Playing Catch (up) Part II

It was the evening of October 14th as I recall. Yes... the evening before our big trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

I had strategically placed my digital camera on the top of my nightstand delicately balancing it on my cell phone charger. "There's no way I'd forget both and I'd rather be caught dead than miss the opportunity to photograph some of those incredible desert rock formations", I thought to myself before falling asleep.

And as I recall it was around the time that we arrived 2,500 miles away in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and budged our way directly to the front of the overcrowded luggage line that it hit me. Right then as I tore open my bag I knew it would not contain a camera nor a cell phone charger. Both of them would be delicately balanced on top of one another 2,500 miles away on my nightstand.

The whole situation reminds me of a time just a few years ago when I went camping on a cold night and forgot to bring a sleeping bag! Can you comprehend this statement? I had brought EVERY god damn camping provision but forgot a sleeping bag. I had brought glowsticks for finding my way in the dark (just in case my flashlight failed) but I forgot a sleeping bag!

Anyways as we picked up the rental car in Albuquerque, NM, and made the 60 mile trip in the direction of Santa Fe, the drive was dark, flat, and the surrounding environment seemed barren. As flat as the drive seemed I will say that after every few mile markers I would catch a fleeting peripheral glimpse of something large "out there". The source of these objects would remain a mystery until early the next morning.

It was not until I woke up and threw the covers off of my jet lagged East Coast ridden body and stepped outside into the bright sunlight that I was fully able to take in the surrounding environment.

Yes, right then it became apparent to me that I was indeed in the middle of the American desert.

Now don't get me wrong, I have experienced the desert before. Luckily, I have been afforded the opportunity to visit Las Vegas several times as well as parts of San Diego that were desert-"esque" if you will. But I had never taken the opportunity to drive beyond the boundaries of the Las Vegas strip to witness the remote and barren desert just a few miles away.

And here I found myself standing just a few feet outside of my hotel room in the middle of nowhere. With the lack the stimulation of squirting water fountains, impromptu scary pirate shows, and the electrifying lights that have become so synonymous with the Las Vegas strip, my attention was left solely to be consumed by views of peculiar desert rock formations as well as the odd cacti or two.

Matilda was busy most of the time making arraignments and preparations for her brothers wedding. I had no hard feelings and actually to be frank this suited me just fine because I was in the mood to do some exploring. That very same afternoon I loaded up our rented Chevrolet two door Cobalt with some basic utilities and set off towards the Santa Fe National Forest.

As I drove through the Santa Fe national forest (destination unknown), I stopped the car and pulled it over to what appeared to be a trail that appeared to have been rudimentary cut through some isolated desert brush. I decided to go for a short hike and I was about two miles into the trail when I made my way into the middle of two ominous looking cliffs.

It was only after I saw a pebble fall off the top of the cliff which in turn trickeled into a minor sand avalanche that I was coincidentally standing at the base of that common sense prevailed and I thought to myself that it was probably a good idea to return to the car since I did not feel like dying that particular day.

On the way back towards the hotel I noticed that my gas needle was dangerously flirting with the letter "E".

I stopped to get gas and just as I was finishing up a small Spanish man no taller than five foot five carrying a backpack approached me and asked for change. Now on the East Coast as many bums have come to find out, I have a strict rule of not funding their addictions to controlled substances. Just as I was about to scold him and send him off he said he was just trying to make his way back to Santa Fe. I wanted to offer him a ride instead of change and I seriously had to fight the urge to say hop in but in the end I told him I had nothing for him which was the most truthful I've ever been with a vagrant before. I had not brought any cash or change hiking with me.

Playing Catch (Up) Part I

I know, I know, you don't have to say it. I will say it myself! I've been more than negligent concerning this blog as of late and I'm sorry for it. Anyways, in repentance I will do my due diligence to fill you in to my boring life as much as my brittle memory will afford me to recall the last 60+ days.

Where to begin? There was that late summers canoe ride down the narrow Shenandoah River. There was also that extended weekend jaunt to the high and dusty desert plains region of that forgotten state that we call New Mexico. And believe it or not, interspersed in between both of these events there was a new house purchase and a subsequent pending move.

So during the early part of September, Matilida, myself, as well as a few friends packed up some ruck sacks and drove due west down the forever famous route 66. It was about 50 miles or so when we found ourselves conveniently located under the cover of the Shenandoah mountain range and decided to make a weekend of it. We had come in a pseudo-celebration of my thirtieth birthday.

It turned out to be nothing less than a beautiful weekend, and as we canoed down the Shenandoah river that Saturday afternoon in two bright red canoes, I thought to myself how pleasurable it was to be able to afford this luxury on my 30th birthday.

Later that afternoon it was just a few moments after we had cautiously navigated our canoes around an assembly of wading dairy cows where we found a an impromptu formation of flat rocks. It was on these flat rocks where the four of us moored our canoes just a few feet from shore and ate sandwiches in near silence under the unrelenting late summer sun.

That weekend will live forever in my mind as the close of summer 2009.

Looking Back and Looking Forward

"Well... some day you'll understand".

This phrase was spoken from the lips of many good men and I can prove to you that this quotation is an indisputable fact.

The reason that I know this is that I remember hearing this phrase fall off my deaf ears many times. In fact, it came from my own fathers mouth as he put forth his best effort to lecture me in his most stern manner.

“You’ll understand someday” he would always profess in his typical mellow yet convincing manner.

It was during those confusing and disconcerting years when I somehow managed to find my own survival mechanism and pull myself through all of the teenage stages of typical pent up angst, hormonal imbalances, and nefarious behavior that come along with it.

Call it an instinctual survival mechanism, but I somehow managed to crawl out of that snake pit of competing interests and survive and even flourish fairly unscathed (ok well maybe with a few scars).

Yet here I stand today at this very moment, in the form of a grown middle aged man with an ever growing beer gut.

Feeling privileged to be in "decent" health (under 200 pounds), to be gainfully employed, and to be living in the capital of the free world. I am only left to wonder when this "coming of age" post-teen enlightenment managed to take its hold in me. This phrase had been so frequently repeated and promised to me as a young rebellious youth that it's now engraved in my mind.

The person that I am today is in stark contrast to my pre-college frame of mind and even my immediate post-college "championship" years. It's no secret, I could have been labeled or even branded as one of those so called "problem children".

I'll admit that my first honest pull off the smooth neck of a 100 proof 32 liter liquor bottle came right around the ripe old age of 13. In addition to my self-indulgences with illicit substances, I am not proud of the fact that I graduated nearly last in my high school class. Rumor has it that I even wore the silver bracelets once before the age of 16. It’s true, my moral compass typically pointed south in these formative but festive years of adolescence.

I'll keep it simple and say only that many lessons have been learned since the early days and although I may have struggled throughout my teenage experience and participated in some unsavory debaucheries in my twenties, I now have learned to take life a little more seriously.

So I take a drink and say...

Dear "My Twenties",

This has been a long time coming. First, I wanted to thank you for all of those years. College, relationships, breakups, first jobs, hangovers, travels, deaths and births.

We had a lot of fun together (I think...) details are kind of hazy at this point but I will never forget you.

However, I wanted to let you know that I feel that we've grown apart and I'm moving on with my life.

Yes, it's true that I've met someone else. Her name is "My Thirties". We've grown so close to each other over the past few years and we are ready to make a commitment to each other.

So as of Sunday Sept. 6th I am initiating the "no contact" rule with you.

Please don't call because I will not be returning your phone calls. Oh and by the way... I will not accept your flowers.

It’s over.

Good Luck!

Viva La Puerto Rico I

I'm going to assume that if you are like me (your typical narrow-minded American foodie) a green banana probably does not sound all that appealing to you?

Especially if it were pronounced in a foreign language such as "Mofongo" and was presented to you on a small plate as an unpeeled, mashed mound of starch that resembled something akin to pouring gravy over loose mound of potatoes.

However, take said green bananas in oddly shaped form, add tender pieces of marinated chicken, plump oversized shrimp, or mouth watering lobster meat and it becomes a personal heaven to your palate.

Much like this unexpected fusion of unfamiliar food that managed to confuse the delicate argument between my taste buds and eyes, I can honestly say that I had little (if any) idea of what to expect from the rest of my travels to Puerto Rico.

I knew that they spoke Spanish, and that the island is an American territory with its own culture, language, diversity and practices.

One of the most comforting aspects of traveling to PR that's not typically found in too many other places in the Caribbean is that I was still entitled to all of my rights as American citizen.

With any luck, there would be no frantic dark alley payments to a crooked cop trying to squeeze me out of a few greasy American dollars. Let's hope not anyways!

Matilda and I touched down at the airport just outside of San Juan to the sound of an entire cabin full of clapping passengers. (Is this a local custom of PR? Because this was one of the least turbulent landings I have ever experienced).

Just outside of baggage claim we hopped into the back seat of a generic looking red bus and found ourselves on our way to the "U-Save" car rental place.

Almost immediately as I sat in the back of a bus and was unable to communicate with the bus driver my nerves began to work themselves into overdrive.

How did we find ourselves in a different country and on a generic bus trying to rent a car from some place called "U-Die", I mean "U-Save"? I wondered nervously to myself.

Shortly thereafter, I was able to calm myself down as I was able to regaine control over the situation. I realized this only after I had a full grip on the rental cars steering wheel and was able to manage locking both doors.

Thank you mom and dad for my overwhelming anxiety issues. I have a friend who calls himself "anxiety" for life. I say that as a joke because I love both of my parents to death, but for anyone that ever knew my father or knows my mother would realize that they both worried excessively and I managed to somehow inherit the sum of their anxiety.

Anyways moving on... as we casually walked into the hotel with minimal expectations, I could not believe my surroundings once we took one step inside.

The hotel was beyond incredible and resembled something out of a propped movie (read: perfect). Everything was sparkling clean, and the lobby was massive.

The vast paned windows in the lobby were so close to the ocean that a fine ocean mist kept them covered most of the time I was there.

A quick look outside revealed four pools, a swim up bar, two jacuzzis, and a private lagoon all at our disposal.

I knew right then and there that this was the beginning of a good vacation. So rightly and desperately needed might I add.

Continued...

Lake Anna Weekend Blitz

Saturdays are definitely a commodity and one thing is for sure, they are usually over before you know it. That is why I try to make the best of my Saturdays during the summer months.

After choking down a stale breakfast cookie last Saturday morning, I threw on my D.O.T approved full face helmet, pushed in the choke, popped the stand and just a matter of minutes later I was southbound and down route 28.

Finding my way through Manassas, Nokesville, Culpepper and eventually ending up somewhere on the outskirts of the ever gorgeous Lake Anna.

It is still amazing to me that after living in Northern Virginia for almost 8 years now how rural "The Real Virginia" can be.

This serene and beautiful virgin habitat resides just a handful of miles outside of the industrial looking, traffic strewn, North-South Virginia boundary otherwise known as the capital beltway.

As I rode past a fresh crop of sprouting tobacco plants basking themselves in the glow of the sweltering sun, I could smell their sweet aroma as it crept up through the air and eventually found its way into my nasal passages.

Taking in the smell of nature while riding on my motorcycle is one of my favorite aspects of riding.

I distinctly remember what it felt like just a few months ago as I drove down the Eastern Shore and got my first whiff of the dry salty ocean air as it drifted from my nose and clung to my exposed skin.

After a sometimes anxious hour and a half of straight riding, I finally reached my destination of Mineral Virginia.

As I found myself navigating through a desolate back field traversing a muddy makeshift parking lot it was just then that I heard the first wail of a banjo echo through the trees in the distance. I had made it to the blue grass festival!

The fest was decent at best. I stayed for a couple of hours. I could tell that I did not fit the demographic for this particular event. I was under 60, did not have a confederate flag flagrantly draped off the back of my motorcycle and I did not have a wad of tobacco balled up in the right cheek of my mouth. I found my way out of the festival midway through a set.

Shortly thereafter I must have passed Lake Anna State Park's driveway about three times before I was finally able to find it. The drive through the park was fairly uneventful. I decided to go try my luck at the beach in the park to see if I could score some rays and a little midday nap.

As I got to the beach I noticed it there were signs posted indicating that there was an additional beach fee. How ridiculous I thought to myself, I'm not paying an additional fee to sit on an artificial and crowded beach.

In non violent protest as perfected by Gandhi I set my towel just outside of the beach area on the grass and sat down to rest. After a failed attempt to catch a nap, I made a few phone calls and was back on the bike northbound towards Manassas.

The ride back was LONG and tiring to say the least. I got lost at least 10 times and was starting to become frustrated right around the time that I ended up just south of Leesburg Virginia.

After picking a road at random that appeared to lead in the direction east I was finally able to call it a day.

As I parked my bike in the parking lot. I hobbled off the bike with a sore ass and found my way upstairs where B-ron and Fab Five had been waiting for me with Matilda.

Was it as I navigated my way down Route 522 along side the base of the Blue Ridge mountain range or when I caught my first site of the glistening waters of the deep blue Lake Anna when the endorphins kicked in and I found myself high on life? I don't know. But either way both made for an incredible day!

The Summer that Never Came

Had you talked to me in early March, I had nothing on my mind except for the fact that I had just recently gotten over an illness that had consumed the better part of six months of my life.

I was extremely anxious and ready to ex-spell some of this un-invited cooped up energy to say the very least.

Suffice it to say that I was looking more than forward to some sort of idea that would bring me towards my ultimate goal of that seemingly un-graspable concept of "simple relaxation".

Hell... maybe alls it would take is hearing that crisp pick of the banjo echoing through the Shenandoah valley as I dozed off under the waning crescent moon that would bring me to my own salvation!

If that doesn't suit your fancy how about more of a moderate range? Let's go with riding my motorcycle into endless sunsets to just feeling the grit of sand between my toes as I basked in the luminous and radiant glow of the sun reflecting off of the salty beaches of the eastern Maryland shore.

After countless and sometimes violent torrential downpours that seemed to fall strategically on a Friday and end late Sunday night just as I realized that you I had to go back to work tomorrow, here I stand four months later.

Two moves and one muggings later, it's mid July and I feel robbed of not just my own dignity but of something that people take for granted. I feel robbed of my summer.

Let's just say "I'm ready to get my summer on" Who's with me?

Sometimes I Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me.

Hey listen, I apologize now. I'm sorry ok? All's I can say is that I thought it was over (no not my opening line in the Chan 4 news broadcast) come on let's get serious here.

But no, seriously, I thought the incident was done. "This will happen never again." "Done with! That's the way these things go right?" "We're moving on".

Do you still blame me?

On July 10th I was nearly as over it as you can be. This was four days later and I was more than anxious for life to get back to some sort of semblance of normality.

At work that day, I couldn't help but think of anything else except for the fact that within just a matter of hours this was going to be the first chance since the attack that I would finally get a chance to pull back a coupla beers and just chill with Matilda and Allen in our new apartment. We'd drink some beers. We'd crack the occasional joke about someone breaking in. Ha ha ha.

"Get some movies too, take your time, I'll be fine". Matilda yelled as Allen and I were fastidiously on our way out the door.

Fast forward about 15 minutes after I had hit Giant and the nights libations had been secured... as I'm filling out a Block Buster application I received a call from Matilda saying that two burly black men had come to our door at 7:30 at night.

"It has to be those guys from the apartment complex that are there to install the locks on the windows". I preached in good faith might I add.

"Nope, already called the apartment complex". Came the reply.

"We'll be there in 2 minutes". I said as I crumpled up the Block Buster application.

It was right then as I stepped out of the Block Buster door and laid one foot onto the sidewalk that I saw the the dirtbag that robbed me.

It was something about his walk, his slight strut to the right hand side with this overwhelming air of intimidation. It was those dangling dreaded braids that I remembered so clearly before I pulled poor Allen into the truck and told him with a shaking voice that I was sure it was the guy that robbed me.

Soon thereafter, when they told me that they knew who he was and that the dog had lost his scent just a block away from where he lived. I grew more furious by the second.

Three days later, after lost sleep and brutalized nerves for the entire weekend, I've learned that the two guys who felt totally inclined to come to our door that night were more than likely related to the case. The two guys that I thought had followed me to Block Buster were probably not.

Damn. I look back and aside from the boxes that line our living space, this is a reminder of where we are at now. The message for tonight is to trust your instincts but don't trust them too much to make you paranoid.