Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Years ago, three of my good friends went on a road trip to Utah and Arizona. They were going to camp, hike, and take in the sights. After initially being considered their fourth, I was dis-invited. They could not fathom how an indoor loving, dirt hating, physically frail person such as me could survive the rigors of their upcoming trip. Now I must use this forum to set the record straight.

I have camped before. Successfully.

I have carried a hiking backpack through the wilderness to a clearing, made a tent, and then slept there dirty and unwashed for a day or two. I've rowed a boat through the water and then slept on the sand as wild pigs ran over us in the morning. I have snow shoed across endless terrain until I got sick (ok, maybe I feigned sickness to skip the next day). I have lived on a house boat for ten days while digging holes on the shore for our feces. I have slept in huts, hammocks, and bare ground. I have been places where there was no electricity and Wifi. Yes, most of these experiences were more than ten years ago -- thus violating my "If you did it over ten years ago then it doesn't count" rule -- but they were done.

Admittedly, I generally avoid physical exertion but if the end result is worth it, I'm willing to do it. Which brings me to my next point. The whole idea that the harder you work to get somewhere, the more valuable the experience, that's entirely bunk. Applied to hiking, this is the idea that if you go twenty miles through the wild, the picturesque scene at the end will be worth more. Bullshit I say! If there's an easy tram around, I'd rather just take that. What would motivate me to get to the top of a mountain isn't a sight that I could easily see elsewhere, but something actually valuable. Like ice cream.

When I'm made hiking captain of the world, I'd install ice cream and Jamba Juices at the end of every trail. "But that would ruin nature!" What's ruining nature is two million people crunching through this man-made trail buddy, just shut up and hand me a spoon.

As we ascended near the top of one of Zion's mountains, we asked people coming down if going all the way was worth it. Generally their answer was that the sight was okay but nothing particularly amazing. "There's an unimpeded view of the canyon but you can also just see it from much lower. It's about the same." I know this missing pot of gold doesn't hold true for all hikes but if you handed out gelato and sorbet at the top, that would instantly make everyone motivated to keep climbing. At some portions of the Great Wall, you can toboggan down to the bottom after hiking up. I'd install these too, but change the toboggans to water slides. Why not think outside the box a little? I could make hiking so much better.

Also, I must put on record my aversion to pretty sights. While Leslie was gushing and awestruck at every moment by the majestic beauty of Zion, I found myself uninspired by anything that I saw. "The forests in Yosemite are nicer. The rocks here are interesting but not that great. Where are the mountain goats?" ran my inner monologue. When we got to some water advertised as "pools," they were more like dribbling streams and tepid ponds. Yippee.

At one stop, a woman was posing on the rocks as if she were an aspiring Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Another guy, a young foreigner, was high up, sitting barefoot, smoking a cigarette, and looking pensive. I guess the clicheness of what people do in nature gets to me. Yes it's pretty. Yes it's unbelievable God put this here just for us. Yes it's amazing we get to live on this amazing Earth. Yes it's nice and we can share a moment. But overall I'm unmoved by views without some context.

I think I'm generally more interested in the science of nature than actual nature itself. Like how did these rocks come to be these striated colors? What's the topography like? Are these plants native or imported? Who settled this area? Is this a good place to hide from mountain lions? Just looking at something pretty does nothing for me. (Unless it's the ocean, then it does everything for me.) I also prefer exploring versus "hiking." I'd rather just walk around and see where I end up as opposed to going toward a destination. The destinations tend to disappoint unless there's a deep pool I can dive into or something.

In related news, Leslie is out at Bryce Canyon National Park today while I'm at the motel sucking up Wifi. My Google Reader proved to be more enticing than different but the same rock formations. For the record, Zion is beautiful though, and gorgeous, if you listen to Leslie versus my Negative Nelly soundtrack.

"Which reminds me: we were driving home yesterday and the person I was with asked if I liked to travel. I said no, I didn't like traveling. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. We were climbing a hill. Everybody likes to travel, it seems. If you read the personal ads almost everyone mentions traveling. The only thing more popular than traveling is hiking. So I amended it slightly. I said, I like going places with people I care about. She said she liked seeing things she'd never seen before. I could see where this was all headed."
-Excerpted from Stephen Elliot's Daily Rumpus-

The High Road

Concerned about arriving at our reservation late, Leslie suggested that we leave San Francisco in the middle of the night. Lucky for her, the middle of the night is when I'm most awake. So a day later than originally planned and in the dark, we set off for Utah at five in the morning -- aiming to arrive by nine, to avoid the twenty five dollar late fee. Three blocks away from George's apartment, we started hearing scraping sounds every time we hit a minor bump.

Other things about Leslie's Accord that I discovered a few minutes in: The dashboard lights don't work, the right side mirror is warped and cracked, the driver's seat doesn't slide back. But the air conditioning was fixed and the headphone jack she installed earlier that day worked beautifully. Good enough. Driving her car reminded me of my own 1997 Accord, which was in a similar state before we gave it away earlier this year. Perhaps illogically, I have no real concerns that the car will break down somewhere along the way. I tend to take a "if I don't see/think there's a problem, there isn't one" philosophy with vehicles.

The scraping was a concern though. Leslie's initial thought was that there was too much weight in her trunk. While a hundred or so extra pounds didn't seem like it would affect much, it made logical sense that luggage needed to be jettisoned. So instead of heading for I-80 and the open road, we found ourselves at a slow moving FedEx in the Financial District, preparing to ship two of Leslie's bigger bags across the country.

Despite waking up at five, we didn't actually leave the city until seven. The sun was up and there were still seven hundred miles to go. As we shot across the Bay Bridge, the car did it again. Bump, scrape, scrape. Oh well, what's the worst that could happen? Something drops from the undercarriage? A tire pops?

Lessons learned during the first day's worth of driving. The groves lining Bakerfield are pistachio trees. That's what we've decided after ruling out apricot and olive. Also, in shocking news, Bakersfield is California's ninth largest city and the 51st largest city in the United States. It is also home to the world's largest ice cream plant. Impressive right? In reality Bakersfield took five minutes to drive through. What other sorts of towns are we going to come across if Bakersfield is a relative metroplis? I'm excited to find out.

Lesson two: My co-pilot has a lead foot and despite being a recent law school graduate, has absolutely no regard for driving restrictions. After being pulled over for speeding, she expressed annoyance at getting caught at only 20 mph over the limit and then she told the officer that it seemed wrong that there was no ticket amount on her paperwork. "Well that just seems ridiculous! Don't you know how much it will be?" The officer was not swayed by her indignation.

Seeing as she's accrued a ticket in only three hours of driving, the over/under for number of citations Leslie will accumulate on this trip is three. Lay down your bets now people. I've also dubbed her car "The Black Hole" because so far she's lost or misplaced her eye mask, her cell phone, sunblock, and a few more items despite the fact that we've only exited the car like twice. At the end of this trip, when she cleans everything out, there's going to be a pile of goodies shaken out.

A thirteen hour drive, one time change, and two stops for food later, we pulled into our country inn at eleven. Before the trip I looked into our audio book options. I thought something intellectually stimulating would keep us engaged. After downloading stuff like The Souls of Black Folk, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Don Quixote, the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and the Communist Manifesto, I'm pretty sure none of them will be used as the passenger is just going to knock out if we put these on. Music and podcasts it is!

Let's Gauge It

Well, the wedding weekend couldn't have started off less auspiciously. While driving a few short miles to the groom's house in preparation for the ceremony, my car puttered out about halfway through. Panicked that I wouldn't make the one event I couldn't be late for, I dropped it into a lower gear and hoped for the best. A few more blocks and the car wouldn't move even when I punched the gas pedal to the floor.

After Ameer came out to look at it, he announced that the transmission was shot. So, stuck between an upcoming ceremony and a dead car, I ditched the vehicle on the side of the road -- for George and James to come pick it up later.

That was the only hiccup the entire weekend. Everything else went amazing. Splitting the mandatory family portion of the night away from the party time was a stroke of genius. Even though I had my hesitations about a wedding being planned in two different cities, that turned out to be the greatest move ever. Spreading a wedding out over a couple of days also allowed for lots of down time and relaxation, and it felt like an easy vacation for all. If weddings are reflective of the happy couple's personality, then this was a no muss, no fuss affair that perfectly mirrored what they wanted.

Let's talk about being a groomsman. Having never been so up close and personal when two people were getting married, I was surprised by how touched I was. Weddings tend to be blasé affairs nowadays. I sit in the back rows, flipping around on a phone or reading the Bible while some guy up front goes on and on. But when you're standing there at full attention, there's nothing else to do except study your friend for each shift in emotion and affection. I had a perfect view of the bride's face as she stared deep into Henry's eyes, their gazes locked upon one another. I saw all of the bridesmaids' reactions as the couple said "I do."

At the Chinese banquet after the ceremony, I gushed to my friend about how great it was being a groomsman. It felt so close and personal being in the wedding party, like the thrill of seeing a dolphin out in the wild versus at an amusement park. Eric, a veteran of many weddings and groomsman duties, laid it out like this.

"You've never been a groomsman before?"

"Nope!" I gushed, declaring that I didn't want to attend weddings anymore unless I was a groomsperson.

"I'm sorry for you if this is your first experience. It doesn't get better."

"What do you mean?"

Eric passed his hand over the center of our table. "What do you see here?" It was empty except for the food.

"Usually there's a centerpiece here. Guess who brings that?" he asked.

"Me?" I offered.

"Did you have to bring anything to the restaurant? Run any errands the last few days? Was there a tux rental or something you had to buy beforehand?"

"No, I just showed up for the pictures and the ceremony," I said.

"It's never this easy. Normally the groomsmen take care of anything the groom needs. Before, during, and after."

"Oh." After receiving Eric's words of wisdom, I've decided maybe I best just be a groomsman this once and leave on a high note.

The venue for the party portion of the wedding must be discussed. Most weddings are held in staid hotel banquet rooms that reek of uniformity and manufactured opulence. You get to dinner, sit down at your table for ten, and proceed to make some chatty with people that you hopefully know. Well, Henry and Jane's wedding was held at a stylish restaurant, and with its mood lighting and open yet closed spaces, Mesa was an ideal location for celebrating.

A friend pointed out that because the setting was a lounge and felt like a normal night out, people were encouraged to mingle and bounce around to different areas, even during dinner. This created a festive atmosphere and avoided the stilted feeling that can sometimes accompany eating times. After the amazing food had been served, they opened up the retractable roof and let the music fly. Yes the house DJ refused to play Party Rock, or take any requests for some ridiculous reason, but the night was so fun anyway.

And then magically near midnight, a sausage cart rolled up outside, hired by the bride and groom to feed their guests again. This was such a hit that people mingled around outside for quite awhile, tossing back bulgogi and spicy pork sausages while neglecting the open bar inside. More bottomless lychee martinis eventually lured everyone back to the dance floor.

When the party wound down, the bride was still ready to keep going and just like the night before, we went back to the hotel and camped out in the open patio area for drinking, smoking, scarfing down cookies, and getting the valuable downtime that really allows you to hang out, catch up, and reflect on a fantastic time. So perfect.

Alright, who's next?!

Vertigo

We went surfing today. The waves pummeled us like nobody's business. The reports offered sixty five degree weather and six to eight foot waves. Ideal conditions, if a little bigger than I'm used to. The routine of getting our boards, towels, water jugs, and a burrito beforehand went perfectly. Then we hit the water. It was freezing. Everyone but the two of us were outfitted in wetsuits. The waves were sizing down but still monstrous (relatively). The break was two hundred yards off shore and we had to fight through four or five sets of powerful waves and whitewash to get out there.

I never completely made it. For one, I'm a terrible paddler. Just pushing out that first time took a lot out of me. Right before I got to the calm area where everyone else was sitting, a monster crashed on top of me and swept me nearly all the way back to shore. Unable to keep my board underwater for duck dives, incapable of turtling, I resorted to just fighting my way back out, inch by inch -- my board out of control every time a big wave hit. After spending more time upside down and underwater than right side up, I gave in. I managed to ride one little guy in, mostly balancing on my knees, and then collapsed on the beach. A few moments later, I saw my friend emerge from the chaos too.

We were both spent. Total time spent in the water? Maybe twenty minutes. My friend is a far better and sturdier surfer that I, and it relieved me to see that even he had given up. Both of our heads pounded from headaches and ear pressure. I figured my board had maybe hit me on a tumble, but since we were both suffering from the same symptoms, maybe it was a combination of cold and sea sickness. Or maybe so much saltwater flew into my ears that I just lost all equilibrium. Our climb back up the cliff sapped our remained energy reserves.

After recovering our senses, we retreated to the jacuzzi -- I took two Motrin -- and listened to some small boys marvel over Angry Birds on the iPad. We're officially over the hill.

For this experience, I passed up getting a tattoo yesterday. Despite having grand plans with two of my friends to get tatted together, I had to prioritize surfing. Tattoos and salt water don't mix. I promised that I'd show up for moral support though. One of my friends was getting his very first tattoo and I was so excited to be there.

Instead I overslept and reached them only after the deed was done. Friend failure. Huge. My lame excuse is that I was woken up by this, a four year old swinging a fuzzy flower in my face three hours after I went to bed. After reading some Calvin & Hobbes together, and watching a bit of Netflix before she left, I passed out and missed my vibrating phone alarm. (Sidenote: This precocious child selected a 1939 movie to watch, Shirley Temple's The Little Princess. Her biggest concern: "When she turns into a princess, she'll get to dance right?")

Now I'm hardly a reliable friend but I'm not flaky. If I say I'll be somewhere, I'm be there. This time though, I wasn't. And missing your friend's first tattoo is probably worse than missing their wedding or graduation or acting debut or something. Getting a tattoo is permanent and an irrepleaceable experience. If you aren't there when it's inked, you'll never be in that story, that moment.

At first I wanted to beg forgiveness. But then I realized that I really shouldn't be forgiven. I'd never let my friend hear the end of it if they failed to show up for my tattoo appointment. So instead, I'll just share his disappointed text to me: "The open wound on my arm is nothing compared to the open wound on my heart."

Touché.

My friend Henry is getting married tomorrow. We met at a pre-prom introduction outside Jamba Juice -- then called Juice Club. It was me and my blind date and him and his girlfriend, who was my date's best friend. That girlfriend was Henry's first one ever. Tomorrow, fifteen years later, I'll be standing by him when he says "I do" to his very last.

In that decade and a half, we went to college together, lived in three different cities together, and have kept each other's secrets by mutually abiding to a Cold War nuclear armament philosophy. "If you have ammo, I'll get more ammo. If you ever fire, I'll fire too." So far so good.

Fundamentally we're very different people. He's a risk taker and a big picture kind of guy, with nerves of steel. I'm a conservative fuddy-duddy and always honed in on details that make me chirp, "No no, that won't work!" Despite that, we've made fine complementary colors.

I've never been a groomsman before. I'm hoping to have good posture.