September 2010
Things Not Going as You Planned? Drink, says the Poet, Drink!
Well, so much for experiments. My recent grand attempt to reshape this blog has caused about 20 percent of my subscribers to unsubscribe. If I were a politician steeped in my self-importance I would say these people are badly misinformed and need greater education. However, since I have respect for all of you who grace these pages with your time, I prefer to listen to what my constituents are saying and reform my ways.
Not everyone disliked my recent posts; I received lots of nice comments too. After my piece on Lagunitas IPA, Dan C. passed along the names of several brews he likes: Ranger IPA, made by New Belgium Brewing, makers of Fat Tire ale; Thunderhead IPA from Pyramid Brewing; and the colorfully named Moose Drool from Big Sky Brewing in Missoula, Montana. Did you know that IPA, which stands for India Pale Ale, originated in the 18th century; it was brewed in London to be sent to Her Majesty's soldiers serving in India.
Wheels of Change, my book on California car history, has enjoyed some recent stirrings, winning (as I mentioned last time) the Valentine Memorial Award for best car book of 2010 by the Society of Automotive Historians. Brad Bowling gave it a glowing review in the latest issue of Car & Parts Magazine, calling it "fascinating" and saying (in a line that sums up my approach to writing history), "If books such as this had been my required reading in high school, I definitely would have made better grades in history." In my view, history belongs to everybody, not just academics.
Joe F. asked me the other day what was happening with the movie for Operation Bullpen: The Inside Story of the Biggest Forgery Scam in American History. The short answer is, "Not enough." There is a script based on the book, written by an Oscar-nominated screenwriter, and he and the producer are peddling it around Hollywood. So far, no takers. The producer told me that the reaction they're getting is that the Bullpen story is "too indie (not enough sex or action) or not indie enough (not enough guns or dead bodies or dark enough)." He added, "I do find that these things go in waves and the film industry is going through all kinds of schizophrenic growing pains at the moment." "Schizophrenic growing pains" is an apt description of the Internet-tormented publishing industry as well.
Praise for The Runner's Book of Daily Inspiration came out of the blue the other day from Jaclyn Dionne, a "master trainer" with the North American Academy for Sport Fitness (NAASFP). "I personally use and love your Runner's Book," she writes. "Everyday there is some wonderful tidbit that just works. When teaching the certification, I recommend to the runners that they pick up a copy of your book." Adding, "There are references to things we touch on that just so perfectly express challenges a coach faces with a client. We are actually listing your book on our page of reference books recommended for coaches; it is a great tool for runners and the coaches." She asked if she could use excerpts in the NAASFP's certification manual for marathon coaches, and I of course said yes.
Let me finish with a literary reference inspired by the aforementioned Dan C., who, in thinking about beer, reminded me of the great poem, written in the late 1800s, by the French poet Charles Baudelaire, whose somber mug adorns this column. "Get Drunk" is the name of the poem, and it is anything but somber (or sober). Here it is:
"One should always be drunk. That's the great thing: the only question. Not to feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and bowing you to the earth, you should be drunk without respite. Drunk with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you please. But get drunk.
"And if sometimes you should happen to awake, on the stairs of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the dreary solitude of your own room, and find that your drunkenness is ebbing or has vanished, ask the wind and the wave, ask star, bird, or clock, ask everything that flies, everything that moans, everything that flows, everything that sings, everything that speaks, ask them the time; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird and the clock will all reply: 'It is Time to get drunk! If you are not to be the martyred slaves of Time, be perpetually drunk! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you please.'" [end]
Tuolumne Meadows: The Place and the Ale
(Personal note: I just found out today that Wheels of Change, my book on the history of California automobiles, won the James Valentine Memorial Award for 2010, awarded by the Southern California chapter of the Society of Automotive Historians to the best California car book of the year. Award ceremony in Nov. Champagne to pop now. Or should it be beer? Read on...)
At 8,600 feet above sea level, Tuolumne Meadows is on Tioga Road in the Yosemite high country. The Tuolumne River runs through it. Most impressive are the peaks that surround it: the striking, sharp-faced Cathedral Peak and Cathedral Range to the west, and the Lyell Range to the southeast, which is anchored by massive Mt. Lyell, the highest peak in Yosemite Park (13,114 ft.). Bulky Lembert Dome is the dominant landmark of the meadows and at the top, it affords some spectacular views.
I know Yosemite Park fairly well, having hiked and climbed there since I was a teenager, but until a recent trip I hadn't really spent much time in the Meadows. Because Yosemite Valley is so hot in the summer many rock climbers migrate up to the Meadows because it's slightly cooler, and young, frisky-looking men and women weighted down with climbing gear about to scale Lembert or some other granite wall are among the pleasing sights there. Needless to say, I took the hiker's path to the top of Lembert, while rock climbers take one of the more direct vertical routes up the face.
Tioga Road is closed in the winter, due to snow. But it's open in the summer, which in turn opens up Tuolumne Meadows to armies of vehicles and the two-footed invaders that pilot them. It's a busy place, but not without a funky high country charm. There are campgrounds, a lodge, horseback riding, bicycle paths, fishing in the Tuolumne, and a busy little grill and general store right on the road.
Many of the people I saw at the store seemed to fit into two categories: scruffy mountain types, and those who read the New York Times on Sunday mornings. Well, that's not quite right. There were some unwashed, beer-swilling tourists like myself around as well. I was standing in front of the cold case deciding what to do when a friendly, mustachioed East Indian guy grabbed a six-pack of a heretofore unknown brew (unknown by me, that is) by the name of Paranoids Pale Ale. "Is that any good?" his buddy asked him. "I don't know," he said with a smile. "We'll find out."
The Mammoth Brewing Company, which makes Paranoids, is in Mammoth Lakes, California, a tiny town south of Yosemite in the eastern Sierra Nevada about a half-hour south of Mono Lake. It has a top-drawer ski resort beloved by Los Angeleno downhill schussers and snowboarders and it is also the summer training center for United States Olympic long distance running in the country. Seeing that I was actually in Tuolumne Meadows, it seemed only right that I follow my fellow beer-swiller's example and find out more about Mammoth's products. So I bought a self-arranged six-pack that included two Paranoids, one Double Nut Brown, and three Tuolumne Meadows IPAs.
I haven't tried the Double Nut Brown yet, but I'm looking forward to it because I loved the Paranoids, especially its name. I'm not sure why they call it that; perhaps if you drink too many Paranoids and combine it with certain illegal substances you might begin to feel a little 'noid. Or not. Anyhow, the beer I chose for that night was a Tuolumne Meadows IPA, which seemed fitting given where I was. I drove back down Tioga Road to my campsite at Yosemite Creek and then popped open a bottle and drank it with an improvised dinner of Top Ramen soup and tuna. Now that's living, eh?
Dog Lake in Tuolumne Meadows, with Mt. Dana and Mt. Gilbert in the b.g.
A Most Unique Retail Experience
In the category of "unique retail experiences," it is hard to top Bass Pro Shops. It has a Vegas-y approach to the great outdoors: super-sized and somewhat garish perhaps but always entertaining. Even its sign out front, complete with bleached antlers, is so big I couldn't fit it all into one picture frame.
Bass Pro Shops is a national chain, and the closest one to me is in Manteca, which I visited on my way to Yosemite Park over the Labor Day weekend. In Yosemite I saw a deer, chipmunks, and several squawking jays where I made camp. But this was nothing compared to the wildlife I saw in only a half-hour of wandering the aisles at Bass Pro Shops.
Of course, the wildlife at Bass Pro Shops is not alive and often you see only the head of the animal detached from its body and mounted high on a wall. But the store is for more than just gun hunters; bow hunters and archers, bait fishermen, fly fishermen, campers, hikers, boaters, kayakers, RVers, ATVers, backyard barbecuers, and anyone in the market for a personalized shot glass or a "Home for the Insane Redneck Fishermen" welcome mat will love the place, as I explain further after the jump page.
I am not sure if a Redneck Fishermen welcome mat is my cup of tea, or even personalized shot glasses. But there are lamps with bases made of antlers or carved in the form of wildlife, which I was thinking about bringing home as a surprise gift for my wife, but then I thought better of it because I'm not sure it'd fit into her sense of décor. Probably a good idea I restrained myself.
"Restraint" is not, however, a thing you should generally bring to Bass Pro Shops. Better to have a wallet with plastic and a sense of appreciation for the marvelous excesses of the American merchandising imagination. In Manteca there is a giant three-story high fake redwood tree that you walk through when you enter the store. The only way to improve this, in my mind, is to make it a drive-through tree, perhaps with customers riding through it on one of the dirt bikes or ATVs that are on sale there. Other cool sights are the museum-sized fish tanks with live fish in them; there are also lots of plastic fish on display. Most impressive is a waterfall inside the building with a black bear perched on a ledge. Shoppers and tourists take pictures of themselves posed with this bear and the waterfall in the background. Now how many other retail shops can claim that?
Song of Labor Day
Dear Subscribers: Thank you for your patience and kind understanding! As you've seen, I've been playing around with this blog and I'm still finding my way. It may be that this approach does not belong here, but rather on a new blog called "The Far Shore" or "From the Far Shore," or something like that. I don't know. And I am continuing to encounter technical glitches beyond my control, which I apologize for. But I do know that your comments are much appreciated, and I hope as I move forward that all of this will become clearer. To you as well as me. In any event, have a great Labor Day.
"I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear/Those of mechanics, each one singing a carol as it should be blithe and strong...
"The boatman singing what belongs to him in the boat...
"The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work...
"Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,/The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust and friendly,/Singing with open mouths their melodious songs."