Coastie rescuing an innocent victim from the Superdome

Lost little girl

Coast Guard helo survey

Coastie rescue barge

The little piston that could

I was up until 4 a.m. last night making maps with the night crew. You’d think it’d be a nice quiet shift, but they need to have products prepared for first light, which means I get busy. They served us chicken fried steak at the 1 a.m. chow. I think I'm still recovering from that one. My diet has taken a nose dive into grad school-style comfort food crossed with southern hospitality. Huddling in front of a laptop with people looking over you shoulder for 18 hrs will do that. Red vines, chocolate, pb&j sammiches, oranges, bananas, coffee, more coffee, doritos, chips, diet coke. Rosemary and the track look so far, far away right now. The summer tan that I earned under so many hours in the sun is beginning to peal.

Today was full on. I need it NOW. Is it ready YET? I have a mtg in 10 min. Email it to these Army captains. We're giving these maps to the pilots so they can do aerial surveys of the neighborhoods. If you see bars or stars yes it is a priority. We need this by 1700 for a heads mtg to decide the hazmat priorities. We're giving these maps to the boat teams so they can navigate up the streets now waterways to do house-to-house searches. What is the lat/long of this street address, they say there are people who need rescued there. What is the lat/long of this address, there is a house full of nuns who refuse to leave and want to die under god's will. They sent out swat teams to take out snipers who are on the roofs shooting at the response personnel. There is bunker fuel sliding through the neighborhood. The shit is on fire. A gaping hole will open up and swallow the remains of the city. No body sees that as such a bad thing. It's all good. The Coasties get what they need. They go do the dirty work. I just sit here and eat red vines.

There is a woman pilot my age who wears her olive green pilot suit and black combat boots around the command post. She speaks with authority and control, but in a soft, tender voice that makes you wonder if that same voice barks back to her while she's in the pilot's seat scorching through the airspace. She has blonde hair pulled back and in other attire could be that California girl from a Beach Boys song. I admire her. I sometimes wish I had taken a different track.

It really is a positive atmosphere here. They try to keep morale high. Someone has passed around Beanie Babies to the tables. Somehow I got two. A brown and tan puppy diving into the red vines and a bright green bear dressed as a clown sitting on a printer. Everyone is friendly and says hello. It's not like the streets you live on where you don't even lift up your head to greet a neighbor you've lived next to for 5 years. Everyone introduces themselves. Everyone smiles and asks how you are, even if you've never met. You're here for a common cause. You're here to help each other succeed. There is no need for masks or self absorption. Leave that at the door. In fact, leave that in the putrid flooded streets of New Orleans. Get over yourself. We're here as humanity and will die together in humanity. There is no need to trump anyone else today when you will trip and fall all your ass in front of everyone tomorrow. I love coming to these events because it is a microcosm for how things should be. Team work, communication, success, altruism, equality. I try to take it back with me when I go home, but it tends to get crushed by those who have never had the pleasure. That could be my contribution, to not let it get crushed any more. Fuck you all and your holier selves, I will take back. You won't crush this again.

Keep 'em happy

Firefighter wives volunteer to raise money

A sigh in the world

The Ops Section Chief, a CG commander, that I helped last night was professional enough to give me feedback on a particularly important map that I made for him last night. It was supposed to help him and the Navy pinpoint where they could go into the neighborhoods to rescue people who were left waiting for rescue in or on top of their houses. They took the map on a helo overflight, but when they surveyed the neighborhood from 1,000 ft above there were no signs of life, only small segments of rooftops poking through the fetid water, which meant there was over 18 ft of water in the streets once the water subsided. There were cars overturned and wracked up along buildings, which also told him that these people never left their houses. He was rather somber when telling me that this neighborhood with thousands and thousands of houses, where they hoped they could have saved so many people, may not have had many survivors. He hoped that those people were able to get to higher ground and be ferried somewhere else. They will send boats out tomorrow to check on the houses and pound on the roofs to listen for survivors. If there are no knocks answered they will move on to the next house. Everyone has been talking about how in New Orleans they tell you to have some sort of saw or machinery in your attic to break through your roof as part of your hurricane emergency kit. I really hope that the people in that neighborhood got to higher ground before the waters swallowed up their lives.

There are a few hundred people in the command post here. Most are from USCG Sector New Orleans and have lost their home. Each person has their own story. Some scour the aerials on the internet looking for their homes or where they left their cars. They all laugh at the absurdity of it. I think they're well enough to know that they can rebuild and all will work out in time. One man told me of how he could clearly see on an overflight three debris paths that led across the state. He's never seen such a wide swath of destruction and he's lived through all the major hurricanes of the south. He was dumbfounded about how such a storm surge could have risen, he estimates over 30 ft, to uproot trees and decimate buildings. This event will be fodder for numerous studies on environmental toxicology and cleanup, how the Gulf shoreline has been changed, and how western infrastructure will have to be reconstructed after total annihilation.

Count your blessings everyone and spread some kindness into the world. There is a big hole to be filled.

For the love of coffee

48 hours ago I finished my last track race of the season. Right now I sit at a table in the Alexandria, Louisiana, convention center that is home to the Coast Guard Region 8 command post. The Hurricane Katrina response here is going rather well, given all that is going on at ground zero in New Orleans. The CG has rescued nearly 10,000 people by the end of today. The maps I produced early this morning showed them where they could navigate their skiffs in the flooded areas to ferry people to bigger boats and to safety. We've produced maps of aerial photography that show the flooded areas, hospitals that still have patients and need evacuated, nearly 200 oil spill and other contaminant incidents, off shore oil rigs that are damaged, and SAR operation bases. When I woke up from my cat nap at the hotel this afternoon and turned on CNN, they were talking about the CG rescuing people by boat, and for a moment I had some pleasant satisfaction that I was doing some good here. I'm not looking to stand out, I'm looking to work as a piston in the machine that is chugging along to aid these poor people.

Have we had our frustrations? Hell yeah. CNN had our aerial photography before we did. And we still don't have it all!!! What the hell does that tell you when the entertainment industry (yes I said that, they aren't really news any more now are they) can get gov't photography before their own feds can??? Freakin Google Maps has more current aerial photos than we do. There are goons living in their parents' basement with better information than I have right now. Oh, and now it's the holiday weekend so you can kiss any support from the home office goodbye. Yeah the people here are utterly frustrated with the decisions (or lack thereof) that hinder the response, but that's where problem solving comes into play. Make things work anyway. Push through. Don't cave. Ever. The people literally living in shit can't afford to have you cave.

But I can't complain. Everyone here is wonderful and we're living large everything considered. I eventually got my own hotel room. I pulled the night shift after walking off the plane and the hotel unknowingly gave my room to someone else when I didn't check in at midnight, so I slept for an hour in the lobby this morning waiting for them to clean my room. Then I got a few hrs sleep before coming in again. Local people brought brownies, someone even delivered a dozen pizzas, and kids made a bunch of cards for the Coasties. There is good work going on. It's just not all noted on the vaccuum of television.

Coasties Rule

Responding to Katrina

I'm leaving in a few mintues for the airport, heading to the command post in Alexandria, Louisiana, to work on the Hurricane Katrina response. One of my many hats involves mapping in emergency response situations. I've been on 2 real oil spill responses and numerous drills. It's an opportunity of sheer adrenaline and knowing that everything you do is necessary and valuable. The spill in Philadelphia last winter was the largest in human resouces since Valdez in 1989, mostly because of the stretches of river effected and the nuclear power plant being shut down for fear of oil leaching into their valves. We worked 18-20 hour days without getting out of our chairs, often not leaving the hotel/command post for days, going without eating, sucking as much caloric value as possible out of coffee, cream and sugar. This response will be beyond compare. I'm excited to be part of the human machine that is being put in place. Working with a few hundred, or thousand, people in the command post, everyone gunning at their positions, working together to make the machine's pistons move effectively. The command post is the only time I've seen the phrase "team work" actually work. Unlike the typical mundane tasks at work, in a command post, every task is vital.

I'm packed and even threw in extra food from my camping provisions: peanut butter, dried bananas, chocolate chips, energy bars, crackers, and more chocolate. I'm not expecting to ask for anything when so many people have nothing. I hope my little contribution will help this response in some way. When we work together as a machine for humanity, it usually does.

Track Posse - Jane, Molly, Me

Track Posse 2 - Jane, John, Molly, Me

Last Night of Track Deelight

I managed to convince my bosses that I couldn't leave for Louisiana tonight because it was the last night of track races of the season. (heeheee...suckers.) So off I went to Marymoor totally charged to race because I knew that for the next 2 weeks my body would be abused in a sedentary way working at the Katrina response. It was all or nothing tonight.

The track posse was all there and I braved sporting Jane's skinsuit for another night. She had tossed it to me on Monday to welcome me to the team. I did the superman thing and changed into the skinsuit in the porta-pottie. I'd never worn one before and when I came out I felt so....exposed. Like a guy wearing lycra shorts for the first time. Some things just aren't meant to POP OUT like that. But when the heads turned the catcalls came out. Whistles, yells, whooping...the whole freakin track turned around to see me in this monkey suit. I tried desperately to hide behind my ReLoad bag, but Gregg managed to attack me and wrestle it away. Calls of "Drop the bag! Drop the bag!". Yeah hahaha very funny. I walked around like a cat with wet paws. Not entirely sure what to do with myself. I wore it all night and eventually got used to it, maybe put an extra swagger in my step.

So I was back in uniform on Wed night and ready to storm. There were about a dozen girls, with 4 of us from the Track Posse. The first race was an 8 lap snowball. Jane and Izzy did well getting the first laps while I hung out in the rear sucking wheels while everyone else tore us around. By the 6th lap the pack had slowed down and I was ready to go. I sped around the leaders and took the 7th lap with a good lead. I looked behind and had no challengers and continued the lead the whole way on the bell lap. Someone yelled that I had a good 100 meters on them. I couldn't believe I had no challengers, but hell....ok by me. I settled back at the finish line and enjoyed my points. First race to me.

Second race was a miss n' out. Our track posse did well blocking the other women across the width of the track. With 3 laps to go, it was me, Izzy, and one Ti girl. Grrrr....we don't like Ti. At the bell lap Izzy took the front position and I took the back. I sucked the Ti girl's wheel and at the 3rd corner came ahead on her outside so she couldn't pass Izzy. In the homestretch I sprinted with Izzy for the finish, but she took the prize. All good with me. Izzy rocks.

Third and last race. A 4x5. Fuck this is going to hurt. Game plan is to let the pack run the race and I'll suck wheels and go ahead for the final block of laps. I swear they weren't turning the numbers on that board. At lap 17 I was convinced we'd already been around 10 times. My legs started feeling all too heavy, all too tight. I knew I still hadn't recovered from my week with Rosemary. For the 2nd sprint I got in front and told Izzy to take my wheel. I pulled her around so she could take the points. Shit that hurt, but hell I had nothing to lose. The final 3 laps I tried to hold a lead, but my legs didn't have it. I got behind some others but in the final stretch I let them have it. Legs toast. Legs hurt. Legs in pain. Legs taking 2 weeks off.

It was a perfect end to the season. I never imagined doing so well. Izzy took first for the night and I took third. Not too shabby racing against women who have raced Cat 4 all spring and summer. I'm ordering my custom steel frame soon and with Grand Wizard Charles' help I will have sweet bling wheels to adorn it. I can't wait for the next 7 months to pass. They'll be filled with mass amounts of friends and bikes and training trips and bike love and cold darks nights of building new toys. I'd like to have the future tomorrow, but I have some days to fill up with memories and experiences first.

Travels with Rosemary

My friend and I just got back from an 8 day bike tour of the San Juan Islands and lower Vancouver Island. We ate, we drank, we rode, we stunk, we lounged on hot rocks at the beach, we ate some more, and rode some more. I originally planned on taking my converted fixed/ss Fat Chance on the trip since I knew its 36x16 gearing (60.8 inhces) would do well with heavy loads, plus it has been outfitted with a rack and panniers before. But, two nights before our departure, Rosemary (my beloved fixed Bridgestone) told me that she wanted to go on vacation too. I thought about it quite a bit and was split on taking her. She isn't outfitted for pannier racks, I'd have to alter her gearing, my friend would be severely annoyed if problems arose with Rosemary, but god dang it would be a blast to take her.

I sat down with Sheldon Brown to see what the optimum gearing would be for Rosemary. She's a 44x16 now, but if I took her to 44x18 that would give me 63.6 inches, which is near what the Fat Chance is. Hmmm...with this combo I should be able to take the heavy load and still ride around the roads sans panniers w/o spinning my brains out. Seemed like a good compromise. So the day before departure I ran around town looking for a seatpost rack, 18 tooth cassette (who wants to pedal downhill with all that weight?), and all the other last minute trip preparations. Of course, no one had an 18 tooth cassette so I had to settle for an 18 tooth fixed cog. Bah...who needs coasting anyway?

Another rationale for taking Rosemary was that my panniers wouldn't weigh that much. I had lots of ultralight gear from my climbing days that I was sure would keep things to a minumum: titanium cookset, Pocket Rocket stove, purple annodized titanium mug, Integral Designs tarp (no stinkin' heavy tent), down bag, new lightweight thermarest. No prob. Although given my lightweight setup I also rationed that I could bring a few luxury items like a dozen eggs, 2 blocks of cheese, and 4 days worth of food, heavy on the chocolate.

My friend was still skeptical of my setup, but my bags weighed in at under 30 pounds, the seatpost seemed like it wouldn't crack under the load, and I ensured her that Rosemary and I would do well.

And we did. Mass amounts of sun and riding and challenging terrain. The San Juan Islands are known as challenging bike terrain with major hills, and not a good deal of flatness anywhere. Lopez is considered the most "flat", but that's only because its hills are intercepted by level terrain on occassion. I never imagined Rosemary and I would do so well. We didn't walk once and got some good comments from riders who recognized her special setup ("Hey what the....look at you!!", "You are hard...core. That is so hard core.", "Can you ride around here with only one gear?", "Hey don't give the bike all the credit for doing so well. You're the engine. Look right there at those legs. You're doing it yourself." Yadda yadda.)

Thanks for such a splended trip, Rosemary. Youz da best bike a girl could have.

Rosemary holding up the fort

Potato Chip Hill

Back in 1997 my dad and I credit card camped and rode our bikes around Lopez and San Juan Island for a few days. I had my souped up steel Serrotta and my dad rode his titanium Serrotta machine. I had been riding a lot around Seattle, but I wasn't the kind who actively sought out big hills on my own. That whole "comfort zone" thing. My dad, however, being a testosterone-driven cyclist from the Appalachian hills of western Pennsylvania absolutely loved climbing on his bike. The more the merrier, the harder the better. His climbing prowess was even more nauseating because he had recently shed almost 40 lbs by strictly relegating his food consumption to the point of lowering his body fat to about 10%. He didn't look particularly healthy to my mom and me, but he could ride and climb like a beast.

My memories of our trip are of: gray skies, a few raindrops, lots and lots of big hills, my dad riding out front the whole way, me complaining about the hills the whole trip, me dropping out one day because I was so tired of hills, and most of all - Potato Chip Hill.

One of the toughest climbs was a hill through the middle of San Juan Island. The map said this was one of the flattest roads, but was punctuated by this one huge hill. My dad said we could do it and he'd wait for me at the top. I remember going really slow upwards. Thinking how much I hated hills. The revolutions of my pedal stroke getting slower and slower. Seeing a cow pasture on my right in the valley below. A guardrail the whole way up the serpentine road. One turn after the other. One more grade after the other. Mentally taking this weakness out on my dad.

He did meet me at the top and was happy to see me. But, he had a little speech for me. He gloated about how great it is climbing when you've lost weight. That all you have to do is get rid of the junk food and the weight just peels off. He's never felt better. Like it's so fucking easy to lose weight and the skies open and the angels fucking sing to you. Whatever, I thought. Just get me the fuck off this stupid island. I suck. I’m a loser. I can’t climb like you. I get the message. I've never, ever forgot that day.

Fast forward to 2005 and this past week riding Rosemary around the islands with fat panniers on her back. I had been doing a stupendous job climbing the hills with and without the panniers, stunning myself on the steep sections without walking one step. One of the greatest moments was climbing the hill that rises straight out of Lime Kiln State Park. Straight the fuck up. As we looked up from the bottom I said to my friend, "I might have to walk this one." But I didn't. Rosemary didn't let me stop. We kept pedaling, kept crawling, kept straining to get our load up this steep ass climb. When I thought Rosemary would topple over, she gave a boost and we moved forward. We did the first section, it petered out for a bit, then went straight up again. This is when I really dug in. I screamed, I strained, I grunted, I swore. I was Jan Ulrich not giving up. I wouldn't give up. I was going to get the fuck up this hill and I didn't care if I had to stop a thousand cars to wait for me. As the hill finally crested, I smiled and nodded to myself. I was pretty fucking awesome. Good job, girl.

But the real test was Potato Chip Hill. My nemesis from 8 years ago. As my friend and I traveled back to Friday Harbor on that road with our full loads, I knew what lay in front of me. A very small part of me thought, "Well, it's ok if you walk, just do your best for as long as you can. Not only are you riding on one gear, but you're toting 30 extra pounds on the back." But there was a bigger part of me that wanted to chew up this hill and spit it all over the ground. As we approached the hill’s bottom, its memory loomed in front of me. The guard rail. The cow pasture. The serpentine of black asphalt curving high and disappearing around a bend.

Rosemary and I began going up. I kept pedaling. I kept moving. Yes, moving. Once again when I thought we couldn't go any faster Rosemary dug in and I felt acceleration under my feet. It was slow and my cadence was grinding. Certainly not the swift, smooth stroke of Lance going through the Alps, but I was doing it. I was climbing up this goddamned hill! I was so strong and I was annihilating that cursed day from years ago. The road curved around and more climbing lay in front of me, but I ate it up. Give me more you fucking road! I'll take it all! You can't stop me from climbing this hill! Finally I saw the pull off area to the side at the crest of the hill. I rode a little farther just because I could. I stopped. I smiled. I started to cry the exhaustive cry of triumph and defeating something that has taunted you and beat you for years. I climbed this fucking hill and I was so awesome. Not only did I do it so strongly, but I did it on a 44x18 gear with full panniers. Standing at this spot 8 years ago listening to my dad's speech, would I have ever thought this would be me standing here now? Nothing, but nothing could take it away from me because I did it my self and earned every inch of it.

My friend came up behind me a few minutes later and we had some water. She said, "Good job," and I said “Thanks,” but said nothing more. I was content where I was and needed nothing else. My demon had been slain.

White Starling

The wind whipped across Haro Strait into our faces and white caps feathered the water. My friend and I waited patiently to hear the boarding call so the Sidney ferry could take us back to Anacortes and our car. It was 1115 and the ship should have sailed at 1100. I bided my time playing with Rosemary and staring off into the water and gazing at the green jeweled Gulf Islands. An old woman with a light blue cotton outfit walked up to my friend and her bike and started a conversation. I couldn't hear all she was saying over the wind, so after a minute I walked over to join them.

My friend immediately brought me up to speed with what the old woman was saying. She was inquiring about our trip and telling us how much she loves riding her bike as well. She was 86 years old and rides her bike almost every day, and mentioned how much she loved riding around Orcas Island. She lamented that she can’t do something as strenuous as Orcas anymore, and I joked that she’d have to settle for a ride around “flatter” Lopez Island instead. We smiled and laughed as the woman with the white hair and deeply wrinkled face told us a story of how she celebrated her retirement with other people her age. They went to Australia for 2 months and rode around, then took a boat to New Zealand for another 2 month tour. They camped the whole way. She was 60 at the time! She had that lively, British story-telling vive to her, reminiscent of all the old adventurous explorers long gone.

She continued about how even when she feels down, she insists on getting on her bike and going for a ride. Any time she can ride she feels so much better, so alive. She lost her husband a few years ago, which left her with the deep heartache of loneliness. But this old woman drove home the point that when she gets on her bike she doesn't feel so lonely any more. It keeps her alive.

I was staring at this beautiful, vibrant woman of 86 years, with healthy white hair and wrinkled porcelain skin thinking, "I want to be riding a bike when I'm 86 years old. I want to live to be like her, to tell such passionate stories of my years. To be strong enough to break through the loneliness and sadness with the help of my bike and to become a wise, aged woman like her." And I cried a little, like I always do, but hidden behind my sunglasses staring into the morning sun.

She told us to have a lovely trip, and as soon as we met her, she was gone. I didn't get her name. She left before I could grab my camera out of my bag and capture her picture, her essence of how I want to grow old. I cried a little more, thinking of her long life with her beloved husband into their wrinkly old age and how he must have beamed at her beauty and love of living, how they must have created such wonderful stories together. But now she was alone, and looks to her bike as her salvation, her best friend to carry her through the lonely times.

I can’t help but think I met her for a reason. Thank you, white starling, for visiting me and whispering your message. I was listening.

Killing time waiting for the ferry.

Quote of the week:

"Don't climb up there. It's too dangerous for little girls."

- Said by overprotective (really?) mom to her 3 year old princess as her 6 year old brother continued to climb the 5 feet to the top of a dead, downed tree. My friend and I heard this echo into our ears at the same time as we sat at the camp we had carried ourselves on our bikes. I belted out in stunned laughter, while my friend sat there with mouth agape and eyes wide open in dumbfounded shock. Gloria Steinem would have kicked that mother's ass.