January 2008 Archives

Yesterday, it felt like I was in an action movie.

It started when I left work. I was two blocks from the light rail station, in downtown San Jose, when I saw the southbound train cross Santa Clara Street. On any other day, I would have let it go, but I was impatient to get home and didn't feel like waiting fifteen minutes in the cold for the next train. So I ran.

An observant person sipping coffee at the Starbucks on the corner of Santa Clara and Third would have seen a thin, dark-haired man in his thirties, wearing khakis, a heavy jacket, and a backpack bouncing on his back, sprinting down Santa Clara Street. If asked to describe the man's running style, the same observer might have said, "He ran like a drunken camel."

I slowed slightly as I approached Third Street because the intersection is notorious for red light runners, but resumed my dromedary-like gallop once I was sure it was safe.

Past Hank Coca's Furniture I went, then past Dive Bar, with its neat red and yellow neon sign showing a woman in a swimsuit and swim cap diving into an imaginary pool, and finally past Toons, the nightclub that sits on the corner of Second and Santa Clara.

The train was still at the station as I reached the platform, but the doors were already closing. I could have stuck my arm between the doors and triggered the safety mechanism that would have reopened them, but I hate it when other people do it, so I didn't.

A quick aside: I'll always remember the time when two teenagers held the train at the Ohlone-Chynoweth station for over a minute so their buddy could get on. One kept the doors from closing with his foot while the other kept sticking his head out and shouting, "Hurry up, man! Come on!" I think everybody onboard secretly hoped the doors would shut on the kid's neck.

Instead of obstructing the doors and earning the wrath of my fellow riders, I made eye contact with the driver in his side view mirror, hoping he might take pity on me and reopen the doors. What happened next is hard to describe because it happened so slowly and quickly at the same time.

For what felt like a minute, but was likely a few seconds, the driver and I looked right at each other. I'm pretty sure I had a pleading expression on my face. The driver's expression was what most people would call impassive. He simply stared at me, rang the bell signaling that the train was about to move, and then looked straight ahead as it pulled away from the platform.

It was one those oh-no-you-di'n't! moments.

At this point, most people would have given up, and under different circumstances, I would have, too, but now it was personal.

As the train started towards the Paseo de San Antonio station, I leapt across the tracks and sprinted down Second Street in pursuit.

Two observant guys drinking beer at Tres Amigos, near the corner of Second and San Antonio, would have seen a sweaty, dark-haired man, wearing khakis and a heavy jacket, running towards them and trying his best to get through the crowd that had just gotten off the train. In all likelihood, one of the guys would have said to the other, "Hey, Mike, five dollars says that idiot accidentally mows down the granny with the grocery cart." The other would have replied, "You mean the fool running like a wounded coyote? Deal."

It was thirty yards of insanity, but I somehow managed to spin and dodge everybody that crossed my path without losing too much ground. Luckily, just as I cleared the crowd, the train slowed next to Tres Amigos to let an oblivious pedestrian cross in front of it, the driver smiting the clueless soul with the full force of the train's horn. Thank goodness for oblivious pedestrians.

I was just reaching Tres Amigos myself when a woman in a motorized wheelchair pulled out in front of me. With the train on one side, the bar's patio tables on the other, and a tree and wheelchair in between them, there wasn't much room left on the sidewalk. There was a small opening to the woman's right I could have slipped through, but it was too narrow for my taste, so I put on the brakes.

By the time the woman got past the patio, the train was crossing San Antonio. From where I stood, it was only a hundred yards to the platform. It was now or never. One final sprint would get me on the train, so I went for it, or at least I tried to.

I had barely taken three steps when a bicyclist came barreling around the corner. Instinctively, I wheeled out of the way and avoided the collision. In an alternate universe, I yelled, "Bike lane, pal!" In that same universe, I was brutally bludgeoned to death with a bike. Oddly enough, I think if I had been walking, I wouldn't have been able to get out of the way in time.

Shaken, I regrouped and charged across San Antonio, quickly reaching the train as it pulled into the station. I jumped onto the platform, stopped short of the doors to let people off, took another second to regain my composure and what remained of my dignity, and got on the train.

If I had been more with it, or if this had been an actual action movie, I might have given the driver a knowing glance before boarding and yelled something macho and heroic like, "Yippee ki-yay, Mother Hubbard!" (That's a PG-rated imagination for you.) But since this was reality, all I did was quietly slip through the doors and plop down in an empty seat, exhausted from the effort.

As the doors closed, the man sitting across the aisle from me, an older businessman in gray suit and tan trench coat, smiled and said, "It took two stops, huh? Glad you made it."

It would never be a classic line in a movie, but it was good enough for me.

After Monday's episode of American Gladiators, the field is down to the final eight contenders -- four men and four women. I've seen every episode and I must admit (regretfully) that the show has grown on me. Don't get me wrong. I still believe it's the funniest thing on television today, but now I'm genuinely eager to find out who will win the competition.

To my surprise (and delight), there have actually been a handful of likable contenders. They are athletic, energetic, and confident (but not excessively or unjustifiably so). They're also competitive, but not to the point of bad mouthing the gladiators or their fellow contenders. I believe the basic concept is known as good sportsmanship. It's a nice quality to see.

My favorite male contender is Evan, the rock climber. He plowed through all four gladiators in Gauntlet and sent Justice flying in Assault. Wolf clobbered him in Pyramid, but couldn't catch him on The Wall. He also rocked The Eliminator, finishing it with the best time of any contender (1:29). The way he scaled the cargo net and cranked through the hand cycle portion was amazing. He is my pick of the guys to win. Barring a double-digit point deficit to Alex (his closest competitor) or an injury, he should do it.

My favorite female contender is Siene, the gymnastics instructor. For some reason, she reminds me of Jodie Foster. She didn't post the fastest time on The Eliminator, but made a decent showing. Unless Monica, the top female finisher, slips up, I don't think Siene has a chance to win. I hope she does (somehow, some way), but it seems doubtful at the moment.

By the way, Monday's episode had one of the funniest moments of the show. The commercials had hyped the showdown between Toni, a 46-year-old ex-Marine, and Kim, a 28-year-old NBA cheerleader. After four events, they were virtually tied. I believe Toni had a one-second lead going into the final round (The Eliminator).

Before they began, Kim made a point to remark this was her moment, her time. And for the first three seconds, it was her time. Then she hit the first obstacle.

She spent the next three minutes trying to scramble over the eight-foot wall. Not even the knotted rope helped. By the time she made it over, the woman sixteen years her senior was nearing the finish line. It took Kim so long to complete the course that by the time she reached the final obstacle, an inclined reverse treadmill known as the Travelator (according to Wikipedia), the producers had turned it off. I think it was meant to show her some mercy, but to me, it only heightened her humiliation.

Anyway, that's enough rambling about the show for now. Next week, I will share a list of suggestions I have for Gladiators, including rule changes, new events, and potential contestants.

In two days, The Daily Brick returns. For those who don't know, last February, I created a webcomic (in the broadest sense of the word) every day for a month. It was all part of my unofficial participation in a project known as Thing-a-day, which invites people to join in on a "daily creative endeavor". The project places equal emphasis on creating and sharing. You can blame the sharing part for why you'll see my silly comics during the upcoming month.

To challenge myself this year, I plan to mix photo-based comic strips with hand-drawn efforts. I must admit that I haven't consistently practiced drawing over the last year. My hope is that Thing-a-day will provide some motivation to that end.

In the meantime, I had better start brainstorming ideas for the first few days. February is nearly here and it probably wouldn't be prudent to go in without a plan. Then again, flying by the seat of my pants might have its benefits. We could all be surprised by what I create. Why should I have to be the one to miss out on the fun?

1. Maintain a good posture.
2. Wear an easy cheerful countenance.
3. Constantly practice friendliness.
4. Speak distinctly.
5. Don't be overly inclined to give advice.
6. Don't be didactic.
7. Be a good listener. A good listener asks leading questions.
8. Be essentially informal.
9. One's success in any avenue of life depends a great deal upon his selling ability.
10. Don't take yourself too seriously.

Found on page 32 of Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography by David Michaelis. Originally printed in The Art and Science of Barbering.

According to Michaelis, these principles "established the professional tactics of Charles Schulz's entire career". They seem like good principles to practice, even if I'm not a barber or one of the world's greatest cartoonists.

It was so windy this morning, one could have saved gas and coasted to work with the right sized sail mounted to the roof of the car and the gears shifted to neutral.

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I love books with maps. There is something appealing about being able stop at any point in a story or historical account, flip to the appropriate map, and find a referenced location or landmark.

The first map-clad book I ever read was Lloyd Alexander's The Black Cauldron, the second book in The Chronicles of Prydain.

My favorite maps are the ones found in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. I've always wondered if Tolkien had a giant print of Middle Earth hanging on his wall for easy reference when he wrote.

I'm rambling about maps because three of the books I recently read contained them. All three were non-fiction, which means somebody (not necessarily the author) went through a lot of trouble to make them.

Fictional maps are so much easier to make. Surveying the landscape of one's imagination involves less time, money, and danger than surveying landscape in the real world. Can you imagine how difficult Mordor would have been to survey if it had been real? ("Excuse me, Samwise, I missed that last reading. Could you run back to the top of Mount Doom with the rod so I can take another reading? And mind the equipment around the orcs!")

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The first book I read was A Summer of Travel in the High Sierra by Joseph N. LeConte. In the summer of 1890, a twenty-year-old LeConte and three university friends went on a 652-mile hike, which started in Fresno, crossed through Kings Canyon (by way of Mt. Whitney), Owens Valley, and Yosemite, and finished in Lone Pine. His account of their expedition is inspiring.

I should mention the edition I borrowed from the library is rather rare. In 1972, the publisher only printed 1,000 copies. I read number 662. The book includes an introduction by Shirley Sargent and a neat preface by Ansel Adams. If also includes old maps of Sequoia National Park and the Kings River Canyon (called the King's River Yosemite in the book).

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The second book was Richard Preston's The Wild Trees: A Story of Passion and Daring. It's about men and women (well, mostly men) who have fallen in love with climbing trees, primarily old-growth redwoods. In the book, Preston reveals a whole new world high above the ground where a unique and diverse ecosystem exists. It was intriguing to learn about the bonsai forests, made up of small fir, spruce, buckthorn, and other trees, that grow near the crowns.

At times, it seemed as though the climbers were more than just passionate about trees. They seemed downright obsessed. One couple went so far as to get married in between two redwood titans. Amazingly, they were able to find a minister with the requisite climbing skills. (Knowing me, I would have accidentally dropped the ring.)

The book included maps of Northern California that highlighted a number of parks and preserves. They also showed the general, but not precise, location of some of the world's tallest trees, including Stratosphere Giant and Hyperion, the world's tallest tree (379.1 feet).

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The third (and last) book was Tim Cahill's Lost in My Own Backyard, an amusing book focused on Yellowstone National Park. Cahill highlights some of his favorite day hikes and landmarks in the park. He also gives a brief description of three backpacking trips. Every location mentioned is shown on the scaled map that adorns the inside covers. It's a short, but informative read. I can't wait to visit Yellowstone.

If for no other reason than the silly title, I now want to read Cahill's A Wolverine is Eating My Leg.

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For those keeping score at home, I've now read seven books this year. I expect that pace to drop dramatically as we enter February, especially since the next few books are utterly map-less.

I'm currently reading Douglas Coupland's Microserfs, one of those books I would have read years ago if the title hadn't fallen victim to my antiquated Post-it Note reading list system. I don't know about anybody else, but my Post-its have a way of disappearing from my desk and reappearing weeks later in the strangest places -- behind shelves, in between random book pages, under shoes, in the refrigerator. Of course, when I find one, it's a bit like discovering an Easter egg.

That gives me a great idea for a potential egg hunt when I become a dad some day. I can already hear the kids talking about it, the day after the big hunt, in elementary school...

Teacher: So, Milo, how many eggs did you find?
Milo: Five and they all had chocolate candy in them!
Class: Mmm!
Teacher: Very good, Milo. How about you, Hayden?
Hayden: Three and each one had five dollars in it!
Class: Oooh!
Teacher: And how about you, Jebediah¹?
Jebediah: (dejectedly) One.

(The whole class bursts into giggles and the teacher dowses them with a stern look.)

Teacher: Speak up, please. And what did it have inside?
Jebediah: This. (produces a Post-it, which the teacher takes)
Teacher: Vanity Fair by W.M. Thackeray? You have a very strange father, Jebediah. Oops, I mean, did I say that out loud?

Okay, maybe it isn't such a great idea, just a good Plan B.

When I read Coupland, I can feel my frame of mind changing, as though my brain is restructuring itself in order to grasp the concepts on the page. I can almost physically feel the individual gray cells rearranging themselves so they can "get" it. It's a bizarre sensation.

I believe every writer has this power, the ability to alter our perspectives, allow us (or force us, depending on our willingness) to see the world through different eyes, or lead us to explore ideas we would have never contemplated otherwise.

Maybe that isn't exactly true. Maybe every writer potentially has this power, but most are unable to use it effectively. Most only reinforce our beliefss or lead us to the same familiar places in our brains. There's nothing wrong with that, but it seems most unusual (and refreshing) to come across somebody who veers from the established trail and does some mental trailblazing.

So far, I'm enjoying the path Coupland is cutting. The book is written in the form of a journal, almost in a blog-like fashion, which gives him an incredible amount of storytelling freedom. The tone of his main character reminds me of one or two bloggers I read. At times, I forget he wrote this book nearly thirteen years ago.

With any luck, I'll finish reading it tonight. I'm eager to see how the story ends and to see what surprises the final pages have in store.

If I really thought about it, I would say Coupland belongs to a small group of writers that makes me think, "Gosh, I wish I could write like that."

¹ I believe any hypothetical child of mine should have an embarrassingly anachronistic name. It builds character.

The actor Heath Ledger was found dead this afternoon in an apartment in Manhattan, according to the New York City police. Signs pointed to a suicide or an accidental overdose, police sources said. Mr. Ledger was 28.

That is what the New York Times reported just a few hours ago. At first, I thought it was a hoax. Obviously, somebody from The Onion had slipped a bogus article in for laughs. Then I read it again and reluctantly dismissed the hoax theory.

Most people will remember him for his role in Brokeback Mountain, the movie that earned him an Oscar nomination. I haven't seen that movie yet, mostly due to the over-quoted line, "I wish I knew how to quit you". After hearing it repeated everywhere, I vowed to stay away from the film until people quit saying it.

I'll best remember Ledger for his role in The Patriot, a rather violent film set during the Revolutionary War. Mel Gibson was the patriot, a pacifist and father forced to fight when his family is attacked by the British. Ledger played Gibson's oldest son.

I only saw him in two other movies (The Brothers Grimm and A Knight's Tale). Neither of them were very good, but I gave both a chance because of Ledger. He was a likable actor with promise. I'm sorry his life and career were cut short.

Now I just have to figure out a way to get over that confounded quote so I can see him in his most memorable role.

A month after my failed attempt to complete the strenuous Calero County Park hike described in the Healthy Trails brochure, I finally returned to Calero last week to finish the job.

The "job" involved hiking a 6.2-mile figure eight loop consisting of the Figueroa, Javelina, Pena, and Los Cerritos trails. It also involved a lot of mud. The recent storms had saturated the ground. The trails were walkable, but low points were still flooded and some spots where still soupy.

Because of the mud, footprints, tire tracks, and animal tracks were still visible.

For the first two miles, I barely left any prints of my own, but soon the mud started accumulating on the bottom of my boots and I could feel the soil starting to suck at my soles.

I was contemplating how far I could go before the suction removed the boot from my foot when I came across a skunk. As odd as it sounds, I had never seen a skunk in person. Before last Friday, skunks were smells on the highway and mythical creatures that sprayed my neighbor's dog. The only skunk I had ever seen was named Pepé.

Shortly after taking that photograph, I reached the Javelina Loop junction. Here is where the more scenic part of the hike began. Right away, I had a view of Calero Reservoir.

A little further along, I came across the Calero Bat Inn.

According to the interpretive sign in front of the inn, bats are critical insect predators. Some species are known to eat more than 1,000 mosquitoes per hour. Reading that factoid brought a smile to my face. I'm not a fan of mosquitoes and any animal that helps reduce the mosquito population is a friend of mine.

The factoid also raised a question in my mind. How did scientists manage to measure the mosquito consumption rate of bats? Did they hold a Mosquito Eating Contest? Is the bat that ate a thousand mosquitoes just your average, everyday bat, or is it the Takeru Kobayashi of the bat world?

Up to this point, the trail had been all downhill, but once I passed the inn, it was a steep climb to Fish Camp, the next point of interest. It had picnic tables, a water trough, and an observation deck overlooking the pond. It also offered a nice view of the trail.

After a quick snack, I sauntered back to the trail junction, passing a number of newts along the way. They were smart fellows that seemed to know the secret to a long life meant sticking to the trail shoulder. Even so, after I spotted the first one, I paid extra attention to where I was stepping.

Once I reached the trail junction, it was all familiar territory heading down to the trail head. Before setting foot in the car, I made sure to scrape the mud from the bottom of my boots. I didn't get it all off, but at least I no longer have platform Timberlands.

(For those keeping track at home, this is the first of five hikes needed to complete the Healthy Trails challenge.)

This morning, I finally got the chance to take Bus 168, the new express bus that runs between the Gilroy and San Jose Diridon Caltrain stations. VTA began operating the route on Monday. It's one of the many changes the agency recently made in an effort to improve its services.

I must admit that as I waited for the bus to arrive, I was shaking with giddy excitement. At least I think it was giddy excitement. It was a little difficult to tell with it being so cold outside.

Anyway, here are four reasons why I'm stoked about this new bus route.

1. Cost. Instead of paying $5.75 one way on Caltrain or $4.00 on the San Jose Express, Bus 168 is free, thanks to my company's participation in the Eco Pass Program. If it didn't participate, the fare would be $3.50 one way, which would still be cheaper than driving because my car drinks just over a gallon of gas each way.
2. Speed. By bus and light rail, my commute is 55 minutes. By car, it's 40 minutes. Taking the train reduces the trip time to 35 minutes, but the station is a mile from the office. The ride on Bus 168 is also 35 minutes, but it drops me off closer to work, which brings me to...
3. Proximity. From home, the bus stop is less than a mile away, within easy walking distance. From work, the bus stop is only three blocks away. It's practically door-to-door service.
4. Frequency. Unlike Caltrain, which runs three morning trains and three evening trains, with no rhyme or reason to their departure times, the VTA operates six buses each way. They run every thirty minutes, which gives potential riders a 2.5-hour commute window. For me, it will make getting to work early and leaving late very easy. Hmm... I'm suddenly feeling a little less stoked.

Add to this list the usual benefits of mass transit (less stress, better for the environment, more time to read or nap, etc.) and Bus 168 almost seems too good to be true. I hope it isn't. With any luck, enough people will ride it so the agency won't reduce service or discontinue it entirely when it makes its next round of changes and improvements.

I've watched the first two nights of this season's American Idol. Last night, they visited Philadelphia. Tonight, the held auditions in Dallas. In all, it has been four agonizing hours of bad singers, mixed in with a few average singers and one or two potential finalists.

Of everybody I've seen so far, no one has been as memorable as Renaldo Lapuz, the friendly and likable 44-year-old from Las Vegas. He finished tonight's episode with a heartfelt original song entitled "We're Brothers Forever". Moments after the show ended, his performance was already on YouTube. Check it out (I don't know how long it will be before it's yanked). If you want to get right to the song, skip to the 2:30 mark.

I am your brother
Your best friend forever
Singing the songs, the music that you love
We're brothers till the end of time
Together or not, you're always in my heart

I just thought I'd share a photo of the completed Indiana Jones and the Lost Tomb LEGO set I mentioned yesterday. By the way, I used my new Gorillapod to get this shot. Who knew it would come in handy for LEGO photography, too?

This weekend, I

> hiked around Calero County Park. The recent rains made for messy trail conditions. By the time I finished my six-mile hike, my boots were five times heavier and I was three inches taller due to the dirt stuck to the soles. On the bright side, I now have enough soil to pot a plant. I also have a few photos that might be worth posting.

> biked along the Coyote Creek Parkway in Anderson Lake County Park. The nearly nine-mile trip wore me out. I blame it on the bike, which is new, inexperienced, and out of shape. It also has a bad attitude. The slightest hint of an uphill slope produced grumbling and whining. I even heard it swear under its breath once or twice. To teach it a lesson, I plan to ride it regularly until its attitude improves. (This is known as projecting, a proven technique for relieving aching legs.)

> finished reading my third book of the year. It was easy to accomplish since the first two books were by Terry Pratchett (Pyramids and Eric). Books well oiled with wit and humor make for quick reads. The third book was Blood Rites by Jim Butcher. What it lacked in laughs, it made up for with vampires.

> watched Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. The show premiered last night. I never was a fan of the Schwarzenegger trilogy, but I was curious to see how Summer Glau did as the new Terminator sent to protect John Connor. The last time I saw her, she was River on Firefly. In that show, she was all about emotions and huddling in corners. In this show, she's all about cold, blank stares and kicking butt everywhere she goes. I'll probably watch another episode or two, but I don't know if I can last an entire season. Shows featuring endless pursuits and constant violence are exhausting to watch.

> assembled the new Indiana Jones and the Lost Tomb LEGO set. It's silly, I know, but when I saw the box on the shelf, I couldn't resist it, especially after I saw the Indy minifigure included his trademark fedora, shoulder bag, and whip. To my credit, I didn't let my inner-ten-year-old run completely wild. I managed to postpone purchasing the most expensive set available (the $60 Temple Escape). I'm saving that as a resolution reward for later in the year. Of course, after I finished building the tomb, I had to watch Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, the movie that inspired it all.

Yesterday, Governor Schwarzenegger proposed shutting down 48 state parks, beaches, and reserves as part of an effort to close California's $14 billion budget gap. Parks throughout the state would be affected, including Henry Coe, if the budget passed. (You can see a map of the proposed parks here.)

According to the state's budget summary, closing the parks would save the state $14.3 million by cutting 129.2 positions. Stated another way, the closures would reduce the budget gap by 0.1%. I realize "every bit helps", but when the bits are that tiny and involve tenths of a ranger, it seems ridiculous.

In addition, park personnel lucky enough to still have a job after the cuts would have the happy responsibility of patrolling the closed parks to ensure troublemakers like hikers and backpackers stayed out. That seems silly (and a poor use of reduced funds), too.

I'm hoping the closures don't come to pass and I've already emailed my local legislators (find yours here), but to be on the safe side, I plan to get in as many visits as I can to Henry Coe and other nearby parks over the next 45 days, just in case the state puts a giant "Closed" sign on the gates.

A few other bloggers have reacted to the Governor's proposal, including Tom at Two-Heel Drive, Modern Hiker, and the folks at Get Outdoors.

Every winter, after enough snow has fallen, Yosemite opens Badger Pass, the park's small ski area accessible from Glacier Point Road. While most folks go there to zip down slopes or glide along machine-groomed tracks, I go there to trudge around in snowshoes. Snowshoeing isn't an adrenaline rush¹, but it's a great way to get your heart pumping while exploring the wilderness in winter.

On New Year's Eve, M and I spent the day at Badger Pass. We caught the early morning shuttle from Curry Village and reached the ski area around 9:30 AM. The park offers two free Badger Pass shuttles in the morning (8:00 and 10:00 AM) and two return shuttles in the afternoon (2:00 and 4:00 PM). While the shuttle ride takes longer than driving one's car, I prefer the peace of mind and napping opportunities it provides.

With trail map in hand and snowshoes on feet, we began our trek to Bridalveil Campground, a relatively easy 6.6-mile out-and-back adventure. I had initially hoped to reach the Bridalveil Creek Ski Trail by way of the Ghost Forest Loop, but after discovering it would be 6.5-mile journey one way, I went with something less ambitious. It seemed unwise to kill ourselves on the first snowshoe walk of the season.

Instead of taking the easier (and groomed) Glacier Point Road, we opted to take Old Glacier Point Road, which is only groomed for the first mile. To me, the real excitement began once we left the maintained track for the "more difficult" trail.

We traveled along a narrow channel, less than two-feet wide, with walls of snow 12 to 18 inches high. Three inches of snow separated our lane from the lane used by cross-country skiers. (In roadway terms, snowshoe lanes are worn and rutted, while cross-country ski lanes are smooth and newly paved.)

To my surprise (and delight), we only encountered one pair of snowshoers on the trail. I feared we would come across several cross-country skiers, but Old Glacier Point Road didn't seem to be a popular route (or maybe we just lucked out).

The downside of taking the old road was the time it took to travel. The unpacked snow slowed our pace considerably. It took nearly three hours to cover little more than three miles. On the upside, the trail offered solitude and scenery. They weren't stunning vistas, but the surrounding landscape was still beautiful.

When we reach Bridalveil Campground, we found a sunny spot to sit and snack. I went in search of the Ghost Forest Loop, but never found the trail head. I discovered two trails leading to Westfall Meadows, but that was it.

By the time we started our return journey, it was one o'clock. M's foot was beginning to nag her, so we decided to return along the groomed Glacier Point Road.

One of my hiking habits is to count the number of people we encounter on the trail. Thanks to my turtle-like speed and grace on snowshoes², I was able to get a rather detailed tally. On this hike, I counted 116 people. Of those, 114 were on Glacier Point Road. 88 people were cross-country skiers, 18 were snowshoers, and 10 were walkers. I also had the tally broken down by gender, but I failed to write those numbers down while they were still fresh in my head.

Due to the groomed trail, it only took 1 hour and 40 minutes to return to Badger Pass.

We got back so quickly that we had more than an hour before the four o'clock shuttle arrived. We spent the time wandering around and resting. I also took a moment to enjoy a bowl of hot soup and a much-needed cup of coffee. Even with the caffeine, I napped all the way back to the valley.

This winter, I'm hoping to get in at least two or three more snowshoeing trips. I'm also hoping to learn how to cross-country ski. I've mentioned that before, but I figure if I repeat enough times, I'll eventually get off my duff and do it.

You can see few more photos from the walk and the Yosemite trip on Flickr.

¹ It's more like an adrenaline mosey.
² They don't like to brag, but turtles are the most graceful snowshoers on the planet. Of course, other animals (namely rabbits) claim that if they had as much time as turtles did to properly evaluate and execute every movement, they would have them beat, paws down, in the grace department.

American Gladiators, a show that originally aired nineteen years ago, returned with a two-hour premiere last night. I don't remember much about the original, so I tuned in to refresh my memory. I was richly rewarded with two hilarious hours of mindless entertainment. We're only a week into 2008, but I'm willing to go on the record to declare American Gladiators the best new comedy of the year.

The premise is simple. Everyday Joes and Janes (a.k.a. firefighters, Marines, amateur athletes) compete against each other and a group of gladiators (a.k.a. behemoths in Spandex) in the hopes of winning $100,000. It's a tournament that requires strength, agility, and an ego of Herculean proportions.

It's the funniest thing I've seen on network television in a long time. Here are a few reasons why...

• Hulk Hogan. He co-hosts the show with Laila Ali. Hogan is one of those guys you can easily build a drinking game around. Here are two rules to get you started: 1) Every time Hulk leans in and points at the camera, take a shot (of espresso). 2) Every time he calls somebody "brother" or "girl", take two shots (of espresso). With just those rules, you should be bouncing off the walls within ten minutes.
• Contender Egos. The big talkers on American Idol are models of modesty compared to the contestants on American Gladiator. If you are 5' 7", 155 pounds, and call yourself Spider Monkey, you shouldn't be talking smack to anybody resembling Titan, who is 6' 3", 251 pounds, and doesn't have an ounce of humor on him; not unless you like the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes from having your body twisted into the shape of a pretzel. Contenders who talk a big game make great punch lines when they receive their comeuppance.
• Gladiator Names. They strike poses meant to inspire fear, but their names only inspire giggles. It's difficult to be afraid of anybody who would willingly call themselves Crush, Fury, Venom, Hellga, Justice, Mayhem, Militia, or Wolf. If they want to really instill fear in their opponents, they should choose names like Health Care or Foreclosure.
• Toa. Of the gladiators, he has the best trademark (or gimmick). Unlike Wolf, whose gimmick is a howl (or something that is supposed to be a rough approximation of a howl), Toa's trademark is the haka, a traditional dance from New Zealand. It involves slapping the body, stomping the feet, and sticking out the tongue. Every time he performs it, I can't help but laugh. Admittedly, it isn't a kneeslapping, rolling-on-the-floor laugh. It's more of a nervous, sense-of-impending-doom laugh.

Another episode of American Gladiators airs tonight. If you are in need of a good laugh, I highly recommend watching it. It won't raise your IQ, but it's guaranteed to raise your spirits. And don't forget to make plenty of espresso.

The rain arrived yesterday. If it had come by itself, I wouldn't have minded its company. Unfortunately, it came with a friend -- a blustery, seventy-mile-per-hour kind of friend.

Alone, rain isn't all that bad, once you get to know it. It can be comforting at times. But when it gets together with wind, it has tendency to act out, as if it's trying to prove it can be tough, too. It's as though rain is telling wind, "Oh, you blew over the man with the briefcase and nearly ripped the trench coat from his body, but that's nothing compared to the drenching I'm about to give him. He won't be dry for days."

When wind and rain get together, life becomes interesting (and drippy).

I'm not a fan of this wind. It's the type of wind that brings down trees and power lines and knocks out traffic signals. If the electricity doesn't fail today, I'll be surprised. Bookies in Las Vegas have probably already calculated the odds of an outage. My bet is on 3:55 PM.

It's the type of wind that wrecks umbrellas. In the sixty feet separating the train station from the bus stop, I saw two women fall victim to the gusts; their umbrellas shredded the moment they opened them. One attempted to throw hers away, but the garbage can was already filled with the tattered metal corpses of the weather's earlier victims.

It's the type of wind that blows so powerfully that the rain comes at you from every direction. Walking to work, I encountered an uppour and now my socks and shins are soaked.

Today is the kind of day that makes me grateful for mass transit, but worried about crossing the street. It's the kind of day that makes me wary of walking beneath construction cranes and heavy tree limbs. Today is the perfect stay-at-home-with-a-good-book-and-avoid-the-madness kind of day (and so will tomorrow and Sunday, according to the news).

I probably shouldn't complain about the wind and rain. We don't experience bad weather all that often here. Then again, one of the joys of bad weather is complaining. So, in a sense, I'm just making the most of a rare opportunity.

Wind, wind, go away,
But not you rain, you're okay.

Last week, M and I went for a hike in Palm Canyon, the largest of five canyons (Andreas, Chino, Murray, and Tahquitz are the other four) that make up Indian Canyons, a park located a few miles south of Palm Springs, California. The park is privately owned and sits on the homeland of the Agua Caliente Indians.

Admission to the park is expensive ($8 per person), but we managed to save a dollar per ticket by purchasing them ahead of time at the Palm Springs Visitor Center, located on the edge of town.

Due to a late start and heavy traffic, we arrived at the park shortly after noon, which gave us less than five hours to explore. The park is open daily from 8:00 AM to 5:00 PM. We overheard other visitors mentioning that park rangers were extremely diligent about having vehicles towed, so we knew we would have to keep our hike short to ensure we returned to the parking lot before closing time.

The plan was to do a loop along the East Fork, East Fork Loop, Vandeventer, and Fern Canyon Trails. According to the trail guide, it would be an easy seven-mile hike with a couple of short strenuous sections. As usual, the trail guide and reality didn't quite align and as the hike progressed, the plan would require a serious revision.

It started innocently enough. From the visitor center, it looked as though we would be taking a casual stroll beneath a canopy of palm trees.

For a short distance, it was a casual stroll beneath a canopy of palm trees.

Along the way, we passed impressive rock formations...

and the peaceful Palm Canyon Creek.

The first mile of trail was too busy for my liking, but once we were beyond the junction where the Palm Canyon, East Fork, Vandeventer, and Victor Trails met, the flow of people dried up. As it happened, the view from the junction was the highlight of the hike.

Past the junction, the trail followed the dry creek bed. Rock walls between 10 and 15 feet rose up on either side of us.

We would pass long stretches without seeing a single palm tree and suddenly encounter a bend where the palms seemed to come charging down the slopes.

The trail had a slight uphill grade and followed a gentle serpentine course. Everything was going smoothly until we hit a wall -- a literal wall.

After scaling it (not in the fashion shown above), we began to encounter periodic tight spots (also known as waterfalls when the creek is flowing).

According to the map in the trail guide, three miles of hiking should have brought us to the East Fork Loop Trail. At our normal pace, we can cover that distance in just over an hour. With the exception of our brief stops to scamper over walls and squeeze through crevices, we had maintained that pace. Yet, after more than two hours of hiking along the creek bed, we never reached the East Fork Loop Trail.

Instead, the trail kept going. I began to doubt the accuracy of the map's scale. While I wanted to press on and find the trail junction, common sense took note of the falling temperature and setting sun. Upon encountering another wall, we decided it would be wise to turn around and return to the parking lot.

It's my suspicion that we were very close to reaching the East Fork Loop Trail. My internal optimist says the junction was just around the next bend. My internal pessimist insists there would have been a fifty-foot sheer wall between us and the next bend.

Despite straying from the original plan, hiking through Palm Canyon was enjoyable. The oasis of palm trees in the middle of the desert was an amazing sight. Indian Canyons might be worth another visit someday, at least to see what the other canyons have to offer. More likely, though, if we're ever in the vicinity of Palm Springs, we'll probably continue driving east and visit Joshua Tree National Park.

You can see a few more images from the hike on Flickr.

I should begin by admitting defeat. I only read 49 books in 2007, 3 short of my intended goal. The cause of my defeat can be traced back to February and March, when I managed to read one piddly book over a two-month span. I made heroic efforts in May (8 books) and July (10 books), but they weren't enough. I plan to read 55 books this year to make up for last year's shortfall.

Of the 49 books I read, 33 were fiction and 16 were non-fiction. Only 4 were written by women and 3 of those were written by the same woman.

Who were the hot authors of 2007? P.G. Wodehouse (5), Terry Pratchett (4), Jim Butcher (3), J.K. Rowling (3), and Kurt Vonnegut (3).

While statistics are fun, lists are even better, so let's get to it. Titles in bold are my Top 5 Favorite Books of 2007.

1. Flashman's Lady by George MacDonald Fraser
2. The Highwayman by R.A. Salvatore
3. The Iraq Study Group Report by James A. Baker III and Lee H. Hamilton
4. Palestine Peace Not Apartheid by Jimmy Carter
5. The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
6. Goodbye to a River by John Graves
7. The Code of the Woosters by P.G. Wodehouse
8. Very Good, Jeeves! by P.G. Wodehouse
9. Jeeves and the Tie That Binds by P.G. Wodehouse
10. I Shouldn't Even Be Doing This! and Other Things That Strike Me as Funny by Bob Newhart
11. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
12. Pudd'nhead Wilson by Mark Twain
13. Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck
14. The Joy of Keeping Score by Paul Dickson
15. Requiem For An Assassin by Barry Eisler
16. Dispatches From The Edge by Anderson Cooper
17. The Old Ball Game by Frank Deford
18. Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut
19. The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut
20. At the Mercy of the River by Peter Stark
21. Wise Blood by Flannery O'Connor
22. Cannery Row by John Steinbeck
23. Battlestar Galactica by Gary A. Larsen and Robert Thurman
24. Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons
25. Winston Churchill by John Keegan
26. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling
27. Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
28. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling
29. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
30. Holmes on the Range by Steve Hockensmith
31. On the Wrong Track by Steve Hockensmith
32. The Virginian, Horseman of the Plains by Owen Wister
33. Psmith in the City by P.G. Wodehouse
34. Flashman and the Mountain of Light by George MacDonald Fraser
35. The Last Season by Eric Blehm
36. Mike by P.G. Wodehouse
37. Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War by Nathaniel Philbrick
38. George Washington and Benedict Arnold: A Tale of Two Patriots by Dave R. Palmer
39. Making Money by Terry Pratchett
40. The Birth of the National Park Service: The Founding Years, 1913-33 by Robert Cahn and Horace M. Albright
41. Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer by Daniel Josephs
42. Strata by Terry Pratchett
43. Night Watch by Terry Pratchett
44. One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey by Richard Proenneke and Sam Keith
45. Blue Highways by William Least Heat-Moon
46. Storm Front by Jim Butcher
47. Fool Moon by Jim Butcher
48. Hogfather by Terry Pratchett
49. Grave Peril by Jim Butcher

For those just tuning in, it's 2008. I know. It came as a rather nasty surprise to me, too. One minute, at roughly 10:02 PM, it was 2007. The next minute, at exactly 7:27 AM, it was 2008. I thought I would be wide awake when we leaped into the new leap year, but the God of Sleep (and General Napping) had other plans, apparently.

I thought I would use this first post of the new year to briefly recount what I did during the last week of last year. To keep it brief, but interesting, I will limit myself to a bullet point summary.

• December 26 - Drove to Anaheim to visit M's friend and wander through Downtown Disney. (After a week in Disney World earlier this year, I was Disneyed out and didn't need to set foot in Disneyland.)
• December 27 - Visited Palm Springs and hiked in nearby Indian Canyons (more about that in a separate entry).
• December 28 - Drove home and succumbed to the will of the God of Sleep (and General Napping). Fourteen hours of driving over a three-day period (a sizable chunk through Los Angeles) was physically and emotionally draining. I don't think I could survive living in Southern California.
• December 29 - Pottered around the house and performed many domestic chores.
• December 30 - Drove to Yosemite. Explored and played in the snow-covered valley.
• December 31 - Spent New Year's Eve snowshoeing near Badger Pass (more about that in a separate entry, too). After an exhausting day, surrendered to the God of Sleep (and General Napping) two hours before the stroke of midnight.
• January 1, 2008 - Tried to avoid the drive home, but eventually did, due to a sense of obligation to work and the cat, but mostly the cat. (She expects to be fed daily and doesn't believe in sick days. She also has claws.)