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.

Just Another Line

Just one of the many lines at
Willamette Country Music Festival.

“You better blog about this” my husband tells me. We’ve been standing in line just to get in the Willamette Country Music Festival for over an hour. The line snakes around R.V. and campers and parked cars in a dirty, dusty mowed-over grass field nestled against the rolling hills and mountains of Oregon. It took over 40 minutes to turn off the highway and wait in line to get directed to our parking spot just to wait in yet another line on foot.

“I don’t know,” I reply only to myself. I notice my blogs that get read the most with comments posted to my facebook page are the ones with humor. I am not a humor writer but I do find humor in most of my daily adventures. But how do you find humor in waiting in line? So I’ll stand her and wait for something funny to happen. 

And wait.

And wait.

Nope, nothing funny about waiting in line. I read in the newspaper the next day the line was over a quarter of a mile long and that people had gotten into line at 7:45 for the 11:00 gate opening. Oh, like wow. Makes my hour wait pale in comparison.

The balloon marks our spot.

A mere hour or so later we scoured the grounds looking for the best possible spot to put our lawn chairs. Taking into consideration the view, the distance from the stage and the wind (or lack thereof) I believe the best spot is next to the beer gardens. My husband doesn’t necessarily agree with me, but since the Honey Bucks (aka porta pottys) are nearby I win. (Yea me.) I attach a purple balloon to find our chair later in the massive crowds and also so our friends can find us. (No comments here please, I do have a few friends but I pay them to be such.)

Onward to seek food and shade. Not in that order. Unlike rest of the nation, Oregon has experienced an extremely mild summer with no temperatures in the 90 (much less 100) and today is going to be the warmest day of the year with the mercury soaring to 91. A real barn burner for us alabaster, white-skinned shade-loving Oregonians.

The only shade to be found is in the parking lot thanks to a camper on the bed of an old Ford pickup truck. We hike the cooler over to that shade and experience our redneck country picnic complete with a microbrew and Starbucks. So it was an upscale redneck picnic.

And then we wait. 

And wait. 

The headliner Alan Jackson plays at 9:30 pm, as in tonight. And the waiting has just begun before 10 am.

Nope, nothing funny about waiting. 

In the spirit of Alan Jackson, I kick back with another beer and call it 5 o’clock somewhere. 

Only 10 mere hours left to wait.

One Big Wave

A skilled rider. Not me.

“Where are you?” Mandy is demanding my presence. She is one of the 11 women I am camping with on the 5^th annual girl’s weekend out. This year, we have a huge, five bedroom house in the resort town of Sunriver River. Yes, it’s still considered 

camping when you eat off paper plates.

“I’m at Starbucks” I reply with the no-duh tone in my voice.

“Are you crazy girl, how far away is that?” Mandy quizzes me. It’s only 12 miles away in Bend Oregon, not too far to drive for coffee. Mandy wants me to drive right back so we can try out our surfing skills at the indoor wave-pool at the local Aquatic and Fitness Center in Sunriver.

It’s not a “wave pool,” rather just one wave designed just for boogie boards and surfing. And for a small fee we are going to try it out. In public, in front of other people. I believe that learning to surf even on an artificial wave should be an activity one try’s and perfects in private. However, private lessons were $100 bucks an hour. Too much for this recently laid-off, part time temporary worker on a girls-out-weekend-camping gal.

The wave is about twenty feet long, twenty feet high. Bleachers at the end of the wave pool for the public to sit and relax and watch you wipe out. Sweet. If you want to ride the boogie board, you walk the slight incline up the right side of the wave, put your board in and ride. If you want to actually stand up and use a mini surf board, you start at the base of the wave. And the lifeguards alternate the riders.

My first ride was a piece of cake, I put in my board in, flopped on my belly and straight down I went. End of ride. Two seconds and done.  The lifeguard tells me I need to use my shoulders to go back and forth in the wave.

It's actually a trick called a 360.

Second try, I careen to the left and within a half a second I’m off my board the wave shoots me up to the top like a tumbling rag doll.  Each ride afterwards I got progressively worse. And my dismounting, okay it’s really falling off my board and get out of the wave was embarrassing. I kept getting stuck in the powerful edges of the wave and couldn’t get out nor did I want to get out when I knew my top was almost completely down and my bottoms were thong style with plenty of flesh showing. 

The force of the wave was strong enough to completely rip off my rock-star nail polish. So now I’m riding with naked toes.

If only if I can get out of this wave

At one point, the lifeguard had to turn off the wave machine so I could get out. I think I heard a few teenagers snickering. It’s a good thing my family wasn’t around nor was I in a city where people actually knew me for as I could have never lived that one down.

The only way I can live through this humiliation is coffee and beer. In that order. Back to Starbucks I go. Since I’m in Bend, I can find Deschutes Brewery.

Prost.

River Rhythms

Some of the best events are free and in your own back yard.

River Rhythms. A free concert in the park in the City of Albany for 28 years now on Thursday evening. It’s so popular my husband spread out our blanket and chairs by 7 am for the 7 pm show. Mind you, we don’t sit on the blanket all day, but the chair and blanket are always there waiting for us when we get off work at 5 pm.

 And it’s not just the “local people” that play for free although Quarterflash (Harden my hard) from Portland Oregon did play a few years ago. I remember a several years back the Dixie Chicks played. Yes, those Dixie Chicks. They signed the contract with the city before they “hit it big” and a year later they were playing for free in Albany in 1998. To say the park was crowded that night would be an understatement.

And in 2009 fresh off his stint of “Dancing with the Stars” Chuck Wicks put on quite a show, fun and full of energy that even I enjoyed (the non-country gal that I am.) And speaking of country, the best show of this year was Sammy Kershaw. (As a side note, more than just country folks play at this Albany event. Seriously.

Anyhow, back to Sammy Kershaw. My husband tells me he is a country star with hits back in the 90’s. Well, no one has told Sammy it’s 2011 because he played at the park like he was at a sold out stadium. He had smoke and fog on stage. Sounds like a concert, but keep in mind a FREE to the public show and oh, its daylight. The fog machine even turned up high didn’t produce the results I’m sure he desired. And it only got better.

But wait, he played a few Marti Gras related theme song (again, I have to go on my husband’s word but he tells me he’s from New Orleans) anyhow I digress; Sammy threw out Marti Gras beads during his performance. Oh boy, the ladies rushed the stage for their free beads from which I assume was purchased from Oriental Trader.

But wait, it gets better, he then played a couple of patriotic songs and shot confetti off the sides of the stage and then dropped an American Flag behind the equipment (and his backup band.) Pretty cool props, I mean special effects.

One clean stage

But wait, my most favorite part of the night was before the show started. Sammy’s manager came out and vacuumed the stage. Vacuumed. He just didn’t run the vacuum quickly over the stage like I do normally do but did such a thorough job I was hoping he’d follow me home to work on my carpets.  At this point, I rushed the stage to get a photo. Forget those Marti Gras beads. I heard about it at work the next day (only you would take photos of a guy vacuuming.)

But wait, that’s not the last show of the 28^th year. BJ Thomas of “Rain Drops Keep Falling on my Head” sang. Luckily it didn’t rain that night. Nor has it on any of the nights I've sat out there over the years.

My blanket and chairs are back in their spot in the garage waiting for next year, the 29^th.

Brewfest

Naked. As in butt naked and in a public place; a soaking pool at the Crystal Hotel, the newest McMennains in the heart of the Pearl District of Downtown Portland. And he was drunk with a case of beers surrounding him. In addition, it was the Brew Festival weekend a mere eight blocks away.

I misspoke; actually it’s called the Oregon Brewer Festival, celebrating its 24th year of craft beer for which Oregon is known. This year, the fact sheet stated there was over 85 craft brewers present. All I know many of the beers on Saturday had already stopped pouring due to overwhelming demand. I previewed the list of craft brewers and was all excited to taste beers only available at the brew festival and I wanted to taste solely based on name alone. I don’t know if I wanted “Wu Cream” (Oregonians would chuck at this) but I did want to try Donner Party Porter by FiftyFifty Brewing company or “ Idiot Sauvin” by Elysian Brewing or simply “Kick Axe” however what I found is that I didn’t get to be that particular. Or care what style of beer and it’s IBU rating. Oh no.

In the beer line

"Taster Mug" next to a pint.

First, we stood in line about 30 minutes to get into the free event. Then we were sheep roped into the next line for almost 30 minutes to spend six bucks for a taster’s mug and one dollar sipping tokens. Now, beer for a buck would be an awesome price to which I would skip and hop for joy however, dully note the words “taster mug.” After spend another 30 minutes in a massive crowd that slowly lurched forward to the beer pouring you could spend one token (a buck) and get a sip of beer (not how I wanted to spend my 30 minutes in line) or you could fill your “taster mug” for four tokens (that’s four bucks folks.) I know you must be thinking, four bucks for a craft beer is a reason price. Indeed. Let’s go back and review the words again, “taster mug.” The taster mug is a mere 10 ounce mug. That’s far less than a pint in which is the quantity in which I prefer to drink my beer. And have you ever had a glass poured to the brim? So the 10 ounces of beer is merely 8 or so. Four bucks, 90 minutes wait time. Eight ounces.

The next adventure was finding a place to sit. Again, me being a wee bit picky here actually wanted to sit and enjoy my craft beer (which was quite tasty, chocolate beer without any offending bitter after taste) I scoured the grounds for a chair. I foraged a couple of stray ones in the sun and dragged them to the coolness of tall oak tree. After tasting my beer, I went back to the cattle call of a tent, stood around with the masses slowly moved forward to buy my next 8 ounces of beer with my chair in hand. Oh yeah, I wasn’t going to give that up. One of my 90,000 thousand new friends may have fought me for that chair.

Prost!

After a couple of beers and without moxie or zest nor the desire to fight the crowds to stand in yet another line for yet another beer that would be sold out three people in front of us (yes, so much trying Wu Cream) my friends and I headed back to our hotel for dinner and soaking. This leads us back to the soaking pool at midnight.

The brew fest stopped pouring at 9 pm so I can understand why he has surrounded himself among the company of cheap beer, but naked? Maybe beer taste better without clothes?   And then I wondered if he simply lost his shorts buying beer at the brew festival.

Prost.