Doing it all the hard way...

Saturday, May 16, 2020

A red sleeping bag, a blue jacket

An ill-fitting down jacket sparked it.  I had a blue down jacket and after denying it for a year or two I admitted the arms were too short.  In the 1970’s I had made a down jacket from a kit and knew it wouldn’t be hard to add a section and make the arms longer.  I am sure I had some ripstop in my inventory and I could get the down from a pair of down booties I had stuffed somewhere that I hadn’t touched in a decade.
As I extracted the booties from the boxes of stuff I hadn’t touched for years I pulled out my red sleeping bag and laid it on the carpet.  A flood of memories filled the room. Everything from camping with my dad in Sequoia to backpacking with my children in Washington and California to praying for warmth on Denali.  
Evo with Duncan at Charlotte Lake, 1979
I successfully modified the down jacket and put the sleeping bag back. The seed, however, was no longer dormant.
When my rhythm issue caused me to wonder if my cycling days might be over, my bigger fear was that I would not be able to backpack again. At this point it had been ten years since I had been on a backpacking trip. I took note and realized I needed to course correct.
Tim and Evo on Forester Pass 2002
That summer Tim and I returned to the John Muir Trail to finish what we started in 2002.  We did not complete the trail in 2017, but we did do another section and there is still a final chunk waiting for us.
Tim wading across the inlet to Lake Virginia, 2017
Our plan is to complete the trail this August. So much has changed from the seventies when I started backpacking in the Sierras.  The gear is much, much better and I am an old man that is, let’s be honest, much, much slower.
Note the required old man hat......

Monday, May 11, 2020

Farewell Tux

The Ambassador (snaggletooth)
We had to say farewell to Tux.  After being with us for ten years and two days, he finished his assignment. We were not ready to say goodbye, and only in hindsight did we realize that it was time, and he was ready to be done. 
Moonshine with Tux
At the cabin when I would take him out at night I never complained because I got to see the moon and stars.  In the morning, he was often ready to go before I was, yet every single time I thanked him for getting me out to see the sunrise and hear the owls hoot.

He was the first dog for Kyson and Cali and Russell and Sasha and Drew and a dozen other children. He was gentle and made fast fans of them all. He literally was a Greyhound Ambassador and spent time at pet stores letting children pet him. 

He was as black as night and in the dark the leash just disappeared and he was invisible. He would come up onto our deck at night and stand outside of the french doors waiting for us to see him.  In the dark, we often didn't see him. 
When we brought him home from the Greyhound halfway house he was young, fit and fast.  He was also scared of cars and stairs and bicycles.  Hottie spent countless hours teaching him and helping him become the best Tux. 
Bat ears in the snow
Tux had a crooked jaw and his teeth didn't match up which meant he had more problems with his teeth than most.  I brushed his teeth (with chicken flavored doggy toothpaste) and I am sure he knew it was a good thing. A good thing that he hated, but he let me do.  After his breakfast I would call him over and while he would come, he would not raise his head.  I would brush his teeth and more often than not he would offer me a warm belch before I was done.  Over the course of his life he had more than twenty of his forty four teeth pulled.  The vet who helped us say goodbye to him said he had the best looking teeth of any greyhound his age she had ever seen.  
Tux on a cloud in heaven, looking down on us....
Near the end he walked slower and his gait was stiff.  He would breath hard without much exertion.  He took the stairs one at a time and food became less exciting.  His kibble was supplemented with fish oil his whole life.  Then we added teeth cleaning "big chunks" and then bacon bits because otherwise he would not eat until I left for work and thus get out of getting his teeth brushed.  Then we added some prescription pills and added fiber.  All he needed was one of those pill boxes with the days of the week on them.  Still he seemed to be happy and since last fall he had good and bad days and we almost didn't see that the good days were getting fewer and fewer.
Tux and Bunny looking for treats
After he passed Hottie and I cried and cried. We felt guilty for not being able to do more, yet ultimately we knew he had enjoyed a great life.  The quiet hurt.  The empty spot where the dog beg had been looked barren. I felt I owed him a debt of gratitude.  He had been so exceptional to our grandchildren, so kind to so many and had exceeded everything we could have expected or asked of him.  I thought about building a monument, buying a statue, getting a tattoo, or trying to figure some way to honor his memory.  As the days passed the tears became fewer, yet the hole in our hearts still ached. On a ride up the Chewuch as I let my memories of him run free I asked what I could do to honor him. Just as Shoeless Joe Jackson uttered in the greatest movie of all time, "Field of Dreams" his words, "There are others you know?" came to me.   

Does the world still have dogs that need homes?  A quick check of the Woodinville Greyhound Pets Inc. website confirmed there were forty nine of his brothers and sisters looking for homes. We debated.  There would be poop, there would be messes on the carpet and who knows how a new dog would be with grandkids. The training and inconvenience would be a burden.  We talked and talked. 

As Alexander Rostov, the protagonist in "A Gentleman in Moscow" says in reflecting back on his life of privilege versus sacrifice, "It was the inconveniences that mattered most."

We spent time with Drake and Kona (then known as Buddy) and finally brought Kona home.  I almost cried that we had to leave Drake because he seemed to be such a good guy.  I was relieved to hear he went to a forever home a couple days later.   I cry a lot more these days.  That is good.

Kona's grandfather was Trent Lee and Trent Lee was Tux's father.  So Tux and Kona share some blood.  They also seem to share a sweet disposition. 
This is Kona.  
We were so grateful to have been able to share time with Tux.  The arc of his life from young fit specimen to old man was touching.  His first bicycle race was the Volunteer Park Criterium. He was so scared we took him back to the car.  A year later he could watch a cyclocross race with cowbells and screaming fans without blinking an eye. He was my running companion, Hottie's walking and photographing buddy and a hero to Sasha and Drew. He was always a little insecure yet he managed to be aloof at the same time.  He liked to peel back the covers on our bed when we were out of it and lay his furry body on the sheets. He would let Hottie know when it was dinner time and we will miss him every day.  We will honor him by taking care of his nephew Kona. 

Monday, May 4, 2020

Respect the mountains

No; snow gophers didn't make it all lumpy
A few recent experiences have reminded me that failing to respect the mountains can be a dangerous mistake.   In recent weeks, with spring in full attack mode, I have ventured into the mountains many times on bike and on foot. The sunny tranquil world of the mountain valley can easily betray the potential harshness lurking in the higher mountains. 

Three times in April I left the sunny valley and climbed up only to find dark skies, cold wind and spitting, unforecasted light snow.  Snow being far less of a risk than rain. 

Miles and miles from a paved road, sweating and feeling the climb in my legs I look around. Seeing the dark skies, hearing the frozen hail bouncing off my helmet, and feeling to cold wind cut into me, I thought, "This could get ugly."  

My life was never at risk, but the prospect of the day turning into a very uncomfortable death march was a real possibility.  

On one of the rides near the start I passed two men sitting in the sun wearing T-shirts and drinking beer.  After nearly three hours of riding punctuated by frequent glances at the grey sky and spitting hail I returned glad to be back where it was warm.  Those same two guys were still in the sun, still in T-shirts, blissfully unaware of the journey I had undertaken while they took their repose.  The mountains don't play fair and they often override the weather forecasts. 
Hottie, bundled up for a chilly descent.
Even a drive up a canyon for a short hike with our new companion Kona revealed threatening skies and temperatures that chilled our excitement.