Montana Roll

I'm sitting in the Portland airport on a 3 hour layover. After two weeks on two different fires in Montana, the crew has been extended a third week and I have been blessed with a trip home to complete my college applications that open up tomorrow.

I was not excited to be dispatched to Montana, being as Montana is home to the dreaded "bear grass" that nearly made my hands permanently inoperable two years ago. Bear grass does not give way to a swinging tool and the rocks buried between their potato-like roots dull our tools to the point of being like a round rock. If you've never tried to dig a ditch with a round rock, I suggest you give it a try. After 12 or so hours of doing so, your hands, arms and shoulders will know what it's like to dig a day in bear grass.

Anyway, so off we went to St. Regis, MT. We spent several days prepping roads and dozer lines for a burn operation that never occurred. Prepping means to cut down brush and trees within 20-40 feet of the line that you'll be using to burn off of. After the chainsaws cut everything, the rest of us move it to the other side of the road- called "swamping". Swamping is exhausting. There are swampers on the crew who work directly with the chain saws on a regular basis. I do not have the brute strength and stamina of a swamper, therefore I am on a tool. A Pulaski to be exact. Anyway, but when we're prepping the roads, the only person not swamping is the sawyer. So after a few days of swamping, I was exhausted.

One day we actually got to burn. I was in charge of one side of the hill while the rest of my crew worked the other side. All day I hiked around and stood on a steep slope (standing on a steep slope is horrendous) directing guys with drip torches where to put down fire. My feet were done.

We spent a few more days putting out that fire and then were sent to Helena to stage...except that we weren't. We were directed to Philipsburg where there was a fire. After some finagling, my superintendent got us on that fire. It was too far to hike in, so they decided to fly us in to the fire on a helicopter. I like helicopters. I think they are cool and I like that it saves me from a lot of walking. My superintendent does not like helicopters. I think he's been in a few "hard landings".

My superintendent was in the first load, I was in the second. We laughed as he settled into the ship and then waved at us on take-off, knowing that he was thinking how he was about to die and this was the last he would ever see of his crew. Just after take-off, the helicopter stopped it's forward motion and hovered strangely. We saw the pilot's door open for a few seconds. I looked over at the helitack crew (helicopter crewmembers and support personnel) on the ground, knowing that if it was no big deal, they'd be going about their business. They both stood and stared, frozen in place. Oh my god. I thought. They're really going to crash. One crewmember had just finished telling me that she was strangely nervous about this flight, more so than her last one.

"Is the pilot's door open?" She asked. Helicopters are fairly fragile. They're made of very lightweight materials and very susceptible to movement inside the aircraft. A door opening can be very hazardous.

The door closed again, the ship hovered not very far above the ground, the helitack personnel continued to stare. We all watched and muttered obscenities. Finally it lifted a little higher and was off over the mountains. When I later asked my superintendent what that was all about, he said there was a bee in the cockpit. Geezo.

Next it was my turn. My group and I loaded into the helicopter and I got a window seat. We lifted off the ground to the loud drone of the rotors. All of us wore our regular hard hats instead of the flight helmets that allow you to talk to the pilot or the people on the ground. The new guys snapped photos of the mountains and ground that fell away below us. I closed my eyes. I knew when we set down on the ground we would get to work. It was already past 7pm. I was tired and ready to go home. I opened my eyes again and looked out across the horizon. Another fire burned some 50 miles away. Trees killed by bugs lined the valleys below us. We passed a bright green meadow. Suddenly the fire appeared below us, a big column of smoke to the left and a “spotty burn” out the right window. It was going to be a long week. Spotty burns, where the fire’s edge is sporadic instead of one solid front, are much more difficult to deal with and a lot more work. I didn’t want the helicopter to land.

But we did finally land and went straight to work. Within the first 10 minutes I slammed the (very sharp) ax end of my Pulaski into a rock, taking out a large divot. That would take days of sharpening to work out. Loud swearing ensued. I continued on in a bad mood. Finally they called it quits for the night and we hiked to our “spike camp” where our personal bags were waiting with our sleeping bags and snugglies. We ate military rations (MRE’s) for dinner and I got to bed around 11pm. It was a restless night and at 6am I unzipped myself from my cocoon and wrestled my sore feet back into my cold and shrunken boots.

By 9am I had broken open a blister on the palm of my hand and every rock I hit vibrated into my wrist. By 10am a second blister opened up. I asked around for medical tape and no one had any. One guy had “New Skin” which is basically clear fingernail polish that seals off the wound. Not to be taken lightly. I painted it on both blisters as my small squad gathered around to watch the tears flow from my eyes. I kept it together and they were disappointed. We continued on. An hour later the new skin started peeling off. I peeled it off the rest of the way and just dealt with it.

We cut our way through rocks and bear grass to a beautiful wilderness lake. It was dark blue and emerald green and very clear. I was saddened by how we were in such a beautiful place and yet I was so miserable. It just shouldn’t be this way. I imagined being there for fun, camped out by the lake- swimming and fishing in the heat of the day, drinking beer by the fire at night and coffee by the fire in the morning. What a waste.

We split into small groups again and we started at the lake to cut our way up the steep mountain side to the rest of the crew that was on the slope. As we headed into the open meadow, one of the helicopters that was filling buckets out of the lake came in real close and nearly landed on us. We moved out of the way while he measured to see if it would make a good landing spot. He told us over the radio that it would need a few trees cleared, so we spent the next hour clearing trees. When we were done, we called the helicopter back to check it out again. He declared the work good and named it H3 for helispot 3. We got back to work, climbing over rocks and cutting around hot areas of the fire. When we were done, we hiked straight up the hill to the rest of the crew. By the time we made it back to spike camp (a camp out in the woods away from the main fire camp) my feet hurt so bad I could hardly walk. I limped around camp to get food and then crawled into my sleeping bag. As I started to doze off, sharp stabbing pains shot into my feet and jolted me awake. It continued for about half an hour before I sat up and dug through my bag for the last of my Motrin.

The next day we became mules and carried and deployed a mile and a half of hose that was supplied water by a small pump put out at the lake. My feet were crushed. It was at that moment that the team in charge of the fire decided we were going to stay an extra week. I told my superintendent that I had college applications to do and had hardly gotten started. I also need to paint my house and hire a contractor to build a fence in my back yard. Oh yeah, and I gotta get the spa guy to come fix the heater on my Jacuzzi. And cut down the dead tree in my front yard. Yikes.

He decided to fly myself and another guy home while the rest of the crew stayed. I was grateful. I didn’t know how I was going to make it another day, let alone another week. I had to survive one more day.

The next day was much easier. We cooled down the fire’s edge that was mostly out then drove out to fire camp for the night. This morning was a ridiculous display of the chaos that comes out of a fire camp.

I went to briefing at 6am to get our times signed by the division supervisor. It was near freezing so I hovered over a small outdoor heater with my supervisors while holding a cup of coffee that was still too hot to drink. Over the loudspeaker they called the name of the other guy (we shall call him Jack) that was flying home. I went up to see what the deal was.

“Jack’s flight leaves out of Missoula at 8:30am. He was supposed to be here at 4:30am. He’s going to miss his flight”. Another guy walked up and said “No no, he already left. He left at 4:30 this morning.”

“No he didn’t” I said. “He’s waiting in the parking lot”.

“Well he’s not going to make it, but we can take him anyway”.

I told my boss. “Run and get him.” He said. “Run!”

I turned to take off running and realized there was no way I could run across a big field, cross the road and run across another field while carrying a hot cup of coffee. I handed it over to the supe (superintendent). “Here, hold this.”

“Thank you, I shall drink this”.

I took off running. I got Jack moving and he quickly shoved his gear and clothes into his bags. “Don’t forget to remove your fusees (flares) from your gear, take your knife off your belt, no siggs (fuel bottles for chainsaws).” Then I went to go meet his driver.

The driver pulled up and I asked if Jack was going to miss his flight.

“I don’t know, which airport is he going to? Here, read his itinerary, I don’t have my glasses on.”

I picked up the itinerary and had to laugh. “Wait a minute. This says 7:35 PM.” I read it again. I looked up at the driver. “PM” I repeated. I read it a third time. We laughed. It was now 6:15 am. Oh no, what if it was my flight that was that early?

I ran over to Jack and told him to take his time, then I ran back to briefing to seek out the ground support supervisor again. I explained he had made a mistake. We were all relieved. I asked when my flight was and they said 1pm, and I would leave camp at 10am. “Are you sure?” I asked. We went back to the support tent to get the itineraries. Sure enough, my flight was at 1pm. I went back and showed my supe who laughed. Mysteriously my coffee was gone and an empty cup sat at his feet. I went back to the trucks to pack my bags. Ground support decided they would take Jack and I to the airport at the same time to save a trip.

We got hot showers, coffee and started the demobilization process. The crew had long since gone back up the hill an hour’s drive away. I called our home unit to make sure I had a ride back to our base. Our admin lady informed me that our chief was waiting for me at the airport and had been there since 6:30am (it was now nearly 8am California time). “We have an itinerary that says you land at 6:30am”.

“PM!” I said. “It’s 6:30 PM!” Wow, what a crazy morning.

We went over to ground support around 9:30am and started getting our gear loaded up. Then I remembered I had forgotten to tell Jack to make sure he had his wallet.

“Jack, you have your wallet right?” I asked as I rummaged through my bag.

“Oh my god!”

I looked up at him. “Are you f’ing kidding me (censored version)?”

He continued to look panicked.

“Shut up.” I said.

“Oh no.” Maybe he said more than that, I can’t remember now. I was busy racking my brain about how we were going to get his wallet that was now an hour away out on the fire line.

I radioed to our boss over the command frequency to try to figure out where they had parked. After studying the fire map and finding the right way, Jack took off for the fireline and I hopped into the truck enroute to Missoula.

At the Missoula airport, I thought about all the homesteads I had seen, surrounded by mountains and trees and rivers. I wondered if I could live in Montana. Then I thought about the winters. My driver said it was not uncommon for the mountains to get 15 to 20 ft of snow. There’s no way I could live there, but still it made me a little sad to leave. On the flight over to Portland I faded in and out of consciousness.

At the Portland airport I found some lunch and then went in search of coffee. I chose a sugary espresso drink and a magazine at a nearby store caught my eye. Triathlete magazine. In the right hand corner it said “You eat too much sugar”. Indeed I do I thought as the barista made my drink. I grabbed my cup and headed back towards my gate. I got stuck behind a slow lady and wondered what her problem was. Why are you so slow? As I went around her I looked at her feet and noticed she was wearing high heels. I vowed that I would not wear uncomfortable shoes in my next life. I took inventory of the pain in my feet that were laced loosely (breakfast laces) into my work boots, and passed her.

Why do people wear uncomfortable shoes? For some reason this bothered me more than it should. Maybe because my feet have been in unbearable pain for two weeks now. I need to spend the next few days off of them.

Hot Hot Hot!

Boy is it HOT outside! After awakening from my nap, I headed into town to get medication for the fungus between my toes (happens every summer with my feet confined to swampy boots and wool socks) and was shocked by how much the temperature changed from this morning. Apparently it is only 101 degrees out, but that's just plain ugly when there is no AC in your house or vehicle. This is not a time to be out of doors. In my house it is a nice, cool 80 degrees. Funny how that becomes such a relief after pulling myself out of the pool of sweat that had puddled in the driver's seat from my one errand into town.

This morning I went for a bike ride with my friend, Jen. It was nice and cool, not really any warmer than mid-80's by the time we returned.

 

The nice thing about being on a bike is that you get a bit of a wind chill. When we stopped for a small break in the neighboring town of Gazelle, the lack of wind reminded me of how hot it really was and how hot it was going to get.

 

 

We rode from my house in Montague to the town of Gazelle. I've got visions of living the sort of life where I bike large distances to have a cup of really great coffee at a small town café. Having never been to Gazelle, I had that sort of vision for today's trip. I should've just asked Jen who's been there a time or two. No coffee shop, no cute little pancake place. It had a post office, an auto repair shop and a very small elementary school. All of which were closed since today is Sunday. Anyway, Gazelle is 15 miles away and it was a beautiful ride.

 

 

About halfway between Montague and Gazelle is the small town of Grenada. It has a gas station, post office, general store, auto repair shop and an alpaca farm. There's actually quite the alpaca population up here. These guys must've just gotten shaved. Just in time for this awful heat wave we're having.

 

 

In case you've never seen an alpaca before, these guys are usually quite fluffy all over. They are now shaved with the exception of a bushy head and tail. As I was snapping away at these guys I was trying to figure out what they reminded me of. Some 60's or 70's disco star or something.

 

 

Thirty miles later we pulled up into my driveway and off-loaded our sore butts from our saddles. Jen is more sore than I am being as she has yet to purchase padded bike shorts. We went inside and broke open a small seedless watermelon that I had chilling in the fridge. I gave half to Jen and half to myself. We plopped down on the couch to recover.

 

After she went home, I got on Facebook to post photos. Looking at the photos of Jen and I, I was irritated about how obvious the chin strap on my helmet was and how dorky I look in the helmet. While posting the picture of the alpacas, I realized what they reminded me of. Me in a helmet.

 

I've been wanting to do a triathlon for awhile now and there's one coming up here in September, not that I'll be able to go being as it's fire season. But in the off-chance that I am not on a fire and able to go, I'd like to be prepared for it. Jen wants to do it too. I've been reading up on this creature we call the Triathlon and have come up with all sorts of ideas and issues.

 

Clothing is one such issue. I just don't know about wearing those one piece things (you have to be able to run, swim and bike in whatever you choose to wear) but I also wasn't too sure about swimming in a "tankini" and shorts. The shorts should be a little padded for the bike stretch but not so padded that it's irritating in the run and the swim. The other option is a total 2-piece. Sports-bra type swim top and a pair of padded bottoms (specially made for triathlons). I would be comfortable swimming and running in that, but I don't know about being hunched over a bike with my belly showing. We all know what happens to our bellies when we hunch over. I know, I know. But don't tell me you all wouldn't be phased if it were you.

 

Hair style. That's another predicament. The low braid I wear for cycling is not at all what I'd appreciate on the run. This is irritating. I like my ponytail much higher up on the run but that won't work with a helmet.

 

Then there's food replenishment. I'm used to long bouts of exercise and have no issue with consuming packets of gelled sugar throughout a race. I was just reading one of the triathlon books my friend from the gym loaned me and I came across a sentence I had to read 4 times before I understood it. "You can also mold unwrapped energy bars to the top tube of your bike."

 

What? I had to break it down, like a foreign language. Unwrapped. Like no wrapper attached? Why on earth would you...hmmm. I got a vision in my head of my swimming days and the old style power bars. Banana or peanut butter specifically (why? couldn't tell ya). Back in the day, it was pretty much all I could eat at swim meets without upsetting my nervous stomach. They were those thin little things that don't look (or taste) much like food. When it was cold out, trying to eat those darn things hurt my jaw, they were far too chewy. But I could place them (still wrapped in their original packaging) in my armpit to soften them up.

 

Bingo. Warm floppy power bar draped over the top tube of my bike. Unwrapped. I wonder how warm it has to be to make that happen. I flinched at the thought. I don't know if a power bar is comparable to raw eggs when it comes to putting it on an expensive paint job. I wondered how that would affect my brand new gorgeous bike. Don't worry Ruby, I thought. I would never do that to you.

 

Then I thought about the utility of it. Think about it. You're tired from your swim, you're riding along on your bike thinking about how bad the run is going to feel. You're hungry. In front of you, draped over the top tube of your bike is a choice of chocolate or peanut butter power bars, unwrapped and molded to the tube. You just peel it off like a fruit roll up and start munching away. Genius! I like this idea.

 

Question: Being as the bike is second, and it sits at the transition spot while you swim, how do you keep critters away from your power bars while you're away? Ants, squirrels, deer, whatever. Flies. I don't know. Critters.

 

Hmm...food stuffs draped across the top tube. I don't know about that. It seems like a lot more fun than sticking packets of gel in my sports bra and pinning them to my shorts with a safety pin, but also not quite as clean. I definitely see the benefit of having solid food during the bike portion.

 

I will have to stew on this some more. I'll let you know what I come up with.





It Takes a Little Time

I was in the grocery store today perusing the coffee aisle and Amy Grant's "Takes a Little Time" came on.

It takes a little time sometimes
to get your feet back on the ground.
It takes a little time sometimes
to get the titanic turned back around.
It takes a little time sometimes
but baby you're not going down
it takes more than you've got right now.
Give it time.

The song was still in my head as I pushed my cart to my vehicle. How fitting, I thought. I should text that to Candace. "It takes a little time sometimes to get the titanic turned back around." Just a little note to let her know that I believe in me almost as much as she believes in me. Yeah, 'cause the Titanic is like a wreck, but time can turn even that around...no, wait, that's not right. The Titanic sunk. It didn't get turned around in time. It was one of the most famous disasters in history. Most of the people on that boat died.

Huh. So what you're saying is, it takes some time to get a ship of great mass to change course and avoid disaster...more time that you have, and the consequence of failure is tragedy. The Titanic didn't have time. Isn't that the point? Sometimes it takes time...even when you don't have it. Interesting.

That song is darkly ironic and hopefully not a fitting tribute to the change of course going on in my life. How dismal.

Mine and Ruby's First Adventure Together

Meet Ruby.

Ruby is a Specialized Ruby Elite Apex Women's bike. All carbon frame, internally routed cables, double tap shifters, sweet brakes, super light, super smooth, with Zertz vibration dampers embedded in the fork and frame. Ruby is a $2500 bike that I scored for $1500 because it had been test ridden and has a small scratch near the seat post (I've been unable to locate that scratch). Ruby is made to go the distance. Ruby is a champ.

Today was my first ride on her other than down the cul-de-sac at the bike shop to learn how to use the new shifters. We went 36 miles round trip, over several miles of gravel road and one long uphill dirt road in which I learned a thing or two about road bikes and off-road terrain. I also need to work on mounting accesories. Because Ruby is a distance mare, I need two water bottles and a tire pump. Well there's two mounts. So I settled on one water bottle and tire pump and figured I'd fill up at the Lavender Farm (my destination) before the return trip home.

The minute I took off down the road, I knew Ruby was special. The ride felt totally different than my old bike. Smoother, more solid maybe. I covered the miles out to Little Shasta in no time, stopping to take pictures along the way.

I sped by a cool looking tractor with Mt. Shasta in the background. It would make an awesome picture. Too late, I was beyond it and indecisive. I'll get a picture of it on the way back.

Next up was the Little Shasta church.

And then the Little Shasta Cemetery just up the road a ways.

I watched the gathering clouds with a bit of trepidation. The weather report said 0% chance of rain, even though we had a decent storm blow through yesterday. So far the clouds were staying in the mountains and out of the Shasta Valley where I rode. Mt. Shasta was visible the entire route to the Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm.

Not long after snapping a picture of this horse, the road turned to gravel. I happen to know that Harry Cash Rd is paved out by the highway, so the gravel can't continue very long. It's been a couple years since I've driven this road, and then it was all paved. Apparently they're re-doing it. Well, I've said it before, but if they can do it in the Tour De France, I can do it in Montague (or Little Shasta as it were). The gravel continued for a couple miles before dumping me out back paved road. Whew!

After several more miles I was getting a little ansy to find the lavender farm, and I had to pee. I must not have been paying attention, because I was shocked to suddenly realize that the fence alongside the road had boots and shoes on all the fence posts.

What on earth is that all about?

Finally I came to the Lavender Farm sign, and it turned onto a dirt road. That went uphill. A fairly steep uphill. Well, here goes.

I started up the hill and quickly ran out of low gears. I tried to stand up, but as it happens, taking a road bike on a dirt road calls for a little extra attention to detail. Lesson number one: you must keep your butt on the seat in order to put pressure on the rear tire. If you don't, the smooth tire will just slip right against the dirt road. And you will go nowhere. I looked down at my chain rings and realized the front gear was still fairly high. Huh. Who knew I was in the high gear up front? I down shifted and gained some speed up the hill. My lungs were starting to burn and I was moving fairly slowly. I decided to take a break.

I dismounted and stood on the side of the road and took a drink of water. I walked my bike a little ways, but walking a dirt road in bike cleats is not that easy. It doesn't help that it was uphill. I decided to get back on and toughen up. The parking lot couldn't be that far away.

Lesson number two: re-mounting a road bike while going uphill on a dirt road wearing a pair of road cleats is extremely difficult. Let me see if I can paint a picture. I have cleated shoes that clip in to my pedals (they're called clipless, I know, it's a little ridiculous). The thing is, my pedal is required to be in the exact right position and my cleat needs to find the right spot on the pedal to clip in. It is very difficult to pedal without getting clipped in, as the bottom of the shoes are slick and so are the pedals. So the idea is this: you get one foot clipped in completely and push off, pedaling with that one foot while you attempt to connect the other foot. This is where the uphill dirt road schooled me.

I clipped my right leg in, pushed off and attempted to get my left foot in (going uphill) while trying to pedal with only my right foot. I had to create so much force on the upswing that my right calf cramped severely. I stopped and hopped off, stretching my calf. I tried a few more times, almost got it and helplessly careened off the road. I walked a ways until the ground looked flatter. Nope. I walked some more. Finally I came to a flat spot, managed to mount back up and pedaled around the corner until I coasted into the parking lot.

I think my left cleat is wearing out because it didn't want to come out of the pedal. I'll replace them and see if it helps.

Exhausted, I walked my bike to a solid wall to lean it against and went in to use the restroom. I grabbed a lavender lemonade and set out into the lavender fields to snap some photos.

The Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm is only open about one month out of the year. You can have special events there. It's free to show up and you can cut your own lavender bunches for about $5 per bunch. You're greeted in a Tuscan style building where there's a gift shop and they give you a free glass of lavender lemonade. It's absolutely stunning.

After getting a bunch of pictures, I decided to head to the bathroom to fill up my water bottle and take one last bathroom break before hitting the road. I really should've asked if the water in the bathroom sink was potable. Usually though, if it isn't, there's a sign that says not to drink it. I remembered from their website that they're on a well. Well water is usually fairly safe, just not always tasty. I was kind of embarrassed to ask, thinking if I asked if their water was safe to drink, they might take offense to it. It is a fairly fancy place. Anyway, if it wasn't potable, it would be labeled right?

I took off on my way back home (by the way, it's 18 miles each way) and got lesson number three. It's just as difficult down a dirt road on a road bike as it is uphill. Why? Because of the lack of traction and control, you have to take it easy. And it was steep. I marveled at how fast I made it up the hill being as it was going to take me twice as long to get down. My forearms and shoulders ached from clutching the brakes. Brand new bike and I was gonna need a new set of brake pads.

I finally made it back on pavement and turned towards home. After a little ways, my right calf squeezed a bit, trying to cramp. Better drink some water. I pulled my water bottle off the frame and took a swig. Whoa! It had quite a bit of zing to it...followed by a bitter aftertaste. What on earth? Then I remembered the website saying something about their well water being naturally carbonated. I wondered if it was safe to drink. Damnit. There was no way I was going back and I was out in the middle of nowhere. Better not drink it....unless you really have to.

The clouds started to gather and the wind picked up. 0% chance of rain, you'll be ok. My calf squeezed again and I pressed my heel down to keep it stretched. My shoulders, back and butt started to ache. I still had a couple miles of gravel road to contend with. I could've gone another way but then I wouldn't be able to take a picture of the cool tractor.

I hit the gravel road and focused ahead. Pick your line and stick with it. When the gravel got deep, I sat back and tightened my abs. At one point the gravel was so bad that I almost lost control of the bike. I moved over into the oncoming lane to find a firmer path. Up ahead the gravel road ended and hit pavement but it was right around a curve. I hoped I wouldn't meet a car coming the other way. The gravel on the right side of the road was awful. I popped up on to the pavement and moved over quickly. Just after I got in my lane, an SUV came around the corner. Yeesh.

I relaxed a little and tried to shake out my shoulders. My calf squeezed again and I gave in and drank more water, gulping quickly so I wouldn't have to taste it. I passed the cemetery and the church and almost missed my tractor. I pulled over and was disappointed. It looked a lot cooler as I flew by it earlier. It's still kinda cool.

I hit the road that signaled that I had 5 miles left until home. The clouds were taking over the sky and I could see rain in the mountains to the northwest of me. 0% chance of rain, huh? I pedaled faster. 3 miles to go. I stood up to rest my butt a little and tried to stretch my back. It was no good. This was by far the longest bike ride I've ever done and it was starting to wear on me.

I hit the Wildlife Reserve. 1.5 miles left to go. I took another swig of my carbonated well water and stood up again. I speed down the hill into town, convering my brakes with my fingers. The rain clouds tracked north of me. I would make it.

I pulled up in front of my house and struggled to get my foot out of the pedal. I'd have to do something about that. I dismounted and clacked up the driveway in my cleats. Whew! Home! Food! Water! And of course a Mt. Shasta dark chocolate bar. I jumped in the jacuzzi to ease my stiffening muscles and then hopped in the shower.

The 0% chance of rain? It's now sprinkling on and off. But I'm safe inside.

Awesome Day of Fishing!

I got home from a Southern California fire assignment yesterday afternoon, picked up my new bike from the bike shop and headed out to Iron Gate Reservoir to do some fishing. I hadn't had time to pick up worms so I tried a few lures before being chased out by a storm.

After watching the storm roll in for awhile, I decided to call it a day and headed back up the hill to my vehicle.

On the drive home, I pulled over at the dam and tried to take pictures of an eagle's nest high up on a power pole. Didn't turn out to be much. I planned on riding my bike to the Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm the next day if the weather cooperated. If not, I could always grab a rain jacket and some worms and try my luck at fishing again.

This morning was chock full of errands I had to run. Went grocery shopping, got my tires rotated and balanced (what I really need is to buy a couple new ones) and got my eyebrows waxed. The girl who was tasked with removing my errant eyebrows from the areas of my face where they don't belong, said "You're going fishing in this weather?!" I could hear it pouring outside. "Maybe it'll stop."

Anyway, fishing is supposed to be more fruitfull when it's raining, right? When I left yesterday, I spotted a litle rock outcropping that looked like the perfect fishing spot. The water should drop of sharp right there, giving the fish their much needed "structure". Plus the rock there was low enough that I needn't figure out how to get the fish out of the water should I actually land one.

I grabbed my worms, pole, tackle box, cooler and fish identifying book (apparently in order to stay legal with my fishing, I actually have to be able to tell them apart instead of just saying "big fish" or "little fish") and drove out to Iron Gate. There were plenty of people at each little cove and I worried some one had taken my spot. After all, it was after noon. The plus side of my little spot is that the road down to it is now closed, so you have to park up top and take a little hike down. I think fishermen are generally lazy, because I've never seen anyone else at this spot.

I parked the jeep on the side of the road, gathered all my gear (this time being smart enough to grab my little net) and set off down the hill. I found a comfortable rock, set all my stuff down, and cast my line in with the last lure I used yesterday. After a couple tries, I decided to switch to worms. It rained on and off. I dropped my worm directly below me where I could see the rock drop off...and instantly landed a fish. A 4 inch bass. What's iritating about these little guys is that they swallow the hook whole. My pliers are not needle nosed enough to do delicate surgery. Poor things.

I pulled in a few more small bass, and one larger, just short of the 12 inch minimum. Getting tired of struggling to pull the hooks from the throats of tiny fish, I switched to a larger hook. I got several good size fish on the line but they kept slipping off. Frustrated, I reeled it back in and realized I had put a barbless hook on the line (required for fishing in the Klamath River). I switched it out for a larger barbed hook. Everybody ate my worm and no one landed ashore. I siwtched back to the original hook.

The wind and rain came and went some more. I was getting frustrated with the little fish. How was a big fish to grab this thing if I keep reeling in all these little guys? I replaced the worm and chose the next drop spot. Just below me looked like a nice deep spot. I let my worm sink far, then set the reel.

Bam! Fish on! This one felt big! It ran under the rock and into the weeds...no good! I had to drag him to the other side while climbing down from my perch so I could get him into the shallows to net him. I let him drag awhile then coaxed him over. He flashed about and darted around. I pulled him in and swept the net under him. Whooo! He was big! I grabbed my ruler (that also has a handy knot tying guide on it) and laid it next to him on the rock. It started to rain again as I realized this guy was a definate keeper. Close to 16 inches!

So here's an interesting concept about fishing. When you catch a keeper, you have to kill it. Yes, I suppose you could just let it suffocate. It will eventually die when left out of the water. You could also cut off it's head. I've never actually killed a fish on my own until today. I never killed one as a kid. That was my dad's job. And I don't really remember how he did it. A few years ago, I was talked through killing one while on a fire in New Mexico. I picked the little guy up and slammed his head against a rock. Twice.

This guy here was a little big to do that, but that's ok. I had a plan. I bought a little fish club just for this purpose. It looks like a small billy club. The idea (I guess) is that you hold the guy still and clobber him on the head... hard enough to kill him. Quick and painless. Ha. That's only if you do it right.

I took my little towel and grabbed him good and solid-like. Head pointing up. I took aim and swung, fairly hard I thought. Ugh. It definately stunned him (and me) but he didn't seem very dead. I hit him again. He slipped in my hand and the third strike landed on the side of the head. Hmmm. Looks dead. Now to gut him.

I got out my fillet knife and set the fish on the rock. His gills moved shallowly. Really? What the hell? Is he for real? I'm thinking he was at least unconcious...at least that's what I'd like to believe. Well, if all else fails, cut the head off. Bah! Eww! It went fairly squemishly, and the spine resisted all attempts of me trying to cut it. I was fairly certain this fish was alive and suffering until I was able to sever the spine. After attempting a few times, I finally stuck my pliers in there and snapped it. I finished cutting the head off and realized I did a crappy job and also had removed a good portion of the body. Yeesh. At least it was finally dead.

I slit open his belly and pulled out the organs and slipped him into a plastic bag. It started raining harder. My adrenaline was going pretty good from my thwarted efforts to bludgeon to death a fish and I was feeling a bit of guilt from my first kill. I decided to call it a day.

Hmm...I thought about it. The big ones are just starting to bite! The wind was worse and more chilly and the rain fell harder. I packed up my stuff. There's more big fish waiting under that rock!

Ahh, ok, one more attempt.

I threaded a new worm on the hook and dropped it down by the rock.

Fish on!! Holy moley another big one!! Again, I coaxed it towards the shallows, landed him in my net and measured.

Another keeper, this one around 14 inches. I vowed to do better at putting this one out of his misery. I took careful aim and snapped the club down into his head. His fin seemed to straighten up and twitch but I couldn't tell if it was the wind or not. I slit him up the belly and removed his innards...including a partially digested fish. Geez, this is gruesome. I put him in the bag with the headless fish and put them in the cooler. I packed up my stuff and headed up the hill.

As I drove home I started thinking about how I was going to fillet the fish. It would be easiest to google how to do it. Sure enough, there were plenty of youtube videos on how to fillet a bass. I watched it a couple times and then went to work. The headless one was sloppy and I ended up more with chunks instead of fillets. I got to work on the second one.

A little better cut, but I still left some flesh. The other side went much better.

Ready to fry.

In the pan with some coconut oil and "Joe's Dirt" seasoning.

Lunch.





Best Ride Ever!

This morning I set out on a 20 mile bike ride through Shasta Valley towards Table Rock. I checked out the route first on mapmyride.com and chose what looked like the most interesting route. I geared up in padded bike shorts, a bright floral sleeveless jersey, bike shoes and a helmet and set off towards the east.

For the first mile I rode through the residential streets of Montague on Highway 3. Less than 2 miles in, Highway 3 ends and turns into Little Shasta/ Ball Mountain Road. Around here roads are given names for where they lead. Montague/Grenada takes you to and from Montague and Grenada. Yreka/Ager takes you from Yreka to Ager. Little Shasta takes you to the town of Little Shasta, which I don't think is really a town, although it kinda says so on the sign. At mile 3, I turned off the highway and onto the continuance of Ball Mountain Little Shasta Road. I use the term "highway" loosely. It's a two lane road where vehicles whiz by every 2-3 minutes.

Ball Mountain takes you through a few ranches over a relatively flat road with maybe a slight incline. I waved to the occasional rancher that drove by in a pick up truck, wearing a cowboy hat or the more farmer type hat. Cows watched me curiously as I scoped out the view of Mt. Shasta and the Marble Mountains, still covered in snow and glaciers, rising high up above the green valley below. Irrigation ditches gurgled and rushed by on the side of the road. I watched a crop plane fertilizing the fields (treating it? Who knows.) and circling above my head before diving down again and repeating the circle above me.

I rode by a two story brick house with the bright white pillars that reached all the way to the top and it reminded me of the old houses in the southeast. An old man sat on the front porch and I waved, but a pillar passed between us and I had to get my eyes back on the road, so I didn't see if he waved back. In the corral next to the house, a horse bucked and ran back and forth. He seemed fairly agitated. Two little quail ran across the road to get out of my way.

I came upon a sign that said "Unimproved Road. Passenger vehicles and trailers not advised". I wondered, What about a skinny bike tire? I supposed at any point if the road got too rough to continue on a road bike, I would just turn around. It wasn't all that bad, some pot holes and rough road conditions, but I wanted to reach ten miles and I could see Table Rock in the distance, so I pressed on.

My brain did not make the connection with the road name "Townsend". Even though road names are actually quite descriptive out here. I mean, what is really meant by "town's end" when you've been far away from any sort of civilization for miles now? Totally irrelevant....or was it?

The rough road continued on a little longer and I rode past a herd of cows that regarded me warily. Some started a decent trot away from the fence, a few moo'd but none of them decided to run. Up ahead I saw a sign that read "Historical Marker Ahead". Oh really? Cool.

Immediately after that the paved road ended at a T with a dirt road. Good lord. Remember, skinny tires. If you don't know the difference between a road bike and a mountain bike, or even a recreational cruiser bike, you just wouldn't understand. I'm also not quite the seasoned rider, so I don't completely know the capabilities of my bike, skinny tires in general, or even myself as a rider. I know at some point in your career in a certain sport, your comfort level reaches a maximum, and your bike in this case would just become an extension of your body. I'm not there. I equate it to how I am in the water versus how a novice swimmer is in the water. I can just tell by their body language that they are not 100% comfortable in the water, whereas I'm completely at home. I have never ridden a road bike on anything other than pavement. I thought I remembered something about how in the Tour du France (or however that goes) they ride over gravel roads or cobblestone streets. Same kinda bike, just more experienced riders. I can do this.

I stopped in the intersection and turned to see the historical marker sitting right there. In my panic of finding a dirt/gravel road in front of me, I nearly missed a site of historical interest. Tailholt: one of Siskiyou County's "lost cities". Here used to be the site of the Tailholt Post office, which was moved down the road where it still stands today (not sure if it's still in service or not, didn't go down that road). This little town, which is now just a historical maker at a dirt intersection, used to have a saloon, racetrack, baseball field, harness shop, blacksmith shop, slaughterhouse, meat market and grist mill. You can read a little more about it HERE. By the way, I had to look it up, but a grist mill is where grain is ground in to flour.

I was only at about 8.5 miles and my goal for the day was 20 miles total. I can get very mission driven on rides and runs, which is why I didn't have my camera with me and I really wish I did. I eyed the road for a little bit and then decided to give it a go. If Lance Armstrong can do it, so can I. Not really, for several reasons, but you get what I mean. Anyway, if I crashed way out here (past Town's End) there would be no one to make me feel embarassed. And being as the crash would probably be a low speed one in which I could not control my skinny tires in gravel and dirt, I would probably be ok. Yes, I carry my cell phone.

I saddled back up and pedaled up the road where I met another intersection. Of course there are no road signs out here (other than the unimproved road warning signs) so I didn't know which road was which, but I had a mental note of the map I checked out online before setting out, so I took a right towards Table Rock. The road was dirt and gravel, rutted out and washboarded. I was so busy focusing on the road that I couldn't tell I was going uphill. I thought maybe my tire was flat or something, but trying to check the back tire while you're riding your bike is a pretty sketchy ordeal. I don't recommend it, especially if you don't have great command of your bike to begin with.

At one point, I was charged by a squirrel and it scared the crap out of me. Up to this point on my ride, I had only merely been threatened by birds along the road. None of them took a dive at me, but they chirped excitedly as they tend to do in the spring time when some threat is upon them, and flew around me a few times. In a week or two that will turn in to dive bombing. Right now they don't have any babies to protect.

Anyway, back to the rabid squirrel. Out of the corner of my eye (remember I'm already tense from trying to steer my bike on a dirt road) I see something run at me from the side of the road. It continues towards me at great speed and I turn my head to see a squirrel sprinting towards my bike, where at about 6 inches away, it stops, flattens down and then disappears back to the side of the road. Geezo. I continued on. Obviously I am faster than a rabid squirrel, even on a dirt road.

In the shadow of Table Rock, right before I reached a ranch house, I hit 10 miles, dismounted, took a drink of water, turned around and headed towards home. This is when I realized I had been going uphill for quite some time. As my bike picked up speed without any help from me, I pondered whether I would have more control over my bike going fast or slow. I guess it depends. I could feel my rear tire fishtail out every once in awhile and it made me awfully nervous. I lightly touched the brakes, being as I felt braking hard would really make me lose control. I visualized the effect of crashing in the gravel and how it would feel to have dirt and gravel embed itself in my skin. I slowed down a little more.

On the way back there was no sign of the crazy squirrel. You know, you might laugh, but hitting a squirrel while riding with skinny tires (I'm telling you, if you don't understand the skinny tire deal, just go ride one) could cause some serious damage to myself and probably my bike. More to myself though, being as my speed was probably less than impressive at this point. I skidded and slid all the way back to the historical marker where I turned on to the pavement. On the side of the road was a sign "Rough Road". I had to laugh. I suppose it depends on your perspective. I was so happy to be back on pavement. It felt smooth under my tires and I relaxed a bit as I greeted the cows that moo'd at me.

Then the road got real bumpy again. My bike vibrated so badly beneath me that I had a hard time holding on to the handle bars. I gripped as hard as I could but was only able to manage a loose grip. I passed Townsend again and it wasn't long before the road smoothed out for good. I came upon the two story brick house again and waved at the old man. Looking a little more closely I could see he had his chin to his chest. Probably sleeping. Maybe he's dead. I wasn't going to be the one to check. I rode on.

The road opened back up to pastures and the crop plane continued to swoop through the valley. I passed a couple cattle chutes, some that looked more advanced than others. I relaxed and pressed my shoulders down away from my ears and switched my grip on the handle bars. I merged onto the highway with 3 miles left to go and went up and down a few more hills before hitting the residential streets of Montague. I shifted my hands back to the brakes to cover them in the event a car pulled out in front of me, shifted to a higher gear and picked up the pace for the last half mile. 7th street...8th street...bright yellow pedestrian crossing sign....and took a right turn onto 9th. I unclipped my left foot, pulled up in front of my house and leaned left. Thankfully I also went left. With my left foot on the ground, I unclipped my right foot, dismounted and clicked up the driveway in my bike cleats.

What an awesome ride. 20 miles in one hour and 22 minutes. That's an average of 14.5 miles per hour... which would've been quite a bit faster had it not been for the dirt road portion...which I survived.

GRE- Take One

This morning I took the GRE test for the first time. Now that I'm done mourning over the exam, I can begin studying more to retake it. I got some of the results right away but need to wait for the essay scores. The GRE consists of two essay questions, 2 verbal reasoning sections and 2 math sections... as well as an additional section in one of the areas that isn't graded, but you aren't told which one is just for study purposes, so one of the sections don't count towards your score.... but you don't know which one.

It takes about 3.5 hours to get through the exam. That's 3.5 hours of staring at the computer in a frenzy to answer all the questions in the alloted time. You start with an essay analyzing an issue and are given 30 minutes to read the prompt, put together your stand on the issue with supporting ideas, review your work and submit it. Then you get a 60 second break if you want it...and since it takes several minutes to check in and out of the exam, that doesn't give you time to get up from your seat. It's enough time to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and click "Continue". Then you begin another essay where you are given an argument and you have to analyze that argument. You're given 30 minutes for this one as well. I think I did fairly well on both of these, but they must be submitted to an actual person who will read them over and give you a score of 0-6 on each essay. A 4 is acceptable. Anything less is just not good at all. This is the only area that any of my colleges have a required score in. After reviewing all of my schools, I need to get a 5 or better. I might be ok in that area.

After another 60 second break, I dove into the verbal reasoning section. There are 25 questions and you're given 35 minutes to answer them. Some are complete the sentence, some are articles with questions attached and others are fill in the blanks. You get another 60 second break and dive into the quantitative reasoning section. You get 40 minutes to answer 25 math questions. This is not a lot, regardless of what that looks like. As I struggled to set up formulas to solve the problems or comparisons, the clock ticked away. It was awful and I knew it. I marked ones I didn't know and came back at the end of the section to guess away at 5 or 6 of the questions.

Then there was a 10 minute break. I peed and got a sip of water and sat back down to start verbal reasoning section 2. There was a 60 second break after that and into math section 2. Knowing I did badly on the first math section, I tried harder to solve problems I knew I could solve...given the time. But I wasn't given the time, and then was shocked to see that I was out of time and had to go back and review another 5 or 6 questions that I had marked. In less than 2 minutes, I randomly selected answers to about 6 questions. I was exhausted and dejected. But I was done.

BUT WAIT! Another verbal reasoning section popped up. Son of a bitch. Excuse the language, but seriously? Ah yes. The dreaded "extra section that doesn't count towards your score but you don't know which one that is" scenario. So there were 3 verbal sections and one of them didn't count. But I didn't know which one so I had to give this last section all I had...which wasn't much.

At the end of the exam, you get the scores for your math and verbal, and then the essay scores (average of the two) are mailed in about 2 weeks. I really did not want to see my scores, I was pretty irritated with the testing process by that point. But I clicked through to see my scores anyway...because I kinda had to.

So the scoring works like this. Between the two math sections, you can score between 130 and 170. And then the same applies to the verbal. You get one math score and one verbal...and then 2 wks later, also one writing score. The lowest score you can possibly score on the math and verbal is 130. The highest is 170. So basically 130 is equal to zero. I scored a 158 on the verbal and 150 on the math. Pretty freakin' terrible. Especially the math. Putting that in perspective, there are 40 possible points in each subject matter (170-130 = 40). So on the verbal I scored 28 out of 40 (70%) and on the math I scored 20 out of 40 (that would be a whopping 50%).

I got home and googled what the averages to these exams are. Obviously, a 70% is fairly average, and so my verbal score is not terrible. Had my math score been in that range, I could just let it go. Of course, as long as my written score is 5 or above, I could still just let it go. But then I would be telling my potential grad schools that not only am I terrible at math, but I'm content in staying that way and am not going to make an attempt at getting a better score. Being as I will be required to take 3 semesters of Calculus, I just don't see that as being a wise choice.So I'm starting again.

I've got a new study book for math and will focus on each section until I feel I have it down so well that I can fly through the math problems with ease (because that is what's required if you want to do well). Most of the problems I can answer given enough time to struggle through it, but that obviously does not work in this case. I can't take the test more than once in a 30 day period and not more than 5 times in a year. So in June I'll do a mental check on where I'm at with the math and schedule a second exam. Of course I will also continue to study my vocabulary words so I can get a better score in the verbal as well, but the concentration will be on the math.

When I got home from the exam (it was an hour drive one way to the testing center) I took a nap. I dreamed I had run a marathon that I wasn't totally thrilled with, but I figured since it didn't take that much out of me to begin with, I'd just do another one. This is funny because I just realized that the exam took me about 3.5 hours to do, and my marathon time is 3:31. If only I had energy gels and water with me throughout the exam (you can't take those in with you) and two bathroom breaks as opposed to the one. Pretty funny.