What the Heck!

I love Anacortes. It's cold as hell at night but it's got a good vibe, especially when carloads of indie rockers with bikes strapped to the back drive up from Portland and San Francisco to see 3 days of K Records bands and the like. The Department of Safety did a really great job with What the Heck Fest- mad props for renting out the Port Warehouse- right on the water, open garage, bleachers, dock, and a big ass performance space with excellent acoustics and plenty of room for a sea of cross-legged sitting down twenty-somethings. I have never seen so many people sitting down to watch a show- seen it in tiny living rooms and basements but never a whole freaking warehouse. Bands warned everyone to watch out for their keys falling down in the cracks (the water was right below our bottoms) and birds pooping on our heads.

The Dept of Safety provided decent schwag too for everyone in exchange for a $13 entry- little green zine booklets of the weekend line up with fern stencils on the cover and an official What the Heck Fest post card. I got to see Mount Erie, Mirah, Your Heart Breaks, The Lonely Forest, Karl Blau, Kimya Dawnson, Earth, and OPaon. People were selling baked goods for a $1.50! Love shows with food...Folks were shooting hoops between bands and hanging out on the dock and I met a surfer boy from San Francisco who told me all about the Critical Masses down there with 300+ people drinking in the streets, taking up both sides of the road in tunnels, complete with your friendly police escort. He was so classic Cali, everything was "cool". It was a very cool nite indeed.

Then we have Louis who sees a good mullet and goes up to the guy to shake his hand to look him in the eye and sincerely tell him what a great mullet he has....and its Karl Blau....he has no idea who Karl Blau is. And he has no idea who Kimya Dawson is either and for a second forgets he's not at a dive bar in his navy town and yells "Kill Your TV" to her while shes on stage and she responds "uh-oh, someone's gonna start a fight", instantly picking up on his out-of-place heckle. Its funny to see Louis intermingle with random indie rock figureheads that so many people put on pedalstools and think are untouchable.

Trip to Phinney Farm Makes for Wierd Weekend

I saw a dude's face get piereced by a bicycle spoke this weekend, no joke. Phinney Farm South Side Social- it's a hippie commune upriver type deal where my old roomate moved to. I felt special for getting a VIP invitation brough to my door. Not really my scene but it was cool to be a part of. They have an amazing array of gardens and baby ducks. I drank stew out of a mason jar- it was chunky like vomit but tasted nothing like it. I saw my first Burlesque show and the face-piercing was part of a torture show. I was right up close for many things I never thought I'd see. Probably never will again. Sandman the Rappin' Cowboy came all the way down from Montana to serenade us with his acoustic rap and kids songs. Thanks Sandman!

Some Excursions as of Late

San Juan Island- Resort camping at Lakedale Resort. Ask me and I just might tell you which secret spot is perfect for bicycle camping.

Sauk Mountain- You will go backwards 2 seasons- precious spring wildflowers and snow! Christmas in July! Marmots too.

Bellingham- There are oodles of trails I never knew about until July 4th. Little girls were going all American style selling lemonade on the side of the trail. Good budding young capitalists. The firework show over the bay was eh, but it was worth it to see 15-20 different shows in all directions. Best town for bar hopping on bikes!

Fidalgo Island Bike Route- Nice loop through the Anacortes Community Forest Lands- Havekost Rd. to Heart Lake Rd. Heart Lake Rd. is a great slow hill after rounding Mt. Eerie and it's like riding through a mini rain forest. Fidalgo/Guemes Island Skagit Land Trust bike tour August 22!

My camera is broken thanks to sand in the lens. I hope to get another one soon so I can accompany my posts with some eye candy.

Sign this Petition!

This is a petition for adding the "bike there" option on Google Maps.

http://www.petitiononline.com/bikether/petition.html

Summer Solstice

What better way to bring in the longest day of the year with a cruise down the river with the flaming sun as your copilot? And of course with your buddy who ties PBR to a line in a plastic bag to float behind, only to leave a gift to the next lucky soul to float in our path.

Pre-river float, the day began on Shanti, Louis’s junk rig, where we used a pulley system to erect his mast into place. I learned a thing or two about tying a cleat knot and Louis learned a thing or two about how to stow a pulley rope to accommodate for dock heights. He kept talking to me in sailor terms as though I knew what the hell he was talking about and I had to keep reminding him that I wasn’t one of his classmates, just a willing friend.

After our work, which wasn’t much at all- I didn’t even break a sweat, though the wind blowing off the harbor must have kept me cool in the sun- we paddled the rig into its slip and got to really kick back. This was the first boat besides a ferry that I’ve been on since I’ve been out west.

I was impressed by the small quarters that houses our friend Louis, and by his lack of stuff, since the interior of Shanti is now his bedroom. Every thing was miniature- miniature prayer flags, miniature bed (more of a bench), miniature toilet. Books pertaining to boat culture lined the nooks and crannies and table tops, as did family photos and notes on paper. He even had a little propane stove and a bottle of champagne, a graduation gift.

Since his sails weren’t ready to be set- he had to find a truck to pick up 13 foot long battens for his unique single sail configuration- a float down the Skagit seemed appropriate to finish out the longest day of the year. We’d save a cruise along the San Juans for next time. We launched from Edgewater and caught the current on the sides and paddled off towards the south fork. From the second our kayak wooshed into the water, that proverbial feeling of refreshment and rejuvenation washed over me as we were thrust into an age-old method of relaxation.

From the inside of the river, we could see all the secret beaches and hidden tarp-tents and old wooden shacks and dock stations. We scouted a prime camping site on an islet and made a mental note to come back with more beer and gear.

At journeys end, we were able to gently persuade our ride back to go for a sunset jaunt through the flats and on up to Chuckanut. Why not throw another beautiful adventure into the sequence? Why not pull over at mile marker 12 on Chuckanut Drive and start a bonfire?

A group of youngsters had beat us to our sought-after spot by a long shot- their fire was roaring- but they eagerly invited us to join them. They were good kids. They shared their Carlo Rossi with us and even their Tofurky dogs and their green stuff.

Dillon was my favorite- a bright eyed quality kid, a laid back stoner who is never mad. He told me this, drunk- we all know drunk minds speak sober hearts- and he proved it to me through his disposition. He’s leaving for Germany in 4 days and couldn’t f-ing believe it. This kid had the best projectile vomit I have ever seen- out of nowhere he leans over and spews right on the fire, practically putting it out. The coals screamed and hissed under his wet vomit as though someone had thrown a bucket of water on it. This kept happening over and over again from his sporting chair, but he had a great attitude about it the entire time.

We sauntered off when the kids were getting too drunk to stay up and it was time for bed for the camping little drunksters. And back down the mountain we went into good ole Mount Vernon, and I drifted off to sleep in the car, leaning on the deflated kayak.

Red wine and Italian specialty cheese made with porter

....is what's on the menu tonight for Sue's fine blog experience up on her hill overlooking the Skagit. I can't help but feel I am a writer who has vacationed off to a far away land, paid a grand sum to rent a fine little mountain cabin with a view, and has comissioned herself to type away as she consumes wine and fancy Irish cheese into the wee hours of the morning. This is actually kind of a true story. Is it wrong that I look foward to this time in my evening every night before bed? I think not.

Quiet time at this house is 10 pm. Guests are encourgaed to sleep out in the yard in the summer. We have a double back yard which doubles for double privacy. Imagine a figure 8 backyard that is figure eighted by shrubs and trees. Louis is downstairs pecking away at his laptop too, awaiting his time to roll out Nicole's sleeping bag under the stars in our double back yard.

Last night feels like a dream I shared with people I am friends with. It's surrealism makes me think of what it must be like to trip acid with people. You leave the Planet Earth for a little while and come back after several long winding hours in a stupor of wondering what just happened. We walked along the Swinomish Channel (correct me if I am wrong, locals) until the houses whose lives we were spying on ended and we descended to our own private beach. The story Andrew told me of getting lost in a boat in the dense fog set the tone for the evening for some reason. I felt like I was encased in something like a dream-fog for those hours we encircled and ate and drank and chanted and strummed and smoked and talked and massage-trained and got naked and dabbled in the cold sound, all around a pallet-board fire. Even waking after sleeping for 3 hours to ride my bike 10 miles back to town was part of the dream. Work was work. I am impressed with how well I handled it off of only 3 hours of sleep. The potluck this evening was where we all collectively awoke from the dream to figure out what really happened.

Or did it?

Night Hikin' in the Skagit

Night hike, Big Rock
Your first time, my ingured foot...port and a cigarette on top
Event horizon
Cultus mountain
I wonder what are all those bright lights?
Shooting stars
I want to watch documentaries on all things
Astronomy
I know it’s the foothills though they disagree
It’s not actually a hill, but little mountains
That lead up to even bigger mountains
It was funny how you helped us down the mountain like you were our father.