You Have Died of Dysentery

Friday, we woke and started final leg of the trip with promises that we'd be in-bed and well-fed early in the night. It seems like all week long, we ended up driving really late and going to bed hungry. In retrospect, it seems like more punishment than was necessary but, at the very least, dad was a great sport about it.

The stars of the show.

On reaching Oregon, we were constantly amazed by the scenery, the mountains, and the farmland. At one point, the highway rounded a mountain and opened into an utterly staggering vista before dropping for six miles at a six percent grade. Once more, the descent was harrowing in a moving truck towing a car. Dad and I both got a chuckle out of the fact that my mom would've been absolutely unglued had she been in the car with us.

Click on the image to enlarge it.
No matter the size, it won't do it justice.

Best Rest Stop in the Country: Weatherby, OR
In dire need of "rest," we stopped at a rest stop in Weatherby, Oregon. After narrowly avoiding ruptured bladders, we wandered about the place and read about the Oregon Trail (the real one, not this one) which passed through those very mountains...with horse-drawn wagons...a hundred and sixty years ago. Ridiculous.

The next time you get pissed that you have no bars on your mobile phone in the middle of nowhere, think of a family spending six days trying to navigate one single stinking mountain while watching loved ones die. We're sissies every one of us.

View from the rest stop at Weatherby, Oregon.
Dad was checking out the educational signs.

He Was Right
A few rest stops we bumped into some folks that, evidently, were traveling the same route. They were the grungy, black-clad, dread-locked, pierced hippies. Dad walked by them on the way to the can. On returning he says, " Sax was right, they are dirty hippies. That girl had dirt and grime all on her elbows. She stank." Classic.

Arrival and the Great Underwhelming
At about 3:30pm on Friday and 2682 miles after starting, we pulled into the apartment. Did I mention that I rented it sight-unseen? Did I mention that it was half of a duplex, the other half of which is occupied by four female second-year med students? Did I mention that I was hopeful that it would be great?

To say that I was underwhelmed would be a fantastic understatement. To say that I simultaneously wanted to choke the shit out of the landlady and weep with frustration would be getting warmer. The place was dirty, strewn with dead insects (beetles or something, not roaches). The kitchen has a terrible drop ceiling with plastic lighting tiles. It has about 17 bazillion light switches that control something non-intuitive. It has a pair of metal exterior doors in the middle of the living room wall that lead into the other apartment. It has teal effing carpet with matching cheap-ass honeycomb paper blinds. It has the DSL modem and wireless router for the girls on the other side. It has the mailbox where all the mail for the duplex is delivered. It has a 1/5 share of all the bills for the duplex but no untilities of its own. It has a toilet that constantly runs. It has a garage that can easily accommodate a 16-foot moving truck and, I assume, an RV.

It does not, however, have a happy tenant. I'm not unpacking just so that I can entertain the notion of moving the hell out of here after Winning Run arrives on Tuesday. Wish me luck and patience.

Salty Lake and Potatoes

Yesterday, we finally made it out of Wyoming following a stay at a motel in Green River and a breakfast with the weirdest waitress ever. She looked like she'd just come from a fight club boxing match and answered "You Betcha" to everything with a saccharine sweet laugh.

Another wind farm in Wyoming.
Notice the truck near the base of the turbine in the foreground.

We headed into Salt Lake City to visit with Big Chief Mike, a friend from college. Driving into the city, we headed down a few steep grades. When we finally got to Mike's place, smoke was still coming off the brakes of the truck which was a little disconcerting. During lunch, I phoned the roadside assistance to bring a new tire because we'd noticed an increasing bounce in the front. When the guy showed us the tire, it had worn clean through to the tread. He told us it was a good thing that we called when we did because he didn't think we would've made it too much farther on that one. So, we got to visit Mike with the ability to stop and without having my things scattered all over the highway courtesy of a high-speed blowout. I feel like a winner.

After a fantastic lunch that Mike had whipped up, we headed out and, after an eternity, made it to the north side of Boise, Idaho. Today, we've got around 500 miles to get into Yakima. Hopefully, it'll be uneventful.

States Covered
Wyoming, Utah, Idaho

Through the Arch and Into the Plains

On Tuesday, we crossed into Missouri and decided to stop at the Arch. I have to admit, it was larger and much more interesting than I thought. We searched for a parking space and decided to take a break, walk over to it, and ride to the top.

Approaching the St. Louis Arch.

For the record, if you are the least bit claustrophobic do not even think about riding the trams to the top of the arch. Imagine being stuffed into a coffin with four other people and making a slow ascent 600 feet up a metal arch. It was pretty cool but maybe a little unsettling.

Dad about to get into the tiny coffin-sized tram to the top.

After leaving St. Louis, we headed up to Lincoln, Nebraska to visit with my dad's first cousin. It was pretty nice to meet him and the rest of the Nebraska family and to see my pop so excited to just hang out with someone.

Corn is King
Driving west through Nebraska, one thing becomes readily apparent: corn is king. Unless you live in the heartland, you really have no idea about the scale of the farms in this country. By the way, I don't pretend to have a great idea from only driving through a few states but I will say that it's staggering. In western Nebraska, corn seemed to give way to wheat. Amber waves, indeed.

Wyoming is Big
We were pretty amazed at how the topography changes pretty quickly after entering Wyoming. Plains change to rocky, rolling hills. You climb some hills and descend into an enormous plateau. Hell, at one point, we drove absolutely straight for about 10 miles before a tiny curve in the road. Our country is enormous. The terrain is pretty cool and you eventually tire of seeing so damned many antelope just grazing, grazing by the highway.

A monument to Lincoln on the Wyoming Roadside.

The plains of Wyoming.

Storm cloud and the setting sun.

Dad shooting the sunset.

The Green Initiative
In addition to being awed by the vast emptiness of the state, we marveled at the wind farms that we crossed. On television, the turbines look big but that pales to being near them. The photos don't do justice because there isn't really anything to determine the scale or the distance and I didn't have a lens wide enough to get the hundred or so into a single shot. They're pretty damned cool.

Wyoming wind farm.

Another view.

The Gas Miracle
Our fuel was running low as we neared Laramie. Somehow, we didn't exit the freeway because we thought there was one more exit for the town. With fuel dwindling, we hit the Garmin for info on the nearest fuel station and headed west toward it. The fuel light came on as we approached the abandoned gas station. Luckily, there were a couple of guys there working.

"How far to the nearest fuel?," Dad asked.

"Which direction?," the weathered guy replied.

"West."

"80 miles," he said with almost no expression.

"How about east?"

"20 miles."

"Okay, thanks."

Dad and I looked at each other uneasily and headed back toward Laramie.

"Hope there are three gallons in the tank," dad said.

"Me, too."

On the ride back, we drafted an semi to conserve fuel and lamented that it was uphill most of the way. Personally, I used my Jedi mind trick to keep that damned truck moving. The twenty minutes back was silent and tense. Inside 10K, I knew that I could run back to the station for fuel and began to rest. After an eternity, we coasted down the hill into the gas station, sighed with relief, and laughed a bunch.

We put 32.1 gallons of fuel into a 32-gallon tank. Close one.

States Covered
Kansas, Missouri, Nebraska, Wyoming

The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts

Boy, leaving is ridiculously tough. I'd done pretty well in getting ready and telling most of my friends goodbye. As expected, I got really emotional when I was leaving Winning Run and absolutely blubbered when I said goodbye to Dylan.

At the truck rental place, I was pulling the car onto the car carrier when dad and the rental guy started dancing around and yelling at me to stop. Turns out the trailer wasn't connected to the truck and had come unhitched with me on top of it. Awesome.

We stopped for the night just outside of St. Louis and will aim for at least Lincoln, NE to stay with dad's cousin. Fun stuff.

My finger is still bleeding from the nailbed and is unusable; unloading should be interesting. I'll post pictures later with forewarning for the gore.

Highlight: the giant Superman statue in Metropolis, IL.

Truth, justice, and the American way.

Handy camera work from a perfect stranger.
(Not Balki.)

States covered: Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois.

westward bound

Just nearly cut off my finger on the moving truck. About to start the drive.

Yippee.

Winning Run, For the Win

Last week, I joined Winning Run in Pittsburgh because I'll be unable to attend the opening of her building at Carnegie Mellon University, courtesy of being in class on the other side of the country. For the record, I knew that she the firm she's at does incredible work as evidenced by the Wang Student Center at Wellesley College. This building, for which she's the architect managing the project, is unbelievably impressive: around 210,000 square-feet of well-designed, inspiring architecture. My photos do not do it justice; I'm sure that professional photog with the widest of lenses would have trouble. Here are a few of my feeble attempts.

A panoramic view created from composite images.
The building does not curve; it's just how the images are stitched together.

Another panoramic image I stitched together.
Again, no curvature on the building; it's only the image.

One of my favorite views of the building.
The bridge that leads to the building in memory of Randy Pausch,
a CMU professor and author of "The Last Lecture."

For more on the building, go here.

I'm nothing short of awed by the building and having nothing to adequately describe how proud I am of Winning Run and her work on this behemoth.

More from the rest of the week to come.

So Long, Jacko

Last Thursday, Winning Run and I were driving through the mountains of western Pennsylvania, heading back from touring Frank Lloyd Wright's Falling Water around 6pm ET when I got a text from Crazy Greg.

It read simply: "MJ is dead."

"Holy crap," I told Winning Run. "Either Michael Jordan or Michal Jackson just died. Which one does he mean, Jordan or Jackson?"

We turned on the radio and scanned the stations. One of the first stations we hit was a sports-talk station that was involved in the typical banter about area sports.

"Jackson," I decided.

Sadly, the last fifteen years or so of his life were ones in which his eccentricities and the accusations against him overshadowed the power of his music. In the aftermath of his death, it's apparent that his music affected so many people. Seriously, it's great to turn on the radio or be at a ballgame or in a pub and hear the tunes that transport you back and instantly make you happy.

Congrats on 300, Big Unit

Will there be any more 300-game winners? Congrats, Randy Johnson.

Here's video of my favorite pitch from the Big Unit.

Poor bird. Note the catcher's reaction.

It's a Hell of a Thing

Buying your younger sister a pregnancy test.

Cretin de Mayo OR Cinco de Moron

Last night, Winning Run and I went to Cinco de Mayo party hosted by a friend. Once there, we grabbed a couple of margaritas and mingled with some folks to whom we just been introduced.

One of these folks was a British woman, a friend of our friend. What started out as a pleasant enough conversation took a quick turn for the odd in about, oh, ten minutes. After the pleasantries, she began her diatribe about how immigrants in this country should be required to speak English. She preceded her discourse with the disclaimer that America is a lovely place but that one of it's major flaws is that immigrants are not assimilating because they aren't speaking English. Also, by "immigrants" she apparently exclusively meant our brown brothers and sisters from south of our border.

"I mean, it's America after all. For example, I went to Miami and there were places there where you wouldn't believe you were still in the United States," she said, reliving her horror.

"I'm not so sure that I agree with you," Winning Run countered. "I think that diversity is a great thing."

"But this is America; they should be speaking English, the official language. Your country does a lot of things right, but it should really enforce that everyone speaks the language. I was at a friend's house and her maid only spoke Spanish: she couldn't understand a word I said. That's not right. If they don't want to speak the language they should go back home. The U.S. should really tackle this problem."

Winning Run didn't take the bait and countered, "I lived in Houston during grad school. There was a huge Latino population there and everyone was functional in English."

"But there are places that don't even feel like America," she reiterated. "This doesn't happen in England, English is the official language."

"Hold on a minute," I interrupted, "this is a universal occurrence, not just a U.S. phenomenon. I mean, there are tons of Pakistani immigrants in England who don't really assimilate into the culture. France, also, has a ton of Muslim immigrants who are still operate totally separately in their neighborhoods. Seems like you guys are having more problems with it than we are."

"Everyone in England speaks English. France, I don't know about," she dismissed.

At that point, both Winning Run and I tuned out of the conversation but shared a quick roll-of-the-eyes. Here we were, listening to a non-naturalized immigrant (who had been in the U.S. for a few decades) rant about the supposed threats posed by Spanish-speaking immigrants...while drinking margaritas...at a Cinco de Mayo party. The irony of the whole situation was easily apparent to the two of us. To our friend from across the pond, not so much.

You know, I'm fine with differences of opinion and radically different political views. But, I cannot abide poorly informed parroting of what pundits blab on television. It is too much to ask that one thinks for one's self? If you adopt a view, at the very least, put a few minutes into thinking about it and coming up with some reason why the issue is important to you and how it affects you. If you can't think of your own reasons for either, shut the hell up.

For the Win:
Later, she was telling us about the country club she lived in and was asking if we knew where it was.

"Yeah. You guys are the Georgian epicenter for the swine flu outbreak, aren't you?," I said with a quick wink to Winning Run.

"No, that's not our country club," she quickly dismissed. "It must be the church down the street."

Unbelievable.

Rest In Peace, Captain Chaos

Another FOB (Friend of Burt) joins the Cannonball Run in the sky.

Dom with Kermie and Fozzie

In the words of Dr. James Three Thousand:

"First, Snowman; now, Captain Chaos?
Ned Beatty better watch his ass."

Baseball's Back!

I've missed you. Can't believe how strange it'll be to see Smoltz in a RedSox uni. I'm very conflicted about this.

Washington It Is

So, I'd been mulling over the decision for schools: CA or WA? Well, after considerable thought, I decided on the school in Yakima, WA. For me, it's the better fit. The school in CA was very nice but I didn't get the same vibe that I did in Washington. So, the decision has been made, the die has been cast. Now, the logistical work of moving 2500 miles away begins to take shape.

Freedom

Today, I got the cast off. I'm amazed by how quickly my arm atrophied and by how much dead skin flaked off. Oh yeah, to make up for the lack of range of motion, I've got plenty of stiffness and soreness. Awesome.






Although the saw might not "cut" you, it does get hot enough to burn you when the blade touches your skin. I've got a nice cut-shaped burn on my forearm from where it sunk through the cast and into my flesh.

Spring

Sure, it's technically not until the 20th of the month but, after this past weekend, it feels like it's here. Winning Run and I were at the mountain house in the north Georgia mountains with her folks and grandmother.

When I'm there, I love to wake up early, sneak outside with a cup of coffee, and watch and listen to the Sautee Valley come to life for the day. It makes me happy.

Dew on a metal gate at sunrise.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

So, I just got word today that I've been accepted into the school in Vallejo. Now, I've got to really make a decision about where I'd like to be (and where Winning Run would like to be) and about the programs. For the most part, I'm still awed by the Yakima area and the Pacific Northwest. The Bay Area is pretty cool but, at the moment, is the distinct second-place finisher.

I guess that this is a pretty good dilemma to be facing: trying to choose between two schools that want me.

Anywho, more from the decision front as it unfolds.

My Final Admissions Interview

After returning from the slopes and spending two nights in my own bed, I headed out to the San Francisco area for my final med school admissions interview. This school is in the Vallejo area on a decommissioned naval shipyard. I chose it because the Bay area might be a little easier for Winning Run and me to maintain some sense of normalcy during school. (This is, of course, in contrast to being separated by at least a two-hour drive.)

After a lengthy delay, I finally arrived at SFO, grabbed my rental car, drove up to Vallejo, checked into the hotel, and passed out for the evening.

On the Bay Bridge heading toward Oakland.

The interview day was pretty routine, except for the fact that the interview was conducted by a panel of people in front of other applicants. Supposedly, this is to put you under stress to see if you can maintain your poise in front of your peers like you'd need to do on rounds at the hospital. Sounds like bullshit to me but, if that's the way they do it, so be it. It wasn't really all that bad. I mean, hell, I've had much tougher interactions in any job I've had or on any consulting gig on which I've worked.

When I heard the question "What do you think is harder: doing stand-up comedy or being a physician?" I nearly fell out of my chair. Are you freaking kidding me? The best thing you can come up with from my file is the stand-up comedy that I did in college nearly fifteen years ago? Nothing about fundraising thousands of dollars for cancer and brain tumor research? Nothing about caring for my dying grandfather in the hospital while my dad, who'd just been diagnosed with cancer, was recovering from surgery two floors below? Nothing about completing six marathons? Nothing about the inspiration drawn from my mother, the former emergency room nurse? Nothing about any of the other, more pertinent info in my file? I answered the questions but just couldn't believe that they'd focus almost exclusively on the stand-up thing.

To make matters worse, the person interviewing me vaguely reminded me of Professor Trelawney, Emma Thompson's character in the Harry Potter movies. The resemblance was uncanny enough that I had to really focus on concentrating on what she was saying.

"...neither can live while the other survives..."

Oh yeah, during the campus tour, we stopped into the cadaver lab and the student giving the tour actually showed us her cadaver. So, I got a free lunch and saw someone reach into the chest cavity of a human body and pull out the lungs and the heart. Sweet.

After the interview, I drove down to Santa Clara to visit with my buddy, Deep, and to catch up with C-Dub and his family in nearby Menlo Park. We ended up having dinner and a few beers at the Dutch Goose. A word to wise: avoid the spicy deviled eggs at the Goose; nothing good will come of them.

That night, I crashed at Deep's place. The next morning, I walked with him over to his office at Santa Clara University's Law School and hung out until he had to teach. After I strolled through campus, back to his place, grabbed the car and headed to the airport. One reason that I like California: fruit trees. At Deep's front door, there is this awesome lemon tree. In his back yard, an enormous avocado tree drops fruit all over. Just awesome.

Free lemons at the front door.

Tons of lemons on this tree.

Yep, another lemon.

So, I should know something next week about the school's decision. Personally, I still think that I'll be headed to WA because that school seems a better fit for me but having to choose between the two would certainly make things interesting. More news as I know it.

Ski Trip Revisited

After a few days of rest and rehab, I was able to get back out onto the mountain. The doctor told me that if I fell with the cast, it would "hurt like hell but I wouldn't do further damage." Armed with that knowledge, I approached the mountain like a frightened child. During the first few hours of being back on the slopes, I wiped out hard on a crunchy patch of snow. The doctor was right, it hurt really, really bad. In retrospect, this was just what I needed. After taking the spill and feeling the pain, I got back up on and tried it again. Within a couple of days, I was on black diamond runs and boarding with confidence. I managed to make it back to Blue Ox, the double diamond, one of my favorite runs at Vail. I tried to use a helmet cam to get footage of my final run down Blue Ox but, alas, due to user error and/or poor batteries, the camera didn't get it. Bummer.

Although Hot Rod and I were the only ones with lasting damage, it seems like most everyone on the trip took a spill or two. Here's a photo of Jazzy in the middle of a blink-and-you-miss-it tumble on Blue Ox. He was back up and cruising within a second. Even though it betrays his prowess on the slopes, this photo of him makes me laugh.

It looks much worse than it was.

Detailed view of the impact zone.

Can't wait to get back out there.

The Mountain Claims Another

Yesterday, expert skier "Hot Rod" tasted the mountain's wrath and lived to tell about it. On his way back to the condo, he fell victim to a heavily worn trail. While cruising quickly, he hit a gully carved out by people returning to the slope-side hotel. Seeing that he was being thrown toward a fixed obstacle, "Hot Rod" wisely sat down to minimize the impact. Unfortunately, he didn't get his first choice of trees but, instead, slammed into a stone wall. People came out to check on him but he waved them off, got back up despite the awful pain in his knee, and, without looking at his wound, continued back to the condo...another five minutes of skiing to a gondola and, then, a shuttle bus. On inspection at the condo, he noted a rip in the knee of his ski pants and a deep puncture wound on his knee.

Wisely, "Hot Rod" opted to visit Avon's urgent care facility where he learned that he'd sustained a very deep puncture wound that had ruptured his bursa sac. The docs sutured it up with three stitches, gave the kid some heavy duty antibiotics, and advised that he take at least a day off. So, maybe he'll be back on the mountain.

Hot Rod's wounded, swollen grapefruit of a knee.

Damn you, Beaver Creek and Vail, damn you and your wicked, snowy beauty.

Always Bet On Black

Got the cast put on today. Because I'll need to wear it for a few weeks, I opted for black: it goes with everything.

Getting ready for the cast.

The application of the Gore-Tex sleeve.

Putting on the fiberglass.

Adding the finishing touches.
Becoming indestructible.