Login

Lambert’s Folly

There are posts that make their way onto this blog because of their “universal” interest and stories that show up here simply because I don’t want to forget them. This is one of the later and, like most enduring tales, it’s worth remembering because it involves Jason behaving like an idiot. And yes, I do plan on repeating this account as often as possible until the day I die, maybe even longer.

Jason is a very intelligent man. His brilliance is one of the many things I love about him. That said, being brilliant doesn’t always mean that you’re terribly smart. Allow an evening at Lambert Park to illustrate my point.

It all started on a delightful Friday. Temperatures were ideal, courtesy of spring, so we decided to go mountain biking at Lambert Park, one of our favorite spots for this activity due to its proximity and utter awesomeness.

Lambert Park was striking that day. Purple, crimson, white, and yellow wildflowers dotted the landscape and lush grasses flaunted their greenest hues. The trails, as they wound through tightly-packed oak brush, were just the right combination of tricky and tempting, as always. It was the perfect setup for the perfect evening until…

At one point, I noticed that Jason had opened his bike seat pouch and that he, for unknown reasons, didn’t seem to be in any hurry to close it. I, in my boundless wisdom, suggested that he should zip it up or he was going to lose something. Pretty exceptional advice, right? After we had spent the rest of the daylight cruising Lambert’s dusty paths and had returned to our car, we discovered that my cell phone had fallen out of Jason’s pack somewhere in our travels because he hadn’t heeded my excellent guidance. Drat! Sometimes correctness is a curse.

Since twilight was rapidly approaching, it was decided that Jason would ride back the way we had come on his bike and search for my missing phone while I would take our car on an intersecting dirt road and meet up with him. This would cut out the uphill part of his retracing. Jason, keen to redeem himself, sped off in such a hurry that he forgot his helmet, forcing me to chase after him. Once he had his safety gear properly in place and was again on his way, I drove down a gravel track to unite with him as planned. Unfortunately, when I got to our rendezvous point, I found that not only had Jason had no luck locating my phone but a whizzing sound was coming from one of our tires. Yes, in keeping with the general misfortune of the evening, I had run over a nail on that primitive lane and air was leaving the puncture in an awful hurry.

Lambert Park was ideal that evening. Between agreeable weather and happy plants, our ride couldn't have been more satisfactory.
Lambert Park was ideal that evening. Between agreeable weather and happy plants, our ride couldn’t have been more satisfactory.

Because Jason was still looking for my mobile and needed to complete his hunt before it got dark, which it already nearly was, I was stuck holding my finger over the tire’s gap in a pathetic attempt to discourage deflation as he continued to rummage. My efforts didn’t seem to be too productive yet I took comfort in the fact that we had all sorts of emergency gear in our hatchback: a pump, gauge, and Fix-A-Flat for starters. Something was bound to work for this particular predicament. That’s about when a nagging recollection surfaced in my mind. Somewhere in my recent memory, I saw Jason removing our emergency kit in order to fit our bikes in our car easier but, no matter how much I prodded, my memory couldn’t conjure up an image of him returning that gear. A quick check, for which I had to take a momentary recess from my fingering, proved that my disheartening hunch was correct. Our emergency kit was hanging out, rather uselessly, back home in our garage because Jason had decided it wasn’t necessary for this specific venture. Holy Hanna! Warning: Attempting appropriate amounts of eye rolling at this juncture without warming up your eyeballs first may result in optic strain.

Jason had been calling my phone in hopes of hearing it ring as he biked along. Although he had had no luck in that regard, after nearly a dozen calls, unexpectedly, someone answered. A couple of bikers had found my mobile and had taken it with them assuming that they’d be able to locate its owner. They had already left Lambert Park but were happy to meet up with us at a gas station to hand over my Blackberry. Great news! Except…our tire only made it to the terminus of that dirt road before it went too flat to travel any further.

By this time it was completely dark but at least, even without all our convenient crisis gear that was back home instead of in the back of our car, we still had our old-fashioned jack and donut to remedy the situation. As we began the jacking process, a vehicle pulled up behind us and a man in his twenties got out. He asked if we needed assistance and, before we really got a chance to answer him, he began working on our problem. He seemed a little gung-ho but who’d argue with help? As we continued our conversation with him, his eagerness made more sense. He was a mechanic and, apparently, interceded regularly to help those with car troubles out. With both him and Jason toiling together, our tire was changed relatively swiftly, minus one hiccup. Jason forgot to put on the emergency brake so as soon as one side of the vehicle was entirely elevated by the jack, it went lurching forward, bending the jack. Sufferin’ succotash! How many things can get botched in one night?

Here I'm just minutes from discovering that my phone was dozing in the bushes somewhere instead of resting safely under Jason's fanny. Yes, that smile shortly turned into a smirk.
Here I’m just minutes from discovering that my phone was dozing in the bushes somewhere instead of resting safely under Jason’s fanny. Yes, that smile shortly turned into a smirk.

FYI, I did eventually get my phone back. It had to be left with a gas station attendant but we were able to retrieve it after we got our flat issues resolved.

Apparently, in this story Jason is sort of the rogue and the strangers that acted with honesty and kindness are the heroes. Thanks John and random biking dudes for coming to our aid. This tale might have ended much more horrendously without you.

And that’s it folks, the story of how Jason, a certified genius, made a series of mistakes in a short period of time that could have been avoided through the utilization of common sense. His errors will now be immortalized through the timelessness of the internet. After all, how could I tease him with precision about the events of that evening for the remainder of my life if I couldn’t properly remember the particulars?

And for those of you that are a little dense or that don’t know my mannerisms, all this is meant in good fun. Jason will laugh at this post not cry in the bathroom. Unless, of course, today is one of his arbitrarily selected behave-like-a-girl days. Oh double burn! And yes, I am still joking.

Rachel June 25, 2014 No Comments

From Basin to Brighton

Utah: one of the best places on the planet for snowboarding. Snowboarding: the best part of the winter. Winter: the worst part of the year. Ah, life is just full of complexities and incongruities, isn’t it?

I'm getting much better at launching myself off jumps.
I’m getting much better at launching myself off jumps.
We went to Snowbird on Memorial Day, which was their last day of operation for the year. The snow was surprisingly still good and the sun was charming.
We went to Snowbird on Memorial Day, which was their last day of operation for the year. The snow was surprisingly still good and the sun was charming.

I hate winter. It’s a lot like that girl that’s too mean for anyone to get along with but all the boys chase anyway because she smooches like a goddess. Yup, that sounds like winter to me. With strings of days when the temperatures never get above freezing and inversions block out what little warmth the weary sun might offer, winter’s got few charms but that frosty imp lures you in with its sweet, sweet powder and you find yourself longing for its blustery tempests with an eagerness that’s nearly nonsensical. Here are the highlights of our recent sporty encounters with that moody succubus.

One of the first good snowstorms of the season brought out all the boarding rabble.
One of the first good snowstorms of the season brought out all the boarding rabble.
No, that's not lens dust; it's many magnificent flakes of snow.
No, that’s not lens dust; it’s many magnificent flakes of snow.

This year’s snow patterns were a little abnormal. The flurries came late and infrequent until early spring and then storms raged aplenty. Because of that belated precipitation, Jason and I didn’t go boarding as much as usual. We only hit Brighton five times and Snowbasin and Snowbird each once. But don’t let those limited visits fool you; we got it while the getting was good. A few tantalizing blizzards found us in the mountains surrounded by powder so deliciously deep it’d make Charles De Mar weep.

He wants to be?
He wants to be?
What you're seeing here is the clumsy ending to my best jump ever. I got three feet of airborne bliss and one awkward landing.
What you’re seeing here is the clumsy ending to my best jump ever. I got three feet of airborne bliss and one awkward landing.

As for my progression as a boarder, that went quite satisfactory this season. I’m pleased to report that many speed and height advancements came without much conscious effort. My new record for jump air is now approximately 2-3 feet. Not impressed? Remember, previously I was soaring measly inches.

Boarding is one of the many activities that Jason and I go gaga for.
Boarding is one of the many activities that Jason and I go gaga for.

Spring is unabashedly here now. The heavens hint at the hot temperatures to come and the mountains’ once glorious frocks melt into sticky slush. Winter will have no power to persuade us to pursue its luscious slopes for months but, after the heated passions of summer have passed, pursue them we will. What fools we boarders be!

Rachel May 22, 2014 No Comments

The Grand and the Great Part II: The Great

Since Jason and I were already in the area, we decided to take a road trip from Mississippi to Great Smoky Mountains National Park, the most visited national park. We are, after all, always suckers for a little taste of nature, especially those delightful nibbles we’ve not yet sampled.

Ruby Falls is as far under the ground as The Empire State Building is above it.
Ruby Falls is as far under the ground as The Empire State Building is above it.
Lookout Mountain provided a fine view of Chattanooga.
Lookout Mountain provided a fine view of Chattanooga.

The drive from Mississippi to the town of Pigeon Forge, which is right outside the park, took us a full day and through parts of Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee. We stopped at Chattanooga long enough to check out a cave buried deep within Lookout Mountain, including its 145-foot underground waterfall called Ruby Falls. The cave itself wasn’t too impressive but its tumbling waters were quite cool.

The path to Rainbow Falls shadows Le Conte Creek and Le Conte's shadows created these icy needles.
The path to Rainbow Falls shadows Le Conte Creek and Le Conte’s shadows created these icy needles.

After our long day of traveling, we finally made it to Pigeon Forge. We were surprised by this “wilderness” city since it seemed the antithesis of conservationism or naturalness. If you took a carnival, Las Vegas and a high-class daycare, and jumbled them all together, something like Pigeon Forge would emerge. I’ve never seen so many unusually-themed miniature golf courses in my life. There was something mesmerizing in its amusing chaos but I’d hate to find out what this bustling tourist trap is like in its busy season.

Rainbow Falls drops 80 feet onto a labyrinth of boulders.
Rainbow Falls drops 80 feet onto a labyrinth of boulders.

We spent the majority of our first day in the park hiking to Rainbow Falls, one of its many popular cascades. This path was 5.4 miles in total and considered a strenuous undertaking by most guides. I can’t say I noticed the difficulty of it much though. When you come from a state whose slogan is “Life Elevated,” it’s all downhill from there. However, we did encounter one trail obstacle that we weren’t accustomed to while on this trek: ice. Snow and rain had fallen the night before and mixed to form a slippery blockade on the side of the mountain untouched by the sun. I thought for sure I was headed for a smack down at some point but, somehow, I managed to stay on my feet throughout those slick slopes.

This cabin once belonged to John Oliver. It was built in 1820 and is the oldest log home in Cades Cove.
This cabin once belonged to John Oliver. It was built in 1820 and is the oldest log home in Cades Cove.

We spent the bulk of our second day in the park exploring Cades Cove, one of the most visited destinations within its borders. This area was once home to industrious settlers and is now a curious mix of historical and natural sights. Jason and I did the unthinkable to make the most of our time in the Cove; we woke up at 5:00 AM (3:00 AM back home) in order to have a good chance of seeing wildlife on its grassy hillsides. (Shortly after sunrise, animals usually enter Cades Cove with lively enthusiasm for their day or, possibly, their food.) We saw lots of wild turkeys and deer that morning but Jason was really hoping he’d have a bear encounter.

Our daybreak shenanigans resulted in a few great pictures, like this one.
Our daybreak shenanigans resulted in a few great pictures, like this one.

After examining some of the old cabins and churches in the Cove, which were quite interesting, we decided to hike to Abrams Falls, a 5-mile journey. Although this waterfall is only 20 feet high, it makes up for that lack of stature by gushing relentlessly. Jason and I unanimously agree that this trek was our favorite activity in the Smokies.

Abrams Falls is only about twenty feet high but it's a gusher.
Abrams Falls is only about twenty feet high but it’s a gusher.
To stay warm in the Smokies, I usually had to wear two jackets, a sweater, a long-sleeved shirt and a t-shirt all amassed into a lumpy clump. Here I've only got three layers on and was felling pretty good.
To stay warm in the Smokies, I usually had to wear two jackets, a sweater, a long-sleeved shirt and a t-shirt all amassed into a lumpy clump. Here I’ve only got three layers on and was felling pretty good.

Following that ramble, we had just enough time to drive the 4,000-foot climb up the Newfound Gap Road to the state line. We watched the sun sink below the gentle timbered curves of Mount Mingus and Sugarland Mountain from high on an overlook. It was a serene reminder of our limited perspective on the unhurried progress of this planet.

The Smokies straddle Tennessee on one side and North Carolina on the other.
The Smokies straddle Tennessee on one side and North Carolina on the other.

The Smokies were a whirlwind of bygone buildings, pampered wildlife and plunging waters for us. We appreciated this park’s unique outlook on civilization’s impact to its area. It made a point of honoring its past settlers, those hardy humans, while still paying homage to its current occupants, the diverse plant and critter species that have made these graceful giants great once again.

Rachel April 16, 2014 2 Comments
 Categories

Recent Posts

Recent Comments
Blogroll