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Sumiki

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Blog Entries posted by Sumiki

  1. Sumiki
    Well, co-host; Pablo and I have launched Comics Contest #3: Crossover in our corner of the forum. The goal of the contest is to combine sprite and hand-drawn elements in the same comic. If you think you have what it takes, head on over to Comics!
  3. Sumiki
    DAY FOUR
     
    BRACE YOURSELVES, THE PUBLIC IS COMING
     
    LASER TAG GOES SURPRISINGLY WELL (NINTH AND FIFTH PLACES)
     
    FILMING FOR BRICKFAIR FUNK (FEAT. KEVIN HINKLE CAMEO)
     
    LAST-MINUTE WALMART RUN WITH 55555
     
    KANYE, DRIL, OR HAMLET: PABLO MODERATES, LETAGI JOINS THE FARM ANIMALS
     
    I WIN CARDS AGAINST HUMANITY (SIX BLACK CARDS)
     
    DAY FIVE
     
    BRICKFAIR FUNK COMPLETES FILMING
     
    TWO HATPILES
     
    THE SECOND MAKES IT TO FORTY HATS
     
    HAT TRANSPLANTS
     
    MOSAICS BREAK TOENAILS
     
    PABLO AND AVOHKAH TAMER GET A TASTE OF THE GREAT AMERICAN ROAD TRIPS
     
    PABLO EXPLAINS THE FINER POINTS OF COLOMBIAN SOCCER FOOTBALL
     
    SUMIKI'S DAD CALLS BLACK SIX "SPARKY"
  4. Sumiki

    Emperor Squf

    By Sumiki,

    I feel like I've fallen off the face of the planet BZP. College is stressful, but at the same time, incredibly fun.
     
    Have a MOC.
     





    (click for topic)


  6. Sumiki

    BFVA15 DAY TWO

    By Sumiki,

    XAERAZ ASSISTS IN THE BALL JOINT HUNT #arthriticwhale
     
    EPIC DEALS AT THE YARD SARD/YALE SALE #yalesard
     
    LADY KOPAKA RIDES IN THE TRUNK AND THEN BUYS US DINNER #southernjmj
     
    TOXIC WASTE BUNNY: "THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM" #ladyk
     
    AVOHKAH TAMER'S EPIC MASHUPS #gangnamfunk
     
    HEY WHO TURNED OUT THE LIGHTS #references
     
    VEZOK'S FRIEND DOES AHNOLD LABEOUF #yesterdayyousaidtomorrow
     
    MOON BOUNCE #nooxygen
     
    STAFF INTERVIEW: TOA OF SUSHI REVEALED #hoarse
  7. Sumiki
    The winner of Blogarithm Contest #10 is ...
     
    Paleo!
     
    Brickeens came in second, while xccj and The Puppeteer tied for third.
     
    Now, I'm going to have to be up-front about the prize. Originally, I had a brick engraved with "Dreams About Farm Animals." This, as you may remember, was a prize in Blogarithm Contest #7, which Paleo won. So, to keep with the promise of an engraved brick, I'll be in contact with Paleo about a slightly different prize.
     
    Overall, it was an excellent turnout—the last BBC-esque Blogarithm Contest (#4), lasted two months with only four entries. More visibility, an easier theme to work with, and an actual prize goes a long way towards turnout.
     
    And since I still have the original prize, stay tuned for Blogarithm Contest #11 ...
  8. Sumiki
    The field has been narrowed; now, we determine the winner. You may vote for one entry.
     
    The final poll closes on Wednesday, August 19th at 11:59 PM Eastern.
     
    ENTRY 1: Splunk
     
    ENTRY 2: Ice Butterfly
     
    ENTRY 3: Alien Golem
     
    ENTRY 4: Separator Monster
  9. Sumiki
    Here we are: preliminary voting! I wasn't expecting having to do two rounds of voting, but here we are.
     
    You may vote for one entry in each poll. Two entries from each will advance to the final poll.
     
    The preliminary polls close Monday, August 17th at 11:59 PM Eastern.
     
    POLL KORGOT
     
    ENTRY 1: Ice Butterfly
     
    ENTRY 2: Ski-Dude
     
    ENTRY 3: Barry the Blue Swan
     
    ENTRY 4: Separator Monster
     
    ENTRY 5: The Rainbow Kraata Transport
     
    ENTRY 6: 18-Piece 'Bot
     
    ENTRY 7: Why Hello There
     
    ENTRY 8: A WEAPON TO SURPASS METAL GEAR
     

    - - - - - - -


     
    POLL NARMOTO
     
    ENTRY 1: Alien Golem
     
    ENTRY 2: Charlotte the Eight-Legged Skull Spider
     
    ENTRY 3: Snail
     
    ENTRY 4: Random Drone Thingy ... From the Future!
     
    ENTRY 5: Black and Gold
     
    ENTRY 6: Splunk
     
    ENTRY 7: Okoto Snow Bug
  11. Sumiki
    So let's talk about MOCing. If you've got a few pieces lying around, chances are that you've built something uniquely your own. Regardless of the size of your collection, MOCing is the inevitable result of imagination and ABS plastic. It's why the BBC forum has held so many contests in BZPower's storied history.
     
    Your mission: build something that uses twenty pieces or fewer. (Twenty-one is right out.) With such a limitation, the contest puts a premium on part usage and imagination. System, CCBS, classic BIONICLE, fusion ... the style is up to you. (Just keep in mind that there is a maximum of two entries per member.) Entries should come with an image and a name.
     
    The winner will receive an exclusive engraved brick. (I'm no stranger to shipping internationally.) The entry period ends Saturday, August 15th at 11:59 PM Eastern time.
     
    So what are you waiting for? Get building!
  13. Sumiki

    BFVA15 DAY THREE

    By Sumiki,

    BRICKEENS SKYPE TOUR KIND OF HAPPENS
     
    IN-DEPTH STEVEN UNIVERSE DISCUSSION OVER BEEF BRISKET
     
    FUN WITH GALIDOR
     
    GORM AND FRIENDS GO FOR $30+ AT SILENT AUCTION
     
    (I TOPPED OUT MY BIDDING AT $21)
     
    (ALMOST) FREE PIZZA COURTESY AVOHKAH TAMER AND CHOCOLATEFROGS
     
    KEVIN HINKLE PANEL
  14. Sumiki

    BFVA15 DAY ONE

    By Sumiki,

    XAERAZ'S FLUFFY BEARD PREMIERES
     
    ROAD TRIP TO STAPLES (MUSIC BY WEIRD AL YANKOVIC)
     
    PABLO GETS COLD BREADSTICKS
     
    HOW OLD IS AVOHKAH TAMER'S LAPTOP? WE JUST DON'T KNOW
     
    BINGO AND DOOR PRIZE DISAPPOINTMENTS: GIT GUD EDITION
     
    TEAM FARM ANIMALS: PART OF THE BEAN CORPS
  15. Sumiki
    BrickFair is coming up soon, and this year we're leaving early in order to go out to the Outer Banks and the Delmarva Peninsula. As per our usual trip routine, our job in the days before departure is to eat every perishable item in the house.
     
    So today, I looked and saw that we had a few spaghetti noodles as well as the ingredients for a quick jalapeño cream sauce. The meal came together quickly, but after tasting it, something was missing. After a few bites, I realized that it was cheese, as I've only ever had the sauce with that pasta. We'd eaten the last of the ravioli yesterday, but there was still some ricotta cheese left, unused in the veggie lasagna we ate other week. I dumped the cheese onto my plate.
     
    It ended up being too much cheese, but a) it needed to be eaten, and b) my mom urged me to get it out of the fridge. It was okay, but still didn't taste right. For one thing, the warmth of the pasta and the chill of the cheese settled on a lukewarm equilibrium, which is an unfit temperature for ... well, any food, really, but especially for what I was eating. I thought I was clever when I mixed the cheese into the sauce and stuck it in the microwave for half a minute.
     
    The resulting mixture was a horrid abomination, tasting faintly of cheese but mostly of regret and failure.
     
    The moral of the story: never microwave ricotta.
  16. Sumiki
    BrickFair is coming up and I currently have this beard. I can either keep growing it or get rid of it.
     
    It'll get bigger before the 'Fair but D.C. is freaking hot that time of year and I don't know what kind of slap insulation it'd provide. (Also it's kind of strange how I don't really get any on my cheeks.)
     
    This isn't a poll ... unless almost everyone wants me to keep the thing for one reason or another, in which case I'd bow to the collective wish.
  17. Sumiki
    I feel like I've fallen off the face of the earth BZP for a while and that's not a fun feeling. I knew I'd be busy when college started but I didn't expect to have so many things going on in the summer before.
     
    Anyway.
     
    It hit me a little earlier today that in one year, I'll be twenty. That freaks me out more than just turning nineteen. Nineteen really isn't that much different from eighteen, if you look at social privileges. But twenty? Man, that's a whole new first number. 10 was fun because you hit double digits, and now I'm a year removed from changing it.
     
    Maybe, finally, things will slow down in the middle of next week. I need some way of charging my batteries before BrickFair.
  18. Sumiki

    Fighting a Centipede

    By Sumiki,

    The thing about being gone from home for long periods of time is that there's always something off-the-wall to deal with upon returning. In my case, it wasn't so much off-the-wall as on-the-ceiling.
     
    When my parents left to get groceries, I thought I heard someone typing on my mom's computer, since its keyboard has a very distinctive sound. I go upstairs to find it on, although no one was on it. However, I was prevented from figuring it out because I noticed this centipede on the ceiling.
     
    I'm used to occasional centipedes, and they are some of the nastiest little critters on the planet. They're fast, they're aggressive, and they're big. This one was rather small and docile, which I found out after trying to trap it in an old pick-a-brick cup. In fact, my attempts to trap it only made it amble really slowly into the corner and tap its legs at me, like it was taunting me.
     
    I try poking at it with the corner of the cup, but it was of no use.
     
    Unfortunately, the way this small little room is laid out, I needed to find some way of flicking it towards me without having it go on me. Otherwise it'd go on a bookshelf (too many nooks and crannies) or one of us would have to go onto the stairs (an unnecessary complication).
     
    So I got resourceful by sticking a mini-bat neatly into one of those cardboard tubes from an old roll of wrapping paper, and I proceeded to whack the wall and ceiling with it in an attempt to get the lazy centipede to move. Nothing worked. I began berating and insulting the invertebrate until I finally poked it hard enough for it to start moving. Figuring that it was on its last legs, I smacked it down onto the floor, where it just bolted for the stairs.
     
    While it wasn't my ideal scenario, there's no way off from the stairs without me, standing there with a mostly-cardboard stick in one hand and a pick-a-brick cup in the other, just staring at possible escape routes from the steps. I waited for what felt like forever when I realized that the thing was probably just sitting there again doing nothing, so I managed to get down to the second and third steps without stepping on the first, which is where things really got interesting.
     
    I couldn't find it.
     
    The small lip on the top of the steps was its hiding place, I knew it—there was no other place it could have gone—but it just wasn't there.
     
    There's no denying it—I panicked. Fearing that the thing had somehow gotten onto me despite my heightened awareness to that possibility, I leapt up the remaining steps in a single bound and took my shirt and pants off, whipping them around above my head and throwing them into adjoining rooms all while trying to sort out where the thing had gone off to.
     
    When my brain returned to normal function, I assessed the situation. Armed with my big stick and cup, although now considerably less clothed, I whacked on the steps as hard as I could ... but the centipede never reappeared.
     
    I checked every inch of the top step and found the tiniest of holes in a corner. With nowhere else to go, I assumed that the centipede went through there and thus plugged the hole with a wad of tissues that I stuffed in with a 5-axle, at which point my parents returned and found my story of the day's proceedings inordinately funny.
     
    The moral of the story: sometimes, you may do everything right and yet still fail miserably.
  19. Sumiki
    Our alarms went off at our now not-unusual hour of 4:00 in the morning, where we prepared ourselves for the day's hike. We drove up to the visitor's center around 5:30, when there was enough light glinting over the canyon walls to make some of the rock features out but still dark enough along the canyon floor for our brights to do little. We got to the nearly deserted parking lot and wandered around for a bit until finding the visitor center—which wasn't even open due to the early hour. We got to the nearby shuttle bus stop and waited.
     
    Hordes of people arrived mere minutes before the first shuttle of the day at 6:00. The bus was crammed to bursting and then filled with more. Strains of Weird Al Yankovic's parody "Another One Rides The Bus" went through our head once more.
     
    The bus went to a few more stops prior to the Angel's Landing trailhead, but not a soul got off. Everyone, it turned out, was doing what we were doing: making the trek up the mountain as early as possible.
     
    The trail begins easily, going over a bridge across the currently meager Virgin River and parallels it along a soft sand path. Eventually this gave way to concrete switchbacks, steep and cracked in places, but wide enough for two-way traffic. This went up and up and up, seemingly interminably.
     
    The switchbacks stopped, and from our vantage point we could look back and see the ant-sized swaths of humanity trudging up the switchbacks which we had already traversed. We were around halfway up to our destination atop a massive red monolith.
     
    The trail evened out as it went through a cool canyon, only to turn rightwards and dump us out around the end of this mini-canyon. This section, known as "Walter's Wiggles," is a series of nearly twenty short and steep switchbacks in the rock.
     
    A short walk from there led us to a place called Scout Lookout. From there, both sides of Zion Canyon could be seen. Thousands of feet down and miles in both directions could also be seen, and it is regarded as one of the most epic views in the park.
     
    My mom stayed there as my dad and I began the tortuous trek in an attempt to get to Angel's Landing. One of the hardest and certainly the single most infamous hike in the park, the trail as advertised goes along a ridge with a metal chain rail to hold onto at the thinner points. We went extremely slow up this direction and ended up making it about a third of the total distance.
     
    The rest of the hike, now full of people trying to go both directions in an environment not even built for one abreast, could be seen from our ledge. A line of humanity went down to a section about three feet across, then up about 45º to the top of the cliff known as Angel's Landing. Going further would have been extremely ill-advised, and my dad reported being much more nervous about the hike we did manage to go on than he ever did in his days as a paratrooper.
     
    We got pictures from the cliff, and what views they were. Without any obstruction down the canyon, almost all of Zion could be seen. The Virgin River barely looked like anything way below, and we impressed ourselves with the thought that we had climbed all the way up.
     
    Our nervousness only increased on the way back. We clutched onto the chain as morons with small children tried to pass us—but behind us, which meant they went along the edge of the cliff. Our safety by ourselves would not have been a problem; others' idiocy put themselves in danger and would have put ours in jeopardy had we continued to the narrowest points.
     
    We met my mom back at Scout Lookout, where she had been talking with a family from Ohio. Many of the folks around us who had attempted Angel's Landing had turned back at the same spot as we had. Us and a few other families went down the mountain at roughly the same rate and commiserated about the sheer insanity of trying to navigate such a hike. We got back to the shuttle a tiny bit before 10:00 and enjoyed getting off of our feet in a nearly empty vehicle as we went back to the visitor center and then back to our hotel. The views on the way back were better than they were coming up, and in fact the view from the top of the first set of switchbacks rivaled that from anywhere at the top.
     
    Once back at the hotel, each of us took a shower to clear off the dirt and mostly-unnecessary sunscreen, then went out to eat what was technically lunch but what in actuality amounted to a breakfast more legitimate than the crackers we had munched while on the trail. We wanted to get off of our feet awhile and thus went somewhat across town to Oscar's—technically "Cafe Oscar" although no one calls it that—an establishment at which we had eaten hearty burgers three years ago. Dinner, we recalled, was an excessively long wait, and so we figured that we would be faster served during the lunch hours.
     
    We were right. We nabbed an inside seat and sucked down large amounts of succulent raspberry lemonade, filling us up before we could begin our actual meals. Our burgers were massive—half-pound patties cooked in garlic and topped with anything you could imagine. Mine had large pungent clumps of blue cheese (objectively the best kind of blue cheese) and bacon strips, along with the traditional lettuce, tomato, and onion. My parents got something called the Avocado Chip burger, which had slices of avocado and corn chips along with the standard burger toppings. Served with thick-cut sweet potato fries and it was all too much to eat, but all very delicious. We also managed to beat the crowds, which had begun to line up outside as we exited the premises.
     
    We got back to the hotel room a little before 1:00 and crashed. We slept intermittently but well. At around 6:00 we began to get hungry and struck out into the town for a bite to eat a little before 8:00.
     
    This time, we ended up at Zion Pizza and Noodle Company. A small converted church building with additions, the eclectic eatery also contains a shop what appeared to be a small art gallery. The eateries in Springdale close anywhere from 8 to 10, but the lines that accrue before then are sure to keep them busy until well after dark. As such, the Pizza and Noodle Company was jam-packed, so we decided what we wanted and then Mom and I grabbed a table while Dad ordered.
     
    My parents had a pizza known as the Cholesterol Hiker. A meat-lover's pizza that included sausage, Canadian bacon, pepperoni, and three cheeses atop a custom scalloped-edge crust, they split the thick 12-incher save for my singular bite. Seeing as their name included pizza and noodles, I had to go for a noodle and went for the chicken parmesan. The chicken was breaded and slathered with cheese atop a small lake of marinara, while off to the side the linguine was covered in its own thin layer of creamy white sauce. The garlic bread was one of the best I'd ever tasted, as they basically make a big garlic pizza and put singular slices on plates. The first bite of the chicken parmesan tasted like good cafeteria food, but subsequent bites only strengthened my taste for the dish and I ended up eating all but a single bite (which my mom sampled).
     
    We ambled back to our hotel, where we went to the second floor to a balcony to see the sunset over the canyon walls. From our vantage point, we spotted deer in the woods beyond and went downstairs and out the door to check them out.
     
    A half-trail, half-off-road-route led outwards from the end of the parking lot and we followed it until we were fairly close to the deer. Other folks out for an evening stroll had gone even closer, which made the two male deer suspicious but not enough for them to scatter. We ended up talking to a couple from Sacramento and discussed the local food of their home city as well as our advice for the hikes of Zion and points beyond. We then headed back to the room as the last of the sun's rays began to disappear over the canyon wall.
     
    Tomorrow: we complete our collection of Utah National Parks by traveling to Torrey, on the doorstep of Capitol Reef National Park.
  20. Sumiki

    Return to Zion

    By Sumiki,

    We left St. George at noon and traveled northeast to Springdale, on the doorstep of Zion National Park. Three years ago, we had entered Zion through the infamous Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel, a tunnel hewn from rock through the side of a mountain. Thankfully, we did not have to traverse this tunnel, as we entered the town of Springdale and the Zion Canyon from the other direction.
     
    The sheer red cliffs of Zion are as beautiful as I remember, and we got to the hotel at 1:00. Too early to check in, we loaded up the backpack with waters, sunscreen ourselves, and walked into the park.
     
    The temperature hovered near 100º. With tomorrow a full day to hike the famous Angel's Landing trail—which affords stunning views of the entire canyon—we felt as if we should hike somewhere as a warm-up. But the temperature meant that we needed to go on a reasonably shady one.
     
    We hopped onto the shuttle bus system and got off once we were well within the park. We walked along a trail which paralleled the road and then crossed the road. This area, known as the Grotto, is the jumping-off point for many hikes, including Angel's Landing. But we went in the other direction, going up the trail along the rock face. To our left, we could see the entire canyon, in its epic monoliths of red and white, while the Virgin River's clear water slowly trickled along its course on the valley floor.
     
    The winding, backtracking trail went into a well-forested side canyon with striations of black and red rock cut straight up along the canyon wall. These trails led to the Emerald Pools, trickling oases set on flat areas of rock. Two were shallow, with the upper pool the only one too deep to make out the bottom. This one was the most picturesque of all the pools, with the curving canyon wall sticking straight up behind it, loose rocks all around three sides, and a small beach full of the softest sand. Most of the other groups on the trails spent a lot of time here, and while we too enjoyed its secluded beauty (and friendly squirrels), we got out while the thin trail was clear from people traveling towards the pool.
     
    We backtracked a little bit, exiting the cool shade of the mini-canyon and then going back through a trail cut through a large rock. This led us underneath a huge rock overhang. Two waterfalls rushed over this overhang and we were spritzed by one and rained on by the other, which was a refreshing experience.
     
    The hike back to the canyon floor was paved and downhill, with the only stop for a deer near the trail, eating away on her lunch of leaves and paying no attention to the humanity slightly farther down the hill.
     
    We packed into two shuttle buses where the concept of personal space simply did not exist and then got out in the downtown area to eat at a Mexican restaurant. The sides were the best things; the fajitas and chimichanga simply didn't stack up. But we were looking for lemonade and sustenance, and those were two things which we received in abundance.
     
    We walked back to the hotel and picked up an ornament (we can't remember if we have one or not from our first trip here, but in either case we don't have the Angel's Landing ornament we purchased). The cashier had connections all over North Carolina and even knew where Kernersville was. She hadn't hiked too many of the Zion trails due to her fear of heights, so we encouraged her to visit North Carolina for the less steep terrain.
     
    We also went a little further down the road to stock up on water and sunscreen for tomorrow, then went further down to our hotel, officially checked in, and crashed.
     
    Tomorrow: our third extreme early-morning wake-up, this time to beat the heat up Angel's Landing.
  21. Sumiki

    In and Out

    By Sumiki,

    We exited the hotel at a little before 11:00 amidst a wandering group of Miss California Teen competitors. It was not long before we found ourselves well outside of Fresno, heading right for the increasingly looming mountains. Much like yesterday, we went into the mountain range—but this time headed for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.
     
    The road in goes straight up one of the biggest mountains in the area. We climbed up to around 6,000 feet and could see, amidst the hairpin turns, the valley out to our left, which was full of small groves and scrub brush on a golden surface.
     
    Kings Canyon and Sequoia are two different parks, but for all intents and purposes they are considered one and the same. Our crack online research indicated that there was a shuttle bus system similar to the one in Yosemite, and so we had a day of good hikes and scenery ahead ... or so we thought.
     
    After getting to the visitor center, we found out that there are no less than three of them throughout the two parks, and that no shuttle went up to the one where we had parked. The road we'd have to continue on was even worse overall than the one we had just traversed. (It's the only road in the system that, to my knowledge, the National Park Service actually tells people not to go on.) On top of this, the parks sign almost nothing; roads split off with little warning, much to the confusion of anyone looking at a map.
     
    Our options were extremely limited: either go back out and along Kings Canyon for two hours or go along an ill-advised route further into Sequoia for two hours. Both routes would have led to an hour of backtracking along likely scary mountain roads, and we were already not excited about descending the road we had traversed to get up to the parks in the first place.
     
    We split the difference and went along a two-mile round-trip hike to the General Grant tree, the second-largest tree in the world. (The largest, the General Sherman, was further into Sequoia along the notorious route.) A lot of our time on the hike to the tree was taken up by utter confusion as to where the trail went as it wound its way through a nearby campground, as the parks apparently are no better at general signage on trails any more than they are on the roads.
     
    The giant sequoias in the park are a slightly different species than the ones that we'd seen along our trip up the California coast three years ago, which are coastal redwoods (and, as it turned out, taller). But the giant sequoias make up for what they lack in height for what width they gain throughout their lives. The General Grant is only a tiny bit smaller than the General Sherman and was named the "Nation's Christmas Tree" by President Coolidge.
     
    While the General Grant tree is epic in its sheer width, I was less than impressed with it and the overall forest than I thought I would be and in fact preferred the redwoods along the coast for the ultimate Big Tree experience. Still, the attraction of the giant sequoias is palpable, and the forest makes you feel like a bit of an ant, for—in addition to the sequoias—the forest is filled with huge pine trees as well, which rivaled some of the smaller sequoias for height. All of this led to the always-neat experience of feeling a bit like an ant.
     
    We took our time seeing what we could see around the General Grant tree and then assessed the situation. While we theoretically would have the time to do one of the two-hour down-and-back routes further into one of the parks, Yosemite had taken much energy out of us—not in any one muscle or group of muscles, but in the general energy level of our whole bodies. I felt rather better than my parents on the energy front and thus made it to the car well in advance of them, and since their exhaustion was becoming visible, I decided to take the wheel in the drive back down the mountain.
     
    We geared the car down and I had a bit of on-the-job training with how to shift gears (with no clutch, it's easier than the stories I'd heard). The only real issues we had with the descent were crazy drivers intent on going 70 and flashing their lights at us.
     
    After making it most of the way down, we got gas and then continued on back into the valley. The road made one last descent on a curve—one of the worst with which I've dealt—and then we were off through the arid San Joaquin valley, where the oranges are farmed, the roads gloriously flat, the traffic minimal, and the temperature constantly above a hundred. (It topped out at 105.)
     
    We stopped by the stadium of the Visalia Rawhide and were able to secure a pennant despite their shop being closed because—while it was a Saturday—they had an evening game. The girl who was selling tickets went back and got it for us, and didn't hold anyone up since we were the only ones in the line.
     
    Pennant in hand, we went back to our car on the other side of the stadium and continued on to Bakersfield. The traffic on the notorious state route 99 was actually not particularly bad, and we went on a few exits past our hotel in the quest for a California staple: an In-N-Out Burger. I'd heard of In-N-Out for years and saw many three years ago and this year, but the stars never aligned for meal times and thus I'd never before been in one. We found one and went in.
     
    The place was absolutely slammed and a staff of a dozen or so teens ran the place, slamming out orders as fast at the Californians could put them in. All one guy did was use a machine to slam potatoes and create fries. We could see the entire operation from a nearby bench and were endlessly fascinated by the well-oiled machine.
     
    In-N-Out seems to pride themselves on their freshness and quality. Their menu is small—in fact, a decent-sized copy could probably fit into my palm and be read without much need for squinting. We all got a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.
     
    The jury's out on the fries and shake (I loved everything), but we all loved the cheeseburgers. Unlike many places which say "fresh" but mean otherwise, you could actually taste the freshness. The lettuce and tomato were thick and hearty, the onion not too strong, and the sauce some outlandish and delicious concoction reminiscent of tartar. Through all of this, I can see why their "double-double" (which looks a bit like a big mac) is popular, because the meat patty was rather thin.
     
    We sipped on our milkshakes back across town and to our hotel, where we're looking at a very early night's sleep.
     
    Tomorrow: across the Mojave Desert in an epic ride that will start when our alarms go off at 3:00.
  22. Sumiki
    We got up at 6:00 and left for Yosemite somewhere around 7:30. With Modesto in the central valley, we had to go east into the mountains in order to access Yosemite Valley. Of the roads in and out, one road—state route 120, I believe—was the worst, and our research revealed that road's penchant for burning engines on the way up and brakes on the way down. We avoided that by going in an alternate route.
     
    As we went into Yosemite, the flat ground gave way to the tiniest of flattened hills, which then grew ever larger at a constant rate until we found ourselves in the mountains, chugging up the hills and coasting down. However, the safety levels of this road were not particularly inspiring and we thus were not particularly curious as to what the one we passed up looked like.
     
    Soon we found ourselves on a long downhill, winding our way along the side of the mountain with the Merced River below us. Aside from the scenery, one particular item of note was that we ran into what was quite possibly the least intelligent crow in the world. Posthumously named "Cteve" (pronounced "Steve"), this crow waited in the middle of the road, looked at us while we braked, and only at the last minute flew ... but not away. No, poor old Cteve had some interminable death wish and thus flew directly at us. His compatriot (later named "Goe" [pronounced "Joe"]) got away. We all felt bad for the fate of the poor bird, but we knew that we had done all that we could safely do to avoid it.
     
    Soon, we properly entered Yosemite. Yosemite is full of the most epic jagged rock formations, and they go just about straight up on both sides of a verdant valley. The rocks—all granite monoliths—have well-known names, and the first of these we came to was El Capitán, which is an unforgettable mass of mountain. It was not long until we could spot Yosemite Falls, the longest waterfall in North America. Plunging about half of its distance from the top of the mountain, the falls has a bit of a break in the middle before the water reaches the lower falls.
     
    We were able to get out and walk down to the Merced River. With El Capitán dominating the skyline despite being surrounded by a then-mysterious haze, the clear water ran extremely cold. We got out our hiking boots and sunscreen and put them on in the shade.
     
    After this, we went on another trail ... which, as it turned out, led to a campground. Nonetheless, we were afforded beautiful views of, according to a talkative Floridian next to us, the Cathedral Rocks. Their true colors still ever so slightly muted by the haze, the man told us that he'd seen a helicopter on the previous day, so we figured that it might be a nearby forest fire.
     
    While the fellow got started talking of minor league stadiums to which he had been, a family of ducks waddled behind me and began making their way down to the river. We were on a large sand bed which essentially acted as the campground's beach. Butterflies were everywhere and we escaped from the incessant Floridian after some time.
     
    We got to a place where we had a great view of the full Yosemite Falls and nabbed the last parking spot, only to be greeted almost immediately by a stunning kind of blue jay known as a Steller's jay. With a stark black head and deep blue body and wings, the large bird hopped around on the railing and flew around for our enjoyment. Also, squirrels have been somewhat domesticated in the park; while they are not afraid of humans, they still keep their distance unless the know it's safe. A few more generations and I fear they'll be crawling on people.
     
    Our next stop was what we thought to be the visitor center. However, the massive parking lots were crawling with everyone and we got a spot after a not insignificant amount of time almost as far away from the center as you could be and still be within the parking lot. Eschewing the buses that took people on what was otherwise a ten-minute walk, we passed hordes of people. At the end of the ordeal, we got an ornament and talked to a volunteer outside who was a dead ringer in face and voice for former Eagles member Joe Walsh. He gave us valuable tips for which we were extremely grateful.
     
    We went back to the parking lot, loaded up the backpack with our remaining stash of waters, and then hopped onto the shuttle bus that took us around the park. (There was no other parking opportunity at any of the trailheads.) We got off in front of Yosemite Falls and took the Joe Walsh doppelgänger's advice by going opposite the crowd, which gave us a front-on view of the falls that could not be seen if you went with the crowd. We were able to get quite close to the lower falls—close enough to feel the occasional cool breeze, but not close enough to get sprayed.
     
    Our next stop was a meadow nearby, from which one could theoretically see both El Capitán and Half Dome, the latter of which is likely the more famous and recognizable shape. We could barely make out the less-famous façade of the former but had an excellent view of the latter.
     
    Our last hike was up to Vernal Fall, upstream in the Merced River. The hike was well recommended by the Walshergänger. Listed as a .8 mile moderate hike, the thing felt almost totally uphill for much longer than the posted amount. I was stopped a few times by my parents so they could regain their respective breaths; the only reason I actually needed to stop was that I carried the backpack which contained all of the waters.
     
    The footbridge at the top led on to a massive trail, but we just stayed on the footbridge. From there, we could see the rapids of Vernal Fall as it rushed down over the smooth rocks below us. The sound was very nearly deafening, but we got used to it in short order and began to appreciate the finer points of our location.
     
    The squirrels were out in full force and curiously approached many people and their belongings, although they did not go on any napping foreigners nor invaded their backpacks. One very large specimen sat himself down on the highest point of a large triangular rock on the near side of the bridge and did not move for our entire visit to the top. My dad thought that the squirrel was an animatronic creation with an implanted camera, and that it was spying on us—that is, until it moved slightly to a different variation on its original two-legged pose.
     
    My parents were much more exhausted than I was and they hit the trail back at a slower rate. All the while, we were followed by squirrels who ran in front of groups of people and turned around striking poses. We jogged to the shuttle bus only to find a nearly full vehicle.
     
    At that time of the day, the remaining stops had large amounts of people wishing to get back to the parking lot and almost no one who wanted to get off anywhere but the parking lot. Each stop between our last hike and the parking lot brought on twenty more people. There was no room to breathe towards the end of the ordeal; when the exit doors opened, I'm pretty sure a few people went flying out due to the pressure inside.
     
    Our water emptied, we worked our way back out of the park towards Fresno, but one final vista awaited us: the Tunnel View. We were going into the tunnel instead of out, but we could see what travelers from Fresno would see: all of Yosemite Valley, from El Capitán to Half Dome, lay out from end to end before our eyes. If we ever come back this way, coming in that direction would be at the absolute top of the list.
     
    We climbed to 6,000 feet, then screamed back to 4,000, then up and down along the curviest and hilliest mountain roads since a few days ago. We got more drinks in the town of Fish Camp (population: 200) and continued on.
     
    At this point, we were on the side of a mountain and we could see out into a valley on our left. The mountains on the other side of this area featured a very smoky but apparently small forest fire. A helicopter could be seen going over to assess the situation. I saw flames, and after we turned a corner we got out and met some pleasant German tourists who had been looking at the fire for a number of minutes. After I told them of the flame, they apparently figured that nothing more of value could be seen at their current location and raced down the mountain ahead of us.
     
    Eventually we flattened out, reversing course terrain-wise as the scenery reduced from mountain to hill to tiny flattened hill to complete flatness. It was not long until we hit Fresno, where our hotel is—of all things—hosting the contestants for Miss California and Miss Teen California.
     
    We have, of course, been in a variety of hotels where there is simultaneously a convention or other gathering in the hotel at the same time we are there. For my money, going to a place where a beauty pageant is being held across the street is the best of these many scenarios—the added benefit, my dad said, being that "they don't eat," and thus the restaurant would be, at least, at no higher capacity than usual. This, as I imagined, turned out to not completely be the case.
     
    The many contestants were around the lobby and the restaurant, and from my perch in a booth I could taste the smiles and niceties with which they adorned themselves and each other. But beneath it all is a fiery determination, because these girls are all about winning and make no bones about it.
     
    The highlight of the meal was the appetizer: fried egg rolls stuffed with crab meat, avocado, and a creamy Southwestern pesto. Served with a massive helping of a sweet and spicy gelatinous Thai chili sauce, and I felt tempted to get it as a main dish as well.
     
    Due to a mix-up, my dad and I both got capellini pomodoro: shrimp and sausage in pasta. (I found the sauce somewhat watery.) My mom reported that the chicken in her chicken pasta was overcooked but the meal serviceable. The dessert of tiramisu was pungent at first, as I'd not expected such a strong coffee flavor, but I ended up eating most of it after predicting I wouldn't last more than a bite.
     
    Our waitress turned out to be a big San Francisco Giants fan, and one of her sons has one year to go in college and hopes to be drafted by a major league team next year. With more servers than patrons at that usually busy hour, we were able to talk for a while with her about her son's career and other odds and ends.
     
    We then made it back to the room, where we laughed at the pictures from the day and tried our hardest not to think of the painting of Cteve hanging in the bathroom. Crows never forget, so I've learned ... so we shall see if Cteve's friends have yet figured out on whom to exact their revenge.
     
    Tomorrow: Kings Valley and Sequoia National Parks during our last full day in California.
  23. Sumiki

    The Infernal Road

    By Sumiki,

    We made a quick exit from Redding and steadily picked up traffic down I-5, although it was not yet the terror it was to become and thus we made steady progress.
     
    The most interesting thing about northern California is the fact that it has big cities that simply stop. Cow pastures are located right next to huge shopping centers, unlike other states where there's a more gradual change.
     
    We entered Sacramento from the north amidst an increasing amount of traffic. With four lanes, each going a different speed and each one liable to just dump you into another with no warning, getting through the city was a zoo. We exited and made it to a Food Network-featured place called Dad's Kitchen.
     
    In the tiny strip shopping center in which it is located, patrons fill up all of the seven or so parking spots pretty much immediately. We wound our way in and out of various parking lots around the area and realized that the locals parked many blocks away and walked to it. After accidentally going through the McDonalds drive-through and avoiding having to order anything, we finally grabbed the last reasonable parking spot in front of the restaurant.
     
    Dad's Kitchen looks like a hole in the wall, but belies a long and eclectic interior full of funny signs and husky waitresses. We waited for a little while before getting our seats, which gave us a chance to look at the pictures of Guy Fieri on the walls, the three pinball machines (of which two are out of order), and—of all things—a working pay phone in its original tiny hut. I don't know how they got the whole thing inside the building.
     
    We all ordered "Dad's Burger." This thing was a delicious monstrosity: an 8-ounce patty encrusted with 2 ounces of chopped bacon and 2 ounces of blue cheese crumbles. Lettuce, tomato, and red onion, though large, were mere garnishes. Topped off with a Aleppo chili spread and a big enough bun to hold all of this in, and the resulting burger was nearly as big as my notoriously large head.
     
    While this alone could have filled us up for days on end, the sides were meals unto themselves. Between us, we split hand-cut sea-salted potatoes, onion rings the same circumference as the burgers, and a homemade spicy mac and cheese that was simply the best we'd ever tasted. We couldn't figure out what kind of white cheese was inside, but it hit the perfect balance of texture and creaminess.
     
    There was still much on our plates when we got back out, and as it turned out, we needed all of the energy that we could get, because I-5 turned into the biggest zoo on the planet. Mile after mile of 80-MPH bumper-to-bumper flying would be followed up by 50-MPH brake-fests because one truck way up ahead decided to cut in front of someone else to get in front of another truck in passing debacles that could last for ten minutes.
     
    We arrived in Stockton and exited directly into the slummiest part of town for a pennant collection from the Stockton Ports. While Stockton's economic claim to fame is in its deep-water port that goes out to the Pacific Ocean, its biggest cultural event is their Asparagus Festival. Their alternate hat is basically Popeye holding a massive asparagus, and I got one of those as well. The girl who rung them up was the front office receptionist when we initially walked in, but was clearly bored half to death and enjoyed telling us about the history of the club and of their decade-old stadium.
     
    After this, we got gas and then quickly got out while what appeared to be a gang came near the building. We got on California route 99, which outdid I-5 in its status as "infernal road to end all infernal roads" (in my mom's words). The scariest part came when a construction-looking vehicle cut in front of us and a large metal item fell out of the back and danced across the lane, which we barely swerved to avoid while trying to alert the driver of his problem. The horrid traffic around us moved at a constant enough rate, however, and we somehow managed to exit in Modesto, home of the Modesto Nuts.
     
    The Nuts and the Ports are two of the northernmost teams in the California League, as most of the teams are located in the L.A. metropolitan area. The Nuts stadium is in much worse shape than is the one in Stockton and in fact is little better than one of our high school fields. Like Stockton, the employees there were ready to help us and the girl in the pro shop looked and acted almost exactly like the one in Stockton.
     
    With another pennant and hat for the ever-expanding collections, it was off to our hotel, which thankfully did not require us to get on the freeway again. After relaxing in the room, we went downstairs and ordered three salads, as we were still full from earlier but did not want to go to bed even slightly hungry for tomorrow.
     
    Tomorrow: Yosemite National Park, and hopefully an early start to help get us there.
  24. Sumiki

    Clarinet on the Cob

    By Sumiki,

    Our first stop of the day was in Vermillion, South Dakota, the home of the National Music Museum. Started with a collection of a few thousand musical instruments, the museum now has over 15,000 pieces. Those on display that are not one-of-a-kind are, at the least, often extraordinarily rare.
     
    We walked around and marveled at the exhibits for nearly four hours. My parents learned more than I did, and my dad would often point at something, look up at me, and ask if I'd heard of whatever he was pointing at, only for me to tell him that I'd either already read it or already knew about it. Still, my knowledge didn't make the exhibits any less enjoyable; I was simply able to get through them faster. We listened to a number of these instruments being played through iPods provided to us at the beginning of the tour.
     
    Among the instruments on display: piccolos in D, D-flat, and E-flat, a remarkable assortment of intricate violins, violas, and cellos built by famous luthiers Amati and Stradivari, earlier string instruments such as lutes and viols, a significant number of harpsichords, pianofortes, clavichords, and virginals (including a Viennese piano with a bass drum and triangle inside of it and one of the earliest known pianos), a Polish-style "chest organ," helicons, sousaphones, a double-bell trombone-euphonium hybrid, bugles with woodwind-style keys, an extraordinary number of guitars including the Dobro, early brass instruments such as the serpent, ophicleide, and bombardon, a Benjamin Franklin-style glass armonica (not harmonica as many people think), a "jazzophone" with two bells (one with a built-in wah-wah mute), a glass flute, a good number of the fifteen surviving ivory clarinets, an alto rothphone, original Adolph Sax-built saxhorns, saxophones, and one of 24 "grand parade trumpets," early attempts at fully chromatic harps, a portable piano known as an orphica, a harp-piano known as an euphonicon, miniature pocket-sized violins used by dance teachers, a strange harp-like instrument known as the "trumpet-marine" that sounds exactly like a trumpet when played, the only English cittern known to have survived, a massive collection of folk and world instruments including a set of Javanese gamelan instruments commissioned by the museum a few years ago and an armadillo-shell ukulele-esque Bolivian instrument, a nearly full set of instruments used by Civil War-era brass bands, cellos made from barrels and stove pipes, one of the original Hammond organs, a Janko-style piano with a keyboard that looks like a cross between a piano's and a computer's, one of five baritone trombacellos, a B-flat saxello, a theremin, an X-shaped double chromatic harp, a heart-shaped trumpet used as a prop in the Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band movie, Art Deco-engraved trombones and saxophones, a guitar owned by Furry Lewis, a guitar slightly broken by an Elvis Presley throw, and—last but not least—an extraordinary collection of harmonicas that included a harmonica shaped like a dead fish.
     
    Our feet hurt something fierce after going through the two levels which contained all of this, and I know we didn't see but a fraction of their collection. (Two or three major items are currently on loan to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and who knows what else they've got squirreled away somewhere that can't fit into their exhibit space.)
     
    The tiny town of Vermillion doesn't have very many restaurants and after filling up with gas, we ate at a Jimmy John's. I like Jimmy John's more than Subway in many ways—I think it's a more fresh sandwich despite the fewer options.
     
    We got back to the Interstate and up to the town of Sioux Falls, which my dad has often confused with the three iterations of Sioux City from whence we had come. The speed limit ramped up to eighty, so we got there in a hurry.
     
    Our stop in Sioux Falls was for the independent-league Sioux Falls Canaries. The folks were nice but their meager gift shop had no pennant. Nonetheless, we got our first hat of the trip, Mom got a magnet for free, and we took pictures of the field and stadium before I got behind the wheel headed for Mitchell.
     
    I seemed to handle the car better than my dad, perhaps because I have more experience behind this wheel. (Also, I wasn't trying to go perpendicular to the wind, as he had in the northward journey from Vermillion to Sioux Falls.) It wasn't long before we had gotten to Mitchell, where it was early enough for us to go by the world's only corn palace in the downtown area.
     
    The Corn Palace has not been finished this year, but the gigantic corn murals that adorn its exterior are well under way. It's attached to the Mitchell City Hall and is across from the Community Theater. The interior of the Corn Palace is a great big basketball court with seats on one whole half of its gigantic interior, because the other side has a stage. In the court was a gift shop, which sold all manner of corn-, South Dakota-, and Mitchell-related gifts. Some of the items, however, had no relation to anything, such as an entire rack of hot sauces with hilarious, yet NSFBZP names.
     
    Despite these mostly unsavory items, much of the other things for sale were normal. My dad tried to remember the missing fridge magnets of our long-dormant basement collection and got the ones he remembered not having while my mom got an ornament. We asked if they had any ridiculous corn hats, but they did not. (The people there seemed to think that selling such a product would be a good idea.)
     
    Having seen the incomplete yet still somehow epic monstrosity that is the Corn Palace, we got to our hotel.
     
    After unpacking, we wanted to find a local place to eat. Online research and hotel employee queries led us to Chef Louie's, a steakhouse marked by the giant steer on the street corner. This did not disappoint. The place wasn't crowded; we were the only ones left by the end of the meal.
     
    I had a filet wrapped in bacon and topped with creamy blue cheese and pecans. The steak was cooked slightly over the medium I'd ordered, but it was no worse for wear on tenderness or flavor. A large helping of garlic mashed potatoes—hand-mashed to creamy perfection—was an excellent side, and the whole thing was covered in a small amount of deliciously pungent cognac peppercorn sauce. Needless to say, not even the parsley garnished went untouched.
     
    My parents went for the same thing—well, my mom did, and then my dad, not knowing what to get, doubled her order. They got prime rib served with excellent au jus with a side of baked sweet potato. The sweet potato was great by itself (I had two bites), but what really took the cake was the caramel sauce on top.
     
    There was a brief scare post-meal when we thought we had lost one of our keys, but it turned out to have fallen out of my pocket underneath the seat. Nonetheless, this led to my dad talking to the owner of the restaurant, who had just acquired a copy of the restaurant's menu from 1950. (Steaks were three dollars.)
     
    Tomorrow: across the state to Rapid City. Wind Cave National Park may also be in the cards depending on various factors.
  25. Sumiki

    Around the Bend

    By Sumiki,

    Today was a day in which we steeled ourselves for a whole lot of nothing, although there was a bit of fun with dirty clothes. Specifically, someone had dropped two absolutely grungy socks onto the hallway on our floor. When we checked out, someone had picked them up ... only to stick them halfway behind a flower pot on a table in the mini-lobby area where the elevators are. This made the whole ordeal much worse.
     
    The greater Boise area, still full of confusing road work, was slightly more negotiable in the light of day. However, we needed to go further into the suburb of Meridian towards an Office Depot, for we had realized in Craters of the Moon that we had left our road atlas in Idaho Falls. (Also, one of the twin wires in the little cord that connects the iPod to the car speakers had broken, leaving any music played through it coming in consistently on the right side but everything from crackling to nothing on the left, so we needed to get another one of those as well.)
     
    The area was absolutely swarming with people on the roads, but was managed to locate the store and purchased the items. Surprisingly, we were one of the few people in the store who didn't work there, and the employees seemed to notice that we weren't from the area.
     
    (Side note: the further away we go, the more our slight southern accents sound like drawls. We don't speak any differently than we normally do, but the surrounding language has such a different flavor that we notice how much our own stands out. This was probably most noticeable across the Canadian prairies two years ago, but has been noticed every trip.)
     
    The Interstate still had road work, but it was not as bad as last night and we soon got to the Oregon border, where we stopped at a welcome center full of slightly creepy old men. We exited relatively unnerved and ready for the long drive to Bend.
     
    If you look at a road map of Oregon, you will see in the western half of the state that there about three paved roads. Towns are extraordinarily tiny when they exist. US-20, the major road for this whole quadrant of the state, goes for stretches of 70 miles at a time without gas stations.
     
    We got gas in the town of Vale, where we remembered that Oregon doesn't let you pump your own gas—but only after we noticed a bald man with a name tag staring into the window.
     
    At first, US-20 through this section of the state is full of large barren hills. The road goes this way and that, mostly through the valley where the hills are so close as to look like proper mountains. Eventually this straightened out and led us into the northernmost portion of the Great Basin, an arid expanse which encompasses much of the traditionally barren western areas, such as Nevada.
     
    This is where we learned that Oregonian drivers are absolutely suicidal. Now, we've seen an immense amount of stupidity on the road from drivers in every state, but I'm just about convinced that Oregon has the worst ones in the country. US-20 has about as many blind curves and hills as anything else, and these drivers would go 80 around convoys of trucks four or five strong. There was nothing we could do but see them hit the gas as they careened towards the inevitable oncoming traffic and cut behind further slow-moving vehicles. (Well, the trucks were technically also going over the speed limit, which goes to show just how ill-advised they were.) This scenario happened at least ten times, with the worst of them occurring when an RV tried to do this in the face of oncoming traffic trying to do the same thing in a passing lane. How we didn't witness a crash is beyond me.
     
    Our only stop along the route was in the little town of Burns. My dad pulled into a garage to ask about filling in a tiny crack in our windshield we'd had since Sioux City, only to be told that, due to its angle, filling it was as likely to make it worse as anything else. It's not even an annoyance, but we'd like to get the windshield replaced if it's convenient, which likely would be in California.
     
    After that, we went into a Safeway for some snacks, only to find a full-scale deli. I had a chipotle chicken wrap with pepper jack sauce, which had a kick but was not what I'd consider spicy. My parents both went for small subs featuring turkey, avocado, and bacon. We got some caffeinated drinks for the road ahead and steeled ourself for more of the same.
     
    Thankfully, the road from Burns to Bend was relatively flat and relatively unpopulated, leading to fewer passes. It was the most desolate drive I've ever made. Towns that appeared on the map and on road signs had a population of anywhere from zero to three. It was like the drive across Nevada on our first trip, except with more scrub brush on the sides of the road and hills in the foreground. After this drive, we eventually saw the Cascades in the far distance, with their snowcapped peaks poking through the distant clouds.
     
    Bend is more at the foothills of the Cascades, and the traffic picked up as we wound our way to the hotel. As it turned out, the increase in traffic was at least partly to blame on a Doobie Brothers concert somewhere in the vicinity.
     
    We walked across a bridge over the beautiful Deschutes River, which was filled with kayakers and folks of all kinds carrying their lawn chairs to and from the concert, which made for a pleasant bass background at our distance. We ate at Anthony's, a seafood place that has their own fishing company which supplies them with salmon directly from the Copper River in Alaska.
     
    This offer of freshness was simply too good to pass up, and so we all got the salmon. Cooked to perfection with a buttery wine sauce on top, the salmon came with a large helping of garlic mashed potatoes (clearly hand-mashed) and snow peas. Our strawberry lemonade was somewhat pulpy, but we weren't dissuaded and in fact took it as an emblem of freshness. They didn't have enough strawberries for their desserts, but we were able to get a cheesecake with raspberry drizzle over it, which I was able to eat more than my fair share of when our waiter began talking to my parents about cell phones.
     
    From there, we went a little ways down the street to REI, for we all need better shoes if we are to go on the hikes we plan. It's an interesting building, as it's housed in an old mill and retains the three smokestacks which can be seen all around town. But it was closed by the time we arrived, so we wandered around the small outdoorsy mall, winding between the bikers and skateboarders and enjoying the cool mountainous air.
     
    We went into a place called Simply Mac, which is an Apple specialist store that locates in places too small for full-blown Apple stores. With no one in there save for the employees due to the concert, we began talking with one of the folks there. He told us a little about the Crater Lake area, the store's business model, and—most intriguingly—of the famous residents of Bend. Celebrities in Bend include a number of high-profile actors and athletes. Sam Elliott and Drew Bledsoe are perhaps the two most recognizable names from each category. According to the guy we talked to, the famous residents are in fact very down-to-earth folks.
     
    Bend suffers from high inflation and was hit hard by the recession. Relatively small houses that went for half a million were suddenly under 200K. Suave investors are now making pretty pennies off of the economic recovery. Compare that to the deserted nothingness along US-20, where acres literally go for pennies due to their aridity and worthlessness.
     
    Bend is a very nice little city. Though with a population a little over 81,000 and a greater metro area with about 166,000, the vast expanses which surround it mean that it has a place to spread out and breathe under the gaze of the nearby Cascades. It's clearly a very green place—as one would expect from Oregon in every sense of the term—but the retiree population exceeds the young and hip crowd by a wide enough margin for the average age to be significantly higher than comparable cities.
     
    Tomorrow: Crater Lake National Park. With our westward travel through, we now begin the southwards leg of this trip.
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