PHOTO ESSAY: lost in the mix

I'm being reminded how "blogs are tossed into the electronic ether like rolled-up notes floating in virtual bottles" while watching bald eagles dive bomb each other in aerial attacks out the window of my corner office here at home.  These airborne symbols of American patriotism seem to be camera shy so i'm still waiting to post a shot of them.

Nothing like a Saturday spent battling this blog page, trying to make little adjustments here and there. Being as technically challenged as I am, it's been a tedious few hours. I have also been tending to the time consuming transfer of photos from my netbook (which I use on the road) to a larger laptop I use at home.

Here's a few pics that caught my eye.
A few... as in 14.  Click on photos to enlarge-

Night falls over Paris

Frenchmen belting one out

Jardin des Tuileries, Paris

Along the Seine

Somewhere among the French Alps

In front of the Louvre 

A Camille Claudel sculpture

Horse trading can be tiring

Kyrgyz girl snacking

Kyrgyz family photo

Kyrgyz boys being boys

Big Ben being shy

An afternoon in the park

"Mom, who's this guy taking our photo?"

the aftermath

Somehow I didn't hear them shout from shore "We'll meet you at the bridge!" while I was negotiating my cold ride on top of the capsized kayak. I was too busy preparing for what would be my impromptu "polar bear plunge" before ever reaching the bridge downstream. Soaked in shock I walked back to the house and past a neighbor. She stood gawking at my state of affairs. "Water's a little cold" I said. "Get those clothes off!" the woman responded. Thanks lady.

The house was empty and the car was gone. In all of my wet wisdom I assumed Matt and Alex had gone to rescue their stupid friend. Both left in such a state they forgot cell phones. So, without changing clothes I jumped in Ruth and began a search and rescue of my search and rescue team.

I found Alex at the bridge. Her upper body hung over the side of the guardrail "searching" the waters below. "Alex!" I shouted walking towards her. We then exchanged a few brief words of relief. "Matt's gone, he took off running after the kayak. I'll go look for him, you get those clothes off." I couldn't help but agree with her.

Back at home I plunged into the hot tub trying to put feeling in my fingers, then a quick change of clothes just before Alex opened the front door. "I can't find him." she said dejected. Without knowing Matt, one can't quite fully appreciate his.... dedication, his persistence, his -how shall i say- incredible stubbornness. "Well, let's go look for him."

I rallied Ruth to life, Alex jumped back in the Jeep. Off we went to find my good friend Matt. The Latah creek runs by my house then meanders its way past a golf course, skirting along the Pullman highway until it dumps into the Spokane River. Alex and I decided to get on the highway and leap frog sections of the creek/river looking for Matt.

I pulled Ruth off to the side of the highway, put the emergency flashers on her and left her running. I left her running because she has developed an odd habit over the last year of not turning off when you turn the key and take it out of the ignition. You can literally be holding the key in your hand having taken it out of the ignition and she will keep on running as if you had never intended to stop her. The only way to shut her off is to pop the hood, and hold down a special red "STOP" button which chokes the engine into submission. Did I have time for all that? No.

Running and shouting "MATT!" I was a few hundred yards from the highway scanning the section of river for my bearded search and rescue team when I felt my phone vibrating. "Alex, did you find him!" "No, but did a cop pull you over?!" "NO. WHY. Is there a cop behind my car?" "Yes." "@!#$%"

Sprinting over a grassy knoll of the golf course I saw an officer, arms folded as if knowing I was going to come from that direction. I got within five feet of him, out of breath. "Do you want your $150 ticket now or later?" "Officer, please, I am looking for my friend who thinks I'm dead. I flipped my kayak a few minutes ago and my friend is looking for me."

Seemingly unfazed his hand reached for the CB radio attached to his shoulder. "Yeah dispatch, if anyone calls in a capsized kayaker on Latah creek, he's been located." Turning his attention back to me, he seemed both amused and bewildered with my story. "I know, its crazy and stupid on my part and I apologize officer." With a half smile he said "Well, let me see some ID." I tapped both pant pockets, nothing. "Officer, I left my house in a big hurry, I dont have any ID." "Your fly is down." He said without hesitating. With a quick zip we moved on- "well, what's stopping someone from stealing your car that you left running." "Officer.  The car doesn't turn off when you take the key out of the ignition, so I left it running."

I remember thinking at this point all of what I am saying is sounding very odd however true it actually is. "...But my friend is still out there looking for me." AKA can we wrap up this investigation of an idiot. "Do you want a ticket?" he said facetiously. "No". With that we exchanged smiles and I got back in Ruth. (side note- this makes the forth time Ruth and I have explained our way out of a ticket.)

Alex called again just as I was looking for another place to pull over further down the highway. "I found Matt, we're at the gas station." I pulled into the parking lot next to the jeep, Matt wet from his personal adventure that ended with him chest deep in the water pulling the kayak out of the river, looking like he should, cold but delighted his dedication paid off.

The three of us stood together half laughing. I have always enjoyed being the third wheel in their relationship, but its moments like these that make me really appreciate how close we have become.

Beyond stupid

-I have long appreciated the word flow, how it can be used to describe both the passing of time and the movement water. Now, as I say it out loud, I even like the way my lips curl as it rolls off my tongue into the air-

It seemed like a good idea. I remember thinking this even up to the last second before my kayak flipped in 42F (5.5C) degree water the other day. Matt, Alex and I were having a laugh, running a small set of rapids down what is normally a calm creek in front of my house. However, the last few days had warmed the surrounding mountains in the Inland Northwest and an unusual January runoff had super-sized the amount of water and the roll of the rapids. I thought what harm could there be in shooting the middle set.

They say body heat is lost 25 times faster in cold water than in cold air. Something I could not fully appreciate until I decided to ditch the capsized kayak. A frigid rush of water engulfed my chest, gasping for breath but inhaling a mouth-full of water instead, my arms thrashed their way towards shore, fighting against the natural flow of melted snow. I remember the sensation of my hand gripping a clump of reeds sprouting above the water next to the swollen bank. Drenched in adrenaline I managed the cold walk back to the house. 

Dry, warm and safely ashore I sit here the day after, thinking maybe I wasn't as close to the edge as I thought I was during those handful of frantic moments. Staring out, surveying the same rush of runoff from the kitchen window it seems almost like a day-dream now. I guess it's like Hunter Thompson said, "the edge.... there is no honest way to explain it because the people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over."

Among the valuable lessons I am taking from this experience is how I prefer the phrase "going with the flow" more metaphorically than literally.

(Blair Witch footage provided by my good friend Alex. 

Kayak recovered by my good friend Matt)

bringing it home

In all of my travels I have never chosen to sit in the first row on any airplane. But with Southwest's "open seating" policy I found myself spontaneously sitting in the first row on the short flight over the Cascades to celebrate my friends birthday.

At first glance they were easy to miss. The set of lifeless legs seated next to me. From the waist up his strong build carried the look of a rugged cowboy. Mid 40s with a full head of fine blonde hair, trimmed tight, a sharp line disappearing behind each ear. A well manicured mustache that appeared almost fake had the color not been so perfectly matched to his hair. His eyes, one badly blood shot, damaged I imagined doing something on the farm, gazed down with shades of dark blue when he spoke, unable, or more likely too painful to turn his neck. His red collared shirt would have seemed like business casual on its own. But a clay colored vest embroidered with NFPB (National Federation of Professional Bullriders) pushed it into the realm of formal farm wear.

I rarely initiate conversation on flights. "How are you doin' today" I said just before take off. Casting his gaze on the open middle seat between us, he paused for a split second, interlocking his hands like one does when giving a leg-up to a horse he slid them under his thigh and readjusted the position of his right leg.  "Not bad, and yourself?" he said in a low, raspy voice still holding his head down and to the right.

For the next hour, we shared thoughts on life. He spoke about his two daughters, his wife, his medical supply business. I told him of my recent travels, my buddies birthday party. We traded bits of banter about sports and cars and the inland northwest. I could feel a childish temptation to ask how he had become paralyzed. But I didn't. I told myself "don't be that person."

The plane dropped low for landing, "Well, I'm the last one off so enjoy your party?" he said with a chuckle and half smile. It was then that we discovered we were scheduled for the same return flight the following day. "Doug, I hope we'll see each other tomorrow."

I arrived at the gate eager to find Doug. A few minutes past before I spotted him wheeling towards me, his carry-on suitcase strapped close to the front of his thin legs. "Doug!" I said with a big smile. Both of us started trading stories like old friends. A women approached us a few minutes later, "Doug, right?" "Thank you so much for volunteering in my PT classes." They laughed, reminiscing for a few minutes about how some students can't handle all that is associated with assisting those who are paralyzed. In the dull light of the airport terminal I noticed the small halo traction scars left behind by the screws that they drilled in between gaps of his hairline and eyebrows.

Everyone began boarding the plane. Not surprisingly I found myself back in my same seat next to Doug. The topic of women jumped onto the runway while the plane taxied for takeoff. Somehow I got this crazy cool cowboy talking about love and the heartache that comes with it. We were having some good laughs along with serious discussion about the subject when I leaned in and asked him my favorite question whenever I come across someone who seems to be, for all intents and purposes "happily married".

"Doug, if you dont mind me asking, how did you know your wife was the one you should marry?"
A big smile comes over his face, glancing down at his legs he says "you know, that's not the question I often get asked on these plane rides." I hadn't realized how my introduction to the question had the appearance of going down a different direction until he looked at his legs.

"I knew her for six months before I asked her to marry me, I was 25. It sounds crazy and I'm sure you've heard it before but you just know, I knew I wanted to marry her. We had been married for three months when I was hit by a drunk driver. I was within an inch of my life, my wife was with me every day for the six months in the hospital. And we've been married 20 years now."

A moment past without either of us saying anything. Then, laughing a little before he leaned in, his neck still just as stiff as a starched shirt, "Sorry to ruin your question about love with that heavy answer." I hesitated, "You didn't ruin it, you brought it home."

I sat in my chair, the cabin dark with the night sky, thinking about how an answer to a single question can capture so much about life and living and loving. As the plane touched down in Spokane, Doug added "We live in a disposable society. Often we cut and run when the going gets tough. Relationships are no exception. But I was lucky enough to have found someone who stuck by me. Well, I'm the last one off, take care Brad."

There will never be another flight where I will not look to see if Doug is sitting in the front row.

PHOTO ESSAY: Driving around Snowkane

Part 2: not just a car.

My hands grip the wheel, remembering the years we spent together. Remembering our epic trip around America. How we drove over the golden gate bridge down the 101 from SF to San Diego. Remembering our campsite in Santa Barbara how much we enjoyed the generous meal shared with that white Rasta and his wife who invented the first recipe for vegan cheese, more money than god and they were just a cool couple camping next to Ruth and I.

Remembering how Ruth raced my friends and I away from the crazed drunkards that over ran what was turning out to be a pretty great party. Then blazing through the scorching desert past Palm Springs, camping under a Josha Tree, then running along the Northern rim of the Grand Canyon, wrapping back towards Zion National Park, hiking up to the angels' landing, pushing east, stopping to see the pillars of glowing red clay in Bryce Canyon one minute before a snow storm covered everything white. Spending a day to see natural bridges cut between to canyons in southern Utah cut by wind and time and weather and mother nature's creative talents. Meeting a middle aged women who liked Jim Beam and believed camping doesn't mean shitty cooking, she also believed, the following day, as we ventured way out into the wilderness that her Subaru wagon could withstand extreme abuse. After brushing off my suggestion she might consider buying something with 4-wheel drive, she assured me the car is doing just fine as we threaded along massive gaps in the dirt road, both axles on the brink of breaking, remembering how the whites of my eyes went wide with fear as she mentioned the possibility of us having to spend the night in the car (together), should flash floods catch us, still hearing her say in perfect pitch, "I only buy cars that I can sleep in and that I can @#$% in."

Never more happy to see Ruth than after that little day trip I took with that wild woman. Moving on through Durango, over the Rio Grande river, sweeping past northern New Mexico, then cutting across the top of Texas, connecting with my roots in Oklahoma, Ruth and I searching for a headstone, lost in the prairie among the buffalo.

Amazed in Memphis, where we shared a drink with Russell, the owner of Earnestine and Hazel's, (the coolest drinking establishment IN AMERICA), saw the Loraine motel where MLK was shot, (all of it sounding too much like that cheesy movie that Orlando Bloom starred in) seeing where Dr. King's dream became not just his but America's. Up and down the Shenandoah valley, listening to John Denver, the sun roof open, Ruth feeling every inch of those crazy hills. The beard was getting long when we reached my sister and brother-in-law in Philly, shared some laughs then pushed on, towards our goal of getting her back to where my great aunt drove her oh so many years ago, Long Island.

Down 34th street, passing the empire state building, onto the long island, jammed with traffic, "buddy" i say to the cabbie stuck next to Ruth and I in traffic jam "is it always like this". Chuckling " 'ey kid, its the long island expressway, the longest parking lot in america".

We reach the house where my great aunt lived, an old women opened the door, and a boy wearing his grandfather's cowboy hat, driving his great aunt Ruth's car, weathered with a long black beard, stood as tears formed in front of this perfect stranger, because it was never just a road trip, it was never just getting Ruth back "home". It was always about connecting with the spirit an amazing lady I never really knew. I listened to stories from the old women who told of my great aunt Ruth's zest for life, but then it was time to go. I never thought, nor did my mechanic, Ruth would make it this far, so the question was what to do with her now.

"I guess you could drive her back" my mom said. And that's just what Ruth and I did, headed west, across Pennsylvania, stopped off and visited an old friend in Chicago, went on a savage burn as Hunter would say across Iowa at 4AM, listening as On the Road played by Kerouac, his words making perfect sense in such a state at such an hour in such a car on such a trip. Twisting around the road long enough to catch a glimpse of Mt. Rushmore. Standing next to Custer's last stand, cruising across montana, and stopping off at my mechanic's before home, showing him where Ruth took me without troubles.

But she's old now. She's tired, she has endless issues, a tragic state of affairs every time i return from my travels. this could be the end of a long and beautiful run.  My hands still grip the big round wheel, an endless flow of memories cover my mind. It makes no sense to be sad over this hunk of steel, but to sink into her seat and stare down a long stretch of open road, is to be full of life and love.