flwyd: Ham radio on cliffs overlooking Keauhou Bay, Hawai'i (parks on the air)
2024 was my second year of frequent participation in Parks on the Air, a ham radio activity that involves setting up a radio and antenna in a state or national park, talking to people around the country and sometimes internationally, and earning fake internet points. I once again managed to do multiple activations each month and hit a few fun milestones.

I operated from 36 parks from 23 counties in Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, West Virginia, and Washington, DC. (I also joined two clubs in Virginia for Field Day.) In addition to over 3,000 contacts with stations in the mainland U.S. and Canada I talked to people in Australia, Barbados, Brazil, Ceuta, Chile, Dominican Republic, Easter Island, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Martinique, Mexico, Portugal, Puerto Rico, Spain, Sweden, Venezuela, Alaska, Hawaii, and boats and planes over the ocean. I made at least three contacts with every state and DC, and finally got a park-to-park with Rhode Island to fill the 51st slot on Worked All States. I made a park-to-park with every state but North Dakota and every Canadian province but Newfoundland and the territories in the north. And clever county-line positioning allowed me to get a pretty wild number of fake internet points in the West Virginia and Colorado QSO Parties.

On a trip to Hawaii in 2023 I realized the benefit of CW for weak-signal long-distance radio communication, so I set a 2024 goal of getting good enough at Morse code to make at least one CW contact with each POTA outing. I didn't stick to this practice in the latter part of the year, partly because I was worried about how well I could operate a paddle with gloves on, but I did manage 112 POTA CW contacts, plus a handful of contacts from home or work in the K1USN weekly Slow Speed Contest.

CW operating also enabled me to work the 30-meter band, which doesn't allow voice or other wide-band modes. This in turn helped me to get about half way to the POTA N1CC award: 10 parks with contacts on 10 bands. 80 meters has been tricky there: the usually high noise floor means my 45 watt portable station is challenging to hear. I got a shortened vertical antenna for 80m for easy deployment in parks without good trees, but have only really been able to make good contacts when I can loft over a hundred feet of wire into trees. I got some arborist throw weights and proper slick ropes, which has worked a lot better than my original "eye-bolts on fishing line" that was remarkably good at getting tangled. I still use an adjustable vertical when I'm doing a quick activation—throwing a wire antenna over trees and getting it back down again at the end can easily add an hour of "not on the air" time to an activation. But when I've got both time and good trees, the elevated wire makes a significant difference in the number of contacts I can achieve. Shout out to the wide-branch deciduous trees in Arkansas and West Virginia: Colorado's ponderosa pines are a challenge.

Some stats, generally counting "2-fers" as a single contact:
ModeCount
CW112
FM27
SSB2943

BandCount
80m30
40m500
30m12
20m1687
17m223
15m182
12m114
10m304
2m22
70cm8

My StateCount
AR129
CO2267
DC12
KS46
OK59
WV569

UniqueCountMost common
Stations2203N6HU (12)
Parks663US-4559 & US-4572 (8 each)
Frequencies43314.242 (215)
States / provinces / regions85California (235)
CQ Zones144 (1601)
flwyd: (1895 USA map)
… if it was invented anywhere else they would've called it a teethbrush.


Like the British, dental structure and oral hygiene seems to have improved significantly in the last few generations. The person who told that joke was the only person I saw in West Virginia born after World War II and with visibly missing teeth, but he was explaining how a whitewater rafting paddle can cause dental damage.

Also breaking with stereotypes, I drove nearly 1,000 miles in West Virginia and through Virginia's Shenandoah Valley and saw fewer than a dozen Trump yard signs, flags, or bumper stickers. On a 2,000 mile trip through Kansas, Oklahoma, and Akransas in April I could count the number of Trump memorabilia on one hand, including a "Let's Go Brandon" bumper sticker and the "Thank you Trump" semi trailer parked on the north side of I-70 in Eastern Colorado. This is way down from what I saw in Kansas and Arkansas in 2022, and nobody seems to even be flying FJB flags. I don't know what conclusions to draw from this observation, and I certainly don't think Biden's going to win much of the Mississippi basin. But maybe folks in red states are just not as into Trump as they were eight years ago. They've got other things on their mind.

A friend said I'd see Confederate flags in West Virginia. I said that would be incredibly ironic; don't these people know their history? I think the only one I saw was just across the border from Virginia. Towns with a big outdoor recreation economy are now the kinds of place where bars have a pride flag hanging in the doorway in June. American flags were plentiful, though, as were custom wood-carved signs. Several state parks had a stylized "Almost Heaven" etched into the state outline, hanging above a wooden swing for photo ops. Country Roads has a cultural prominence in West Virginia that Rocky Mountain High hasn't achieved in Colorado.

The roads are indeed windy in West Virginia: I felt surprise when I came upon a three-mile stretch of straight highway, complete with a road cut. Signs on I-79 proudly proclaim "Senator Robert C. Byrd Appalachian Highway System," and it definitely has a "federal money was brought to West Virginia" feel. Most of the roads are also girded by trees, which feels unusual to drivers from the western US: "there's probably a lovely scenic vista here, but all I see is green." Even rafting New River Gorge, "the Grand Canyon of the eastern US," there was only one stretch of visible rock wall; maybe late fall is the time for sightseeing. The shade was a quite welcome respite while hiking in the 90+° 50% humidity heat dome last week, though.

True to stereotypes I did see a dead possum in the middle of the road. No possum on any menu, though… not that it was ever "cuisine" as much as "what folks could trap near their house." I saw way fewer lifted pickup trucks than I would in a typical Denver suburb, though I did see people driving ATVs down a main street. A lot of the available trails are railroad grade, so you can probably go "offroading" in an economy sedan.

A coal train slowly screeched its way up the gorge as I walked around the remains of Nutallburg, a thriving coal town in Henry Ford's vertical integration plans a century ago, now a bit of rusting infrastructure, a row of coke ovens being overtaken by vegetation, and a few stone building foundations. West Virginia still ships a fair amount of coal&emdash;particularly for high-height uses like metallurgy&emdash;but long gone are the days when dozens of mining towns employed hundreds of people each. In addition to powering America's past, West Virginia is powering America's future too: a long ridge of tall windmills stand proudly atop the Alleghenys near the eastern continental divide.
flwyd: (big animated moon cycle)
As we hit the road, 7 day weather forecasts for the eclipse were looking dicey. The "raining all day Monday" forecast quickly turned to "partially cloudy all day," with a line of clouds along the eclipse path from the Rio Grande to the Ohio valley. We were committed, though, and set off to our campsite in Arkansas. "Pray to your favorite weather and sky gods," I said in my email to campers.

Weather in the Ouachita Mountains turned out to be fantastic. The first night was a bit chilly, but the rest of the week featured sunny days and a few high wispy clouds. It's refreshing to camp in a state that's damp enough to have a campfire without hypervigilance that you might burn down the whole forest. And as someone who's used to spending vacations on festivals or distant adventure travel, having a vacation with just a couple dozen people and no schedule of events was a nice change of pace. The night before the eclipse the forecast was still calling for "partly cloudy," with with wispy clouds that might still show the great gig in the sky. As the Earth turned to Monday we were greeted with completely clear skies, the sun perfectly visible through a clearing at our campsite. Jupiter also made an appearance, though we couldn't see the passing comet.

Many times during the two-year planning period for this adventure I was rather amused that I was driving a thousand miles on a two week adventure for a four minute experience. Totality was indeed pretty neat: "evening" came on quickly, then a dark sky with wispy solar promenances visible to the naked eye. Our position at the base of the trees didn't offer much of a views to the horizon, though I could see sunset hues in each direction. I would've loved to bask in the experience for an hour; between taking photos (a few of which turned out alright) and looking around to see what all was different I didn't get a chance to really tune into the eclipse vibes, man. Now that I've got a solar camera filter and I know solar binoculars are a thing I should spend more time just gazing at the sun.

In the days before the main event I hoisted two wire antennæ into the trees and managed to get the fake internet points award for making contacts on 10 amateur radio bands. I didn't actually make a lot of contacts, since I seemed to only call CQ on bands with poor propagation or nobody was listening. I did make a lot of park-to-park contacts—I wasn't the only one with the idea to have a radio campout for the eclipse—and made some very low-key contributions to science by participating in the Eclipse QSO Party before and after totality.

En route, I played ham radio on the Santa Fe Trail in Dodge City and the Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge. The former had a really high noise floor for some reason, maybe machinery at the agricultural processing plants. The latter was a lot of fun: we started by digging for selenite crystals that form a short dig below the crust of the salt basin. The radio waves liked the site as well; I had a steady pileup for most of an hour. Sea water helps HF propagation, and a field of salt with water a foot below the surface seems to have the same effect.

We spent a day in Tulsa visiting the Greenwood Rising center and the Woody Guthrie museum. Greenwood Rising opened 100 years after the Tulsa race massacre when a white mob burned down "Black Wall Street," the black neighborhood of Greenwood, one of the largest concentrations of black wealth in America. This is an incident that wasn't talked about as part of Americas history until recently. Despite attending a racially-conscious elementary school and using Howard Zinn's book as my first high school history text, I was unaware of the Tulsa race massacre until 2019. Greenwood Rising isn't just about the massacre, but does a good job creating a sense of the place before it was destroyed and what it meant to have a thriving black neighborhood on the other side of the tracks. Modern museums are big on interactivity, and Greenwood Rising does a good job of creating an immersive experience to enhance the educational goals. The Guthrie Center was also a good visit. I hadn't known that Woody was a prolific sketch artist, many with the same incisive yet accessible social commentary as his songs. I'd also thought the Dust Bowl was an extended dry period with poor farm soil care practices leading to the fertile land slowly blowing away. I hadn't realized that there was a specific day, Black Sunday, that blocked the sun and buried entire towns.

The big rain event that had all the eclipse chasers worried all week managed to hold off in Arkansas until about 10pm; enough time to pack up most of our camp and switch from the canvas tent to a dome tent, easier to wrangle when wet. And despite a wet night, the weather gods smiled on us again, pausing the rain in the morning so we could pack the final bits. We got to enjoy some lovely scenic pullouts along the Talimena National Scenic Byway. At the top I activated Queen Wilhelmina State Park at the top of the mountain while the clouds closed in to form a wonderfully liminal cloak. Despite the high elevation all my strong signal reports were coming from Georgia, a mysterious pipeline through the ionosphere.

On the way home we spent another couple days in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, capital of the Cherokee Nation. Subdivision of Cherokee land under the Curtis Act, along with many other factors, makes the Oklahoma nations feel a lot different than the Indian reservations folks in the U.S. west are used to. Tahlequah feels like an ordinary town where several parcels are owned by natives and the tribe. There are several good Cherokee museums and a casino, but everything else feels like a typical mid-sized American town in the southeast from fast food and barbecue restaurants to big ranch houses out towards the lakes. Funky res cars, res dogs hanging out in the shade, and the smell of frybread that you might imagine on a reservation in the southwest or on the plains doesn't show up in Tahlequah or elsewhere we saw among the five "civilized" nations.

North American eclipse hunters will have to head overseas for the next two decades, so I'm glad I made a trip out of it. The 2045 eclipse will pass right over the same campsite but I think I'll stay closer to home for that one since it passes across Colorado as well. I wonder how early Valley View will take reservations…
flwyd: (sun mass incandescant gas)
For a trip I've been in some stage of planning for more than two years there's a surprising amount left to the last minute.

I didn't really think about taking pictures of the occluded sun until a week and a half ago. Mike's Camera had solar lens filters, but no adapters to fit my lens; fortunately I had a week to get an Amazon delivery. I almost forgot to get an oil change before the road trip. Duffel bags sat empty in my bedroom for a week and a half, not summoning the energy to select clothes until 40 hours before departure.

The truck jenga situation is kind of amusing; the truck seems more full for a 5-day camping trip in Arkansas than it was for two people's Burning Man stuff (including bikes) last year. "This is kind of my favorite part," Kelly says. "We get to recreate a small version of home."

It looks like we might hit near the sweet spot in attendance, which is kind of amazing. A friend and I booked two adjacent group camp sites a year in advance on the assumption that we'd find enough folks who wanted to join an eclipse adventure. But you don't want to advertise such a thing too widely, since there's only space for so many cars. So it was word of mouth with selective invitations and a kind of mental tabulation on people count, with a lot of "I don't know what I'll be doing in eight months." A month and a half ago I was worried we might be squeezed for space. A week and a half ago we were worried that we were going to have a lot of extra space, and miss out on having enough friends to share the experience with. Now it looks like we'll have every driveway in camp occupied, though a lot of folks are coming in the night before the great gig in the sky so we won't get to have as jolly a time in the woods as we might otherwise.

Despite all the last-minute scrambling, I've had all the Parks on the Air sites sorted out for several weeks though. When traveling, it's important to prioritize places to stop and play radio. There's even a Solar Eclipse QSO Party so hams can help scientists understand propagation in the ionosphere.

Google's extended forecast predicts rain all day for the eclipse; another app predicts afternoon thunderstorms and evening rain. National Weather Service's forecast only goes out 7 days, but Sunday currently predicts about a 25% cloud cover for Arkansas on Sunday; let's hope that holds out to Monday. A cloudy day would be anticlimactic for an event I've been anticipating for two years. But at least I'll get a good camping trip out of it, and some road trip adventures in Oklahoma. And if the sun's not worth looking at during totality, I can get 100 extra points in the solar eclipse QSO party for being on the radio during totality.
flwyd: (red succulent)
Mid-november, at brunch, Me: What do you want to do with your funemployment?
Kelly: Should we travel somewhere?
Me: well, we've got a wedding right before New Year's, so we probably shouldn't try something too far, or too high of a risk for COVID. How about Hawaii?

Mid-December, at the airport, Me: The amount of stuff we're carrying is kind of ridiculous. And heavy. I spent two months in Central America with one backpack and a hand bag of clothes. Two cameras (one got stolen). No phone, no laptop. I definitely didn't have an entire bag of radio equipment so I could earn fake Internet points…

In the end we ended up using most of the stuff. I brought a laptop because for several years I've been saying that the ideal time zone for Advent of Code is Pacific/Honolulu where problems drop at 7pm. I brought a bag of ham radio gear (radio, amplifier, tuner, batteries, antenna, tripod, coax cable, folding table…) so I could activate Parks on the Air from Hawaii, getting a step closer to "worked from all states." Kelly noticed me listening to KAPA on a portable AM/FM. "I brought three radios to Hawaii." "Yeah, that checks out." I brought three cameras (DSLR, 360, smartphone), though most of my Pixel photos are probably better than the DSLR ones. We brought snorkel masks and fins that we used exactly once, though bringing a snorkel gear bag meant we had space for other stuff, like a folding stool (good for a bedside stool among other things).

I definitely didn't need to bring a second long-sleeve shirt (when it's snowing outside it's hard to remember what "lows of 65" actually feels like). I brought several flashlights that I never had handy when I was outside in the dark. We didn't use the binoculars, though I don't think most of the whales have arrived for their winter vacation; the folks next to me on a sunset-from-the-cliffs evening think they spotted just one. I brought two towels, but don't think I really used one. I never looked at the small camp thermometer. The chocolate granola bar snacks I hoped to eat on the plane out there were nice and melted when I ate them on the way home…

You can really get a feel for the yin-yang of leeward and windward sides on the Big Island. Just looking at a satellite image of Waimea you can guess where the ridge line of Kohala, is on the Mauna Kea side. Driving from Kailua-Kona to Captain Cook and Honaunau quickly transitions from dry lava to wet-enough-to-grow-coffee-and-bananas. We visited friends in Puna for a couple days of intense driving rain, then bailed out back to the Kona side where the rain feels like a light misting. Our horseback ride guide explained that it takes about 300 years for an inch of soil to develop on new lava given ideal rain conditions like on the Hilo side; on the Kona side it can take a thousand years.

Looking at maps of Hawai'i subdivisions is kind of surreal. You know it's on the side of an irregular volcano, but the lines are just as straight and the subdivision just as rectangular and regular as in the great plains. The island is a little smaller than Connecticut with just 200,000 people, on account of the world's largest mountain and a lot of protected areas. There are broadly two types of vehicles: small sedans that can park in a tight spot at a beach and Toyota Tacomas with a lift that can get to a remote beach. I was a little surprised at the lack of electric bikes, though I only saw one road with a bike path on the whole island. A surprising number of tourists rent shiny Jeeps that they never seem to get dirty.

Early and mid December is a bit of a lull for visiting Hawaii; the tourist droves pick up in the week before Christmas as school lets out. Also, flying home on Christmas Eve is pretty cheap, though flight delays accumulate into the evening (my condolences to the flight from Oakland to New Orleans that got delayed until 10pm). The gate staff informed us that Southwest has an open seating policy, but will the 30 passengers please spread yourselves out along the length of the plane to keep the weight balanced. (I'm pretty sure they lost money on this flight.) The Safety Briefing Before Christmas was pretty good, though.
flwyd: (spencer hot springs feet)
For about five months there I was either getting ready to do a thing on a date, or doing a thing on a date. By mid-May I was focusing most of my free time getting ready for Untamed festival at the beginning of the week or the trip to DC to lobby Congress followed by the jaunt around the Chesapeake Bay. After that trip I quickly got things prepared for ARRL Field Day.

At the beginning of July I decided to go to Burning Man, and also that I was going to figure out a shade structure, so I spent several weekends getting that dialed in, attending Ranger training, getting ready for Dragonfest at the beginning of August, and fitting in all the Colorado Shakespeare Festival plays. After Dragonfest I had two weekends to get everything packed for Burning Man, plus the sudden addition of making sure a good friend could come along at the last minute.

When I got back from Raining Man I spent two weekends unpacking and decompressing, then ramping up for the Peak to Peak Byway 105th Anniversary ham radio special event on September 30th. That was a big success, with a dozen ham radio clubs setting up stations at three sites (Estes Park, Ward, and Black Hawk), and over 600 contacts. The site I helped organize, a blocked turnout at Mile Marker 41, had more than a dozen people participate, operating two stations with over 450 contacts (being in the national forest and thus eligible for Parks on the Air really helped attract attention to our stations). Band conditions were great; we had a constant stream of callers on 20 meters and were making contacts on 15 and 10 meters until 3pm when we decided to tear down due to nearby lightning.

After that, it was time to get ready for my sister-in-law's wedding in mid-October, preceded by a visit by my other sister-in-law, her husband, and a four-year-old, so lots of house cleaning and reorganizing for safety. (Make sure to keep the liquor out of reach of the toddler, and also of the alcoholics.) I remembered a little late in the game that I was supposed to get a suit that would fit a gem theme; Men's Warehouse fortunately had a nice purple three-piece option, and Converse.com had bright purple sneakers in my size. It turns out most of the family interpreted "gem-colored" as either green or purple, so we matched without over-planning things. I'm also now "that family member with a big truck", so there was a trip to pick up wedding stuff, an evening of rearranging the bed to fit the rest of our stuff, and another mother-in-law visit to return all the boxes of stuff. The wedding was lovely and went smoothly, but COVID made an unwelcome appearance, claiming most of the family after returning home. After two adventures in positivity last year my immune system managed to stay negative this time around, but I felt like crap all week anyway.

Last week was a climate and environment town hall with Senator Hickenlooper that CCL had suggested in our lobby meeting in June. This was another long-awaited event, but fortunately other people did most of the work and I just had to send some email, brainstorm on quesitons, and cheer from the sidelines.

Now that it's the end of October I've finally found myself in a glorious state of not needing to urgently prepare for an impending deadline. Advent of Code is coming in December, of course, but I've already got my runner, generator, and other infrastructure ready and I'm studying the Julia programming language as time allows. And I need to start emailing folks who are interested in seeing the solar eclipse in Arkansas in April, but there's still several months before we need to think too hard about logistics.

So it's finally time to chill. I spent the snowy weekend taking care of non-urgent tasks like cleaning a year's worth of papers off my desk, de-toddlering the house, and replacing the obnoxious lightbulbs. I can restart game days (probably targeting Thanksgiving weekend). I should probably schedule all the health care appointments I haven't done this year. There's also low-priority radio tasks to get to, like troubleshooting the transceiver that suddenly stopped working at Untamed, figuring out how to use digital modes on the sBitx I excitedly bought last year and have barely used, and maybe designing a semi-permanent home antenna setup. Maybe I'll start learning Morse code. And oh hey, look at all those books I haven't read.
flwyd: (spiral staircase to heaven)
Some time in May I looked at my calendar and realized that every weekend in June was spoken for, and that July and August were looking pretty tight. This led to yet another summer where most of my free time has been spent either having fun away from home or preparing for said fun.

The first weekend in June was Untamed a pagan gathering in its second year, led by some of the core people from the now defunct Beltania event. It featured workshops, rituals, craft vendors, neo-highland games, a day of music performances, and drum circles. And rain. Lots of rain. It's been a wet year in Colorado, so I was expecting a wet and chilly event, and it definitely delivered. I wound up sleeping in tights plus two pairs of pajama pants, hiking socks under mucklucks, a T-shirt under a long-sleeve shirt under a sweat shirt, and a winter hat. I think the cold and damp helped the drum circles find some really neat rhythms and reflective grooves, and everyone had the good sense to bring drums that wouldn't detune too bad in the damp air. There was also a ham radio Parks on the Air event that weekend, and since the festival property is right next to the Pike National Forest I hung a wire antenna in the trees on the other side of the fence and made some contacts while keeping dry in my tent. Unfortunately, after I'd made a bunch of contacts around the 20 meter band and started to call for people to contact me ("calling CQ") my high-end radio from the early 1990s suddenly got stuck in transmit mode and I noticed a distinct electronics smell. The problem persisted when testing at home where it was warm and dry, so I've got a circuit board investigation project to do when I get a free weekend. Which will maybe be October? November. Sheesh. At least the maker space at my office should be back up and running by then.

As soon as I got home I had to unpack the truck, start packing suit cases, and plan two lobby meetings for CCL's return to Capitol Hill. Kelly and I flew out Friday and stayed with a friend's parents in northern Virginia. Spending three days at an in person conference is so much more invigorating than a day and a half of a virtual conference via Zoom has been. And I love "magical hallway conversations" that emerge; I ran into people from the Before Times that I didn't even know would be there, had some great conversations with folks I knew I'd find. Even the thirty second connections with folks are so much better than a Zoom breakout room. I also took advantage of the conference hotel's location next to Rock Creek Park to do a Parks on the Air activation with a small radio and portable antenna I brought. Band conditions were challenging and it's hard to get a lot of power from a small radio but I managed to secure enough contacts for the activation to count. While I was at the conference on Saturday, Kelly went to DC Pride and got into a bit of good trouble, engaging in "lawful annoying" peacockery to establish a perimeter in front of the homophobic street preacher who probably makes money suing people who punch him for being an obnoxious jerk.

Our day lobbying Congress was great. In the past we've been very focused on putting a price on carbon emissions. This is the most effective available solution to fighting climate change, but it's a topic that has trouble gaining traction in some Congressional offices due to their philosophical outlook or the political climate in their district. This year we had carbon pricing and clean energy permitting reform as dual focuses with the meeting lead and member liaison choosing the topic that's the best fit for the office. This seemed to work quite well; we had some great conversations with offices where we've previously received a tepid response, and a lot of members were quite excited to see us. I was even involved in literal magical hallway discussion: a member was in a committee meeting all day, but really wanted to meet with CCL, so her staffers took us down the elevator and around the building where we had a ten minute conversation on a whole bunch of topics before their scheduler dragged them back in to mark up a bill. I also had the honor of leading a half-hour face-to-face meeting with Senator Hickenlooper who's been a big supporter of both carbon pricing and clean energy permitting reform.

We took advantage of the CO2 expenditure of flying to Washington DC to take a small vacation around the Chesapeake Bay region. Our first leg took us to Williamsburg Virgina by way of the Edgar Allen Poe Museum in Richmond, in part so we could pet the resident black cats. We checked into a B&B where all the rooms were themed after a U.S. president, ate some amazingly delicious mussels steamed in a chorizo sauce, walked down Colonial Williamsburg's Duke of Gloucester Street at sunset (good historic architecture vibes, cool fireflies, and reduced chaotic energy from tourist hordes). The next day we visited both Jamestown historic sites. The State of Virginia and the National Park Service both run a site focused on the first English settlement in the U.S. and its interactions with the native people. The State-run one is significantly more tourist-oriented, featuring people in period dress engaging in 17th Century crafts, recreated sailing ships (there was much quiet singing of I'm On A Boat"), and a folk park style buildings recreating Powhatan buildings and the Jamestown Fort. The National Park version is more of an archaeological site than a folk park, though it does have a working recreation of the Jamestown glassblowing site. The site is also quieter, with more of a chance to connect with the landscape and the James River, giving something of a sense of how the settlers and Indians might have experienced the place. (For one, the English woolen clothing must've been incredibly uncomfortable in June.) We finished the evening with another Parks on the Air activation from a small strip of sand at the edge of James Island. I was able to contact Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and attracted a hunter from Spain which felt pretty good for a 15 watt radio.

After a fun crossing of the Chesapeake Bay bridge and tunnel we spent the weekend in Maryland's eastern shore. The book themed B&B with a charming English hostess was much more our style. We'd hoped to take a canoe around Janes Island but the wind speed would've made paddling too difficult so we hung out at a picnic table coloring and playing ham radio. Band conditions were awful due to a geomagnetic storms, so getting the needed ten contacts for an activation took two hours. We then enjoyed a delicious crab cake lunch and then listened to Seldom Scene at the Crisfield Bluegrass Festival we didn't know was happening.

On the way back to NoVa we visited the Harriet Tubman Museum, a fairly new state park and national monument that does a really good job sharing and contextualizing Harriet Tubman's life and slavery in the mid-19th Century. Throughout the trip I was impressed with the care taken by museum curators to feature the slavery and Indian parts of the stories in meaningful ways, far beyond a token land acknowledgment.

The fourth weekend of June was ARRL Field Day when ham radio clubs across North America set up a temporary station and fill the airwaves with contacts. I've been in California for the last two Field Days, so I was excited to be able to check out the great setup the Boulder Amateur Radio Club does at Betasso park west of Boulder. I'd intended to set up a tent and operate into the late shift of this 24-hour event, but I realized that the generator would make falling asleep quite challenging and opted to get one Saturday night of the month in my regular bed. Sunday was spent recovering from the month that was, and mowing the grass that had been going bonkers from all the rain this year.

The Fourth of July long weekend brought Dead and Company to Folsom Field on their final tour. The shows were sold out or close to it, but I was able to find some spots with enough room to dance a bit. There were some really good performances, including some stellar drums & space, but I was a little disappointed with the set list. I think they only played two songs that premiered after 1979 (Standing on the Moon and So Many Roads). I knew they weren't likely to play any Pigpen or Brent Mydland songs, but it would've been great to hear something from the '80s like Tons of Steel or Throwing Stones or bring out a song that left the repertoire after the '60s like Viola Lee Blues. We also got a cat on July 1st (we'd been targeting this month for cat adoption for quite some time), so all my non-Dead energy for the weekend went into making the house safe and comfortable for a feline.

I spent the next couple unstructured weekends preparing for Burning Man. Given the amazing heat last year and the likelihood of wild and wacky weather from El Niño this year, I want to up my shade game so I have a hope of sleeping a little longer. I decided to drape a large piece of aluminet over two military surplus camo net poles, forming something of an A-frame. My ability to visualize objects and then make that imagined plan meet reality isn't one of my strong suits, so hopefully a test run of this shade structure will go well at Dragonfest (where shade that lets rain in isn't a huge win, but when else am I going to have time to try it?). I spent the final July weekend at a Ranger training campout near Ward. This was great fun, including the drinking-and-joking-around-the-campfire session, but its late season timing means I've got one less Burning Man prep weekend, and don't get a full weekend to prep for Dragonfest. Fortunately "camping in Colorado with a bunch of Pagans" is packing I can do without too much thought. I'm quite glad I decided not to go to the Ranger command team training the previous weekend, otherwise I'd have all the info for Burning Man and none of the actual necessary stuff.

August's weekend lineup features Dragonfest, then Pack For Burning Man Weekend, then Burning Man Opening Weekend, then Man Burn Weekend, then Get Home, Unpack, And Fall Asleep Weekend. That's usually followed by Clean The Dust Off All Your Stuff and then, wouldn't you know it, it's autumn equinox and time to do some kind of anniversary/birthday weekend getaway.

Yeesh. Maybe one of these years I'll spend a summer just hanging out.
flwyd: (xkcd don quixote)
I spent several weeks in June and July on a road trip to California and back. Covid uncertainty means "drive around and camp" has significant advantages over "fly and hotels." If you get sick before you leave, cancelation is releasing a couple campsites and you get to save money on gas. If you get sick while traveling you can either sit in a camp chair in the woods feeling lousy for a few days or drive home early. So last year I decided to visit my brother and a friend on the west coast and check out the Fourth of Juplaya, an annual event where a bunch of Burners go to the Black Rock Desert and do things you can't do at Burning Man.

This year my sister-in-law suggested we take my nephew on his first camping trip. In mid-February I booked what I think was the last available coastal campsite between the Bay Area and Mendocino County for the last week of June, which feels like one of the more absurd facets of modern life. "What will the weather be like in five months? Will we still feel like going there? Does our tent even fit? I hope that part of California won't have burned down by the time we get there."

Plans didn't change, so we headed westward as planned. We stayed the first night in an old hippy bus at Mystic Hot Springs, where we had to book a 2-hour soaking window in advance. This felt like an even more absurd aspect of modern life. "Schedule your bath time weeks in advance!" We spent the following night at a campsite outside Mammoth Lakes, which I was glad to see could be reserved on a Sunday night with just a few days notice. Driving through Yosemite before 4pm also requires an advance timeslot booking. These were sold out, but we had a grand ol' time dawdling at Mono Lake and the Upside Down House and Mono Basin museum that we cruised up Tioga Road at a leisurely pace in the late afternoon.

We spent a few days with two friends, two kids, and two cats in too-hot Fresno. We made paintings, cut solstice decorations out of construction paper, went swimming, played monsters for kids to attack, and ate garden-fresh produce. I think these kids will be alright. Then off to the Bay Area, hugging a bag of ice across the Central Valley because my car's AC wasn't working. In San Jose we tried to help with the chaos of a toddler, an anxious dog, and two working parents, with perhaps a modicum of success. I also led a Colorado congressional lobby meeting from a California back yard.

Salt Point State Park didn't burn down in the five months since making a reservation. I discovered that our site had a large tree stump in the middle, making the placement of our 10'x14' canvas tent that must be staked down lest it fall on your head a tight dance of geometry. The weekend was overcast and misty, as Northern California is wont to do, a welcome reprise from the 100° in the rest of the west. Our nephew had a grand time playing with trucks in the dirt and pushing his dump truck up and down the trails. My Mendocino County friends came down for a day with their toddler who was born the same week in 2019. The boys played quite well together, considering more than half their lives has been in the age of Safer At Home. I set up my ham radio and tried to join in on the fun of ARRL Field Day, but the only good tree options had my antenna running north-south and thus sending peak power west across the ocean or east right into the Coastal Range. I managed to make all of one successful contact; a few other folks in the Pacific Northwest could hear snippets but couldn't get my full callsign.

As I took the scenic California Highway 1 home a Point Reyes National Seashore police officer pulled me over and told me he was impressed that my license plate had been on my car so long that the letters had faded to the point of illegibility. I'd always assumed this was dirt that I didn't bother cleaning off, but upon later inspection I noticed that that the paint on the plate was starting to peel off. He told me to get replacement plates when I got back home but (foreshadowing) I don't actually need to worry about that problem.

Kelly flew home after the camping weekend to get back to work while I headed east towards the desert with my car and all our stuff. I opted to cross the Sierra Nevadas on highway 108, a lovely drive with a great overlook of Donnell Lake and a Stanislaus River valley. I spent the night at Buckeye Campground which had plenty of no-reservation-required campsites, probably on account of it being a Wednesday. I had significantly more luck with my ham radio setup, thanks to some fortunate band conditions. I talked to a guy in Mozambique via the gray line on 40 meters and a guy in France on 20 meters which is normally a "daytime band." In the morning I made some more Parks on the Air contacts, this time just in the U.S. The camp host noticed my setup and chatted for a bit, noting that another camper had also set up a ham radio antenna the previous night. I met him a little later, and then a third ham in the campground who didn't have an HF antenna up (he was fishing for Parks In The Water rather than broadcasting for Parks On The Air, I suppose). I then headed a couple miles downstream to Buckeye Hot Spring where I met two more ham operators and enjoyed a great soak. Buckeye might be the best side-of-a-cold-river hot springs I've had the chance to enjoy. I also checked out the nearby Travertine Hot Spring in its colorful geologic splendor.

Stay tuned for part two, where things stop going according to plan.
flwyd: (sun mass incandescant gas)
At the beginning of April I drove down to Arkansas to scout locations and get the climate vibe for the April 8th, 2024 total solar eclipse. I also used the trip to play radio through Parks on the Air. My top priorities were finding out whether early-April camping was pleasant, if the weather made early-afternoon clear skies likely, and whether trees were likely to block the view. My summary report is that all three conditions were met.

Aside from 24 hours of overcast skies and rain my first day, the weather was very cooperative. There were plenty of light fluffy clouds, but if April 8th 2024 is anything like April 8th 2022, the eclipse viewing forecast should be pretty good. The trees were also not nearly as obstructive as I'd worried: even a small break like a road or a campsite lets you see the early afternoon sun above the treetops. The deciduous trees were just starting to bloom and the evergreens don't have thick foliage like ponderosas, so there's plenty of sky even in the middle of the forest. This means almost anywhere in the path of totality could be a decent viewing location, not just the panoramic mountain vistas and north-side-of-a-lake spots I'd been scouting. I spotted Craw Billy's cajun restaurant en route to my first campsite, an eclectic open-air setup run by a colorful character; I told him they could probably do good business if they rented out space to eclipse campers and maybe had a couple bands play.

The environment felt a lot like the Colorado Rocky Mountains in late spring, but with water oozing randomly oozinig from the ground. The weathered limestone rocks had a very familiar feel, particularly when used as a vantage point to look out over a stream-carved valley. The tree species were all different, but their density created a familiar forest feeling. The days were warm enough to take off my shirt when the sun was out; nights got chilly enough that I wore long underwear under pijamas. I'd heard that ticks and chiggers could be trouble in the Ozarks, but they weren't out yet.

I stayed at three campgrounds—two at Army Corps of Engineers reservoirs and one in a mesa-top state park—all of which were comfortable, though not without weather challenges. My first day at Greers Ferry Lake featured light to medium rain all day, followed by heavy rain and wake-you-up thunder through the night. When I set up in the dark, my Colorado mountain camping instincts had correctly identified a water channel running between campsites and kept my tent on thee dry side of things. Before the rain began in earnest I figured out what worked (eye bolts attached to fishing line) and what didn't (paracord doesn't like to slide over branches) when tossing a wire dipole into a tree, finally succeeding in getting my feed point close to 20 feet up a tree with the wire sloped down but still above head height. After a couple park-to-park contacts from the picnic table in some very light rain, I set up the radio in my tent and made about 30 contacts as far away as California, New Hampshire, Puerto Rico, and even a beam antenna in Italy. Since the rain was pretty heavy in the evening I also tried checking in to The Freewheelers Net on 80 meters. I'd listened to that net from home with an indoor antenna that had no shot at getting out on 80m; I'd hoped that my tree hanging job, plus being several hundred miles closer to most of the folks on the net, would help my signal get through, but no dice. Several folks could tell someone was making a call, but between my low-for-80 antenna height and the major thunderstorms from Texas through the Ohio valley they couldn't pull me out of the static. I guess I'll need to work out an 80m antenna plan for my small suburban lot before I can proclaim "It's good to be a freewheeler."

I spent the middle of the week in Petit Jean State Park on top of a mesa that overlooks the winding Arkansas River. Whereas Greers Ferry didn't offer much to do besides boating (or a swim from the beach in chilly water), Petit Jean packs in several stunning vistas and fun trails. The marquee spot is at the east end of the mesa near the gravesite of the titular Petit Jean (a woman who disguised herself as a boy to join her husband's expedition in the North American wilds), offering a 270° panorama of the Arkansas valley floor. I expect that spot to be popular with eclipse viewers, though its small parking lot and lack of restrooms could create logistic challenges. The other side of the mesa features some fantastic sunset viewing with nearby hills taking the place of the eastward valley view. Both sides offer great views of vultures (to my Colorado eyes they still look like hawks until they're close enough to see their skin heads) casually circling on thermal air columns. In the middle, Petit Jean offers several nice hikes into a river valley fed by an impressive waterfall… it still feels weird that Arkansas has lakes on top of mountains. My radio adventures in Petit Jean were less successful. While I had some tall trees at my campsite, most of them didn't have branches until probably 30 feet from the ground. With an optimal setup this could have been beneficial—the higher the wire the better your signal generally gets out—but I didn't want to be throwing metal hardware high and hard in the dark towards campers across the road. I also realized that a dipole can be challenging to set up even with plenty of trees around, since you want three support points (wire ends and the feedpoint in the middle) with appropriate spacing and all in a line. My first attempt involved dealing with a rats nest of fishing line caught in some small branches (thank goodness I brought some telescoping aluminum tent poles I could use to unhook stray loops) and then making almost a 90 degree turn between the two wire segments at the feedpoint-strapped-to-a-tree. It turns out that a significant angle in my antenna results in a really high SWR in the 20 meter band, so while I was able to make a few park-to-park contacts on 17 meters, I decided I needed to redo the antenna before activating the park and having everyone try to contact me, so I went exploring instead. I tried picking up some contacts on the VHF calling and adventure frequencies from my handheld radio from the scenic overlook, but apparently nobody listens to 146.52 in the middle of the day in that part of Arkansas…or driving down I-40. My reconfigured antenna hanging job, with the feed point suspended about head height over a large bush was able to broadcast reasonably well the morning before leaving, picking up about two dozen contacts, mostly in the midwest and east coast but reaching as far as the Utah mountains and southern Arizona. Weather at Petit Jean was quite pleasant, though I did have trouble sleeping one night due to rapid flashes of light; they didn't come with any thunder, but it also seemed to be unlikely to come from the nearby small-time airport.

My final campground was on Lake Ouachita near Mt. Ida, the heart of Arkansas's crystal and mineral bonanza. Quartz just seems to ooze out of the ground there; you've got to move hunks of white rock out of the way in order to get a soft place to lay a tent. My visit just happened to coincide with a gem and mineral show in a field next to an insurance office, where I picked up some very reasonably priced pieces from some major rock geeks. You could tell that most of them are much better at collecting minerals in the forest than at running a retail operation. I'd booked a mildly rurgged campsite near thee tip of a peninsula in the lake, figuring noisy RVs would be less likely that far out, and also envisioning that a peninsula on the south shore of a lake would be a good mock-eclipse-viewing spot. As soon as I arrived, I realized I hadn't thought about the downside of camping on a peninsula: no wind breaks for a couple miles. Fortunately my site had a bit of a slope, so I managed to avoid the full force of the 30+mph winds while pitching my tent; sleeping was chilly and noisy, though. Not wanting to throw wires up a tree in high winds, I drank a beer and walked around the peninsula, helping a family secure the roof of a very janky popup, sharing marshmallows and stories with a couple young boys, and having a long fireside chat with an Arkansas couple who love Colorado, motorcycle touring, cigarette smoking, and talking. Hard wind continued the next day, so I went for a short drive in the mountains, hiking up a short fire tower trail to Hickory Nut Mountain where I could do a combined Parks and Summits on the Air. The SOTA app claimed I was not with a 25 meter contour of the summit, though I'm pretty sure the USGS survey corner I found marked the high point. (It's a lot less clear in the Ozarks than the Rockies when you're actually on top of a mountain.) Nonetheless, my dipole strung 10 feet up in the trees atop a ridge line got out quite well, picking up 50 contacts in about two hours. The California park-to-park activator couldn't quite pick me out of the noise, but I got four from Colorado and one from Montana. The wind was actually less intense on top of the ridge than it had been in the campground. My arms were sore for a couple days after dragging a cart up the hill with a 100 amp-hour battery, an early-90s base station radio, a folding chair and TV table, and far more cables and tools than I needed. There are much lighter-weight ham radios, but they're hard to buy in 2022 thanks to supply chain challenges.

I'm sure they'll be more popular come eclipse weekend, but none of the campgrounds were very crowded in early April (it was still a bit chilly). They would also be a nice setup for several friends to book adjacent sites in case we want to get a festival theme camp vibe going on. Dispersed camping in either the Ozark/St. Francis or Ouachita National Forests are also good options, particularly if you can hike to a hill with a nice view.

I planned my route around a couple roadside attractions and was not disappointed. Thanks to recommendations from Reddit, I stopped at Big Brutus, the world's largest electric shovel. It had electric cables with larger diameter than my arm, top speed of a quarter mile an hour, a 16-story boom for clearing earth away from coal deposits, and a worker dedicated to constantly lubricating the machine from 55-gallon oil drums. Boot Hill Museum in Dodge City has a good mix of cheesy interactive exhibits and extensive collections of old west artifacts, and would be lots of fun with kids. Crystal Bridges, the free American art museum funded by inherited Walmart money, outdid my expectations with some really good modern and experimental work as well as art highlighting the challenges faced by indigenous and Black Americans, sharing space with 18th and 19th Century paintings of rich white people. It was also playing host to prom activities, so there were lots of overdressed teenagers. I also crossed three state borders in about an hour without getting out of the car, which still feels weird to this western boy.
flwyd: (big animated moon cycle)
I'm hitting the road next week to scout out possible camping locations for the 2024 eclipse in the Arkansas Ozarks and Ouachita Mountains. I've probably spent more time scouting campgrounds and picking the perfect campsites than I will actually spend at those sites.

I'm also treating this as a ham radio vacation; I'll be bringing my HF radio and a wire antenna that I can hoist into the trees by tossing an eye bolt on a length of paracord. I've spent a bunch of time this month making Anderson PowerPole[1] cables, testing out a discount "solar generator"[2], and getting logging programs set up. What I haven't done is pack any clothes or buy food for the trip. I guess I can take solace in the fact that if I'm hungry I can ask someone a couple thousand miles away to send me a snack.

[1] This process is remarkably fun, I'm now trying to think up other things I could power with 12 volts so that I have an excuse to make more cables.
[2] Unlike a gas generator it doesn't really generate electricity, it's basically a combined package with an inverter and several ports.
flwyd: (copán ruinas stone face)
[I started to write a blog post about my Iceland trip on the ride home, then promptly got busy on return, so didn't even post the beginning. Hopefully I can carve out some more time in October for blogging; there's plenty to share!]

International travel in the previous decade featured planned and opportunistic visits to a desktop computer to check email and post to LiveJournal. Many hostels had a computer or two in a common area and you could pay cash at cyber cafes to use the Internet for a few hours.

Traveling in 2019 means the Internet is always in your pocket and you can reply to an email at any ol' cafe (many of which offer free WiFi but none of which have a keyboard handy). Typing on a phone is a pretty miserable experience, so proper travel journaling tends to lose out to flipping through RSS feeds of publications that haven't woken up yet.

A brief Iceland trip report, written on a smartphone keyboard on a plane over the great plains…

The idea for the trip was to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary and Kelly and my 4th. Icelandair's Denver to Reykjavík flight features a totally reasonable early evening departure so we had ample time to show up at my parents' house early, focus my mom on finishing packing, and get to the airport with no need to rush around. The overnight nature of the flight had given me hope that plane-sleep would be possible, but with a flight time under eight hours you'd have to be a sleep ninja to get a good night's rest between beverage service and morning-over-Greenland (which was gorgeous, by the way, with black stony peaks poking up through white ice and clouds).

Upon landing we managed to take a bus into town, pick up a car, find a restaurant, and buy groceries (all praise the "Google Lens live-translate the words your camera is pointing at" feature of Google Translate for helping us avoid allergies and properly identify herring in wine sauce). Everyone else in the car nodded off while Google Maps led us to our rental cottage near Þingvellir lake. I guess travel in the smartphone era isn't all bad.

Þingvellir, ancient site of the Allþing the world's first parliament, sits dramatically between the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates. The Öxará river plunges over the cliff face (the first of many waterfalls we saw) and then shifts suddenly back to a slow and wide steam. The seats of government power tend to be designed to inspire awe—think of the grand marble buildings in Washington, inspired by the marble ruins of ancient governments in Athens and Rome. But as upstarts with only the resources available on a volcanic island and whatever they can row across the North Atlantic, an annual gathering in a stunning outdoor setting saves labor for the more important work of building farmhouses that stay warm for the winter.

A Wetter Wind

Sunday, August 25th, 2019 09:24 pm
flwyd: (playa surface)
Thousands of folks are in line at the Burning Man gate today. Instead, we arrived in Reykjavik this morning. Iceland decided to welcome us Burners with a day of intense wind but bearing rain instead of dust.

It was drizzly and gusty in the morning and early afternoon while we navigated our way to picking up a car, then lunch (OMG airplane recovery), then the supermarket. We even caught a glimpse of sky as we headed east towards Selfoss. We unloaded our bags at the rental cabin during a patch of dryness. Sorry thereafter the intense rain picked up with 35+ MPH winds that haven't really let up in five hours. So much for a walk along the lake shore to decompress from the travel.

The rain makes a lovely sounds on the roof, though, and we're all warm and dry. Hopefully the wind dies down tomorrow so we aren't literally blown away at the site of the Althing.

Iceland Postcards

Sunday, August 18th, 2019 11:45 pm
flwyd: (spencer hot springs feet)
Yipes! In a week I'm going to be in Iceland and I really don't feel like I've gotten enough organized.

Would you like a postcard from the land of ice and fire? Send me an email with your mailing address, or leave a comment on this post. (Comments are screened to protect your privacy.)

Jamaican Me Tired

Monday, April 29th, 2019 10:11 pm
flwyd: (step to the moon be careful)
My big motivation in scheduling a Caribbean vacation this spring was to jump out of my daily life sequence, which was impeding sleep and generating a lot of inflammation, and take it easy in a new environment. We set goals for various parts of the island, but didn't make commitments beyond flights and lodging so that "I'm tired and need to relax" could happen at any time.

As it turned out, "I'm tired and need to relax" happened most of the time. But actually getting sleep was a lot of work.

Outside of Kingston (the big city) and Port Royal (a spur hanging off the big city), night time featured a chorus of frogs or lizards or nocturnal birds that would chirp from sundown to sunup. This was lovely while enjoying dinner or reading before bed. It was incredibly frustrating while trying to sleep. The noise would die down around dawn, as light started to creep into the room. (There are many nice features of an eco-resort-style cabin. Impervious to light and sound they are not.) Combined with "not the same as my bed at home," the noise and light meant I spent most of the trip accumulating sleep depravation.

This lack of sleep made it hard to accomplish other trip goals. I'd hoped to find some good dance parties on our final weekend (split between Ocho Rios and Kingston). But these tend to start between 8 and 10 and go as late as 4am. By 8pm I was generally finishing dinner and yawning and couldn't fathom having the energy to do anything more adventurous than sit in a chair by 10.

Even chatting with locals was overwhelming: as an introvert, interacting with other people takes spoons, which were in short supply after a night of poor sleep. And in touristed areas of Jamaica there's a constant stream of hustlers and touts and handcrafters trying to get you to buy something. I'd expected this, and have experienced it in some other places I've traveled. But in Jamaica it was extra intense: I don't think I've previously had to shoo away people trying to sell me stuff while I'm eating lunch. One of my favorite photos from the trip is a sign in the Port Antonio craft market that proclaims "No harrasment here" [sic], and it was probably our most pleasant shopping experience. This kind of energy probably meant I spent less money with small-time merchants and led to more meals in hotel restaurants than I'd expected. One of the nicest things about New Kingston was the almost total lack of harassment and hustle: aside from the route taxis honking to see if I needed a ride while walking along the sidewalk and the touts at the big bus center hardly anyone tried to get me to buy something. The little bit of time I spent walking around Port Antonio was also refreshingly free of commercial assault; if we return to Jamaica we definitely want to spend more time in the Portland area.

We found plenty to like, of course. The water was nice, and I got in some fun snorkeling. We met some fun and chill people and ate a lot of tasty food. I had fun taking photos, though I think the number of standout highlights from this trip will be smaller than I expected. We heard some good music (though less than I'd been expecting; while one taxi driver had his car tricked out for big sound, half of them didn't even have the radio on) and I came back with a nice stack of CDs. But I think my big memory of this trip will be "Jamaica… the island where I couldn't sleep."

This trip did satisfy some of my existential angst that had inspired it. I'd been reviewing photos I took a decade ago and said "Man, travel used to really excite me, but the only trips out of the country I've taken since I started this job were for work and a wedding. Am I missing out?" It turns out the answer is no, as long as I'm dealing with autoimmune and sleep medical issues, I'm not missing out on extended adventures in unfamiliar territory. And while my goal this year was "Take a vacation that's not Burning Man, so you come back rested and don't need a vacation to recover from your vacation" there's something to be said about a trip where I've got control of my bed situation.

Walking from the Edge

Thursday, April 4th, 2019 06:58 pm
flwyd: (pensive goat)
A few days into our Jamaica trip and things are irie. We spent the first two nights at the Grand Port Royal Hotel. Scenes from the James Bond film Dr. No were filmed there in the early '60s and the property has an air of once-greatness as it now doesn't get enough business to keep up appearances. I think there were more staff at the hotel than guests while we were there, though I think business picks up on the weekends when Kingston folks head to Port Royal for a quick getaway. Port Royal's main attraction is Fort Charles (renamed from Fort Cromwell after the Restoration), the remaining British naval fortress which survived the 1692 earthquake that sunk two thirds of the city and thousands of people. The site tour guide, a Rastaman claiming descent from Port Royal buccaneers provided a very entertaining narration. Despite some pre-trip hopes we didn't go snorkeling over the sunken pirate city The last two days were spent up in the Blue Mountains at a lovely funky guesthouse called Mount Edge, with buildings which do in fact cling to the side of a steep ravine. Our cabin has a mishmash of construction that you can get away with in the tropics--half of the floor is polished stone on concrete while the other half is wood over the mountain slope that you can see through the cracks. The shower has a plastic bottom for some reason and you can see the PVC drain lead off through the grass beneath your feet. As I write this the night is loud with crickets and, I think frogs, chirping and croaking away. During the day cars honk as they approach curves in the winding mountain road--the low honk of truck horns sounds like the mating call of the lorries. The establishment is also the EITS Cafe, serving seriously delicious meals in an open air dining area where twin-tailed hummingbirds occasionally zip by your head. Yesterday we toured a coffee plantation where a guide extolled the virtues of Blue Mountain coffee beans being the best in the world. I can't verify that claim; coffee generally smells so terrible to me that I don't even try to taste it. That said, I was able to drink a whole cup of pure Blue Mountain coffee without adding any other flavors which is a sing signal that it's good stuff. We then walked over to Strawberry Hill, a very fancy hotel, and had lunch. They seemed bewildered that we had just walked up their driveway; I guess guests at fancy hotels always come by car. We then walked further down into Irish Town, long ago home to Irish coopers who made the barrels by which Jamaican coffee was shipped to England. Today I hiked solo up the road two hours with no particular destination, though I turned around at the Gap Café when I discovered no one was there--so I couldn't celebrate my thousand foot accent with a cool beverage. Walking down I was bathed in clouds for awhile, taking in the scent of most tropical trees and bushes along with fresh asphalt. The clouds then lifted, revealing fine views of the Kingston harbor, though higher clouds and a mouse atmosphere likely mean the photos aren't great.
flwyd: (mail.app)
If you'd like a postcard from Jamaica, let me know your current mailing address. Comments on this post are screened, so feel free to leave it in a comment, or drop me an email.

Brain on Island Time

Saturday, March 2nd, 2019 08:45 pm
flwyd: (spencer hot springs feet)
After a whole bunch of planning, Kelly and I worked out an itinerary for a vacation in Jamaica in April. Between a travel book, lots of Internet searching, and a spreadsheet we had the length of stay calculated for five areas. We booked lodging in each place and then bought tickets, returning on a Monday.

Two days later, Kelly pointed out that our return flight was on Wednesday, instead. I'd had way too many Chrome tabs open and picked the wrong one. And even though we spent at least 15 minutes closely studying return times and layover durations we hadn't actually verified the dates of travel.

Apparently my brain really needs another two days in the tropics.
flwyd: (1895 USA map)
Last week I joined over 600 other Citizens Climate Lobby volunteers for the annual Congressional Education Day. CCL's main lobby day occurs in June, when we meet with over 500 offices of Representatives, Senators, and Delegates to discuss our proposal for a revenue-neutral carbon fee and dividend with border adjustments. The organization's Legislative Director, Danny Richter, then analyzes all of the meeting notes and identifies topics brought up by members and their staffs. For both Democrats and Republicans this year, the top topic was the Climate Solutions Caucus while the second and third topics for Republican offices were jobs and the border adjustment while Democratic offices talked about the Paris accord, jobs, and the dividend. In November, CCL volunteers pay their way to Washington again to share those results, letting congressional offices know how other offices have been responding to our proposal. CCL leaders say they're not aware of any other group that meets with approximately every office in one day nor of one which can then share aggregate results of Hill-wide behind-closed-door meetings.

One of the most promising findings in this year's analysis is the degree to which GOP offices are engaged in our conversations. For the past four years, Dr. Richter has recorded the staff or member engagement level with CCL volunteers. Tier 1 covers meetings where staff showed genuine interest; Tier 2 meetings had quiet but not uninterested staff, and Tier 3 represents meetings where staff were either combative or totally uninterested. In 2014, the ratio of Tier 1 to Tier 3 meetings with Republicans was 3:1. Each year the number of interested offices has increased and the number of cold offices has decreased; this June we had 21 active and engaged meetings for every combative or disinterested meeting. While popular perception may hold that Republicans don't care about climate change, Citizens' Climate Lobby has found that many GOP lawmakers acknowledge, at least in private, that climate change is a significant concern for America and many of them think the federal government should take some kind of action. This is not to say that they're all ready to turn our proposal into law&emdash;many of them have significant concerns or they prefer a different approach. There was a sense at the CCL conference and among staffers on The Hill that opinions had shifted significantly in the last several years and that bipartisan legislation tackling climate change could come soon. I find this really exciting, and I plan to continue helping build political will for a federal climate solution.

Some personal notes:
Conference organizers said that the dress code on The Hill is formal: offices aren't likely to take you seriously unless you're wearing a suit and tie or socially-approved female- or military-equivalent. I got a suit and dress clothes when I was a senior in college (prior to a national honor society meeting), figuring that as an adult I'd need to wear a suit on occasion. Based on the CU Buffs lapel pin, I don't think I've worn the suit since I left college, so maybe this outing means I'm finally a grown up at age 38.

I heard from other CCLers to expect a lot of walking, since Senate office buildings are on the northeast side of the U.S. Capitol while House offices are on the southeast side, with under-street tunnels connecting the office buildings on each side. I lucked out with three straight meetings on one side. Some folks with short times between meetings told me that some kind staffers had helped them get access to the underground trolley below the Capitol building, which sounded pretty cool.

Speaking of walking and subways, both of them were effective modes of transport in DC. The town is designed with the assumption that a lot of people won't be driving a car, so sidewalks are wide and trains are frequent. The subway system also seemed significantly more cheerful and less grimy than New York's. A friend who used to work in DC told me about the bike path along Rock Creek, so I had a lovely walk from the National Zoo (home of photogenic pandas) to Georgetown, the C&O Canal (now a national park that's 185 miles long and about 30 yards wide), the Potomac River (where I found a Chartres labyrinth overlooked by a bird of prey), the Lincoln Memorial, Korean War Memorial, and Vietnam War Memorial. After five hours of walking, my thighs were sore for two days.

I met with four offices in and around my state. Although I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of those meetings, I'll say that I felt all of them were positive. Republican staffers I met with were interested in our proposal and expressed very specific concerns about policy details and how it might affect their constituents. This is exactly the sort of meeting we want to be having. And offices, even ones who disagree with us, are generally happy to meet with us, in part because they know we're not going to come in and yell at them.

Part of the CCL approach to congressional meetings is to start with an appreciation. It doesn't have to be about climate, but it needs to be something you truly appreciate about something the person has done or said. In one meeting that we were a little trepidatious about, the meeting quickly dove into the policy discussion before I had a chance to share the appreciation. After a spirited discussion about climate and energy policy that lasted twice as long as we expected, I wrapped up the meeting with my appreciation. This led to another five minute discussion on a different topic on which our group and the staffer shared a lot of common concerns.

Maybe we lucked out with the location of the conference hotel, but there's a lot of really good food in Washington from around the country and globe. I had fantastic Afghan curry, Lebanese lamb stew, a crawfish-prawn-sausage boil, and some good bagels.

The National Mall is bigger on foot than it appeared in my minds eye after looking at maps. I arrived in time to get a Burner welcome, do some dancing, and watch the temple burn at Catharsis on the Mall next to the Washington Monument, which is right in the middle of the mall. The Lincoln Memorial at one end and Capitol building on the other seemed quite distant while the White House, which looks as if it's just a few small parks away on a map, seemed rather small. One could probably explore all of the monuments on the National Mall in a day, but it would be a long one.

Speaking of the Lincoln Memorial, despite having seen countless pictures of it, I was unaware what's in the wings. The left side has the Gettysburg Address, which begins with one of the most famous sentences in English but which I don't think I had previously read in its entirety. It's really good and remains relevant today, the 154th anniversary of the speech. The other wing features Lincoln's second inaugural address, which I found quite powerful. Also notable to contemporary debates, when some folks claim that the Civil War was "not about slavery," Lincoln's contemporary remarks make it pretty clear that he (one of the two primary belligerents) thought it was. Above the speeches are two murals with perhaps the most White Savior imagery I've ever seen.

The Korean War Veterans Memorial, newer and much less famous than the Vietnam Veterans Memorial has a set of white soldier statues in a triangular field. Their features are much less distinct than most statues, creating a really beautiful ghostly sense of almost-presence. I was there a day after Veteran's Day so there were a lot of floral wreaths sent by various veteran and civic groups along the also-ghostly black granite mural.

I was familiar with the design and context for the Vietnam Veterans wall. But what was much more emotionally salient, and also familiar from Burning Man's temples, was all the offerings and remembrances left at the foot of the wall. These ranged from candles and flowers to photographs to poems to boots and hats. Much more than a name, these give a sense of the character and humanity of the Americans who lost their lives in that unwinnable war.

Before planning this trip, I had not previously realized that "The Smithsonian" is not one museum but half a dozen under an organizational umbrella. They line the eastern arm of the National Mall with striking architecture. Following a tip from my friend, who worked for The Smithsonian, on my last day I headed for the 4th floor of The National Museum of the American Indian. The shape and color of the building's exterior clues you in that it's got a bit of a different flavor and the tone of the exhibits made clear that Indian people were involved in telling their own story: it wasn't simply a monument to the collected artifacts of colonialism, which is how the British Museum feels. The 4th floor features a long curving exhibit structured around the cycle of the year, the moon, and the stars. Several alcoves introduced the world view of a different indigenous American people and how it plays into their culture, from dress to tools to housing. The other half of the floor is an exhibit dedicated to treaties between Indian tribes and the United States. I had learned from A People's History of the United States that every US–Indian treaty had been broken by the United States, but I didn't know a lot about the particulars. This exhibit does an excellent job of presenting the context, negotiating perspectives, and treaty technologies (from wompum belts to written documents signed with an X to modern legal documents) of over 300 years of treaties between White and Indian groups. The exhibit shows how treaties were broken or subverted, whittling away at tribal land through paperwork and occasional extreme force. It's a remarkably fair and informative exhibit, well worth a (free!) visit for anyone visiting the nation's capital.
flwyd: (spencer hot springs feet)
A TSA checkpoint, an overnight flight[1] with guaranteed less than five hours sleep, a two-and-a-half hour layover, and a late morning (oh so late, for yesterday's morning) flight kinda erase any relaxation benefit from a Hawaiian vacation.

But man, home never felt so relaxing.

[1] All(?) flights from Hawaii to Da Mainland are overnight, I assume to avoid fighting the trade winds.
flwyd: (spam lite)
Some thoughts after a week in Maui, in no particular order:

When you're surrounded by ocean, rainbows are easy.

Even tropical fruit is expensive in Hawaii.

When Hawaiian kids thank someone for giving them candy, do they say "Mahaloween"?

If you stick your ears in the water, you can hear the wails of whales.

On Maui, it's even relaxing to be stuck in traffic.

When the sun sets over the ocean, rather than over a mountain, the clouds lose their color right away.

I wonder which immigrant group is the source of the ubiquity of macaroni salad.

When the ocean is involved, you can make plans, but don't assume the details will be the way you want them.

It's hard to recognize the right street sign when all the place names use the Hawaiian alphabet. "Our street, uh, starts with a K, ends with an i and is about three vowels long."

If you tell people you're on your honeymoon, they invariably smile and say "Congratulations!" Consider having a honeymoon that lasts for years.

Getting in the water from the shore is free, but if you do it from a boat you don't get sand in your swimsuit.

Reggae has played a big influence on contemporary local music. Surprisingly, hip hop doesn't seem to have made it to the islands.

Jet lag is no big deal in Hawaii. Dawn is about the time I'd be getting up at home, and it's also a good time to hit the water.

Even turtles go on vacation.

"Spam sushi" might sound unappealing, but call it musubi and it's delicious.
flwyd: (xkcd don quixote)
Last month, on the Thursday before the Saturday on which I was scheduled to fly across the Pacific Ocean, I couldn't bear to keep my right eye open for more than a second because everything was bright and painful. The eye surgeon gave me a prescription for durezol, a steroid in eye drop form, to be taken every hour while awake, plus dilation drops three times a day. He told me to come back the next day. "I assume I shouldn't fly to Australia on Saturday," I said, having already resigned to the honeymoon cancellation. "Not unless you're going straight from the tarmac to a doctor's office," he said.

It's Thursday again, and we've got tickets to Maui. Half as far as New Zealand and for half as long, but I have twice as many functioning eyeballs, so I'll call it even. I'm about as packed now as I was a month ago, but I feel much more ready to go.
flwyd: (cthulhufruit citrus cephalopod)
Man, Maui isn't an easy place to set up last-minute travel. I'm definitely going to need a vacation after the stress of setting up accommodation for two weeks.

I miss the days of getting off the bus in a new town and walking around the square to see which hostels have space.

But I'm super glad I can get to Polynesia at all. Hawaii is half way to New Zealand, and two weeks is half as long as a month. Yet I've got all of my eyes, so I'll call it a blessing nonetheless.

I also found it refreshing that you can identify a small local business by their complete lack of adherence to modern professional web design. Like this eco-friendly rental car company-slash-cat sanctuary.
flwyd: (farts sign - Norway)
So far, the only negative about Manhattan is the air. I choked when I exited Penn Station. And I'm spitting more often than usual to get the ambient taste out of my mouth.

Otherwise, it's a pretty neat place.

Playa Bound

Saturday, August 28th, 2010 12:09 pm
flwyd: (playa surface)
My stuff is all in the car. My bike is secured on top. Just need to pick up some fruit, then pick up Zane, unpack the car, repack it sensibly with both our stuff, and hit the road. The goal is to spend tonight at Diamond Hot Spring near Spanish Fork, UT, tomorrow night at Spencer Hot Spring near Austin, NV, and be at Burning Man around midday Monday. Hooray!

We tested out a minimal shade structure from borrowed parts last night. The shade cloth was still covered in playa dust. In the intervening year I think I'd romanticized it a little. It still smells interesting, but it's annoying to breathe in. It also got all over my hat :-/

If you need to get in touch with me, send an email (or track me down at 8:30 and Guangzhou or Ranger HQ). I'll spend much of the latter half of next week unwinding and catching up, so I'll get back to you then. I'm planning to catch up on past LJ entries too, but if you think there's something I really ought to know, bring it to my attention.
flwyd: (red succulent)
Hey various people I know in the San Francisco Bay Area,

I'll be in Mountain view next Monday through Wednesday. The main purpose of the trip is to sit next to some people who know how to build part of our new feature, but I'll be free on Monday and Tuesday evenings. Anybody want to hang out?
flwyd: (Akershus Castle cobblestones)
At Halloween, Google sponsors a costume contest for engineers who dress up as their favorite line of code.
To help relieve the stress of being tied to their computers for such long hours, Google provides employees with free online-based massage therapy.
Google employees who are about to become mothers receive 12 weeks of maternity leave; aging female engineers now coming to terms with the fact they will likely never be mothers receive two weeks of "Crushing Sense of Incompleteness Leave." (It is 50% paid.)
— Cracked's 25 Secret Perks of Working at Google
One they missed: Notification when the Street View car will pass your office so you can line up outside to wave and be silly.

I'll be in Mountain View, CA for the first two weeks of December for my Noogler Orientation. (Yes, Google officially refers to new hires as Nooglers. So if I shake your hand, you'll be touched by my noogly appendage.) If you'll be in the Bay Area and want to hang out, send me an email to tstone (a) trevorstone.org. I arrive in San Jose before noon this Sunday, the 29th and leave on Friday evening the 11th. In the intervening weekend, I'll be visiting [livejournal.com profile] mollybzz a few hours up the coast, but I should have several weeknights free, plus this Sunday afternoon/evening. I'd also love to hear about places worth visiting while I'm out there; e.g., I'd like to take a hike on Sunday.
flwyd: (drum circle w/ fire)
My summer plans came true, but I've entirely failed to blog about them. I'll do so in the near future, for posterity if nothing else, but here's a short summary. Pictures will be forthcoming. I'm not doing well at the whole "put stuff on the Internet" thing this year. On the plus side, in my grand adventures I haven't been constantly saying "This will make for a great livejournal entry."

I spent a week in the semi-desert helping set up Dreamtime. That was a blast, but I was a bit dehydrated by the end and didn't have a lot of energy to enjoy the part where everyone showed up and did stuff.

[livejournal.com profile] mollybzz and I drove through Wytanada for a week and a half, hitting Vedauwoo (Wyoming), Yellowstone (Wyoming), Glacier (Montana), and Waterton Lakes (Alberta). I took 929 photos that I haven't organized yet. Molly and I had some great conversations in the car, in the tent, and on the trail. She also spoke French from our entry into Canada until I cried. Then we bought ice cream with exact change across two currencies.

I was in a good groove for Dragonfest. I visited with old friends, helped run Men's Mysteries, brought a 35-foot dragon to the kid's parade, did some emotional processing, was in a bawdy production of Lysistrata, and drummed a little (though my djembe never left the car). I took some cool pictures of the landscape, the dragon, and some glow sticks. After a year of not doing anything for it, I'm getting to work on an online voting system for Dragonfest.

I capped the summer off with Burning Man. Much of my time was devoted to becoming a Black Rock Ranger, which is a fun way to make an important contribution to the community. I also spent a lot of time (at least six hours, plus the burn) at the temple, one of the most powerful pieces of art I've ever experienced. I took some art photographs, but discovered when I got home that the funny icon on my camera meant it was in the wrong white balance mode. Photoshop's auto-level feature seemed to do a good repair job, but that's yet another obstacle to sharing my giant pile of photos from this summer.

While I'm at it, anybody know of a good International Talk Like A Pirate Day party this weekend?
flwyd: (xkcd don quixote)
When we started, we didn't have an itinerary beyond "Spend two months in Guanduras eating fruit and speaking Spanish." After we arrived in Guatemala City, we looked at the map and scanned country highlights. "Let's head towards Peten first to avoid the rainy season, going via Cobán. That should take a week or two, right? Then head towards Honduras. Three weeks in Honduras sound good? Then we can sweep back through the highlands, going through Antigua, then a week in Atitlan, a week in Xela and maybe a week at the end along the pacific coast. And if we decide to spend some extra time in Atitlan or Xela or something, we'll have a buffer."

It's buffer time now, and we followed the plan quite well. Even though we never planned more than 5 days ahead (and that was just signing up for a diving course), we spent exactly three weeks in Honduras and exactly a week in Atitlan. We'll be back in Boulder in two weeks and have seen most of what we wanted to see. But I'd rather have too much time in a fantastic country than too little. If we'd constructed an itinerary first and then bought tickets to fit that, we probably wouldn't have budgeted time for hanging around a friendly hotel all day in case the bathroom needs a visit. I wonder if U.S. customs has the power to deport our bacteria and amœbæ at the border...

We have spent the last four days in Quetzaltenango (aka Xela) like a weekend. We can sleep in, then walk a few steps to the kitchen which is well stocked with our market vegetable purchases, not to mention granola and Boulder-made soy milk. We can walk around and find specialty stores, pay 25 cents an hour for Internet, have our choice of tasty cheap bread, and catch a good movie at 8. We can go for a pleasant hike, take a wrong turn, walk with a long-term visitor, chat with locals, pet a cow, investigate a Mayan altar next to a corn field, and find the attraction: Los Vahos, volcanic vent saunas, only $2.50 a person. Xela is an attractive place to visit -- lovely mountains, neat town, plenty of services -- but it's not a tourist town. 150,000 Guatemalans are here going about their daily business, which for the most part doesn't involve catering to people who are in town for two days to see something famous.

I can see why so many foreigners stay in Xela for quite a while. It feels like home, just without all the people I know. But you guys can wait for a couple weeks, right? Anyone in desperate need of a post card should notify me ASAP.

More Casualties

Thursday, May 28th, 2009 08:45 pm
flwyd: (xkcd don quixote)
On the bus from Antigua to Chimaltenango (the closest city on the Pan-Am Highway), a woman sat next to us on the school bus seat. I thought it was a little odd, since there was an empty spot or two still. "Maybe she's fascinated by my hair or something." She was silent through the ride, but as we approached the highway junction she said something I didn't catch. ¿Que? ¿Xela? No, vamos despues. ¿Panajachel? Sí, vamos hoy. She pointed at a bus parked on the highway, so I grabbed my bags and headed for the bus door. I was about to get off, but she and the ayudante (he collects the bus fares and puts people's stuff on top of the bus) indicated I should stay on until our bus turned the corner. I sat in the front seat, the women across the aisle, and Molly was behind me. A guy behind Molly was jostling her, she responded by telling him to have patience. In the span between waiting at a stop sign and pulling in front of the other busses, the woman unvelcroed and unziped my pants pocket and filched the wallet I bought two days ago to replace the one stolen in Poptún. Meanwhile, the guy had unzipped Molly's backpack and snagged my old camera that she was borrowing since hers broke.

So, to update the casualties list:
  • My brand new Mayan weave billfold with Q250 (approx US$30), stolen by a middle-aged woman on a bus in Chimaltenango. With the money in the wallet, she can pay for 25 more round trips to Antigua.
  • My five-year-old 3.1 MP Pentax Optio 33L with three weeks of Molly's carefully framed photos and visual memoranda, stolen by a middle-aged man on a bus in Chimaltenango.
  • A $20 bill and two $10 bills, missing from Molly's small blue bag, departure date and location unknown. Oddly, several other bills remain in the same place.

Clearly, Chimaltenango is a wretched hive of scum and villainy.
Lonely Planet advised us not to leave our things unattended there on account of bag-slashing, but I didn't think through the scenario of theives robbing me before I got off the bus. We discovered the theft a few minutes into our ride to Lake Atitlan; too far to turn back and wrestle the theives to the ground.

We spent most of the ride making light of the situation:

  • Now Molly won't get frustrated that my old camera doesn't do a good job taking the photos she likes to frame
  • Now I have an excuse to get a better pocket-sized camera in the next year, saving shoulder stress from carrying an SLR hiking
  • Maybe we should buy several decoy wallets, place them in easily-accessible pockets, and fill them with notes like "Aquí está su boleto al infierno. Es de ida, no más. ¡Disfruta el viaje!" (Here is your ticket to hell. It's one way only. Enjoy the trip!)
  • The average time I've owned a wallet in my life is about 8.5 years. 17 years on the first one, two days on the second
  • With the money from my wallet, the woman can fund 25 more round trips on that route
  • Nathan's advice: "Frustration is a magician's misdirection, leading the audience's eyes toward a distraction while in otherwise plain sight the fraid is perpetrated"
  • (In a discussion about the black plumes out the back of the '80s-vintage school bus) "It's a problem with the catalytic converter." "The Catholic converter is dirty, so it can't put the holy air into the high confession chamber, thus leading to sinful smoke."
  • Things that wouldn't happen in the U.S. #2365: A guy opening the bus's emergency exit to climb on the roof to untie a box while the bus is doing 45 uphill on a curve. #2366: Passengers boarding and departing the bus through the emergency exit while the bus is not at a full stop.

Inventory of valuables still in possession:

  • Two sane minds with senses of humor and knowledge of several languages
  • Two relatively healthy and intact human bodies
  • Two United States passports (with expired visas for China)
  • Two Visa bank cards
  • Two full camera memory cards
  • A camera bag containing a Canon Rebel XT, a 4GB Compact Flash card (over half full and containing fantastic pictures of Molly kissing a horse), and a Garmin hand-held GPS device with the locations of all my photographs
  • Two journals containing daily descriptions and observations
  • One MP3 player/recorder with a few dozen sound clips to share what cannot be photographed

Everything else could be replaced or let go with a minimum of greiving and frustration.

While it's clearly to the immediate personal benefit of the thieves to steal petty cash and old camera equipment, in the long run it hurts their community, and in turn their chance at true prosperity. While I know that not every Guatemalan is a theif, others who hear stories of theft on busses may conclude that Latinos are untrustworthy. They then don't treat them with respect and pay them a poor wage when they work in the north, lowering the flow of remissions to the south. They may also think twice about traveling in "the third world;" if they do, they may choose to stay in expensive foreign-owned hotels and take direct shuttles run by companies that don't keep their money locally. I certainly wouldn't recommend anyone stay in a hotel or eat at a restaurant in Chimaltenango, a place tarnished by the actions of a few who deny respect to people because of the color of their face and the style of their luggage.

flwyd: (xkcd don quixote)
This Internet café has 21st Century technology, but 1980s music. "Use a computer" isn´t the first thing I think when I hear Billy Jean. )They also offer the courtesy of a Latin American keyboard layout but a U.S. keyboard for added con?¿¡'´fusion.= I guess American culture percolates at different rates. Of course, in the U.S. if you want fresh goat milk, you can´t wait for the guy with a whip and eight goats to saunter up the sidewalk.

It seems like most times I fly, there´s rain involved. I remember bussing through drizzle from airports in Minneapolis, Detroit, Hong Kong and even Las Vegas of all places. Surprisingly, Denver was overcast and rainy (and I hear snowy), but Guatemala City was dry if muggy. Oh, and after an hour of absurdism in Benito Juarez (Mexico City), I´ve got lots of respect for the efficiency of transition in Narita (Tokyo). "No, we don´t want to go through immigration, we aren´t leaving the airport..."

I didn´t expect to see so many prostitutes on the taxi ride to our hotel last night, but by day this city is friendly and colorful. The favorite hobby of small children is chasing pigeons and many shops and fruit stands are run by quiet and unassuming entrepreneurs. I have a new hat in record time. We´re often hesitant to take photos of people just going about their daily lives. They´re fascinating, but recording it feels imposing. That´s why it´s convenient to have a cathedral as a backdrop. Nobody knows that the actual subject is a kid diving for a pigeon.

Now that we´re here, we´ve concocted something resembling an itenerary, heading first to Cobán, hoping to get to Tikal and the rest of El Peten before the rainy season begins in earnest. There´s a lot to visit in Guatemala, so we only budgeted a couple weeks in Honduras. The Honduran flag is blue and white horizontal stripes while the Guatemalan is blue and white vertical stripes. It should be easy to make a checkered Guanduran national flag, no?
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