Snowmageddon

Winter is usually the time of year around here when I get  take a break and rest.  Shorter days. Cooler temps. Warm fires.  Goodies in the oven.

I'm always running around here like a chicken with my head cut off in the summer.  Always trying to put twenty pounds of taters in a five pound sack, kinda because I have to.  Long days.  Hot as hell.  The constant noise of pushing air.  And no goodies in the oven.

A big part of that busy summer equation is our own doing.  I love to garden and my lovely wife is the cut flower queen.   

So we have roses, lots of roses.  We also have several 3x8 grow boxes devoted entirely to cut flowers, which, besides my lovely wife, bees and butterflies love too.  Then there's two twenty foot long strips along walk ways that get planted with bloomers every year.  And a ten foot lily strip along the potting shed.  Hundreds of iris bulbs all over the property and flowers in pots kinda everywhere too. 

This is a typical kitchen table scene during spring and summer as they await deployment all over the house:

Then there's the rest of the stuff.  Vegetables, a dozen fruit trees and assorted landscaping close to and all around the house.  Most everything is at least drought tolerant as far as the landscaping goes.  But it still needs some attention.  Especially during many of those hot hot hot summer days.

I have drip systems everywhere with eight or nine automatic timers.  A timed sprinkler system in front.  I've done what I can to minimize usage while keeping things alive, but there's still a lot to do.

It wasn't so bad a decade ago, but with the hot as hell summers now I gotta stay on top of things.  And I've kind of got a part time gig, which busy season happens to coincide with summer.  Summer is hot and busy as hell.  I'll take the shorter winter days anytime.

So just to interrupt and screw with my idyllic winter rest this year we had a major storm event here right after Christmas, 2021.  We are calling it Snowmageddon.  And Snowmageddon begat the Treepocalypse.  And the Treepocalypse begat an enormous, time consuming mess.

You see, here in the Sierra Nevada mountains, even in the foothills we get this snow we refer to as Sierra Cement.  It is very wet and heavy stuff.  Not like the fine powder many folks prefer to ski on.  Or put up their nose.

Nah, you could bury corrupt politicians and supreme court justices under this stuff.  At least until spring.  Then I don't know what you're going to do.  Those suckers will surface and start stinking, similar to what they're doing today only from a slightly different perspective.

Put a few inches to feet of Sierra Cement on top of drought stricken trees and you get the Treepocalypse.  

That morning, December 27th I awoke to the lovely quiet.  It had snowed overnight.  It was a winter wonderland.  We missed a White Christmas by two days.  Dang.  

It's what I've always been dreaming of.

We had no power, which was no big deal.  It also added to the quiet.  It would only take me a few minutes or so to run some extension cords and fire up the generator.  

I stoked the wood stove.  I had no idea hell was waiting outside until our son called about 7:00 AM.  

He said he had about thirty down trees on his ten acres, with at least ten across his drive, which is about three hundred yards long.  He said it was very scary outside because big widow maker branches were breaking and falling everywhere.  

It was then I got entirely attired for snow and started to wander around our property.  I quickly began to understand the magnitude of the situation.  This is what I encountered on our driveway after just a few steps:

 

 A little stroll down to the street greeted me with this:

 

That's our driveway gate up yonder.  There's another downed tree across the drive behind it.  It was only about four or five inches of snow, but obviously that was enough to create a situation.  And I had situations everywhere.

The above situation is what our tree guy Mike, the mess maker (530-575-2251) made when he took down those (there were three total) large, broken branches.  Everything landed between the potting shed and house.  

Mike's been doing our sensitive tree work for years now.  He has never been off an inch from where he's wanted wood to fall.  See Tarzan the Tree Man.  (That there's a link to another wonderful post by the way. )

I highly recommend him for any locals in Nevada County that would like a mess made on their own front lawn. He's bonded and insured and all that.  You can tell him I sent ya.  He'll probably charge more.

The only downed oak (above) not affecting ingress, egress or safety.  It was a favorite of ours and home every year to an assortment of nesting birds.

Then there was this monster that partially landed on the hen house.  Fortunately it took down a smaller pine, slowing it's descent.  Only one rafter and a portion of the overhang in the rear were damaged.

The other side.  As you can see, I had already been doing some cutting and slicing.

One thing I have learned through much experience is that trees always get bigger when they hit the ground.  If it was a small to medium tree, it gets big.  If it was big to begin with, well, it gets diabolically huge.  Trust me. 

We had a total of seven diabolically huge trees come down here on our property, three across the drive.  Sigh.  I'm getting too old for this stuff.

Once I had assessed the situation and realized I had about eleven thousand things to do, I figured I had better start with the first.  Which was get the generator fired up and the appropriate extension cords run. 

I also have a transfer switch on the well so that our generator will power it, but unfortunately a pipe broke and I was going to have to fix that prior to getting water to the house.  But the generator was on.  We had communication and charging capabilities.

As I mentioned, we heat the house with a wood stove, so heat was not an issue.  And there was plenty of seasoned wood.  We also have lamps, lanterns, candles and enough assorted batteries for a six month siege.  

I also always have enough propane on hand to run the generator for sixty-four hours, or four to five days at twelve to sixteen hours per day.  We'd be OK til the dust settled.  Or the snow melted, in this case.

I don't even want to get into the end of the world pantry.  I was a cub scout when I was a kid.  I've always taken being prepared to heart.  We had food for months.  It'd get a little weird after a while, like tuna and peanut butter sandwiches, but we wouldn't be starving.

My celebrated mother-in-law was still here from Christmas, and my lovely wife's tantalizing twin was coming up that night.  

She was coming up for an after Christmas couple day visit and then she was going to take Mom back to the Bay Area.  After conversing with my lovely wife she decided to rent a 4WD, which I thought was a dandy idea.  If our place was this much of a mess the county as a whole couldn't be much better off.

Bolstered with one of my patented edibles, I began what was to become a very long and arduous day for an aging old man.  I had a hundred yard drive to shovel and three diabolically huge downed trees to get out of the way.  Just to get to the road.  

Who knew what lay beyond that?

I forgot to mention in early December, three weeks prior, I cracked a rib.  It was the same area I Skewered My Spleen back in 2020. 

We had just returned from a live Christmas matinee dance deal loosely based on "The Polar Express" with our grand kids and I was out on the front deck.  

I had been nursing a non-covid cough for a couple days.  We felt strongly enough about it though that I did get tested prior to the matinee and massive public exposure.  I tested negative so we were good to go.  Which we did.  With our grand kids.  To the show.  

Hi-ho.

So I was out on the deck and I coughed, real hard apparently, because I heard a loud snap.

Another thing I have learned (unfortunately) through a bit of experience is that whenever you hear some part of your body snap it's usually not a good thing.  Generally intense pain is right on the heels of that snap, within milliseconds I reckon.   And then your body reacts, and depending on the location of that snap you could end up pernt near anywhere.  Doing anything.  

Like the Watusi for instance.

I usually end up on my ass.  One thing was for certain, I was NOT doing the Watusi.  Nor was I contemplating any other dance for that matter.

No.  I was down on my knees in a second.  Which coincides with both my above time frame reckoning's by the way.  

It took my breath away, that snap, and I almost puked.  So there I sat, on my knees, which doesn't make sense, for a minute.  My lovely wife was napping and the grand kids were watching the real "Polar Express" on TV.  

I was gasping.  Then I wheezed.  Eventually I sighed.  After a minute or so I was finally able to get up.  I shuffled into the kitchen where I freaking coughed again.  

And again I went down.  But this time I could not get back up.  The pain was too intense, it was beyond mere numbers.  But if I had to guess, it was somewhere in the hundreds.

If I didn't move I was OK.  But movement in any direction was excruciating.  I was down on my side for about five minutes, contemplating my dilemma, gasping and wheezing.

I didn't want to alarm anyone, but I seriously thought we were going to have to call the fire department.  I could not move.  It was so alarming I started to giggle.  Which made it hurt more.  I was screwed.

I used to be one of those firefighter type rescue guys.  It was a lot more fun on that side of the situation.  Plus you weren't the person in the dilemma.  Less pain too.

I didn't want to be the dilemma.  I didn't want to be in pain.  At all.  I'm not that kind of guy and I certainly do not need the attention.  Quite the contrary.  

And that might have been the deciding moment, I did not want to be a dilemma.  Cause then there's a whole bunch of hoopla and hoody-hoo and I'd just prefer not.  Not for this.  

Nah, let's wait until I'm dangling from a cliff, lop off a limb or have a bonafide hangnail before we engage the cavalry.

I excruciatingly maneuvered my torso to a sit up stage, then I was able to stand, gasping, wincing and wheezing all the way.  Boy howdy, it was a doozy.  

As I reflect on this misery, what I find a little concerning was this injury wasn't incurred doing something really macho, like log splitting.  Or playing rugby or Parcheesi.   

Nope.  I coughed.  That's it.  

If this is how this body aging thing is going to roll I could be concerned.  But then that's one more thing I'd have to pay attention to and I've already got enough to do.

I eat proper.  I take supplements.  I'm in reasonably decent shape.  I get a shit house howdy ton of exercise around here, too much sometimes.  Cardio and otherwise.  Yes, I could be stretching more, but how do you properly exercise your rib cage?

It's weird being the same age as an old person. And this aging thing is not for sissies.  I can't tell ya how many aches and pains I constantly got going on.  

Great.  Now I sound like a bunch of old folks conversing around the dinner table.  In three part harmony.  Which is also weird.  I don't sing.

My lovely wife took me to the ER the next morning.  I mean, I could only sleep in the supine position, and getting there took some yoga like maneuvers, which I don't have.  Because I don't stretch.

So I looked (and felt) more like a jerky, uncoordinated, spazzy old robot than a silky smooth, ice skating gymnast when I simply endeavored to lay down.  It was a process.  And not pretty.

I knew there was nothing they could do at the ER, I'd been down the rib injury road before.  But we went just in case, got x-ray'd and officially Covid tested since I was still coughing.  (I tested negative again.) 

The X-ray was also negative for any fracture, but ribs typically show that way.  It didn't matter, the Doc knew straight away my ribs were injured just by the way I was sitting.  A rigidly convoluted and unorthodox pose positioned perfectly so as to allow minimum stress to the affected region.  Which had to look weird and as uncomfortable as hell to anyone else.  It was almost comical.

He gave me the spiel, six weeks heal time, nothing they can do, just like a broken toe, blah, blah, blah.   

It had been three weeks by the time Snowmageddon occurred, and although the Doc said it would take six I was doing really good.  Let me tell you something though, which should be pretty obvious to any thinking person; shoveling Sierra Cement and running a chain saw are NOT conducive towards positive healing of an injured rib, or of an injured anything for that matter.  By the end of that day they should have taken me out back and shot me.

Fortunately our darling daughter called in the early mid-morning.  Her and her very capable fiance, along with a not so motivated teenager were coming to the rescue.  An extra snow shovel, an extra chain saw, and extra hands.  And without them I would have never made it.

They got here mid-morning, and by that time I had cleared one tree from the very bottom of the drive.  I had also managed to shovel out two tracks so they could get up the steepest part of the drive and stop on a fairly level landing.  It was touchy though, even with 4WD.  Our driveway is steep at the road.

They spent a good four hours here and helped clear two more trees and shovel the rest of the way up.  Her fiance also had the necessary pvc fittings to fix the well so that I didn't have to go to the hardware store, which wasn't open anyway.  I'd been so focused on survival in our little corner of the universe I hadn't really given the outside world much of a thought.

Trees were down EVERYWHERE.  At least thirty or forty just on our little six mile country road.  And we're not talking small taters either.  A couple down the road were Swiss Family Robinson type deals with three foot trunks.  Carpet and linoleum too.

My fabulous sister-in-law had to drive around one of them that had at least been cut to facilitate a one lane passage.  By a local for sure.  

(Local here is referring to anyone living near an area of impact that gets involved with said impact, usually in a positive manner.)   

The county was overwhelmed.  Hell, half the people that work for them probably couldn't get to work that morning.  Many, like me, had hours of work ahead of them just to get to the road. 

State Hwy 49 was blocked for half the day.  That's the main highway in and out of town.  And it was blocked by downed trees for hours!

The county and state had to start with the arteries and work their way down.   For the time being, many smaller, blocked public roads were being taken care of by "locals".   And neighbors were checking on neighbors, especially in the days that followed.

The city and county were a mess.  For days.  Power was out everywhere.  It was like a bomb went off.  Thousands of trees came crashing down on power lines everywhere, splintering many poles in the process.  

Over the course of the next couple days city infrastructure and commercial establishments slowly came to life.  The first stores to open did so with generator power.

We got our power back after six days, and I feel very fortunate.  It took two weeks for our son to get his power back, and some folks were out for almost a full month.  Folks with gas generators were spending fifty bucks a day for power.  (This was more than a month before the Ukraine War and the recent price spike.)

Once things semi got back to normal, it was clean-up time.  I had to turn a whole bunch of this

Into this:

And it had to be done toot sweet because of the fire danger.  Fire season seems to be almost ever ending around here anymore.

Twelve burn piles and about one hundred extra hours I never knew I had later I'm almost caught up.  For some really inane reason, at a time in my life when I should really be lazing about in a hammock, I'm really, really busy instead. 

And that type of work; land clearing, cutting, hauling and burning is the hardest work you can do out here in the country.  You definitely utilize every single muscle group in the process, with a lot of extra extra cardio living on a hill.  

Who needs a gym when you own a couple acres?

Happy spring y'all.

Where did ya get those shoes?

If it was me, and I can personally verify that it is, I'd click on that video and start the song before you get going too far.  It'll help set the tone.  

Maybe.

When I was writing my last post(s) about our resort'n trip to Costa Rica last year, I mentioned the fact I brought two pairs of deck shoes with me.  And that got me to thinking, just how many pairs of shoes do I now own?

I used to own just one pair, maybe two.  Or three.  I remember buying a pair of those heavy duty Vasque hiking boots in my early 20's.  They were all the rage, and they really helped get your legs in shape because each boot weighed about ten pounds.

They actually lasted until we moved here, some thirty-five years later.  I wore them out working on this here hill, and now I go through two to three pairs of work shoes/boots around here every year.

How many pairs of shoes do I now own?  It's almost embarrassing, really.  But being married to my lovely wife, who's headstone will read, "She was always appropriately dressed", it's kind of important I keep up appearances.  And being appropriately dressed has kinda rubbed off on me too.

If you've been a reader of past posts, you know I have a thing about sandals and cargo shorts being worn at a nice restaurant or an opera.  I mean, if you don't own a pair of pants and a pair of shoes why not just go to a deli?  And wouldn't you feel more comfortable at a Jimmy Buffet show rather than Bocelli in your shorts and sandals?

Or are you really that much of a rebel buffoon to not really care?

Besides, it's kinda fun getting dressed up every once in a while.  Plus you're more likely to get lucky if you're wearing a nice shirt and slacks instead of cargo shorts and sandals.

If you don't believe me, just click on that video.

There was a time, long long ago now that Dear Old Dad and step-mom took a trip to Australia with another couple.  The other dude, a real estate guy and really, a lovely gentleman, brought a suitcase full of shoes.  I thought that astounding.  There was no question his feet were dressed for success.

I know I'm not that bad.  I usually travel with two or three pairs, depending on where we're going and what we're doing.  And they definitely don't take up enough space to warrant an entire suitcase, unless it's about the size of a toilet kit.

But I do own a few pair, like about twenty, and here they are...

 

Whoops, I forgot these guys:

They're not really shoes I wear these days.  As a matter of fact, as you can see, they now adorn our garage wall.  Yes, I hung up my cleats a couple years ago.

I also decided it might be too late in my aging career to play competitively anymore.  Not that I couldn't (in my mind anyway).  I'm more than a little concerned about simply starting and stopping.  I'm certain within the first inning of play that I'd pull or tear something or other and then I'd be limping or have an arm in a sling for a month or more.

Circling back to the main shoe photo, take a good look and memorize what you see.  That way if we're ever in a crowded anywhere and you can't see above the shoulders of the people around you, you can look down and still find me.  That is, if we're ever traveling together in a crowded space.

Believe it or not, I actually wear all of them.  The only ones I haven't strapped on recently are the boots way up yonder in the right corner.  They're about a seven year old still sturdy pair of steel toed toughness.  Unfortunately they don't offer the space and comfort necessary now for my plantar fasciitis.

We live in the country, so some of the stuff up there is necessary.  Snow boots, rain boots, work boots/shoes, hiking boots/shoes and a pair of flip flops or crocs by every exterior door.  

Annd whoops.  Just forgot.

We generally don't do shoes in the house, again, we live in the country.  We try to keep most of the country in the country and not on the floor of the house.  And as I sit here writing with the keyboard on my lap and my feet on the desk, I notice that I'm wearing one of two pair of indoor slippers that I also own.  So I guess I'm actually at twenty-two.  

Or is a slipper not considered a shoe?

Many times you have to run outside quick like when you live in the country, so a pair of something, like crocs or flip-flops, at every door is a MUST!

I also own two pairs of Merrill back strap sandals.  One pair is for summer work, the other for summer vacation.  Of course, my now famous two pairs of deck shoes are also there, as are two pair (black and brown of course) of casual shoes and two pair of dress shoes. 

I think that covers my shoe situation.  I also own a decent pair of tennis shoes for golfing, which I can now do once again.  (See: Please Pass the Dextrose) 

I still only golf a half dozen times a year, but I certainly can't wear dress shoes, baseball cleats or snow boots with cargo shorts on the course in July, can I?

 

My Old Friend Tom Should Be Dead

 My old friend Tom should be dead.  He was diagnosed with Advanced Stage 4 Colo-rectal and Liver Cancer on his 52nd birthday in 2007.   Happy birthday buddy.

We were living in Capitola at the time.  He called and left a message on our machine.  We've known Tom over 35 years, my lovely wife knew something was wrong when she did not hear his usual jovial voice.  He came down and spent a couple days with us.  He was gonna fight the good fight, but we were basically saying good-bye.  The prognosis was not good.

He started the usual Chemo treatment that he was scheduled to take for one year. However, he gave it up after five months due to severe side effects. 

My old pal Tom should be dead.  All three of his Oncologists have told him so on numerous occasions.

I'm sure you all know someone who has been diagnosed with cancer since 2007 and they are now no longer with us.  I've got a handful.  My pal Tom is an anomaly.  I've told him so on numerous occasions.

"You should be dead," I say, "What the hell did you do that these other folks didn't?"

Trick question, I already know the answer.  

Besides engaging in an all important integrative approach as discussed with his Oncologists, Tom also drank some of his new wife's breast milk.  You see, besides being diagnosed with cancer at the tender age of 52, he had also become a new father.  That new baby boy helped save his life, in more ways than one!  Tom claims the reason he's still alive, fourteen years after his dire diagnosis, is because he drank his wife's breast milk from their first, and later second child.

So, what's so special about breast milk?  Well, besides all the regular good stuff it contains that helps new lives get off to a healthy start, breast milk also contains Cysteine, a special sort of amino acid.

What's so special about Cysteine?   I'll let the New World Encyclopedia kinda scientifically explain:

Besides a number of other things, Cysteine is an important precursor in the production of the antioxidant glutathione, which protects cells from toxins, such as free radicals, in the human body and other organisms. The systemic availability of oral glutathione (GSH) is negligible; the vast majority of it must be manufactured intracellularly. Glutathione is a tripeptide antioxidant made up of the three amino acids cysteine, glycine, and glutamate. Glutamate and glycine are readily available in most North American diets, but the availability of cysteine makes it be the rate-limiting substrate for the synthesis of glutathione within the cell. It is the sulfhydryl (thiol) group (SH) of cysteine that serves as proton-donor and is responsible for the biological activity of glutathione. Sometimes referred to as the “master antioxidant,” glutathione regulates the actions of lesser antioxidants (such as vitamin C and vitamine E), and levels of glutathione in cells are predictive of how long someone will live.-NewWorldEncyclopedia.org

There's a nine cylinder word, GLUTATHIONE.  

Over 120,000 published studies have shown that glutathione has a profound effect on a multitude of health challenges. As a powerful free radical scavenger, immune enhancer and detoxifier, glutathione has shown to be effective in the following conditions; autism, cardiovascular disease, autoimmune diseases, asthma,diabetes, lung disease, Parkinson’s disease, gastrointestinal inflammation and Crohn’s disease, hepatitis, chronic fatigue syndrome, neuro-degenerative diseases such as MS (multiple sclerosis), ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease), Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s and degenerative eye conditions such as cataracts and macular degeneration.  Total Health Magazine  

The importance of glutathione cannot be overstated. It has multiple roles as indicated and, indeed, as one examines each system or organ more closely, the necessity for glutathione becomes increasingly evident. Glutathione values decline with age and higher values in older people are seen to correlate with better health, underscoring the importance of this remarkable substance for maintaining a healthy, well-functioning body.

So now that we have established Glutathione is probably a good thing, especially if we are immuno compromised, what's the best way to get it?

Well, nature provides a certain amount of Glutathione in certain foods.  There are supplements as well.  But research has shown that the best way to boost your Glutathione level is to increase your Cysteine intake via very biologically active whey.  Not necessarily the big can of body building whey you get at GNC, which is processed quite a bit differently, but some magical whey that comes from breast milk of cows, or humans.

If you have access to a lactating human breast, go for it.  But don't tell 'em I sent ya, especially if she's a stranger.  You could also try Immunocal. That works too and you probably won't get arrested.

My old friend Tom has been taking Immunocal for six years. He introduced me to it a few years ago since he no longer has access to breast milk. His kids are now fifteen and ten.  He started Immunocal right after he stopped drinking breast milk from his second child.  It’s been fourteen years since his dire diagnosis and he’s still cancer free.

I started taking the product about five years ago.  Although not immuno compromised, I did have a renegade appendix go wild on me about that time.  Plus I want my Glutathione levels increased.  I like what I've been reading.  The levels naturally decrease as we get older.

I have definitely noticed I have more energy.  And stamina.  I'm still writing, see?  I can also leap over tall tiddly winks in a single bound and I am also definitely faster than a speeding tortoise.

I went along for the ride not only for health reasons but for the business opportunity as well.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, it's one of those multi-level marketing companies.  All those got a real bad rap years back cause everybody that was trying to sell soap through Amway looked like an EST or Scientology disciple.  Plus they were all get rich quick schemes. The product can be anything, just sell the concept.

There's still a ton of MLM companies out there selling everything from soap to shinola. I'm pretty sure it all works.  I'm sure it's all innovative, special and unique.  I'm sure every one of those products has the potential to enhance your life.  But can you live without them?

Probably. I have been and I’m in my late 60’s.

Immunocal is different.  There are definitely folks out there whose quality of life can be enhanced by taking it. It could also potentially be life saving.  This is what is motivating me.  This is why you have to at least know about it.  Had I known about this product seven years ago there's a chance a couple of folks I once knew I might still know.

Immunocal is listed in the Physician's Desk Reference and Compendium of Pharmaceuticals and Specialties.  It is licensed for sale by Health Canada.  

Do your research and then give me a call.  530-277-0411 Wait, I never answer the phone.  Shoot me an email at davet19@gmail.com and then maybe I'll call you.  If you send me your phone number.

Don’t let the MLM aspect of this product turn you away.  I am not asking you to join the ranks serial sellers, I am simply informing you of the benefits of this fantastic product!

If you, like me are over sixty years of age, you should really take a good look at this.  If you currently have or have had cancer or any other immune disorder, you should try this without hesitation.

Immunocal has started a very good retail program where you can obtain the product online at up to a 25% discount.  You don’t need to buy a banner or go to a convention.   

Just go to: https://immunotec.com/DaveTimoney.  If you are or have been immuno compromised I would recommend taking Immunocal Platinum, which is better than the basic.  

 

Call, write or go online today! davet19@gmail.com 

Immunotec.com/DaveTimoney

The gold standard for clinical evidence for efficacy is a placebo-controlled, double-blind clinical trial. Immunotec's (Immunocal's parent company) present research activities therefore focus on controlled clinical trials in cooperation with various clinical partners in Montreal and other clinical centers in Canada and the U.S.A. The recently published study on the effects of a research formulation of Immunocal on lung cancer patients (Tozer et al. Antioxidants & Redox Signaling, 10:2, 395-402, 2008) is an example. This trial has shown quite impressive results with regard to the health benefits of this Immunocal formulation in the nutrition of seriously ill advanced lung cancer patients. Other clinical studies showing the efficacy of Immunocal have been performed and published by several clinical centers.

Resort'n Done Right

As we waited for the main event, we were entertained by quite possibly the most talented musician in Central America.  Or this hemisphere. 

This young man was playing guitar, keyboard, a percussion machine, steel drum and trumpet.  He'd start strumming his guitar, lay background tracks of that and before too long, Emmit Rhodes style he was essentially playing all the instruments at once, a jazzy fusion of disco rock.

The main show at this Riu, every night, was a different themed dancing troupe.  From Broadway to Disco to Grease to a Mexican Fiesta Extravaganza, there were different flashy costumes, different flashy tunes, and the same very fit flashy dancers.

My lovely wife's favorite was the all male "Angels in Underwear" review.  That's her name for it, and the angel's tight attire left little to the imagination.  Ala Robert Mapplethorpe.

There's not a lot of decision making that is required of you once you arrive at an all-inclusive resort like a Riu.  The hardest decision you'll need to make is whether to go left or right.  Sometimes it's really hard to decide what to put on your plate with the multitude of gourmet choices.  The easy out for that is to just try everything.  Then go back for what really excited your palate.

Oh yeah, you also want to watch out for these guys in Costa Rica.  They're everywhere.

Fortunately we didn't see any man eating sized Iguanas, but they're out there.  Just ask Richard Burton.

Prior to the trip, my lovely wife purchased some sunscreen.  She's highly sensitive and needs SPF 2000.  I, on the other hand, am a dark skinned Scandinavian.  I use SPF 1.

On our second day there, we meandered over to the nearby shops to find a suitable SPF for me since I was not quite as proactive as she.  Here's a tip: whatever SPF you use, buy it before you get to Costa Rica.  They were selling a six ounce bottle of Hawaiian Tropic for $38.00!!  I found an off brand SPF 15 for $20, but um, had I known (like you do now) I would have bought it here in the states.  

Even though the resort is all-inclusive, our experienced Riu buddies recommended we bring a wad of $1.00 bills to tip the staff.  A US dollar every two to three drinks is fine.  Leave a bill at the table after each meal.  Things like that.  And if you leave your maid a bill every morning, she may do artistic things with your towels and blankets:

When we booked this trip, we booked it for resort'n.  We didn't really even think about the Ecotourism aspect of Costa Rica until we got there.  I mean, folks come from all over the world to hike in the rain forests and commune with nature.  And sloths.  We did not bring our adventurous, ambitious selves on this trip, unless eating and drinking requires ambition.

We did meander out and go shopping at a trendy little nearby town called Coco Beach,  or Playas Del Coco.  It was about a thirty minute drive through the jungle, although it was just around the point from the beach and cove where the Riu's were situated.

There's no coastal highway, at least along the Guanacaste coast.  The steep mountain ridges come right down to the ocean in between all the bays and coves where towns and resorts are.  I think that's another reason why it takes so long to get from here to there to anywhere.

Coco Beach is one of the more popular beach towns of Costa Rica.  It used to be a small fishing village, but has become quite trendy over the last decade with both locals and tourists.  The town sits right on the beach in a lovely bay. went there on the equivalent of Labor Day here, and the town was crowded with folks from all over the country as well as a few out of country tourists.  We bought a lot of little trinkets as well as coffee for our family.  Costa Rica coffee is quite a thing we discovered.

Another thing we discovered (but did not buy) which we found in pretty much every gift shop in town were these guys...(and no, they're not bananas!)

Brightly painted wooden dildos with Huichol Indian type artwork or just plain.  Bottle openers, key rings, and bongs all made with a super large (or medium sometimes) wooden penis.  What the bizarre holy hell is up with that?  I've been to a few foreign countries and I've never seen one gift shop let alone all of them selling wooden bottle openers shaped like dicks.

My thoughts to inquire were thwarted by the fact that all the shops were staffed by young ladies, and, well, I just thought it best not to talk dildos with pretty young girls, no matter how arty they were.  Everybody would get the wrong impression, especially my lovely wife.  

Of this I'm certain.

After a little research I found out you cannot sell pornography or sex toys in Costa Rica, even while prostitution is apparently legal.  It seems these gift type items could be a subtle form of resistance against the strict laws heavily influenced by Catholicism in that country. 

We also took another field trip off the reservation to a beautiful waterfall.  It was less than fifty miles away and took about two hours to get there.  We thought about a rain forest run, but we would have spent more time in the car than in the forest.  

 

 

After dipping our toes in the water, we returned through Liberia, where our driver took us to lunch.  We actually paid, but he knew where the good food was since he lived there.

 

All around Liberia there was wrought iron over the windows and barbed wire ringed the roofs. It almost looked like a war zone, but there were no bombed out buildings.  

"Just crime," shrugged our driver. 

Once we were a few miles out of the city many of the country domiciles didn't have nearly as much wrought iron or barbed wire.  Which seemed to mean to me the criminals at large in the city were  either too young to drive or too poor to own a car.  And too lazy to hoof it out into the country to steal another poor person's trinkets.

The main excitement off the resort we did was a half day zip line adventure tour.  As it happened, less than a half mile from our resort sat the Diamante Eco Adventure Park, offering zip lining and more.

I bought the full package, which also included the photos that will follow.  We were slated to embark about 10:30 in the morning and an open air shuttle bus picked us up at the resort at 10:00.  I love punctuality! 

At the appointed time we were ushered over to an area where there was enough gear to conceivably outfit fifty people for an Everest expedition.  A half dozen young men showed up on cue to outfit the seven of us that would make up the zip line tour that morning.

They went over a number of safety concerns and then told us not to worry about braking, that was automatically taken care of.  Not to worry at all.  Really.

There were a total of five dual zip lines in the park and we'd be taking every one.  We'd start on a line directly from where we were outfitted down to a platform about five hundred yards away.

From there we'd take that open air shuttle (that picked us up) to another platform where we'd do their Cadillac run, a mile long superman style deal several hundred feet up in the air.  If we survived that we would then take three different runs down to the Wildlife Sanctuary, where we could visit some native species, like sloths and toucans. 

Here we are, outfitted and raring to go!

 And we're off!

 

As we neared the rapidly approaching platform, I began to wonder about braking, you know, stopping without dying.  We were coming in pretty hot, somewhere between twenty and forty miles per hour, which are kinda fast when you're not surrounded by metal.

As we approached the platform, I noticed what looked like a collar a horse would wear if he was plowing a field.  A big, oval leather type thing.  It was hanging around the zip line.  As soon as the metal handlebar hit that, there was a semi-loud pop and we went from forty to zero in about five feet.  

I suppose a room full of foam rubber might accomplish the same thing, but this route didn't take up as much room and was probably a heck of a lot more economical.

From that platform we all boarded the open air shuttle truck for a roller coaster ride up to the peak where we would magically become Superman.  Even the ride up was a hair raising treat.  Ever been on Lombard Street In San Francisco?  That's nothing compared with this.

This was steeper and curvier. The first half was dirt and gravel, but once we were half way up, the road turned to concrete, probably because it was turning vertical.  Add to that the vehicle we were riding in was a stick shift, and, well, I began to wonder...  

"If this guy stalls, we're bailing...right away..."

But somehow we made it to the top, wherein we seven intrepid aero-nuts would soon embark on the zip line ride of our lifetimes.

 

By the way, the white buildings to the left down yonder on the beach is the Riu Palace.  The red roofed beige monolith is the Riu Guanacaste.  It may have been bigger, but better cuisine was on the left!

About mid way through the almost sixty mile per hour run I started to think about stopping again.  I mean, we were zipping along about twice as fast as the previous run.  But then several hundred yards before the landing deck the zip line started to edge upwards, effectively slowing us to the pace where the horse collar would stop us with ease.

After that yahoo run, we zig zag zipped down three other runs and ended up at the wildlife sanctuary, which is right down there to the right of the Riu Guanacaste.  When we were done there we just strolled back to our resort.

But before we strolled, we met Bob and Dylan, the sanctuary's two toucans.  The roadie assigned to the toucans thought that their names were hilarious.  We found it amusing.  Here's a picture of Bob.  Or Dylan.  I can't remember who.

Unfortunately, our covid tests (taken at the Riu at no expense) came back negative so we did have to go home.  I was kinda secretly hoping.  We will definitely return to a Riu, sometime, some place, because we like resort'n done right.

I do think, however, another European adventure is calling.  Whenever they open their gates.  But who knows when wanderlust calls and where it may take us.  

Please take care everyone.  I do hope you've had the good sense to get vaccinated, especially in light of this new variant.  You know, not all media is out to get you.  Some of it just might be true. 

It's Six AM, Where's My Caffeine?

The flight to Costa Rica kinda sucked.  The trip started out great, but once we got to the airport it went downhill fast.  Fortunately that was my attitude and NOT the plane.

It started out great because we used our favorite local airport shuttle service operated by Deb Foxen, The Foxen Shuttle.  We hadn't seed Deb for a while, because, covid, so it was great to catch up.

As I am sure I have mentioned many times in my travel pages, I hate lugging our big, fat suitcases around.  But we've got to take them, because, you know, clothes.  And of course we always want to be appropriately dressed.

I also hate long term parking. I really hate airport shuttles.  And I really don't like imposing on friends or family.  If it was a twenty minute ride, that's one thing. But a two plus hour round trip is imposing in my world. 

I also always book a transfer from our arriving airport to our hotel. The last time I didn't do that was our arrival in Amsterdam.  We got to lug our big, fat suitcases in and out of trains, up and down bus steps and through crowded sidewalks. So besides having Deb drive us down and pick us up, there was going to be a guy at the Liberia airport with a sign with my name on it to greet us. Completely stress free.  

Ah.

Our flight was leaving our local international airport at Sacramento, CA, at 10:30 PM. We'd arrive in Charlotte, NC around 6:00 AM. Then our flight to Liberia, Costa Rica would leave Charlotte around 11:00AM. We'd have a few hours to kill once we got to the East Coast, which is great because I usually don't have a spare ten seconds to kill. 

We like to get to the airport a couple hours early for check-in. It's usually stress free. Notice how those two words keep coming up?  We like it that way.  Especially me.  I can be a little OC/AC/DC at times.  Especially at an airport.  

Strange humans sometimes want to touch me and how do tons of metal fly?

Two hours ahead of time is usually stress free.  But not if you're leaving Schipol in the Netherlands on a Sunday. You'd better arrive the day before you plan on leaving stress free.  I think we had to get through six football fields of people before we got to the gate. Good thing Amsterdam had the items I required at the time to be chill.

All day long I was envisioning my lovely wife and I having a sandwich and drink at a restaurant at the airport after we got through security. Since dinner's kinda my only meal of the day, I was hungry and really looking forward to a cafe made anything. Guy Fieri surprise me.  

Imagine our surprise when every single restaurant and bar at the terminal was closed once we got through security.  The only place open was the magazine and snack place.  I paid eleven dollars for a three day old wilted lettuce and turkey sandwich. Condiment free. 

It reminded me of a condiment free salami on crusty french bread sandwich I had in Madrid one time.  With that extra bulky and incredibly firm crust I might as well have been gnawing on a bottle. It felt like the roof of my mouth had hosted a pro football game, with everybody wearing spikes.  

Or it could have been a bunch of lumberjacks in high heels doing ballet.  Why would lumberjacks be in high heels doing ballet?  I have no idea, but when there's time to kill at an airport my mind can kind of wander to some rather inconceivable places.

I got a little sleep on the red-eye to Charlotte and when we arrived at 5:30 AM EST I was ready for a quart of caffeine.  Maybe two.  But talk about surreal.  It was like a ghost terminal. 

As I began my caffeine search, which should have been easy anywhere at 5:30 in the morning, I noticed a pattern.  And that pattern was nobody was open.  There were a total of eight Starbucks in and all around the terminal where we were.  None of them were open.  Not one of the eight.  

Coffee?  Morning?  Anyone?    

"Aargh," I screamed.

Probably to myself.  Cause I don't like to cause scenes. 

Right next door to one of the Starbucks (and believe me I tried every one, twice even) was a Spanx store. They were open.  I could get a pair of Spanx at 6:00 AM if I wanted, but I couldn't get a cup of coffee.  Had we landed in an alternate universe?

I finally found a little out of the way cinnamon roll place that served coffee. That held me over until 8:00 when one of the Starbucks finally opened. 

I guess the covid shortage of travelers caused many of these places to open late and close early. Or close all together. Except for the apparently 24-hour Spanx store in Charlotte. God knows you don't want the relatives to see how much weight you put on while social distancing in isolation.

The rest of the stay in Charlotte was uneventful, except for all the wild, sometimes spectacular and generally deviant thoughts that ebb and flow while I my mind has the leisure to wander and wonder.  while I watch all the silly humans.  Fortunately I usually keep my mouth shut, thereby avoiding arrest, assault or institutionalization. 

We finally took flight, thankfully, landing at Liberia International Airport, one of four international airports in Costa Rica, three hours later.  Liberia is the largest city in the Guanacaste Province in northern Costa Rica.   It is about one hundred fifty miles north of the national capital, San Jose. 

Once outside after customs, which is sometimes edgy (I always travel with THC) but ever uneventful (except for that time in Cabo) I found the guy with my name on a sign quite easily. We did have to pass a barking horde of cabbies, but pass them by we did without having to negotiate a thing.  

Ah.

He grabbed my lovely wife's suitcase and we were off in a nicely air conditioned van, all by ourselves. 

One thing I have learned in my travels, tail gating in foreign countries is the norm, especially south of our border.  I get ticked off if someone gets within a hundred feet of me here, and that's when I'm going twenty-five. But if you're not five to ten feet behind the guy in front of you while driving in Costa Rica, you're not doing it right. I don't care if you're going twenty-five or sixty, ten feet is the proper distance. 

My first word of advice when traveling by car in Costa Rica, by the way, is wear your seat belt!  And maybe bring a Nascar approved helmet, portable roll bar and elbow pads.

Costa Rica is not that big. I think you could fit about seven of 'em in California. So as the crow flies, it's really not that far to get from here to there. The problem is, I think, the width of the roads and the quality and quantity of the drivers.  A scenic site that may only be one hundred miles away can take half a day to get there.

And then there's the fresh-squeezed orange juice peddlers. When I say they set up a roadside stand,  I mean roadside.  The two we passed were about an inch off the pavement, passing their fresh squeezed juice right in through the passenger window while the car is still on the pavement.  Sometimes moving.  Slowly.  This, of course, invariably slows other cars and sometimes stops traffic altogether. 

We started our journey on a reasonably decent two lane highway from the airport, and then a few turns and towns here and there later we were on a rapidly dwindling down to a one lane road through the jungle. I was beginning to think of Kate Hepburn hacking at the brush in The African Queen, as the leach-laden Bogey towed the boat behind.   

"Would I have to get out and hack at the jungle brush in order to proceed?" I began to wonder.  "I didn't bring my machete with me...or my flame thrower..."

Fortunately, as we neared the coast, the lane widened and suddenly we were, wallah, at the Riu security gate. We were waved through, drove past the Riu Guanacaste Resort (next door) and a string of shops before finally coming to the large, circular entry to the Riu Palace.  

Ah.

My lovely wife and I discovered quite a while back that we are unabashed resort lovers, especially in a lush, tropical locale. We also enjoy active exploration vacations, but when we want R&R, we're resorters.   And when it comes to resort'n, a Riu all-inclusive is simply a dandy way to go. 

We were allowed to check-in early, got the magic plastic wristband key to the highway and were bell hopped to our room.  Fifth floor, ocean view.  

Ah.

We unpacked and changed.  Ain't nothing worse than resort exploring in your airplane attire. Pants, socks and shoes?  Nah, got to get into shorts or a swim suit and flip flops. My lovely wife needed a cocktail and I need a dip in one of the pools.  Hell, maybe all of 'em.

Like every Riu we've stayed at, the grounds were impeccably groomed and quite lovely. Here's the view from our room: 

 Here's the sunset/evening view:

 Ah.

After grabbing a couple drinks and long before sunset, we explored the grounds and meandered out to the beach.  There we were immediately accosted by local purveyors of ware, from travel guide services to jewelry.  To cocaine. WTF?  How did we sixty-somethings exude that much cool to invite a want some cocaine inquiry?

We smiled and said no no no no, we don't sniff that no more.  We're long ago tired of waking up on the floor.  After dipping our toes in the central Pacific Ocean we meandered back to the safety of the resort, where purveyors and cocaine were not to be seen.

The buffet that night was sumptuous, with an endless array of tantalizing options.  The only difference from before was a server had to serve you whatever you wanted.  Which was kind of a bitch.  I couldn't just grab eighteen desserts on the sly, a very polite Costa Rican had to serve me each one.  So, you know, I didn't want to be seen as a complete glutton, I had to limit myself to ten.  But even then some of them, kind of looked at me funny.

Actually, that's not really true.  There's some pretty large people that frequent all-inclusive resorts.  I mean, endless food.  Endless.  And the Riu's spread is a heck of a lot more tantalizing than a traditional smorgasbord.  Trust me.

After dinner we strolled the grounds then headed over to the theater, where a fairly decent show was queuing up...