Hahaha again) I remarked "wow, that's a catalytic converter that's seen better days!". She agreed. My reputation intact, I trundled on through the night.

At the next major exchange we handed off to Van 2 as they began their 3rd and final set of legs. We managed to grab a few hours of much needed sleep. Steve G (driver extraordinaire, on my left in the pic) had the forsight to bring some camp chairs and a canopy. I pulled a blanked over me and in the chilly pre-dawn comfort quickly began to snooze. I awoke though to the sound of a train! I didn't think we were near any tracks. Puzzled, I looked back to see Steve in his sleeping bag on the ground behind me. He was snoring like a gas powered leaf blower in the Portland fall!

Soon we all awoke and readied ourselves for the last set of legs! This is the one where the excitement of the finish line keeps us motivated. We began to run in the same order as the previous two set of legs, with Jesse again leading us out into the early afternoon. Here's a pic of Steve A handing off to his wife Lauren. Aren't they just the cutest?!?

Soon Lauren handed off to me for my 3rd and final leg! It was a hard one, especially at mile 6 or so where I began to wear down. 3 runners passed me, but I was so excited when at last I saw the exchange and knowing that my race was almost done I summoned the last bit of energy and ran past them into the finish! Alisha then completed her final and last leg of the race. At the finish line on the beach at Seaside, the teams all gather and when the runner comes in we all run across the finish line together. It was an emotional moment for Alisha, and for the team as well! Well done, "They ran fine in January" (our team name). Here's to 2008!

Hood to Coast 2007 - The Van 2 Team

One of the most important things about Hood to Coast is the team. Although I trained hard for the race this year and was probably in the best running shape I've been in for five years, I know that I'm not looking for a competitive team. I've witnessed some nasty altercations out on the course with runners literally screaming at each other because they were a few minutes off of their projected times. That's not for me.

Not having the opportunity to spend a lot of time with the Van 1 runners, I have to limit my relational ruminations to Van 2!

I recruit runners for our van who are fun to be with. Actually, over the years I now recruit people who are fun to be with and if they can run too - bonus! When you are stuck in a van for 24-28 hours with 5 other sweaty tired runners, trust me - character counts.

This year, we had a crack team lined up for Van 2 - meet the team!

Starting from the left we have Kelly. He's a very funny guy and great to be around. I met Kelly at work, and he left over 2 years ago and is still missed. He's also a black belt in Karate. Trust me, I laugh at all of his jokes!

Next up is Alisha, a family friend of Sherry and I, and this was her first Hood to Coast. She's training for a marathon in San Francisco that is right around the corner, and one day at a camping trip we went for a long run and I thought she would be a great addition to the team. Bless her heart, I told her that newbies have a tradition of baking cookies for the team. She knew I was kidding, but made cookies anyway! Mmmm they were awesome, oatmeal with butterscotch chips.

But I digress. Continuing to move on, we have Squawk. He's our mascot, and although it may seem juvenile he has important contributions to make. At a major exchange there are hundreds of runners milling around look for their team mates. Hoisting Squawk into the air allows us to come together quickly. This year we even fitted him with lights on his little wings and he became a beacon in the night.

The handsome guy kneeling is me. Don't let the easy smile fool you. The crouch is reminiscent of a wild beast, ready to launch upon its prey and vanquish its foes. Similarly, the muscles in my legs are like coiled springs, pent up energy to unleash upon my competition. Whatever.

Kneeling next to me is my neighbor Jesse. Jesse is the kind of neighbor everyone should have. He's a great guy, kind and considerate. For years now I've been trying to talk Jesse into doing a race with me! To my surprise and delight, this year he said sure.

We end the introductions with Steve and Lauren. They are great friends and a lot of fun to be around. Lauren's a personal trainer, and she and Steve are both marathoners.

Not pictured is Steve G. Steve G is our driver. I'll freely admit that after many Hood to Coasts, Steve is a world class driver. He watches out for the team, makes sure everyone is OK and threads his way through some difficult and tight spaces. He can get the van into places you would never expect.

Now, let's get racing!

Dream Diary #4

I dreamt that I was in a mash up combination of locales. Somehow I was in the Portland area, but then connected to Hawaii also. I don't know which island. I had ridden my bike out to Sherwood (a town about 15 miles from my home in Tigard) but not taken a water bottle with me, which never happens. I got lost in Sherwood (which did happen one day while on a 17 mile run) and as I was not carrying any water I became extremely thirsty.


In my seat bag I had a tiny bottle of eyedrops. I drank it. Then I was rummaging around behind a store and saw a plastic bottle. It turned out to be one of those blue ice bottle things that you chuck in the freezer and then put in your cooler. It was thawed and I opened it and took a whiff thinking it might satiate my thirst. Hmmm, no - the advent of a slow painful poison death was attached to the viscous threat.

There was a water hose also behind the store, thankfully I was able to assuage the threat of imminent dehydration.

Realizing that I should not pedal home in that fragile state, I decided to take a train. I was then on a commuter train station in Hawaii. I got on the train with my bike by way of the very last car, and decided to walk to the front of the train. The train was something like a mile long, and at last when I made my way into the front car I was exhausted and thirsty again. I reached up to grab a hand rail to support myself, and the conductor threw me a bone chilling nasty look.

I decided it was time to go for a little walk. I left the train, consciously leaving my bike on the train knowing I would come back for it. I walked across the street with the caress of a warm breeze on my face and palm trees swaying back and forth. There was a little park area and a curb where water was running down the street. Suddenly there was an explosion of noise and a guy on a jet ski punched out of the water and onto the street! Engine revving he screeched his way across the asphalt. Some bystanders who were apparently locals exclaimed that they hate it when he does that.

I thought it would be a nice walk back to the end of the train, staying on the same side of the street there was a groomed path through the tropical vegetation. I walked and I walked and I walked and realized I had to again cross the street to access the train.

But there was barbed wire blocking my way! I came across an odd looking gate, some kind of contraption. The opening was too small for me to fit through, so I continued walking. I heard some voices behind me, and turned to see a guy and a girl, tucking themselves through the gate.

I ran back to them and asked for help. "Sorry", the guy explained; "this gate is a mantrap and will crush you if you attempt to get through it".

Then I woke up.

Friends, Romans and Countrymen - lend me your ears

A classic dumb crook story. A colleague of mine has a husband on a local police force. Recently there was a home invasion, and in the fray the perpetrator's ear was removed from his head, involunatrily I might add. The perp fled, and the officers surmised that he would show up at one of the local hospitals to stem the open wound in his head.


Sure enough, he showed up at one of them and "Officer Bill" as we'll call her husband escorted the severed ear to the hospital. The perp claimed he had been assaulted by a gang and they had cut off his ear. Officer Bill confronted him and asked "is this your ear?". "That's not my ear" the perp replied. A moment of silence ensued and Officer Bill stated that this is really odd, as the 'victim' was missing an ear and they just happened to find one at the scene of a crime. "That's not my ear" the 'victim' restated. "But", he continued; "that's my earring".


The officers paused and contemplated the unusual situation. Home invasion, perp gets his ear cutoff, shows up at a hospital missing an ear, officer shows him an ear, perp claims it was not his ear - but it was his earring.


Officer Bill then asked the obvious question - "if that is not your ear, but it is your earring, how did it get in this ear"? "I don't know" said the 'victim'. But then a flash of brilliance to remedy an awkward situtation the 'victim' came to a logical conclusion! "But", he said; "since I'm missing an ear and my earring is in that ear, can we put the ear onto my head where I'm missing one"?


I swear that I'm not making this up, and that I've relayed the events as accurately as possible without any of my tendency to exaggerate.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Wow. Today I turned fifty years old. My life used to be about drugs, fast women and hot cars. Now, the drugs are prescription for seizures, the fast woman in my life is my wife who beat me to the finish in just about every race we have done, and I still miss my hot 1967 Camaro.

My theme songs used to be "Born to be Wild" and "Life in the Fast Lane". Now, it feels like "I was born to be Mild" and people flash their lights at me to let them pass when I'm in the fast lane. I used to look like George Clooney, now I look like Andy Rooney.

In my high school yearbook there is a note from my sweetheart that alludes to all of the mushy stuff I wrote in her yearbook. I don't have a clue what I wrote! There is another comment from a girl who apparently had a crush on me (yes, that's been a theme throughout my life) gushing about the good times we shared and hoping we would keep in touch throughout the summer. I don't have a clue who she is!

The passing of time has been immortalized in fiction, non-fiction, art, music, poetry, songs, movies -even television commercials. Half my life has now passed (I'm planning on living to be exactly 100 years old). The summer of youth has faded and fall is upon me. As the leaves outside turn shades of gold, red and yellow they become a harbinger of the aging process that is now on my horizon. How old is 50? I'm just a few weeks younger than this thing that most of you probably don't know what it is or why it is so significant:

This is kind of amusing, immersing myself in melancholy meanderings in an attempt to engender your compassion and kind words. But lest you think the cold tentacles of old age are squeezing the life out of me, let me assure you that I've still got plenty of pep to go a few rounds with the Grim Reaper!

Rather than being depressed about this milestone I look at my life in wonderment. It's amazing who I've become, where I've been, what I've done - and what yet I want to do. My life has turned out to be nothing like I envisioned in my youth. When at last I become a lion in winter (hat tip to Winston) I'm sure that I will look at the second half of my life with this same kind of marvel.

Until then, I'll make a reference to my Rosebud (surely you have watched Citizen Kane, have you not?!?). Here's the teaser - the only two people who may even have an inkling of what my Rosebud is are my mom and sister. Ready mom and Jan? Think back to our days at Lake Shasta.

The object is round and plastic. That's it! That's all you get. If you guess my Rosebud, I'll take ou both to dinner at a fine eating establishment, one of my favorite Mexican food restaurants that has been a theme throughout my life. You will have to tender a guess as to which one I'm referring to.

Hood to Coast 2007 - Packet Pickup

I'm back! In 2005, and 2006; I had seizures the morning of Hood to Coast. I can't believe that it was a coincidence and they somehow had to be connected to the race, but even after repeated challenges my neurologist said there is no connection. I'm back though, and ran Hood to Coast for I believe the 11th time. From the Hood to Coast official site we find that:

As the Largest Running Relay Race in the World, and The Mother of All Relays, The Hood To Coast Relay stretches 197 miles from the top of Oregon's majestic Mt. Hood down to the beautiful Pacific Ocean beaches in Seaside, Oregon. Over 12,000 runners and 4,800 walkers in The Portland To Coast, share in the experience of this annual event.

Yes, it's a big dog deal. 12 runners join in two vans, and then hand off to one other for 197 miles. Each runner runs three legs rated in different levels of difficulty based on elevation and length. The handoffs between runners in one van are called exchanges, and the handoffs between vans are called major exchanges. Exchanges are jammed with vans and runners as they manage the transitions as quickly and efficiently as possible.

But I'm getting ahead of myself! If your team makes it to registered status (the race is so popular that hundreds of teams get turned down every year) then packet pickup is the next step. Packet pickup quickly swells into long lines as hundreds of teams converge into the designated spot where they queue up to receive bibs, t-shirts and other necessities for the race.

I had a wedding to perform early afternoon the day of packet pickup, and felt that I had a good margin to pickup the packet, go home and change, and show up for the wedding on time. But, to not have any pressure I showed up at 8:00 AM to be first in line (hopefully) for the 9:00 AM start. As I entered the Tiger Woods building on the Nike Campus where packet pickup was to take place, there were already about 20 people ahead of me! Wow, these runners are competitive! As we milled around I noticed that many of them had on team gear from one of the more famous teams, the Headhunters. They began signing their names on a clipboard, and then it hit me - they were volunteers to help manage the logistics and check off and handout items to the various teams.

Soon I noticed that the doors to the room I was in had been closed and locked, sequestering us from the cavernous entrance to the Tiger Woods building. Hmmm - my little mind began to think - I'm just here to pick up my packet. Now I'm locked in the room where my packet is, and hundreds of people (literally, I'm not exaggerating) were queueing up to pick up their packets. I strategically took up a post at the door. Pretty soon this guy wandered over and I knew that my pretensions would quickly be found out, so I took the offensive:

"Hi, I'm Dave - what's your job here"? "Hi Dave, I'm Greg - my job is to help the team captains find their team number if they have forgotten by cross referencing the team name". "Great", I said, "why don't you stand to my left". A younger guy had wandered over and again I took the offensive - "Hi, I'm Dave - what's your job here"? "I'm Steve", he replied. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, they just sent me over here to help". "Super", I replied - "your job will be to stand on my right and help control traffic. Keep people moving not too slow but not too fast, just a good steady pace so we can get them in and out". He nodded his affirmation.

So, now I'm not just hanging around - I am in charge of the door that I'm supposed to be on the other side of, milling with the herd! Sometimes I'm almost shamed by my Machiavellian tendencies. This was not one of them!

At the appointed time we got the word to open the doors. I motioned to Greg and Steve to get ready and follow my lead. I opened the door and a hush went through the cavern as I hollered "can I have your attention please". "This is how it's going to work - Greg will help you find your team number if you need it, and Steve will help keep the line moving. Don't rush, we'll get you in and out quickly. As you enter the room, the lowest number packets will be on your right, ascending in number as you look counter-clockwise. Packet number #500 is almost right in the center. Are there any questions?" There were none, and then being somewhat puffed up in pompousness I pumped the air with my fist and screamed "are you ready to run?" "YES" cheered the crowd. "Follow me" I said, and ushered the first 50 people into the room. I walked to my table, picked up my packet and walked out!

Later I recounted this story to the Hood to Coast office staff and they were laughing so hard they almost fell off of their chairs!

Highway Haiku

Cars slowing quickly

What! Baby ducks in the road

flee, feathered friends, flee!

West Side Story - 2007

When you're a jet you are a jet forever - most of you are too young to understand the reference but if you can, go rent the musical. It's worth watching.

Fast forward to 2007. My friend Charlie is the captain of the Woodburn police department. Although Woodburn is a small town, it has it's gang related issues. Recently Charlie recounted to me how 4 members of the 18th street gang had went to a 7-11, and 2 stayed in the car and 2 stayed in the store. Then, 2 members of the 13th street gang pulled into the parking lot. How many gang members were left? Sounds like one of those jokes where you have 10 gang members going to Chicago, in Philadelphia 3 get off and 9 get on...etc, etc.

Anyway, there was an altercation of course that culminated in an agreement to meet in the park at midnight. Unfortunately a shooting occurred with a bullet going through the back of a guy's shoulder as he was running away and exited out of the front of his shoulder, blowing the joint to smithereens.

Charlie used to work for the Lake Oswego police force. Now Lake Oswego is an affluent suburb of Portland. It's the kind of place where people walk around with a little doggie in a sweater in their purses. It's the kind of place where you have a near mansion overlooking the lake and a few $100,000 cars in the garage.

It's the kind of a place where at a wonderful restaurant called Blinn's Boathouse where you can get the best pizza you have ever had, sit out on the back patio and watch the rich people motor up in their restored Chris-Craft boats. It's the kind of a place where an anonymous seaplane might land.

Now, gentle reader; lest you think I'm being pejorative I will say some of my LO friends are the nicest, most generous people I know.

But Charlie and I had a bit of fun postulating a gang war in Lake Oswego compared with the gang war in Charlie's town. Let us recount a fictional news story as reported in the Lake Oswego Review:

An altercation broke out Saturday night between two rival high school gangs. Some members of the A Street Animals alledgedly flashed a gang sign at the Country Club Crushers. Conflict was inevitable as the Animals hold turf at Starbucks, while the Crushers own Peet's. According to witness Carlton Crumpet the Animals and Crushers agreed to meet at midnight at Millenium Park.

At the appointed hour the gangs faced off. Nervous tension filled the air as the Animals and the Crushers faced off. As the boys arrayed themselves into battle formation, their girlfriends watched nervously from the sidelines, clutching their little doggies tucked protectively in their Hermes' handbags.

Suddeny, the fray erupted. To the dismay of the Crushers the Animals had brought their Lacrosse sticks. But the Crushers also had weapons at the ready. They began hurling half pound bags of Peet's coffee at the Animals! The Animals began swinging at the bags wildly at the flying containers of coffee, spilling the expensive beans across the battle ground. Soon the air was filled with the aroma of Peet's unique roasting style that results in a rich complex taste.

As the Animals began to lose their footing, defeat at the hands of the Crushers an unexpected turn of developments ensued. Seeing their boyfriends being pushed back by the bags of coffee whistling through the air like medieval catapult loads, the Animal's girlfriends entered the scene and wildly began to fling their Manolo Blahnik pumps at the Crushers. The dagger like heels quickly drove the Crushers back.

The police had arrived at the scene, and strategized a way to end the conflict. Climbing to the top of nearby trendy boutiques, they dropped coupons for free bikini waxes into the crazed crowds as the boys and girls began to tussle! To their delight the strategy worked! Even some of the girls got coupons.

Product Review - Fuel Belt

I've only worn a Camel Back once, and didn't really like it. Having the weight of the fluid in a backpack (even though not much) and the moving around was annoying. Now that I'm running some longer distances I know I needed something.

Enter Fuel Belt! This clever contraption does several things that attracted me to it. First, it puts the weight lower on the hips rather than high on the back. I think that is a more advantageous position to keep the back relaxed. Second, it distributes the weight so that it is not centralized. Finally, it's different bottles allow for different fluids rather than being the same necessitated by one container.


To be fair, I haven't looked at the current technology advances of the Camel Back or generic substitutes. They certainly have improved and become more sport specific but even so it was clear to me that Fuel Belt was designed for runners, not adapted to runners. If you are a Camel Back representative and want to send me one of your designs for product testing, email me and I promise to give it a fair review.

For a 17 mile run I filled the two back containers (the containers hold 8 ounces) with Powerade, and the front two with water. I put a gel packet in the zip container. The zip container is very small and will not hold much else. Off I set on the run! The first thing I noticed was that the weight in the back, albeit small; gave the sensation that the belt was going to pull my shorts off. Now I must say that I don't have large buttocks so this may be not an issue for most people. It just seemed to ride lower than I expected.

I was about five miles into the run when I first took a drink. It was awkward getting the bottle out of the back, and more awkward getting it in. It is likely a learned skill that gets better over time. Because the bottles are held in place by an elastic strap pocket, it's a tricky balancing act between being too loose and having the bottles come out, and being too tight where it is difficult to get them back in.

There was a small amount of sloshing when consuming some but not all of the fluid, but nothing too egregious. I can live with that. The sizing was too black and white. I am approximately a 33 inch waist. The medium was too small, and I had to exchange it. The large is nearly too big.

The price is fairly expense at $44.95, but overall I think the cost was worth it and I would recommend it.

Running Ruminations

Just a collection of random observations from my running lately:

I once was lost

Last weekend I went for a 15 mile run in preparation for the Maui Marathon. Knowing I would need some liquid refreshment (and I don't mean beer) along the way and not having a portable means of hydration I knew it was incumbent upon me to plant some water bottles. I mapped my route, and then left early in the morning to surreptiously stick my water in an unobtrusive place.

I found my first location just fine, in a tidy little shaded spot beneath the sign of a business about 7 miles into the run. Continuing on my route I went into a neighborhood - and got so incredibly miserably lost I almost ran out of gas. True story. When I left the house I had about 2 miles on the tripmeter, plus the 15 for the run, maybe add a mile or two for scouting. I should have returned home with no more than 19 miles. I'll tell you the odometer reading shortly! As I drove I realized Google Maps had not done the route justice. I ended up winding through neighborhoods, ending up at one dead end after another. As I drove hither and yonder I saw a guy running and wondered if he was running on the route I had chosen. I didn't want to follow him directly like I was stalking him, so I decided to drive around a bit and stealthily observe his route. Around I went, again becoming utterly lost. Then, I spotted him. He gave me this strange look, while I nonchalantly pretended that I'd never seen him before. Eventually I figured out where I was, planted a second bottle and made my way home. With 43 miles on the odometer!

Barking up the Wrong Tree

I occasionally (ok maybe once a day) let my ego get the better of me. Earlier this summer I had been cycling and had some high school girls holler at me. Now I'll confess that I didn't really hear what they said. They might have yelled something like "hey slugbait, speed it up old man!". What I heard was "wow! you go, hottie". So back to the present - I'm cruising down Bonita, feeling good, striding out - the world is my oyster. Hearing some high pitched screams as a car began to pass me I just chuckled - yeah, more fans. Girls follow me everywhere now. As the car passed I glanced over to see a Pomeranian in the back seat of the car bouncing up and down and yapping away. Maybe I'm not that much of a hottie after all.

Crossing Guard Squirrel

A few weeks ago as I was running south on lower Boone's Ferry Road I rounded a corner as the bike lane narrowed, forcing me to run very close to some blackberry bushes on the shoulder. Suddenly, very close and startling me a squirrel came right into view on a limb from a small tree directly to my right, and literally 3-4 feet away. Seriously, it was that close. The limb was slightly in my way and I was going to just lift it with my arm as I passed underneath. I think we were both freaked out. As the squirrel reversed direction and ran back to the trunk, it was apparent that his weight was holding the limb in the horizontal position and as he scooted back the limb went vertical. It was just like a crossing guard lifting the gate! Doesn't take much to amuse me does it?

Meeting Jose

I have a new friend! As I was running along minding my own business out of the corner of my eye I spotted a guy pull in behind me. Naturally, I started running a little faster. Naturally, so did he. It is the nature of runners to be competitive I suppose! I picked up the pace to a point where it seemed I could keep him at bay. But I noticed that every time I would speed up, so would he. After two miles of this rather than throw down I decided to slow down. I was about 6 miles into a 13 miler and knew if I tried to keep the pace I'd burn out badly the rest of the run. I slowed down to allow him to catch up, which he did and we started to chat. Jose is a nice guy and a cyclist and triathlete too so we had some great conversation. Turned out he used to work with my next door neighbor! I was hoping he would be able to be on our Hood to Coast team, but schedules prohibited that. Jose altered his route to run with me another four miles, and we had a nice chat and agreed to meet up for some more training here and there.

I saw the light, I saw the light...

Yesterday I did a 17 mile run. Lest you be too impressed, let me reassure you that it just about killed me. The last 2 miles were torture, and I had mapped it to give me about a half mile cool down walk to get home. Let me tell you, when I reached 17 I didn't know if I could make it the next half mile to get home! Seriously, that's the state of fatigue I was in. My run ended in a little industrial park on a quiet street (during the weekends) and has some nice landscaping. I found a shady spot and flopped down on the grass. I laid there for a while and just looked up at the sky and clouds. I imagined I saw a horsie, a doggie and the devastation of Jerusalem in the year 70 A.D. by the Romans under the command of Titus. And then I saw a rabbit.

As my mind wandered I realized I was underneath a street light. And on the bottom of the light as it faced down to the street there was a number '10' on it. Interesting, I thought - I wonder if they are numbered ascending as I go north, or descending? Imagine my surprise when I got to the next light and it was also numbered 10! Turning onto Bonita, I continued to look up and now they were numbered 20! One after the other. Rather than being fixated by street light numbering schemes, I'm just going to believe that on a less busy street they have a number 10 bulb in them, and on busy streets they have a number 20 bulb. Life is just easier that way.

Radar Love

Last Tuesday I went for a run and rounded a corner right into the beam of one of those radar trailers. Let my email to Chief Bill Dickinson recount the narrative:

Dear Chief Dickinson, first of all let me say that I’m pleased to live in Tigard. That’s a reflection of several things, and one of those is what I believe is a fine police department and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of your officers.

The reason I’m writing is to bring your attention to the radar trailer parked at 76th and Durham. The trailer faces northbound traffic on 76th and displays the speed to the vehicle. I was running tonight and imagine my surprise when I turned off of Durham onto 76th and saw the trailer. Not that the trailer was a surprise, but that it clocked me at 17 MPH! I turned expecting to see a car behind me that it was registering, but there was nothing. Puzzled but pleased at this apparent pace I ran around the block again. What I thought was an aberration was again reality as the trailer clocked me again at 16 MPH!

Sir, I'm just a middle aged stressed out desk jockey trying to reclaim what shreds of youth may be clinging to me as I travail this earth. I'd like to think that I can run a 14 MPH pace, but just last Sunday I ran 15 miles and it took me 3 hours! Either the radar is off or my Sunday run was a really bad day. I suspect the radar may be off.

I know you have far more important things than to sift through this drivel and there is no need for you to respond to my note but you might want to have someone calibrate it a bit finer. However, I do thank you for the brief glimpse in the rearview mirror of my life, where I saw a strong, handsome young man running 15 MPH.

Sincerely,

Dave Mundt

If a tree falls in the forest...

...would it make a sound? Philosophers ruminate upon that question, dissecting it into elements involving space, time, the definition of sound, receptor channels, the existence of man and who the artist was for the famous painting of the dogs playing poker?

I'm here to tell you though that I can provide an answer if we rephrase the question. Let's ask it this way - if a tree fell on your house would it make a sound? If you happened to be home - I can attest with first hand testimony that yes, it would; and did make a sound. A big sound. A sound that would roust you out of bed like Michael Vick at the Westminster Kennel Clug dog show.

On Friday August 10 our alarms had just gone off, about 4:00 AM. Hit the snooze control once, then twice - and then at 4:20 their was an enormous splintering sound and a thundering crash that shook the entire house. When up on the roof there arose such a clatter, Sherry and I sprang from our bed to see what was the matter. I immediately thought it was an earthquake, but Sherry knew that a tree had fallen. Talk about a 'root' awakening! Ha ha - get it - 'root', 'rude'?

We ran downstairs and looked out the sliding glass door that separates our dining room from the back deck. A horrible sight greeted our amazed eyeballs. Like a terrifying visage of Medusa, a tangle of tree trunks, branches, shattered fences land deck furniture were arranged in a swath of destruction, culminating in the piercing of our roof with such force that several limbs were driven through the roof and emerged from our ceiling!



Sherry called the fire department, and they were here in minutes. No electrical circuits were severed, and the base structure seemed intact enough that there was no imminent danger of the ceiling collapsing.

Initially Sherry did not see the limb to the left poking through the ceiling, as her focus was on the damage we could see outside. She turned around, saw the limb and screamed like a little girl. I thought maybe a squirrel had survived the fall and was running around our house like Lindsay Lohan in a rehab facitility.

As we took it all in, we noticed a long limb, maybe 3 feet; that was laying on the dining room floor. We had not really questioned it's origin of entry into the house. As we began to calm down we realized that in the several holes puncturing the ceiling, as far as we could discern it had not entered vertically but horizontally, as if someone had thrown a spear through the roof.

When the sun arose, we ventured outside and saw just how bad the damage was. The tree had fallen from our neighbor's yard, breaking through 3 fences before the bulk of the tree hit our house. I went over to talk to Pearl. She and her husband had lived on their land, a little hobby farm stuck in the middle of the city since 1952. She's a spry little thing and I'm guessing she is in her early eighties. She was amazed at the damage, and then showed me her corn. Yes Pearl, your corn is amazing...now about that insurance information? Bless her heart.

Sherry doesn't look terribly happy, does she? She's either stepped in some dog poop or is sad about the devestation of our little house. We now enter the twighlight zone of insurance companies and contractors. To date I must say that State Farm has been amazingly responsive, proactive and helpful. Within two days all the debris had been cleared off and a FEMA blue tarp spread over the roof like a loving mom tucking in her child at night. Because at least one truss was damaged, the entire roof will be removed in the area you see above. Needless to say that activity will render our home uninhabitable for at least a week. The insurance adjustor said that they'll put us up in a hotel or even rental home as long as it is needed. He commented that there is a Residence Inn just down the street. I countered by saying that I had been proactive and no rooms are available for the next three months, but the Hilton downtown has some vacancies. He kind of smiled and said, well you got to do what you got to do!

Room service, here we come.

The Perfect Running Playlist

I realize that there is a fair amount of controversy regarding if one should listen to music whilst running or cycling. Here's a case in point. Cycling for me is not an option, however I'll confess to being a runner that listens to MP3 songs as the miles go by. As I've bult my 'perfect' playlist I thought I would share it with you. Although it's dynamic and changes do occur, this is pretty much the standard and I rotate other songs through it.

I've noted that there are a few songs that are just too good to listen only, and that they are required to sing out loud as I run. Fortunately, one of my favorite routes takes me through an industrial area and then culminates running adjacent to a retirement community golf course. What do these two areas have in common? Usually a dearth of witnesses who would testify that my singing is one of the primary causes of global warming.

However, there are the occasional times when a musical infraction is overheard by an unlucky observer. So, there I was. Running through the golf course (on a trail of course!). Singing my lungs out to "Little Red Light" by Fountains of Wayne. Try it, go ahead - to use a lovely double negative you will not be able to not sing along. I was running on the proper side of the road, facing oncoming traffic. A minivan was making a right turn into a driveway, and he acknowledge me with a little wave indicating his approval to pass in front of him. I waved back acknowledging my gratefulness for not being run over by a minivan. As I passed him I was in full melodic bliss, belting out the lyrics like syrup on pancakes.

Guess what? There was a car behind him. I was looking slightly down watching the road when I glanced at the plate. To my horror I recognized the license plate. IT WAS MY WIFE! She had her window open and leaned over across the passenger seat and yelled "Hi Honey! You're looking good". I smiled and waved, and later on I tactfully asked her if, she maybe; had heard my singing. Thankfully, she had not.

Anyway, here's my current running playlist for your perusal:

Highway Haiku

Car in front smells bad
tailpipe toxicity,
Midas - rescue me!

217 jammed up
26 is not much better
Happy day at work beckons

Cars moving slow now
what is that bright light shining?
hubcap on the road

Dream Diary #3

I dreamt I was admiring a motorhome. A great big, modern motorhome. A huge motorhome. The owner was showing me around the cab - pointing out such amenities as the leather captain's chairs, the ergonomically placed controls, fireplace (OK, I'm just making that one up). I was very impressed and he invited me in back to see the living quarters.

To my surprise, the cabin was enormous - it must have been fifty feet long, 25 feet wide and 25 feet tall. It had one (1) piece of furniture. There was a couch at the very back where his wife and daughter were seated. That's it - this enormous living space with one couch, nothing else. It didn't even have windows. The floor, walls and ceilings were covered with white carpeting. I asked why that was, the owner said that helped to dampen the noise to keep the interior from being subjected to echoes.

He invited me back to meet his wife and daughter, and they greeted me warmly with hospitality and charm. He then asked if I would like to see the basement? Think of it - a basement in a motorhome! He went on to explain that when they were not on the road, they had it parked in such a fashion that there was access to a subterranean extension. Sure! Show me the basement!

He pulled up a trapdoor that was concealed by the white carpet next to the couch. I remember very clearly that it was about 3 feet to the side and 2 feet in front of the couch. Not sure why those dimensions were important but in my dream they were. There was a very steep ladder, unfinished wood construction that seemed incongruent with the luxury of the motorhome; that allowed us to descend.

We went down to a asphalt path that wound through a stunning garden. There was a fork in the road so to speak, and I wandered to the left and came upon a high glass wall. Behind the wall was a church sanctuary with pews and a pulpit. It was a very small church, and the owner explained that it was a historical landmark and that the church had been built in the 1800's. Looking in I saw a girl from the past named Jeri in a posture of repentance. That was very strange, I never knew Jeri well at all - she rode our school bus and other than exchanging a few pleasantries now and again we never even had a true conversation. I probably have not thought of her in 30 years, seriously. Anyway, the owner explained that Jeri was confessing that she had smoked pot. Okay then, have no idea why that was part of the dream.

We continued on the tour by backtracking back to the fork in the path. We then came to a large cafeteria. It wasn't enormous but would seat about 50 people or so and had a full grill and kitchen area. There wasn't one person in the cafeteria.

We egressed out in the open and looking back I could see that we had descended quite a ways and the motorhome now rested upon a hill, underneath a hazy sky, with calf length grass gently blowing in the breeze. I had an overwhelming sense of deja vu, that I had been exactly on this hill before. As I slowly turned and surveyed the horizon, I realized that I was in Michigan (I spent a summer there).

And then I woke up.

We went camping

Sherry likes to camp. I like to stay in a hotel. Sherry likes burning food over a firepit. I like room service. Sherry likes to watch the stars. I like to watch a movie. Sherry likes to sleep in a tent. I like to sleep in a king sized bed where you can't even see the alarm clock it's so far away. Sherry likes beer out of a cooler. I like mine in a frosted mug sitting in the evening on our back porch.

OK, I may be exaggerating a wee bit but you get the point. I really, really am trying to be a good husband so I really, really try to be excited that WE ARE GOING CAMPING! Now, to be precise we engage in an outdoor activity called "car camping". Car camping by definition presumes that you are going to camp, i.e. in a tent; however you will use an automobile to transport your camping gear to a well defined 'campsite'. A campsite by definition is a piece of asphalt to park your vehicle, a pre-designed firepit, and a tidy little area. That you pay for. Hey, call me old fashioned but I just don't get going out into the wilderness and having to pay to pitch your tent. But - Cape Lookout where we 'paid to pitch' had hot showers (yes, a concession to the hotel-spoiled husband) so I can't complain too much.

But speaking of too much! Sherry had purchased a new tent. She had taken it to California to 'camp' in my sister's backyard with the niece and nephew. I'm thinking, cool - yeah, a new tent - I can dig it. But check it out! Oh, it had to be an EIGHT PERSON tent. Let's see - there's Dave & Sherry, and Kadie the Dog. Now add Mr. Cash (the cat). Now add Dorie and Torie (the fish). We STILL can't fill it up. Sherry patiently explained to me that the purpose of such largesse was to host a bunch of her friends on the Annual GWE (Girls WeekEnd) trip.


Well, the picture doesn't really do justice to how BIG this tent was. It had - check it out - a large living room/sleeping area, and a separate sun porch or entry room. I'm not making this up, the tent has two rooms. But wait! There's more! The tent has TWO doors! One opens up into the sun porch, and the second allows access directly into the living area. We used the sun porch entrance and dubbed the other entry "the servant's entrance". It also has a nifty loft area that we used to park the 42" Flat Panel Plasma TV. OK, I'm just kidding about that part!

We went to Cape Lookout with our friends Herb and Judy and their kids. It was a nice drive to the coast, a beautiful Friday evening. We arrived and began setting up the tent. It was quickly apparent that the footprint of this enormous tent extended almost beyond the boundaries of our assigned campsite. You often hear the term "pitching the tent", I almost "pitched a fit" but managed to contain myself.

Well, Saturday morning gave all indicators of a fine day ahead. And it was! Alisha (Herb and Judy's daughter) is training for a San Francisco marathon, and I'm training for the Maui Marathon so we had a nice long run on the beach. That night we cooked hamburgers around the campfire and told stories until we laughed so hard our tears mingled with the rain.

WHAT! Rain? If there is one thing in life that you can count on, it's that you can't count on the weather at the Oregon coast. We made our way back to the tents for the night. About 4:00 AM Sunday morning, the rain pounded down. I don't use the word pounded in an exaggerated sense. It managed to find it's way through the rain flap into the tent, and rained for literally hours - hard. We kept hoping it would let up, and it seemed like it was so we decided to break camp.

Of course it started raining again - hard. We realized with our spirits broken and every possible item we brought soaked, muddy or quickly getting that way we'd have to break camp in the rain. It was a miserable soggy experience.

Sherry's beginning to think that a hotel may not be a bad idea at all...

Dream Diary #2

I dreamt that I was with 3 close friends - Tyler, Scott and Misti. I worked with Tyler and Scott in a machine shop when I first moved to Portland. Tyler was a radical dude who was always on the edge of some delinquent endeavor, he was the epitome of cool. Scott was about 5 feet tall and 5 feet wide - he was like a small version of the incredible Hulk. One time we were horsing around and I grabbed his arm. He quickly squeezed his bicep, literally trapping my fingers between his bicep and ham hocked forearm like a vise. I flailed around and tried to escape as he laughed like a maniac. Later on I got my revenge by coming up behind him and slamming his head into a locker. Ah yes, the good old days.

I met Misti at my second Portland job at US Bank. She's been a close friend for many years and we shared a lot of fun adventures. Misti is very pretty, and one day she had broken her ankle and asked if I could help her to her car after work. We worked on the 3rd floor of a building on a night shift and usually bounded up and down the stairs. We got into the elevator and I thought I had pushed the first floor, but we descended to the basement. The door opened and Misti and I were confused, expecting to see the lobby. A janitor happened to be right in front of the door as it opened and was startled to see ugly Dave and beautiful Misti. This next part is rated PG-13 so let the reader beware. I asked if we could get off there, and he stared and said "you can get off wherever you want". OK, maybe our interpretation was taken in the wrong sense but Misti and I cracked up at the double entendre. I can barely remember family birthdays but I always remember Misti's - January 23. It's as easy as 1-2-3! Misti often calls to remind me that my mom's birthday is imminent.

Well, that's probably more background that you need but I am fond of them. Anyway, on to the dream! In my dream Tyler, Scott, Misti and I were working on an oil well. We were wearing yellow hard hats. Suddenly, the drill found purchase and a fountain of black crude erupted and drenched us. I clearly remember us holding hands and jumping up and down like kids as oil showered us and ran off our yellow hard hats. "We're rich!" we screamed, stomping our legs in glee again like kids stomp through a mud puddle.

Not bad so far, right? Well hold on to your yellow hard hats because it gets really weird. It was a dream within a dream, as I found myself chatting with Tyler, Scott and Misti and recounting to them the dream about the oil well and our newfound riches. We all laughed and joked about how nice it would have been to be rich. I know, it's hard to follow - it's like a nested dream, a dream within a dream. Pretty weird, eh?

Dream Diary

I have strange dreams. Vivid, weird dreams. I dream in color. Sometimes I even remember my dreams! Years ago I dreamt I was captaining a PT Boat. I stood at the helm hands gripping the wheel as the three powerful Packard V-12 engines pushed through the waves of the sea as I searched for enemy targets. I could feel the thrum of the engines through the floor as we powered along.

That's just an example.

Recently, I dreamt I was in Los Angeles. I was in a large, old ramshackle warehouse. Sunlight shoved its way through the smog and broken windows, dappling the floor with weak light that diffused in the dust of the air. My friend Tyler (whom I haven't been in contact now for more than 15 years) was there and had a terrible sickness. I was selling him drugs to help him get better.

Then, I left the warehouse and walked down the street to a small bungalow. Apparently I knew the occupants because I just walked in and greeted the mother (I don't remember her name) and her 8 year old daughter, Iris. I sat with them for a while until a knock on the door interrupted our conversation. The mom opened the door and into the room strode Leonardo DiCaprio. In the dream he was a movie star like his real life. Mom greeted him, and then introduced him to me. I did not want to appear star struck so I just casually said "what's up Leo?" "not much" he replied. He asked Iris if she would like to see a magic trick. She said yes and he pulled a red pocket square from his breast pocket of his blue seersucker suit. We all laughed as he made a small red ball disappear from the pocket square.

Then, I excused myself and walked down to a street corner and waited for my grandmother to come pick me up. She pulled up in a light blue Cadillac convertible with a bunch of high school girls and low back tires. This is significant in some way, not because of the girls; but that grandma never drove in her life. Anyway, I hopped in and off we went. Because the tires were so low at each corner the car would lean waaaayyy over as we all laughed. We paralleled some tracks for a light rail of some sort. As we would drive under wrought iron street markers, I would reach up with my hand and touch them as we passed. At one point my hand became caught, and instantly I knew my hand would be severed if I did not react quickly. Fortunately I was wearing gloves and managed to extricate my hand before my metacarpals became mangled.

Then, grandma, the Cadillac and the girls were gone and I was standing at the entrance of a giant Macy's department store. The light rail terminated at the entrance to the store, where signs directed commuters to follow the tracks through the store to the next station on the other side. To guide them the light rails had been burnished to a beautiful copper color and it was a normal Macy's. Except for train tracks right through the middle.

Then, I woke up.

Pole Pedal Paddle 2007

We did not compete in 2006 as our captain Gordon had injured his back, and cyclist (yours truly) was adjusting to becoming an epileptic and had lost training momentum. However, this year we were back with a vengeance! Over the last few years (OK more than a few) I had become everything in life I never wanted to be - an overworked, overweight, stressed out desk jockey. This year though I had a transformation! I'll elaborate more elsewhere, but this year I got serious. I've lost 43 lbs and hugely increased my workout intensity. It made a significant, tangible improvement!

For the uninitiated, Pole Pedal Paddle is a relay race in Bend, Oregon. It starts with a downhill ski at Mt. Bachelor, then transitions into a cross country ski, then transitions into a bicycle leg, then it transitions into a running leg, then it transitions into a kayaking leg, then it transitions into a 100 yard dash to the finish line! Then it transitions into a beer!

US Bank Quick Assets (our team) was formed in 1998, and that year and in 1999 they were the 'fun years' where we just want out to have fun and try to do good. Our team was sponsored by USB and we got some great swag - custom shirts, fleece vests, a huge BBQ the night before the race, even our lodging was comped! However, in about 2000 the results of the First Bank acquisition of USB were realized and we saw much of the events budget move from the West coast to the Midwest bank HQ. However, I'm not whining too much - USB still pays our entrance fee every year. I'm proud to say though that as a founding member of the team I'm still at it and this was my 9th year competing! Over time the team has changed to become more competitive, especially since Gordon took over the reigns of the team captain after I left USB. I love that guy, he is a great inspiration and a blast to be around. Oh, and did I mention he's competitive?

Well, I had been planning to take the Friday before the race (Saturday) off and enjoy a leisurely drive from Portland to Bend, go for a little spin on my bike, meet up with the team for a team meeting and a nice dinner and then to bed. However, my schedule changed and I needed to come into work early in the morning (4:00 AM) - no big deal. But one thing led to another and before I knew it the whole day had gone by. I hadn't even packed yet assuming that I was going to be home around 10:00 AM on Friday.

I actually left the office day about 5:00 PM! I headed home in rush hour traffic, and then carefully packed (if I am rushed before a race it is likely that I'll forget something critical, like my bike!). I was home by 6:00, and then packed up by 7:00. The Friday night commute around the Portland area can be horrendous, so I decided to wait until about 7:30 to hit the road. And hit a massive traffic jam going south toward Salem. Eventually I made it to Highway 22 and headed up past Detroit Lake. By that time I had been up for 17 hours and was getting groggy. I popped open a RockStar, cranked up the tunes and made it to the high desert. As I drove that long boring stretch into Sisters, I would roll the windows all the way down and the scent of the Junipers would refresh me, and then I would roll the windows up and then repeat after about a half hour. I checked into the motel about 11:30 and was settled and in bed by midnight. That's late for me normally, and especially on the eve of a race.

Race Day!

I love riding my bike. As I rode furiously, I heard a curious chittering noise, then a kind of a weird rustling and finally what sounded like a human yelp behind me. Taking my eyes off the road for a moment, I looked back and was amazed to see that I had been going so fast that my knifing through the air created a slipstream or vortex. Into that vacuum various flotsam and jetsam were trailing behind me. The chittering was a raccoon, the rustling was a smorgasboard of small trees, shrubs and rocks uprooted by my passing. The yelp turned out to be a competitor - I had passed him about 2 miles back and unknowingly to me he had been standed in my slipstream for several minutes and hollering for help. Like the tail of a comet the cacaphony of chaos followed furiously. I then heard an odd groaning and the ground started shaking. I thought "earthquake" and knowing how fast I was going my exit from this world would be imminent.

But then I realized - the enormous strength being pushed through my legs into the pavement was causing gravitational analomies! It was a fearful thought that one person as strong as myself could alter the gravitational pull of the earth.

And then I woke up from my dream! Now, let's look at what really happened.

Race Day - The Real Events (honest!)

Our category is Business/Service teams, and the teams are released in waves according to their category. Business/Service teams are one of the last categories, so it is typical that we would actually start a few hours after the first wave is released. Why do I tell you this? The road up to the mountain is closed in the morning so the cyclists are safe coming down the mountain. Because of that and our late start time, we end up having to drive up to the lodge and then have a few hours to spare. Although I wear a long sleeve jersey, I wear regular cycling shorts instead of pants. This works well as by the time I get down to Bend I'm working hard and plenty warm. The downside though is that it can get pretty cold up there on the mountain waiting for the bike leg to start. I found something good though that helps to overcome the chill while I'm waiting. I brought a cheap hoodie and it helped keep the cold out. When Marty transitioned to me, I tore the hoodie off and threw it on the ground at the feet of a lady standing there and said she could have it! She was a little startled but I was already gone before she could even respond.

Marty was both our downhill and cross country skier, and as I waited for him I realized that I had not seen him for two years since the race in 2005! In a relay race we typically show the person we're handing off to what we will wear. That way we know to look for the red jersey or the green tutu as our first glimpse from afar before we can even see the face of our team member. Well, sure enough as Marty appeared from the crowd like radar we spotted each other at the same moment. Off I went on the bike leg!

I have 3 bikes - an old Trek 2120 carbon frame, a Fuji Team Pro and a Trek Hilo 2000. I've named the Fuji Queen Elizabeth - she comes from royal lineage, has a regal bearing in her composite frame and with her Shimano Dura-Ace group she's as reliable as rain in Oregon. Oh, don't underestimate - when the pressure is on her queenship quenches foes from the throne. Now my Hilo I've named Princess Diana - she's fast, sexy with her 650 CC Rolf Vector wheels and carbon fork. Her integrated aero bars turn heads, and I'll probably die astride her in a fiery crash.

I ride Diana in triathlons and Pole Pedal Paddle. There are some long downhill stretches on the 22 mile ride into Bend, and tucked down on the aero bars with the low profile of the 650 CC wheels I've reached speeds of up to 55 MPH. I've learned years ago that the flapping of my number bib will be annoying, so rather than safety pinning I actually tape it right onto my jersey. I'm not superstitious (well, maybe I am) but I have a lucky jersey - yellow with flames on it and with my time trial helmet (yeah, the geeky ones) I can really fly.

In the first 3 miles I passed maybe 10 bikes, but then two guys passed me. All three of us were working hard but they inched ahead of me and slowly opened a gap. One of them was on a beautiful Orbea that probably cost more than 3K. When we got to the first downhill though I passed them so fast I know they were startled. I rode furiously near the top of my heart rate - pushing the pedals as hard as I could in my top gear. The lactic acid was reaching a point where I knew the wall was fast approaching but being very familiar with the route I knew I could time the last mile to exhaust myself and burn out just as I reached the transition. In the last 3 miles of the ride I glanced back, and the nearest one was a good quarter mile behind me. If that rider happens to be reading this, please do not be disheartened that you were beat - you're probably a great guy but a LOSER in a race with me. But I'm not competitive, I'm just sayin...



If you know me you do understand that I'm prone to hyperbole and perhaps a bit of exaggeration. But, the camera never lies - I was actually going fast enough that a photographer could only catch my buttocks as I tore by him. I did confirm with him later that he was trying to get the picture of me:



Looks like an empty course eh? Look closely at the right side of the picture and you can get a glimpse of my lucky jersey. Notice the finish line - the ride finishes on a slight downhill slope and it gets dangerous - just 10 yards away I have to brake to a stop as I negotiate a 90 degree right into the transition area. It can get pretty hairy and a few times I've even skidded into the transition.

We were pleased this year to welcome a new runner - I work with Patty and she runs like a rabbit on EPO. I came into the transition area braking hard to a halt, yelling Patty's name. She immediately emerged from the crowd and we slapped hands and away she went. Patty's fast too - it's kind of funny that the same photographer tried to get a pic of her and it ended up like mine where he only caught a glimpse of her as she sped fast:

Gordon had taken some kayaking classes, and he was psyched to put into practice the things he had learned. He even rented a racing kayak! Patty handed off to Gordon and you can see him right in the center of this picture looking calm but I know him well enough to know that the adrenaline was already flowing - look at his left fist clenching.

Gordon then handed off to Patty for the final event, a 100 yard dash to the finish line. Patty had a little time to recover as Gordon was out on the kayak, and then she sped across the finish line closing a great race for Quick Assets!


I close with this team picture. Well done to all, and we are very much looking forward to next year! From the left - Marty, Dave, Patty and Gordon. Well done, my fast friends!