The Greatest Post Title Ever,

The greatest post title ever has got to be "Let Me Hit You With This." I originally used this title several posts ago when presenting my opinions on Female Infant Obsession Syndrome. I used the title, "Let Me Hit You With This," in a manner that meant "What do you think about this?" I have since come to realize that the title could mean so much more. Here are just a few ways that the title could, and may be, used in the future:

"Let Me Hit You With This"

1) The delivery of good news. "I just caught an incredibly large trout."
2) The delivery of bad news. "I forgot to take the large trout out of your car when you dropped me off yesterday."
3) Literal application, "this" being the large trout. "Let me hit you with this."
4) Skewed word usage. "Let Me" being an Asian male, and "this" still being the trout. "Look at what Let Me hit you with."

I could go on and on. Look for more fun and exciting uses in the future.

Did Anyone Else Notice It?

Last night I watched the first two episodes of Lost, and I have a question for those of you who have also seen them. I need to begin by saying that, in this new season, the writers have blown the roof off of the show. By the end of last season I was growing tired of the plot. By the end of last nights episodes I was wishing that I was on the island. Anyway, here's my question. Throughout the two new episodes, especially the second one, you see the logo to an unknown company numerous times. I believe the company name is "Scorpion," but can't be sure. There is also a point in the show when two characters are afloat at sea and encounter a shark. In an unfortunate TV viewing event, I glanced away from the TV for a split second, and missed a shot of the shark moving across the screen. As I looked back, Nicole started yelling that the "Scorpion" company logo was tattooed on the shark. The few remaining shots of the shark were mainly of its fin, so I wasn't able to check it out again. Did anyone else see if the shark had a tattoo? I have already formulated several opinions about the island, and a tattooed shark could conceivably fit into all of them (what a sentence). Let me know.

Updates.

A buddy of mine managed to record the entire first race of the Gratz Fair Figure 8 Races on his digital camera, and I was waiting for him to email it to me in the hopes of posting it for you. Obviously, the lack of it here indicates that I have not yet received it. Sadly, I did not attend the races this year. After my cohorts bailed out (through events beyond their control), I decided that I did not relish a 2.5 hour round trip by myself, and spent the evening with my fiance. It was nice, and the races will return next year. From those that did attend I gleaned the following information. The track was a bit larger this year, and had fewer concrete barricades. This led to less traffic congestion, and therefore less smash 'em up action. The first few races were described as something of a disappointment. However, for some unknown reason, the drivers in the later races were consumed with rage and seemed to care more about collision than victory, which more than made up for the early timidity. For those of you who are unaware of, and trying to picture, the Gratz Races, take a healthy blend of Mad Max and Deliverance with a little bit of good old Roman bloodlust for taste, and you will be pretty close to the actual event. Anyway, when the above mentioned video becomes available to me I will be more than happy to share.

Let Me Hit You With This.

What is the deal with the female obsession with babies? I know it has to do with the female instinct to reproduce which is essential to the survival of mankind, but seriously, women go absolutely insane when it comes to babies. Some of you know that I have been baffled by this since my sisters starting having kids a few years ago, but last night things finally went too far. I was doing some shopping at my local grocery store, and decided to treat myself to some Chinese food for dinner. I politely positioned myself in line so that my cart was out of the way and allowed for through traffic in the aisle. There was a gentleman in front of me whose wife had also placed her two carts out of the way on the opposite side of the aisle, allowing space for one cart to easily pass down the center of the aisle with no problems. Sounds reasonable right? Until you factor in that the wife had two small children in the carts, about 1 1/2 and 3 years old. Shortly after my arrival a woman in her fifties pulled her cart into line behind me, saw the two youngsters, and then moved her cart into the space that had been thoughtfully provided by the rest of us line-dwellers. The woman stayed there for some time, until the babies left, cajoling and cooing and cuddling, while numerous other shoppers were clogged into a traffic quagmire. Despite this fact the woman continued her ogling, oblivious to the inconvenience of those around her. It was like she was hypnotized. A freight train could have been bearing down on her and she wouldn't have flinched, as long as those kids were left dangling in front of her. I was appalled. While this is the most extreme example of "baby syndrome" I have seen, it is only the last in a long line. I do have to say that mothers who currently have babies seem to be immune to the syndrome, and appear more than happy to pass their kids of to some crazy, baby obsessed, woman. Older women are certainly the worst offenders, but not by much. Don't get me wrong, I love my nieces and think that babies are cute and great and all of that, but upon seeing one I don't turn off my mind and switch into some tunnel-vision, pampers-induced, vegetative state that renders me useless to society and a nuisance to those around me. I honestly believe that the only solution to the shopping cart gridlock, other than the removal of the children, would have been to give the woman a good swift kick to the back of the head, a sort of jump start, if you will. Not being that kind of person, I was forced to suffer in torment with my fellow man. What is my point? My point is that when you, as a female, see a baby you should WAKE UP AND USE YOUR HEAD! As I said before, I like kids. I like to smile at them and make funny faces at them (mainly in church) and listen to the funny things that they say, but the entire female gender are like a breed of alien robots intent on one thing and one thing alone. BABIES, BABIES,BABIES!! That's pretty much all I have to say on that. Before someone jumps all over me, questioning how I can lump all females into one category, please read my post below entitled "Because I Can."

Because I Can.

I recently saw an add online for the book Marriable. I haven't read this book, but the title reminds me of another book that I haven't read, I Kissed Dating Goodbye. I tried to go to the Marriable web page and read some excerpts, but they didn't have any. I tried the same thing at amazon, with the same results. Despite my limited knowledge of the book, I decided to rage on it anyway. Why? Because I can. I have a blog, and that gives me the ability to spew forth filth into the world at a rate rivaled only by the mayor of America's newest lake (that's right, I said it). Blogging is power. In starting a blog you have become the dictator of your own world. You can say what you want when you want. Someone disagrees with you? DELETED!! You can connect your blog to the worlds of others, or isolate yourself completely. It is a realm that is totally at your command. Blogging is life as it will never be. Come to think of it, I'm not really going to say anything about Marriable, the capability is enough for me. Isn't blogging great?

Hope From Despair

Several weeks ago I was pleasantly informed by my future mother-in-law that, at the rate of things, there would be a Hurricane Nate this summer. While it reveals something of my identity, I was excited to hear that they finally saw the merit in naming a hurricane after me. Sometime late last week Hurricane Nate formed somewhere in the Atlantic, and my hopes began to grow. I even received a phone call from a coworker to inform me of my prospects. Now, before Nancy Pelosi begins to slander me on CNN, I’m not demented enough to hope that Nate turns into the next Katrina, but I want my namesake to do well for himself. As I am writing this, Hurricane Nate is still in the Atlantic and is heading straight out to sea. What a let down. The one time in my life that I have one of these meteorological leviathans named after me and the thing turns tail and runs at the first sight of land, if a hurricane considers Bermuda to be "land." As I watched the weather last night my hopes turned to despair. My namesake would not be honored in tales for future generations of coastal dwellers. Hurricane Nate was truly a disappointment. But then I thought to myself, perhaps Hurricane Nate isn't the underachiever I think he is. What if he is an overachiever? It would only make sense. The Gulf/Atlantic Coast and the Caribbean get hammered by several hurricanes each year. It's been done, but when was the last time that the Atlantic Coast of Europe got hit. Um, never? I am now very proud of little Nate as he blazes his course across the Atlantic to go where no storm has gone before. Will he make it? The odds don’t look good, but hopefully he has opened the door for many more adventurous storms to come. Watch out Spain, here comes Nate!

I Hate Computers.

Seriously, I had a nice long post four you, but when I went to spell check it my crap work computer froze. Thus, no nice long post, and no spell check on this post. I am back though. I haven't been commenting lately because, excluding wedding planning, there hasn't been much going on. I am sure that you don't want to hear about wedding planning.

A Great Mystery Revealed.

Sorry that I haven't really posted in awhile. I just haven't had that many great adventures lately. I know that you are all still waiting for The Valley Part III, but wedding planning and various other things have thus far conspired against its completion. I have a couple of days off next week, so maybe I'll get it done then.

I suppose the big news in the blogrings these days is the arrival of the mysterious EGTY. It has been reported that EGTY can be chopped to pieces and then regrow himself from the stump of a tree at an incredible rate of speed. While the discovery of the phoenix of trees would be cool, we have now come to know that EGTY is nothing more than a pathetic attempt by wanna-be spammers to bring attention to their own company. It turns out that EGTY has never wrestled a badger in Juarez, or rid a college campus of a marauding gang of mercenary squirrels, or even been suspended over an abandoned mine shaft. We will never know if EGTY tastes good when grilled with a little bit of cheese, or if he can make us laugh until our bellies hurt. It is depressing in a way, EGTY could have been many things, but turned out to be none of them. I will miss you EGTY, you were the friend that none of us ever wanted to have. It's really a shame because I was so looking forward to having a tree in my backyard that I would have to chop down every day.

Sorry.

Just like Proteinstar, I had to enable the word verification program for commenting. Rover's Racing World got slammed by a whole bunch of unsolicited comments about everything but EGTY. As a precaution I enabled the program on both blogs. Sorry that it makes it a bit harder to comment now. Like people were commenting anyway!

An Event of Interest.

I have returned from vacation, but I will not regale you with tales of swimming with stingrays, or the not quite invention of Beach Croquet. Indeed an even greater event has caught my attention. Today I went on a bike ride. It wasn't really meant to be anything special, just a ride along my normal fitness route. You can imagine how astounded I was when I passed a large sign for the Falmouth Goat Races! It appears that the village of Falmouth (Lancaster County) annually holds a goat race to raise funds for community events. This year the race will be held on September 24, and I have every intention of attending, if not participating. Initially I didn't think that I could participate as one of my landlord's few pet restrictions is against goats, but it appears that organizers have some goats available to rent for the day. How considerate! I attempted to find some pictures, or a web page about the races to share with you, but there isn't much info about them online. I did however find a web page for a similar event held annually in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. They look a bit more elaborate than what I expect the Falmouth races to be, but who knows? On a side note, the Dar es Salaam site led my to discover Blue Mango, a site with some exceptional African photography that I will add to my links. Beyond that, vacation was quite nice. I did actually swim with stingrays and almost invented Beach Croquet, until I returned home to find that it had already been invented under the guise of Toequet. Guess I'll have to go on working for a living.

Double Blog Blitz!!

That's right folks. I have made history posting about the same topic on both of my blogs at the same time!! Actually it isn't at the same time, but close. Anyway, it is my way of officially celebrating the end of this year's Tour De France. Enjoy. Also, check out Rover's Racing World for some long overdue F1 updates. Also, I leave for vacation on Friday and hope to post The Valley Part III before I leave. I know, I should have posted it weeks ago. Sorry.

A Farewell To Lance

Although it appears to be something of a trend in sports lately, it is not often that an athlete comes along and dominates an era in the manner that Lance Armstrong has. I know the Tour De France has been over for some time now and has therefore disappeared from the American sporting conscience, but for me some memories still linger.

As I sat and watched the last time trial of this year's Tour, and ultimately the last time trial of Lance Armstrong's career, I realized that I was truly being treated to something special. I have long been a fan of the time trial, but I never really realized how much this event really is Lance's element. It is like watching poetry. The Armstrong of the time trial is the total opposite of the Lance that we saw hammering out a murderous pace up the side of the Alps. The TT is totally different. There is no hammering (at least not from Lance). Instead he lightly taps out a rhythm. It's almost like a dance. His entire body sways back and forth ever so slightly to the beat. The yellow jersey is (as it was meant to be) a beacon, drawing the attention of all around. Lance is known for having a slight hump on his back, and the yellow only accentuates it. Normally it would be viewed as bad posture, but on a bike it gives a certain edge to his appearance. The view from the motorcycle behind almost gives the impression that you are following an animal, a great beast on a chase. His lungs heave under the jersey and give the perception that this is not a domesticated animal. It is wild and on the charge. Despite that, there is little movement from his upper body and his broad shoulders quickly shrink away as his back flows down to his surprisingly thin waist. It is here, on his lower back, that the #1 is pinned right on the border between the yellow jersey and the black shorts. That one single vertical line on a white sheet of paper speaks volumes to the viewer. "Yes, in case there was any doubt, this is Lance." It isn't just that Lance has been assigned the #1, he is the #1. He is the grand patron of the Tour. The simplicity of the statement carries great power with it. After hovering at the waist, it is easy to get drawn back up to the broad yellow back, but doing so would be missing the greatest treat of all. Below his waist, hidden in the black shorts, Lance's legs explode in muscle. As Lance "lightly" taps out a pace, you can see the power that is flowing into the pedals. It is a beautiful thing to watch. The entire body in motion on the bike oozes of both confidence and contentment. Lance knows he's going to win, and there is nothing else he would rather do. You can see it in his eyes as he stands on the winner's podium. It's like looking into the eyes of a wolf after the kill. He loves this.

Alas, as I said before, it is over. Lance has moved on to a life of retirement. It is a shame. I don't say it's a shame because I particularly admire Lance as a person. I don't. I say it's a shame because, as I watched that last time trial I realized that there is no other rider who can even approach the level of grace and beauty on a bicycle that Lance has shown us for the last several years. This is the reason why I will miss him.

The Kayak Incident

Gandalf's Lackey recently provided us with a post describing a kayaking trip he took with a Mr. Bob Barrett. The name immediately brought to the forefront of my mind a day that I will not soon forget. While the name "Barrett" will forever be linked with that day in my mind, I in no way hold Mr. Barrett responsible for what I am about to relate to you.

I guess this is basically the story of my first kayaking trip. It is also the story of my first encounter with a "strainer" (yes, I have had more than one). In nature a "strainer" normally occurs when a tree, or part of a tree, falls into moving water. The trunk of the tree remains at or near the surface of the water while the underwater branches wedge against the stream bed, holding the tree in place. As time goes by these branches collect debris. The more debris that builds up in the branches, the more debris the branches collect. Eventually it reaches the point where solid items are no longer able to pass under the tree, and get stuck. Water is still able to get through, but do to the large amount of debris in the way, the current is significantly stronger under the tree. Anyway, my first day of kayaking went quite well, until we came to an area where the stream was partially blocked by a strainer. Mr. Barrett carefully explained to us how we were to maneuver around the obstacle. Being last in the line of kayakers I tried to hold back while the others went ahead. However, when my time came to negotiate the obstacle I found out that I was caught up in the current and my kayak quickly came to rest alongside of the log that formed the top of the strainer. I attempted to paddle along the log, but the current held me in place. I became clear to me that my solutions for a water bound escape were slim. The log was actually quite large and I thought that is would be possible to climb onto the log and drag the kayak onto land where I could then put back into the water downstream a bit. It would have been a great idea had the current not, at that point in time, flipped the kayak over. Finding myself upside-down lodged under a kayak that was lodged under a log, I began to realize that the situation was somewhat more serious than I had initially thought, and had the most memorable moment of clarity in my entire life. I suddenly found that I had all the time in the world. I won't say that my whole life flashed before my eyes, but I did spend what seemed like a good bit of time thinking about my family. I then became very angry and remember saying to myself "Not Today." I then popped the skirt on my kayak and pulled myself above the water. Using the kayak as a flotation device I could still feel the current trying to pull me back down under the log. At this point in time my attitude was basically one of "screw the kayak" and I shoved that boat under the log which enabled me to crawl on top of the log.

It is amazing how exhausting such a brief moment of time can be. After some prying we were able to extract the boat and paddle from under the log, and I found my self, cold and wet, lying on the shore. I gradually worked my way back into the kayak and slid back into the water. I was pretty sure that I wasn't the only one who realized how close we all were to having a very bad day, but fortunately I also wasn't the only one who realized that I didn't really feel like talking about it. The only comment of the day came when Mr. Barrett paddled up alongside of me and said "I am soglad that you came back out from under there." I couldn't help but agree with him.

The truly amazing thing about this story is that, despite the "strainer," my initial kayaking experience was such a positive one that I have gone several times since. I actually just purchased an inflatable kayak from Wal-Mart which will undoubtedly provide me with countless more river adventures.

Tough Love Straight From Bavaria.

It is one of the odd facts of my life that I like going to the dentist. I like it because its a no nonsense business. You show up, get cleaned or drilled or capped an then go home. None of this junk about medicines and follow-ups, just straight forward teeth work. I especially like my dentist because he is all business. He never messes about with questions about family, or work, or anything. He checks your teeth, asks if you have any questions, and moves on. Good man. However, the hygienists at my dental office are a completely different story.

Imagine yourself as a traveler in the Alps. Tired and hungry after a long day's journey you check into a mountain lodge and are greeted at the restaurant by a large, boisterous, buxom, beer stein toting, bear hugging alpine mountain woman. Keep that imagine in your mind. I recently had a dental appointment. After a short wait in the lobby I was greeted by my hygienist (enter alpine mountain woman). She was boisterous, talkative, and did a very thorough job on my teeth. She was by no means gentle, and certainly fell into the "tough love" category, but got the job done. While I loved her approach to work, there was a slight problem. As my previous description suggests, she was a large and forceful woman, not "fat" exactly, just large. She had placed her tool tray above my head, and each time she reached for a new tool she would inadvertently (I hope) press her breast into my face. My initial thought was, "What is the protocol in this situation?" Being that my head was firmly pressed both into the head support of the chair, and into my hygienist's breast there was no chance for subtle movement. Removing my head from the supports would have pressed it further into her breast. There was a good chance that this may have angered her, and you don't want to anger a woman who is working with sharp objects in your mouth. In the end I came to the conclusion that if she was ok with it I was too. After all, she did a heck of a job on my teeth.

Why I Am Destined For Greatness

It is probably obvious to anyone who has read this blog that I am destined for greatness. In case you have any doubts, here is a list of people that share my birthday. I know that this had already been done on another blog, but as you will see my birthday blows those out of the water. I have divided the names in categories to assist you. So here is a list of people who entered the world on the 30th of November.

Politics/World History
By far the highlight of this section, and the list as a whole, is the Lion of Britain and the Defender of the Free World. Winston Churchill was born on November 30. I always felt that Winston and I had a connection. Albrecht von Kesserling, more commonly known as Field Marshall von Kesserling of WWII fame adds a little more distinction to the list (1885). Here are a few more:

G. Gordon Liddy (1929 and 1930)- That's right, there were two. One was a famous entertainer, the other of Watergate fame.
Andres Bonifacio (1863)- Led the Philipino revolt against Spain in 1896.
Oliver Winchester (1810)- Invented the Winchester Rifle.
Christian VI (1699)- King of Denmark and Norway

Sports and Entertainment
The shame of my list is, by far, one Clay Aiken (1978). However, he is easily balanced out by the awesome Billy Idol (1955). Also:

Des'ree (1970)
Ben Stiller (1965)
Bo Jackson (1962)- Bo knows football and baseball.
Dick Clark (1929)- The real Dick, not the robot that we see on TV every New Year's Eve. The robot was "born" on November 30, 1989.

Literature
All I have to say here is Mark Twain (1835) and Jonathan Swift (1667). As you know, Twain wrote pretty much everything, and Swift is known for "Gulliver's Travels" and "A Modest Proposal."

As you can see, I may just have the greatest birthday ever. If you need more convincing view this short list of events that occurred on my birthday.

1954- First report of a meteorite striking a woman.
1947- The beginning of the Jewish War for Independence.
1891- The first indoor softball match.
1839- Mexico declares war on France.

As final proof of my grand destiny I throw in the Biblical characters of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Their exact dates of birth have never been confirmed, so I'm going to go ahead and claim them right now. That's the whole list for you. You can make your own conclusions from it, but I know the truth. I do have to give a shout to my coworker "Hawk" Henning who, during the creation of this post, learned that he shares his birthday with one Saddam Hussein. Ouch.

It's Bastille Day!!!!!!!!

That's right my fellow bloggermen today we commemorate the day that the French conquered themselves! And what a fine job they did. You've got to hand it to the French, they know how to have a revolution. Here in America it was sort of a once and done thing. We defeated the most powerful nation in the world, made up some laws, then moved straight on to the fireworks and barbecue. In France they did it a bit differently. They had their revolution, then a bit of counter-revolution, then some rerevolution. It was best that way as nobody felt left out. Seriously though, you have to appreciate a country that annually celebrates a prison break. I have always been a bit suspect of the fact that Bastille Day happened exactly ten days after Independence Day. It really just takes the originality out of the whole thing. David Moncoutie celebrated his Frenchness today by winning a stage of the Tour De France. The crowd was very pleased. If only there weren't that pesky American sitting in the background with a bright yellow shirt on.

London

I was just talking to Nicole last night about how much I enjoy the British people. I had the fortune of spending some time in London in the past and found it to be a splendid town. I don't quite know how to describe what happened in London this morning. I guess you could call it a shame, or a tragedy. The best description I have heard was when CNN called it "the new normal." They are absolutely correct. Terrorism is a way of life in the 21st century, whether we like it or not. Over the next few days I am sure that we will hear people attempting to blame the bombings on everyone from George W. Bush to Michael Moore. Never forget that, despite the circumstances and encouragements that may have led to this new terror war, the ultimate responsibility lies with an international band of punks and bullies who hate any way of life different from their own and aim to intimidate the weak and destroy the strong until they achieve global domination. Unfortunately, our national conscience has become so politicized that the basic truths of this war cannot even be mentioned in public without a slurry of political backlash and slander. The simple fact of the matter is that the terrorists will currently explore any opportunity to attack anything that represents western civilization. If we were to remove our troops from all foreign engagements and pursue a policy of isolation the terrorists would explore any opportunity to attack anything that represents western civilization. Its not about what we do. It is about who we are. What we can do is live our lives and thumb our noses at these overgrown five year olds. Don't cancel vacations or lock yourselves in your homes. Attack the enemy by living boldly and pray that they someday get the message.

The Ultimate Prank

Yesterday at work I had a phone conversation with a gentleman who had recently fallen victim to the "flaming bag of poo." The guy wasn't all that socially savvy, and described it as "a small fire was left on my porch by troublesome youngsters." It was in that moment, while choking back a laugh, that I realized that the "flaming bag of poo" may just be the ultimate prank. When you think about it, the deed must have evolved over time, because it is actually the combination of three different pranks.

Initially I think that people probably just left poo on your doorstep. That would certainly get the point across. Then, probably with the advent of the Postal Service, the "poo drop" was combined with the traditional "knock and run." This prank alone would have been quite brilliant. Imagine some early settler resting his feet after a long day of oppressing indigenous peoples when he hears a knock at the door. "Why it must be a package from that new Postal Service" he excitedly thinks to himself as he opens the door. But, Alas there is no package, only poo.

The bag was probably always a part of poo pranks because the prankster would need a clean way to deliver his product. With the addition of the "knock and run" to the scenario the bag was simply left with the poo for two reasons. 1) Time. "Knock and run" doesn't provide the deliverer a large amount of time to empty a bag before running. 2) Surprise. With the poo now in a bag it could be hoped that the bag would be taken into the home before revealing its surprise.

Fire also became involved for a number of reasons. 1) You can only put an immature male and a paper bag together for so long before one of them gets set on fire. 2) Someone initially thought to set the pile of poo on fire. I sort of wish that this prank had remained in its current form, because the prankee was now faced with the decision of letting the fire burn, or knowingly stomping on a pile of poo. Classic. However time and cleanliness probably intervened here to give us the "flaming bag of poo" as we know it.

As I said before, yesterday I thought that the "flaming bag of poo" was the ultimate prank, but today I discovered this. Ignoring the fact that they are a bunch of French socialists, and that they are disrupting the greatest sport in the world, this may be the ultimate prank. You've also gotta love a donkey named "Jujube." Anyway, I'm sure it won't be long until some public event angers me, so get your donkey ridin' boots on boys.

Chickens and Rabbits

First off, check this out!! Well done I say. It reminds of the time I stalked a Lynx across the Jos Plateau. It was killing my neighbor's chickens and rabbits. What would you have done in that situation? Gosh! Anyway, it also reminds me of a Sunday lunch that I shared with a friend of mine a few weeks back. Trust me, this story is far better than the Lynx.

A few weeks ago I ran into an old friend of mine, Rupert. We were close for awhile way back when and so he invited me over for a Sunday afternoon lunch. Rupert lives on something of a farm and we sat on his back deck overlooking his plethora of animals. When I knew Rupert he was single. Since then he has fathered what must be about 12 kids. Needless to say that, while we ate, there was an adult table and a kid's table. Out of all the children I was most amused by Rupert 2. The "2" is correct. Rupert is a firm patriot and doesn't make use of any item bearing a foreign designation: No Roman Numerals, no Chinese Fire Drills, and certainly NO French Fries (I didn't have the heart to tell him that "2" was an Arabic Numeral). Young Rupert 2 was about three years old, and had a propensity to find trouble, if trouble was anywhere to be found. Prior to lunch he had managed to climb to the top beam of the swing set, and then face down a charging turkey (a charge that Rupert 2 had provoked). With a personality of this sort it should have come as no shock when Rupert 2 quickly became bored with lunch and tore off into the yard for some more "fun." I was not alone in noticing this act, and it wasn't long before the family collie sauntered over to the kid's table, pulled Rupert 2's mostly full plate onto the floor, and began to chow down. Apparently Rupert 2 had not become bored with lunch, but simply liked to break up his meals with other activities, for variety and such. Anyway, I had never before in my life seen a three year old boy fight a collie for food, but it goes down in my book as one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Considering the fact that I was the closest adult to the melee and did nothing to intervene other than stare in amazement, it is understandable that Rupert 2's mother was not all that happy with me. When that little tyke sprinted in from that yard and tore into that dog I was enthralled.

In conclusion, well done to Rupert 2 and to our African friend. I do feel sorry for that collie though. I don't think he'll be interested in table scraps anytime soon.

The Valley Part II: Hanging By A Thread

My initial intention in storming off into the wilderness in pursuit of a mountain lion was to photograph it. That seemed the most logical way to prove that I had actually encountered one. How to prove that the picture was actually taken in the area was another story, but in the spirit of documentation I paused by what seemed a particularly good paw print, snapped a picture, put the camera in the right cargo pouch of my pants, and moved on.

I'm no expert in mountain lions, but I do know that they can move quickly. An adult can do something like 30, or 50, miles in a day. I can never remember which one. Nevertheless, it was more distance than I would be able to cover, and I hoped to catch it quickly. I found the terrain off of the trail to be difficult, much more difficult than the trail itself, which was not easy. As I scampered along, trying to move as quickly as possible, I frequently lost my footing. Falling became quite common, and also quite annoying. It wasn't long before I became quite frustrated with the lack of footing, and quite bruised by the repeated falls.

Placed in this situation, a logical person would probably have turned back. In my sleep deprived, mountain lion obsessed state I was hardly logical. I attempted to press on even harder, which led to more falls on the rocks. The more I fell the more upset I became with the situation, causing me to try to push even harder. The situation was obviously worsening. In a desperate push, I followed the tracks over the top of a large mound of rocks and dirt. In hindsight the structure of this pile was a bit unique, and not of natural origin, but I was in a rush and didn't take much notice. Upon reaching the top I thought I saw some movement in the forest below. I attempted to freeze in midstep, but the rocks under my feet gave way and I began sliding down the side of the mound. As my flailing arms failed to arrest my fall, my head hit against something hard and everything went black.

I awoke to a sort of swinging sensation, and was immediately aware that my right side hurt very much. Things were very dark below my feet, and I knew that I wasn't standing on anything. As time went by I became aware that I was suspended at the mouth of some kind of hole. It appeared that whatever was keeping me from plunging into certain doom had somehow snagged the right shoulder strap of my backpack, from which I was now gently swinging back and forth. My right pant leg had been torn from knee to hip and my thigh was bleeding. There was also a burning sensation going from my right hip to the back of my right shoulder. As I looked around it became apparent that I was hanging over an abandoned mineshaft, the mouth of which was only a few feet across. As I pondered what luck I had to slide into this exact location I noticed that there were several old wooden beams protruding over the entrance of the shaft and it appeared likely that I was hanging from one of them. I cannot fully relate to you how it felt to be hanging over a pit of undetermined depth by a piece of wood that was probably older than my grandfather. As time went by and my senses slowly returned, it became obvious that a feat of some gymnastic prowess would by necessary if I were to survive this situation. I had never been very good at gymnastics, but I was able to stretch my legs out and press against the opposite side of the shaft, pushing my back against the closest wall. I then used my arms to pull myself up on top of the wooden beam and slowly slide myself back onto solid ground.

I lay sprawled out beside the mineshaft for what could have been an hour before I felt like moving again. I quickly realized that whatever items had been stored in the right cargo pouch of my pants were now lost, but I couldn't exactly remember which items those were. The sun had now sunk below the top of the mountain, and I knew that daylight was scarce. At this point I figured that the quest for the mountain lion had ended, and it was high time to get back to the trail, and back home. All I had to do was climb back over the dirt mound and follow the mountain lion tracks back to the trail. I was dismayed with the fact that the mineshaft was actually surrounded on three sides by mounds of dirt and rock, but guessed that I had slid down the side closest to the beam that had saved me. I climbed more slowly, and painfully, this time, but upon reaching the top I couldn't find any mountain lion tracks. I was admittedly still a little dazed from that shot to the head, but after a good fifteen minutes of searching the top of the mound, I became concerned.

Every good hiker knows not to depend on the trail to be your sole guide to home and safety. The Stony Valley was laid out pretty simply, geography wise, and I knew that to my south lay the Stony Creek. If I could make it to the creek I would only have to follow it upstream to find my car. Feeling slightly better about things I took of my backpack to get my compass. I should say that I took off what was left of my backpack, for I quickly found that my fall had pretty much destroyed the bag, and left only one of four pouches intact. It was not the pouch that my compass was in. Undeterred, I figured that the evening glow in the sky was in the general direction of west, and struck out in the direction of south in hopes of home and bed.


Stay tuned for Part III: Between A Rock and A Hard Bite. Click here if you missed Part I