Standing on Top of the ......Garage Parking Lot

Standing on Top of the ......Garage Parking Lot



From the top of the Garage

October 13. Sammy Hagars actual birthday and he finished his birthday bash series of his concert outside of this Cabo Wabo Cantina. Sammy would tell the audience it's his 21st year playing at the Cabo Wabo on his birthday, his first time playing outside and that he's celebrating being 64 years old.

But first thing first.



We spent the morning at leisure around our swanky hotel pool. Then we took the free shuttle into town (sure beats walking up or down the steep mountain hillside) to the sister hotel to play in the Ocean. That didn't last very long for as the ocean is mean and cruel this part of the world. The drop off is within feet of the crashing waves and the undercurrent take out even the best of swimmer out to sea. If you don't like your children very much, this would be the beach to bring them too.



Then we wondered down to Cabo Wabo to check out the events and the set up for the night. One side of the street, the Cabo security was blocking the street with tall soild wood barricades. No one was going to get a view of the show without paying on that side of the street. The other side of the street was simple metal barricades but far enough back no one would see the show either. A bit bummed we wouldn't see the show without the proper red wristbands my husband suggested we grab a few beers and come back around show time to at least listen. I wholeheartedly agreed since Sammy was the entire reason we were in Cabo.



Dinner and a view at Captain Tony's



We walked a few blocks down to the marina and found a couple of chairs facing out at a place called Captain Tony's. We ordered the bucks of beers and drank and people watched. And then we ordered dinner. Two and half hours later and twenty bucks, it was only 30 minutes to show time.

Back at the metal barricade with high security just a handful of people were hanging out to do exactly what we were going to do; listen to the show. And that's when I looked up and saw a parking a garage. Hey, that's a great viewing spot. We walked around the block, found the enterance to the garage and the attendant told us to go to the top, and use the stairs and that is were I found the top of the world, or the parking garage. Best viewing spot to see Sammy. Sure, we were not close enough to touch him, but we could see the stage and the big screen and the crowd. Best part of the garage was lots of run to move, dance and sing without anyone on my backside. My husband ran down the corner street store and purchased four more beers and we sang along to Sammy.

Guy, from the Food Network introduced Sammy Hagar. He sang more of his older stuff and some of the best of Van Halen. When he sang "Standing on Top of the World" he changed the words to "Standing on Top of the Parking Garage" and gave us all a two handed wave. All of us on the garage jumped up and down with delight and waved right back.

Indeed, on top of the world.

The show with a Rockin view

The show was only 70 minutes long. It ended with Sammy getting a birthday cake in his face, thanks to Guy. He waved and left the stage. Once again, the Redheads stood around and exchanged contact informationg to keep in touch until next year.

For us, it's back to the hotel pool and a airplane ride home tomorrow. I've been thinking what Sammy said at the begining of his show. He's been playing on his birthday for 21 years which means he started that tradition back in his 40's. Somedays, I've been feeling.....old. But heck, it's not too late for me to start a 20 plus year tradition. Somehow just that thought makes me feel young.

My journey feels complete.



Prost.

Sammy's Birthday Bash

Sammy Hagar and Vic Anderson, Cabo Wabo

Mecca to Sammy Hagar's Birthday Bash


Our flight from Portland to Cabo was packed. The airline asked for volunteers to give up their seats in exchange for a first class seat out the next day and a four hundred voucher. Temping as it was, we declined. After all, I'm on my mecca to see Sammy Hagar play at his bar on his birthday.




Our seatmate were making their 7th trip to Cabo to see Sammy. They had left their three young children at home for the week. They claim it's the best part of their year. The people sitting in front of us chimed in. They too, were going to see Sammy.

In the van from the aiport, the couple sitting next to us were also going to see Sammy. She was 6 months pregnant and they had left two small children at home.

Shortly after we checked into our room, we went to Cabo Wabo to "check it out." Lines around the buidling. People standing about everywhere.

And then things really got crazy show day.

Wristbands & ready to rock

Our email said wristbands to be released at 2:00. We arrived about 1:30 and there was already a line to get wristbands. The line had security guys making sure people were not taking cuts or doing other rude things. To get your wristband, you had to show your email & id matching the email. They would look you up on the list and write in your ID type and number and then have you sign for the band, and they put the band on your wrist. After that, you'd go to yet another line to wait for the show to start at 9:30 pm. Yes, not a typo again. The doors to the cantina opens for the show at 7:30.

Now standing in lines for 9 hours isn't at the top of my "to do list." And standing in a line that long in 95 degree heat, in the sun is really off my list. Crazy I know. To avoid some of the line wait, we went into the Cabo Wabo Cantina for lunch and a couple of beers and to check out the place.

It's a small ventue. Any place you'd stand would be a good place to stand. So why the lines??? Because everyone wants to be front center of the stage, self included.

We ate lunch at Cabo Wabo. The cantina was closing early by 3 pm to prepare for the nights entertainment. The waitress said they didn't want to make us any lunch but I asked nicely twice and she agreed the cook would. By 3:00, we were kicked out into the hot sun, line and no shade.

And to the line we went. By my count, we were 40 people back. Not too shabby. And we made new friends. It seems everyone in line knew everyone else. People found it odd this was our first time, our first year. The crowd was young to old. One girl who looked a whole 21 said she's been coming here since she was 13 with her dad. And one guy from Iowa told me he's been coming for 15 years and he did know everyone in line. With all the friendly converstation and chit chat, the time went by fairly fast as only time can when it's 95 degress outside. Drinking beer and water purchased from a corner market for a buck helped. As the time got closer to the cantina opening, the line in front of us expanded.

And then the cantina opened. Security people checked everyones wristband to make sure it was on tight and real and told you to walk in or risk being removed from the ventue. And to the front of the stage we went. I was off to the right of the stage and only two people in front of me. Once inside, only a two hour wait, standing firmly planted so you wouldn't get pushed or moved from your tiny spot. The guy behind me knew the back of my body fairly well. I kept thinking it was my husband but it wasn't. The guy kept telling me sorry, it wasn't his fault he was being pushed. I finally forgave him when he told me it was his 40th birthday and he was there alone. Still tho, it didn't give him the right to feel me up. Anyhow.

Two hours inside the sweatbox creaped by. Not even the music and the televisons helped. It's hard to stand that long firmly planted and then, it didn't matter. Sammy entered the stage.

Micheal Anthony 

My mecca to see Sammy was over. There he was on stage doing his thing. He played mostly his older stuff. He had with him stage his buddy and former Van Halen member and current Chicken Foot member Micheal Anthony. Those two boys pounded a few beers and drank shots of tequilla. Sammy had a few more of his friends join him on stage to play the drums and television food personailty Guy.

Sammy played some Van Halen tunes and Micheal Anthony played and sang "Running with the Devil". Sammy played a couple of fan favorites including "I can't drive 55" and "Heavy Metal."

Sammy Hagar and friends on his Bday

Ninety minutes later the show was over. People didnt leave right away. People exchanged contact information with other people. Even I got a few business cards so I could find my new friends oops, I mean Red Heads on Facebook.

I kept my wristband on. It's now a status thing. "Oh, you went to Sammy's birthday bash." And its a becon for other Red Heads. "Great show, how long have you've been going??"

Yeap, I am now offical one of those people, those RedHead people.

Rock on.

Prost.

A Very Long Line

As you may know by now, Sammy Hagar is playing this week in Cabo. Four times to be exact. And its for his birthday. What a bash. His cantina he purchased back in his Van Halen days (who were owners by sold their shares to Sammy when the band broke up) holds grand total of 400 people and Sammy likes to play at his bar, a small ventue for his birthday.


A few tickets being sold a few days before the show Sammy calls "dinner tickets." What you get is a chance to actually get tickets while in Cabo (and not on the internet a few months before which sold out in minutes) and a dinner all for the price of 95 bucks and two days in line. Not a typo, two days.

We went to Cabo Wabo to check it out, to know where we'll be in two days. And there was people every. In line. Acting crazy. I talked to one couple towards the front of the line. The had a cooler, lawn chairs and matteress for sleeping all for the chance to buy dinner show tickets. By the time the tickets are released and if they get them, they woulld of been in line for two and half days. And then there is the line to actually get into the bar to see the show. I was told by yet another person in line to be there by noon the day of the show IF we want a good place to stand on the floor for the 9 pm show. Serious? Nine hours to stand in line see a show? Keep in mind, it's over 90 degress in Cabo and shadow is lacking in the line up aera. I think I might melt. I think I am going to need to sit a bit. I had to search around and find my husband. I lost him in one of the lines. He is retired military after all.

But wait, there is more.

The people in line told me that tonight, Sammy's friend Kenny Chesney is playing, along with Sammys band Chicken Foot. I hope that rumor is true, I'd sure like to sing along with Kenny.

In two days, we'll be in that line. I have disreguard the idea of sleeping in line for dinner show tickets. I have tickets for one of the shows and that appears to be more than most. For now, I am satififed.

Prost.

when is Too Much Service Too Much??

Too say our hotel in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico is swanky is a gross understatement.

We arrived to Cabo to a blanket of heat. The second we step off the airplane it embraced us. My sweat had sweat. After the ordeal of immegration and customs, we walked madly fast past the peddlers of service all of the guise of being friendly to the outer edges of the airport to find our ride provided by the hotel. No, the sign didn't have our name on it but they greeted us like it did and check off our name on a clip board. The porter grabbed my bag and ushered into a van. The service only got better, or worse from there.

The hotel porter opened the van door and offered his hand to me. No, wait. He grabbed my hand and helped me out of the van like a 65 year old woman. He grabbed my bag and took me to the check in line. He wished me well and yet, handed out his hand. This was the third tip of the day and I hadn't even checked into the hotel.

After checking in (tip) and the next person to grab me offered me free drinks and breakfast. (tip please.) She showed me where to stand in line to get the golf cart driver to take me to my room. Mind you, I'd rather walk anyday. I did what I was told and waited in line for my personal essort to my room. (tip please.)

Our hotel is on a hill. And after being driven around via golf cart I could see why people prefer that serive for as climbing hills on vacations sucks. There isn't a better word for it. It sucks. The hills and switchbacks makes Lambari Street in San Fransciso look like childs play with it's 8 hairpin switch backs. however, my personal view is that the hotel wants carts to caddy people around for the tip. No sidewalks or naturally safe areas to walk around the hotel are in place. Prehaps an oversight?


Our entire experience checking in, handing out tips took over an hour. Yeap, a hour to be toted around.

Is that when too much service is too much??

And oh, to relax from all this service, we went to the pool. Pool towels, tip please.

The Price of Sammy

My first record, (the big black 12 inch fine grooved vinyl disk that you played with a player that had a needle) I ever purchased was Van Halen II. The second was Sammy Hagar, and I was hooked. Sammy became my man long before “I can’t drive 55.”  I attempted to adopt Red as my favorite color since that was Sammy’s (known as the Red Rocker.)

                “You don’t know what it does to me

                My crimson sin intensity

                I’m haunted by the mystery

                The mystery of red.”

How he feels about Red is how I feel about purple. When he hooked up with Van Halen as lead singer it was a music match made in heaven for me. (I must admit, I liked Sammy better as a solo artist.)  Now it’s time to knock items off my bucket list and one of them is see Sammy play on his birthday at his bar, Cabo Wabo in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico October 13. This is been an ongoing event, well…for a long time.

This is the year I see Sammy on his birthday, and I’m taking my husband (the country guy that he is.)  And even a bigger deal; we have tickets which was not an easy task.

Years ago, the birthday bash was free. My neighbor who has been lucky enough to see Sammy play on that date told me how she waited in line at his bar for more than 24 hours and was one of the last ones to gain tickets. Okay, 24 hours in line I could do that. But a few things have changed. To avoid long lines, line jumpers and just flat out unfairness (is that even a word) Birthday bash tickets are now being sold on Sammy’s web site. For less than a minute. Forty seconds. Gone. Maybe even thirty.

I joined the Red Rocker web site, and signed up for email alerts. The first day tickets were going to be sold I was starting my new temporary part time job with the State of Oregon after being laid off after working for the same company almost 14 years (no bitterness there) and I didn’t think I could jump on the work computers to buy Sammy tickets. I gave my husband very strict instructions on how to open several browsers and attempt to start buying tickets before the go on sale.  He knew he had to score tickets or not come home. As fate would have it, Sammy’s web site crashed and no one got tickets.  And my husband came home.

The second attempt was several weeks later. Same deal. Husband to open several browsers and score two tickets or else. Less than five minutes after tickets were suppose to be release my husband walks into my workplace. My heart dropped. What happened?? Was he coming in person to tell me he couldn’t come home? No tickets?? Quite the opposite. I jumped for joy! Sammy, here I come! I have the email conformation of tickets. The conformation sounded fairly stern, if you were caught selling your tickets they would be revoked and you'd be thrown into a Mexico prison. (I made that last part up.)

A couple weeks later, another email from Sammy. Nothing is in stone yet. The web site and the “team” was still validating the tickets making sure everyone played by the rules.

A month later, and one month before the show, another email. Our tickets will  be released to us upon arrival to Cabo. Must bring ID and tickets are only released at noon a day before the show.  We’ve been “okay’ed” to pick up our purchased tickets. This is serious business.

We got lucky. We made arrangements for our hotel nine months ago. Purchased airfare eight months ago with the sole purpose of going to Sammy Hagar’s birthday bash. I had no idea it would be this difficult to get tickets for one of three shows he is playing his birthday week. According to the web site, he is going to release a few more tickets a couple of days before his show, in person. Looks like we’ll be standing in line for a day. I want that experience.

Sammy, here I come.

Mas Tequila! Prost!

Stories I Only Tell My Friends; the Skirt

I am a skirt loving gal. I like the long hippy broomstick skirts in various shades of purple or black and sometimes white. I like them bedazzled. And I wear them to work on a daily basis.

One sunny day, I strolled around the downtown blocks during a lunch break. As I was nearing my work place and a crosswalk, I saw my husband’s truck coming down the road. Confident he would not hit his very lovely wife I bravely stepped into the cross walk and the truck slowed. I knew he would. I continued across the road and when I got to the middle I turned to face my husband and impulsively decided to give him a show. Yeap, you guess it; I raised my skirt. I hiked it up over my waist. The truck stopped. I laughed in spite of myself and waved my husband forward. I wondered if he was laughing with me.

The truck wouldn’t budge. As I continue to wave my husband forward I am now telling him outloud to pull up and see me. The truck remains still and I see the driver shake his head. Oh good grief, why wouldn’t my husband pull forward? He is now starting to make me angry. Surely the show wasn’t that bad. I think I was wearing a pair of stylish briefs and not my big white pair of grandmother-style panties.

I walk to towards the car and examine the license plate. The plate didn’t look like my husband’s specialized plate. I look closer at the driver; he has lots of hair; my husband doesn’t. Oh crap! It’s not my husband. Immediately, I  hanged my head low and buried it in my chest and charged into to work. I couldn’t believe I did that. I wonder who else saw? I wonder what that driver thought?

I told my husband that night what I had done. Not to surprised at my actions. He just said he hoped the driver was alone otherwise I may of started a long day & night for the driver.

A few days later, we were looking for a parking spot at a grocery store lot. I saw the truck that looks identical to my husband. I hit the floor board and begging my husband to keep on driving. 

My husband suggested I start looking for pants to wear.

Bacon on my Donut Please!

I like them as often as I can get them, even if they make me fat. I’ve talked about them in my weight training class and at work. I’ve dreamt about them. Yes, you guessed it, I’m talking about Maple Bacon Bar Donut at Voodoo Donuts in Portland, Oregon.

My first box of Voodoo Donuts.

I first heard about them when my step daughters were out for a visit. The daughter that lives in San Francisco asked if we could stop by this place called Voodoo Donuts.  I haven’t heard of Voodoo before. She tells me they have a maple bar with bacon on top. Say no more. We found Voodoo.  If the girls didn’t express their desire to buy a donut I wouldn’t of gone in after seeing the building…inside or out. Nothing impressive, if not run down dirty looking. Greasy, a bit gross.

The Orignal Voodoo Shop

This was several years ago (maybe five or six years…I don’t recall.) No lines, only people walking out with pink boxes (good things come in pink boxes.) We bought a dozen and make the 90 minute drive home. In the back seat of the car, the daughters took a bite, one bite out of every donut. My husband and I are sadly unaware to the snacking going on.  I must admit, I was a bit perturbed that a bite was taken out of every donut; however my daughter was excited because she knew she could do the same thing without the fear of consequences. So, due to the mouse nibbles already taken, the entire family stood in the kitchen and pass around the donuts. One bite, pass right. I highly recommend you try this method when you buy your first box of Voodoo donuts. After all, how will you know what you like, or not?

YUM! You know you want one!

My two or three favorite donuts (besides the Maple Bar with Bacon) are: The Dirty Old Bastard (a raised donut with chocolate frosting, crushed Oreo cookies on top with peanut butter drizzle, the Captain Crunch Donut with the same name cereal on top and the Tang donut (a tasty donut with Tang mix on the top. Yum.) My daughter likes the pink donut. Beside the color attraction, she likes the bubblegum frosting with bubblegum on top.

Today Voodoo has become quite the tourist attraction. The line extends around  the block and wait times exceed an hour just for the opportunity to buy a donut, any donut. Voodoo is open 24 hours a day, except when closed. (Seems like a no brainer.) 

The local television shows that have shown up include:

• ·         Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations. I think he’s actually been there twice on his show.
• ·         Man V. Food.
• ·         Amazing Race, season 13 included Voodoo Donuts in its season finale. (The best show on television I might add.)
• ·         The Simpsons 20^th Anniversary Special.
• ·         And more. I think.

Explains why the lines are long. Back “in the old days” I never missed a chance to buy a few Voodoo Donuts, these days I am lazy and have bypassed this opportunity due to the nature of the tourists in line. 

However, redemption.  A new location has opened in Eugene Oregon. Rarely there are lines at the Eugene store. And if so, they are no longer than 10 minutes. Same delicious donuts with crazy topping, same pink box, same craving. And a closer drive for this mid-valley Oregon girl.  

If you have never been, you need to go. It’s worth the wait and just buy one of everything.  Voodoo Donuts only takes cash and if you pick out the donuts you want expect to pay 18 bucks or so. The donut is worth every bite besides the bragging rights you’ve been to Voodoo. And oh, you don’t go for the atmosphere.  Inhale, take a deep breath (don’t breathe in) and indulge in a mouth watering treat. The magic is in the hole.

I just need them to make a beer/bacon donut.

Prost.

Stories I Only Tell My Friends, The Bike Ride, Wet Tee-Shirt & the Law

I’ve been riding my bike to work for several summers. Yes, I am a fair weather bike rider. And it’s important for you to know I sweat. A lot.

July was particularly hot, almost 100 degrees which is significant heat in the green valley of Oregon. I was riding my bike home in my small black tight shorts and white tee shirt.

You should also know my bike is a purple cruiser with a book holder on the back and I wear a bike helmet and I am past the age of 18.

As I’m riding home all I can focus on is the reward of a tall glass of strawberry lemonade waiting in my refrigerator. I made a calculated decision to by-pass a stop sign on a residential street in order to reach my drink quencher. Not a car in sight as I pedaled a wee bit faster to make it home faster through the stop sign. And wouldn’t you know it, I hear a siren. Police siren. I thought I should pedal faster since I’m blocking his turn I’m certain. I pedal faster. The siren still sounds might close. I attempt another gear and pedal as fast as my legs will allow.  Then I hear, “you on the bicycle pull over.” Surely that voice isn’t after me so I look behind my shoulder to make sure and then I heard, “yes you, pull over.” Oh shoot, it’s me.

I had to hold my bicycle with one hand since I hadn’t (read my husband) hasn’t installed a kick stand. The police officer asks me if I know why he pulled me over.

“Why no.” I hesitantly say. Always deny. It’s that what you are suppose to do when pulled over a cop?

“Do you have identification?” the police officer asks me.

“It’s in my backpack.” I tell him. “May I open it?” I thought I should ask permission first. I didn’t want him to think I was hiding anything dangerous.

I balanced my backpack on my book holder and one handedly opens the pack to dig for the ID. The very first visible item is my bra. Great. I believe my ID is at the bottom of my pack. I pull out my grandma size white bra and placed it on my seat.

Next item, my underwear. I take out the purple leopard print underwear and place it on top of my bra. Sure wish I had something dangerous in my bag now. The police officer is all eyes.

“Where do you work?” He asks me and I know what he is really thinking, your undergarments don’t look like they both belong to you.

Finally, the ID. The police officer does the standard take the ID back to the police car to check for warrants or whatnots and tells me the price for running a stop sign is $179 bucks. At which point I told him I was going to pick up my bike and throw it at him. Without skipping a beat the police officer tells me we are being videotaped and points to his car and I actually turned around and wave (so the camera could get a good picture of me I suppose.) Luckily, the officer didn’t take my threat ….well as a threat and let me go with just a warning.

Needless-to-say, I was pretty miffed when I got home. Pulled over on my bicycle, gez. I thought a shower would cool me down. I glanced at the mirror and had to do a double take. I was wearing a white tee shirt and I had soaked it with sweat. Oh, that’s it. It was a wet tee-shirt contest and I was the riding billboard.

Glad the officer didn’t give me a ticket for obscenity.

I threw away the tee-shirt.

Prost.

It's FREE!

One weary coffee drinking blogger

Blogger. That’s what I am now. Can’t say I’ve mastered grammar as well as I have the commitment to post musing of my life weekly.  However, I must admit I’m a bit sad. Last week I had three people read my blog. Yes, three and I don’t even think one of those three people include my mom or my husband. So, I’ve considered a host of ideas to draw people to my blog.  Here is my list thus far:

1.   Free Beer. Oh wait, I don’t know if I can offer free beer since the legal drinking age is 21. I don’t even know if you can legally offer free beer much less allow those under 21 to view my blog.  Case in point, go to Widmer.com.  You must click on the button agreeing you are over 21 to even read about beer.  Scratch that idea.

2. Free Coffee. It’s not I’m into the free stuff but everyone should love coffee as much as I do and I just want to share that with the world. I realize not everyone shares my fondness. Plus, I have a couple good friends (okay you caught me only two) who are Mormon and I think one of them already reads my blog.

3.   Naked photos. That will capture attention. A couple of problems of posting nude photos. One, who would they be of to attract reads and not repeal? And two, do I really want those readers who want to look at nude photos on my blog?!?! Definitely scratch that idea.

4.   Can’t think of a fourth.  All of the other ideas running through my head are those free offers (be the 100^th person to read my blog and you’ll win a free computer. Everyone knows that no one gets the free computer.)  So I suppose I’ll have to address the lack of readership in another manner. Such as stop being  predictable. Me, predictable? Does everyone in the world know I love bacon on maple bars? Or that the color purple simply makes me happy?  Oops, maybe.

I suppose it all boils down to only getting people to the blog but to keep them as well. I do hope those who read are enjoying the content. My blog goals are to focus on travel, drink (e.g. coffee & beer) and a few adventures along the way. You can subscribe via RSS feed on the bottom of the page.

To the faithful three, thank-you.

The regular musing of adventure continues next week. For now, I'm heading off to have a beer for breakfast, with bacon and waffles. Until then.

Prost!

Martini's mixed with a Civil War

Inside our cabin for the weekend

We camped Labor Day weekend at Fort Stevens State Park, Oregon.

No pitching of tents. No labor involved, just camping and a Civil War. And not between rival football teams either but of the historical kind. It seems odd that Oregon would host civil war reenactments. Typically, Oregon is not the first, second or even the tenth state that we think of when attending or being at a Civil War reenactment. Fort Stevens located at the mouth of the might Columbia River and Pacific Ocean is the perfect place for US history.

For 84 years, the Fort was activated during the Civil War and closed at the end of World War II. In fact, the only shots on made on the centennial US during World War II as at this location by a Japan submarine. The US did not return fire because they didn’t want to give away their location. Long before these events, Lewis and Clark wonder these lands as well and made salt. (I think for margaritas?)

Besides the historical significant of this area litter with museums and Historical Marker sign this area offers: 

• ·         Seven mile street of beach complete with remnants’ of a ship wreck from 1891
• ·         Mouth of the Columbia river and plenty of wind to make a windsurfer paradise
• ·         Several miles of bike trails and hiking trails complete
• ·         A fresh water lake for the kids to swim in with life jackets to borrow for the day, free of charge.
• ·         Deluxe cabins.

The Deluxe cabins are the best of all.

Relaxing & waiting

My husband and I spent the better half of Saturday riding our bikes on all the trails and then down miles of roads to the river. Needless-to-say, after almost four hours of bike riding I was hungry and thirsty when we made it back to our cabin. I promptly plugged in our little mini-crock pot for dipping and added a variety of swiss and cheddar cheeses to melt. While waiting for the fondue, I mixed Martini’s. I never thought of myself as a Martini drinker. In fact I snickered at a couple last year who claimed the worst part of being in the country of Turkey and on vacation was missing Martini hour. I almost pity them for missing the great landscape and people of Turkey while they pined over lost Martini hour.  Now I sympathize. We polished off an entire bottle of vanilla vodka while our cheese melted.

I wonder if the dresses comes in purple

After the cheese fondue and a beer to wash it down with, we pedal to the Civil War Reenactment.  The cost of attendance is twenty bucks a car load or two dollars a person to pedal in. We pedaled. Drunk. Don’t tell my cop brother-in-law we were drunken bike riding.  Don’t worry too much, I didn’t fall off my bike, didn’t hit any trees, didn’t hit any pedestrians either as we made our down tree lined bicycle paths.

For the reenactment, many people were dressed in period clothing and the participants settled in for the weekend in traditional-looking camp sites. I am sure some of them were selling things.

As for the battle, the Yanks won. It was fun watching the cannons being shot while sitting in the hot summer sun with a spectacular view the Columbia River.

Pedaling back wasn’t any issue as the hot sun drained us and I was anxious to get back to the cabin and open the refrigerator to see what it had to offer. I am sure there was a cold beer with my name on it.

Fort Stevens was by far my favorite Oregon State Park and I have camped at most of them.  I enjoyed the luxuries of my own private bathroom, kitchen, TV and plug ins for Fondue.

Prost.

Troopers & Bee Stings (I Love Camping)

I love camping.

Back in “those days” when the girls were little, I considered camping to be an solitary adventure in that you don’t share the experience with hundreds of strangers each in their squared off area of a couple hundred feet. No, I didn’t want to pay for camping, either. 

I would pack my car, and take my daughters up to the mountains, drive down some snowmobile trail until we’d find a lake or pond to call our own for a few nights. We’d pitch the tent and spend most of the day playing in the murky waters of some random lake. And cooking over an open campfire is the only way we ate. My daughters became the Queens of starting fires and did a fine job first thing in the morning. Even at a tender age they knew Mom had to have her coffee. Nothing tastes as good as percolated camping coffee.

Two incidents lead to camping with the masses.

Camp food is the best

One year, we were camping at our newest favorite lake named Island.  We were prepared to be there for five days what felt like an extended vacation. As usual we floated in the lake most of the day. Descending out of the large pond of murky water (calling it a lake seems awful kind) bees swarmed us. Not just the usual annoying amount of bees, but horror movie amounts. We had to leave. The girls and I were packing the car in lighting fast speeds and as I bend down (in my swim suit) a bee got me on the butt. I screamed and hollered like a crazy woman and directed the girls to pull the stringer out. They would not have any part of touching Mom’s butt much less pull the stringer out. I would like to report that was the worst part of leaving the camp site but it wasn’t. Have you’ve ever driven a hundred miles with a bee stung butt?? Let me tell you, it hurts like crazy and sitting on it only aggregates the pain.

The second incident, the following camping experience we went back to Island Lake. Someone had already claimed our spot. Not to worry, we found another small lake (large pond) and pitched our tent. The girls, as usual were out in the water, floating while I sat in my beach chair, book in hand feet in the water when a State Trooper came by. He asked if the girls had life vests on. Why no. He asked if I was camping with someone else. Why no. He asked if I was camping alone with two girls. Why yes. He asked if I had a weapon or any way to defend myself. Why no. He offered to “check up on me.” That pretty much did it in for me. If a State Trooper seemed concerned I was camping maybe he knew something I didn’t and we promptly took down the tent and left. We didn’t’ even spend one night.

Front Porch of the cabin

Now I am a huge, gigantic fan of Oregon State Parks and I no longer tent camp. I used to love camping in Yurts. Super cool and no pitching tents required. The yurts have a futon, table with chairs, bed to sleep on and a heater. Best of all, electric. Such a novel idea for camping. Electricity. Think of the possibilities. Radio, TV’s, electric skillets.

And then I discovered deluxe cabins. The cabins are equipped with a bathroom, a mini-kitchen, bedroom and luxuries such as a TV, microwave and a propane grill. 

Camping will never be the same.

Since we have discovered the cabins, I haven’t had the pleasure of being checked upon by a State Trooper, no bee stings in the butt, no driving down snowmobile trails looking for a place to pitch a tent.

And fondue. Camping with electricity means making fondue for lunch. My new favorite camping food.

Fondue & Camping. Life is good!

Prost.

Up & Away

He’s anti-heights. So when my husband told me he would like to ride in a hot air balloon someday, I was puzzled by that statement. I just put that tidbit of information in the back of mind and left it to collect dust.

Several years later a co-worker approached me to buy raffle tickets. The ticket was only ten (10) bucks. On every-other-day, I would walk away laughing. It seems I get nickel and dimed at work. Someone is always selling something on the behalf of their kids or grandkids. And with an office with over 50 women it’s quite a few nickels. However, on this day I purchase a ten dollar raffle ticket for a hot air balloon ride during Art and Air Festival for two. That tidbit seed was planted and I acted on the behalf of my marriage.

The Art and Air Festival is one of those rare festivals were people actually get up and out of bed at sunrise on a weekend to watch people inflate gigantic balloons and watch them lift off. Sure, it’s pretty…..pretty amazing that people attend.

Anyhow.

I suppose you can tell where this is leading. Yes, I won that Hot Air Balloon ride for two people. Needless-to-say, the hubby was thrilled.  An event not on my bucket list. 

The ballooner called me to make the arrangements. She inquired as to mine and my husband’s weight. I gave her the same number twice since we weight the same. (How depressing is that??? And it’s not 123.) She questioned me again about the weight. And again. Three times I had to repeat my weight to a complete stranger. Not something I normally share with anyone including spouse.

Groggily we arose one Saturday morning (a day off mind you) at 4:30 am to meet the ballooner at 5:00 am. (Not a typo.)  A thrilling part of ballooning is helping to attach the balloon to the cargo cage and thus watching the balloon fill with hot air. 

Oh yeah, like working for your ride is thrilling. Maybe that is why the raffle ticket was only ten bucks?

And then came the scale. We both had to stand on the scale while the balloonist noted our weight. She did comment that I was correct with our weights.  Like I’m known for my dishonesty. Maybe stubbornness and other traits that are normally viewed as “bad” but dishonesty isn’t generally one of those unless I simply don’t like you. (But that’s another story for another day.)

After the weight scale ceremony, we were off. The first few hundred feet frightened me as we cascade upward over the oak trees, houses and cell phone towers.  And then I relaxed. I might live through this experience after all. My afraid-of-heights husband is totally fine. No issues with him. 

As we got comfortable with our balloonist, we engaged in conversation and we learned that she is a certified pilot. Yeap, in order to legally fly a balloon, you have to be a pilot. She had been ballooning for over 20 years and competes in contests. She was proud of the fact we were flying in a balloon she made. 


Made? As is handcrafted?? 


Yes, her and her husband sewed this balloon themselves. Now I’m scared again. I worry when I wear handcrafted, sewed by myself skirt that I may of missed a pleat or seam and I’m showing more skin (or slip) that I should be. But a handcrafted balloon that is flying several hundred feet about the earth? I am not quiet paralyzed with fear, but I have heightened awareness about survival.

And then it gets worse in the fear factor sense.

She wants us to get our feet wet; in a river. She is going to skim the river and then quickly rise above the tree line and avoid the power poles simply for the thrill it and because she claims she does, just like in ballooning contests.  I suppose the only fear I’ve had before stepping into a balloon is the fear of hitting a power pole and being electrocuted. I know a rare event similar to winning the lottery but my fear nonetheless.

At this point, I panic. I tell her I will jump out of the basket in the river and take my chances. I’m serious. She’s aware. Change of plan.

We land, the chase car picks us up while another packs the balloon and basket.

I lived through the experience while keeping my feet dry.

This morning, I witnessed the balloons in the sunrise for the annual Art and Air festival. I think I will get up early tomorrow morning and watch the balloons rise.


Once was enough for me. Been there, done that.

Or maybe I’ll just get up early and have a beer with my bacon. After all, it’s Saturday.

Prost.