Life in the Bozone Part 2: Change and Aikido

I find it interesting how each person deals with change differently.  I always thought I had no problem with change; that I was as fluid and smooth as oil on a hot skillet.  Well, as it turns out, I flow more like cold molassas on a skillet covered with burnt scrambled eggs.

It took me a long time to adjust to my new environment.  I regret not trying to become more involved in the greater Bozeman community sooner, but when you are as accustomed to having a closely knit web of friends and neighbors around you as I am, trying to break into a different and already established web of people is very intimidating and hard. 

Whatever your perceptions of Montana are, Bozeman has a lot going on.  The city is primarily comprised of small businesses giving it a small-town feel for a city of around 40,000 people.  The arts are extremely well supported and there are many live music jam sessions and art galleries all over the city. There is a Bozeman Symphony, the Intermountain Opera company, as well as a 300 member high school choral program and many summer theater camps.   Plus, as my uncle will remind you over and over again, “You can’t get this view in Boston!” 

Despite all this, it took me until about February to actually go out and start doing things other than skiing each weekend.  In retrospect, it was really quite pathetic.  Many of the music events happened in the local bars, but I really don’t like going to bars by myself.  It’s just not fun when you are alone at the bar, or worse, at a booth.  Sometimes you make friends, but in the event that you don’t find anyone to talk to, it just sucks.  I kept trying to suck it up and go, but I’ll admit, it never happened.

I did meet at least one friend that I hung out with while I was there.  Hallie and I met while I was working the temp job at "Business That Will Not Be Named".  She is a graphic designer/excellent Rodan & Fields consultant and her husband works in the snowboard department at Big Sky.  Thanks to her, I met some other awesome Bozeman locals and was able to get out on the town every once and while. It became our modes operende to meet at the bar PLONK, order the cheese platter, which is a fancy six-piece cheese spread that magically lasts about 2 hours, and a fancy shmantzy cocktail.  They honestly have the best mixed drinks!  They are amazing.  My budget, however, only allowed me one drink per visit, which was ok, since it probably added to their specialness.

One day I was walking by the incredible Bozeman public library when I saw a light blue warehouse at the rear of the parking lot.  Hanging on the side was a huge banner that read “Big Sky Aikido”.  I couldn’t believe it! To add to Bozeman’s awesomeness, they had a martial arts studio!  To explain: I have always been interested in at least trying out some form of martial arts.  When I was studying abroad in Vienna, Austria, I signed up to take Aikido at the Sports Universität. I was intrigued not only by the practice of Aikido, but the philosophy behind it.  Unfortunately, I ended up having to quit after the first week due to a time conflict with another class.  The one Aikido class I did attend, though extremely confusing because it was all in Austrian German, was very interesting, and I enjoyed the movements and the mindset of the practice.  So I decided that this banner was telling me, “Claire! The time for action is now!”

I signed up for an eight week beginner course that met two times a week.  I wasn’t sure how many other people would be signing up for an Aikido class in the middle of winter, but I decided not to worry about that.  Worst case scenario, I’d have a private lesson.

Before my first class, I met the head instructor, Olsen Sensei, and was immediately impressed by his presence. He is a sixth degree black belt and has spent over 40 years studying Judo and Aikido.  It’s hard to explain exactly how I felt just standing next to him. When he looked at me, his eyes were strong and steady, and they told of a soul deeply connected with self understanding, knowledge, and wisdom.  When I saw him seeing me, it was as though I became very aware of all my insecurities and personal weaknesses when met with his steadiness.  And yet, in that moment of almost overwhelming deprecation, there was warmth and an understanding in him, which was both calming and humbling. 

I will never forget a moment I had later on with him.  The bi-annual examinations were happening in the dojo and I was excited to see the members show off their skills.  I, however, messed up the time I thought it was starting, and by the time I got there, everything was finished.  I had missed it all.  I was so angry at myself and so disappointed.  Olsen Sensei made eye contact with me and came over to me from across the floor.  He asked me what was wrong.  I think he knew I wanted him to ask me because I was wallowing in self-pity.  I told him why I was upset, and without indulging me with any sympathy, he simply answered, “Well, since there’s nothing you can do about it, it would be a waste of time to be angry.”  And then he smiled, knowingly.  I felt embarrassed and childish, because I knew he was right, and I knew he had just indirectly told me to stop feeling sorry for myself.  It wasn’t a put-down or a chastisement, it was a lesson, simply put, and I got the memo.  After the exams, everyone went out for pizza a beer.  I let go of my useless angst, and had some fun with the people I admired.

Olsen Sensei

The first beginners class, there were actually three other people with me.  They were all dudes.  One was a pale computer science nerd from Alaska, one was a sunburned contractor who had actually lived in New Hampshire for a while, and one was a kindly Asian man who had done the class before and drove a sweet Moped.  We were joined by a couple others the following class. One was a women (yes!), Ellen, a biochemist who worked at MSU and with whom I became friends, and the other was a MSU student who was actually rather condescending to me when we were partners.  It was OK though, he’s a college freshman boy; they don’t know anything. 

And then there was our instructor, Justin.  Dang.  Even if I hadn’t liked the class I would have stayed just to look at him.  He was super energetic, all about the athletic and intense, was always positive and optimistic, with a bellowing laugh and a mischievous grin.  His energy was so invigorating to be around.  On top of all that, he is an Aikido badass.  We were soon introduced to his notorious warm-ups, which were always more like boot-camp drills and usually included a good round of ‘Burpies’, which, if you are unfamiliar with this term, consist of dropping to the ground, doing a full push-up, then returning to standing position by jumping in the air and clapping you hands above your head.  Sounds simple, I know.  Just try one right now.  Go ahead.  Clear a little space a do one.

Good.

Now do 30 in a row. 

(I’ll wait)

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Yeah.  Pain.

It was all in good humor and everyone got through it, eventually.

Justin being epic as usual

The practice of Aikido is relatively new in comparison with other martial arts. Its founder, Morhei Ueshiba (1883-1969), developed the technique as the result of searching for a synergy of physical action and mind based on the previous martial arts he had studied.  I will now quote from the ASU training handbook because I can’t really describe it well myself:

Ai - Harmony, unity; to be in accord with or to join.

Ki - Spirit; life force or universal creative energy.

Do - The way or path.

The movement of Aikido is the dynamic movement of the universal energy forces. The power of Aikido is the power of a strong and unified spirit, mind and body moving in harmony with everything around it. Its origin is Budo. Its development is the result of two thousand years of a cultural process of change and refinement, a continuing martial contest of natural selection. It is an evolution etched in blood.

The study of Budo and the development of Aikido was the life work of Morihei Ueshiba, a figure of great renown who traveled the length and breadth of Japan studying under the greatest masters of many arts. Hard work, severe discipline and all the money he could earn were poured into his mastery of the sword, the spear and the arts of self defense. Deeply interested in the study of spiritual thought, he also practiced many different spiritual disciplines.

Still, he was as yet unable to unite his spiritual beliefs with his physical accomplishments.

A short time after returning from military action in the Russo-Japanese War, he retired to a small house located on a mountain outside his village. There he lived and studied silently; his days spent training his body and his nights spent deep in prayer. It was at the end of this time of severe training that he had the realization he had been seeking all of his life. At that moment, nature's process became clear and he knew that the source of Budo is the spirit of protection of all things.

"Budo is not felling the opponent by force; nor is it a tool to ead the world into destruction by arms. True Budo is to accept the spirit of the universe, keep the peace of the world, and correctly produce, protect and cultivate all beings in nature."

So, if you actually read all that, you can see that it’s wicked awesome.  It was very challenging and even after 16 classes, I still have to go through each movement slowly in order to do it accurately.  I enjoyed it immensely.  It is rooted in compassion and collaboration.  During training, both the giver and the receiver of the action are learning equally.  The Bozeman dojo is a very supportive environment, and its members are involved and dedicated to the art and to one another.  I have the utmost respect for all its members and their passion for the art. 

I do need to credit these photos to the website, I never ended up bringing my camera with me.

Life in the Bozone Part 1: Tax Return 101

Thanks to Greg, I was able to land a job working for a local CPA, Mary Clark.  The timing was perfect as the job would conclude with the end of tax season in April, after which I could resume my traveling.  The job involved answering the phone, making appointments, organizing client information, and helping out with miscellaneous tasks.  Now, at that point in time, I knew just enough about the US tax system to get my 1040 done each spring and pray I wrote everything on the correct lines, so I was a bit nervous to step into this position.  I wasn’t going to be doing any of the tax work myself, but I was going to have to learn about it in order to enter data and help clients.  I was excited as well because I am a nerd, and learning anything new appeals to me. I know that economics makes the world go round and I figured this opportunity to learn more about the system would alone be worth the time.  

So, as it turns out, I reeeeeally like running an office, although it kind of brought out the extremely anal-retentive tendencies I apparently posses.  Plus, it satisfied my secret affinity for office supplies.  Every time I enter a Staples store I have to intensely resist the temptation to buy one of everything.  THE ORGANIZATIONAL POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!!!!  I don’t know if you remember me talking about having a full conversation with a friend in Burlington, VT about what type of pen to buy, but this time I had all the pens, paper, staplers, post-its, hole punchers, and random knick-knacks than I could dream of!!!  It was beautiful, and I very easily settled in to having my own desk.

What scared me, was the phone…

For whatever reason, be it a previous bad experience or just phone phobia, I have the hardest time gathering the courage to call strangers for any reason whatsoever.  Not even just strangers.  I don’t even like having to call the dentist office to make an appointment.  Something about it makes me so anxious that my mouth experiences some sort of paralysis leaving me completely incapable of speaking like a normal human being.  So this time, not only was I calling complete strangers because I was getting paid to and therefore had to, I had to do it with a boss listening in the other room.  I made sure to thoroughly grill her beforehand about what I should and shouldn’t’ say on the phone, but the first two months I worked there, the phone freaked me out.  I was so afraid of not knowing the answer to a question or messing up a message.  I definitely left some interesting voicemails.  When I am not sure what to say, I involuntarily slide into random accents...  So I'm pretty sure some of Mary's clients thought that a Russian/British/metrosexual gangster worked for her.  

After a few weeks, I finally confessed this horribly pathetic issue with Mary, who was very surprised.  Apparently I didn’t sound as much like an idiot as I thought, and she reassured me that I never had to answer anything I wasn’t sure about. She was probably just being nice because she felt bad for the college degree equipped mess in front of her, but she encouraged me to ask her as many questions as I wanted and to double check anything I felt necessary.  She was so relaxed and seemingly sure about my capability to not mess things up, that I began to believe her, and I started making progress.  I began speaking with more authority, knew how to respond to demanding requests, and even solidified my answering phrase, “Good morning, Mary Clark’s office, this is Claire!”  I also got to know the clients better and became more familiar with their situations.  I started joking with them on the phone and asking them about how their lives were going, if their dog was still sick, if their child got into that college, or how their vacation to the Western Fast Draw Association championships went.  As the weeks went on,  I slowly but surely began to master my position and my phobia, and it felt really good. 

I have gained an intense appreciation for anyone who has the brain to keep track of all the information the IRS sends out each year.  Mary is amazingly good at her job.  She see’s each tax return like a puzzle, and it excites her to figure it out.  Although I can’t say I share the same enthusiasm, I am extremely glad she loves her work, because I sure as hell couldn’t do it.  What I did really enjoy doing was bookkeeping.  I learned how to work with Quickbooks and was able to keep basic financial records for some of her clients.  It brought out the perfectionist in me, maybe to a bit of an unhealthy extreme.  It would drive me crazy if an account didn’t reconcile because it was off by $0.15, and I would scour the account for the mistake until I found it.  I wish I could have seen myself.  I probably looked like a mutant Igor scowling while craning my face towards the screen and grumbling at the numbers under my breath. 

Mary is a wonderful boss.  She and I spent many an afternoon discussing life while she procrastinated or waited for her next appointment.  I was her listener as she verbally worked out tax problems I usually didn’t understand or had a funny story to tell about her grandson.  Thanks to her patience, I learned a lot.  Maybe more than I wanted to know… because it made me aware of just how much there is to be aware of and to understand in order to be a financially savvy taxpayer.  I don’t think I could be a CPA, but I now know that understanding at least the surface of the American tax system is invaluable and a crucial element to anyone's future.

To close, I will share two of my fondest office memories:

1.  One morning, I walked by Mary’s office on my way to the kitchen and saw her opening her windows as was part of the typical morning routine.  On my way back I heard, “No! No, no, no, no!!” I leapt to her door, and there was Mary, leaning towards the window, her sweater jacket being devoured by the paper shredder!  I just stood there with my mouth open, not sure what to do or say.  She finally managed to stop the machine and reverse out the fabric, but the damage was done. It looked like something had decided to take a huge chomp out of her sweater.  After a stunned moment of silence, we both just started laughing.  It was so unbelievably ridiculous and unlikely a scenario that she wasn’t even angry.  She joked that she should tell her clients that she just got really hungry.  She had a free hour before her next appointment, so she went off to change at home, but ended up returning with a new version of the same sweater she happened to find at the mall.  No one would have ever known.  She did make a cover for that paper shredder though, just in case.

2.  Before the start of what was probably going to be a particularly stressful and arduous phone meeting, Mary was feeling a bit nervous and stressed.  We had gone over what she wanted to say and how she wanted to say it, but I could tell she was still anxious.  So, wanting to provide her with a little confidence and humor, I went to my desk and quickly crafted sword out of a file folder and presented it to her along long with some go get-um’ words and a pirate ARR!!  After the meeting she came out very pleased with how everything went, still holding the sword!  She smiled saying that as she laid out her demands she brandished the sword about with each sentence, not allowing herself to falter! I couldn't have been more proud!  Never underestimate the confidence boosting power of imagination.  


Thanks Mary.

The War on Paper and Possibility

My first few days in Bozeman were a mix of awesome and shocking.  When one has been traveling for a while and is accustomed to picking up and moving every few days, staying in one place for more than a week is similar to spinning on a tire swing or fair ride for a while and then getting off and trying to stand upright while your eyeballs keep moving in the direction your were going.  Life was full of things I had forgotten about such as having a bed or having enough room in my car for more than one person.  And to be honest, showering daily.  Regardless of the lifestyle shift-shock from nomad to foundation squatter, it felt good to be in a house with family.

The McCahans West, as we have come to say, are awesome.  My two cousins, Katie 15, and Reugen, 10, walked me into the house and showed me my room and bathroom (yes, own bathroom, sweet I know) both of which were labeled with my name.  I knew this was going to be an interesting experience, not only because my cousins are a crazy combination of pro-wrestler, LL Bean hippie, comedian, Boston gangster, mad inventor, chef, and Barbara Streisand, but because in the last few years I really hadn't seen them much.  I'd always been  involved in something or at school and wasn't able to spend much time getting to know them.  My uncle John (my Dad's brother) and my aunt Mozelle had decided to make the move to Bozeman just earlier that spring of 2011, my uncle having taken a job offer at the hospital.  They were more than welcoming and made room for me in their already fairly hectic lives. 

My room!!



Katie singing in her Christmas socks




Reugen the Lego mastermind

I hadn't actually been able to find a job prior to arriving in Bozeman, though I had been looking.  John and Mozelle, or Mo, had been checking the classified adds and calling me with any news while I had been scouring the internet.  I applied to the local ski mountain, Bridger Bowl, but no positions were available.  I began listing anything in the paper that I thought I could do and taking note of any help wanted signs I passed by on the street: coffee stands, hotel desks, restaurants, even the UPS store.  I'll just say it, JOB SEARCHING SUCKS.  No way around it.  Up until that point, job searching had been easy. I've had the same seasonal jobs for six years, and have been working for people I already knew.  So this whole stranger in a strange land throwing our resumes thing was totally new, and absolutely terrifying.

My horoscope while I was job searching... uncanny isn't it.

I registered with the three job placement agencies in town just to see if anything turned up.  I totally messed up the first agency interview when I brain farted when they asked me about my skills and didn't remember what "clerical work" meant. I think I'd always heard it referred to as "desk job" or "secretarial work".  Yeah.. whoops.  But after that stress mess, I had a great interview with Express Employment.  Greg, the owner, and I hit it off right from the start.  This dude really knows how to do his job.  His phone skills are so suave, he could sell condoms to the Pope, and within the next week he called me about a temporary position working for a graphics company in town.  He knew it wasn't what I was looking for, but it would get some income coming my way. 

I went to the company, which I shall not name because I'm not sure who is actually reading this, and was ushered to the upstairs work room.  I noticed immediately that no one introduced themselves, and no one asked me my name.  I was given a number, shown how to punch in, and directed to a table where hundreds of envelopes sat waiting to be sealed by hand.  I spent eight hours that day gluing shut large envelope while serenaded by the sound of machinery running and illuminated by florescent light.  I think I got about a BAJILLION paper-cuts and the palms of my hands were red and sore.  I was working with a couple other "temps" as we were called, but we didn't talk.  We just glued and pressed, glued and pressed, all day.

This was a strange experience for many reasons.  I had never before been basically ignored at a job.  I had never been told what to do like I was six years-old, and I had never not talked to anyone (who's surprised?).  The next day I was determined to shake it up a bit.  I was moved from gluing the envelopes, to gathering envelopes that had been addressed into bundles and securing them with two rubber bands.  After three hours of banding, the outsides of my fingers burned.  I had figured out at least five different ways to put on the rubber bands so that I could rotate skin areas on my fingers.  This day was better though.  I started trying to make conversation with the guy next to me.  His name was Richard.  He had driven there from Oklahoma to visit his cousin and had decided to earn some cash in the meantime.  He had a southern drawl, wore the same yellow sweatshirt everyday, and had a goofy grin when I made him laugh.  I made it my goal to make him crack a smile whenever possible. The job was so monotonous... I guess I felt it gave me permission to act weirder then normal, just to mix things up.  I'm pretty sure everyone in that workroom thought I was crazy by the end of the week.  At one point I started dancing in the middle of the room because I was happy it was snowing. I'd like to think I was entertaining at least.  

The other temp was an older man who I dubbed "Enthusiastic Man", or EM, (I never really could hear his name when he said it, and then I couldn't remember it, and then I started giving everyone in the work room quasi super hero names because I was bored).  EM was always in a hurry, and was always looking to do something with the most obvious intent of haste.  It was so much haste, I was worried about him.  No one should sweat that much when gluing envelopes.

Our floor manager was an Asian women named Cindy, or "Lady Chang" (sorry if that's offensive, it just came to my head at the time).  She was always very serious and mono-emotional and had special gloves for handling paper.  I swear she must have been a retired spy.  Although I was doing the same things as the other temps, she somehow managed to find something wrong with whatever I did.  At one point however, it was she that entered the wrong addresses into the label printer so that we had to cover the address area with blank labels.  Regardless of the fact that it had been her mistake, it was up to the temps to fix it.  And we had  to do it just right.  She came over three times to comment on my work; my labels were too high up, I needed to make sure they were straight, I should put them on a different way, just... because!  I glanced at Richard and he looked at me with an affirming "Yep, she's picking on you" look.  I'm not sure what I was doing to induce her wrath, but instead of getting frustrated, I decided to make another goal; make it so she can't help but like me! Hahah!

Meanwhile, the other members of the work room included "Camo Guy" who wore clashing patterns of camouflage every day and spent his time ranting about the machines or the government, "Bob the Builder", an older man who wore a back support belt everyday and managed to hold at least 12 things in it, "Gangsta Man", who always wore his hood up and had a different mustache style and length everyday, and "The Men in Black", two guys working across the room on poster graphics who wore black T-shirts everyday and no underwear... Unfortunately they bent down a lot.  Our motley crew was bossed by "Daniel Craig".  I'm not kidding, my boss looked like a slightly thinner James Bond.  And he was the task master.  I think he was even more intimidating just because he looked like Daniel Craig. He always carried his clipboard and each time he came upstairs he had to comment on something.  Sometimes he would just linger until he had something to say.  At one point, the machine I was working with decided to snag, right when he was there of course, and he jumped right in!  Pushing buttons, talking about how we needed to make sure we could keep it going, how it should be working, blah blah blah.  I knew how to fix it.  I just let him try to make him feel better.  I pushed a couple buttons, rearranged the envelopes, and voila!  He just looked at me and stammered a bit, "Ahh, yes, good... Well ok then. Good."  Daniel Craig exits stage left. 

As the week went on, I became more comfortable and felt free to be a little goofy. I made each task a weird challenge or game.  I tried different strategies for gluing the envelopes so I could do the greatest number possible at once, I tried wrapping pallets of envelope bundles in under a certain amount of time, or I stacked sealed envelopes in different patterns.  Sounds exciting right?  I was actually amazed at how well I dealt with the slow pace of time and the monotony of what I was doing.  I started listening to NPR on my iPod, which helped, but I think I also tunnel visioned during the day so that I saw each task as the most important thing for that moment.

I noticed that I seemed to be generally more bouncy than the people I was working with, but honestly, if I worked there everyday, all day, for the whole year, I would be a zombie.  If I had to always be a temp, whose identity didn't really matter as long as I worked well, I would begin to loose myself.  I began see how one's sense of importance could become attached to a part of a process, and how it could eat at your enthusiasm.  It was a completely different perspective on what role a job could have in life.  Some people do not love their job.  Their job is just a means to an end, and nothing else.  It enriches their life not through its endeavors, but through its profit.  For me, that would be a hard way to live, but people do it.  I don't think that lifestyle is wrong or that it means those people's lives are not as meaningful just because they do not live for their work, but it is opposite of the expectations I have for my life.  In some way, I must feel that my goal to pursue a career that I will love and value is a "better" choice, or else I wouldn't be trying so hard to do it.  However, I do not think that I as a person am "better than". 

I remember struggling with these thoughts when I went back home for winter break during my junior year of college.  I ran into people I went to high school with who are still living in my hometown or who didn't go to college.  I caught myself feeling a bit superior in a way, like what they were choosing to do with their lives was small minded, and that because they weren't challenging themselves or seeing the world that somehow they were maybe a little less significant.  Those thoughts shocked and appalled me.  When did I become such an elitist?  When did staying in your home town and becoming a more woven member of a community which raised you become "less than"?  It made me angry that I would feel this way, but I resolved that just because it is not what I want for my life, does not make it insignificant. My life is no more important, and I have no right or desire to look down on anyone. And what do I know?  Maybe some of those people I was so quick to judge are following their dreams and are doing something they love and feel is meaningful.  Many of them are probably giving back to the community and doing things that a necessary for the town.  And most importantly, many of them are probably happy. 

Perhaps what I was interpreting initially stemmed from my correlation between high achieving goals and a high sense of self worth.  Maybe I thought I was seeing people who didn't think very highly of themselves and therefore weren't striving to achieve all they were capable of.  I do think that one's sense of self-importance and capability is a major factor in how one sets goals and how far out of comfort zones one may be willing to go.  And honestly, I know through experience that "formal" education of the traditionally valued subjects in school does not always provide the inspiration a person might need.  There is no substitute for experience, and I wish all schools had the resources to provide alternative education methods which would encourage leaning in a variety of ways. The only way to really expand your confidence and sense of personal possibility is to to challenge your options and capabilities, but it is not always easy, and unless someone discovers a motivation to do so or has someone to encourage them, it may seem impossible or may not even be a consideration. I understand too that not everyone who can push themselves wants to, and not everyone wants to move away from what they know.  It is because of this difference of choice that we have such a variety of people within our culture. 
I feel extremely fortunate that I even have a choice to explore new opportunities.  When I think of people in the world who fight everyday to just stay alive, I can't help but feel that the freedom to be curious is a luxury.  My frustrations with those who, as I see them, have the resources and the ability to challenge themselves but don't comes from this feeling that it is privilege to be able to learn, it is a privilege to have the opportunity to grow, and it is a privilege to experience life and have the chance of joining progress and embracing inevitable change.  When I ponder why I want to know and learn so many different things, I instantly think, why not?  I hope for sake of the future, and for anyone expecting life to land in their laps, that curiosity can become more contagious and reality more apparent.

The way I see it, everything begins with possibility.  Every person has something to offer, something to teach, or some energy to share, and every community, no matter how big or small, needs members to support it.  I am the product of a close community.  It is because the people who work there, struggle there, thrive there, and live there that I am who I am.  And someday, those who stay there will raise a new generation that will also grow in many directions, have different opinions, different goals, and will affect the world in different ways. 

By the end of the my week as a temp, I was talking to each person on that floor, laughing and joking with them, even Cindy, and I was able to find some basis for a simple co-worker relationship with all of them.  So even though my hands were a mess, my head hurt from the light, and what I was doing ended with sending out packets of information to people I didn't know, I look back at that week with fondness.  It was important to me to feel a sense of community around me, so I cultivated it, and was able to make connections with people regardless of the situation.  I also made my first friend in Bozeman in the lunchroom, so the time was worthwhile. 

My last day, Daniel Craig came up to me and told me I was a great worker and that he wanted to offer me a full-time position.  I had to turn him down, because I had just found out that I was offered a different job, but I thanked him anyway and asked him if anyone had ever told him he looked like James Bond.  "Why yes actually" he said. "My kids refer to me as Mr. Bond.  But thanks!" 

Follow the Yellowstone Road!

I headed north from Park City to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.  It was a long cold drive through the valleys of northern Utah, and I saw fewer and fewer people.  When I did come across a town, it would take less then a minute to drive through it.  

It had been cold in Utah, but holy bejezuz... It kept getting colder.  By the time I got to Jackson, it was 15 degrees and there were probably already two or three feet of snow.  Having just a week earlier been riding by bike through sunny, warm Moab, this was a bit of a shocker.  And the town itself was preparing for the transition of going from really dull to becoming winter adventure land.  I had planned on visiting the Tetons again and drove through the town to the park, but the progress of winter was surprising and it turned out that most of the park was already closed to vehicles.   

The last time I had been there was 11 years ago, and it was way warmer.  My family and I had driven there from Yellowstone, so I never saw the town of Jackson, or if I did I don't remember it, and apparently I missed the whole go to Jackson to kill elk and buffalo memo.  As I drove into the park and beheld the sawtooth outline of the Tetons, I noticed a lot of dudes dressed in orange.  The national elk reserve is just south of the park, and they were all sitting in trucks with binoculars staring into the fields.  It was so un-park like, I thought for a second I was in the wrong place.  I figured they must  let people hunt some of the elk each year, which isn't horrible I guess, but viewing the situation from a sight-seeing park-goer's perspective, and therefore with the expectation of entering a hunt-free/animals do your thang area, it was super weird and wafted the essence of a Bambi nightmare.  So I drove on. 

At the ranger station, I looked around for maps of the trails and information about camping.  I had looked online and there was one camping area open for the winter that I wanted to check out.  At the station, however, there was a notice saying that all the campgrounds were closed.  I inquired at the front desk only to have the following conversation:

"So, I read online that the other visitor's center parking lot was open for winter camping."
"Yes, it is."
"So then, its open?"
"Oh, no.  Its closed right now."
"Uhh... why?"
"It's only open for winter camping."
".....    .....   Its not winter?"
"Well, it will be open once we get more snow.  But you can camp in the back country."
"Once you get more snow?"
"Yep."
"OK... thanks..."

Thoroughly confused.  Walking away.  Boots squeaking.

I would have gone back-country camping if I had had the right gear and wasn't by myself.  It was getting dark, so I decided to explore what I could before finding a cheap room.  I drove out the road that leads to Jenny Lake until I reached the closed section.  The sun was setting and the mountains looked epic. 

Good ole' Motel 6 was near, and I found a room to crash in.  In hindsight, I'm actually totally OK with having not camped out that night, because the next morning it was -10 degrees.  I had to let my car warm up for half an hour.  When I went to get coffee at the front desk, but the time I got back to my room it was cold.  So, yeah, not camping was completely agreeable.  Plus, I met a man from Switzerland while I was getting coffee, and he told me all about how he was driving to see his son in California who was a cyclist, and about how the two of them had once ridden through the Himalayas.  I have no idea if he was sane, but it was an awesome conversation. 

It was a gorgeous day, in spite of the frigid air.  I decided to drive up the road and see if I could do a short hike and also to see if I would recognize anything from 11 years ago.  I drove the snowy road out to the north end of Jenny Lake.  The whole time I was thinking, come on, show me some buffalo!  I really really really wanted to see one, or any other wildlife.  I passed at least a dozen "Caution, Large Wildlife" signs and tons of footprints, which only built up my hopes.  But no buffalo.

Once I arrived at the parking lot of the Colter Bay Visitor's Center and had put on my snow gear, I realized that any hiking might be impossible, for though I was motivated, I did not have snowshoes.  I know I have big feet, but even they couldn't do the job.  I trudged knee deep through the snow towards the shore of the bay.  The snow was light and fluffy, but it still wasn't easy. 

As I neared of the docks, I realized it did recognize the place!  The last time I had been there was fall, and our family was walking the shoreline of Jenny lake.  The water was deep blue/green, and my sister and I were wading in the water looking at the rocks.  For some reason the lake was really low, and in that particular bay all the boats were tipped over on their keels.  It looked like the mountains had sucked all the water up out of their bathtub and were hoarding it as snow and glaciers on their peaks.  I walked across the frozen surface of the bay looking at the glittering, untouched snow and felt remote in comparison to my younger self in that place.  Nothing moved, and the air was frozen and still.  

 
To be honest, I was beginning to feel a bit lonely.  I think there comes a point where seeing great places becomes even better when you have someone to experience them with besides the air molecules.  The combination of the cold and the silence was exquisite, but the quiet started to feel a bit empty.  Realizing my options for activities were kind of limited, and looking forward to seeing family in Montana, I decided to head to Bozeman a day early.  But it was a fantastic day, bright and clear, probably one of the best to see those mountains.  And I did end up seeing two coyotes walking along the frozen river and two large moose rutting in a field.  So I said goodbye, and hit the road.

 

The way I was heading north was pretty cool.  The road went up up up and over the southern part of the Tetons.  I had the petal to the floor and my car was maybe pushing 35mph.  The downhill was a long coast at 10% grade and I passed skiers who had been hiking the ridges.  The surrounding hills were laced with ski tracks.  From the other side, I got a good looks at the Teton's booty.  Dang she had a nice backside!

I continued north and at one point chose to follow a Subaru that had Montana license plates because my GPS wanted to take me on the main road which seemed to go way out of the way.   I ended up on a straight shot to the valley leading to Bozeman; the infamous route 191.  This road is super twisty and is well know for frequent accidents, poor conditions, and flooding.  Interestingly enough, despite the risks, Montana didn't used to have a speed limit, instead the signs read "reasonable & prudent", which I think is hilariously polite.  After speed limits were instated, the number of car accidents in the state doubled.  

The road wound through the valley of a rushing river walled by towering yellow rocks.  The road crossed through a bit of Yellowstone National Park, and I observed that it is indeed aptly named.  Again no buffalo were sighted.  I did pass a really weird lake that had dead trees sprouting out of the water.  It looked like the lake has been there a while, so I have no idea what as up with the trees.  

When I finally reached the other side, the lights of a city greeted me.  Civilization had burst out of nowhere.  I found my way through the college town suburbs, and pulled into a culdesac where I was greeted by a stampede of kids headed by my two cousins Katie and Reugen.  I pulled into the driveway, put'her in first, yanked the e-break, turned off the engine, and let out a big sigh...

A Walk in the Park.... City.

After Canyonlands I made the long drive to Park City, UT to stay with Nancy Hendrickson who is the daughter of my next-door neighbor Arlene Bownes.  Her kids are incredible, they are both Olympic Athletes, literally, and were away traveling for races and training while I was there.  The snow covered peaks slowly appeared as I left the land of sand and warmth.  I also saw one of the most colorful sunsets I have ever laid eyes upon.  Unfortunately I was surrounded by crazy traffic, and so the juxtaposition was a little odd.

Park City itself was way flatter than I had imagined.  The city sits in a valley surrounded by ski mountains.  Main street is a tribute to the old west and is lined with old style buildings and cowboy themed businesses, but the surrounding houses are  modern-day rustic development mansions.


I went for a hike Nancy had suggested, which climbed up to the ridge of one of the foothill peaks.  It actually ended up being right next to the Canyons resort ski trails.  It was slightly weird hiking through the snow having just been in the desert the day before... but the air was crisp and refreshing and it was fun to stomp through the snow.  There was probably about a foot and a half of fresh snow and it twinkled in the sunlight.  It was squeeky under my boots, and every time I stepped, a bit of it would fall from a nearby branch and startle me.  I climbed up to the ridge and looked out at a sea of white peaks with Park City nestled between them.  It was a spectacular view.

 
As I tromped my way down the mountain, I was daydreaming and enjoying the quiet of the woods when I heard a rustle to my right.  I let out a "geh!" as a clump of snow fell from a tree right next to me, showering me in a rain of snow mist.  I sighed, let my heart return to its normal pace, and continued on.  A couple minutes later it happened again; a rustle of snow disturbing the silence, but this time when I looked up to give the tree a disgruntled glare, there was a different brown object amid the branches.  About 20 feet away stood a giant moose.  I froze.  Never before have I encountered a moose that close without being in a car or a house or some other secure structure.  It was thrilling! Aaaaand, then I remembered that I could die.  Sweet.  The moose didn't seem to notice me and there was a fairly dense clump of trees separating us.  I slowly kept walking, keeping my eye on her (I say her because she had no antlers, but she was still huge).  As I passed by, she suddenly looked at me, glaring at me with intent in here stare.  This stare was not the stare of an east coast moose.  East coast moose have nothing to worry about; no lions or wolves to hunt them down, so they are are like hippie moose on the reefer compared to this.  This moose looked at me with a "move near me and die" look.  I didn't know what to do.  I just kept taking slow steps.  I finally got far enough away that I was able to breath again, and then of all things I was excited! Holy crap!  That was amazing! And terrifying!  And awesome! I started walking briskly down the trail, thinking about what on earth I was to think, not really looking around, when I abruptly noticed a clump of brown fur directly to my left.  My heart immediately deserted my chest and hid in a tree.  Not 5 feet off the trail, was another moose, bigger than the last, with its butt facing me.  I slowly backed up the trail.  The noise made it turn around and when it saw me it jumped up the hill, turned around and faced me. Options were running through my head, I can totally run downhill and dodge through the trees using serpentine wonder woman skills to avoid trampleation.  In a complete state of shock I did the first thing that came to my mind.  I put up my hands and gently sang I'm not here to hurt you!   .........   The ridiculousness of this decision actually calmed me down a bit and I began taking very slow steps down the trail, making sure to hunch a bit a maintain eye contact.  I walked like this until I couldn't see the moose any more before I returned to a normal pace.  Of course the firs thing I thought was did you really just try to sing to a moose! Who are you? Snow white charming the animals!?  Whatever the effect of my vocalizations, the moose didn't attack me, did it?  Ah, nothing like a possibly life-threatening situation to make your day! 

Ok, I know it was stupid to even try and take a picture, but my camera was already in my hand and I couldn't help myself...

After this slightly-possibly-life-threatening experience, I met up with my friend Andy to regale my tale over a soothing glass of beer.  Andy works at the Canyons resort on ski patrol, but due to the lack of snow, he was also getting some mascot hours skiing around dressed as a moose.  I think that's cool.   I mean, how often do you get paid to ski with a legit excuse to over the age of 8 and sport antlers?

The next day, after paroozing the newspaper, I saw a add for a daily organ recital in Salt Lake at the Mormon tabernacle and was intrigued.  It was also free, which had me more convincingly intrigued.  It is only about a half hour drive from Park City to Salt Lake and I was curious to see the city, so I hopped in the coche and went.  

I have to say, without wanting to offend anyone, I was kind of disappointed in Salt Lake City.  It was somewhat depressing.  However, it was also a very gray day, and it was black Friday so everyone was camping in a line somewhere and not walking around. 

 Example A

The Mormon temple was very beautiful and all the women walking around with name tags were really friendly, though I felt bad about assuring them I would contact them if I had any other questions while knowing full well that would not be happening.   

The organ in the tabernacle is incredible!  It's simply huge.  The organ recital was about a half hour long and fairly well attended for the day after Thanksgiving.  The organist was very good, though he kind of seemed to be in a hurry and did not give enough time, in my opinion, to the awesome chords and dissonances of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.  (See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zd_oIFy1mxM  for wonderful performance or if you don't know what this is.) 

Afterward, a took a drive up to see the great salt lake, which is very great and very salty.  The mountains surrounding the lake were epic ominous.  As I stepped out onto the sand, what I had thought had been snow from a distance turned out to be large crystals of salt covering the whole shoreline.  

 The sand was actually gray mud (which took like a month to finally wear off my sneakers) and it was a long way to the water's edge.    As I was walking to the water I looked down and saw the perfectly intact skeleton of a bird lying in the sand like a display.  I marveled and cringed at it, thinking it to be an anomaly.  Ha. Oh no.  By the time I had finally reached the water I had passed hundreds.  Dead birds and fish scattered the sand and I actually had to make an effort to avoid them.  I don't know how the heck one of the fish skeletons was as large as it was.  It must have traveled down a river, because this thing was at least two and a half feet long with bone like scales and could not have grown that large living in so highly salt-concentrated water.  It was a strange experience to, on one hand, enjoy the view of the expanding mountains, but on the other,  be surrounded by the carnage of old England's most valued seasoning.  I followed the path of what looked to be the remnants of a bridge that must have crossed to one of the islands.  Colorful rocks lay between the wood stakes and, of course, I collected some cool ones.  They are still on the floor in the back of my car.  

As I was leaving, a blond, cardigan-clad family of four with a stroller passed by me on their way to a nice walk on the beach?

The next evening was a real treat.  Andy invited me to celebrate Thanksgiving at his house with he and his roommates, who were teaming up to make a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.  The house has been designed a commune because it is nine people of all different ages and backgrounds sharing a big blue hippified house.  All of them were great, especially Annie who I additionally bonded with after she put on "Alice's Restaurant" and I was the one who could sing along. I even got to cut the turkey, but that was really because no one had done it before and none of us wanted to screw it up, so I was voted the special guest and therefore designated to cut the turkey.  I didn't do too bad either, I think.  We had turkey, mashed potatoes, instant gravy, chopped veggie salad with dressing, and a green salad.  It was awesome.  To top off the evening, with our plates full we crowded into the living room and watched the 7th  Harry Potter movie.  It was splendiforous! And a much welcome gathering of friendship.