Training for the Colorado Rockies

Colorado is home to Rocky Mountain National Park, land of wildlife, tundra and 14,000-foot snow-capped peaks. It is also our destination come August 6th, when we head to the town of Estes Park and embark on an adventure among these mountains known as the Colorado Rockies.

I've been training at the gym for many, many months, in anticipation of possibly summiting Mt. Ida whose peak juts skyward at an elevation of 12,880 feet. (For those who are wondering, the highest I've climbed is 11,000 feet, on a trail known as Gaylor Lakes in the backcountry of Yosemite National Park.)

My routine at the gym consists of an eight-minute warm-up, then 45 minutes of cardiovascular exercise, then an hour of weights, usually on machines as opposed to free weights. Lately I've started to do more free weights, as they offer three-dimensional movement and therefore simulate real-life activity better. And lastly, I do 10 minutes of stretching, ab crunches, and yoga positions on a nice yoga mat on a hardwood floor.

During each visit to the gym, I use any one of three cardio machines: the treadmill, the cross-trainer, and the stairmaster. I rotate between them to add a little variety to my routine. I also rotate between the weight machines and target a specific "muscle group" on each visit: 1) back and biceps, 2) chest, shoulders and triceps, and 3) legs (quads, hamstrings and calves). I've also been told that I can do leg exercises every time, so I try to squeeze some in at every visit.

Today I ran on the treadmill and actually did pretty well. I warmed up for eight minutes by walking at a speed of 2.6 mph, gradually increasing to 4 mph. By then my heart rate (detected by metal sensor bars on the treadmill that you hold with both hands) was up to about 110 beats per minute.

Now, a little refresher on target heart rates. During any physical activity, there is that heart rate you reach at which your body starts to burn fat. To calculate that, it's (220 minus your age) x 65%. For me, at the age of 33, that would be 122 beats per minute. Now there's also a heart rate at which you're actually doing cardio training, which is (220 minus your age) x 80%. For me, that number is 150. During vigorous exercise, my heart rate can go up to the low 170s. Unfortunately, this is when I start to get light-headed and have to back off a little bit.

So today, I ran at a speed 5.5 mph for 10 minutes straight without stopping. Now that doesn't happen very often... in fact, that was dang good for me! Normally, after about five minutes of running, my heart rate goes up to about 168, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, feel the blood pumping in my head and have to stop. Not today!

After that, I brisk-walked on an incline, all the way up to the max the treadmill would go. (I'll be hiking in the mountains, remember?) Then I reset the incline back to zero, ran again at 5.5 mph, did some more hills, and cooled down. After all that work for almost an hour, I only burned about 300 calories. It's really an eye-opener as to how much work you have to do to neutralize the effect of a 280-calorie Snickers bar!

Then for weights today, I targeted the back muscles, and did squats with a mere 70 pounds of weight, as anything heavier would probably aggravate my sore right hip. I also did some hip flexion exercises for said soreness, an injury I think I incurred while hiking the Superstition Mountains last January.

Yes, I'm continually sore in three places now: my right hip, my lower back, and my right shoulder (this from working with a mouse all day). Oh, time flies, I'm 33 and not getting any younger. My body isn't as invincible as it was when I was twenty.

Right now I only visit the gym once or twice a week, which is better than nothing, but I know I could do better. This challenge has to do with our pet dogs, but that's a story for another time. Let's see how well I do in August, out there among the craggy peaks of the great Colorado Rockies.

Bisbee

I was putting together an album of a trip to Bisbee last November, and as I started writing the narrative about the small town, I realized it was something I wanted to share on my blog, too.

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In November of 2006, we took a trip to southern Arizona to the historic town of Bisbee. This old mining community is located 200 miles southeast of Phoenix, just north of the Mexican border.

Founded in 1880, Bisbee is the site of the Copper Queen Mine, one of the richest mining sites in history. It drew tens of thousands of people into the town, and by the early 1900's, Bisbee was the largest city between St. Louis, Missouri and San Francisco, California. The Queen mine produced millions of ounces of gold, copper, silver, lead and zinc, until mining operations were shut down in the 1970's. Since then, Bisbee has become a quaint artist and retirement community that draws people from all over the world.

As a first-time visitor, it was a refreshing change of scenery from the concrete jungle. The homes that seemed to teeter on the hillsides were old and historic, and the topography reminded me of San Francisco. Strangely enough, they also had the same parking and access problems as the City by the Bay.

On our first evening there (it was the day after thanksgiving), hundreds of people gathered on Main Street to celebrate the "Parade of Lights", which wasn't really a parade but rather a large gathering. A local church choir sang Christmas carols, a group of 8-year-old girls did a ballet presentation, and the town mayor addressed the crowd, all before Santa came by in a big red fire truck to switch on the seemingly meager single-strand of Christmas lights that were strung along Main Street, suspended above, zigzagging all the way up the avenue. It didn't have the enormity or the spectacle or the excess and the glitter of the urban setting, but I liked the smallness of everything. It reminded me of the community where I grew up, where everyone knew each other. You don't feel this sense of affinity in the big cities.

On our second day, we took a two-hour jeep tour that brought us about town, from the first paved street in Arizona (the jeep barely fit) to the Continental Divide marker in the surrounding Mule mountains. We also took a tour of the historic Queen Mine (hard hats and all!) led by a gentleman who actually worked there in its heyday. He talked about, among other things, setting up dynamites and getting out of the way before they blew; showed us the elevators and equipment and how they worked; even pointed out two customized toilets, side-by-side with no walls around them. The experience of learning about a miner's life was unforgettable.

Bisbee turned out to be a charming, wonderful town with friendly people, beautiful architecture, and an air of history that can only be found in the Old West.

[ View the album ]

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The Dance of Idiots (Part II)

I looked at Billy and his face had contorted into an expression of obvious disgust. He waved her away like he were shooing away a fly and warned her, "You better get out of my space!" The woman seemed taken aback, but kept on dancing for thirty more seconds. Then she whirled around to head back to her seat, but not before issuing a sharp retort; she bent down towards Billy with her hands clenched at her sides and said something that, because the music was blaring, I was fortunate enough not to hear. He turned his head towards her as she walked away, and angrily said, "Shut up, you fat f***!" I don't know if she heard him or not. I just prayed there wouldn’t be trouble. Later, she would return to dance in the aisle once again. And again. We ignored her rotund form.

This bewildering night wasn’t over yet. As my full attention started to focus on Robert Cray, Dancing Guy stood up again and blocked my view. And to spice things up, with his standing three feet from his seat, Idiot Number 2, Salt-and-Pepper-Hair (remember when the ushers asked to see his ticket?) came by and stole his seat again!

The ushers returned to address Dancing Guy once more, and at the sight of them approaching, Salt-and-Pepper-Hair immediately stood up to leave. But Dancing Guy didn’t sit down. He had completely blocked my view of Robert Cray doing licks on his guitar. Five minutes later, Dancing Guy had inched his way left and was now blocking Billy's view, too. As Billy muttered something about knocking the guy's teeth out, I slid forward and gently tugged on the offender’s shirt sleeve from behind. To my surprise, he sat down immediately and didn't even look at me. I said to him, "Sorry, I couldn't see," about six inches behind his ear, which he ignored. Whatever dude, just keep your butt in that seat.

Overweight-Dancing-Woman stopped by a few more times, and I tried not to stare at her belly as she raised her arms and lazily swayed her hips. Mr. Salt-and-Pepper-Hair, finally, was nowhere to be seen. And Dancing Guy stayed in his seat the rest of the night. (Gentlemen, see what a lady's touch can do? And no teeth were knocked out or anything.)

The concert ended to roaring applause and a standing ovation. As we stood up to exit with the crowd, the gentleman seated behind Billy leaned towards him and asked, "Why didn't you get up and dance?" Billy laughed.

Idiot Dancing Woman. In retrospect, Billy could've just smiled and not done anything rude. On the other hand, she shouldn't have invaded his personal space. I also surmise that Mr. Salt-and-Pepper-Hair was either an unabashed opportunist, thick-skinned to a preposterous degree, or just a fan who didn’t care about the random thoughts of strangers. Lastly, Dancing Guy turned out to be a rebel, tough and dissenting with male authority figures (ushers) but acquiescing to polite females in the audience.

Are there these many idiots in the celebrated state of California? In this country? In the civilized world? Why can't people just kick back and enjoy a paid event while being considerate of every one else around them? Why do people act like they have rights but no responsibilities? I raise this question to the cosmos.

It was very cool seeing Robert Cray in concert. I’m looking forward to the next one, minus the dancing idiots.

The Dance of Idiots

Nov. 10, 2006. It was a lovely Friday night in Santa Barbara, California, and the autumn air was nippy. Billy and I flew in from Phoenix that morning to see the Robert Cray Band in concert. It’s a once-every-album ritual for Billy, where he avidly purchases the best tickets he can get to see his favorite artist, Robert Cray ("The Master", as he calls him) in concert.

The event was being held at The Lobero Theater, a small, intimate venue built in 1873. The halls of California's first theater were narrow and dimly lit, the intricately paneled ceilings illuminated with huge chandeliers. Its 680 seats were upholstered in an aged red fabric, and the faint smell of old dust hung in the air.

At about twenty minutes to eight, we made our way to the second row and settled in as I took in the darkly lit stage that suffused my field of vision. To the right, a set of drums with four huge accompanying Matchless amps; center stage in the back was a bass guitar with its own set of amps; left of that were two keyboards forming an L, and even more amps that looked like antique travel trunks; and front center was the microphone at which the Master would play and croon.

We were seated in the center section, second row, at the two seats to the very left, which meant that Billy was right next to the aisle. Little did I know that our proximity to the stage, and Billy's to the open lane, would later come into play on this bizarre evening.

The theater filled up with enthusiastic fans. The band came on stage to loud cheers and applause, and the concert ensued with an electrifying air. The two ladies to my right were really into it, dancing in their seats and occasionally letting out an enthusiastic yelp, yet remaining pleasant. Which is more than what I can say for a couple of idiots that came out of the woodwork as the night wore on.

In the middle of the first song, a twenty-something-year-old guy with shoulder- length hair stood up and started to dance, without any consistency as to when he would flail an arm, throw a fist in the air or just stand there with his hands in his pockets. And yes, he was in the first row, albeit four seats to my right, blocking peoples' view of The Master. In between songs when the lights were dimmed, two male ushers would approach and tell him to sit down. This scene would play out repeatedly through the night: ushers would tell him to sit down and point to his chair in a manner that bordered on aggressive; he would give them a hard time and pretend he couldn't hear them; he would perhaps utter a profanity or two; he would sit down for 90 seconds, then stand up again as the current song overtook him. Voila: the night’s First Idiot. Next thing I know, the ushers walked him over to the right side of the theater. An ordinary-looking couple came in late, and one of them sat in his seat.

Now the seat in front of me was taken, not at first but eventually, by a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. As if on cue from a bad script, the ushers came to the front once again, but this time with a different purpose. They asked the people in the first row, "Is this your seat? Can I see your ticket?" Mr. Salt-and-pepper-hair nodded yes to the first question, then five seconds later got up to leave. Hmmm… nice to meet you, Idiot Number 2. How many more before the night was over, I wondered.

After just two songs with a wide open view of the stage, Dancing Guy came back and sat in the seat that Salt-and-pepper-hair had vacated. I guess this was the seat he had actually paid for. But it meant he was right between me and Robert Cray.

In the middle of all this, The Third Idiot made its appearance. It came in the form of a woman in her late thirties, who stood about 5’2”, was 30 pounds overweight and wearing a tight shirt and jeans. She came walking down the aisle, stopped in front of the stage and started dancing by her self. I tried not to stare at her. And everything went perfectly fine, until that one climactic moment during a fast song when she gestured at people around her to get up, and, noticing everyone’s polite non-compliance, she bent down towards Billy and told him loudly, "Get up off your ass!"

[To be continued]

Hiked the Canadian Rockies

I spent eight days in the glory of the mountains of the Continental Divide. Words aren't enough to describe the experience. I was in heaven amidst the snow-capped, glacier-laden ranges of the Rockies.

It was beautiful, beautiful country. Rivers coursing powerfully by the highway. Thick, evergreen forests as far as the eye can see, like lush carpeting from mountain to mountain to mountain. And the Rockies themselves -- gray, jagged peaks long ago forced from beneath the earth by something violent and primeval; thousands of feet of rock partially draped in green and capped with a layer of white, sometimes a hesitant dusting of snow, sometimes meters-thick with hundred-year-old ice. Range after range of them, for more than a hundred miles.

I don't know what it is about the mountains that fill me with both a sense of excitement and peace.

I love the wilderness and the life it nurtures. I saw a female deer on the shores of Moraine Lake, just inside the trees as we paddled a canoe close to land. It was lean, gentle and statuesque, the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. I saw a female elk outside our cabin, eating grass amongst the pines. I saw a group of bighorn sheep grazing by the side of the road, their horns curved and majestic. Nothing has ever made me feel so alive as unexpectedly crossing paths with these wild, innocent creatures.

I was captivated once again by mountain rivers. Born from snowmelt up high, a thousand individual streams come together to become a mighty force that carves the landscape and feeds life. It's nothing but water, gravity, and obstacles in between. And yet the sight of it is breathtaking, and its power undeniable.

I saw glaciers up close and was stunned, for I was face to face with a wonder from another time. I saw the unusual color of tranquil, glacier-fed lakes and will never forget that shade of blue. I paddled a canoe in the Valley of the Ten Peaks, and photographed scenes from high places, dangerous places, that not many people have been.

I hiked thousands of feet up a mountain just to see where it would take me. I made it through a hailstorm in the frigid cold. I scrambled up ledges and down scree slopes with a thousand foot drop beside me to carefully ignore.

I challenged myself and won, and my reward was pure bliss.

[Canadian Rockies trip slideshow]

My First Class

I taught my first post-academy class this week. It wasn't so bad -- actually it was pretty good, because
1. there were only six people in the class as opposed to the usual 20,
2. my co-worker/"mentor" Jenn was there to help out with questions,
3. I got pretty high grades in my evaluation.

Five of the officers gave me a grade of 5 (5 is best, 1 is worst), and the other one gave me a 4. Comments included suggesting that I speak louder because the laptops and their radios make lots of noise, and to slow down during practical examples/demos as they follow along on their own laptops. On a positive note, they also thought I was very knowledgeable about the subject. Well, I've only been working on the CAD/MDT (Computer-Aided Dispatch/Mobile Data Terminal) system for seven months, but I agree that I know more than they do fresh out of Police Academy!

I'm quite lucky that this was a pretty small class and that Jenn was there to help out. I'm also very pleased that, bottomline, they liked me as an instructor!

To be honest I put a lot of pressure on myself by not preparing enough. I mean, I was comfortable with most of the stuff I was going to teach, but I hadn't used 100% of everything I was going to talk about. Not that I had much choice, because I couldn't exactly enter such things as a False Burglary Alarm report, or an Officer Activity Log entry on the laptop and send it to the Police Department's live system.

Another reason I was stressing out was because I wasn't sure of how officers made use of all this out in the field. For example, if they ran a license plate on the MDT (laptop) and got a hit on it, meaning the vehicle was stolen or the registered owner was a wanted person, what would be their next step? What if they had more questions on procedure and I didn't know the answer? Was I supposed to know stuff like that? I haven't worked with this system for very long!

But while I was stressing out, I also realized that they'd be spending their first several weeks on the job with a Field Training Officer anyway, and those questions would be for them. I didn't have to know everything. Regardless, the answer to the stolen vehicle hit is: they would need to contact the originating agency, meaning the governemnt agency that entered the stolen plate/wanted person information to verify before they made an arrest. This I found out from watching Jenn teach the class for months.

And so goes my job, and I still enjoy it. Right now I've been tasked with "cloning" our existing MDT laptops and enabling a wireless area network configuration in them. This is our Wireless Pilot Project, and we have been at it tirelessly since the spring. We are gradually replacing every single laptop in all the vehicles in one particular precinct, and if it turns out to be a success, we will be doing it for the entire fleet, in all the precincts, city-wide.

Marv The Beagle

One Friday evening last May, Billy and I were driving home from a local restaurant when I spotted this Beagle following a man as he crossed the street. "Oh, a doggie!" I said. It wasn't on a leash. "Let's get him," Billy decided.

We followed the dog as it ambled along after the stranger to a McDonald's nearby. Could it actually belong to this man? The stranger walked into the restaurant and the glass door shut behind him. The dog, as if on auto-pilot, walked right up to the door, stopped, then just stood there looking in. It broke my heart.

Billy gently picked him up and placed him in the back seat of our car. His tongue hung out as he panted -- a sign of stress. As we drove home, I petted him and talked to him as soothingly as I could. He had placed his front paws on the center console between Billy and me, and we could see how dirty and matted his fur was.

Once home, Chloe came over and wagged her tail as she sniffed him. Sally, our extremely jumpy cat who runs at the sight of the vacuum cleaner, just sat there eyeing us lazily. This new canine was apparently of little concern. Excellent! When bringing home a new pet, you always wonder if it and the old ones will all get along.

We immediately gave the new dog a bath, and took him to the vet soon after. The verdict: he's about six years old; no tracking microchip in him; been neutered; had an eye infection and an ear infection. They gave him his shots for bordetella, rabies and rattlesnake venom, plus some pet meds to make him all better. Don't ask how much the bill was.

But what to name the little fella? I searched online and came across one that had Billy laughing. "He does looks like a Marvin!" he said. And so it came to be. He has been christened Starvin Marvin Villegas/Spink.

He's been with us for two months now, and is doing great. I haven't seen any lost Beagle posters in the pet store near where we found him, for which I'm glad. Although he's starting to act more and more like Chloe the food junkie. Meaning he would sell us down the street for a nice piece of steak.

Marv's been labeled a cutie, and has a really sweet disposition. He doesn't walk very fast, and I actually think he looks bow-legged. But what's lovably amusing is that when we come home at the end of the day, he jumps up and down and runs all around, big brown ears flopping against his face. He bounds across the living room and does a shake-and-bake Steve Nash move, then jumps up to greet us with his paws in the air.

We're taking good care of him, and are getting him in shape. In a few months, we'll be hiking in Sedona with this little fatso.

Teaching Cops Technology

I have recently started dipping my toes in the "teaching" biz. As part of my job, which is supporting the computer laptops that police officers use in their vehicles, I have started teaching an hour-long session in what is known as Post-Academy, two weeks of additional classes for officers who just graduated from the Phoenix Police Academy.

Much as the nerve-wracking anticipation is something I have to quickly get over, I think I will eventually have fun doing this on a regular basis. Today we had 15 new officers, a smaller class than the usual 22 or so. What's nice about these young folks is that they grew up around computers and techie gizmos, and so are relatively savvy with graphical interfaces, as opposed to some of our older officers who haven't touched a Mobile Data Terminal in 15 or 20 years.

Besides Post-Academy, I've also been giving hour-long trainings to some officers who have been on the force for anywhere from a few to several years. Learning stuff like new applications and wireless network technology can be frustrating, I know, especially when all they want is to go out on the streets and do their job. So yes, I deal with both the eager ones who by default become their squad's tech support guy or gal, as well the as frustrated ones who call on the phone and suggest to "rinse the hard drive out in the pond next to the precinct". (Well, hey, at least they call!)

My next post-academy will be on Aug. 15th. There is one scheduled for Aug. 2nd, but I will be on vacation in San Francisco -- it's my good friend Meony's wedding, and I haven't seen him in 12 years. I'm so excited!

While in Northern California, Billy and I will be doing the touristy San Francisco stuff, then heading south to Carmel and Monterey for *more* touristy stuff. This will be a rare non-hiking vacation. We've both been to San Francisco before, but it will be his first time in Carmel/Monterey.

Until next post, I'm working on my photos so that I can upload them to Flickr and start a new photoblog.

And The Season Ends

The Phoenix Suns' journey to the NBA championship ended June 3rd with a defeat to the Dallas Mavericks in the Western Conference Finals. The Mavs will now face Miami Heat in a best-of-seven series.

But who cares about that? The Suns' fire has been extinguished, and so has mine.



In hindsight, what a great season it was for this team, and what a ride they've taken us on! Saddled with injuries, they played with a big heart and continued their run-and-gun style that many said would not take them to the post-season. Yet there they were, 102 games later, more than any other team had played this year, almost making it to the NBA Finals. In the playoffs, they defeated the L.A. Lakers in 7 games, then the L.A. Clippers in 7 games. But alas, they could not overcome the Dallas Mavericks to take it one step further.

I was lucky enough to see them play live at the US Airways Center in Phoenix three times in the regular season. That in itself was awesome, but what was even more awesome was how, in the final hours before Game 3 of the Western Conference Finals, Billy surprised me with two tickets to the game as we were having dinner right in downtown Phoenix! Our seats? Row 1, midcourt! I was stunned and so excited.


Once the game started, it was only this close to the players that I could see for the first time how hard two-time MVP (and my favorite player) Steve Nash really works; how hard he pounds the ball as he adeptly sidesteps an opponent to get into the paint; how fast 23-year-old Brazilian Leandro Barbosa really is; and how in tune with each other a team should be to wordlessly orchestrate their offense.


That evening, though, my next-favorite player Raja Bell was on the bench with a partial tear in his right calf. Sadly, after surviving so many injuries this season, this was the one that the team couldn't overcome. Raja played but was hampered by this injury when they lost Game 6, and with it, the Western Conference series to Dallas.


And so, what now? I can't believe that the Suns' season is actually over.

The team is heart-broken after having come so close to a trophy only to have it slip away. They were short-handed due to injuries and a not-so-deep bench, and exhausted after playing 102 fast-paced games for so long.

In the end, they have next year to look forward to. As TNT analyst and former player Charles Barkley said, if Amare Stoudemire comes back healthy next year, the Suns are going to be a force to be reckoned with.


Thanks, Phoenix Suns, for working your butts off and playing your hearts out, for giving all you had and even more. We'll see you in November, when your fans will be back to rock the house.

Top photo: Desktop wallpaper from Suns.com.
Game photos, row 1, L-R: Showing off my rally towel in my first row seat; two-time MVP Steve Nash warms up before the game; Dallas Mavericks warming up on the court.
Row 2, L-R: The TNT guys Magic Johnson, EJ, Kenny and Charles Barkley in their pre-game show; the Suns warming up; Billy and me.
Row 3, L-R: playoff ticket (row 1, baby!); Billy waiting for tip-off.
Bottom: Half-page ad in the local paper, the Arizona Republic.

Phoenix Suns vs Detroit Pistons

On Thursday night, Billy took me to an NBA game at the America West Arena in downtown Phoenix. The place was packed, and we rallied with the crowd as the Suns battled it out with the undefeated Detroit Pistons. What a great game! The Suns were in the lead for the most part, until the last 1:56 when they were tied. In the end, though, Detroit hit a three-pointer that gave them a five-point lead in the last 16 seconds, and we headed out the door along with half of the crowd. Oh, well.

But it was so much fun! We were just 11 rows from courtside, and being so close made it better than TV!

In high school, I followed the Philippine Basketball Association (my country's professional basketball league) like a fanatic. I was one. I rooted for my team, Ginebra San Miguel, like an ardent fan and never missed a game. With my meager allowance, I accumulated newspapers and sports magazines, cut out articles and put them together in a book. I knew which day of the week each paper would come out, and if the news stand outside my school ran out, I would board a jeepney and travel to the next one a few miles down the street. Few other things have earned such devotion from me since then.

In those days, my favorite players have mostly been point guards or off guards. PBA's Ricky Brown, Chito Loyzaga, Jojo Lastimosa, and Hector Calma were great. I loved seeing them dish out assists and shoot three-pointers. And here again, in the NBA, my favorite is Steve Nash. What a player! And btw, he was last season's MVP -- need I say more?

Here's to watching more games live this season. It's so much fun!

Hiking Mt. Tallac in South Lake Tahoe, CA

Sunday, Aug. 28, 2006; Mostly sunny with moderate winds
Trail length: 9.6 miles roundtrip
Elevation: 6,480 ft. to 9,735 ft.
Elevation gain: 3,255 ft.
Difficulty: Strenuous



My notes:
Arduous climb. Started at 11:30 a.m. right after driving in from Reno. Going uphill, felt like my lungs were burning! (Perhaps had not acclimatized yet?) First use of my trekking poles and camelpack. Beautiful views of higher elevation, especially with patches of green grass and snow amidst barren soil and occasional trees. Views of Floating Isle, Lake Tahoe, Fallen Leaf Lake, Cathedral Lake, and various others in the Desolation Wilderness. Summitted at 4:15. Started descent at 4:30. Did not use trekking poles going downhill, and was able to shuffle down a lot. Arrived back at trailhead at 6:45 p.m. In summary, 4 and a half hours going up, 2 hrs 15 mins heading down. In retrospect, trekking poles may have slowed me down. Didn't use it again going uphill for the rest of the trip. Looked at Tahoe Area Trail/Topo Map, Tallac Hike listed as Expert/Technical. Well, now I feel like I can do anything!!!



Trail guide:
Mileage (one-way): 1.7 miles to Floating Isle, 2½ miles to Cathedral, 5 miles to Tallac Providing a spectacular view of Fallen Leaf Lake, Lake Tahoe and Desolation Wilderness, this strenuous hike is well worth the effort. The first part of the trail to Floating Island and Cathedral lakes is moderate and can be enjoyed by the novice hiker. Beyond Cathedral Lake, the trail becomes steep and strenuous as it continues up the front face of Mt. Tallac. The trailhead is located approximately 3½ miles north of South Lake Tahoe on Highway 89. Look for the Mt. Tallac Trailhead sign directly across from the entrance to Baldwin Beach and turn left down the dirt road. Continue to the trailhead parking. Weather conditions can change rapidly in the Sierra mountains; bring a jacket, carry lots of water and allow plenty of time for your trip. A wilderness permit is required.

All About Bubba

This is Chloe, a.k.a. Bubba, or Bubs for short. She's seven, a Dalmatian, addicted to food, and doesn't know what's going on around her half the time. Yet she's brought much joy into my life. Mostly from doing things that are profoundly idiotic.

She growls when I hold a tiny digital camera in front of her nose. She likes to chase our cat Sally, but is scared of her too (she swipes, with claws!). She's afraid of tiny dogs, because they remind her of the cat. And when the humans are out of the house, she'll scour the area for food. To get food, she'll reach across kitchen counters, open pantry doors, dig into backpacks and purses, unscrew peanut butter jar lids, and eat the foil that comes with the chocolate. This isn't hypothetical. She's done all of this in the time that I've known her.

On the other hand, she loves to go hiking in Sedona; she enjoys going out for a drive with me; she stands in front of the fridge when she wants food; and she raises her paw at me when she wants love. When I come home from work, she jumps up and stands on her hind legs to lick my face. How can you not love a dog like that?

As I'm typing this up, Bubs is downstairs, waiting for one of two things: 1) her father Billy to come home, or 2) me to come down and feed her. She always wants food. She's like a bottomless pit. But it's all good. She is a lovable sweetie pie. Just like her father.

This State Of Transition

Ten more days until I close on my new house. In the meantime, I've turned into a Scottsdale resident. Here I am in my apartment on my day off, doing laundry and updating my web site before I pack some stuff and head off to the other side of town.

I can't wait to move into my house! Goodbye, noisy upstairs neighbors with domestic issues; goodbye, audible next-door toilet flushing; goodbye, ignorant visitors (not mine) who park in my assigned spot. In this state of transition, I have grown to enjoy mornings when I'm nudged awake by a wet-nosed dalmatian; days at work when I get an email from my Tagalog-learning Billy saying, "Hello Maganda, kumusta ka ngayong umaga?"; and evenings when I'm enjoying the company of one who believes that life is as great as the positivity of one's perception.

Sure I still go through some rough times in my head. But after giving up control of my life to God, everything has been so easy, happening in perfect time. Everything feels right and In Place, yet with imperfections that give me something to work toward and strive for.

Who knows what the future holds? Who knows if I'll still be seeing Billy a few months from now? Who knows if I'll still be here in a year? Life happens and all you can do is plan and react. I haven't enjoyed this kind of peace of mind in years. Even though life isn't perfect, it's good enough for me to excitedly face tomorrow. Then again, I've always been that way.

P.S. I'm so ready to have a kid.

billy and his dog and my house

This is Billy. He owns the prettiest little Dalmatian named Chloe (a.k.a. Bubba) whose pic I shall try to post very soon. She doesn't like it when someone points a camera at her, as evidenced by an encounter with her Sunday morning. This dog hardly ever makes a sound, but when I tried to take her picture, she emitted a soft growly bark at me . Don't worry, he said, she's the most docile thing there is. I never would've thought I'd meet a technophobic Dalmatian!

Billy also came with me to see my house on Saturday. I showed him the model homes by my builder, and it made him want to start looking for one of his own. Boy, do I know that feeling. Btw, the base price of my house model went up by $38K since I signed in October! $38K!!! The Phoenix housing market is still going absolutely nuts!!!

First Date

I had my first real date as a single person last Saturday. And since everyone who knows about it keeps asking "How did it go?", well, it went quite well, thank you. If anything, I've finally found a person who's even crazier about hiking than I am! Billy told me about how he and his mom hiked to the top of Cathedral Rock in Sedona, and I was green with envy. Then he said, "Let's go next weekend!" Oh, the joy! The joy... was pretty short-lived, because I remembered that I'm on-call until June 14th, which means I can't go out of town... and by then it'll be about time to move into my new house... so yeah, Cathedral Rock will have to wait.

But, to finally have someone to go hiking with, on a whim! -- That was the best feeling ever.

Excerpt from "The Traveler's Gift"

The following is taken from the book The Traveler's Gift by Andy Andrews. It's a fictional story about a middle-aged man named David Ponder who is in the throes of financial and emotional despair. One day, when he is at his most desperate, he suddenly finds himself on a journey through time where he meets several people from the past. They all have some words of wisdom for their visitor, and here is the first of several letters he receives.

-oOo-

The First Decision For Success: The Buck Stops Here

From this moment forward, I will accept responsibility for my past. I understand that the beginning of wisdom is to accept the responsibility for my own problems and that by accepting responsibility for my past, I free myself to move into a bigger, brighter future of my own choosing.

Never again will I blame my parents, my spouse, my boss, or other employees for my present situation. Neither my education nor lack of one, my genetics, or the circumstancial ebb and flow of everyday life will affect my future in a negative way. If I allow myself to blame these uncontrollable forces for my lack of success, I will be forever caught in a web of the past. I will look forward. I will not let my history control my destiny.

The buck stops here. I accept responsibility for my past. I am responsible for my success.

I am where I am today -- mentally, physicall, spiritually, emotionally, and financially -- because of decisions I have made. My decisions have always been governed by my thinking. Therefore, I am where I am today -- mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and financially -- because of how I think. Today I will begin the process of changing where I am -- mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and financially -- by changing the way I think.

My thoughts will be constructive, never destructive. My mind will live in the solutions for the future. It will not dwell in the problems of the past. I will seek the association of those who are working and striving to bring about positive changes in the world. I will never seek comfort by associating with those who have decided to be comfortable.

When faced with the opportunity to make a decision, I will make one. I understand that God did not put in me the ability to always make right decisions. He did, however, put in me the ability to make a decision and then make it right. The rise and fall of my emotional tide will not deter me from my course. When I make a decision, I will stand behind it. My energy will go into making the decision. I will waste none on second thoughts. My life will not be an apology. It will be a statement.

The buck stops here. I control my thoughts. I control my emotions.

In the future when I am tempted to ask the question "Why me?" I will immediately counter with the answer: "Why not me?" Challenges are gifts, opportunities to learn. Problems are the common thread running through the lives of great men and women. In times of adversity, I will not have a problem to deal with; I will have a choice to make. My thoughts will be clear. I will make the right choice. Adversity is preparation for greatness. I will accept this preparation. Why me? Why not me? I will be prepared for something great!

I accept responsibility for my past. I control my thoughts. I control my emotions. I am responsible for my success.

The buck stops here.

-oOo-

"My life will not be an apology. It will be a statement." Yet another gentle kick in the butt to get me going. I really do love my life, and I want to make it even better. Damn right my life will be a statement! Damn frickin right.

90/10

Ninety percent of the time, I feel happy, hopeful, excited about life, and grateful for a fresh start. The rest of the time, I feel broken.

Tonight is a broken night.

Pros and Cons: Riding The Bus

Taking The Express Bus To And From Work

Top 10 reasons why I love to ride the bus:

10. It takes just 20 minutes to get to work using the carpool lane
9. I get to feel sorry for the poor folks stuck in traffic (at 6 a.m.)
8. I get to sleep while the bus driver merrily drives us to work
7. I get to look out the window and not think of anything important
6. I get to converse with the regulars and meet new people
5. I make new friends with folks from work while we wait together at the bus stop
4. I live just 3 miles away from the Park-And-Ride parking lot
3. Said parking lot is just 1.5 miles from my gym
2. Bus rides are FREE for City of Phoenix employees
1. My car could last two months on a full tank of gas.


Top 10 reasons why I dislike riding the bus:

10. If the bus were just 1 minute ahead of schedule, I'd miss it
9. Wanting to catch my regular bus makes me drive fast
8. I am annoyed by slow drivers in the fast lane (at 6 a.m.)
7. On the ride home, sometimes I take a nap, which makes me not want to work out afterwards
6. I get motion sickness if I get a seat without an outside view
5. After work, people abandon the "After you" gestures and just trip over each other to get off the bus and get home
4. From May to September, walking the one block to the bus stop in 90- to 115-degree heat sux
3. There's a guy with headphones playing very loud music at 6 a.m.
2. Sometimes a co-worker will sit beside me and won't shut up
1. I can tell when someone close by hasn't take a shower

The Gorilla Experiment (and a petty feud about a fridge)

Let me share with you an article I once read about a (hypothetical?) experiment conducted on a group of gorillas, and how it applies to organizations everywhere.

Say you have 5 gorillas in a cage. Dangling up high is a bunch of bananas, and underneath the bananas is a ladder. One gorilla proceeds to climb the ladder, and the entire group is suddenly sprayed with cold water from a firehouse. Each time a gorilla attempts to climb the ladder, they get doused with cold water, until the group attacks whoever tries to climb up in order to avoid being sprayed.

Replace a single gorilla with a new one. Hungry, it goes for the bananas but is shocked to be attacked by the rest of the group. Replace a second gorilla, and when it climbs the ladder, the same thing happens. Eventually the remaining three are replaced, and even though the spraying has stopped, the behavior continues. Replace them continually until, generations later, they just do it because "That's the way it's always been."

#

Now let's teleport for a minute to my place of work, a city government, where I experienced this very same phenomenon as a "new gorilla". The only difference is, my fellow new gorillas and I are independent enough to not join in with the beating. But oh, what a petty, petty thing I'm going to tell you about.

There are 11 of us in my project group at work, including the project manager whom I shall call... Vladimir (it's my story, I have my rights). Right next to our area is another bureau, which I shall call Bureau B. In between our offices is a lunch room that is used by Bureau B employees. Ever since I started working here six years ago, Bureau B people have been very nice to us new gorillas, all hired circa 1999-2000 (the oldies don't go in there, reason to come later). They offer us doughnuts and pastries (though we rarely ever take any), let us chip in for coffee, and use the fridge and sink.

Close to the lunch room are two refrigerators that "belong" to my group. One of them we each chipped in $20 for and purchased cheap at a junk yard, and the other one was donated by boss Vladimir. Now whenever you "donate" something, it means you've given it to the City and it is then considered public property. Just like the whole building is, and almost everything in it, including office furniture and computer software.

The trouble started when a few months ago, one of my co-workers offered a single Bureau B person the use of our fridge. Before we knew it, a whole bunch of them joined in, and we were running out of room. I personally felt like they had trespassed a little bit. But Vladimir, oh, he was ranting -- because of a decade-old feud. See, one morning some ten years ago, there was a bunch of bagels in the lunch room which, at the time I suppose, was for Bureau B consumption only. One of my co-workers, whom I shall call Igor, brought his own bagel for breakfast. A Bureau B person saw Igor with his bagel, assumed he took one of theirs, and raised a stink about it. Vladimir was royally ticked, and that started the rift. Take note, this was circa 1995.

Fast forward to the year 2000, with 7 new gorillas. Two of the old gorillas warned us to avoid using the lunch room because of a lingering, hush-hush animosity. But it's now 2005, and Bureau B people have only ever been so nice to us. Unbelievably though, just this month, Vladimir ranted about their using our fridge, even muttering, "If they're gonna raise a stink about a bagel...." LOL! He doesn't realize that there's a whole new generation of people in that bureau who don't have a clue about the ten-year-old squabble. And besides the fridge, he's also territorial about the use of tables and rooms in our area. Which I don't understand because, hey, it's city property. We work in a public building! He's living in the past, an old gorilla angry about being sprayed. Needless to say, us newer folks are perplexed by his behavior. We're supposed to be more mature than that.

Unfortunately, this kind of mindset is not unique to Vladmir but is common among the old gorillas at work, and as it is with the fridge, so it goes with bureau projects and personnel alike. It all just spills over. Personal politics and counter-productive territorial behavior run rampant. Us younger ones, who've come from private companies and know what "performance-based", "productivity", and "customer service" mean in the outside world, are often frustrated with the continual ego-fest.

Vladimir might be retiring in a year or two, so let's see what happens when a new manager steps in. If another old gorilla gets promoted though, we can expect more of the Same Old Ways. IMO, that would be tragic (and yet another reason for me to leave).

Lastly, who when asked a reasonable question would feel comfortable saying, like a clueless moron, that "That's the way it's always been"? There's a reason behind every process, and if you don't know what it is, you're driving blind. Unfortunately, that happens too often in a lot of places. It would be so much better to hear a trite yet sincere, "I'll get back to you on that."

Time Alone (With Dr. M. Scott Peck)

This past week, I've been taking lunchtime walks downtown to find a quiet spot to read a book. This has to do with the fact that I've been super depressed again the last week and a half, after being pretty much okay since January. A particular facet of my work environment (having to do with neighbors and phone calls) is the culprit behind the aggravation, and it's led me to step outside into the sunshine and walk my depression away.

Today was particularly hard, though for a different reason, and I found that once I stepped out into the wide, open space of the city streets, I actually breathed a sigh of relief. And I don't know if it was the open spaces, or the sunshine and the cloudless sky, or just the transition from enclosed halls with shuffling bodies and artificial light. I realized in mid-sigh just how stressed I must've been to actually have to sigh, plus mutter, "Hay, salamat..."

So the book I've been reading in that quiet spot downtown is The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck.

It just blows my mind.

I don't remember when I first heard about it, but I do remember when I got a hint that it must be special. I had a teacher back in university named Jenny Dy, who was our instructor in Electrical Engineering 9. She was young, extremely intelligent, and also very nice. Twice a week during class she'd walk into the classroom, one arm cradling her lesson plan, notes, and EE books. On top of the stack: this neat-looking paperback called The Road Less Traveled. It sounded familiar. It stuck.

A few months ago as I was going through a very difficult time, I sought refuge in literature. Not fiction (my default), but self-help books, which I've been reading more and more of in the last few years. One night I emerged from a nearby bookstore with six, among them The Road Less Traveled. This was back in October, yet I just started reading it this week.

"Traveled" is so packed with the author's ideas, it's just so dense that what I read for a mere 15 minutes is more than enough to have to absorb in the next 24 hours. For example, today I read a section called "Escape from Freedom", where he describes people who whine and complain about their lives yet do not recognize that their lives are in their hands. They are escaping from freedom, because they are escaping from their responsibilities, their freedom to make choices and to act on their situation. They blame other people, or their past, or the situation they're in, but they don't see that the problem is with them.

He also ties this in with how these attitudes are ingrained in us as children. Parents have much power over their children's perceptions of the world. Kids who do not acquire love and security while growing up, who do not see discipline in their parents, themselves become adults who do not value themselves, cannot delay gratification, do not develop discipline, and refuse to take responsibility.

What an awesome book. Thanks, Ms. Jenny of EE9. The second best thing I took away from your class was digital circuits.