Category Archives: Adventures of Midlife Girl

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This kind of traffic is reason enough to move.

We should have just turned the truck around and gone home. This is what I was thinking as we sat in gridlocked traffic on the entrance ramp to I-5. We were driving our friend’s big 1992 Ford 250 pick up truck down to the marina to pick up Puddler. Puddler needs a bottom job and our friends, Chere and Edwin, who leave their truck at our house in exchange for our occasional use of said truck, will be selling this truck at the end of July. We felt anxious to bring Puddler home before that happens and today was a ‘free’ day. We had nothing else planned.

As we approached the freeway we saw that traffic was stacked up in the right hand lane for a least a mile but was moving freely in the other two lanes. Apparently there was an air show at McChord AFB and hundreds of people thought they might actually drive to the show to see it, meaning that traffic would be impacted for miles. We were entering the freeway just before the exit to McChord, so everyone who wanted to go past that exit was in the left two lanes. Mike had to make a split second decision about whether to turn around and go back, or whether to brave the entrance ramp to the highway. He chose the latter. It occurred to us both that the Universe was trying to tell us something about how this day was going to go, but the siren call of Puddler’s need was simply too powerful. We soldiered on. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

After sitting at a dead stop, teeth grinding, for a full 10 minutes, slowly a couple of cars on the ramp bravely worked their way around the traffic, inching up to the front to cut over into the lanes that were moving. Smart people, I thought. They get where they are going, which is NOT, apparently, to the air show, and free up space on the ramp for other cars whose drivers want a place to sit and nap.

Me: “Look, honey. That car has made it past all of these suckers going to the airshow and is now merrily driving down the highway unencumbered! What a smart person!”

Mike: (as he is inching his way forward to do the same thing) “Oh, sure and everyone sitting in this line thinks he is a complete ass because he has cut in line like he is more important than they are.”

Me: “No, they don’t. He isn’t going the same place as everyone in this line. He is making room for others who want to go to the airshow. He’s getting out of everyone’s way.”

Mike: “Well, they don’t know that. They just think he is self-important and should wait his turn like everyone else.”

I wait silently while my spouse does the intelligent thing by colluding with another driver to cross the small grassy median between the ramp and the lane of stacked up traffic. They both make it just fine and the other guy is off and running, but there is now a disturbance in The Force around my husband, who apparently feels guilty because other people are still sitting on the ramp. This disturbance has attracted the attention of our local constabulary. Literally out of nowhere a very loud robotic voice shouts ‘MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! THE MEDIAN IS FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY AND IS NOT FOR YOU TO DRIVE ON!!’   Guiltily, Mike gets out of the way for one of  the Washington Highway Patrol’s finest, who drives by without even a nod in his direction, likely on his way to his favorite lunch spot. If that cop could see Puddler’s bottom, he’d agree that this IS an emergency and stop harassing reasonable people who are just trying to get out of everyone else’s way and move on down the road.

As we manage to reach the speed limit, we sigh with relief and say a prayer of thanks to the traffic Gods who took care of that little hurdle. We decide we’ll park down at the Thea Foss Park at the end of the waterway, walk to the marina, and row puddler down to the public ramp for dingies and kayaks.

We sail by this little park every time we leave the marina.

We are almost there when Mike gets off the wrong exit and we are stopped by road construction. I sigh heavily. Mike rolls his eyes and takes his foot off the brake to accelerate. We’ll have to turn around and go back. Then we hear the noise. It is coming from the engine compartment, I think. It’s sort of a grinding noise, with undertones of  ‘death rattle’ and light notes of burning rubber smell.  I glance at Mike, who I fear is on the verge of hysteria. He’s either going to laugh maniacally or begin cursing. His jaw is set. He pulls over, opens the hood and does some man  stuff. Then closes the hood and decides it was probably the brakes; that they need new pads, and that whatever was making that deathly rattle has gone away now. A veil of denial descends upon us and we both agree that all we want is to get safely to the marina, collect our little boat, and go home.  We carry on.

Down at the park the weather is fine and we enjoy a brisk walk to the marina, only having our way blocked a couple of times by a huge gang of Harley riders and more construction. We enjoy a pleasant row down to the park from Moonrise and arrive just as some kayakers are launching. As we pull Puddler out of the water, a man from their group offers to help pull the dingy up the considerable slope to the curb. Excellent! Things are looking up! Mike goes and gets the truck and we load Puddler into the back, ready to go! We love how easy it is to hoist her up into the bed of this behemoth and just shut the gate. She fits like a proverbial glove! Mike inserts the key into the ignition and turns the key. Click. We look at one another. He turns it again. Click. We are parked sideways in a loading zone.

In my mind I think ‘Great. The starter has gone out.’.  Now I know why we should have turned around and gone back home before we ever thought about getting on that highway. Shades of a 1964 Ford Fairlane begin a slow dance in my memory. It’s all coming back to me now. 1980. The Ford. The Starter. The trip from Hell. My frozen feet.   This must be what it’s like to have flashbacks. That’s a story for another day. At least that Ford was red.

Puddler fits so very nicely in the back of this truck! If you are going to be stuck with a non-starting truck, this is the view you want.

At Mike’s request I rummage around behind the seat and find some jumper cables. I know they are not going to help, but it’s worth a try. A couple drives up with a large aluminum canoe on top of their newer truck ( also a Ford, I might add). Roger and Erin Legg from Tacoma are bringing her family canoe down for a little paddling and Roger agrees to help Mike see if the car can be jump started. Of course, it cannot. So they do some other man type stuff under the hood, trying to find some kind of voodoo magic that will work, but finally agree that it’s something about the starter. I could have told them that, but men, after all, have their own ways of knowing.

Roger chants man voodoo words while Mike spits into the engine. Erin acts as their 'familiar'. The magic does not work. The Ford does not start.

The crescent wrench Mike found in the glove box failed to work its magic on this starter, no matter how many times Mike struck the thing with the wrench, and no matter what 'magic' words he shouted.

We chat for a bit and I find out that Erin is a student in the School Counseling program at University of Puget Sound and, since I used to have student interns from that program, that’s pretty cool. She used to teach English in Prague and since we have a daughter who longs to have a job where she can travel, that’s pretty cool, too. Mike and Roger have histories with the Air Force in common and they both look like they know something about cars. At least old cars.  We exchange contact info and help them launch their canoe. I think to myself that if we’re going to be stranded with a huge, broken truck in a loading zone with Puddler in the back, feeling like a couple of Okies,  at least it’s nice to meet friendly people with whom we have something in common. It’s always best to try to find something good in these situations.

After contacting our friends and their insurance company, we decide I would row Puddler back to her place by Moonrise. Her bottom, while foul, will have to wait for another day. Mike will stay with the truck visiting with passers-by until the tow company comes and our friend, Chere, picks us up and takes us to lunch. The tide is with me and I have another pleasant row back down the Foss Waterway, back to Moonrise and a little time to myself on the boat.

I'm supposed to be looking forlorn, but what I'm really thinking is 'Excellent! On the water at last!'

Lunch with Chere was delightful. It was great to visit with her as it’s been too long since we had coffee together. So what if I overindulged in carbohydrates? Just another nail in this day’s coffin.  We drove back to our place and Chere stayed to walk around the garden for a bit and finish our visit. Mike retired to the bedroom for his much-needed nap. When Chere left I made myself useful by loading up the car with a bunch of crap to take to Goodwill. After a day like this it’s nice to end on a positive note. I figured the day was done, nothing else could happen. I was well on my way to putting this day in perspective until Mike joined me in the garage and said one thing:

“I have food poisoning.”

And that is where we stand. At least I ordered the fish.

 

 

 

 

The Need for Speed When Performing Boat Yoga, and a Cunning Little Cruiser!

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You think a Cal 34 cannot go fast? HA! Double Ha!

Another fine weekend of Pacific Northwest sailing. On Saturday we headed over to Oro Bay on Anderson Island. There was a little boat moored there that we wanted to take a look at for our son, Andrew. More on that later.

The wind was whipping about 15 knots as we headed out of the marina, taking full advantage of the incoming tide as we swept under the Narrows Bridge. Sailing around here means always being very aware of what the tide is doing and when, since any sailor up here knows that if you try to sail against the tide in the narrows, you will sail backwards.

This time we had about 2-3 knots of current with us, and great wind to boot, so naturally there was time for a little boat yoga. Boat yoga is good for all parts of a person and really takes the edge off those long wheel-slave sessions when the only auto pilots on board are named Mike and Melissa. That’s right, folks, there is nothing like a few yoga poses while heeled at 25 degrees to make what could otherwise be a tiring time at the wheel simply fly by.

Thankfulness. Hold pose for at least 30 seconds while you give thanks for the wind and your saucy boat.

 

The Wind Tunnel. Sailing for long periods on a broad reach in plenty of wind allows tension to build up in the body. Use this pose to discharge that tension, sending the energy back up into the wind from whence it came. Brace foot firmly. Blow out through your mouth, like the wind.

The Compass. Become the needle on your compass, pointing toward the horizon. Strike pose swinging arm through all four of the major directions, keeping arm straight. Pivot at the hips. Brace feet and be careful! Alternatively, you can pretend you are singing into a microphone with one hand, point to your audience with the other. Your choice.

After a refreshing yoga session, it’s time to change helmsmen and sail through some tidal rips. May as well turn off the sound on your computer because I still don’t have the hang of talking during a video clip when there is a lot of wind.

The anchorage at Oro Bay is really protected and quiet. We anchored in about 16 feet of water, feeling completely protected from the wind. An interesting feature of this anchorage is this old ferry. Someone brought this thing over from the east coast, thinking they would somehow restore it and take over the ferry service over on Ketron Island, just next door. Why do people think they can salvage huge things like this? It’s pretty cool, but I cannot imagine how much money it would take to get something like this up and running.

The old ferry from Ocean City, which is probably in New Jersey. Just now it has two travel trailers parked in it, and plenty of sea life parked ON it.

So, now we can satisfy the question on everyone’s minds: Why are these people looking for a boat for their son? The answer is simple: we are insane. Let’s just get it onto the table right now. We have lost our minds somewhere in the wind. Sure, there are nice logical answers like ‘We want Andrew to learn about working on boats.’, ‘Andrew needs a project to work on.’, or ‘It would be cheap housing during college.’

But those answers are probably not the real reason. Probably the real reason is that young men need adventures in order to become solid men. We prefer that Andrew’s adventures not be in the form of either going to war, or playing like he is going to war in front of the video screen. Andrew had a grand adventure traveling through Europe on his own between highschool and college. It crystalized something in him that has helped him be successful in college. Adventures do that. We’d like to see that kind of development continue so that he can become even more self-sufficient and make choices about how he lives his life that might be a little outside the box. He’s enough like me that I worry he will get bored with life if he enters the world of work, never to have time to himself again until retirement.  We see this as part of his education, part of his growing-up. And if we get to live a little vicariously through him, well, what are kids for? I guess like most parents, we want better for our kids than we had for ourselves, and we want them to know they don’t have to do things the way we did them.

So we sailed out to Anderson Island to look at this little Westerly Cirrus, a 22 foot sailboat that could take Andrew just about anywhere.

The Westerly Cirrus

This little boat is salty as heck, but it needs some work because it’s been sitting there for a long time. The price is right, but does Andrew want to take it on? Like us, he’d rather sail than work on a boat, but it wouldn’t take much to make this boat sail-able. And the sails are in good condition, as is the standing rigging. I’ll review this boat on the boat reviews page.

Here’s a final video of our sail back. We ran our engine for about 1/2 hour the entire weekend. Great Pacific Northwest sailing!

Moonrise, out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midlife Girl’s Further Adventures, and Words of Wisdom*

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*Because life is too short to be bored.

Ballroom Ruin, with orbs.

Day two of our most recent Blanding adventure and I have more tips for you midlife rock climbers out there. Today we hiked the northern part of Butler Wash to the end of the wash. It’s about a 5 mile hike there and out with side trips to see ruins and climb around on rocks hoping to find more ruins and generally enjoying the scenery. This is a great time to hike Butler Wash because you don’t have to fight your way through a lot of vegetation in the wash. The reeds are just beginning to show their heads, and the willows are not leafed out yet. I’m imagining that in the summer this wash would be hot, humid, and sticky.

The first ruin we encountered is called Ballroom Cave and the reasons are obvious when you see how huge this cave is. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity to climb big rocks at this ruin, but the ruin itself is really cool. You’ll notice that in the photos of Ballroom cave there are a lot of orbs suddenly. Now, there are many opinions about what these orbs actually are. Many people think they represent dust in the atmosphere. That’s certainly possible inside this cave. Other people believe orbs in photos represent a kind of spiritual presence that shows up digitally. I don’t know. But they are only present in the photos taken in Ballroom Cave, so you be the judge. They do make a cool photo.

Part of the Ballroom Cave ruin.

You can see the size of this cave! That's Andrew in the far reaches, over by the bat guano.

We continued down the wash to find ruin number two, and here is where my ‘words of well-earned wisdom’ come into play. Ruin number two was way high up on a ledge, far above the floor of the wash. There would be climbing required.

Ruin number 2. From this perspective, it seems low. It isn't.

As usual, Andrew scouted ahead to find the best route. Determining that we would have to climb the huge slickrock in order to reach the first ledge, he went ahead of me. My first words of wisdom are: always take your almost-20 year old son with you. These sons come in very handy when scouting the most appropriate route up a rock. They also can give you a hand up when required. Especially when your midlife body is reeling from the previous day’s adventure, almost-20 year old sons are without equal in the usefulness department.

Here I am doing the 'Spider Monkey' up the slickrock to reach the first ledge. The cottonwoods below are probably 80 feet tall.

The ‘spider monkey’ posture is the most useful posture when scaling really steep rock. The proper method is to keep your center of gravity low and forward, keep your eyes on what you are doing, and don’t look down. Never, never look down. Look forward only, every few steps to make sure you are not going to land on a cactus. I am not in complete posture in this photo as the complete posture requires all four appendages be touching the ground. Vary this posture with the ‘four wheel drive’ and eventually you will reach the top. Once there you may give yourself permission to eat jerky and trail mix because you’ve earned it.

Andrew demonstrates his superior youthful abilities. Let's pretend that I went up the same way, okay? Excellent.

So eventually, I do reach the first ledge, only to be confronted with a completely vertical wall that required scaling in order to reach the ruin. I ask Andrew if it’s worth it. He says it’s worth it not to fail. I sigh, knowing I might regret this, but not wanting to live a boring life.

The wall of doom.

See that little U-shaped area in the wall? That’s the area we had to climb as it had the most possible footholds. There was a ton of loose sand in this area. The wall probably won’t be there 100 years from now as it’s just crumbling. But that part is only about 15 feet high. Andrew climbed up first, then I handed up my backpack and began my ascent. I figured that if I fell, it would be a controlled fall and I’d land on soft sand. I’d be bruised, but not dead.

But I didn’t fall. I used the ‘wall hugger’ technique and braced myself with knees and thighs, shimmying my way up until I was almost through the U shape. Then I had to turn and brace my back against the wall, pushing with my knees and feet until I could get my elbow over the ledge and grab a log that someone had thoughtfully placed just back from the opening, secured with two good rocks. I was feeling mighty successful.

And then I realized that I had left my camera in my back pocket.

My track record with digital cameras is abysmal. Two years ago I ruined my last good camera by rolling my kayak. And I was close to shore! It wasn’t even a good story! Just a stupid one.

So my words of wisdom for this day are: never shimmy up a crumbly sandstone wall, bracing your body weight against your rear end when you have your digital camera in your back pocket. I am not making this up. You should definitely not do this. It ruins your camera. By ‘ruin’ I mean that this causes the camera to not be able to work due to sand ground into the mechanism. Digital cameras do not like this very much. 🙁

We are in big cat country here. I'd love to see a mountain lion, as long as it was on one side of the wash and I was on the other. Lots and lots of big cat tracks, though. Pretty cool.