What I REALLY want for Christmas

We all know the status of our economy. I believe that leads to an awareness that a charitable act can carry even more weight than usual. Sherry and I are so thankful for a roof over our heads, jobs that support us and friends and family that add so much joy to our lives. There are people this year, and maybe some that you know; that have lost jobs, and perhaps even the roof.

What I would really ask for Christmas in 2008 is that you would join me in bringing some relief into a needy family's life. My friend John has set up a link on his blog that you can make a donation. I would humbly ask that you take a few minutes to consider giving. I believe you will be blessed knowing you have made a difference. I think you'll be glad you did.

John's post is eloquent and touching. Please find it here.

The Art of Tim

My pharmacist's name is Tim. I value him not only for the hallucinatory respite from the harsh realities of this vale of tears we call life, but that his art is pleasant and calming to my troubled soul. OK, I'm being a bit dramatic - but I really do like his art. Here's one of my favorites:

It's not...

I took some writing samples, and it's not:

1. Daren
2. Gary
3. Debbie
4. Jim
5. Julie
6. Vonne
7. Kim
8. Todd
9. Robert
10. Claudia
11. Reed
12. Brent
13. Kelly
14. John

It might be Ron. It's very likely that it is Charlie. But there's a unique twist which also points to Daryl Lynn. And just what does Johnny Cash have in common with Chicago, Fort Worth and Martinsburg West Virginia?

Congratulations to Doug!

One fine day I met a colleague via the phone. Really nice guy, he helped me with a technical problem. As it turned out we had cycling in common. As we talked, he mentioned how it had been a dream of his to someday ride his bike across the nation. Yes, from sea to shining sea. I was dutifully awed as he explained that he was about two months from starting the journey! I think that is fantastic. The farthest I've ever rode was Seattle to Portland (on the organized bike ride here in the Pacific Northwest).

I asked if he was going to somehow keep us abreast of his journey, and he put me in touch with another colleague who put together a Google Maps mashup of Doug's trip. As he rode and communicated with her she would update the map! Before reading further, I invite you to take a few minutes to carefully study and think about his route. Note how many miles it was coast to coast - 2,959 miles! Oh, and then let's ride another 300 or so home. But wait, he did it unsupported! And, in 28 days! Let the enormity of it sink in. Imagine how hard it would be. Check it out here, and then please come back and continue on to read some of Doug's excerpts as he recounts highlights of the trip.

From Doug:

"Thanks to everyone for their thoughts and prayers. Except for the dog incident in North Carolina, I had no real problems, which for the length and duration of this trip was pretty incredible.

According to my GPS, the total trip mileage was 3460 miles, which averaged out to 123.5 miles per day. I completed the cross country part (Oceanside to Myrtle Beach) in 23 days, which is about 5 days sooner than I expected. This allowed me the opportunity to ride back to Ohio, a nice bonus.

The weather overall was excellent. I had 3 days of rain between El Paso and Dallas. The first day was pretty bad, a lot of lightning and high winds. The second two days were just a steady drizzle, not too bad.

The best part of the trip was being able to meet all my Checkfree friends in the Phoenix, Dallas and Norcross offices. The warm reception in all of the offices was much appreciated.

Crossing the desert was brutal. There is absolutely no shade, and there was one stretch where I rode about 70 miles before I found any food. A little shack of a gas station near Salt Flat, Texas. I had Gatorade and Twinkies for lunch.

At just about every meal stop, people would come up and ask "where are you headed?" The next most asked question was "Is anyone riding with you or following you?" Most people were surprised I was traveling alone, especially after they saw how little equipment I was carrying.

I got to Texarkana just as Ike was about to come thru. A lot of people in the Houston area were evacuating to the north. I got one of the last hotel rooms in Texarkana. Instead of continuing east into Shreveport, I decided to head north to avoid the storm. It turned out to be a good move, and I didn't get any rain during the day, although it did rain after I had stopped for the day.

I ate pretty well. I'd usually have the breakfast provided by the hotel, then stop after about 30-40 miles for a second breakfast. I stopped at Subway quite often for lunch. It seemed the subs were good for carbohydrates, digested easily, and were cheap. For dinner I usually tried to find a buffet or steakhouse. I found several great "home cooking" restaurants in the southeastern states. I craved ice cream, and made several stops at Dairy Queen. When I got to Myrtle Beach, I celebrated with 2 giant banana spits for dinner.

I've always felt that I've received more than my fair share in life. But after seeing how some people live and work in some of the rural areas in the south, I am even more convinced as to how fortunate I am. I have been very, very blessed in life.

I was climbing a hill about 20 miles from Mount Airy, North Carolina when two dogs came after me. I squirted one with my water bottle, and the second ran in front of me, hitting my front wheel and knocking me off the bike. Luckily, there was a crew of surveyors in a truck behind me that had a first aid kit. One of the locals who was an R.N. came out and bandaged up my elbow. Nothing on the bike was bent or broken, so after putting all the gear back on my bike, I rode into Mount Airy and overnighted there.

Virginia was the most difficult state to ride thru. It was almost all mountains, almost constant climbing. I overnighted on the Virginia/West Virginia border in a town called Bluefield. When I left in the morning it was 50 degrees and raining. I was so cold I was shaking. The rain quit after about 3 hours and the sun gradually started to come out.

I stayed in quite a variety of hotels. I'd stay at Hampton Inn's when they were available, but was in several towns that had only one or two very primitive hotels. One hotel in either Arkansas or Alabama was $29.95 a night, so you can image how basic it was.

I carried a very minimal amount of gear, but there wasn't anything that I found I needed that I didn't have. I pretty much just ate, rode and slept. I'd usually get on the road around 7:15, ride about 30-50 miles and stop for a snack, ate lunch around 2-3pm, and ride until close to dark. I'd use my GPS to locate the farthest hotel away that I could safely make before dark, to try to maximize my mileage. Only twice did I have to ride after dark. Once I was on a four lane divided highway that had one lane closed for repaving. I rode the newly paved closed lane for about 10 miles to the next town - my own private route!

In Arizona and New Mexico you can ride on the Interstates. Which is good, because there just aren't any other roads out there. The berms are wide and fairly smooth, but littered with debris from truck tires which caused several flats. Once I got to Carlsbad New Mexico and got off of the freeway, I never had another flat tire. As any cyclist would tell you, riding that far without a flat is incredibly lucky, and I wouldn't have thought it possible if it hadn't happened to me. So here is a commercial for Continental 4000S tires!

I missed my guitar, and also my weekend ritual of breakfast at Bob Evans. There are no Bob Evans restaurants out west, and the first one I found on my route was in Virginia - it was great!!!

So, all in all it was a fabulous adventure. I am so fortunate to have had the opportunity to do this ride. I appreciate all the folks at Checkfree who took up the slack while I was out. I know everyone had their workload increased to cover my absence.

I got back to Dublin around 3:00pm on Saturday, and the plan was to meet my dad at the bike shop on Sawmill Road to get my clothes, apartment key and bike case that I shipped to him from California. Little did I know that there was a full blown reception party waiting for me complete with cake and presents! My sister Karen made a great photo collage of the daily pictures I sent. There was about 20 people waiting for me.

The folks at Performance Bike Shop checked over my bike to make sure nothing got damaged as a result of the crash with the dogs, and everthing is working fine. I wore out the chain and rear gear cluster, but everything else is in great shape. I rode about 10 miles today to loosen up, and I'll gradually work back into my daily riding routine. I feel great, but after the adrenalin wore off, I started feeling a little of the tiredness. I have two more days of vacation left before I have to return to work."

Here's Doug at the start of his trip, in the Pacific ocean. Here he is at the end, in the Atlantic. Doug, congratulations on an amazing accomplishment!

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.

Another Oregon town is safe from...(read on)

My friend (anonymous) is a police captain in the Oregon town of (anonymous). Without further preamble let's dive into his account of a recent serious event. In his own words:

I thought I had a good grasp on the multitude of different law enforcment agencies in this country, but I was wrong. I was summoned into a briefing several weeks ago by the Feds. If you were to guess which Federal Agency would come calling to a local police department, you would guess the DEA, the FBI, maybe the CIA, or possibly the Secret Service.

It was none of these. This time the USDA, as in the United States Department of Agriculture, requested my presence. The..huh? What would they want with me? Aren't these the people who inspect fruit in California?

I was greeted by eight Federal Agents who had flown in from all parts of the country. The SAC (Special Agent in Charge) introduced himself with a gentle southern accent and handed me his prepared briefing agenda.

I couldn't help but notice the symbol on the first page. It was a cartoon character of a rooster wearing boxing gloves in a fighting stance, with a circle and slash through it. yep, I was about to learn all about Cock Fighting Law Enforcement.

As soon as the briefing started, it became clear that we were in the midst of a Federal Cock Fighting crackdown. The wanted to use our SWAT team to do the entry. The only problem was, Federal warrants have a 30 second rule. This means when doing a search, after you knock you have to wait 30 seconds before you enter. This might work with chickens, but in (anonymous) this gives the bad guys time to get their weapons loaded and aimed at the door.

Having this in mind, I told the Feds our SWAT team would spend our 30 seconds hiding behind our armored car.

The feds were interested in arresting one of our local "frequent flyers." That's a technical term for "repeat offender". This bad guy deals meth and had firearms ready the last time we did a search warrant at his house. I didn't see any chickens then.

I shared this information with the Feds. They looked at each other, then quickly waived the 30 second rule and requested we do the entry.

Good decision, I thought. The more I talked with these agents, the more I suspected their normal day was very different from mine.

One agent looked like the mom from the Brady Bunch. Another was a tiny Asian gal with a big smile who giggled a lot. The SAC looked like a Sears catalog model. Then there was the guy who looked like Adam Carolla and the woman sitting at the end of the table could have been Wynonna Judd. Orville Redenbacher, or his close relative, rounded out the crew.

We did the search at 5 AM before the roosters could wake up the bad guy. It went well, and (anonymous) is safe and chicken-free. Sears catalog models apparently make good SACs.

QOTD

From my friend Reed (superstar athlete):

"endurance training takes a long time"

Real Life Test Answers

Some of the most brilliance in difficult tests is the is the interpretation of the question in a literal, wooden sense rather than the sense in which it was intended. Some of the images are a bit difficult to read, but gave me a good chuckle.

Patty "snowshoe" Sturdevant

So check it out - Patty decides to do a snowshoe race. It's her first one, the White River 8K race on January 20 of this year. Patty's a natural athlete, and of course - in her first snowshoe race - she gets 11th overall, out of 103 participants! As reported in Snowshoe Magazine :

Patty Sturdevant, Portland, took third in the overall women’s class at 54:18, missing by just six seconds a 10th place overall that Scott Hull, Portland, claimed.

Well done Patty! Well, it turned out that she qualified for the Nationals! How awesome is that? How could she not go? How could she not buy special titanium racing snowshoes for the event? Wouldn't you? Of course you would.

In a bit of pontification, Phillip Gary Smith writes:

A glorious and glamorous day dawned at the Snowbasin Resort, Ogden, Utah, for the running of the 2008 United States Snowshoe Association’s Eighth annual PowerSox Championships. In a setting destined to be one of the all time greats for these races, and accommodations to match, racers from 19 states gathered to do battle on these pristine slopes.

Patty traveled with her good friend Myra, who took 8th - overall! Congratulations to Myra. Patty did awesome, again we are looking at her SECOND snowshoe race ever in her life! And she takes SECOND place in her age group in the Nationals, and earned her silver medal! It's enough to make you take a SECOND look (ok, sorry) at her results:

Patty, we are all very proud and happy for you. We'll be looking for you at the 2009 Nationals!

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!

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.

Charlie and the Chief

In Seattle, they utilize technology in dealing with car thiefs. They have "bait cars" that are equipped with GPS and auto shutoff devices. When the door is opened the clock starts ticking to disable the car remotely and then apprehend the thief. Occasionally though something does go wrong, as you can read here.

Well, in an unamed small Oregon town things aren't quite that sophisticated. May I cite an example? A few weeks ago some of Charlie's officers walked through headquarters and said to Charlie (captain) and the chief "hey we're going to a drug buy, wanna tag along?". "sure" they said, I'm surmising anything to get away from the paper pushing. They jumped into a marked unit and followed the parade to the location. Charlie and the Chief (sounds like a sitcom) backed their unit into an alley facing the street. The seller got spooked though and roared out of the location, his Honda civic spraying gravel like watermelon seeds from a Rotary club picnic contest.

With lightning quick reflexes Charlie and the Chief blasted out of their concealment, bubblegum lights a-flashing and tires a-smoking as they took off in hot pursuit. I'd like to say that their coffee spilled all over them and they spit out donut bites but that would be unfair stereotyping. They had left their coffee and donuts on their desks. The other units pulled out behind them like ducklings obediently following their mother through dangerous waters.

Alas, a difficulty was encountered! Charlie could not find the toggle for the siren! Silently they sped searching for signs of a siren switch. Now, this is a family blog so I must be careful but let me just say that the Chief, as he leaned over Charlie (who was driving erratically at high speeds) to search under the dashboard for the switch aroused curious speculation from the trailing officers.

Charlie was positioning for a PIT (precision immobilization technique), or as I like to refer to it as a TVI which is not a reference to a television action show but stands for tactical vehicle intervention, wherein 'tactical' ramming is used to strategically maneuver a car or truck off their direction of travel into a spin to bring the transgressor to a halt. I'll concede that I too have precisely immobilized a car, but it was my own car when a deer placed itself in my path. But that's another story.

However, before Charlie could enact his PIT the perpetrator decided to give up and spun into a large gravel area adjacent to the road. Charlie and the Chief roared in behind him, brakes churning a curtain of dust, gravel and discared cigarette buts into a patina of perilous possibilities as the other offices all roared into the cloud after them. In a moment of time we can imagine cop cars careening, officers with guns gesticulating and a scared suspect subdued.

Charlie and the Chief never did locate the siren switch. The officers determined that there is a moral to this story - never let an administrator do field work! Still, if I were ever to get arrested Charlie's the one that I would like to do it. Donuts and all.

Of cops, donuts and machine guns

My anonymous friend who will remain anonymous is the captain of the police force in an anonymous city here in an anonymous state (OK, Orygun where the willuhmutt river flows freely on it's journey to the Superfund passage).


My friend teaches machine gun tactics and safety. How cool is that? Let's look at the gradution photo of a recent live fire exercise:

Ahh, there's nothing like a man and his machine gun! Please note that the scenario resulting in the carnage (get it? car-nage? ha ha ha) above was a hypothetical hostage situation. The lesson learned from this is: you never, ever want to be taken hostage in Oregon!

There is also an interesting visual in this picture. Police officers are subject to stereotyping, and if I may be so bold to point out (at the risk of a plethora of MP-5s pointed at my posterier) that an abundance of donuts fueled the day of machine gun fun.

Wish I was there.

Going for Guinness

Ha! You thought this post was about beer, didn't you? Nay friends, we are about to embark on a journey into the Guinness Book of World Records. As reported in Time magazine (November 20) by Carolyn Sayre:

"Call them crazy, but there's a group of very special people who have something you probably don't: a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records."

Now, although I've reached the heights of achieving multiple lofty goals, sunken in the valleys of committing repeated heinous social blunders; never have I been graced with the wreath of a world record. But Paul has.

Paul is a guy with multi-faceted talents. He's creative: he once helped to orchestrate an amazing sight, walking through nightime woods whipping a glow stick around with which the end had been cut off. We wandered through the blackness where a tunnel of soft illumination decorated trees, shrubs, and the floor of the woods in a stunning visual treat. Paul is also smart: he sells software. Paul also is a skilled footbag enthusiast. Let's let him explain how it works:

The actual footbag (aka Hacky Sack) record is called “10-minute timed one-pass.”

You get 10 minutes to get as many kicks, back and forth, as you can. (To break this record, you can’t take two kicks in a row; neither can the bag touch you above the waist). To be a world record, it must be “drop-less.” I.e. you can’t drop it, and pick it up, and keep going. Further, even if you surpassed the record in less then 10 minutes without dropping, then dropped before the 10 minutes were completed, the record would not be recognized. You only get two attempts at a World Footbag Association event (the sanctioning organization for the sport.) These are the same guidelines that Guinness World Records requires we follow.

In 90 degree heat on a concret surface the attempt began. About 7 minutes in, they dropped. Well, now it was time for the second - and final - attempt. At about 4 minutes into it,

This Happened.

No way! How could that have happened? Since they were already set up, they decided to start again and then appeal to the powers that be that a third attempt was justified due to interference. Although there a few bobbles, at the ten minute mark the unofficial count was 1,414 - handily beating the former record of 1,327!

They were granted the exception, and through an unofficial confirmation from Guinness were informed that they would obtain the record. In a few weeks, an official certificate will come to validate the confirmation.

Very cool!

In Memorium: Mike Phillips

We have some good friends - Gene, Darryll Lynn, and Chelsea Phillips. For years I have been regaled with stories about Gene and his brothers, Jeff and Mike. They (Mike especially) have truly set the bar with some of the best practical jokes I've ever heard.

Mike had cancer, and passed away on October 16, 2006. Sherry and I only spent a little time with him, but even in his suffering he was a fun, likeable guy. Sherry loved him from the first time she met him.

Mike wanted to have his memorial service in Gene & Darryll's home, and I was privileged to attend. I knew Mike was big in radio, but I didn't know just what kind of an impact and influence he had. The service was attended by local radio personalities such as Tom Parker and Craig Walker. The room was filled with the rich deep voices of on-air personalities. A polycom was set up, and callers dialed in from Los Angeles, Hollywood, San Francisco and Seattle where Mike had made his mark. Pictures from his life had been put up on a wall, one was with Mike and Little Richard.

I felt a little bit out of place, kind of an outsider in the tightly knit group. The room was filled with industry lingo - like "air check" - apparently a critique of a jock's (for disk jockey) show, and "PD" for program director. The group recounted wonderful memories and anecdotes from a humble man who had risen through the ranks to become the vice president of NBC's FM radio programs. But Mike had invested much of his considerable talent to helping other people advance in their careers, it was never about him.

One of the funny anecdotes was how he had created a bowling game, where callers would dial in and guess how many of the pins had been dropped. Mike, the station manager and a sound technician went to a bowling alley and began to bowl. Mike told the sound tech that for the best effect, he would have to chase the ball down the alley whilst holding a microphone close the ball, skidding to a stop just before the ball crashed into the pins. Then, Mike said the tech would have to chase the ball for each combination of the ten pins dropping, for example a 3-pin drop, a 4-pin drop etc. He really didn't have to do that, Mike was just having fun watching the poor guy running up and down the alley!

Another time Mike printed off coupons for a restaurant, went in and gave every person dining a coupon for their meals. He was truly a funny guy who loved life, family and friends. Mike also was a Christian, and although he never engaged in 'Bible thumping" his faith was evident and clear to his friends.

If you would like, you can read about him here and here. You'll be glad you heard about a giant who was gentle, a man who left a mark on radio but more importantly left a mark on many people's hearts. I know you are with God and the angels now Mike, and I'm glad to have met you.