We don't get much hiking in during the week with the crew, so my toilet mate, Wendy, and I go on the weekends. A toilet mate is one you share a toilet with, but not a room. So not a roomate, but a toilet mate. Wendy and I hit it off right away when she dropped my toothbrush in the toilet and was kind enough to let me know about it right away. I've done meaner things. Actually the other day I flushed her hair tie down the toilet and it was quite hilarious. What that toilet needs is a lid.
Anyway, Wendy is a six foot tall hiking machine who can also throw a pretty good punch. I would say she inspires me to work out, but what she really does is sneak up on me when I'm laying on the couch with my kindle and hovers over me until I agree to go do some insane workout with her. Yesterday it was a run after my 4 hour nap. Little did she know I was hopped up on Sudafed, Mucinex, Tylenol and my inhaler. I sure showed her. But she dragged me out into the cold and the 20 mile per hour winds just as the sun was setting. By the way, I caught a gnarly cold from her. It's been going around on the crew since day one and it's still circulating.
Today we decided to try out the hike that the staff here at Blue Ridge recommended, High Top. We were getting bored with High Windy (they're really creative out here) and needed something a little steeper. A week or so ago, we were talking to the staff about the trails and they mentioned that high top was a good challenging one. Even mentioned there were a few "scrambles" in there. One thing I've noticed in this job is that the lay person's steep hike is usually nothing in comparison to what we deal with everyday. Your average discomfort is our leisure day. So we figured the hike would be challenging but no big deal.
Wendy hiked in front of me with a chainsaw on top of her shoulders. I carried a hoe (haha...yeah, lead hoe) but outside of that we both had gear weighing about 40 lbs on our backs. We laughed when we saw the sign at the beginning of the trail: Warning- Steep and dangerous rocks ahead. Use at your own risk. We were amused. We were less amused when the trail really did get steep and we were pulling on tree roots to pull us up and over the rock faces of the ridgeline. We agreed that it would be easier on the way back to hike the ridgeline out to High Windy and walk the less steep trail back. We scrambled over icy rock ledges and crawled over downed trees and fell into little holes covered innocently by bunches of leaves. We laughed because it really was not funny...but it was at the same time.
It was around this time that we A) wished we had brought a camera and B) wished we had told some one where we would be hiking so that they would know where to look when we didn't make it home. That just made it funnier. If you can't laugh at yourself, what can you laugh at?
After crawling and climbing for an hour, we made it to the top. The views were magnificent and there was a nice flat spot on top to sit in the sun. It was freezing by the way, but at least the sun felt nice. We decided it was finally time to head over to High Windy and make our way down. I fell in behind Wendy and didn't think much of the curse words that came out of her mouth when we rounded the corner. After our climb up, we could handle anything. I walked around her and looked out towards High Windy and got it right away. We would have to hike way down into the valley and then way back up the next mountain just to get to where we could start our descent back towards home.
It was then that I felt a severe loss of hope. Either way was going to be long and painful, but neither of us could fathom heading in an upward direction again. The only other choice was to scurry down the steep rocky slope that we came up. I suggested we use our radios to call for a helicopter. Wendy said we could tell them they could either pick up two healthy girls at the top or two broken girls at the bottom. We laughed, trying to cover up the foreboding we both felt as we walked towards the trail back down High Top. The wind howled around us as we carefully shuffled down rock cliffs and trails of tree roots. At one point Wendy had a cliffhanger moment where she clung to a rock with one hand, the chainsaw with the other and tried desperately to figure out a way down. I offered to hold the saw while she descended but she would have none of it. The few moments that followed made me really wish I had my camera. She made it down just fine and I tossed my tool down ahead of me and shimmied down the rock.
After falling into the leave holes a few times, lowering ourselves down the rocks by tree branches and roots, we began to feel like we may make it down safely. I joked about how she was going to make us do the same thing next weekend. She said no way, the trail was way too sketchy. So I agreed, then said "So when you make us do this next weekend you're going to suggest we go without saws and tools so that we could have our hands free." She laughed and said no, we weren't going to do this next weekend. I said "So when we do, what do you owe me?" We agreed on a beer.
We just went out to Indian food where I talked the waiter through how to make me a hot whiskey and discussed the hike (rock climb) with one of the girls who missed out. Wendy said "It wasn't really that bad" and that's when I knew. We're totally doing this next weekend.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Black Mountain, NC
It's a snow day here in North Carolina so I decided it would be a good time to update everyone. I survived my first week with the new crew: living, working and eating together. That's a lot of time together, in case you didn't know. I have my own room, which is nice, and share a bathroom with one other girl.
The food is pretty good. They feed us breakfast, lunch and supper (they don't say dinner here) most days. We're at the YMCA Blue Ridge Assembly which is situated in the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Appalachians. The food is also local faire...sweet tea, biscuts and gravy and breaded and fried fish. They do serve salads though.
It's pretty here, with lots of big rivers and mountains all around us. I look forward to riding my road bike around and going for trail runs, but the cold and the snow have me sitting inside wanting to take a nap. Of course I'm one of the very few early risers on the crew. Breakfast this morning was at 0730 and there was only two of us. A big group went out on the town last night. I do plan on heading to a yoga class at 3pm today.
The food is pretty good. They feed us breakfast, lunch and supper (they don't say dinner here) most days. We're at the YMCA Blue Ridge Assembly which is situated in the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Appalachians. The food is also local faire...sweet tea, biscuts and gravy and breaded and fried fish. They do serve salads though.
It's pretty here, with lots of big rivers and mountains all around us. I look forward to riding my road bike around and going for trail runs, but the cold and the snow have me sitting inside wanting to take a nap. Of course I'm one of the very few early risers on the crew. Breakfast this morning was at 0730 and there was only two of us. A big group went out on the town last night. I do plan on heading to a yoga class at 3pm today.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Road Coffee
After reading about "upside down" coffee in Israel, I declared to Candace that I would go there next winter to try it out for myself...and maybe coffee in Turkey because it's supposed to be really good. She suggested I write about my experiences with coffee around the world, and said people would read it. I got to thinking about it, and it sounded like a great idea, full of warmth and discovery, of new worlds and new beans....
This is not that story. This is a story of a long road filled with desperation and disappointment. Road coffee. Or coffee on the road. I'm not talking about your commute to work kind of coffee. Chances are if you find yourself stuck in traffic on your way to work without a good cup of coffee, it was because you were ill prepared and I can't sympathize with that. This is a story about a cross country road trip and one woman's desperate search for a decent cup of java (mine actually).
I just finished my drive from San Diego to Black Mountain, North Carolina and it took 4 days of driving for 10 hours at a time. I'm no coffee snob and will drink almost anything as long as it's caffeinated. I'm not however, a fan of energy drinks. Just give me good ol' coffee. I've drank the worst mud and the lightest tea-like coffee from so many places. I've dumped instant coffee in my mouth and taken a swig from a canteen of water. I can handle some pretty bad coffee, but only for so long.
After two whole days of drinking coffee from Love's and Shell, I was driving down highway 40 in the middle of Arkansas when I started thinking about the coffee I had in Ireland. Actually, there's this one cup in particular that was on my mind. There's a cafe at the Chester Beaty Museum at the Dublin Castle that had an amazing cup of coffee. I asked the chef behind the counter what brand of coffee they use. He gave me a funny look and said he roasts his own. Hmm. Was that a dumb question? Do all little cafes roast their own coffee? I don't know, in any case, he didn't sell it except for in a cup, hot and wonderful.
I also noticed that most places in Ireland did not drip brew. They would make coffee "Americano" style- an espresso with hot water added. No, coffee is not just watered down espresso. Watered down espresso is an Americano and it is entirely different than coffee. But I won't get into that. So I got to thinking that if I found a Starbucks at one of the little towns (har har har) then I could order an Americano and it should be something like what I had in Ireland, which would be fantastic next to all the gas station coffees I had consumed.
Ok, I'm not really all that enthralled with Starbucks. Don't get me wrong, Starbucks is a rock solid standby in the event that you can't find a nice little cafe that roasts their own coffee and has a name no one has ever heard of. But of course you're not going to find a Starbucks in most small Arkansas towns.
I found a small town called Clarksville that had several gas stations, a walmart and a McDonald's. They would surely have their own coffee shop. I drove past the gas stations and up the hill into town, scanning left and right while trying not to piss off the drivers behind me. I'm an excellent scanner when I know what to look for. It must come from years of speed reading. On my left I spotted a sign in a small strip mall: "Julie's Perk". What else could "Julie's Perk" mean beside a coffee shop? Don't go there. So I took a hard left in front of an oncoming van and into the parking lot.
I peeked in the window and it looked like a gift shop, but the sign said it sold gourmet coffee. When I went inside I was instantly greeted by a man with a very heavy southern accent asking if I was looking for something in particular. Just as I started to ask if they sold coffee, I noticed a small cup in his hand.
"Where did you get that? You sell brewed coffee?"
"Oh, well no. We have samples though if you'd like to try some."
I asked if there was a place in town that sells "made" coffee that doesn't come from a gas station. He said there used to be one across the street from the church but they closed down.
So I tried a sample of cinnamon coffee, which was way too cinnamon-y but it got me thinking. I had brought along my french press and could make coffee in my car...but where would I get the hot water? I could go to McDonald's and ask for a cup of hot water...or wait...I have a Jet Boil (if you don't know what that is, I can't help you) in my car, and about half a bottle of water...jeez, this was getting ridiculous. I decided to look at what they had anyway.
I chose a half pound of Mudslide and a half pound of double chocolate fudge. As I was checking out, he said "You come back if that tickles your fancy", and I wondered how far back in time I had traveled. I got back in my car and started thinking about how to make coffee with what I had. I was fairly certain my Jet Boil was in my flight bag which was buried underneath all my clothes. This was becoming far too much work, so I pulled into McDonalds and got a horrible mocha worth over a thousand calories.
As I approached the next town, I saw an ad for a hotel that read: "Turn left at the Starbucks". Ugh.
Further into Arkansas, a billboard along the freeway stated that you must use the rod on your children so they may be saved. It went on to read that you must be reborn of the body and the spirit. I wasn't in California anymore.
Then thinking back to my own childhood, it occurred to me that somewhere back in those woods in an old rickety house, a small child was getting beat with a piece of lumber in order to save his soul. I imagined the fear he was feeling on a daily basis and how he'd grow up to be a drug user, spouse abuser and in jail. This isn't your typical spank-your-children religion. This is a crazy, scary, hurt people if you think they're disobeying God sort of religion. I suddenly felt very unsafe. I've seen enough movies to think the cops in the town were all of the same belief anyway and if I got a flat on the side of the road it would probably be my last. I couldn't wait to get out of Arkansas. There is a very ugly side to religion that I would rather not come in contact with out on the road by myself.
As I crossed into Tennessee, it was getting dark and I could just see the towering buildings of Memphis. I needed gas, had to pee and was hungry. I decided Memphis would be a perfect stop. I really didn't think that one through. It was rush hour. I got off, got my gas, peed and got Subway...then tried to find the freeway on-ramp. In the dark. Man, signs are crappy in some parts of the country.
I finally figured it out, being they savvy city slicker I am, and landed myself in stop and go traffic. No big deal, at least I was on the right freeway. As one highway merged into the other, some one got on my butt close enough to kiss my bike that was attached to my spare tire. Everyone was merging, I was in the center lane with nowhere to go, driving about 45 miles per hour with some jerk just inches from my bumper. I slowed down to increase my distance from the person in front of me in case traffic stopped suddenly, which caused the guy behind me to lay on his horn and try to get around me, but there was no moving. No one was going anywhere other than with the flow. This caused me to have a road rage break down like I have not had in years. I began screaming profanities and flashed my brights at him as soon as he did get around me. Ugh...it pisses me off just thinking about it. But I figured, oh well, there he goes. You can't get all riled up with one bad driver.
Except they were all that bad. Mind you, we were now going the speed limit:70. And I was going about 72/73ish. People would get right up onto my bumper...and I mean right up in there. Los Angeles, move over, you've got some competition. So they'd get right up on me, pass and then get directly in front of me. Not more than 20ft in front of me. When there was an entire freeway with nobody there but us. This continued until I finally made it to Dickson...170 miles away. By the time I got to Dickson, my nerves were shot.
This morning began a new day out on the road (still in Tennessee unfortunately, home to the worse drivers in the world). Somewhere outside of Nashville I saw a billboard for Dueling Lumberjacks. Some sort of dinner-show. I kind of chuckled and wondered what sort of people went to see that. If I went, would I be entertained? I let the vision play in my head of two dueling lumberjacks, competing by cutting down small trees...and I realized it was my crew! I laughed out loud. People would pay good money to watch some hairy sweaty men see who can cut down a tree with the least amount of swings, and I see that all the time on fires when the guys get bored (I know you all were envisioning us working hard day in and day out with a raging fire chasing us up the hill. If you only knew...).
I was determined to find a Starbucks. There's no way there wasn't a Starbucks in the entire state of Tennessee. I was betting on Knoxville. But before I even got there, there it was! Like a beacon in the night! Except that it was daytime. A Starbucks sign (cue singing angels). I went inside with my awesome cloth sleeve (for coffee cups) that Debbie bought me (thank you Debbie!! I love it!) and ordered up a grande Americano, got back in my car, gassed up and took off. It was so disappointing. It was nothing like I had in Ireland. Totally lame. I tried that once when I came home from Italy. I had espresso at every coffee place I could find and none measured up. Just goes to show you.
As I drove up through the Smoky Mountains, I saw signs on the side of the road that read "Accident Investigation Site Ahead". What the hell? Looked like road workers, but jeez.
I finally made it to Black Mountain and went for a walk through the cute town. It's filled with shops (a couple coffee shops too!) and restaurants, very touristy. As I sat eating dinner in a Mexican Restaurant, I listened to a small group of people talking a couple tables over from me. I looked over and saw two guys and a girl who looked very much like putzes...ok, that was judgemental, but follow my train of thought here. It occurred to me that they could be from my new crew. I suddenly got that dreaded feeling of "What the hell was I thinking?" Here I am again in a strange town with strange people I may not like or get along with. Really Carrie? Ah jeez. But it's only 5 or 6 months and then I head back home to Montague. I feel like such a feather in the wind....har har.
Hopefully this town has a good cup o' java.
This is not that story. This is a story of a long road filled with desperation and disappointment. Road coffee. Or coffee on the road. I'm not talking about your commute to work kind of coffee. Chances are if you find yourself stuck in traffic on your way to work without a good cup of coffee, it was because you were ill prepared and I can't sympathize with that. This is a story about a cross country road trip and one woman's desperate search for a decent cup of java (mine actually).
I just finished my drive from San Diego to Black Mountain, North Carolina and it took 4 days of driving for 10 hours at a time. I'm no coffee snob and will drink almost anything as long as it's caffeinated. I'm not however, a fan of energy drinks. Just give me good ol' coffee. I've drank the worst mud and the lightest tea-like coffee from so many places. I've dumped instant coffee in my mouth and taken a swig from a canteen of water. I can handle some pretty bad coffee, but only for so long.
After two whole days of drinking coffee from Love's and Shell, I was driving down highway 40 in the middle of Arkansas when I started thinking about the coffee I had in Ireland. Actually, there's this one cup in particular that was on my mind. There's a cafe at the Chester Beaty Museum at the Dublin Castle that had an amazing cup of coffee. I asked the chef behind the counter what brand of coffee they use. He gave me a funny look and said he roasts his own. Hmm. Was that a dumb question? Do all little cafes roast their own coffee? I don't know, in any case, he didn't sell it except for in a cup, hot and wonderful.
I also noticed that most places in Ireland did not drip brew. They would make coffee "Americano" style- an espresso with hot water added. No, coffee is not just watered down espresso. Watered down espresso is an Americano and it is entirely different than coffee. But I won't get into that. So I got to thinking that if I found a Starbucks at one of the little towns (har har har) then I could order an Americano and it should be something like what I had in Ireland, which would be fantastic next to all the gas station coffees I had consumed.
Ok, I'm not really all that enthralled with Starbucks. Don't get me wrong, Starbucks is a rock solid standby in the event that you can't find a nice little cafe that roasts their own coffee and has a name no one has ever heard of. But of course you're not going to find a Starbucks in most small Arkansas towns.
I found a small town called Clarksville that had several gas stations, a walmart and a McDonald's. They would surely have their own coffee shop. I drove past the gas stations and up the hill into town, scanning left and right while trying not to piss off the drivers behind me. I'm an excellent scanner when I know what to look for. It must come from years of speed reading. On my left I spotted a sign in a small strip mall: "Julie's Perk". What else could "Julie's Perk" mean beside a coffee shop? Don't go there. So I took a hard left in front of an oncoming van and into the parking lot.
I peeked in the window and it looked like a gift shop, but the sign said it sold gourmet coffee. When I went inside I was instantly greeted by a man with a very heavy southern accent asking if I was looking for something in particular. Just as I started to ask if they sold coffee, I noticed a small cup in his hand.
"Where did you get that? You sell brewed coffee?"
"Oh, well no. We have samples though if you'd like to try some."
I asked if there was a place in town that sells "made" coffee that doesn't come from a gas station. He said there used to be one across the street from the church but they closed down.
So I tried a sample of cinnamon coffee, which was way too cinnamon-y but it got me thinking. I had brought along my french press and could make coffee in my car...but where would I get the hot water? I could go to McDonald's and ask for a cup of hot water...or wait...I have a Jet Boil (if you don't know what that is, I can't help you) in my car, and about half a bottle of water...jeez, this was getting ridiculous. I decided to look at what they had anyway.
I chose a half pound of Mudslide and a half pound of double chocolate fudge. As I was checking out, he said "You come back if that tickles your fancy", and I wondered how far back in time I had traveled. I got back in my car and started thinking about how to make coffee with what I had. I was fairly certain my Jet Boil was in my flight bag which was buried underneath all my clothes. This was becoming far too much work, so I pulled into McDonalds and got a horrible mocha worth over a thousand calories.
As I approached the next town, I saw an ad for a hotel that read: "Turn left at the Starbucks". Ugh.
Further into Arkansas, a billboard along the freeway stated that you must use the rod on your children so they may be saved. It went on to read that you must be reborn of the body and the spirit. I wasn't in California anymore.
Then thinking back to my own childhood, it occurred to me that somewhere back in those woods in an old rickety house, a small child was getting beat with a piece of lumber in order to save his soul. I imagined the fear he was feeling on a daily basis and how he'd grow up to be a drug user, spouse abuser and in jail. This isn't your typical spank-your-children religion. This is a crazy, scary, hurt people if you think they're disobeying God sort of religion. I suddenly felt very unsafe. I've seen enough movies to think the cops in the town were all of the same belief anyway and if I got a flat on the side of the road it would probably be my last. I couldn't wait to get out of Arkansas. There is a very ugly side to religion that I would rather not come in contact with out on the road by myself.
As I crossed into Tennessee, it was getting dark and I could just see the towering buildings of Memphis. I needed gas, had to pee and was hungry. I decided Memphis would be a perfect stop. I really didn't think that one through. It was rush hour. I got off, got my gas, peed and got Subway...then tried to find the freeway on-ramp. In the dark. Man, signs are crappy in some parts of the country.
I finally figured it out, being they savvy city slicker I am, and landed myself in stop and go traffic. No big deal, at least I was on the right freeway. As one highway merged into the other, some one got on my butt close enough to kiss my bike that was attached to my spare tire. Everyone was merging, I was in the center lane with nowhere to go, driving about 45 miles per hour with some jerk just inches from my bumper. I slowed down to increase my distance from the person in front of me in case traffic stopped suddenly, which caused the guy behind me to lay on his horn and try to get around me, but there was no moving. No one was going anywhere other than with the flow. This caused me to have a road rage break down like I have not had in years. I began screaming profanities and flashed my brights at him as soon as he did get around me. Ugh...it pisses me off just thinking about it. But I figured, oh well, there he goes. You can't get all riled up with one bad driver.
Except they were all that bad. Mind you, we were now going the speed limit:70. And I was going about 72/73ish. People would get right up onto my bumper...and I mean right up in there. Los Angeles, move over, you've got some competition. So they'd get right up on me, pass and then get directly in front of me. Not more than 20ft in front of me. When there was an entire freeway with nobody there but us. This continued until I finally made it to Dickson...170 miles away. By the time I got to Dickson, my nerves were shot.
This morning began a new day out on the road (still in Tennessee unfortunately, home to the worse drivers in the world). Somewhere outside of Nashville I saw a billboard for Dueling Lumberjacks. Some sort of dinner-show. I kind of chuckled and wondered what sort of people went to see that. If I went, would I be entertained? I let the vision play in my head of two dueling lumberjacks, competing by cutting down small trees...and I realized it was my crew! I laughed out loud. People would pay good money to watch some hairy sweaty men see who can cut down a tree with the least amount of swings, and I see that all the time on fires when the guys get bored (I know you all were envisioning us working hard day in and day out with a raging fire chasing us up the hill. If you only knew...).
I was determined to find a Starbucks. There's no way there wasn't a Starbucks in the entire state of Tennessee. I was betting on Knoxville. But before I even got there, there it was! Like a beacon in the night! Except that it was daytime. A Starbucks sign (cue singing angels). I went inside with my awesome cloth sleeve (for coffee cups) that Debbie bought me (thank you Debbie!! I love it!) and ordered up a grande Americano, got back in my car, gassed up and took off. It was so disappointing. It was nothing like I had in Ireland. Totally lame. I tried that once when I came home from Italy. I had espresso at every coffee place I could find and none measured up. Just goes to show you.
As I drove up through the Smoky Mountains, I saw signs on the side of the road that read "Accident Investigation Site Ahead". What the hell? Looked like road workers, but jeez.
I finally made it to Black Mountain and went for a walk through the cute town. It's filled with shops (a couple coffee shops too!) and restaurants, very touristy. As I sat eating dinner in a Mexican Restaurant, I listened to a small group of people talking a couple tables over from me. I looked over and saw two guys and a girl who looked very much like putzes...ok, that was judgemental, but follow my train of thought here. It occurred to me that they could be from my new crew. I suddenly got that dreaded feeling of "What the hell was I thinking?" Here I am again in a strange town with strange people I may not like or get along with. Really Carrie? Ah jeez. But it's only 5 or 6 months and then I head back home to Montague. I feel like such a feather in the wind....har har.
Hopefully this town has a good cup o' java.
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