Another Meaningless Blog

Europe's War on Terror

2004-12-15T05:29:00.000-08:00

"First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a communist; Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a socialist; Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a trade unionist; Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew; Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak out for me."

- Pastor Martin Niemoller.

Taken from:
http://humphrys.humanists.net/europe.america.html

Europeans don't fully get it, but eventually they will. They focus on Bush and Iraq, but miss the giant dark cloud that has been looming over the continent long before that, and will continue to grow unless they make a concerted effort to fight it. Putin gets it, and I suspect his people do too. You can try to appease (and fail), or you fight these guys with everything you have. There's no middle of the road, there is no room for negotiation. It's a very real war people, whether you agree with Bush on Iraq or not, whether you buy all the 'war for oil' crap, or not. Regardless of whether it's a war over terrain, values, ideas, or way of life, it's still a war.

Let's take note of the latest terrorist threat in Madrid's Bernibeu stadium (based on recent reports that it was related to Islamic terrorists) . The islamofascists essentially said they would 'leave Spain alone' if they pulled out of Iraq (which, btw, I agree was an absolutely disgusting, cowardly move) Yeah, they are to be trusted fully.

Maybe I'm Just a Wimp?

2004-11-30T05:26:00.000-08:00

I went on my 3rd moto-trail ride a few weeks ago. I was determined to do better than my last ride, and had asked my friend Luciano to lead me on easy trails so I could have some fun and get some real practice in. I was doing sort of ok at the start, but as usual, after about 45 minutes, I started to overheat and was flailing and falling in relatively easy terrain, even for me. (again, this is Brazil, and you have all this protection on; the weather is actually cool every other day after the rains, but we happened to ride on a hot day.)

Fortunately, I had the awareness and willpower to tell my friend that I had to stop and cool down. After initially getting off the bike, I paced around aimlessly like a hunted animal, perhaps as a desparate effort to evade the buring heat that was trapped underneath my gear. It was an amazing feeling; it was literally a furnace in there. I ripped the gear off my upper body and told Luciano to go off on his own and have some fun; to just forget about me, the wimp. Then I frantically searched for some shade, settling under a small, pathetic shrub. I spent the next 15 minutes observing how damn hot my body was, cursing Luciano, and swearing that I would never ride in the heat (or in Brazil) again. I wanted snow, ice, freezing rain; I wanted to be cold, to get frostbite, I wanted to freeze my ass off. Those thoughts alternated with low feelings of self-esteem, me wondering if maybe I was just a big pussy, and then realizing that my overheating was a very real and dangerous thing that actually had nothing to do with athletic ability. (I'd like to see my bastard friend Luciano on a snowboard. Then he'd know the meaning of pain! :-) )

After Luciano returned, I commmented that my main problem was simply the heat. It was taking away my energy, and thus I couldn't control the bike at all when it counted most. Regardless, he took it for a spin, and then noted that the handlebars needed to be changed (to a high bend), the gearing was a bit too high which took away from the low-end torque, and my rear tire was a little low on tread. I had already noticed these things, and though they gave me an even larger handicap, they weren't really the main cause of my flailing. Then again, combining all of the above (with me being a beginner) made things quite difficult.

Luciano commented that there was a small river nearby. I didn't even want to put my fricking helmet and upper-body gear back on, let alone get back on the bike, but I knew I had to push on through. So I ignored everything my brain and body were telling me, and went back into the fire. We arrived at this little river, and he encouraged me to just lay down in the slowly moving water with all my gear on, sans helmet. It turned out to be a great thing, and it was interesting how warm my head remained even after laying in the water for a minute.

By this point, the sun had gone behind the clounds, and a fresh, cool breeze picked up. Ah, this was much better. I could do this. We stayed on easy, flat trails. However, at one stage, we hit some sandy trails and my inexperience got me again. Luciano was in front and made a right hand turn over a little berm. I followed, and hit the front brake as I went into the turn. First, you should never hit the brakes (and certainly not the front brake) in a turn if you can avoid it (which I could have), and second, you should never, EVER hit the front brake when turning in sand. Well, before I could say 'shit', my handlebars washed out and I was airborne. I landed on my shoulder pretty hard and rolled; it hurt, but nothing was damaged. It was actually a fun wipeout, except for the sand in my mouth.

Shortly thereafter, we arrived back at the parking lot, which is where the real action was taking place. A bunch of ‘bitches’, as Luciano had called them earlier, were there with a guy friend. They were in front of a little beer/soda stand in the middle of a field, and a group of guys were sitting around relaxing after their ride. The young girls were dancing to some techno blasting out the trunk of the dude’s car. It was damn good techno actually; I looked around and concluded that none of them really seemed to be enjoying the music, but they were enjoying the girls. Luciano said the girls were just your average ‘party girls’ that would basically prostitute themselves given the chance, and many of the girls in Goiania were like this. If they were walking on the street, you could just start chatting to them, and they’d go with you to eat, or have a beer, or whatever.

There we were, basking in nice weather at a little shack in the middle of nowhere, techno blaring, young girls dancing and making me feel like a dirty old bastard (which I am), a bunch of guys screwing around with their offroad motorcycles, just chillin’ out. This was a true taste of daily Brazil life in the heart of the country, laid-back, great energy, simple. Perhaps the same scene was repeating itself somewhere in the heart of America, away from the superficial rat-race of metropolitan areas (Sao Paulo and Rio were not all that different than Detroit or Los Angeles, after all) There could easily be a bunch of moto-guys hanging out at a little refreshment stand in the middle of Kentucky (or a bunch of snowboarders chilling out at the base of the mountain), listening to music with some party girls hanging around, keeping it real.

I've concluded that Brazil probably isn't any more fun, laid-back or easy-going then the US when you get to the heart of things. But it has a helluva lot more problems. Trust me, the US is the best damn place in the world, all things considered, and don't let anybody tell you different! I'll write an article on this topic later.

My Viral Test Tube Experiment

2004-11-30T05:21:00.000-08:00

Since I've been living in Brazil, I've caught a virus on several different occasions, and a few of them were more severe than anything I've ever had in the US.

- There have been a few of the 'usual' intestinal flus. (nausea, diahrea, fever, aches) One of these was the classic montezuma's revenge, which lasted 3 days and felt like somebody was stabbing me in the intestines/stomach with a sharp knife. It was horrible; I swear I know the kind of pain that a woman in labor feels. Every 15-30 seconds, an incredibly intense cramping pain would wrack my insides. There's just no way it could have hurt any worse. Each wave of cramping was a marathon all by itself, leaving me sweating and exhausted. Basically, I got to the point where I was able to distance myself from it, probably due to my body releasing endorphins so that it could deal. If I hadn't had a similar experience years ago, I would have been pretty worried. (That first experience was brought on by eating partially cooked eggs in a little beachside café in Puerto Vallarta. Big mistake.)

- there was one general body virus that was accomanied by a 5-day migraine headache, the likes of which I had never felt before. I ruled out viral meningitis after reading about the symptoms, and concluded it was just a more 'general' virus. All I could do was rest. Uh-huh, like I could sleep with what felt like an axe embedded in my head.

- the latest one is happening right now. This one is really bizarre; I have mild nausea and diahrea with lumbar aches/pains (sort of like 'inside' my back), and the skin around my lower back and stomach (all around my ribs) is very 'sensitve'. When I brush my hand across the skin, it hurts/tingles. There are a couple pinpoints that look like mosquito bites, and my wife thinks it's an allergic reaction to some sort of insect bite. Who knows if some little insectizoid-bastard caused this one. I also have a light headache from time to time, and have a very low energy level. Sometimes I just feel totally exhausted. Fun, fun, fun.

- I had always read about conjuctivitis, but never had it; one night I went to bed with my eyes itching a little bit. I though it strange because the *eyeballs* were what seemed to be itching. I woke up the next morning with my eyes nearly swollen shut, and bloodshot to the point where I looked like I was ready for Halloween. Viral conjunctivitis was the diagnosis (The BU-educated eye MD raised my comfort level. He was excellent.)

I can only hope that my body will have built up it's antibodies so that I'll be even more resistance to future viruses. I guess this is my payback for being nicely thin and never having to worry about gaining weight. I'd rather be fat if that's the case!

Iraqi Weapons Exchange Program

2004-10-12T06:16:00.000-07:00

Members of the Mehdi militia who turn in weapons this week as part of a five-day amnesty get a coupon in the following amounts that can later be exchanged for cash from the Iraqi government, or a ticket to see an Oakland Raiders football game, according to a member of the country's national guard.

• BKC medium machine gun -- $1,000
• Sniper rifle -- $650
• 120 mm mortar -- $275
• 60 mm mortar -- $252
• Rocket-propelled grenade -- $175
• AK-47 rifle -- $150
• RPK rifle -- $160
• non-funtional Colt .45 -- one General Admission ticket to Oakland Raiders Monday night football
• Hand grenade -- $5

Manage your Own Sun

2004-10-07T06:33:00.000-07:00

A virtual Tokamak reactor:

http://w3.pppl.gov/~dstotler/SSFD/

I evidently made a big mistake because my computer vaporized... :-)

Actually, my highest score was 112.87, which I think is the max. Want the solution? You have to maximize the magnetic containment field (I mean, that's obvious. Didn't y'all watch Spider-Man 2?) Then, use the 2nd to lowest aux heating power possible. Then, increase the plasma density as much us possible, w/o hitting the high-temp crossover point (which will shutdown the reactor).

The following sums up controlled thermonuclear fusion, and indicates that by 2008, it's gonna be here with the arrival of the ITER reactor:

http://www.ipp.mpg.de/BB/Kernfusion/Kernfusion1.html

This means a genuine sun on earth. Cool.....

Fire on a Submarine

2004-10-07T05:49:00.000-07:00

http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/europe/10/07/submarine.rescue/index.html

One of the drills we practiced most when I was on a nuclear fast-attack sub (for 1 month during ROTC training), was a fire drill. We did it again, and again, and again. It all started with a situation being suddenly blared out, and people were told in advance how injured they were (in some cases they would lie down incapacitated). That's challenging right there because there is always a current fire watch, but what if some of the people on fire watch are injured? You have to quickly adapt. The officer in charge was always holding a stopwatch.

It's a very tough situation to train for, and you have to make some very, VERY quick and difficult decisions based on the available data. For example, depending on the apparent severity of the fire, it may be appropriate to seal some of the (5) compartments, until you have time to surface and vent, or get the fire under control in that area.

Sometimes we did a drill DURING another drill. Heh heh... Like a 'jam dive' or 'jam rise' drill, which simulates being stuck in a dive or in a rise/surface. Everybody was cool and collected, but there was always a subtle current of anxiousness. After all, sometimes we had problems. One time we did a reactor scram drill (so no power from the reactor), and then shut down the backup diesel (which recharges the batteries). The diesel wouldn't restart, AND they couldn't get the control rods out of the reactor. We were 10 minutes away from no more power. Just to be safe, we had surfaced in 15 foot swells, and everybody was getting seasick. It was interesting to see the captain in the reactor control room, and the XO continually asking "what's the status on the diesel". Not life threatening all by itself, but still a big pain in the ass.

Regarding reactor rooms on a sub. They are HOT. There are these giant blowers pumping out cool air, and if you're not standing right in their path, you start to warm up real fast. The air outside the path of the blowers was perhaps 120 degrees. Sometimes I'd look 2 levels down and see a guy cleaning up an oil leak, filthy and soaking wet. He took it in stride like it was just another day on the job, which it was.

Me and the XR250, Round 2

2004-10-04T13:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I got my butt kicked my 2nd time motorcycle trail riding. I was definitely more confident and a bit more skilled, and was clearly doing better than before on some of the easier trails, but my mentor (Luciano) took me on slightly harder trails which pretty much negated all of that. The result being that I was incredibly exhausted after about a half hour due to picking the bike up off sloping hills several times. We're talking deep, unbeleivable exhaustion, the likes of which I had never felt in my life. The Brazil heat and all the gear is just nuts. Anyway, I need a lot more practice with staying on the pegs (to keep the center of gravity low), balance, and controlling the handlebars. When they were kicking side to side during narrow uphill climbs or over obstacles, I actually didn't realize that it was 'my job' to grip them tight and keep them straight, and failure produces washouts, tipping over, or going in a direction that you defintaely don't want to go in; but of course. The biggest challenge was that getting exhausted early on gave me an even larger handicap.

There was a 'simple' test/practice hill that I had done fine my first time (maybe 5 feet high, rocky, and 45 degree incline) but in trying it again, I accidentally bumped the shifter and put the bike into neutral JUST as I was about to gun it and start the ascent. Uh, yeah, as you could imagine, I was pretty goddamn surprised. The bike went up, and then tipped back over on top of me. It pinned the inside of my left calf and it hurt a little bit; but no big deal. However, the next day, I could barely walk and the calf muscle had a wicked bruise.

After resting 2/3 through the ride, I was able to get through a pretty challeging windy uphill section between boulders, up over some flat rocks, sandy, etc... Everybody thought I was going to flail, including me. I think they were relieved as much as I was, and were like 'Great! Now you're getting the hang of it!'. The keys were to grip the bars very firmly and control them, (not let THEM control ME), to stay on the pegs, and to use the throttle judiciously. Conventional dirtbike wisdom is actually: "when in doubt, accelerate". Easier said then done when you're trying to learn how to do 6 things at the same time.

Teledildonics

2004-09-29T06:50:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Mike at fecesflingingmonkey.com for pointing this one out:

http://www.wired.com/news/culture/0,1284,65064,00.html

Be sure to check out the 'dashboard' and animated gifs at http://www.sinulator.com I think they remove any confusion. :-)

Question: if a President uses the Fleshlight, is he having sex? I guess it depends on what the meaning of 'is' is....

Raisin Time

2004-09-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

Translated from the local Goiania newspaper (where I currently live in Brasil): "At the end of the week, the relative humidity in Goiania was 7% in the north region, and 12% in the central region, which are both lower than the 13% of the Sahara desert" Humidity that low, combined with the 37+ degrees Celsius temperature (~ 99F), gives a new meaning to the word 'dry'. I've been in Vegas and the Black Rock desert, but this is just crazy. I had been dubbed 'the raisin' before due to my tendency to get dehydrated very quickly, but now I swear I can see wrinkles form on my face as I stare in the mirror. Hah...

An interesting thing seems to crop up with this combo of low humidity and heat : you can lose your voice. (At least, I've lost mine, and a friend has lost his on several occasions due to the dryness.) Apparently it's due to the vocal cords drying out, possibly made worse by a low grade throat infection. I can still talk, I just can't say anything above low C. Above that, I can feel that my vocal cords just won't vibrate!

My New Love: The Internal Combustion Engine

2004-09-24T10:50:00.000-07:00

I'm always searching for an adrenaline rush, a new and natural high that beats all previous ones. I had always dreamed about riding motorcycles, knowing they had perhaps the highest power to weight ratio of anything a human could play around with. At 34, I had still never ridden one. Hey, I love sports cars just like the next guy, but why wait until you're an old bag to spend $50,000 on something that goes 0-60 in 5.0 seconds (and that you are 'inside of'), when you can spend 1/10 that and go 2x faster with something that you are actually *riding*. You control a motorcycle with your whole body; you truly drive it. Heck, with a car, you're sitting inside turning a wheel. That's booooring.

So, I figured I'd get started. As I'm currently living in Brazil, I'd be absolutely brain-dead to learn on the streets down here. So the logical place is off-road. It may sound crazy, but offroad bikes are actually quite light (relatively speaking) , very maneuverable, and the best thing to learn on. Plus, there are no cars and steel poles to content with. After all, what makes motorcycles the most dangerous is not actually falling, but hitting something after a fall. That something is usually a car moving at 35MPH+ (what's more common is a car hitting you).

I began a few weeks ago by riding a Honda XR250 on some dirt roads and flat trails nearby to 'prepare' for riding off road. It was pretty neat and all, and I was feeling ready! Uh, yeah, like that helped. I went out with a friend and his posse, and was tossed into the thick of it. Very rutted trails, some winding up and down hills, with a lot of large loose rocks. Pretty dry conditions with a lot of gravel, bumps, broad rocky areas, basically everything. One road had very large whoop-de-doos in it, and I had my first experience jumping, which was pretty cool.

Usually I was able to avoid the rocks, and on many occasions you had no choice but to stay in a main rut, but periodically my balance and steering response (or lack thereof) got messed up and I washed out the front wheel. Once I hit a big rock, another time I missed a turn and went off the edge of a berm, yet another time I started grating against the side of a huge rut and lost it, a few times I stalled going up a steep and narrow trail because I wasn't giving it near enough gas; my buddy adjusted my clutch halfway through the ride so that it grabbed 1.5 inches further out and I never really adjusted to it. Fortunately I wasn't going very fast during the wipeouts, and I had so much armor on that I didn't feel a thing. The biggest pain in the ass part about dumping was having to pick the bike up. Even though it's 'only' 250lbs, it's exhausting in 85 degree heat, 2 shirts, and full body protection. I was already tired from the regular riding. Definatley strong incentive not to fall at all the next time!

However, by the end I was flying up pretty darn steep hills, and making my way down just fine (feathering the front and rear brake). There was one imposing 'test' hill that even an experiened rider got stuck on 3/4 the way up, and my buddy made me practice several times. After doing it cleanly a few times in row (sometimes having to either downshift from 2nd to 1st 3/4 of the way up, or work the clutch in 2nd to have enough power), I could honestly say I was having a blast.

I still need to get a feel for making better sharp turns, getting more weight on the front wheel when going up inclines, and whipping the bike around on the spot (which is important when you're in a tight spot and you need to make an instant u-turn right where you are). But in all it was a great learning experience, and a shitload of fun. And of course, the most important thing I have to learn is how to ride a wheelie. Here's a great link that seems to cover it all, and I can't wait to get started:

http://www.bikechatforums.com/viewtopic.php?p=227916

Cold Trip to Heaven

2004-09-24T06:17:00.000-07:00

I figured I'd make my first blog a story about a recent snowboard trip to Chile. Not really in 'blog' format, but who cares....

The high-speed quad pulled up behind me, and I was nearly shaking in excitement and anticipation of the moments to come. This was the only high-speed quad at Valle Nevado, the largest ski resort in Chile along with Portillo. Two feet of fairly light snow had fallen over the previous 2 days, and the weather had finally cleared up. My first powder run was down the backside of the neighboring mountain, directly under the t-bar. I had inadvertently (or maybe deliberately) splashed some of the t-bar riders with powder during my descent, but they seemed to enjoy it. It was an amazing piece of terrain all by itself and I was tempted to stay there for a few runs, but the t-bar was uncomfortable and very slow.

I had left my Brazilian friends for today as Murilo was a beginning skier, and Kelder wasn’t quite ready to ski in the powder. I was wishing that Ben were with me, yet at the same time I couldn't help but recall the selfish adage among the Tahoe snowboarding punks that 'there are no friends on a powder day', meaning it's nearly impossible to wait more than 30 seconds for anybody with conditions and terrain such as this.

Drag Hand

The trail map said that the lift topped out at ~12,000 feet. This was going to be epic. I glanced to my right to see who I was riding with. I could barely make out a girl and a guy underneath helmets and goggles, both with snowboards. A quick survey in the lift line indicated that helmets had now become standard gear for the vast majority of snowboarders. I for one felt naked without mine, and it had already saved my butt on numerous occasions. I struck up a convo with my lift partners and found they were from Belgium, but he was French and she was half British and half German. The guy removed his goggles revealing a remarkable Adrien Brody lookalike. I said as much, but he had never heard of him. Oh well. The other guy on the lift was a French ski-instructor who was prattling away to Brody. He and I then chatted a bit, after which he braggingly said he could speak to me in whatever language I preferred. Oh-kayyy. We all looked up at the peak and the few tracks down from it. The Frenchman then remarked that his tracks would be easily noticeable since they’d go right down the fall-line. I noted that we could also see his tracks because there would be a big wipe-out in the snow halfway down. That brought nice laughs from the couple, and even Monsieur I Love Myself couldn’t help but smile.

Together we started surveying the rapidly approaching headwall, the long cornice off to it's left, the saddle, several false peaks, and a half dozen couloirs. The top layer of powder shimmered kaleidoscopically. There were only a handful of tracks down from the cornice, and one person had hiked to the highest peak. His track started about 10 feet below the cornice, indicating a nice elevator shaft entry. Around to the right and far behind us was a cirque of peaks, saddles, and ridges providing a spectacular view. Off in the distance were some enormous broad mountains that approached 20,000 feet. I had no idea where Aconcagua was, but ever since I found that it had been dubbed an 'ugly, interminable slag heap', I really didn't care. El Plomo was nearby, and topped out at about 18,000 It didn't seem like we were at a ski resort, rather it felt like a lift had left us stranded in the middle of some very big mountains. The lift was called ‘Andes Express’ after all, and it certainly was an express ride to the top of the Andes. This was a step up from Tahoe in terms of overall scale. It was more akin to mountians in Alaska and even larger than the ranges in Europe, and I now had a slight sense of what the Himalayas must be like. I swore to myself to channel any future personal traveling money and time into riding deep powder. I would leave visits to Everest base camps, remote Indonesian villages, and smoke-filled European cities to others.

The couple and I talked about traversing over all the way above the cornice, but decided for now to just enter at the saddle. After getting off the chair, we walked a near u-turn around to the left and were met with a blasting wind and huge amounts of spindrift. The mountain at the top of lift was incredibly exposed. I looked around and concluded that most of the people were as spooked as I was. While traversing above the 60-degree headwall, I noticed some small exposed rocks at the top thanks to the wind, but it didn't faze a skier who planted his poles and leapt over them. He made nice, easy turns in the steep powder and disappeared down the face. As we neared the saddle with it’s 45 degree entry, I decided to just go rather than hesitate for one last chat, partly out of eagerness, but mostly to directly confront and overpower my lingering fear.

The snow was light enough for effortless turns, w/o having to worry much about shifting weight toward the back. My left hand was casually dragging against the snow during each left hand turn, even though it was next to my side. This was darn steep, and the snow periodically wafted over my entire body. I stopped halfway down the face near some rocks and waited for the couple, who pulled up next to me with giant smiles. We all exclaimed how awesome it was, and then continued down. After a couple more similar runs, we stopped at one of the lodges to get some water. The sun was blazing, and the entire cirque was a huge parabolic solar reflector. It would turn out that a thick layer of 45 SPF sunblock still wouldn't prevent my nose from getting sunburned over the next 2 days.

Dropping In

After a few more runs, the couple stayed behind so the girl could shoot some video of her Brody look-alike boyfriend descending from the peak, and I continued on. One of my next chairlift partners was a very thin, crazily-bearded guy named Danny, with twin-tips. (skis that have smooth/equal curvature at both ends to let you easily ski backwards) He was from New Hampshire, and made me think of Hawkeye after a severe case of dysentery. We chatted excitedly on the ride up about what to try next. We decided on the main cornice by the headwall.

I traversed over to the cornice, while Danny traversed and climbed up a bit higher to gain further speed for a launch. I suggested we time it so we both drop in together, considering the entire valley had a view of the virgin cornice. He started his run, and a few seconds later I started mine. Once again, I was nicely scared and asked myself what the hell I was doing, but there was no way to stop now. I wasn't exactly sure how steep the drop was, and told myself to do anything but submarine the nose, for that would mean a long cartwheeling fall down the top section of the face. I wasn't worried about getting hurt as much as missing out on those first few awesomely steep powder turns. The next thing I knew, I was airborne. It wasn't that big a drop after looking back up at the gap between the lip of the cornice and my landing, maybe 8 feet, but it sure felt big. I landed ok, with my weight sufficiently towards the back, and ripped a giant high-speed turn to the right. Then I dipped my shoulder and matched it with a large turn to the left. I felt like I was peaking on E as song 11 from Pete's trance/house mix kicked in with a sweet crescendo. Where did he get this stuff? I wanted more… The all natural experience was better than any drug I had every tried, and as usual, right up there with an orgasm.

I made some closely linked turns and headed toward some boulders, went between them, and then noticed some barely visible windblown rocks at the last second. Somehow I lifted by board and floated over them, but I dipped the nose when settling back down. An insta-cartwheel (the first of half a dozen over the next 2 days) wrenched my neck a bit, and left me pointing in the right direction and continuing down the face.

The descent from the face dumped us out into a groomed trail, which we took for a few hundred meters. The face continued down off the left side of the trail, and we recalled seeing another cornice halfway down the remainder of the face. It was somewhere up ahead to the left, and was a blind drop. I suggested we keep our speed up while traversing through the powder, point perpendicularly to the chair-lift, and go for it. I had promised myself to try a 360 off this cornice, and was about to back out. But I reminded myself that I had nothing to lose, since the landing was steep and powdery, and I figured it's now or never. So, I kept my speed up, started a long toe side turn, and kept my body counter-rotated to the right. As I saw the slope begin to drop away, I sunk down. Suddenly the drop off appeared and I lifted up and rotated left as smooth as I could. I turned my head around to spot my landing as early as possible, and the board followed all the way around. I touched down after a full 360, but my weight was too far forward again. The crash was an absolute mess, but I was fine. It wasn't a beautiful 360 with a stomped landing, but it was still a 360 over a large cornice. Where was that video camera? Heck, I could always cut the film just before the crash, and follow it with something totally distracting like porn.

I looked up to see where Danny was. Suddenly he appeared, skiing backwards. He launched and did a slow 180 with a perfect landing. It was an impressive sight, and brought cheers from the few people on the nearby chairlift.

Beleza Backcountry

Later on, I ran into a young Brazilian snowboarder named Felipe from the south of Brazil. He seemed to be a rich-kid, and was there for 2 weeks with some friends. We started chatting on the lift, with me wanting to use my Portuguese and him wanting to practice his English. After getting off, we traversed above the headwall again and looked down to the enormous faces and valley off the right side of the ridge. I hadn’t even noticed this side of the ridge on the previous half dozen approaches. It was expansive backcountry, and there were a few tracks down the face that disappeared into a winding canyon off to the left. The terrain included several huge cornices that had absolutely no business being in the middle of a gradually descending canyon, yet there they were.

We talked about taking this backcountry route, and were pretty confident that it would exit to one of the groomed traversal runs that wound around the backside of the mountain; we could barely make one out way down near the bottom of the canyon. Some other people came up behind us and tentatively asked me whether it was ok, like I was the expert or something. Then again, I did have quite a bit of experience riding various types of powder conditions, and responded that that the key things were keep the weight back when the steepness eased up, and to make sure you stay up high enough before the trail. Otherwise there would be an exhausting posthole hike that would ruin the day, and/or you’d end up in what looked like a boulder-filled stream. I thought of such a hike-out experience in the Whistler backcountry, and it made me so exhausted that I was basically done for the day even though it had only been 11:00am.

We started down, making random turns through great powder, and approached the first cornice. We both dropped in fine and continued down the canyon. I started pulling ahead because I had freshly waxed my board, while I recalled Felipe’s comment that some boneheads in the south of Brazil had waxed his board with surfboard wax. There was a long straight section that gave a nice burning workout to the rear leg, but soon the slope got steeper. The connecting trail was down to the left. I was now moving parallel to it, almost perpendicular to the fall line, and figured I should make some steep turns to have a bit more fun. I pushed in my heels and swept around to the right, quickly picking up speed. After a few turns, I saw a cluster of rocks ahead, along with a clear path through them. I straightened out for a bit, figured everything was clear, and started another casual turn. Then came a grating sound, and even though I knew what was about to happen, I had no time to prepare for it. In an instant, my board stopped and I flipped, with my head as the pivot point. I felt a slight tap on my helmet, and as I flipped for a second time my left arm slapped against rocks underneath the snow. I came to a stop, and felt a very sharp pain in my forearm. I wondered if I had broken a bone for the first time in my life (I don’t really count the skull fracture caused by falling from the top landing of 2-story apartment building when I was 5) After a minute of wincing, I realized it was just a nasty bruise to the bone, with nothing broken. However, tomorrow morning’s whiplash symptoms were really going to suck, that was guaranteed.

I met up with Felipe toward the bottom, where he exclaimed ‘That was Beleza’ (that was beautiful) in a Brazilian-stoner accent. It sure was. I told him about my wipeout, and he said he also had a crash a ways up, but was able to continue down without any hiking. We made several more runs and tried some jumps and 180’s over the various cornices on the mountain. He was then off to meet up with some friends in the restaurant, but I kept at it. After all, the snow was my best friend, and many more cold trips to heaven were waiting.