Twilight Run

It started with a simple phone call last week from friend and fellow rider Mark. Asked whether he'd been riding lately, he remarked that he'd done a solo blast out to Ocotillo Wells recently, leaving S.D. at 3pm. Since Ocotillo is a helluva long ways out, and it's dark at 5pm these days, that was an interesting ride I thought and filed it away. Fast forward into our busy weekend lives and the only time either of us could break away was late afternoon. Thus, the "Twilight Run" was born!

Not to be outgunned by Ocotillo (although that sounds fun and we will do that!), the consensus was to head out to the foothills of the Laguna mountains, and trek along from Hwy 8 to Julian via Hwy 79. By the time we got to the Descanso turn-off to Hwy 79, it was 4:30 and the sun was fading quickly. We accelerated and took off, not wanting to waste even a precious glimmer of light. Fortunately, there was almost NO traffic and the 25 mi to Julian went by very quickly.

But oh so beautiful: The long shadows; deer in the meadows; crisp air; hum of the bikes and curves aplenty; headlights glancing off pavement, barely illuminating the curves ahead. While I wasn't worried about ice (yet), the bike thermo registered 40 degrees in some of the valleys. Yahoo - that's bracing!

By the time we hit Julian, it was dark with residents and visitors alike clutching their jackets about them and scurrying for the indoors. The town was adorned with white Christmas lights already, making a pretty sight. A line of people waiting for pies at the Julian Pie Company stared as we drove by, perhaps shuddering as they imagined the wind chill factor on the bikes. I was pretty committed to getting some soup and a cup of coffee, so we cruised through the 4-way stop in the center of town on to Bailey's BBQ.

Bailey's smelled great walking through the door, an concerto of spareribs, beans, coffee, and wonderful hot coffee. A few couples and families looked up as we walked inside with our riding suits, but turned back to their own meals quickly. Mark and I talked of light subjects and future travels on the bikes - Tombstone or Utah anyone?

Then it was time to jet. Bodies warmed nicely, we stepped out into the ever-chilling night air for the dark ride home. Heading down the hill, rounding corners, trees lining the road, stars and new moon blazing. Very little traffic, and though "inky black," our pace was brisk. By the time we scooted through Ramona leaning into the curves of the tarmac past Archie Moore road it was still getting colder, but home was close.

Mark gave a quick wave as we parted. I rolled in to Buckwheat Manor, immensely satisfied with my first Twilight Run. As I entered the house, the kids ran into my arms making the night rave even better!

Oceanside Pier Fishing with the Scouts

Practically nothing stirs a boy or girls heart with excitement more than the promise dealt by fishing: luring a floppy sea or lake beast to snatch at a hook and dragging said fishie to the surface against her will. It's a thrashy frenetic time for the fish and kid alike when the scaly, googly-eyed creature finally breaks the surface. "What the hell?!" no doubt top of mind for the fish!

We took to famous Oceanside Pier last weekend to rent sea-faring poles and try our luck. Etho and sister Emily were looking forward to the challenge. It was a breezy afternoon,warm, and the Pier was crowded. We rented poles and bought the bait suggested by the shop proprietor - in this case Squid. Meanwhile the kids were scolded by a homeless dude for messing with the pigeons; I decided to let that be a life lesson...

As the only one who had a pocket knife on him, I was nominated to be the bait cutter. Soon all had poles in the water, some 40 feet below. While the grizzled vets were pulling Mackerel in around our merry band, we were drawing blanks. For awhile... Finally one of the boys landed one after about 30 minutes! Every other kid leaned the poles against the railing to go take a look, then went back to redouble their own efforts.

The girls were mostly prancing about and I wasn't paying too much attention until Em and Tina bounded up with Squid tails sleeved on to their thumbs - who woulda thunk it?! Giggling, bloodthirsty lasses. Good training I thought for later life- ha!

As the afternoon wore on, another couple of fishies were hauled to the surface by our crew, but a little fatigue set in as the shadows grew longer. The girls shifted their attention to a dead fish one of the many Filipino families had been using for bait ( hacking meat out of it as needed). Pretty soon they were waving it around like a trophy and poking at it's glassy eyeballs. Fun stuff, that stiff fish.

Everyone had worked up an appetite so we asked for a local recommendation and landed at Las Colimas, a fast sit-down Mexi place about 2 blocks from the Pier. Cheap and didn't seem to look askance at 8 or so loud kids.

It was a good day for me - relaxing with minimal "referee" work with the kids. But best of all was the note Ethan wrote me on my iPhone afterwards: "Hi dad thank you for helping me fish today i loved it besides the part when Emily put the bloody fish in my hair. I can't believe Emily keeps a pet squid in her pocket."

Warms my heart - whether we caught a fish or not.

(blogged from Sky Harbor airport via iPhone)

Late Night at the La Rue's

The Macs are humming, my eyes are bloodshot.  Definitely time to turn in after a Scout meeting and hours of work on Nik Software business.  Making my way slowly up the stairs, my first stop (as always) is to check on the kids.

They are peaceful; fast asleep.  Softly breathing.  Bella the Vizsla is curled up at Emily's feet. Ethan is lazily stretched out, on the verge of snoring.  Though beat down by life and work, I'm cognizant of how blessed my life is...  these living souls are connected with mine, never to be severed.

Football - A Photographer's Update

My son Ethan is enjoying his new-found football "career." The boys on the 2009 Rancho Penasquitos "Stampede" team are - as a whole - a good bunch of young men with a decent work ethic and desire to win. Their record stands at 1-2 after this weekend where they scored on a long pass/run-after-catch of 35 yards or more. The boys were ecstatic. Here's the video of that TD play shot by team videographer Harry Huang.

As team photographer (using borrowed gear from either Nik Software or Tony Corbell), I'm privileged to hang out on the sidelines happily snapping away and trying to get the best shots I can muster. A few sports photography tips from the trenches:

1. Much as I hate to admit, there's no substitute for a big lens. For instance, Tony's 300mm Tamron will do quite nicely thank you.
   
2. Snap a lot of shots, but pare down mercilessly back on the computer.
3. Our games are usually in the broad daylight so far, and I've been shooting in Aperture mode at f-stop 2.8 - either the Tamron or the Nikkor 70-200mm 2.8 VR (a sweet lens).
4. High-speed crop mode - if ya got it, flaunt it baby!
   
5. Position, position, position. The first game, I was reluctant to swing over to the opponent's side of the field. But half the game the ball was positioned on the hash mark closest to the "bad guys." By the second game, I was roaming far and wide, including on field during the coin toss. That leetle "Photo Pass" the Team Mom gives me is pure gold, man!
6. Behind the scenes and candids - I arrive 90 minutes early with Etho to get pics of the boys warming up and weighing in, shots of the coaches, and "scene-setting" images. I don't know all the boys, so I just shoot away hoping that by the end of the season I'll have a good mix of each boy (candids, game shots, etc.)
7. I am pretty serious about getting a mix of offense, defense and special team shots the first half so I have those covered. At halftime, I'm shooting candid pics of the boys sucking down oranges and listening to adjustments by the coaches. The second half, I follow every play with the lens, and try to mix in some artsy shots too.
8. Looking for "grit" - I love the shots of struggle, boy vs. boy locked in battle. You know, shots my homeys Alex and Jon will dig, taking them back to their H.S. days when powering over some puny lineman and questing for the QB ruled their days and earned bragging rights the following week.
9. Coaches - I try not to miss the opportunity to get a good shot of the coaches doing their thing - talking to a Zebra, holding up a dry-erase board with the play, motivating the boys to play their best.
10. Post-processing (you knew it was coming) - There are a lot of ways to skin a cat (I suppose); here is my take: I use Capture NX 2 from Nikon to review and rate the images as either a 4 or 5. The pics that are rated a 4 mean that later on I will just batch resize them and post to my favorite photo-sharing site, SmugMug. If they are a 5, that means I'm going to take a shot at enhancing them. NX 2 is smooth because it handles the native NEF files shot from the Nikon D2X or D3 (my faves) so well. The RAW conversion is quick, and then the program invites you to subtly enhance or get crazy-creative. In the latter mood, I often turn to the Color Efex Pro 3.0 for NX2 photographic filters to either draw attention to the action or create a completely artistic scene.

It's all a blast and I hope the team keeps "calling my number" for their photography! Now, enjoy a few pics - it's Game Time!

The Great Sausage Caper

I knew for weeks before arriving in Ohio for the 2009 edition of the La Rue family reunion – a tradition dating back over 30 years – that there would be a considerable amount of work to go along with the reminiscing and merriment of the weekend. The “Left Coast” La Rue family had traveled in some 6 days before the Saturday, July 4 festivities, and it was a fine, trouble-free ride.

The “work” to which I’m referring is not so much labor, but a labor of love: the making of venison sausage or, to my eyes, “The Great Sausage Caper" (since I knew at the end of all this I was gonna steal some delicious meat!)

Dad (Carl) and I began early on Monday morning with a ritual my hunter-sister later called “processing.” Basically we were carving meat off the leg bones of a deer, making sure it was free of any freezer burn that might have crept into the meat or hair that might still be remaining to lodge in the unsuspecting teeth of an innocent eater. Afterwards, we cut it into grinder-sized chunks. It was a tedious process to yield the best meat, but easy conversation and a light mental energy task carried the next 3-4 hours well…

Before grinding could commence, Dad’s recipe called for mixing the venison with pork sausage, to give the whole concoction a little fat and lots more flavor. The commercial-quality grinder shone with power and purpose on the worktable. The threads were coarse, most likely for machine longevity and ease of cleaning. At the top of the grinder was a tray that allowed us to move venison, pork and curing agent into the round maw of the feeding hole. Emily delighted in pushing the meat-mixture into the hole with a plastic pole, and seeing the resulting stringy mixture of raw meat poke out from a screen in the machine’s side.

This mixture was pressed into rectangular baking pans and then compacted with as much force as possible and sealed by smooth butcher paper. Dad explained that he wanted the meat to properly cure and that the way to do that was to have it compacted to the point of molecularly bonding - I almost called “BS” at the term “molecular” until I realized that’s what it was probably doing. As it turns out, we ended up kneading the mixture by surgical-gloved hands 2 times a day for 3 straight days, so I had a lot of time to think about it.

Did I mention we kneaded this concoction 2 times a day? Egads that meat was cold, but our mission was clear – mix, mix and mix again to the point of molecular bonding (that’s just darned fun to say!).

After the kneading/curing process, it was time to stuff the meat into casings. Once again we turned to a machine. Dad would hold the casing bag – conveniently pre-labeled with the words “Venison Sausage” – tight against a tube, while I fed meat into a top-mounted cylinder and cranked a “piston” down to squeeze the highly compressed mixture into the sausage tube. Dad had poked a few holes in each bag to allow moisture to ooze out. Once a bag was full, we crimped the end with a u-shaped metal clip.

When we finished, 14 tubes of sausage lay on the table. I took pride in cleaning the equipment and washing down the table so that Dad didn’t have to bother himself with mundane “housekeeping” work.

The next day was “smoking day”, which I greatly looked forward to: basically 14 hours tending a fire to cook and smoke the meat.

Here’s how we did it: A dozen years ago or so, Dad rigged up an old Frigidaire refrigerator on top of a small hill behind the barn. He had dug a trench up the hill and laid a pipe up underneath the fridge. At the bottom of the hill was an enclosed fire-pit. The smoke from the fire-pit rises up the pipe and into the refrigerator, helped along by two draws cut into the top of the appliance (one of which was controllable by wire from the bottom of the hill).

Dad got up at dawn to start the fire and hang the meat from racks in the fridge. He woke me an hour later. The fuel was a mixture of sassafras, apple and maple wood, stored in a small woodshed next to the chicken coop. The smoke smelled great. Occasionally it rained slightly at times during the day, but that did not detract from the mission: 170 degrees steady!

As I said, I looked forward to the day because there would be no distractions from the job. I read Sherlock Holmes, wrote a bit on the Mac, watched the rain for awhile, and chatted with anyone who wandered by. Ethan busied himself tending a burn pile nearby, and driving around on the Kawasaki Mule (a four-wheeled vehicle with a tilting dump bed). Sister Dana, brother in law Bob and their family showed up. Dad supervised every once and awhile, and we all stayed well lubricated with rum & cokes.

Long about twilight, Dad and I opened up the fridge door for the first time and stuck a meat thermometer in some of the casings. The internal temperatures in the neighborhood of 152 degrees (give or take) seemed great and it was time to test the meaty fruits of our labors. Whoa… delicious. Not to say I was surprised, but I was…well, surprised. It was hot and flavorful.

We cooled the sausage by spraying it down and then moved it back into the barn to cut and wrap in butcher paper again, ready to dole out. So… the “Caper” comes to a close: I myself brought a few sticks home and am enjoying venison regularly, metering it out to stretch the goodness.

Thanks for the education, Dad!

Fan Voyeurism of the Highest Order

I recently received an email from one of my all-time favorite bands, Marillion. They have been playing their own style of rock - some would say it ranges from progressive to pop - for over 30 years. While not an stadium-filling kind of ensemble, Marillion are undoubtedly popular and fill venues worldwide with music-hungry fans.

Fifteen million albums sold, sharing the stage with Queen, a catalog with literally scores of songs, and more world tours than you can shake a stick at is nothing to look down upon.

After being introduced to the band in Tucson in 1986 by Herman Brau, a guy Rob Schumacher and I met the previous year in London whilst back-packing through Europe after college, I quickly fell in love with the style, the lyrics and the cadence (if you will) of the band. They drew upon influences like Genesis, Camel, and the Beatles; later Radiohead and others. They are on their second singer, who joined the band in the late 1980's. Singer Steve Hogarth took some getting used to, but brought a more "poppy" influence and certainly a greater sense of social and environmental sensitivity that did their previous singer Fish.

Still, the standout for me has to be Steve Rothery, one of the most soulful rock guitarists of his own right I've ever heard. Read an interview from Classic Rock Blog here. Plus, he races Porsches in his spare time! Seriously though, his solos are to die for. Click here for a listen to a great song called "Neverland" that features the full measure of the band.

KLR and Pete Trewavas (bassist) & Steve Rothery (lead guitarist) at the LA "listening party"

I've seen Marillion a few times, interviewed their keyboardist Mark Kelly, attended a "listening party" in LA, joined their "Front Row Club", and even participated as an early contributor to the Internet fund-raising North American fans conducted in the late '90's to help fund the band's tour here in N.A. All of it - including the fan-funded tour - has stretched into a marvelous experience and I think perhaps the inspiration for their forward-thinking approach to using the Internet to connect directly with their fans. As such, over the years they've added some great staff like Lucy Jordache and Erik Neilson (to name but two) to handle the website, promotions, tour planning, ordering, etc. and well as linked up with video producers The Boom-Boom Boys to create some killer DVDs.

Which brings us back to the aforementioned email announcing Episode #1 of "Racket TV" (Play now on the Marillion YouTube channel) The bands' homespun practice place and recording studio is called the Racket Club. This first episode begins the chronicle of the making of their next album, which will be an acoustic "re-rendering" of many of their earlier songs (and maybe a few new ones) called "L=M" (or Less equals More).

I, for one, am hoping for a band rendition of "Maybe I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney). The interview with bass guitarist Pete Trewavas is cool as are the clips from the studio floor filled with all manner of interesting musical goodies.

L=M is promised this fall; you can bet this rabid fan will be checking out every Racket TV video and will be most assuredly pre-ordering!

"It's All Fer Me Grog..."

Anytime someone asks for a campfire song, I can't help but think back to one of the more formative times of my youth: Outward Bound Colorado.

The time was the summer I graduated from Sabino high school and to commemorate the achievement my mom and dad asked if I wanted anything special. In very short order, I'd replied that going to Outward Bound would be a terrific life experience. Plans were quickly set in motion to attend.

I hopped a flight to Denver the day after school ended and was off on a strenuous trek where we spent some 3-weeks above 14,000 feet in the Rockies. One of the trail songs that I recall we sang a lot went a like this:

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander

The trouble is, I'm sure there were more lyrics but can't for the life of me recall any. I mean, we sang that bloody song for days on end! Maybe it's time for a deep hypnotic trance, or... GOOGLE!

A ten-second search on the first line of the song and I'm listening to "It's all for me grog" on the site Irish-Song-Lyrics.com. Well... blow me down! Unbelievable. Click here to listen to a lo-fi streaming version of the whole song below... Thanks Google (and Marc Gunn) - I'm complete now...

"It's All For Me Grog"
Background: Traditional sea shanty and a rousing drinking!
Chords: KEY D

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots?
They're all gone for beer and tobacco
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather

Where is me shirt, my noggin', noggin' shirt?
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking out for better weather

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed
Since first I came ashore with me slumber
For I spent all me dough on the lassies movin' slow
Far across the Western Ocean I must wander

Where is me bed, me noggin' noggin bed
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well I lent it to a whore and now the sheets are all tore
And the springs are looking out for better weather.

Where is me wench, me noggin' noggin' wench
She's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well her (clap) is all worn out and her (clap) is knocked about
And her (clap) is looking out for better weather.