A whole city to discover

So, the year is full of these holidays which have traditions that get people to behave ways that would seem strange any other time of year. Halloween is my favorite. It asks us to dress in a fashion we normally couldn't get away with and others are only going to compliment us on our most hideous choices. People open their doors to complete strangers and then hand out candy with only a minimal threat. And it only gets better when you grow up because there are parties, alcohol, and women dressing as slutty possible.

At the other end of the year you have Easter, which has these strange practices: hide eggs and hope the kids can find them all before they rot (since the adults have likely already forgotten where they put them), surround yourself with bunnies, and eat candy until you're sick. Oh yeah, and Jesus or something.

But littered through the rest of the calendar are these really esoteric days. And the one that presented me with a small adventure recently was Columbus Day. And just what are you supposed to do on Columbus Day? Well, just what are we celebrating? Christopher Columbus sailed across the Atlantic, did not find what he was looking for, and was a total dick to the natives.

There really is only one thing you can do on Columbus Day to do it justice: dress like a pirate and go around "discovering" things that others already knew existed, "claim" them for King/Queen/Country, and leave a flag.

This was a small voyage of just a few intrepid adventurers along the shores of Burnside. We first landed in a quaint cove, exchanged banter with the wenches, and threatened to return. Next, we sailed across the alley to a small isle, where we were creeped-out by a Crispin Glover look-alike (to be fair, we also annoyed him by not buying anything, in true Columbus style). We rounded the corner to reveal a village of natives. Here we had the traditional Columbus Day drink: a cheap margarita. We then explored the caverns under a pink mountain and trekked  to a distant shore where we espied unveiled treasure chests. After a second tour of the big pink tunnels, we made our way to Haiti for some sugary delights.

Along the way, we left a trail of notices for future travelers:

• Finders keepers. - C. Columbus
• Let me explore you. - C. Columbus
• I saw it first. -C. Columbus

We may do this again next year, bigger, more organized, and with a better claim.

We didn't end our pirate adventures for the week though. The following Friday saw us with a group of scalawags to sing the night away with classic (and not so classic) shanties. The room had plenty of space, and liquor, which is important if you don't want to be pillaged (and if you do, it can be arranged).

Team Sports Training

So, I'm not much for watching sports. I know how it works, I understand the rules, I appreciate the athleticism. But I don't follow any teams, in any leagues, and could care less if this team defeats that one. I find watching the endeavor on TV to be extremely boring.

However, being a live spectator is a whole other experience.

I went to a fair number of professional sports games when I was a kid growing up in the LA area. I have very distinct memories of seeing the Angels play on their home turf. But it's been decades since I've attended a pro match.

All grown up now, I do a fair bit of travel for work. This often sees me going to Adobe headquarters in San Jose. I've been here so many times that I have to seek new thrills. Most of my colleagues were staying at the luxurious Fairmont hotel. For adventures sake, I opted to stay at the less posh, but more historic, Saint Claire.

Generally our boss will entertain the team with a fancy diner. This time we got a special treat: travel up to San Francisco to catch a Giants game.

Like all such situations, there was a plan in place. It was simple, would satisfy our goals, and was foolproof. Take Caltrail up the length of the bay, arrive early, enjoy the festivities. No problem.

When we got off work, Pete and I headed back to the Saint Claire together to drop off our work materials and get changed before meeting everyone else at the Fairmont. But we needed to pick up something from his car first and our hotel was further away. There was a time table for the plans, so everybody else took off: we'd catch up. This, it turned out, required a bit of running. We arrived just as our boss had finished purchasing the last of our tickets and we made it to the train on schedule.

But the universe had other plans.

Seems a BMW got clipped on the train tracks. Not our train, but one in front of us. We were delayed while things got cleaned up. Half of our train had reached the platform and many passengers sensed a long wait. These opted to BART the rest of the way, leaving only Giants fanatics behind. More than half an hour later we were cleared to travel again. But now our schedule was entirely off. So much for well-laid plans.

Instead of arriving early, we got to AT&T Park somewhere around the end of the second inning. The Giants had already scored and we hadn't even entered Willie Mays Gate. Bing handed out our tickets and I was assigned a seat next to Jeff. The two of us decided to stick close because everyone got split up as we entered the park. Our tickets were for the third terrace and we'd only made it to the top of the first when we'd lost nearly everyone. We found Baxter and the three of us continued to take the long way round to our seats.

We were in the View Box, a bit of seating that hangs off the main stands area. It offers a spectacular view of the field but makes it a little harder to find. Our section was near the top of the third base foul pole, which made the likelihood of a ball batted into our region about nil.

I headed to the gift shop to pick up some souvenirs. I got a shot glass for Joy, a key chain for Atheana, and Tim Lincecum in Lego form for William. While I was shopping the Giants scored again when someone hit a triple.

Participating in the national pastime is a strange mix of enthusiasm and Pavlovian shepherding. People cheer when a good play is made, boo at a bad call, and go nuts when there is a home run. But we also clap and sing on the demands of audio and visual cues that are staples at any game. The video cameras also sweep the crowd and encourage specific behavior. There was the "kissing cam", which would show a couple sitting together on the jumbotron until they did the deed. It could be cute, romantic, or downright steamy. Toward the end of the game we had the Gangnam Style cam, rousing folks to pony up.

There was a fight in the stands behind us at one point. Don't know many of the details, but I watched a wide-eyed bald man make an attempt at escape but he was caught by security. Later the paramedics came and picked up a woman who was limping and upset but didn't seem to be in terrible shape.

And what's a game without the Wave? The section above us also tried to get this going. While some participated and others merely ignored, other folks got rather heated and started screaming for this nonsense to stop. If you're not going along with the crowd, what's the point? If your main concern is watching the game uninterrupted, why not watch it at home?

Physics can occasionally play out strangely during a sporting event. At one point when a batter hit the ball, the bat split. The largest chunk went flying toward the shortstop and landed near the edge of the infield sticking straight up like a spoon in thick chili.

The greatest hazard faced during the entire event though was the seagulls. They would perch, pick their targets, and then head out in massive bombing runs. I was never hit, but there was a close call a couple seats in front of me. But we always had half an eye on the sky.

Most of my team left at the top of the eighth to catch a train back. The next wouldn't be for another hour, but I'd come to watch the game. We'd missed the beginning, I'd missed a chunk of the middle for shopping and to food lines. I would be damned if I was going to miss the end as well. Not that there were going to be any surprises. The Giants were up 5-0 and had been dominating the game. By the end they scored one more time, not even completing the ninth inning as the game was already over.

I caught the next train, but it was an all-stop special, so it took nearly an hour and half to get home. It was nearly 1 a.m. by the time I made it back to the hotel and I still wanted to hit the gym. Waking up the next day for work was nearly impossible, but I don't regret any of my decisions that night.

Way of the Warrior

So, late last summer I was convinced to do this totally insane thing. Insane, even for me. It involved lots of running and being outdoors and I was totally unprepared. Wouldn't I rather be watching a movie, playing a video game, or sleeping?

But I saw the pictures: running over the tops of derelict cars, being outdoors to jump over fires, preparing for a ninja battle. (Oh, wait. There are no ninjas in pictures)

I had to admit, I was intrigued and interested. So I signed up.

With only a week to prepare, I bought a new pair of running shoes and jogged three miles a night. Had to break-in the shoes and break-in my muscles because I was going on my first mud run. That's right, this was Warrior Dash 1.0.


I was about to find out exactly how out of shape I was. Those three mile night jogs? There was actually a lot of walking involved, and some very heavy breathing. After the first night, I could barely walk the next day. But I was bound and determined to complete this race and to perform well.


It was Atheana that got me into to this mess, so I would be competing against her and her husband Carey. But Atheana was feeling competitive, saying she's going to smoke me. I responded that I've got plenty of stamina. She fires back "You can't run the race on your knees!" Touche.

As it took Atheana at least fifteen minutes longer to reach the finish line than I did, it was a lot of talk with no show. But I had become addicted.

Now: Warrior Dash 2.0: The Glutton for Punishment!

I've mentioned my previous mud runs this year: Foam Fest and Run for Your Lives. I also had the Spartan Sprint to start this season off. Plus, I've been going to the gym since March. I was much better prepared for the Dash this time around. I was familiar with much of the course, it's obstacles, and had gotten into much better shape.

So, how did it go?

This time I went solo, no family, no friends. Just me against the world.

And right off the bat, luck is against me.

I'm just settling into flu symptoms that started a couple days before. Sore throat and cough being no friends to running. The weather is cool, overcast, and near raining. My clothing choice, though appropriate most mud runs, leaves me unprotected from the environment and with chattering teeth. However, these are minor setbacks against all the preparations I've made.

I'm expecting a near clone of last year as I approach the same start line as before. With the flamethrowers announcing the beginning of the race, my three hundred-odd companions and I take off into the woods. Over a small hill, down into a ravine, then up a steep, dusty, and winding trail that really kills all the enthusiasm the race announcer had built-up minutes before.

Like last year, the first obstacle is the river. Previously, we jumped into the water, climbed over a couple logs and then came out again on the same shore. This time logs were replace by tumbling jugs, like underwater broncos trying to buck you off. We also had to wade quite far downstream, over a river bottom filled with random craters. My guess was they had dredged the bed to remove large rocks and left holes everywhere. A much tougher swim this time around.

Most of the obstacles returned from last year, and the race ran pretty much the same course. But two of my favorites were removed. First, the earlier mentioned running over a car junkyard. Second, the wobbly table tops. Like playing the lava game as a kid, where you have to jump from one piece of furniture to another without touching the ground, you have to move from table to table. Each surface only has a single leg and is not very stable. Last year, I passed these flawlessly. I missed them this time around.

With some obstacles missing, they had to introduce some new ones. We got a much denser and difficult version of the spiders web that I had first encountered at the Foam Fest. There were also some trench and barbed-wire crawls.

I kept a pretty good pace most of the race, but there were many times I was so winded I had to walk. But as long as we were not headed uphill, I would catch my breath and start to run again. When I got toward the end of the race, when I knew that all that stood between me and the finish was a small hill, fire, and mud I found a second wind and really increased my pace. I started passing folks left and right and gave everything I had left to finish strong.

I performed much better this year. By looking at the race results I made the top 100 for my age group. And I was less than 10 minutes away from the lead. I was also in the top 10% overall. I don't know my official results from last year's race, but by best estimates, this year I beat it by 10 minutes. I like those odds for coming out on top next year.

At the end of the day I took a dip in the pond to remove the mud and donated my now year-old shoes, purchased originally to run the race last year but still in good shape, to GreenSneakers. Now, my running shoes are those I got from Portlandia.

Now that I've closed out this year for mud runs, I'll continue to train, to come out on top of the Warrior pile, but also be ready for the more insane Tough Mudder next year.

Gorillas in the Midst of PDX

So, I've lived in Portland and it's environs for over a decade. Some may argue that it will take another two before I could really claim to be a proper citizen. But I like to think I've been somewhat naturalized by having a son born downtown or that I've at least been adopted by the local community. I've walked every street, drank at most of the bars, and tipped a fair share of the strippers.

There are various landmarks in the city, many of which I've learned the history of, climbed, and/or been married to. Rarely does such knowledge, talent, or relationship get tested or prove of much use. Unless you are the hosting a walking tour, the best you'll get is mild banter out of it. 

Yet a scavenger hunt can prove to be the best use of such trivia (except an all PDX episode of Jeopardy is produced). So when the offer to join the Gorilla Challenge came in, I knew I'd found a very special calling.

The basic premise here is that you are given clues to various locations around town, upon visiting those locations you must provide photo (sometimes video) evidence of having been there. And not just any photo, you have to be doing something slightly questionable. Additionally, there are some mandatory physical challenges to complete.

A team of at least two people is required to participate and costumes are encouraged. So I gathered together my wife Joy, our long time friend Atheana, and new racing buddy Bonnie. We decided to go with a wedding party theme for our group. Since I was the only male it was obvious I should be the bride. Bonnie played my husband (in a tutu), Atheana a bride's maid, and Joy was the flower girl. We went with the name "Wedding Crashers"

As for the challenge itself, all contestants met at the Rock Bottom Brewery, got signed in, had a drink or two, and waited for the start time. While we mingled through the crowd I got complemented on being such a beautify bride many times. We met Mark Eisnehart (past and future American Ninja Warrior participant and fitness guru) and was interviewed by Laddie Read (of Mainstreamed Media, a platform for the disabled to be a part of the press). After a review of the rules, we got things started, with a quick jog to the other end of the block to get our first clue sheet.

We quickly identified our first item which sent us up to the former ground-zero for the Occupy movement, there we had to have a picture of one of our team members picking up another member in front of the pioneer statue. Then it was up to Ira Keller falls for a three legged, four fisted gorilla crawl. This was the first of our physical challenges. The next was a YMCA dance-off against another team in the park. Then, for gross-out factor, we had to spray "fruit punch" into another team member's mouth so they could spit it in a cup. Turns out the fruit punch was actually red dye and vinegar (lucky me Atheana had volunteered to be our taster for this challenge).

Other photo/video scavenger items including singing and dancing like a lemur in front of Portland's most tourist happy location, the Chicken Dance by a building dedicated to a candy maker, acting like a gorilla outside a benefactor of the homeless, a mimed tug-of-war outside the guardians of history, and Marco Polo by the worlds smallest park. 

We covered miles of territory during the event, scavenged ten of the twelve possible challenges (we failed an eleventh), and completed the event after two hours. We didn't win one of the prizes, but better luck next time.

Grimm tidings

So, some time ago I spent a day in Estacada at an old lumber mill musing over a crime scene. Seems a federal agent had been murdered, so I was called in to take over the case from the local law enforcement. The hitch was they only needed two FBI agents and there were three of us on hand. I was odd man out.

But I just got a second chance. Once again there is a murder, an abandoned car our only clue, and I would be on hand to help.

This is how I returned to the set of Grimm.

We had a very early call time, forcing me to leave home long before I normally wake. I had to head out to the remote reaches of north Portland's industrial district. Actually, the Grimm studio is right down the street from where the Tomato Fight had occurred.

I was really excited because this time I would get to be a uniformed police officer. Last time I wore my own suit, trading in the suit jacket for the blue FBI field windbreaker. Both times I got a gun, but police have a utility belt which comes with "mace" (a live can of training mace), handcuffs (let the fun begin!), a radio with shoulder mic, and a telescoping beat stick. I played with all of my toys while waiting for filming to begin.

For the second time in my extras career, my "character" actually had a name. From the random grab bag of name tags I was given "Oster". That's Officer Oster to you.

Our group was composed of several cops, a couple detectives, and a few perps. We were filming on the main PDX police station set. I've never watched the show (although I nearly did once, which is almost a story of it's own), so I can't say what kind of action has taken place there, but I can tell you where this fictional police station sits within downtown Portland. Since the building is just an artificial set in a warehouse, the view outside the windows is a huge photo panorama. Pictured is what you'd see if you were standing outside Whole Foods Market looking south (on Burnside and NW 13th).

I wasn't working with Nick (David Giuntoli) and Hank (Russell Hornsby) this time around (but I did when I was an FBI agent, though they were rather stand-offish). However, I did have Sgt. Wu (Reggie Lee), and he's a really nice guy. We were just goofing off, trying to stay out of the way while the crew set up the lighting for the scene. We were joined by Captain Renard (Sasha Roiz), all of us checking the doughnut box for treats (unfortunately, there were none).

When this episode airs, I'll probably just be this blur way in the background, as the scene takes place inside the Captain's office while the rest of us are out in the main area. When it came time for filming, my job was to get some coffee. I got a surprise here. Unlike the doughnut box, the coffee machine was not empty. It was full of nightmare. A horrific black sludge, probably made by Cthulhu the last time the stars aligned, poured into my prop cup. The rest of that coffee table was just as scary. There was a half empty cup of joe behind the machine that was hosting its own little evolution experiment.

We did the scene many times and then headed back to base camp. Most of us changed into street clothes for the next scene. We were taken down to Union Station to act as passengers coming off the train. Obviously, our ride was interrupted by a freight train blocking the back road we were on to get between the studio and the station. When the train came to a complete stop several minutes later, still holding us up, we decided to take another route. Once on location, I was paired with a woman and we were to be a couple arriving from St. Louis. We were asked to improvise our story, so I soon became her whipped boyfriend.

It's a difficult thing to maintain control of a public space, especially one where there is constant in and out traffic. We closed off part of the street and part of the sidewalk, but people continually tried to walk through, or become gawkers while on camera. The cool bit was when an Amish family came out of the station in time to be in the background of our final take. I just image trying to explain what we were doing to them.

After we finished, we piled into the van to return to home base, catching a ride with Reggie who thanked us for our help.

That was the end though, a short day overall. The biggest disappointment being that they didn't feed us!

NGR goes back to school

I love to read. It really is just one of my favorite things. I switch back an forth between fiction and non-fiction when choosing my next book from my library. Going to a book store is full of so many possibilities. An actual book, with paper pages, not a computer screen, is magical.

There is a grander magic in reading to someone. I read to William every night for over a year. The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, the complete Sherlock Holmes canon by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and more. It's an amazing bonding experience, full of adventures, cliffhangers, and epiphanies. And it's fun to give voice to so many characters.

Do you know what another of my favorite things is?

Guess....

It's naked women.

No surprise there, right?

And there is an organization that caters to both: Naked Girls Reading.

That's right, women, without clothes, reading to you, the audience. Each girl comes out, sits in a comfy chair (or stands) and reads from a book for fifteen minutes.

This was my second visit to their Portland show. And they read absolutely amazing works.

The first show was geek themed, reading selections from Sci-fi and fantasy classics. We had excerpts from Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Carl Sagan's Cosmos, and Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince. It is at times enlightening, funny, and heart touching. So much so that you almost forget these women are naked.

...Almost...

These are fantastic women. Members of the local burlesque circuit mostly. They know how to be naked without being slutty. They are perfectly classy and entirely beautiful (without having that "perfect" Barbie doll look).

This time around, the theme was "Back to School". The idea being these are the books we read as kids, the type of stuff you were likely to buy at the Book Fair. I was reading Hardy Boys and Time Machine (a spin-off of the Choose Your Own Adventure) at the age seemingly favored by the selections. What we go was a rendition of The Giving Tree, a bit from a Goosebumps book, as well as a fantastic chapter from The Phantom Tollbooth.

The only bad part of the show was the venue. A place called the Blue Monk in SE on Belmont. We were in a basement that may be nicely intimate, but the horrid lighting proved an issue for our lovely readers, who often had to find a new location on the stage and angle to the lights in order to see their books.

All in all, a truly amazing experience and good time. I can't wait for their next return to PDX.

Stiff competition

My wife recently introduced me to interval running. You walk a certain distance, jog a bit, and then sprint.

Repeat.

What I learned this weekend is that everyone will need to do this kind of training if they want to be ready for the zombie apocalypse.

Now, I have a Plan Z, so I'd like to think I'm more than a little prepared for the this particular end of the world scenario. But having the idea of what you will do and having the physical capability of performing are two different things.

So, this past Saturday I took part in my latest World War Z training exercise. A little mud run called the Run for Your Lives. Your standard 5k obstacle course, only with packs of zombies strewn about.

Yes.

I said "zombies". In a race. Somewhere, Samuel L. Jackson said something epic.

In most mud runs, I try to hold a steady pace throughout (although after the halfway point I tend to power walk the uphill bits). But that won't work when you turn a corner and the undead jump out screaming for your brains.

The way it works is this, along with your number bib you get a flag belt. Just like the gentler version of football, your opponents (i.e. Zed) try to steal your flags rather then chew through your skull (there is a reason I didn't play sports in high school). You get three life points, three successful zombie grabs and you're dead.

At the start line I talked with a gentleman who is a veteran of these runs. His advice: stay in a dense group and power through. Chance of survival: Nil.

How very reassuring.

We start the race in a dark meat cage, a soldier letting us know the rules before opening the gate. There will be health packs on the course, he says. To heal our zombie wounds, he says. A count down, and we're off.

Now, I like to get an early start on mud runs. They have heats all day long, usually every half hour or so. Early in the day means cooler temperatures, smaller groups, and the track is less torn up. What I would learn is this was to be the least muddy, but (not surprisingly) most bloody run I've participated in. My strategy doesn't pay off though, this is one raw race course. It's full of ruts, rocks, branches, and to my later horror, blackberries. More on that later.

The first obstacle was a new one for me. A black house, with little black windows that you have to crawl through. Already there are people screaming. It's pitch black and filled with smoke inside. And there are naked wires hanging from the ceiling sending electricity into the unwary. Well, I'm wary and I don't get shocked. Getting to the other end you can hear the growls, here comes the first clash with the undead.

You burst from the smoke into a large open field filled with zombies. Time for the first sprint. Downhill, over uneven ground. I dodge a few of the walkers and shamblers, but here comes a runner. And he is out for blood. And wham! I've already lost my first flag. I make it the rest of the way unscathed.

We're in the clear. We cross a stream and... enter another open field with zombies. Time for another sprint. I'm successful in my dodging techniques this time and keep my remaining health, despite a bottleneck in the course, leading into the woods, defended by one more brain muncher.

A short jog through the woods leads to a muddy, but easy, crawl. Then back into the trees and: you guessed it, more ghouls. These aren't as aggressive, but the trail is small and maneuvering is difficult. We clear this crowd, and find a fork in the road. We can stay in the woods, or head out into the clear. But there are more of the unfortunate wretches out in the sunshine. We decide to stick with the "obviously safer path" (tm).

Yes, I did say we. We're maintaining a group of about five (we have, however, lost our veteran, haven't seen him since the smoke house), we pickup and lose folks from time to time. Still in the woods, we complete the first mile. By this time, I've received my first wound. A small blackberry vine was across the road, attempting to trip me. Only one end was in the ground, so instead of falling, it ripped across my exposed ankle, thorns leaving a jagged line. I've had, and I'll have, worse.

One of our number takes a spill while running past a wraith. This zombie offers to help her up. My advice to you: Never Accept Help From the Undead. Sure, she gets a hand up, but off goes one of her flags as well.

A note on the zombies themselves. It seems that the apocalypse has occurred during Halloween night. There are every stripe of undead: rednecks, scuba divers, doctors, Disney Princesses. Eventually I'll even be accosted by Batgirl.

More sprinting past the cursed. More walking to recover our breath. More jogging to keep our spirits and courage up.

Then it happens. We're running for our lives through some zeros. One makes a grab at me. I leap to the side, off the trail and into a massive blackberry plant. I'm up to my knees, but I can't stop now, my "health" is at stake. I jump clear of the bush, but a vine is wrapped around my left leg. It tries to hold me back. I pull free and pay the price. I now have what looks like claw marks running down and around by leg. From the inside of my knee, across my calf, to my outer ankle. It isn't too terrible. The blood only wells, it never runs. After a bit more jogging, though, I get the sting of poison and my calf muscle starts to burn in that special way. I'm able to walk it off, still alive (even by game terms).

More obstacles, over and under walls. A maze.

I don't even remember where I lost my second flag, but now we are two-thirds of the way through the course and I'm down to my last flag. Ahead is a nearly ninety degree ramp (this course runs partly over a motocross track). The wall is probably twelve feet tall and there are more of the reanimated at the top. At this point, we've gathered more survivors into our group, including a couple dead-men-walking/running. These are folks that have already lost all of their flags. With nothing left to lose, they offer themselves as decoys and meat shields. How very noble, but I can't climb the hill fast enough to get past the guard. I've lost my last flag and now I'm dead.

I keep running, no longer dodging the dead. I'm a decoy. I'm a meat shield. I'm not sure if I'm saving any lives though. And it turns out that this was the last group of the dead.

At the end is a water slide into a pool of "blood" and a crawl under an electrified fence. I've finished the race, dead on my feet. I think only one of our posse actually made it through alive.

When I get my results, despite multiple rest stops as we gathered our strength before plowing through our antagonists, I've finished this race at my fastest pace yet. At 36:00.3, just over eleven and a half minutes per mile, or an average speed of 5.5 mph. I'm really getting the hang of this, and I think I've drastically improved my chances of surviving the end of the world.