Category Archives: Travel/Outdoors

Buddy Pass? Just say “NO”

Asleep in Boston- Hotel Logan

I finally did it. $400+ dollars and many uncomfortable hours later, I was back in Utah. The weight of the world lifted the minute I shuttled to the Diamond Parking lot outside of SL International for my car. You can’t help but vow in these instances to “NEVER FLY DELTA AGAIN”. You know you’ll never stick to your guns because there will be that one time you have to get somewhere and they have the only available, cheap, convenient, whatever excuse, flight in town. But I can say it now.
A buddy pass is no benefit when it costs you $288 + $400, leaves you stranded in three airports, with Delta staffers who treat you like you’re covered in poo, before you finally get home (only because you bought the return ticket). And the last indignity? I pay $348 for a one way ticket out of Kansas City only to be seated in the one BROKEN seat on the filled-to-capacity plane. I couldn’t recline, I couldn’t relax, I couldn’t feel like at least you can get what you pay for.
Sitting in Logan International in Boston on Saturday from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. praying I get on a flight home, being denied; spending the night on the cold polished floor there, trying again from 6 a.m. – 7:30 a.m. to get on (any) flight, being sent to Detroit, sitting at the gate in Detroit, being seated in the very last (non-reclining) row on a plane to Kansas City International, and sitting in a cramped, filthy terminal from 1:30 p.m. to 8 p.m. thinking maybe there will be a standby seat, only to have to check into a roach motel for the night so I can finally get home on the 6 a.m. flight. And then this seat. My back and neck were bitching big time, my ass felt deflated and boney, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. The flight attendant shrugged and said, “I’ll let the captain know.” WTF?
The only reason I took the trek was because of the buddy pass. Had I known I’d lose two days, 10 hours of sleep and over $600, I never would have traveled to Boston and definitely would not have traveled on Delta with a buddy pass. This experience has left a huge disgusting taste in my mouth.
A nasty gate agent that smirks because I am the only person not getting on the flight? That’s out of line. The flight attendant ahead of me in the standby line volunteered to sit in the jump seat so that I could have the last seat on the plane. The agent could have made it happen. He chose not to. It should – and needs- to be his job to accommodate all guests to the best of his ability whether they fly paid or standby, are employees or buddies. I could have been home on Saturday. But this big, flabby, unkempt guy in a T-shirt and big baggy jeans with a belt cinched so tightly the back pockets touched, played God and denied me peace.
And why do gate agents not smile?? If they don’t like their jobs or don’t want to work they shouldn’t be there. I witnessed this attitude at EVERY SINGLE GATE- that’s five in Boston, two in Detroit and four in Kansas City. NOT ONE arrived smiling or greeting those standing in the area. They kept their heads low like bartenders who don’t want to serve certain people at their bar. Don’t make eye contact and they won’t hit you up for something. That’s crap. You can show up with a smile, say, “Hi, give me five minutes and I’ll wave you over” if you need a moment to center yourself.
I felt sick. No sleep, stiff non-reclining seats, and bad attitudes. GRRRR. It was bad enough that on getting to KCI I was in the backseat that wouldn’t recline while five seats went empty in First Class but on my PAID flight home I get stuck again. A miserable experience made worse by nasty, grumpy employees, decrepit planes and airports (with the exception of Detroit’s terminal which structurally sparkled). Even the carpet on the plane home was gross. Usually I can take my shoes off on a plane, but not that one. And there was something dried and sticky in the cup divot of my tray table. Maybe with those soaring profits the airlines are reporting this year they can do something about their service and environment? Nickel and dime us to death but at least use Vaseline.
All passengers regardless of seat number or status should be treated like a First Class passenger. People go to work at McDonald’s every day, 40+ hours a week, serving, dealing with complaints, the superior attitudes of the customers, incorrect orders, and people in a hurry. But they keep smiling. If any of them acted the way Delta’s people do, they’d be fired. Maybe it’s time to clean house and hire people who actually want to be there?? Yet another reason to fly Southwest.
As I sat chatting with other standbyers over the past two days, I learned a few things. Standby ‘buddies’ are treated like the homeless- you step over them. You never fly standby in the summer because the flights are full of vacationing families, and by the time you pay for the ‘non-revenue’ ticket ($288!), the hotel, the food, the extra parking, the aggravation, your time and the stress, you’re better off paying for a fare. Tell your Delta employee ‘buddy’, “No thanks.” And if they tell you there are open seats in Kansas City, laugh and walk away saying, “Good luck with that.”

Welcome To First Descents or My Week At Summer Camp

So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen?
The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Ryan for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.

A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.

One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.

My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.

Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?

In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.

One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.

You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.

Welcome To First Descents or My Week At Summer Camp

So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen?
The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Daddy for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.

A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.

One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.

My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.

Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?

In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.

One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.

You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Leave me alone for a week with your Daddy and do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.

Off To Fruita


Survived the longest tram line in history on Friday, skied insanely deep snow on the last day of April and the night skies are clear. We’ve got some lovely mountain biking in Fruita, Colo. this weekend.

Just checked into the Balance Rock Motel– it’s quiet, clean and perfect for an early rise and shine. We had planned to ‘rough it’ but the weather turned nasty this week. The ground is a tad wet and Sage has a wet cough. Though she’s in good spirits and was really looking forward to camping, I decided to do the responsible parent thing and stay in a motel.

There are only a handful in town (more in Grand Junction) and with the Fat Tire Fest happening this weekend, we got lucky. Three rooms left at the Rock. We were pleasantly surprised with what our $50 bought us. The intermittent refrigerator whir is a bit disruptive but other than that, the bed is a king, the room is clean and smoke free and there’s plenty of room to stash our bikes. It’s pet friendly for a price but Tenaya’s fine in the car. I’m just psyched that Ryan agreed to bring her along. The old girl doesn’t get out much but this is the perfect roadtrip for her. Since one of us will be with baby Sage at all times, Tenaya can hang at a slow pace. She doesn’t have to run on the trails or stay by the car. She also doesn’t need to worry about over heating. It’s cold! 29 degrees tonight.

Though there are ample camping spots throughout the area, it’s convenient and smart to stay in a motel when the ground is wet and the freeze cycle is still spinning. The days are forecasted in the mid 50s and partly sunny. Ideal riding weather. Ok, I’d prefer 60s but at least it won’t snow on us.

We left SLC in the middle of the storm. Snowbird had the best two powder days all season and I got to ski this morning. At 6:30 pm we were driving to Price. At 11 pm we had made it to town. Despite the Fest, the place was quiet. All closed up for the night. We saw stars. Loads of them. Whew. The dark streets slapped under our wheels from the dusk rain. I best sleep now. We’ve got a busy day ahead. Glad to be here. I like these crossover spring weekends.

Aloha!

Ooh, boy, am I going to have a serious bout of jetlag when I get home. It’s 3:43 a.m. in Utah…but only 11:43 at night in Maui. We just got back from one of those cheesy luaus where the food is mediocre, the show kitsch and yet you still wind up having a great time. It helps that there’s an open bar with the tender free pouring. And that I can never get enough of watching Sage dance and enjoy herself.
A few more days and we’ll be back in town and I’ll be wondering what happened to the summer. Like Goto our 60-year-old Japanese surf instructor in Lahaina said about the waves: You wait and wait then all of a sudden it’s on top of you so you better be ready to paddle hard and ride otherwise you’ll miss it. Is that a bad thing, really? When the falls and winters are so spectacular along the Wasatch and down south? I feel like such a loser that I’ve climbed a handful of times at Rockreation, scaled the cliffs above the Needles gondola at Snowbasin once and done two hikes. How could I be this lame when I used to have multi-sport days? Now, I’m lucky if I get in a multi-sport week.
I can’t blame motherhood. Ryan would watch Sage after 4pm if I asked him. I can blame the heat, the finishing touches of construction, the prohibitive high price of the only local gym in town (that needs a serious dose of humility- 24-hr Fitness won’t you please open up a branch in Park City?). But now that it’s gotten cooler, the Stump Jumper is begging for a spin. It’ll happen when I get home seeing as at home there’s no surf to tackle. Did I mention that I am the queen of the big foam board? I stood up on every wave I caught and rode it in until I felt it was time to paddle out. Pretty cool sport. And Lahaina, Maui, has got to be one of the best spots for learning. They call them surf farms- the schools that teach out there; dragging classes of 5 to 8 people each out to places like the Breakwall. And some bitch did put her board between my legs as she cut me off in mid-surf. But it’s not like we don’t experience the same on any given powder day. The good spots are bound to be packed. Goto, the Mr. Myagi of surfing, also compared the experience to driving on the freeway- you get in your lane and go. Don’t worry about the other drivers.
Wish I could stay another two weeks here and hone the surfing- maybe get up on a hard board (or at least try) but the time will soon arrive to head back and kick the mountain sports back into gear.
Maui’s been great though. The highlights- surfing, of course, having Matthew Murasko from Olukai Footwear take us through the Bamboo Forest just off the Hana Highway, brilliant sunsets, snorkeling in Honoloa Bay and watching Sage go nuts for the water (in the jetted tub, the pools at the Westin and the ocean). Tomorrow we’ll do the Maui Onion Festival with my parents. I hope they’ll have Maui onion rings so that the next time I dine on onion rings in some stateside restaurant I can brag that I had real Maui onion rings in Maui.
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