Sunday, May 23, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Touring my Favorites....
While I was up in Moscow for the job interview, I remembered that NRS, my favorite gear outfitter was based outta there. I MUST examine more closely.
I poked into this small shed looking thing and began browsing. Not much. I then began talking with an associate Ted, I think, and started prying. Of course I would like a tour....let me grab my camera.
Lets just say when I entered the back, I almost pooped my pants. This building has to be a mile long, full of gear, and operated by boaters. Who'd guess?
It just kept going and going and going. The farther back you go the wider the building became. I was pretty happy in here to say the least.
We walked past a piece of paper on the wall with the accuracy stats for the organizing of the gear and its shipping. It said they had a 98.9% accuracy. This meant of the 80,000 something individual items ordered in May, they only had 31 errors. All done by hand, and working well, very well.
We then enter the call center, all the way in back, not in India, not that I have anything against Indian call centers....
A posh big room, full of all the happy people I talk with on a regular basis. I have to say Im super stoked with the way NRS has turned out. They say Bill Parks, who was wandering in the lobby, started the business in his garage, with $2000, a long time ago. If you get a chance, order a ton of awesome straps, at the least, and be stoked at how applicable this whitewater gear is to everyday life in the flow....
I poked into this small shed looking thing and began browsing. Not much. I then began talking with an associate Ted, I think, and started prying. Of course I would like a tour....let me grab my camera.
Lets just say when I entered the back, I almost pooped my pants. This building has to be a mile long, full of gear, and operated by boaters. Who'd guess?
It just kept going and going and going. The farther back you go the wider the building became. I was pretty happy in here to say the least.We walked past a piece of paper on the wall with the accuracy stats for the organizing of the gear and its shipping. It said they had a 98.9% accuracy. This meant of the 80,000 something individual items ordered in May, they only had 31 errors. All done by hand, and working well, very well.
We then enter the call center, all the way in back, not in India, not that I have anything against Indian call centers....
A posh big room, full of all the happy people I talk with on a regular basis. I have to say Im super stoked with the way NRS has turned out. They say Bill Parks, who was wandering in the lobby, started the business in his garage, with $2000, a long time ago. If you get a chance, order a ton of awesome straps, at the least, and be stoked at how applicable this whitewater gear is to everyday life in the flow....
All in a day at the Maki House....
.... so I need to have my camera ready, at all times, or I miss it, just barely.
So "Commander Data" (thats my old boss' name for me when I worked in Texas hating my existence) was at the Mapp house doing some painting and general tweaking to the establishment. These included examining the well pump and casing for signs of contamination and methods to get bleach in there for a thorough flushing and finishing painting Laurens sweet new RED room.
Now realize that this whole room used to be aqua green before we put that primer grey on there. I swear that edging all the sills and door frames takes forever. Lauren was able to pick her own color for her room at the hardware store. Sweet choice. This reminds me of Dan's apartment in Lincoln when he tried to break every rule on the lease.
The Illness!
At some point in the evening Garrett arrived and brought some more stuff to shuffle in. This is where I come to terms with a Murphy living in the neighborhood. Obviously he deals in Law. Actually it starts the evening before, when I warn G about the dog dish in the dark of night, and then he steps on the edge of it soaking his whole right pant leg. I cry laughing like the asshole that I am.
The first load of gear comes in, but the new badass lightbulbs dont. They sit broken and shattered outside by the pickup door. And after mentioning we should clean it up before Zambi steps on it, guess who is sitting on the shards?
We paint and take a well deserved beer/porch/pellet gun break for the sunset moonrise overlooking No Business peak and plink and watch the clouds rumble past. At this point something weird happens again. A friend arrives and yawns repeatedly at our lack of interestingness:
I bet he weighs a maximum of 15 lbs. We think he may live under the porch. Luckily the Zambinator was sleeping.
We head back inside and break some more lightbulbs, and one that G changed has completely popped the glass off. Why nobody will ever know. Not knowing whether the power is on or off now G ends up welding the little wire jobbies to the tip of his circuit tester. Check, its on.
Before the night and weirdness is over we examine the well pump in the basement:
This little guy and his extended family might give reason to the light contamination of the well. Lets just say he was promptly removed with some light serenading, wine, biscuits, and chortling. After all that he still whined and defecated in my hand.
"Meanwhile, back at the ranch" has new meaning now. Be careful....
So "Commander Data" (thats my old boss' name for me when I worked in Texas hating my existence) was at the Mapp house doing some painting and general tweaking to the establishment. These included examining the well pump and casing for signs of contamination and methods to get bleach in there for a thorough flushing and finishing painting Laurens sweet new RED room.
Now realize that this whole room used to be aqua green before we put that primer grey on there. I swear that edging all the sills and door frames takes forever. Lauren was able to pick her own color for her room at the hardware store. Sweet choice. This reminds me of Dan's apartment in Lincoln when he tried to break every rule on the lease.
The Illness!At some point in the evening Garrett arrived and brought some more stuff to shuffle in. This is where I come to terms with a Murphy living in the neighborhood. Obviously he deals in Law. Actually it starts the evening before, when I warn G about the dog dish in the dark of night, and then he steps on the edge of it soaking his whole right pant leg. I cry laughing like the asshole that I am.
The first load of gear comes in, but the new badass lightbulbs dont. They sit broken and shattered outside by the pickup door. And after mentioning we should clean it up before Zambi steps on it, guess who is sitting on the shards?
We paint and take a well deserved beer/porch/pellet gun break for the sunset moonrise overlooking No Business peak and plink and watch the clouds rumble past. At this point something weird happens again. A friend arrives and yawns repeatedly at our lack of interestingness:
I bet he weighs a maximum of 15 lbs. We think he may live under the porch. Luckily the Zambinator was sleeping.We head back inside and break some more lightbulbs, and one that G changed has completely popped the glass off. Why nobody will ever know. Not knowing whether the power is on or off now G ends up welding the little wire jobbies to the tip of his circuit tester. Check, its on.
Before the night and weirdness is over we examine the well pump in the basement:
This little guy and his extended family might give reason to the light contamination of the well. Lets just say he was promptly removed with some light serenading, wine, biscuits, and chortling. After all that he still whined and defecated in my hand."Meanwhile, back at the ranch" has new meaning now. Be careful....
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Austin, NV....
So the drive North was an epic fourth gear wonder. Just slap it in 4th and go. Plenty of power for the hills and not enough speed to actually warrant paying any sort of attention. I was fortunate to avoid both Reno and Vegas, though I could have gone for a nice park and play at the Reno whitewater park, but that issue is mute now. I headed NE on some of the loneliest highways and actually ended up on the "Loneliest Highway" taking me right into Austin where I was in need of refueling and the Apocalypse was thirsty. I found this cafe/bar on the corner boasting something about "Serbian", and me not knowing whether this is good or bad just barreled in with my $20 in hand.
First thing, I had to fight. I really had to argue with the cafe cook for some food not labeled pizza. I wanted a burger. He didnt want to make it. After him asking me "Pizza?" and me telling him "cheeseburger" about 6 times, he folded. I then headed to the bar for something to wash the Nevada dust away. Not that it was remotely dusty.
I first noticed the big back bar thing that hold the giant mirror and liquor. Attempting to get a glimpse of the towns history I start asking questions that should naturally lead me toward the monstrosity of wood behind the bartender. "So what do people around here do?" is the vagueity (a new word) that exits my brain and mouth. In less than 42 milliseconds the Serbian bartender answers: "We eat, drink, and fuck". My bud light almost comes out of my nose, as he points to this 40 something lady who winks at me as the bartender mentions in a very loud tone: "shes ready!" Something tells me that if the food were to arrive now the awkward situation might focus itself elsewhere. It doesnt. I never did get the answer.
Way back in the day people came and made Austin bc of a silver boom. Now, that ore mining is quite dead due to the price of silver being so low and the cost of production being quite high. When this little bar was packed with miners (not talking about major politics of the last four presidential administrations) it acquired the awesome bar back it has today. Apparently from the UK in origin, it was shipped over in '27 and trained from the East coast to 'Frisco and then wagoned up to where it is today. Over the years I bet this thing has seen many a thrown beer bottle.
I highly recommend getting in a political debate here. The bartender is some political oddity of knowledge and secrets.
(I failed to mention why this story starts out in 4th gear. 2 days before my actual departure from LA I was going up a hill and 5th gear just stopped being there. Fortunately theres a 4th. That means I can cruise and gawk at a stunning 56 mph)
First thing, I had to fight. I really had to argue with the cafe cook for some food not labeled pizza. I wanted a burger. He didnt want to make it. After him asking me "Pizza?" and me telling him "cheeseburger" about 6 times, he folded. I then headed to the bar for something to wash the Nevada dust away. Not that it was remotely dusty.
I first noticed the big back bar thing that hold the giant mirror and liquor. Attempting to get a glimpse of the towns history I start asking questions that should naturally lead me toward the monstrosity of wood behind the bartender. "So what do people around here do?" is the vagueity (a new word) that exits my brain and mouth. In less than 42 milliseconds the Serbian bartender answers: "We eat, drink, and fuck". My bud light almost comes out of my nose, as he points to this 40 something lady who winks at me as the bartender mentions in a very loud tone: "shes ready!" Something tells me that if the food were to arrive now the awkward situation might focus itself elsewhere. It doesnt. I never did get the answer.
Way back in the day people came and made Austin bc of a silver boom. Now, that ore mining is quite dead due to the price of silver being so low and the cost of production being quite high. When this little bar was packed with miners (not talking about major politics of the last four presidential administrations) it acquired the awesome bar back it has today. Apparently from the UK in origin, it was shipped over in '27 and trained from the East coast to 'Frisco and then wagoned up to where it is today. Over the years I bet this thing has seen many a thrown beer bottle.I highly recommend getting in a political debate here. The bartender is some political oddity of knowledge and secrets.
(I failed to mention why this story starts out in 4th gear. 2 days before my actual departure from LA I was going up a hill and 5th gear just stopped being there. Fortunately theres a 4th. That means I can cruise and gawk at a stunning 56 mph)
Monday, May 17, 2010
Lochsa or Bust!!!!
Lochsa Falls at about 6000 something cfs. Were in the ARA boat, and I got the red suit and green helmet.
Friday, May 07, 2010
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Lose Your Shorts....
....This is why you need to czech you parts.
Through one way or another one may have heard that I ventured to the most interesting land of Lost Wages. It was my friend Nat's 30th birthday and getting pretty close to mine as well. On top of all this, Ive never been there, making me a Vegas Virgin. All I can say is I was completely unprepared for what happened thereafter. What happens in Vegas should most definitely stay in Vegas. But heres a taster:
Las Vegas means "the plains", although there is nothing plain about it. Strangely for the first time in years the entire area was green and fairly lush for a complete wasteland. Go earth cycles!
The global flavor
Under the influence of friends
Frazzled and happy
in the sun
Photo-bombing is actually
quite fun
Through one way or another one may have heard that I ventured to the most interesting land of Lost Wages. It was my friend Nat's 30th birthday and getting pretty close to mine as well. On top of all this, Ive never been there, making me a Vegas Virgin. All I can say is I was completely unprepared for what happened thereafter. What happens in Vegas should most definitely stay in Vegas. But heres a taster:
Las Vegas means "the plains", although there is nothing plain about it. Strangely for the first time in years the entire area was green and fairly lush for a complete wasteland. Go earth cycles!
The global flavor
Under the influence of friends
Frazzled and happyin the sun
Photo-bombing is actuallyquite fun
Overload would be a excellent label for the weekend. I still havent fully recovered, and almost never want to go there again. My gastrointestinal tract is pissed off. Internal clock is broken. Theres a plethora of external wounds, mostly attributed to the "Nightstand". I hate the nightstand.
Imagine waking up and feeling abused. Feeling violated. Sore. Then you look up all hazed from the corner of the room where you slept. You see something ominous. Something looking down upon the evil deeds it has done the night before. Theres 4 partially empty bottles, some spilled sitting atop, the built in shade is half broken. It stares at you, smoldering cigarette perched out of its slightly ajar drawer. You come to. Realizing "the nightstand" is to blame. Violated and ashamed, you crawl into the shower, never to look back, hungry for breakfast....
Imagine waking up and feeling abused. Feeling violated. Sore. Then you look up all hazed from the corner of the room where you slept. You see something ominous. Something looking down upon the evil deeds it has done the night before. Theres 4 partially empty bottles, some spilled sitting atop, the built in shade is half broken. It stares at you, smoldering cigarette perched out of its slightly ajar drawer. You come to. Realizing "the nightstand" is to blame. Violated and ashamed, you crawl into the shower, never to look back, hungry for breakfast....
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