Colorado NP - Day 2 - Mamash

8/31/14

Boulder, Colorado

After two days of hiking Colorado’s National Parks in my favorite pair of cut-up shorts, two of my favorite t-shirts, and my trusty pair of flip flops, I will be closing the trip tomorrow by spending the day hiking Colorado’s biggest National Park in the proper attire: my suit.  I could not have done these past two days of hiking in my suit, and it was fun to hike in civilian clothes, even if my feet now look like they Frodo’s after he climbed Mount Doom.  Yesterday, I wrote about how that mamash moment tends to fade after a few minutes, but I was proved wrong today.  I spent the better part of the day at Black Canyon of the Gunnison NP, and the feeling of mamash lasted straight through from my arrival at 8 AM until my departure at 2 PM.  I really hate ranking the National Parks.  Actually, I won’t.  I’m just going to say that it was an absolutely amazing park.

My first mamash moment was when I officially entered the park, and there an overlook right at the entrance.  There is no point trying to describe it, nor can this picture even come close to showing the grandeur of it.  I headed straight to the VC, not wanting to take any selfies until I had gotten my brochure stamped.  There were two trails leading from the VC, one along the rim that led to the campground.  The other trail went 400 feet down into the canyon, but I did not trust myself to be able to climb back up 400 feet of vertical elevation.  I was starting to get better acclimated to the elevation, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  I grabbed my Romeo y Julieta and started to walk to the rim trail, but I saw a sign that pointed in the opposite direction to Gunnison Point overlook.  I figured it was worth a look, even if I didn’t go the full 400 feet down.  The view was so mamash that I wound up spending the entire cigar walking around that area.

I kept climbing down, going off the trail, feeling like a Hobbit climbing in Mordor.  It was out of view and the perfect spot for an official U, and what a view.  It was not easy climbing back up.  I also knew with absolute certainty that all of the hiking I would be doing today would eff up my foot.  I just didn’t care, and, surprisingly, my foot feels fine.  I then drove in a little more to a hiking trail at the end of the road.  When I got there, I lit up a Cuesta Rey, and I hiked until the elevation, now over 8000 feet, got the better of me, and I had to turn around.  I was an hour behind schedule, but I didn’t care.  The only limiting reactant was getting to the VC at Colorado NM by 6 PM.  My schedule had my arriving at 3:15 PM, so there was quite a buffer.  It was a 2.5 hour drive to the North Rim Ranger Station from the South Rim VC, and I was pretty much going just to get a stamp.  Yes, there would be scenic vistas at the North Rim, but I didn’t imagine it would be much different from the South Rim.  I stopped for lunch along the way, and the restaurant had an outdoor smoking patio, so I had a steak, a Coors, and a Diamond Crown, the perfect lunch.

When I got to the Ranger Station, my heart sank.  It was “temporarily closed” since the ranger was down in the inner canyon.  I didn’t know if he would be back in 5 minutes or 5 hours, and there was no way to find out.  I figured that I would spend as much time there as I could and check again before I left.  Maybe I’d get lucky.  The worst part was, I could see the stamp through the window.  I even tried all the windows and doors, hoping to find a way to sneak in to get the stamp.  I’m sure that it could have wound up with me doing ten years in federal prison for criminal trespassing, but I needed that stamp.  No dice.  No way to get in.  I parked at a hiking trail by the campground, and I grabbed a Quest bar from my bag.  I was a little over halfway done when I dropped it.  I immediately picked it up, counting on the five-second rule.  Apparently, that does not exactly apply when you drop sticky food on a dirt road.  Big mistake.  I lit up my Centurion and walked the short trail.  More mamash.  I checked the ranger station again.  No dice.  I then headed down the other road, which had five scenic vistas, planning to stop at each one for about five minutes, which would mean I was only 30 minutes behind schedule for my arrival at Colorado NM.  Each vista was amazing.  At one of the spots, a cowboy started to chat me up.  I really had no desire to chat with him, but I didn’t want to be rude, either.  At the next spot, I head him debating whether the canyon was caused by rivers or an earthquake of if “that was just the way god built it.”

On the way back, I found a great spot to do more climbing.  There was a series of ledges, so I could do my Hobbit in Mordor impression again, and it was secluded.  On my way back up, I felt something sharp on my foot.  I had stepped into a cactus.  Who the fuck knew they had cacti in Colorado?  I also had no idea what to do.  I did the wrong thing.  I tried to remove it with my hand.  There were still barbs in my foot, and now I had barbs in my hand.  I got the damn thing off and removed as many barbs as I could.  Do these things dissolve in your body or do they live there forever?  I was also concerned about infection, so I got an alcohol wipe from my first aid kit and cleaned my hand and foot the best I could.  It still hurts, but I think I got most of them out.  I drove back, checking the ranger station one more time.  No dice.  My next and last stop of the day, NPS unit 205, would be Colorado NM, which seemed to be much bigger than I anticipated, so I stopped for Chinese along the way.  I was so exhausted that I had no desire for a cigar during the 2-hour drive.  After my dinner (at 3 PM), I lit up an AFR and drove to the monument.

It was massive, and the only way to see it was a 23-mile drive from one end to the other.  I didn’t really have my mamash moment until I got to the last vista before the VC, the Grand View.  It was good that I went in the direction, since I saved the best vista for last.  At first, I didn’t think it was that impressive, having seen similar and better sites in Utah and Arizona during the best domestic trip I have ever taken, but I was impressed at that last vista.  I took care of my business at the VC, stopped for gas, and the embarked on a grueling, non-stop 4-hour drive, possibly the most difficult drive I have ever taken in the mainland US.  There was so much construction, and the signs were unclear, and I almost got lost once, taking a left-side exit instead of bearing to the right for the highway.  This drive was all on I-70, and I did not know that interstates could be so winding.  At one point, I reached an elevation of 10,000 feet.

I most apologize to my readers who were expecting more philosophy, but I have been unable to come up with any new philosophy since my Day 0 entry, which was called my best entry ever written, instead simply thinking about the points I raised in that entry and becoming more and more convinced of their truth.  As I passed by Beaver Creek, I had a warm feeling, remembering that trip my family took to going skiing there half a lifetime ago.  I then saw some condominiums, remembering with a laugh how I had asked my father if those were “condoms.”  Maybe those were the same “condoms.”  It is so funny how you can remember something like that from when you were 8-years old.  Finally, I got to the hotel, or at least where the GPS said the hotel was.  There was no hotel there.  I made a right turning trusting my gut, and then I saw the hotel, but there was no access from that road.  I wound having to circle around, taking 6 minutes, and then drive through a shopping mall to get to the hotel.  When I got to the room, I took what Bella would call, “five human minutes” to get situated before I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can prepare for my last hurrah.

Colorado NP - Day 1 - Elevation

8/30/14

Montrose, Colorado

When I planned this trip, there was one thing for which I did not account, something I did not even think to consider because imagined it might a problem: the elevation.  It is kicking my ass.  I love mountains, but I usually view them from the base.  It is a very different experience for me to be travelling continuously at such a high elevation.  When I woke up this morning, well ahead of schedule, I knew that I could take my time.  I was rewarded by a mamash view of the mountains from the front door of the hotel.  I also realized why the hotel was so crowded.  As my reader may be aware, the USAF Academy is in Colorado Springs, and this was homecoming weekend.  Every table I saw at breakfast had someone in uniform or wearing a USAF shirt.  My breakfast, of course, consisted of a Denver omelet, even though I was an hour south of Denver.

Whenever I travel west, I always debate when I should upload my photos.  Does Facebook’s algorithm make sure my photos are visible to the people who’d want to see them, no matter when I post them?  Or does it make more sense to post them first thing in the morning?  When I travel east, there is no question, since I’d be posting the middle of the afternoon New York time.  I have been saving my blog posts promotions until the morning recently because I want to make sure they are visible, but Facebook seems to promote photos at a higher level than text-based posts.  I’m probably just overthinking this.  I’ve posted photos in the middle of the night New York time only for them to get multiple Likes when I wake up in the morning. Let’s see how it plays out with this album.

Anyway, after breakfast, I headed to the Olympic Training Center, and I knew it instantly to be mecca.  There was a gift bag waiting for me at the front desk, and the tour started shortly after that.  We saw training facilities for various sports spread out over a beautiful campus.  The guide asked some trivia questions along the way.  There were four questions.  I got two of them, while another guy got the other two.  I didn’t think that anyone there would have been able to match me on Olympic trivia.  After the tour, I got some stuff from the gift shop and headed to Florissant Fossil Beds NM, the NPS unit that would allow me to say I had been to half of all the NPS units.  I lit up a My Father cigar, finishing it as I hiked along the brief trail.  It was about a mile, and I was winded by the time I got to the end.

Alright, I’m very exhausted from the drive and the elevation, so I’m going to try and wrap this up as quickly as possible.  I got back in the car, exhausted from both the heat and the elevation, closed the windows, put the AC on max, and headed to the State Fair.  Other than some vendors selling cowboy wear, there was absolutely nothing to suggest that this was the Colorado State Fair, not even a place where I could buy my flag pin, but it didn’t matter.  They had lots and lots of fried food.  The pigs were missing, though.  I started with a corn dog and then lit up an Avo.  That was the great thing about this fair.  There were no outdoor smoking restrictions, not even so much as a dirty look when I was smoking my cigar while ordering a fried cheese stick from one of the vendors.  I was going to call it quits after that, but I saw deep fried cookie dough.  I had to try it.  Then, figuring I was in for a penny, in for a pound, I got some ice cream, probably blowing my carbs for the week.  I was so full and spent when I got to the car, I wasn’t even in the mood for another cigar, though I wound up lighting up a God of Fire a bit into the drive.

Have I mentioned how glad I was to be in shorts rather than a suit today?  Well, it would have been impossible to do the sand dunes in a suit.  When I got to the VC, I figured out the best way to officially see both the National Park and National Preserve.  The first stop was the great sand dune itself.  It was way too crowded and open to even consider an official U, but I knew that I could take one on the hiking trail that led to the NPres.  The dunes were breathtaking.  I had never seen anything quite like it before, and I lit up my Montecristo to make it official.  The wind cut the life of the cigar in half, but that was all the time I needed.  Once you have that mamash moment, there is not much pointing for staying for longer than 10-20 minutes, unless you’re hiking, and I was not able to do any more hiking than I did, even overexerting my lungs in the high altitude.  When I got back, I headed across the way to the other parking lot for the trail that led to the NPres.  The ranger had thought it might be an hour to the border.  It was less than five minutes.

As soon as I got on the trail, I realized that I had left my cigars in the car, so I had to head back.  I lit up an Olivia as soon as I got to the NPres and did a little hiking, getting a little lost, but I didn’t care.  I was well ahead of schedule.  I got back in the car and stopped for gas when I was ready to ditch the cigar.  I then made the unforgivable mistake of stopping for dinner before it got dark.  Instead of driving an hour in the light and hour and half in the light, the entire, brutal two and a half hour drive would be in the dark.  All I wanted was Coors and a steak, and that as exactly what I got.  It was mamash.  I just officially added mamash to my MSWord dictionary.  Alright, my pipe is almost done, so I will really need to wrap up.  I picked up a Coors Light for tonight another Coors for tomorrow night, lit up a Perdomo, and then put on my Frozen soundtrack.  If thought that I couldn’t be any happier than I was, I would have wrong.  Singing along to the songs I loved, I was in heaven, until I started to feel nauseated.  It made the difficult drive even more brutal.  At first I thought it might have been the steak, then I blamed the fried food.  Now I’m thinking that it is the elevation.  When I got to the hotel, I was out of breath by the time I got to the front desk.  I headed to my room, a non-smoking room, put out the towels, lit up my Ardor, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get some sleep.  

Colorado NP - Day 0 - Loneliness

8/29/14

Aboard UA 509, En route LGA-DEN

I suppose that I could say that, in the 5 days since I closed coming home from the airport, not much has changed in my life.  Of the four nights, I had two very enjoyable evenings, getting home after 11:30 PM both nights.  The other two nights I fell asleep early.  I have not been sleeping well, and have not had a need to set an alarm clock all week, knowing that I would wake up around 7 AM without an alarm.  Maybe it’s something wrong with my sleep machine, maybe it’s stress, maybe it’s love.  When Andrew said that I seemed distracted all week, I told him that I’m lot less focused when I’m love-struck than when I’m heartbroken.  The flipside of that equation was that I’m more likely to oversleep if I’m upset than if I’m happy.

Anyway, back on topic.  An interesting part of this trip is that it is the first trip that I have taken alone in over 3 months.  I have not slept in my own hotel room since Tokyo.  It was a matter of coincidence that it played out that way, but I actually liked it, having travelling companions over the course of the summer.  It made the trips more stressful in some ways, but it also made them more enjoyable in many ways.  More importantly, in my personal life, I do not want to be alone, either.  In fact, I never want to be alone again.  My father once, well more than once, relayed a quote to me, from either Nathaniel Branden or some dancer, I cannot recall.  The quote was quite simple.  “Everyone who is alone is lonely.”  I never quite believed that.  I preferred a different quote, about either Kennedy or FDR inviting some brain trust to dinner at the White House.  The quote went something like, “It was the greatest collection of minds to sit down to dinner at the White House since Thomas Jefferson dined alone.”  That was me.  I loved that quote.

Last summer, I drove over 100 hours throughout Europe in the span of 18 days, left only to my own thoughts and the same Taylor Swift CD, and I never got bored.  My own thoughts kept me company.  It was the opposite in Alaska with my best friend in the car and a lot less driving.  I spent the summer of 2013 alone.  The summer of 2014 would be different.  In the summer of 2013, the only time I spent with other people was at work and at the cigar store.  The summer of 2014 would be different.  On Tuesday, I was asked about my social life in high school, and I honestly answered that I had none.  The follow-up question was what I did on the weekends, and I honestly could not remember, and it saddened me that I, with my excellent memory, could not answer such a simple question.

I suppose that I spent the weekends playing video games, watching TV, doing homework, dreading Monday.  This August, I never once dreaded Monday.  This August, Monday was the day when I went to Bryant Park.  This August, Monday was the best day of the week.  In elementary school, I was always the class clown.  I loved attention, any attention, positive or negative, that I could get.  I had a minimal social life, which dwindled even more in middle school.  I had a best friend in middle school, someone who was my intellectual equal, us both taking math classes two years beyond our grade, of course being the two top students in those classes.  I used to ask myself why I would ever need any other kind of companionship beyond my own beautiful mind.  I convinced myself that I was the only friend I ever needed.

That changed when I got to college.  I had a social life.  Alcohol, women, and friends were readily available.  My dorm room became the place to be.  I hosted parties on a regular basis. Of course I got distracted.  I got stressed.  It was an overload.  I couldn’t take it.  When I saw my best friend from middle school on the train about a year ago, it turned out that we both dropped out of college after a couple of years.  With him, it was the opposite, he couldn’t fit in.  He wanted the life that I had been living in college.  The funny thing is, if our social lives in college had been reversed, we both probably would have finished.  That doesn’t matter.  What matters is that we were both happy with where we were in our lives when we met on the train, and I am even happier now.  We promised to stay in touch.  We didn’t.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have started to realize that I care about my two newest co-workers.  One of them may be reading this, so I will have to be careful how I choose my words.  The first one, our newest inspector, reminds me of myself in many ways, and I actually care about him.  I want him to do well, and I like him a lot.  I have spent extra time teaching him the ropes, making sure that I do everything I can so that he succeeds.  I don’t do that just because it’s part of my job.  I do it because I care about him.  The other one I don’t know why I care about her.  I just know that when I saw that she was visibly upset earlier in the week, I was upset by that.  I have been working on a theory of implied emotional attraction, and it might have something to do with that.  If someone reminds you, in any way, of someone who once mattered to you and who is no longer in your life, you feel similarly about that new person as you did for the other person.  I certainly don’t feel anything for her, just a desire that she be happy.  Maybe it’s just she’s just such a bubbly person that I would hate for such happiness to be diminished.  Happiness is contagious.  I love being around happy people.  It makes me happy.  It should come as no surprise, then, that the person I now want to be around more than anyone else in the world is one of the happiest people I know.  On that note, I will close into I get to my hotel tonight.

Colorado Springs, Colorado

To continue on this theme of loneliness, I was actually not always going to take this trip alone.  One of the guys at the cigar store, someone who has come to call me his cousin, was living out in Colorado, and he said that he would join me once I arrived in Denver for the trip.  I didn’t think much of it.  I gave him the dates, and, if he wanted to meet up when I arrived, that was fine.  As long as I saw my three National Parks, I was flexible.  When I saw him at the cigar shop on Monday, I think, I reminded him that I was going to go to Colorado this weekend.  It turned out his business went under and that he was now living back in New York.  By the end of my cigar, he said that he was going to fly out with me for the weekend.  Again, as long as we kept to my schedule, it was fine with me.  Anyway, I he was at the shop today, and he kept apologizing how he needed to go to this company retreat for the weekend, and I kept telling him that I wasn’t upset that he bailed.

About 7 years ago, the cigar store used to have what was called the Aurora Treasure Pack, five Aurora cigars in metal tubos, all named after different gems or precious metals: platinum, gold, ruby, sapphire, and emerald.  I had always wanted to buy it, but it was not quite worth it at the price point.  I loved the idea of collecting the whole set even more than the idea of smoking the cigars.  Recently, I placed a large order of cigars online, and I saw they had the Treasure Pack at about half of the price, so I bought it.  Figuring it was 5 cigars, I knew that I would need to smoke one each day after work on one week Monday through Friday.  This week was the week I finally got around to doing it.  Today was the last cigar in the pack, the emerald, and it had my favorite wrapper, the Ecuador wrapper.  I knew that it would be a good day.

After my cigar, there was a taxi waiting right outside, so I hopped in.  He asked if I was paying cash or charge, giving me an approximate price, saying that it did not include tolls.  I knew that the fare to LaGuardia was usually much lower than that, but I’d be paying cash either way.  The driver was very friendly and amiable.  About halfway there, I realized that he hadn’t turned the meter.  This was no mistake.  He was trying to screw me.  I knew that, when we got to LGA, he would quote the inflated price he had provided and then ask for the toll and tip on top of that.  I could have screwed him over at that.  I could have pointed out that the meter was not on, and he would have had to turn it on then and accept just the fare from that point.  I instead calculated exactly how much the fare should have been, along with tip and toll, and it came out to be slightly less than the original amount he had quoted, but I didn’t have the banknotes to hand him exact change, so I decided I would hand him the two banknotes that would equal the amount he quoted.  If he asked for the tip and the toll, I’d threaten to call the TLC.

That was exactly what happened, and I said, “You know it’s [the amount] with tip and toll.  Do I need to call the TLC and tell them you didn’t use the meter?”  He said that it was okay in a way that made it seem like I was cheating him.  By the time I got to my gate, they were almost boarding my zone, so I didn’t really have time to do anything.  I read the in-flight magazine and then fell asleep, waking up as the beverage service began.  I just wanted a refill of my water bottle to wash down my Quest Bar.  I proceeded to write the preceding entry and then fell back asleep, waking up as we reached Denver.  As I headed to the car, I joined Instagram.  It gave me an option to add all of my Facebook friends who were also on Instagram, but I was selective, only choose the people whose pictures I’d actually want to see in my feed.  I got my car, I headed to Buckhorn’s Exchange, one of the oldest restaurants in Colorado and the best place to get Rocky Mountain Oysters.  In case my reader does not know what Rocky Mountain Oysters are, they deep fried cow testicles.  No, that is not a metaphor.  That is exactly what they are.  For my main course, I ordered a buffalo prime rib and elk medallion combination dish.  It was small and overpriced, but it was filling.  Since I was in Colorado, I knew that I need to have a Coors, which I had with my appetizer.  I saw that they had a Colorado whiskey, but I didn’t trust myself to drive an hour with two drinks.  I ordered it anyway to go with the game meat, figuring I wouldn’t finish it.  I think I had less than half of it.

When I stepped outside after my meal and grabbed my Davidoff Nic Toro, which has become my de facto first official cigar of any driving trip, I realized how happy I was.  I was happy about all the good things that are going on in my life.  I was happy about the great trip that I know this will be.  I was happy about the cigar.  I was just fundamentally happy.  During the drive, I ran into some bad traffic due to a brutal three-car collision, and I also received an email from the hotel asking me to confirm my smoking preference.  It turned out that they only had smoking rooms with two beds.  That was fine.  I even get a free breakfast voucher for being so cooperative.  When I got to my room, I settled in and then had to make the hardest decision of the day.  Would I have a pipe or a cigar before bed?  I opted for the pipe, so I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish it and get some sleep.

Oregon - Days 1-3 - Stress and Tempers

8/23/14

Vancouver, Washington (Fort Vancouver)

Sometimes in life you get a second chance at something you effed up the first time around, not always, but sometimes.  It could be something huge, like kissing a girl you should have kissed a year ago, or it could be something small, like revisiting a NPS that you should have visited a month ago.  What matters is not how you effed up the first time around but rather how you succeeded the second time around.  I suppose there is some irony to the fact that my last official entry was written in Vancouver, British Columbia, and this one is now written in Vancouver, Washington.  To cross from Oregon to Washington entails no effort at all, while crossing from Washington to British Columbia took two hours.  After I closed en route, I managed to get some sleep but not much.  PDX was one of the nicest domestic airports I had ever seen, very much deserving of its number one ranking.  It was hardly any effort at all to get to my car, check the legroom to make sure everyone would be happy, input my brother’s place in the GPS, and be on the road.  As soon as I got on the freeway, he called me to tell me to be quiet when I came, the exact same thing that I had already been told in email.  He reminded me where the couch was, which bathroom to use, etc.  I kept replying, “Just like last time?”  It could have been a year instead of a month, and I still would have remembered every detail of the layout of his apartment and where to go.  A few minutes later, he called me, reminding me to turn off the lights.  That was when I missed my exit.

Now, I was pissed.  It added 7 minutes to the drive and all because he couldn’t just trust me to figure out what needed to be done.  It was two weeks ago all over again, when Stuart kept calling me while I was driving to pick him up.  It did him more harm than me, since I had my music and cigars, while Stuart was bored out of his mind.  It was the same thing here.  It didn’t matter to me if I spent 7 minutes listening to two Taylor Swift songs, instead of sleeping.  I knew that I would get plenty of sleep.  I parked in a lot since the price was extremely reasonable for the night, and it was a block away from his place.  When I got there, I changed, took my first official U of the trip, and was soon asleep.  I knew that I would sleep fitfully, so I didn’t bother to set an alarm.  I woke up a little before 7 AM, showered, got ready, and was on my way.  My first stop was breakfast at Petit Provence, the top-rated breakfast place on TripAdvisor.  I already knew what I wanted: northwest hash, which was like corned beef hash, but made with salmon.  It was possibly the single best cooked to order breakfast dish I’ve ever had.  I accompanied it with crisp bacon and lackluster coffee.  After breakfast, I made my way to the fort, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close since the VC is about to open.

Portland, Oregon

After I closed in Vancouver, I ditched my God of Fire, took care of my business at the VC, and then walked around the fort for a little bit before making it back to the car.  From there, I drove back to my parent’s hotel, arriving at 9:55 AM.  My brother then texted me to say that he was running 10 minutes late.  That meant we would have to wait around for 15 minutes and then go to Hertz to add my mother’s name to the reservations so that she could drive the car.  Instead, we made them wait, going to take care of our business at Hertz, arriving back at the hotel close to 10:30 AM, now almost 30 minutes behind schedule.   It was okay, we had built in a 90-minute buffer.  Wow, I’m mamash toasted now, and I don’t know if I can finish this entry, so I will be have to be brief about it.

Anyway, my brother's fiancee was freaking out about not getting to the venue in time to tour it before their afternoon wedding.  I could go into every detail and minutia of the tour, but I will just say that it was a very nice venue, though not one where I would want to have my wedding.  They had me take about 300 photos of them in various poses and from various angles, holding their “Save the Date” sign.  I was happy to oblige, even though we were now 45 minutes behind schedule.  From there, we went to the hotels, where we had a nice lunch and toured the hotel.  If I had thought travelling with them was hard, eating with them is even harder, they agonizing over every decision on the menu.  My mother was the same, and she gets that from her mother.  My father and I ordered quickly and easily.  From there, we headed to the hospital where my brother works.  Our original plan was to arrive at the hospital at 3:30 PM, allowing 1:30 of Dutch Time, and have dinner at 8:00 PM, pushing it back further if I did not have 3 hours on my own in Portland.  However, my mother found a brochure for a cigar store in Portland, so, all the sudden, that 3 hours did not seem enough.  I need the full 3:30.  I was going to drop them off at the hospital and then make my way on my own.  It would have been perfect timing, for me at least.  For them, although it was the plan to which they all agreed, it would have effed everything up.  My brother insisted that I go see the office, a process that he said would only take 10 minutes (Spoiler Alert: it didn't).  I said that I would do it if I could be in the car by 4:45 PM, and they would take the tram back, as originally discussed.

Of course, nothing ever works out right with them.  It was almost 4:45 PM by the time we got to the entrance from the car, a walk of about 2 minutes, which took 10.  The door was locked.  Not wanting to deal with whatever bullshit would follow, I said, intending it to sound far more humorous than it did, “Okay, bye,” and headed back to the car.  There was another complication.  The tramway was too far for my father to walk, and it was the only means they had to get back to the hotel.  I said quite simply that I would wait around if we pushed the reservation to 8:30 PM, allowing me the full 3:30.  They would not agree to that, and we compromised, agreeing to an 8:15 PM reservation.  That seemed fair, until I realized that there was no time limit or push back time agreed based on how long we spent at the hospital.  Of course, everything took forever there, and the tramway was not running.  In other words, they would have been mamash effed if I had left them.  That seemed to be lost on them, and they seemed determined to stay with the 8:15 PM reservation.  It would be tight, and it would mean I would have to smoke in the car for it to work out.  I parked a little too far away from the cigar store, but it was nice to walk around 82^nd Avenue, pretty much a clone of Central Avenue.  The cigar store had a great selection, and I got about 20 cigars, including an Opus X Lost City for now, hands down the best cigar legally available in the US.  I picked up a bottle of rye and then headed back, now ahead of schedule, telling my parents I could pick them up that the hotel at 8:15 PM.

Dinner was great, though the service was awful, exacerbated in no small part by three of their inability to order, and we spent the meal discussing how Ayn Rand influenced the three Margolin men and what the purpose of life was.  My father gave an Aristotelian definition of happiness, while I opted for the Objectivist “man’s own happiness is his highest moral purpose.”  The two women gave BS hippy answers.  After dinner, we (excluding my parents) got mamash toasted on the rye.  Actually, Adam had already had 4 drinks before dinner, we each had a pre-dinner drink, along with two glasses of wine.  Ceal did not have any of the rye, and it just took one shot to get each of us mamash toasted.  Eventually, we just degraded into pure silliness, laughing at the silliest thing like whether or not carrots were causing my brother to gain weight.  I then proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get some sleep before I head out to my morning NPS.

8/24/14

Portland International Airport, Oregon

Two weeks ago, I wrote how all’s well that ends well.  This trip ended well.  I did everything I wanted to do.  I had great meals and better cigars.  I got two new stamped brochures.  I saw another state capitol and state fair.  I bonded with my future sister, learning to accept her as she as is and that I can like her, even love her, without having any shared values.  The mutual respect is there, surely, though.  I always saw her just as an extension of my brother, but, due in no small part to the fact she annoys me less than my brother does, I have recently started to think about them more independently.  Anyway, on paper, it was great trip, so why is this not a triumphant airport entry?  I could blame the heat exhaustion from walking around the state fair in the sun in my suit.  I could blame the arguing that is inevitable when five such different people travel together.  However, the fact is that after my “The Past 12 Days,” entry, nothing that happened on the trip could be better than those 12 days.  The Day 0 entry was a masterpiece.  I can tell the difference between a good entry and a bad one.  That was an excellent entry, and the one person whom I most wanted to like the entry did.  In fact, the Day 0 entry was so good, and the Day 1 entry so bad, that I had no desire to publish the Day 1 entry.  This entry will be somewhere in between, but I know that I need to publish it less I start the beginning of the end of the Travelogue.

After we got mamash toasted last night, and my brother and I passed out, him almost passing out on the sofa they made up for me, me on the chair across from it.  We did manage to get to the proper beds in the end, though not without his fiancée yelling at him for some reason or other.  My plan was to be on the road at 7 AM, getting to Fort Clatsop at 9 AM, spending 30 minutes at the fort, turning around, and picking everyone back up at the hotel at 11:25 AM for an 11:30 AM brunch at the hotel.  I also wanted to stop at the Saturday Market to pick up a present.  When I travel, I usually bring home an assorted bag of cheap keychains, magnets, pins, etc. to give out as gifts at the cigar store.  I then pick out a couple of nicer, more thoughtful gifts for the people about whom I really care.  On top of that, I always get myself plenty of souvenirs.  For this trip, I had no desire to do any of that.  There was only person whom I wanted to buy a gift, so I suggest we push back the original schedule 30 minutes, or even use some of the 90 minutes allotted for brunch to stop at the Saturday Market.  It seemed such a simple idea, especially since we had budgeted in like three hours of buffer time total.  Moses had an easier time parting the Red Sea than I had getting the group to agree to push back the schedule 30 minutes.  There was no rational reason why everything could not be pushed back 30 minutes, especially since it was my flight that was the limiting reactant and that the state fair was my idea.  Anyway, even the original schedule got all effed up.

Of the five people on this trip, there are 10 combinations of two people.  Excluding possibly my brother and I travelling alone, if any of those combinations of two people were travelling together alone, there would not have been a single raised voice the entire trip.  I have traveled alone with each of my parents, and there is rarely so much as an unpleasant moment.  I have gone hiking alone with my brother’s fiancée, and we enjoy each other’s company, in spite of our differences.  My brother and I manage to drive each other crazy even when it’s just the two of us.  However, with the five of us travelling together, we spent far too much time arguing and far too little time enjoying each other’s company.  The arguments ranged from the ridiculous (my brother and his fiancée arguing over him ordering liver and onions, despite the fact that he hates it) to the more normal (who would pick up the bottle of rye for us to get mamash toasted) to the more serious (when various people kept others waiting or were inconsiderate to their feelings/needs).  The bottom line is, with two people on this trip, those arguments would not have occurred.  Sure, my brother would still have ordered liver and onions, and his fiancée would have still thought it was crazy, but if she wasn’t stressed that we got a late start that morning, maybe she wouldn’t have said anything.  That’s the thing.  We each have things that drive each other crazy.  Okay, there is no good example I can give that won’t insult anyone, but, if I were travelling alone with my mother, whatever idiosyncrasies of hers that might have annoyed me would have been a non-issue, totally dwarfed by the beauty of where we were.  The same can be said about each individual member of the group, each of the 20 permutations in the car.  However, when you have 20 different permutations of tiny little things that annoy each other, you very quickly have a toxic environment, so it is no surprise that tempers become short and that arguments are quick to develop over unimportant things.

Case in point, I got a bit of a late start, but I was able to make up the time on the road.  I stopped for some roadside espresso, and I was at the fort only 15 minutes behind my original schedule.  I had budgeted 30 minutes at the fort, but I knew that 15 would be plenty, so I was looking good.  This was a triumphant moment, my 200^th official NPS unit, so I took the H. Upmann I had brought, having smoked an A. Flores on the ride to the fort, and did everything I need to do to make an NPS official.  This was certainly a significant NPS, the end of the Lewis and Clark Trail, where the Corps of Discovery spent their last winter before turning around.  I lit up my cigar and took some pictures at the reconstructed fort.  I announced, “That’s Official,” and I was about to leave when I realized that my pictures were not official.  I was not holding my NPS brochure.  I retook the pictures and was then told that I could not smoke at the fort.  I didn’t care.  I was on my way out.  The timing was looking good to get back to the hotel by 11:25 AM, 11:30 AM at the latest.  I knew gas would be tight, but I didn’t have time to stop.  The GPS kept showing an 11:29 AM arrival as I approached Portland, until I missed my exit, and that effed everything up, along with the fact that I had no cell service, so my parents, who tried to confirm that I would be there in time, were unable to reach me.

I am a person who values punctuality, so much so that it bothers me far more to be late myself than to be kept waiting.  If I am going to be more than five minutes late, I will make every effort to notify the person as soon as I know that I will be late.  As soon as I missed the exit, I realized that I was in a very bad neighborhood and totally lost, my GPS barely any help.  I was going to call my parents to let them know I was running late, but I didn’t have any service.  My GPS said that this detour was only adding 5 minutes and that I would be at the hotel at 11:35 AM, only 10 minutes behind the original schedule.  Of course, when I got there, I saw that I had received a voicemail from my mother and a text from my brother.  I responded to both, saying that I was downstairs.  It took them another 10 minutes before they were ready.  This was what set the tone for the rest of the day.  They were pissed that I was late, and I was pissed that they weren’t ready when I got there 10 minutes late, saying that since they couldn’t reach me, they had no way of knowing when I would be there, so they didn’t bother getting ready until I contacted them.  Needless to say, tempers were frayed, and any little thing that occurred for the rest of the day would snap them.  That was exactly what happened.  I do not need to go into details of who snapped at what point, though I suppose that my brother’s fiancée’s temper did not snap.  The other four of ours certainly did.  The place we wanted to go to for brunch had too long of a wait, so Adam suggested we just wander around the area at that point.

We were now 40 minutes behind schedule, and the rest of the party had no interest in the Saturday Market.  I also knew how much of a fool’s errand it would be to try and find a good place for brunch, not to mention that I had lost my appetite at this point.  I suggested that I take the car, go to the Saturday Market, and then come back to meet them for brunch wherever they were.  I had the utmost confident that I would be at the table before they had ordered.  They were convinced that that was impossible, so that idea was vetoed, too.  The only option that was offered was me skipping brunch and picking them up on the way to the fair, skipping that Saturday Market, or skipping the fair.  None of those seemed a reasonable or rational option.  It is a tangent that I was absolutely right about having enough time to head back and forth before they ordered.  I made this suggestion at 12:15 PM.  They did not order until 12:50 PM.  I then came up with another suggestion.  They could drop me off at the Saturday Market, go get gas, and I would be done there before they got back from the gas station.  My brother and his fiancée both agreed to it, my parents just not caring at this point.

We probably spent more time arguing about this than we would have spent just going.  That seemed to be a common theme this trip.  After sitting down at the table for 30 minutes, the waitress coming by multiple times, she asked if we were ready to order.  My father, repeating his joke from last night, said that anyone who wasn’t ready to order wouldn’t eat.  I liked that idea.  I still had no appetite, wanting to save what little appetite I had for eating fried food at the fair.  I didn’t even want coffee.  After my mother was finished, we headed to get the car, picking up the rest of them at the restaurant.  It was 6 minutes from there to the market, and I would wind up only needing 5 minutes to find the perfect present.  I am not someone who agonizes over decisions.  If I see something that I like, I get it.  It was 11 minutes, less time than we spent walking around trying to find a brunch place, never mind the time it took them to order.  Of course, my brother and his fiancée had to also walk around the market.  They can go there any weekend they want, yet they needed to delay us to explore the market.  When all was said and done, we were only an hour behind schedule, which was not much in the bigger scheme of things, especially with my 3 hours of planned buffer, but it was enough to completely destroy whatever remained in any of our tempers, except for my brother’s fiancée’s.  Hers managed to stay intact the entire time.

By the time we got to the State Capitol, all of the tempers had been mended, except for my father’s.  In a
previous Facebook post, I mentioned how people with quick tempers are quick to mend.  That is not true for my father.  His temper is quick to snap, and it takes a long time for it to mend.  We did a minor photo shoot at the Capitol before everyone was ready to go.  I had an idea for a Facebook photo of me and Ceal at the Capitol, making some joke about how a libertarian and a progressive going to the State Capitol.  I couldn’t quite word it, and I knew that the picture at the fair would be better.

We got to the fair, and I saw the perfect picture, along with the perfect caption, but it was a minor production to get the four of them to line up in the frame to take the picture.  We walked into the fair, and I just wanted to do two things: see the prize boar and eat fried food.  I was disappointed on both fronts.  They didn’t have any interesting fried foods, nothing like the Texas or Minnesota state fairs, just the traditional carnival mainstays, nor did they have a huge pig with a nutsak the size of my head.  They had a big sow, but it just wasn’t the same.  My brother was determined to pet the sleeping pig, which, of course, woke her.  I will not go into the details of the rest of the fair, but everything was just underwhelming.  The corn dog and beer the only decent part.  We all met up about 2 hours after we walked in, ahead of our original schedule, but Adam and Deborah were determined to try the rides.  I said that I would join them on one of the high thrill rides, but they had no interest.

We then made our way back Portland, my parents arguing about how fast my mother was driving and hitting some traffic along the way.  We all got out of the car at the hotel, and it was time to say our goodbyes.  The social situation to which I am most accustomed where I am standing with four or so other people saying goodbye is closing time at the cigar store.  Like the end of a hockey game, we all shake hands and say goodbye.  I started to shake everyone’s hand, each one asking why they weren’t getting a hug, obliging each one with a hug.  After I did it on my father, it became a joke at that point, but it was too good of a joke not to continue with the rest.  I was well ahead of schedule, but I knew that I would want time at the airport to pick up whiskey and wine and to write this entry, which I proceeded to do as soon as I got to the gate.  We will actually be boarding soon, so I will close so that I can upload my photos and decide if I want to publish this.  I’m leaning towards just publishing it and emailing it to my family without promoting it on Facebook.

8/25/14

En route, NYC Taxi 2R32

On Friday, I mentioned to one of my co-workers that I effed up with my summer trip planning.  I have taken three trips from July to August, not including the Labor Day trip, and all three of them were to the Pacific Northwest.  When I mentioned that, my coworker basically said that it must be nice to have to worry about that.  In truth, after having taken two trips to the PNW, this last trip was underwhelming.  Somehow, this 2-day trip to Oregon was more stressful than my 18-day trip to Alaska.  I was so stressed by all the arguing that I got no enjoyment value from my two adventures to the NPS, only fulfillment value, rushing because I didn’t want to keep anyone waiting, not that the courtesy was returned.  In fact, I got so stressed that I didn’t even remember to properly close the entry for the trip from the airport, which is why I’m writing this entry now.  I have set the precedent that once I have a) cleared Customs and b) arrived at my gate for the final leg of my flight back home, I can declare the trip closed.  I just forgot to do that last night.  Anyway, the reason I went to Portland was to enjoy spending time with my family, not to check two NPS units off my list.  It was a free trip, so I can’t complain much, but, just like when we visited him in Seattle, it was high stress.  The reason that the trip to Seattle was high stress because of my brother’s annoying habits, my father’s short temper, and my mustard allergy.  I actually cannot remember a single other unpleasant moment than what will always be remembered as “The Great Mustard and Ice Cream” fight.  During that Seattle trip, I just wanted to drink a lot of coffee.  I didn’t care much else what we did, just as during the Mammoth Cave trip, we flew in on Wednesday, did all the WHS Wednesday afternoon, and I could have flown home happy Wednesday night, so I didn’t really care what we did on Thursday and Friday.

This trip was different.  It was a 2-day trip with five people, which means that is next to impossible to accomplish anything.  I just wanted my own time to visit the two NPS units, which I had accomplished before my brother and his fiancée were ready to get on the road, anyway, my leisure time in Portland, and to go to Salem.  It seemed simple enough.  If I was doing it on my own, I could have done the whole thing in one day.  The state fair was underwhelming, and the sun was in the wrong angle to take a decent picture with the capitol building.  I had to rush through the NPS, and it seemed like we spent more time arguing than not.  I had initially suggested that we get two cars, do our own things during the day, and then meet up in the evenings.  That might have been the best idea.  It was what it was.  Next stop: Colorado to see three National Parks in 3 days.

Oregon - Day 0 - "The Past 12 Days"

8/22/14

John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York

In many ways, the 12 days since I closed have been two of the best weeks in my life, but they have also been difficult in many ways.  I have done something other than sit in my apartment surfing the internet every night since then, I believe.  Some adventures have been more rewarding than others, but, whether it was a movie in Bryant Park with a very dear friend or catching up with a drinking buddy who is on the opposite end of the spectrum as I in every single way possible or spending the night working from home, I have enjoyed each evening.  Even my weekend was busy doing something other than travelling or relaxing at my parent’s place.  I get tremendous pleasure out being productive, out of making the best use of my time.  The past 12 days have been very productive.  All work is an act of philosophy.  I get no greater pleasure than using my reasoning my end to create wealth.  Well, that’s not true.  Executing a successful trip or spending time with a woman I love would rank higher.  With my boss out this week, I had to fill in for him in many ways.  I worked at least a 50-hour week, including attending a very important meeting with our biggest client.  I acquitted myself well in all regards, and I felt great about it.  I will close for now, since first class is now boarding.

Correction, the flight to San Juan was now boarding.  I might not have minded spending the weekend in Puerto Rico, but I didn’t have my WHS stuff with me, so it would have been kind of pointless.  I will treat Day 0 En route, so I can continue to explore Days -11 through Day -1.  This is not a diary, so it would be beyond the scope to give a detailed description of each Day, but I will give an overview.  I have not left the five boroughs since I got back from Canada, though I did venture to Brooklyn and Queens each one time.  The trip to Brooklyn was for an inspection.  The trip to Queens was to see a Mets game.  I didn’t care about the game.  It was because I was invited.  After my brother and my best friend, there is no one else in the world I enjoy hanging out with more than her, even in a platonic way, especially in a platonic way.  She had invited me to a series of events over the past few weeks, and I accepted each time.  It didn’t matter what the event was, only that she would be there and that there would be alcohol.  To me, the word “hanging out” inevitably involves alcohol.  It just makes everything more fun.

She is the kind of person that gets me, and I feel that I can be myself with her.  That is more important than anything.  It is why I enjoy hanging out with her.  I don’t have to put on an act with her.  I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.  More than anything, I don’t have to hide the “crazy” side of me.  In the two years I’ve known her, I’ve never hidden anything from her.  I am comfortable around her, and that is very important, as well.  About 6 years ago, I was dating a girl, though I suppose I never really thought we were dating, and she met me at the office one evening.  We got a kick out of each other, and my father always likes to remind me about that, how comfortable we seemed laughing with each other.  This coming from the man who was once beholden to a philosophy that preached love as “mutual respect and shared values.”  Maybe love is only about “mutual respect and shared values.”  Maybe love is about interaction of “style.”  Maybe love is about wanting to hold someone in your arms and never let go.  I have spent enough time and effort philosophizing about love, but love is not happiness.  Love is love.  Happiness is happiness.  Happiness is the Final Cause.  Love is merely an Efficient Cause on that path.

If you are happy when you are around someone, happy to your fundamental core, is it not the epitome of irrationality to try to explore the reasons in any philosophical manner, just as it is wholly irrational to try and force yourself to be happy with someone because you think that you should love her from a philosophical standpoint?  Is it not wholly irrational to want to be with someone because she knows how to solve a quadratic equation rather than because you can’t stop smiling when you’re in her presence?  My father has been trying to get me to understand that for over a year now.  On Sunday, I realized that he may have been right.  He usually is.

Aboard DL 2619, En route JFK-PDX

As I travel towards my brother and the love of his life at 600 miles per hour, I am forced to think about their relationship.  In a word, they are perfect for each other, mamash perfect.  From the day I first met her, I knew they were going to get married, long before they did, probably even before they even thought about it.  While I wear many hats, both at work and in my personal life, I am, first and foremost, a chess player.  It is impossible to truly see the future, but is possible to be a good enough chess player to see what the consequences of various actions are and to see how things will play out ten moves down the line.  I am good at that, mamash good.  Yes, that word has officially entered my vocabulary, and it will stay there as long as the person who taught me that word remains in my life, which I hope to be for a mamash long time.

The thing about my brother and his fiancée is that they are both crazy, but they are crazy in a complementary.  Neither of them are capable of making any kind of decision in any kind of time frame, but they support each other in their indecisiveness, willing to explore every single angle of every decision that they may want to make.  It is impossible to travel with them, not the way I travel.  I suppose that a beach vacation would be doable with them, or a hiking trip, but any trip where you travel from place to place is next to impossible.  With Stuart, it’s similar, but I can get him to agree to do whatever I want, as long as he gets to do his few things.  It’s choosing the restaurants and cars and hotels and flights that are impossible with him.  I can get Stuart to keep to a schedule, but trying to get my brother and his fiancée to do is impossible.  Even when I plan 2-3 extra hours into the day for them, it inevitably goes wrong.  I plan things on a very tight schedule, allowing no leeway, when I travel alone, but I usually know that I need an hour buffer at the end of the day.  Sometimes I need that hour, sometimes I don’t and can use it for lunch or extra activity time.  Unless something goes seriously wrong out of my control (CBSA, traffic, etc.), that hour is always enough time.  With them, the pace is planned slower to begin with, and the extra 2-3 hours on top of it never seems to be enough.

Why do I bring all of this up?  It’s not because I am saying that they are bad people or anything.  It is simply something that bothers the hell out of me, but that doesn’t matter.  I don’t have to live them.  They have to live with each other, and it works for them.  That’s what matters.  I have gotten off track.  My battery is about to die, so I only have 10 minutes to try and recount Day 0.  I spent most of yesterday at a very important business meeting, the kind that I knew was vital to the future of my career to attend, so I made sure that I would be there.  I was.  This summer, I was watching “The Network,” and there was a line where Robert Duvall said something to the effect of “Let’s meet back here at 10 PM.  Is that convenient for everyone?” and walked away without waiting for a response.  That is the kind of project on which I would love to work.  The only time I would ever have to work around the clock is because either a) I am overwhelmed by the amount of work or b) I put something off to the last minute.  We don’t have crises like that in our job.

Our client had to work around the clock on this project, but we didn’t.  I had to be in at 7:30 AM to help finalize our report from the walkthrough yesterday, but, when all was said and done, from 7:30 AM yesterday to 10 AM today, I only put in 8 hours on that project.  My battery is almost dead, so I will close up.  After I sent out the final report to the client, an hour before the deadline, I had to run out to do another inspection, so I stopped at Papaya Dog along the way, which was en route.  They said that they weren’t open yet, but I convinced them to sell me a couple of hot dogs.  They really do have the best hot dogs in the city, even if they are small.  After the inspection, I had my pre-departure lunch at Hop Won: boneless spare ribs and sweet and sour chicken.  I then stopped at the cigar store for my last lunchtime cigar, a Montecristo, since my coworker who complains when I smoke during lunch will be back in the office on Monday.

I left work at 5 PM, and Jimmy gave me a Quesada Oktoberfest, which felt awkward smoking in August.  My pickup was supposed to be at 6:15 PM, so I spent the time at the shop talking about the single most appropriate thing for guys to discuss while smoking cigars.  There were like 10 customers there, and at least 3 conversations going on, so it was easy to walk around getting involved in different conversations and asking advice from all of my friends.  There are so many people with so many different views on life and love that you can get almost any possible answer you want to any question you might ask.  I took all the advice in stride, mediated by my own judgment.  At 6:15 PM, the car was not there.  I called at 6:25 PM.  When they asked for my confirmation number, I said that I didn’t get a confirmation email.  I heard someone say in shop, “You didn’t think that would be apro

I guess that I should have checked between the seat for an outlet BEFORE I let the battery die.  Anyway, the guy standing behind me in the shop said in reference to me not getting the confirmation email, “You didn’t think that that would be a problem?”  Fortunately, there was a taxi right outside the shop, so I said some quick goodbyes and grabbed the taxi.  When I got to the airport, I printed my boarding pass (1A) and went in line at security.  I had plenty of time, but that didn’t stop me from exercising all of my proper efficiency practices.  The TSA officer seemed to be a rookie, or maybe she thought I was a rookie.  The conversation went something like this: “Do you have a laptop in that bag?”  “I had a laptop in the bag, now it’s in the tray.”  “Everything out of your pockets?”  “Pockets are in there (pointing to my jacket in the tray).”  “Papers in your hand?”  That was too much.  Clearly she should have seen me holding the papers in my hands.

Anyway, I headed to the gate, took an unofficial U, and sat down to write the first entry.  I almost got on the flight to San Juan, continued with the second part of the first entry, and then got on the flight.  I love sitting in seat 1A.  It’s the window seat, so no one bothers you.  There is enough legroom, so you can get out without bothering the person in 1B.  It has the bulkhead, so you can get your feet up.  It’s on the left side, which I prefer.  It’s really just the best seat on the plane, not to mention all the whiskey you can drink.  This is my fourth whiskey, so I’m surprised I’m not mamash toasted at this point.  It usually only takes me three to get mamash toasted.  I suppose I will no longer be using the phrase UAR.  Does MT work?  Dinner was a chicken, bacon, and cheese sandwich, along with chips, fruit, and a cookie, not Atkins friendly.  I ate the inside of the sandwich, a few chips, some fruit, and half of the cookie.  After dinner, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, take an unofficial U, and get some sleep before I land in Portland.

Washington/BC - Day 3 - The Journey Home

8/10/14

Vancouver International Airport, British Columbia (YVR)

In spite of everything, this will be a triumphant airport entry.  In spite of the fact that for possibly the first time in our friendship, Stuart made me angry, this will be a triumphant airport entry.  In spite of my pain, exhaustion, and over expenditures, this will be a triumphant airport entry.  The trip was a success.  I set out to do 3 things, and I was able to check all 3 off of my list.  Stuart and I had fun, in spite of everything.  I am very mellow.  It takes very little for me to form a negative opinion of someone or to get internally annoyed at them, but, to get me angry, to get me to lash out beyond a sarcastic retort or sharp word, that takes a lot.  There are really only four ways to do it.  The first is to accuse me of doing something that I did not and to stick to it after my full denial.  The second is to break a deal or lie to me about something that matters.  The third is to go out of your way to initially get me angry or annoyed.  The last is to ask me for help and then refuse it when I offer it.  The last was what Stuart did.

I identified the two things about Stuart that annoy me, and they both have to do with the fact that he never shuts up.  The first is that he is constantly complaining, and his negativity sours the atmosphere, turning my joy into ash.  The second is that he keeps asking inane and annoying questions when I just want to relax in silence.  He claims that he only does it when he’s tired and in order to keep himself awake, but he is always tired on our trips, since he keeps himself up until 3 AM, and I like to get the day started by 7 AM.  I have learned how to deal with it, mostly by just ignoring him until he shuts up, but the poor clerk at the cigar store did not have that option, instead acting as his personal concierge for the hour or so I had my cigar.  I almost wanted to apologize to the guy.  I didn’t care.  Stuart had an FQ of 0.1, while the clerk had an FQ on par with the 7 billion people I previously told to go fuck themselves.

We easily walked back to the stadium, mostly by just following the throngs of people coming FROM the stadium.  We took our pictures and then headed to the garage.  Stuart had parked in a very awkward spot, and, after I repacked my bags, he needed help with me guiding him out of the spot.  I readily obliged, telling him to back up to the right as sharply as possible.  He went to the left.  Okay, an honest mistake.  Then, he tried again, this time just cutting it at 50% when I had told him to go 100%.  Now I was starting to get annoyed.  He got out of the spot but was facing the wrong direction.  I told him to back down the ramp and then turn in the right direction.  He refused to listen to me, insisting I was wrong and going the opposite direction.  This finally got me angry, and I shouted at him, asking him why he wanted my help if he wasn’t going to listen.  I got back in the car and told him that, if he wasn’t going to listen to me, he could do it himself.  I didn’t care if he damaged the car.  It was under his name, his card.  He managed, taking more time than he would have if he had listened to me.

From there, we headed to the airport, stopping for gas along the way.  It was almost two hours before my scheduled departure when he dropped me off at the Delta entrance.  I then saw a sign that Delta check-in was at the international counters, quite a trek away (and back).  Ugh.  I had time.  Oh, I forgot to mention that we split a Tim Horton’s donut, which I couldn’t leave Canada without having, Atkins or no Atkins.  When I checked in, it said that I had a first class upgrade pending.  That would be a real boon.  The gate was a D Gate, which was where the true international flights.  My suspicion was confirmed that I would be doing Customs on Arrival instead of preclearance.  A mild annoyance, since I declare an international trip complete upon clearing Customs, so I would have to formally close the trip back in New York.  Security also had quite a long line, my SkyPriority not meaning anything.  All of this was increasing my irk level.  They told me I could only take one lighter, even with traditional flames, so I sacrificed the one I bought in Kotzebue.  Duty-free was next, so I picked up a bottle of Small Batch Canadian Club.

I was also quite starving at this point, but, if I was first class, they would feed me.  I didn’t want to waste money on food if I was going to get fed, but I couldn’t wait another couple of hours.  There was a Chinese/Japanese place.  In fact, there was a very high concentration of Asians in the concourse, even the duty-free being staffed entirely by Asians.  I suppose that this is Canada’s gateway to Asia.  The selection was quite limited, and the orange chicken was most appealing, but the woman in front of me got the last portion.  I asked if they had any more chicken?  They did not.  Did they have any more anything?  They did not.  Fed up, I headed to my gate.  I checked to see if my upgrade was confirmed.  It was not, which meant no free meal.  I opted for a Quest bar.  I then sat down at the gate and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close as boarding is starting.

People often ask why I travel alone.  The answer is that most people who might travel with me or could afford to travel with me would not do the trips I want to do.  Stuart is amenable to them, but he pisses the hell out of me.  I have learnt to dealt with him, and I’m really the only one who will travel with him his way.  On a whole, I enjoy taking our annual trip together, even if he pisses me off more often than not.  It is a trade I make, and the trade is mutually beneficial.  That is not about what friendship is.  It is merely a mutually beneficial relationship.  When I do things for him, it is not because I enjoy seeing him happy, but rather because I don’t want to hear him bitch and moan.  That is not friendship.  That is serving my self-interest of quiet and relaxation.  When we laugh and joke around and pull pranks, that is not friendship either.  Alright, I definitely need to close for real now, as my group was just called.

8/11/14

En route, NYC Airporter 602

Once I arrived at the gate, the rest of The Journey Home was uneventful.  Just as I did on the inbound flight, I made the mistake of taking the front exit row instead of the back exit row.  The front exit row does not recline, so I cannot fully enjoy the extra legroom without being able to lean back.  Even still, I fell asleep as soon as we were airborne and slept through until we made our approach.  I might have gotten more sleep on the plane than I got any night this trip.  When we landed, the walk to the Customs checkpoint probably took me longer than the whole process of going through the Global Entry kiosk and walking out the gate.  There was a huge line to clear baggage control, but I was able to breeze right past it with my Global Entry receipt.  The line for the taxi was rather long, and I figured that the wait for the Airporter bus would be shorter.  I was right.  I suppose the total travel time by taxi would have made up for it, but it wasn’t worth the difference in price for those few minutes.

In fact, it might even be more comfortable on the bus.  I am in the back most seat, and the seat in front of me folds down for use as either a leg rest or a desk.  I would not have that luxury in a taxi.  I am very much looking forward to a hearty breakfast, but it’s just not the same when I make the microwaved eggs and bacon as when I get it from Lunch Box.  Sure, it’s about half the price, but, still.  I’ll probably have Chinese for lunch.  Alright, I’m rambling.  Maybe Stuart should start one of these.  That way he can right down every inane thought that comes into his mind rather than subject me to a constant barrage of questions and unformed thoughts.  If he would actually take the time to put together a rational and coherent thought, it wouldn’t be so bad.  Instead, he just says stuff that makes no sense.  I am able to answer almost every question he has, about everything.  If I cannot, I make one up.  He doesn’t care what the answer is.  He just cares that he gets an answer and then forgets it.

I suppose that is a reason why our relationship works so well.  In almost any situation, in a friendship, in a relationship, I need to be the one in charge, unless I am choosing to defer to someone whose judgment I value above my own.  My boss is the perfect example of the latter.  When I bring in a proposal to him, more often than not, he gives it back to me with either no change or just a formatting change.  The other times, he tells me to raise or lower the price.  I usually make the change without question, but sometimes I disagree, and, when I do, he takes my judgment into consideration.  In those cases, he’ll usually tell me to stick with my number or choose a number in between.  It’s about respect and trust.  With Stuart, the trust is there, but the respect is not.  When I say trust, I mean trust in honesty, not trust in ability (see my entry on Trust from the CA-4 trip).  I make the decisions because I trust in myself more than I trust in him, and he knows that I’m better at this kind of stuff.  I also make the more minor decisions.  Just as I give him to him to avoid hearing him bitch and moan, he gives in to me on the things that matter to me.  It is a trade.

He even had me plan the two weeks of his trip that he will do after I left and wanted me on the phone while he booked the hotels.  For the first few nights, I helped him pick one out.  After that, I just put him on speaker and agreed with whatever he wanted.  I wasn’t going to be staying there.  I didn’t care.  The “I don’t care” factor applies a lot to Stuart, and that is why our relationship, while friendly, might not be categorized as true friendship.  At first, it didn’t appear that his GPS would work in Canada, and he has no sense of direction, nor did he want to spend money to use international data.  I had visions of him making the wrong turn and winding up in Whitehorse before he realized that something was wrong.  I told him that, since he couldn’t text, I’d be glad not to receive 17 texts from him that he got lost and wound up at the North Pole.  Anyway, I fucked up my injured foot hiking at North Cascades NP, and I cut up the back of my hand moving the mattress outside in Victoria, but the trip was glowing success, in spite of everything.  After I got on the bus, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close as we cross the tunnel into the tiny island I call home.  Next stop: right back to the PNW in two weeks to see my brother in Portland.