Portaging the stream

With a lifting motion on the sides of the canoe, I swung my leg up and out of the boat. My boot plunged into the clear, cold water. It rushed into my boot, soaking my wool socks. Each step my foot squished into the sole, my sole hanging to algae covered rocks that lined the stream bed. The cold of the water swirling round my toes, rhythmically flowing with each step. The current pulled against the bow of the canoe, and I grabbed the railing near the stern and held on, steadying her low hull.

Kerry climbed out of the bow of the boat, into thigh-deep water. The water was cold, and in sharp contrast to the heat of the sun. Lining the stream was a thicket of low underbrush and reeds. Crags of fallen limbs lined the bank, twisted and wedged between round granite rocks the size of basketballs. Purple flashes of irises dotted the foil of green. The air at this latitude was clear and had a cool color to it. The warmth of light one finds in the southern reaches of the state was nowhere to be found. The sun rained down with clarity, unfiltered and piercing in its glare and heat on the skin.

We had stepped out into an eddy as the stream made a dog leg and emptied into the lake we had just crossed against a stiff headwind. We stepped forward into the eddy, guiding the bow of the canoe into the current. Our fingers curled around the aluminum lip of the boat. The water slapped the Kevlar hull and made the unmistakable gurgling noise we had become accustomed to in our days spend paddling through these northern waters. Weighed down by our packs, the boat sat low in the water. The occasional wave cracked against the hull and sent a spray of water onto our nylon bags. We stepped deliberately, finding our footing amongst the uncertain field of rocks that lined the bottom of the creek.

Each step forward, was marked by a momentary pause, as we assessed our next. The trees surrounded us closely, a leafy enclose only twelve feet across. The water wrapped around our legs, crisp and laden with the subtle hue of tannins picked up from the lake beyond. It formed a churn of froth and bubbles as it flowed on past. We forged on – step and pause – lifting the boat out of the rushing water to clear the slick black rocks as we moved forward.

Finally, clinging to overarching branches, we made the final pull across the precipice that formed the beginning of the stream. The water beyond was calm and protected in a small harbor. Below the surface, the sandy bottom extended out like a plain, dotted with stones and haphazardly strewn rocks, covered in the memory of generations of aquatic life. In their crevices crawfish idled, and minnows darted after the young of the insect world.

We guided the hull into the water, and shaking the water from our boots, stepped into the boat. With the faintest whisper of a sandy swoosh, we pressed our oars into the gritty bottom and pushed off into Knife Lake.

I know, I know...

I'm totally bitching, but what the crap, why do we insist on cramming as much junk into one day as possible?? What happened to doing good work in a reasonable amount of time and making living, and enjoying, life a priority? I literally have had 10 minutes to eat my lunch today. Dumb.

That's all, I'd bitch more but I have to go to a meeting.

Skaliticians show @ 7th St. Entry

Originally uploaded by gordonelliot

You can check 'em out on cyberspace at: www.myspace.com/skaliticians.

Office life

When I was nine or ten, I had an old computer that I inhereted from my uncle. It was pure electronic bliss. Big ol' boot discs, that only I knew how to properly use. Cobra command or something similar where I got to bomb enemy hide outs from the comfort of my side scrolling helicopter. Life was good.

As I got older I decided that, what was more fun than just playing video games I could beat, was using the sophisticated word processing software that was on this old computer. I would sit in my room during the summer, binoculars in hand, and alternately look out the window and record the important "business information" that I could gather. Pressing work was at hand, and I didn't have any time to lolligag. This of course was with the obvious caveat that I could stop and play with my pet snakes that were on the desk when need be. (They would later fall victim to a series of gruesome attacks by Sox, our cat) But life was good. The windows were open, I was word processing the crap out of everything, and one couldn't ask for much more.

Today I sit at a desk. It's bigger than the one I had then. It has no cubbies underneath for highlighters and makers. It has walls on 3 sides, and my butt doesn't get sore from sitting on a crappy wooden chair because I've got the biggest, baddest, mother f*(#ing ergonomic chair this side of the Mississippi. I have a computer that boots all on its own—no discs needed—and it has two monitors and a crazy wheely mouse, and all sorts of things I couldn't have even dreamed of then. Hell, it even has an internet connection, which in 1991 I only partially understood, but the $100 to buy a modem was cost-prohibitive.

Sadly, with all the gadgets, doo-dads and allure of "the office life", I think I would take an afternoon observing the woods behind my parent's house, playing with those dumb snakes, and feeling the summer heat ebb and flow in and out of the room through the open windows in an instant. Sometimes our dreams of the world are a lot more interesting than what it really turns out to be.

create

Does anyone else have this: The intense desire to create, and, burried somewhere deep down the unarticulated vision of the perfect idea. Every project attempts to somehow capture this ideal, but always falls short, never able to manifest itself and give meaning to what one does. The cycle continues and the perfect project always hangs agonizingly close but never attainable.

Office Bonk

I didn't think it was possible to bonk when I wasn't even exercising, but I think it might be happening. I have to think about, and then work hard at, the simple act of typing this. Last day I skip lunch for no good reason.

Cycles

On Fridays in particular (for no reason that I know of), I like to look through the Minnesota Historical Society's Online Photo Collection and see what I can find. It's interesting to see the ways that Minneapolis and St. Paul have aged – sometimes staying remarkably the same, and sometimes losing all trace of the past.

I searched for street cars and was looking through the images. The cars themselves are interesting - the interiors, with their ornate cushions reminding us of how utilitarian our world has become while at the same time reminding us that some things, like overhead advertising, don't change all that much in a century. But what is most interesting are the environments the cars are in. There are a few shots of Minneapolis from 1910 and 1923 that remind me how much really has changed. I've walked, driven and ridden my bike by both of these intersections and any trace of what was once there is all but gone now.

Some days I wonder what it will be like when the landmarks of our youth are razed in the name of progress, and the collective memory of our generation slowly drifts into the backwaters of time.

Now what?

This will be short, mostly to ease my mind (if it does that). We saw a house last night. Looked pretty good. Had all the things we technically wanted in a house, but I'm not sure if it had that ... "spark". Neither Kerry, nor I, can figure out if we're being overly rational and cautious, if we're just nervous about a big purchase. Maybe our guts are telling us something. Maybe it's just that the price is higher than we had initially budgeted for.

Anyone with house buying experience have any advice? Do you just know, like our realtor has assured us? Is this like dating, where the final decision is short and swift and overwhelmingly felt, not thought?

Slowly

Things seem to move at a snail's pace these days. Work is work, as always. There's not much to mention there, except the seemingly endless barrage of projects, but that's nothing new. Kerry and I are slowly easing back into normal life, after months on end of planning, working and then "doing" the whole wedding thing.

I went out for a ride on Saturday morning. It was the third ride in as many weeks, but I figured it would be good to get out. I ate a big bowl of cereal, hoping that an all carbohydrate meal would digest quickly and I'd be on my way. A few hours later I got going. Within miles I realized it was going to be a long ride. I'm not especially good at exercising in the morning, but this was more than just a caffeine lag. My gut churned—the kind of sickly feeling you get when you're working out on a full stomach. I eased back, and cut the ride in half, but even going slow enough to let my near-nauseous state clear up still left me with that "about to bonk" feeling in my legs. I just couldn't push, no matter how hard I tried.

It turned out that half of the problem was too much food, and half was too little water. I drank about 38 glasses of water as soon as I got home, which made me feel better, but it ended up being a bit of a bust in the riding department. Hopefully I'll be able to get in some more miles this week and return to some semblance of "normal" on the bike. When that happens, hopefully I'll also have some more interesting posts :)

Remnants

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Originally uploaded by gordonelliot


What's left from farm life gone by.

PBS had a good show about life on the farm. Of course we all romanticize it, but there does seem to be something sad about the end of that era.

Returning from the honeymoon

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Originally uploaded by gordonelliot

This is what happens when you have mischevious coworkers. They were going to close off the entry to my cube and fill it entirely, but thankfully they weren't able to do that. This was all fun and games until they started tossing thumb tacks into the mix...

Post Balloon Popping

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Originally uploaded by gordonelliot

T-Mobile

Lots of other things

Three days and counting until the knot is tied. It's been good, but busy lately, which has meant very little of interest happening regarding riding. I think we're also getting into the dog days here, so although I'm still making it out to ride, the noteworthy things that happen on each ride seems to be at an all-time low.

There will be more coming, I assure you, trusted 3 readers of this site. Hopefully it'll be more interesting too, and with photos!

The Bridge

Not to jump on the bandwagon that is local 35W bridge coverage, but some thoughts.

Our hearts go out to all the families and friends that were and are affected by the collapse. That of course trumps all the politics and B.S. that is inevitable as a result of something like this happening.

I was looking at pictures of the collapse, and kept thinking it was amazing that cars were (and are) sitting on the deck of the bridge, even a day later as it sits in the river. I started wondering at what speed everything actually hit the water. A video clip froma traffic cam of the incident makes it seem like it's in slow motion.

After digging up some numbers I'd long since blocked out from physics class, I did some quick calculations. Not sure if these are accurate (although I believe they are), but if one drops at 32 feet/second squared, and the bridge deck was 64 feet above the river, then it would take 2 seconds to drop all the way down. Converted to feet, that's 3,840 feet per second, which is roughly equal to 39.5 miles per hour. Not slow, but certainly not as fast as I would have initially guessed.

Thank goodness the bridge wasn't any higher, and that the death toll has dropped by 3 since last night. Here's to more good news than bad news in the upcoming days.

Mapping

An interesting article about mapping on the New York Times.

When a technology or discipline is democratized like this, and much the same way desktop publishing and design was in the mid 80s, I always wonder if the art in the discipline is somewhat tainted. A wealth of information or technology doesn't mean a wealth of insight or craft. Who knows though, once these technologies are opened up to the world there really isn't any going back.

Moonlight

Blatant self reference here, but I posted up a new couple pictures on the other site.

Looking at moonlight got me thinking. There's something almost magical about the way it renders the landscape. I don't think I'm the only one that thinks this. It's like daylight, but softer. More dim. And it changes colors with the air. Blue in the winter, and warm and yellow in the fading summer haze.

If gentle light like this is generally perceived as pleasant, why do we try and drown out the night with lights that turn night into day? A little less light wouldn't hurt, and if it were consistently dimmer, would actually make it easier to see at night because of less contrast and glare.

Ant Brawl

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Originally uploaded by gordonelliot

The giant blob in the middle is a huge, teeming mass of ants. I came back out an hour later and it was almost double the size in this picture. Too bad I didn't have my real camera with me to capture what appearted to be an epic clash of colonies.

4 Alarm Fire...

Or something to the effect must have been going on this morning. I woke up to a fire truck pulling onto our street, followed by either a cop car or an ambulance. Then on my way to work I counted 3 different fire trucks going, here's the weird part, both directions down the cross town with their lights on. There was also one more state trooper escorting an ambulance down the middle of 62, parting the cars like the freakin' Red Sea. Crazy. Turns out all the hubbub was for a stalled car. Weird.

ebooks rule

History of St. Paul