It's about 1:30 by the time I get back -- I've been Not Paragliding since 9:30. I decide to wander down to the harbor and poke around there; maybe get some lunch.
I poke around. I note that there's kayak rentals here. For the nice calm waters of the harbor. And they have both kinds of kayaks. I'm too wiped to do this now, but I make a mental note of this for future Santa Barbara trips.
I find a nice seafood restaurant and get a table outside with a view of the harbor. I eat a yummy skewer with a chunk of salmon, two shrimp, and a scallop on it. (I reflect that the last time (and also the first time) I ate a scallop was when I was in Santa Barbara for Peggy's wedding. Scallops and Santa Barbara are now forever linked.)
It's 3:30. My train is at 7:00. I realize there isn't much I want to do for the next 3 hours, so get my bags and haul out to the Amtrak station to see if I can't catch an earlier train. (And be home in time for dinner. And not have to wander the creepy Amtrak parking lot at 10:00 p.m.) Amtrak can, indeed, move me to the 4:30 train. I ticket it.
The train is delayed, and doesn't actually come until 5:20. (I think: seasick, fell out of kayak, no wind for paragliding -- why does delayed train not surprise me?) We hit LA around 8; I find my car with a minimal amount of confusion (and only one slightly creepy deserted staircase); and get home.
Cat is happy to see me. I am happy to see her.
And now: dinner and bed.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Not Paragliding
After roasting my jacket by the fireplace, it was ready to go out. See, the paragliding website explains that while it's warm on the ground, it's cold up in the air, so you'll want to dress in layers. And wear long pants; jeans are preferable. So, I'm in jeans and a 3/4-length shirt, with a jacket and fleece vest along for the ride.
Here's what I eventually learned -- that's really the recommendation for the winter. In winter, it is warm on the ground and cold up high. In summer, it is warm on the ground and hot as hell up high. This would explain why everyone around me was in shorts and a T-shirt. Or even a tank top.
I get picked up by Rob, the Paragliding Guy (who has an annoying habit of calling me "Barbara," even after I corrected him twice). Rob comes off like a surfer or skateboarder -- he says "dude" a lot and refers to other paragliding pilots as "brother" or "sister." (He's on his cell giving directions to a woman he's never met who will be joining us. He loses the call and calls back. "Little sister? You still there?") We meet everyone at the LZ (landing zone) and pile into the van -- everyone leaves their cars at the LZ; then you only need one person to drive the van back down from the launch site, when everyone else flies. There were four other people who were flying; I was the only one going on a tandem. Two of the others (including Little Sister) were more-or-less novices, having just recently obtained their rating, so Rob did a lot of teaching and explaining about the upcoming flight. Which was useful for me as I didn't have a freakin' clue about paragliding.
Paragliding actually sounds like a sport I'd love. It falls clearly in the "adrenaline sports" category, but doesn't require much physical fitness. Indeed, you can be pretty out of shape and paraglide. Rob says it's 20 percent physical and 80 percent mental. It isn't just "go where the wind carries you" -- there's instruments and steering and stuff. He mentions that the best paragliders are engineers. At one point, he's explaining to one of the new pilots how some complicated GPS works, and I find the combination of surfer dude delivery and techno-savvy content to be totally unexpected.
ANYWAY, from the LZ, we all pile in the van and Rob drives us to the "Alternator," our launch site. It is a long drive. Up a mountain. Pretty much to the top of it. My ears pop. (I believe the phrase "3600 feet" was mentioned.) We are above a layer of clouds -- it actually looks like a field of snow. We leave the van and walk a few yards to the site itself. Rob explains to the new pilots where they're going to go -- you're gonna clear this mountain here, then aim left over that one there, and so forth. He points out the alternative LZ in case things don't go according to plan. He explains that you shouldn't make this flight without bringing at least 3 liters of water, in case things really don't go according to plan, and you end up going down somewhere in the mountains, and he has to call Search and Rescue. A small detached part of my brain tentatively suggests that I should be scared poopless at this point, but I decide I'm OK with it. I'm going to watch all these other pilots go off first; then it'll be easy. (Besides, with a tandem, I'll be strapped in there with Rob, and all I'll have to do is run for a few steps.)
Problem is, we don't have wind. Well, we have some, but it isn't blowing in the right direction. (One of the new pilots asks if we can't "take off to the West" since that's the way the wind is blowing. Rob says he has the "take off to the West" waiver in the van -- which basically says Rob strongly advised you not to take off to the West but you handcuffed him to the van and went anyway. The new pilot decides against taking off to the West.) We find some shade and sit and wait to see if the weather changes. It's hot as hell up here and they're all in T-shirts and shorts. I'm roasting.
It is here where one of the others asks if I'm thinking of taking up paragliding, or if I'm just planning to do tandems. I offer that I have no depth perception, and give a concrete example -- those two mountains that define the flight plan? I couldn't tell you which is further away. He concludes that, yeah, I probably shouldn't plan on flying solo.
The wind does not improve. We pile in the van and go down the mountain to a somewhat lower launch point. This one is actually scarier than the higher one, as it isn't a particularly long field you run down to take off. In other words, Rob will be directing me to run toward the edge of a cliff in order to get this thing off the ground. I again tell the nervous part of my brain to shut up.
But again: the wind is bad. (They test the wind by standing in the launch site and holding their hands chest high, palms forward. They look like they're reading the wind's aura or something.) No wind.
No tandem flight. They're going to go over to the novice hill and work on their technique. It's useless to me, though -- at only 220 feet, tandem flights last only a minute there. Little Sister offers me a ride back to the hotel, and then gives me her email address, so we could drive up together if I want to try again sometime. (All these people I've met -- so very nice.)
I still have my (unused) 30 day Affiliate Student Membership in the U.S. Hang Gliding Association.
Here's what I eventually learned -- that's really the recommendation for the winter. In winter, it is warm on the ground and cold up high. In summer, it is warm on the ground and hot as hell up high. This would explain why everyone around me was in shorts and a T-shirt. Or even a tank top.
I get picked up by Rob, the Paragliding Guy (who has an annoying habit of calling me "Barbara," even after I corrected him twice). Rob comes off like a surfer or skateboarder -- he says "dude" a lot and refers to other paragliding pilots as "brother" or "sister." (He's on his cell giving directions to a woman he's never met who will be joining us. He loses the call and calls back. "Little sister? You still there?") We meet everyone at the LZ (landing zone) and pile into the van -- everyone leaves their cars at the LZ; then you only need one person to drive the van back down from the launch site, when everyone else flies. There were four other people who were flying; I was the only one going on a tandem. Two of the others (including Little Sister) were more-or-less novices, having just recently obtained their rating, so Rob did a lot of teaching and explaining about the upcoming flight. Which was useful for me as I didn't have a freakin' clue about paragliding.
Paragliding actually sounds like a sport I'd love. It falls clearly in the "adrenaline sports" category, but doesn't require much physical fitness. Indeed, you can be pretty out of shape and paraglide. Rob says it's 20 percent physical and 80 percent mental. It isn't just "go where the wind carries you" -- there's instruments and steering and stuff. He mentions that the best paragliders are engineers. At one point, he's explaining to one of the new pilots how some complicated GPS works, and I find the combination of surfer dude delivery and techno-savvy content to be totally unexpected.
ANYWAY, from the LZ, we all pile in the van and Rob drives us to the "Alternator," our launch site. It is a long drive. Up a mountain. Pretty much to the top of it. My ears pop. (I believe the phrase "3600 feet" was mentioned.) We are above a layer of clouds -- it actually looks like a field of snow. We leave the van and walk a few yards to the site itself. Rob explains to the new pilots where they're going to go -- you're gonna clear this mountain here, then aim left over that one there, and so forth. He points out the alternative LZ in case things don't go according to plan. He explains that you shouldn't make this flight without bringing at least 3 liters of water, in case things really don't go according to plan, and you end up going down somewhere in the mountains, and he has to call Search and Rescue. A small detached part of my brain tentatively suggests that I should be scared poopless at this point, but I decide I'm OK with it. I'm going to watch all these other pilots go off first; then it'll be easy. (Besides, with a tandem, I'll be strapped in there with Rob, and all I'll have to do is run for a few steps.)
Problem is, we don't have wind. Well, we have some, but it isn't blowing in the right direction. (One of the new pilots asks if we can't "take off to the West" since that's the way the wind is blowing. Rob says he has the "take off to the West" waiver in the van -- which basically says Rob strongly advised you not to take off to the West but you handcuffed him to the van and went anyway. The new pilot decides against taking off to the West.) We find some shade and sit and wait to see if the weather changes. It's hot as hell up here and they're all in T-shirts and shorts. I'm roasting.
It is here where one of the others asks if I'm thinking of taking up paragliding, or if I'm just planning to do tandems. I offer that I have no depth perception, and give a concrete example -- those two mountains that define the flight plan? I couldn't tell you which is further away. He concludes that, yeah, I probably shouldn't plan on flying solo.
The wind does not improve. We pile in the van and go down the mountain to a somewhat lower launch point. This one is actually scarier than the higher one, as it isn't a particularly long field you run down to take off. In other words, Rob will be directing me to run toward the edge of a cliff in order to get this thing off the ground. I again tell the nervous part of my brain to shut up.
But again: the wind is bad. (They test the wind by standing in the launch site and holding their hands chest high, palms forward. They look like they're reading the wind's aura or something.) No wind.
No tandem flight. They're going to go over to the novice hill and work on their technique. It's useless to me, though -- at only 220 feet, tandem flights last only a minute there. Little Sister offers me a ride back to the hotel, and then gives me her email address, so we could drive up together if I want to try again sometime. (All these people I've met -- so very nice.)
I still have my (unused) 30 day Affiliate Student Membership in the U.S. Hang Gliding Association.
The gory details
My mother called as I was just walking in the door asking if I went paragliding today. No, I did not. (More later.)
Wil asks for the gory details. Okey doke...
(Oh, hey, sorry for all that coding a couple of entries ago. I wrote those in Word while I was on the train and forgot to convert to text first.)
Wednesday: The "Heaven on Earth" tour. (Really. That's what it's called.)
I am picked up for my tour by Christopher, the guide from Captain Jack's. There's a family of three (mom and two kids) already in the van. They're doing the kayaking/hiking thing, whereas I'm doing kayaking/horseback riding. They're a nice group -- kinda New Agey. (The mom's a massage therapist and yoga instructor. Went on a spiritual retreaty thing in South America.) Anyway, very nice, friendly folks. On the drive up to Gaviota, we get to know each other (and Christopher -- who just graduated college with a degree in religious studies, particularly Judaism and Islam as practiced today in the Middle East -- kinda nice to meet someone who's actual plan in life is to help bring peace to the planet).
We're kayaking from Refugio Beach. Ocean. Those annoying flat, sit-on-top kayaks, rather than the more traditional sit-in-the-little-opening ones. (I'm certain there's a really good reason for taking sit-on-top ones out; probably they're more stable or something. In my limited kayaking experience, I just prefer the sit-inside ones. More manueverable and you don't get nearly as wet. Or sunburnt.)
Before we go out, Christopher offers us anti-nausea pills. The family takes them. I don't, explaining that I don't get seasick. Even while saying this, I realized that it meant I would be ralphing over the side of my kayak by the end of the day.
After our basic briefing on how to kayak, Christopher takes us out, one-by-one. We walk into the ocean (cold!) about waist-deep. Christopher is holding the kayak. He waits for a break between the waves crashing toward the shore, and then gives you the "go" to jump on the kayak and then paddle like hell till you get out beyond the waves. Once we were all out there (with no problems at all) we started paddling up the coast a bit -- keeping a big distance between us and the shore. (And the rocks near the shore. And the waves that would throw you into them.)
Paddle, paddle, paddle, rest. Paddle, paddle, paddle, rest. (It eventally got warm enough for me to just take my jacket off and throw it in the general vicinity of my knees, where it was getting completely soggy. The kayak had a single bit of bungee cord, which was holding my water on the kayak, but there wasn't another one within reach where I could attach the jacket.) At one point, I remember that the tour description said something about Pirate Stories, so I asked Christopher if he was going to tell us some pirate stories. He gathered us all around and told us about the only pirate on the West Coast. Interesting story. Long story. After, we started to head back.
At this point, it dawned on me that I didn't feel so good. Asked Christopher if he happened to have any hard candy (which is generally all I need to ward off any signs of seasickness). He doesn't. I paddle a bit more, but it isn't helping. I admit to Christopher that I may, in fact, be seasick. He says this probably was because of when we stopped for the pirate story, since all we did was sit there and rock around in the water. He may be right. I go back to paddling, but I'm too spent to go any great distance without stopping, and stopping brings back the nausea. I give in and ask Christopher if he has a rope. He attaches a tow line to my kayak and starts paddling us both to shore. I feel like a failure and try to paddle along, whether it's helping or not.
We lose the family. Christopher stops to call after them. Stopping is making me feel worse. I tell Christopher to drop the tow rope and he can go back for them and I'll paddle on ahead, but he doesn't want us to get that far apart. The family eventually catches up. The daughter had been seasick over the side of her kayak, so the mom was tending to her. Makes sense. (The daughter, I note, took the seasickness pills. I convince myself that this proves it wouldn't have mattered if I had taken them.)
Together we paddle towards the shore. When we're very nearly there, the inevitable happens and I lose my breakfast over the side of the kayak. Twice. We keep going. Eventually, we're out beyond the waves, but in a direct line to the beach. We're going to do this one at a time. Christopher undoes the tow rope, says he's just going to power in, and I should follow along at my usual leisurely pace. He'll meet me at the waist-deep place were we got in, steady the kayak, and get me out. (Seasick daughter will follow; then the rest of the family.)
He goes in; I go after. He's encouraging me in. He then says, "Left drag!" I hear it, but I do not process it. I paddle left uncertainly, but I think that's wrong. He says "Drag the paddle on the left!" This is simultaneous to my sudden awareness of (a) the wave that came out of nowhere behind me; (b) Christopher running rather quickly toward my kayak; and (c) totally not making it in time. Wave hits kayak from behind at an angle, goes right under it, and tosses me, kayak, and everything (except my tied-down water bottle) into the drink. The water is actually shallow enough for me to stand up in it, but I land on my knees so I'm underwater, watching my jacket in front of me. Christopher helps me up; and collects my kayak, paddle, and jacket while I walk up the beach, hair all stringy in my face, looking like a drowned rat, and coughing because of all the salt water I inhaled.
Christopher gets everyone else in without incident. Somewhere along the line, I realize that my glasses are no longer on my face -- but Christopher couldn't really go looking for them while he had three other guests out there to bring in, so they're pretty much lost at sea.
Earlier, Christopher had mentioned showers. I could really use one, and Christopher gives me a quarter (coin operated) and a towel, and points me in the direction of the shower building. 25 cents for two minutes of hot shower, and I manage to wash the ocean off of myself and come back feeling much more human. He hands me my backpack (with my dry clothes in it), a plastic bag (for my wet ones) and another quarter, so I can shower and change. Best value for fifty cents EVER.
Christopher leaves the kayak trailer in the parking lot at the beach and we go to lunch, at a little sandwich and salad place that has very nice chocolate chip cookies. He talks about the hike the family is going to go on -- it's a mile and a half loop, followed by another 1/2-mile to the natural hot spring and back. I think wistfully that I might like a natural hot spring, but also think that horseback riding is a way better idea right now.
The horseback riding was uneventful, which is to say it was very nice. It was at a ranch where they have many overnight guests on the property, but I was the only one riding just then, so I got a private trail ride -- which was unexpected. The guide was nice and friendly, and flirted with me in that way that some people do to pass the time, knowing that nothing will ever come of it. And my horse was very docile, which I totally needed right then.
Afterward, I went up to the bar (where, again, I was the only person) and used my Captain Jack's coupon for a glass of wine (screw the calories). I sat on the couch staring at the wall (wondering who ever came up with the idea of mounting the head and neck of a deer you killed on your wall), nursing my wine and trying (not entirely successfully) not to doze off.
Eventually, Christopher came to pick me up. As I piled back into the van, I asked how the hot spring was. They didn't go. After the mile and a half loop, they were too wiped to continue, so they just gave up and picked me up.
Back to the beach where we picked up the kayaks and asked the lifeguard if anyone found my glasses (no). He told us to ask the folks in the kiosk at the entry point. They gave us a form to fill out. This was a State Beach, so I filled out an Official State of California Lost or Found Property Report. That done, we headed back.
Now, I was going to this Italian place for my blind date that night. The family had gone there for dinner the night before and, as it happened, had to go back that night as the daughter had left her retainer there. So they offered to pick me up and drive me to the restaurant. Awfully sweet of them, so I gratefully accepted and we swapped cell phone numbers.
Came back to the hotel room; got ready for the date. (Yes, I chose jacuzzi over shower.) Nice family picked me up and drove to the restaurant. We were about five minutes late so she dropped me off while they went to find parking. My date was just a bit later than I was, so we met up and got a table. I turned off my cell phone, 'cause I think that's polite when you're on a date.
We ordered, ate, talked. Standard stuff. (He got two calls on his cell, but didn't take either one of them.) He picked up the check.
Here is what I didn't know was happening: The family got there and picked up the retainer. The kids wanted to check out my date, so they pretended to have to use the restroom so they could walk through the restaurant and see if they could spot me. They found me (and my date) and then pointed us out to the mother, who also sneaked in to take a peek at him. I found this adorable.
After dinner (tasty, but not exceptional), we leave. He starts with the "Hey, nice meeting you, have a nice life" speech and I (annoyingly) have to interrupt this and ask if he'd drive me back to my hotel, which is further away than it had looked on the map. He's a gentleman, so, of course, does this (and then we have a repeat of the "Have a nice life" scene). As I'm going back in the hotel, I turn on my cell phone and find a voice mail from the family. They had been checking in to see how the date went and if I needed a ride back. (So sweet.) I called back to thank her for the call and that's when I got the lowdown on them checking him out. The daughter had told her mom, "Worst case scenario, she'll get a free dinner out of it," which turned out to be exactly the case.
Wil asks for the gory details. Okey doke...
(Oh, hey, sorry for all that coding a couple of entries ago. I wrote those in Word while I was on the train and forgot to convert to text first.)
Wednesday: The "Heaven on Earth" tour. (Really. That's what it's called.)
I am picked up for my tour by Christopher, the guide from Captain Jack's. There's a family of three (mom and two kids) already in the van. They're doing the kayaking/hiking thing, whereas I'm doing kayaking/horseback riding. They're a nice group -- kinda New Agey. (The mom's a massage therapist and yoga instructor. Went on a spiritual retreaty thing in South America.) Anyway, very nice, friendly folks. On the drive up to Gaviota, we get to know each other (and Christopher -- who just graduated college with a degree in religious studies, particularly Judaism and Islam as practiced today in the Middle East -- kinda nice to meet someone who's actual plan in life is to help bring peace to the planet).
We're kayaking from Refugio Beach. Ocean. Those annoying flat, sit-on-top kayaks, rather than the more traditional sit-in-the-little-opening ones. (I'm certain there's a really good reason for taking sit-on-top ones out; probably they're more stable or something. In my limited kayaking experience, I just prefer the sit-inside ones. More manueverable and you don't get nearly as wet. Or sunburnt.)
Before we go out, Christopher offers us anti-nausea pills. The family takes them. I don't, explaining that I don't get seasick. Even while saying this, I realized that it meant I would be ralphing over the side of my kayak by the end of the day.
After our basic briefing on how to kayak, Christopher takes us out, one-by-one. We walk into the ocean (cold!) about waist-deep. Christopher is holding the kayak. He waits for a break between the waves crashing toward the shore, and then gives you the "go" to jump on the kayak and then paddle like hell till you get out beyond the waves. Once we were all out there (with no problems at all) we started paddling up the coast a bit -- keeping a big distance between us and the shore. (And the rocks near the shore. And the waves that would throw you into them.)
Paddle, paddle, paddle, rest. Paddle, paddle, paddle, rest. (It eventally got warm enough for me to just take my jacket off and throw it in the general vicinity of my knees, where it was getting completely soggy. The kayak had a single bit of bungee cord, which was holding my water on the kayak, but there wasn't another one within reach where I could attach the jacket.) At one point, I remember that the tour description said something about Pirate Stories, so I asked Christopher if he was going to tell us some pirate stories. He gathered us all around and told us about the only pirate on the West Coast. Interesting story. Long story. After, we started to head back.
At this point, it dawned on me that I didn't feel so good. Asked Christopher if he happened to have any hard candy (which is generally all I need to ward off any signs of seasickness). He doesn't. I paddle a bit more, but it isn't helping. I admit to Christopher that I may, in fact, be seasick. He says this probably was because of when we stopped for the pirate story, since all we did was sit there and rock around in the water. He may be right. I go back to paddling, but I'm too spent to go any great distance without stopping, and stopping brings back the nausea. I give in and ask Christopher if he has a rope. He attaches a tow line to my kayak and starts paddling us both to shore. I feel like a failure and try to paddle along, whether it's helping or not.
We lose the family. Christopher stops to call after them. Stopping is making me feel worse. I tell Christopher to drop the tow rope and he can go back for them and I'll paddle on ahead, but he doesn't want us to get that far apart. The family eventually catches up. The daughter had been seasick over the side of her kayak, so the mom was tending to her. Makes sense. (The daughter, I note, took the seasickness pills. I convince myself that this proves it wouldn't have mattered if I had taken them.)
Together we paddle towards the shore. When we're very nearly there, the inevitable happens and I lose my breakfast over the side of the kayak. Twice. We keep going. Eventually, we're out beyond the waves, but in a direct line to the beach. We're going to do this one at a time. Christopher undoes the tow rope, says he's just going to power in, and I should follow along at my usual leisurely pace. He'll meet me at the waist-deep place were we got in, steady the kayak, and get me out. (Seasick daughter will follow; then the rest of the family.)
He goes in; I go after. He's encouraging me in. He then says, "Left drag!" I hear it, but I do not process it. I paddle left uncertainly, but I think that's wrong. He says "Drag the paddle on the left!" This is simultaneous to my sudden awareness of (a) the wave that came out of nowhere behind me; (b) Christopher running rather quickly toward my kayak; and (c) totally not making it in time. Wave hits kayak from behind at an angle, goes right under it, and tosses me, kayak, and everything (except my tied-down water bottle) into the drink. The water is actually shallow enough for me to stand up in it, but I land on my knees so I'm underwater, watching my jacket in front of me. Christopher helps me up; and collects my kayak, paddle, and jacket while I walk up the beach, hair all stringy in my face, looking like a drowned rat, and coughing because of all the salt water I inhaled.
Christopher gets everyone else in without incident. Somewhere along the line, I realize that my glasses are no longer on my face -- but Christopher couldn't really go looking for them while he had three other guests out there to bring in, so they're pretty much lost at sea.
Earlier, Christopher had mentioned showers. I could really use one, and Christopher gives me a quarter (coin operated) and a towel, and points me in the direction of the shower building. 25 cents for two minutes of hot shower, and I manage to wash the ocean off of myself and come back feeling much more human. He hands me my backpack (with my dry clothes in it), a plastic bag (for my wet ones) and another quarter, so I can shower and change. Best value for fifty cents EVER.
Christopher leaves the kayak trailer in the parking lot at the beach and we go to lunch, at a little sandwich and salad place that has very nice chocolate chip cookies. He talks about the hike the family is going to go on -- it's a mile and a half loop, followed by another 1/2-mile to the natural hot spring and back. I think wistfully that I might like a natural hot spring, but also think that horseback riding is a way better idea right now.
The horseback riding was uneventful, which is to say it was very nice. It was at a ranch where they have many overnight guests on the property, but I was the only one riding just then, so I got a private trail ride -- which was unexpected. The guide was nice and friendly, and flirted with me in that way that some people do to pass the time, knowing that nothing will ever come of it. And my horse was very docile, which I totally needed right then.
Afterward, I went up to the bar (where, again, I was the only person) and used my Captain Jack's coupon for a glass of wine (screw the calories). I sat on the couch staring at the wall (wondering who ever came up with the idea of mounting the head and neck of a deer you killed on your wall), nursing my wine and trying (not entirely successfully) not to doze off.
Eventually, Christopher came to pick me up. As I piled back into the van, I asked how the hot spring was. They didn't go. After the mile and a half loop, they were too wiped to continue, so they just gave up and picked me up.
Back to the beach where we picked up the kayaks and asked the lifeguard if anyone found my glasses (no). He told us to ask the folks in the kiosk at the entry point. They gave us a form to fill out. This was a State Beach, so I filled out an Official State of California Lost or Found Property Report. That done, we headed back.
Now, I was going to this Italian place for my blind date that night. The family had gone there for dinner the night before and, as it happened, had to go back that night as the daughter had left her retainer there. So they offered to pick me up and drive me to the restaurant. Awfully sweet of them, so I gratefully accepted and we swapped cell phone numbers.
Came back to the hotel room; got ready for the date. (Yes, I chose jacuzzi over shower.) Nice family picked me up and drove to the restaurant. We were about five minutes late so she dropped me off while they went to find parking. My date was just a bit later than I was, so we met up and got a table. I turned off my cell phone, 'cause I think that's polite when you're on a date.
We ordered, ate, talked. Standard stuff. (He got two calls on his cell, but didn't take either one of them.) He picked up the check.
Here is what I didn't know was happening: The family got there and picked up the retainer. The kids wanted to check out my date, so they pretended to have to use the restroom so they could walk through the restaurant and see if they could spot me. They found me (and my date) and then pointed us out to the mother, who also sneaked in to take a peek at him. I found this adorable.
After dinner (tasty, but not exceptional), we leave. He starts with the "Hey, nice meeting you, have a nice life" speech and I (annoyingly) have to interrupt this and ask if he'd drive me back to my hotel, which is further away than it had looked on the map. He's a gentleman, so, of course, does this (and then we have a repeat of the "Have a nice life" scene). As I'm going back in the hotel, I turn on my cell phone and find a voice mail from the family. They had been checking in to see how the date went and if I needed a ride back. (So sweet.) I called back to thank her for the call and that's when I got the lowdown on them checking him out. The daughter had told her mom, "Worst case scenario, she'll get a free dinner out of it," which turned out to be exactly the case.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Jacket
I've signed up for a tandem paraglide tomorrow. The dude isn't positive he can do it (he's positive he can take me for a glide; he's positive he can get someone to drop me off at take-off -- he just needs someone to meet us at the bottom and take me home).
The problem -- you're supposed to wear sunglasses. Mine are at the bottom of the ocean.
The other problem -- you're supposed to wear a jacket (it's cold and windy up there). My jacket fell in the ocean. It then spent a couple hours in a plastic bag in the back of the van, and a couple of useless hours on my balcony.
Asked the nice lady at the front desk if they had a clothes dryer I could use. The laundry here isn't for guest use, and she's not authorized to ok it. I'd have to ask tomorrow morning. Desk opens at 7:30; paraglide guy picks me up at 9:20. Do-able, but tight. And we're still not sure tomorrow's manager will say yes.
I asked where a laundromat is. She showed me on the map. It was looking good until her arrow went WAY down the road. I said, "that's far." She said "It's only a five minute drive." I pointed out my carlessness. She agreed the laundromat was out.
OK, where can I buy a cheap jacket? Negative there, too. She knows some places, but none will be open after 9 tonight (which this is) or before 9 tomorrow.
I'm screwed. I go back to my hotel room, and back out on the balcony. Jacket isn't dry at all. Looks like no progress.
I think of bringing it inside and attacking it with a hairdryer. There's a roll of paper towels here, so I try to wipe a bunch of the muddy sand off the jacket -- as I don't want it all over the otherwise pristine hotel room.
I wipe, and I wipe, and I wipe....
... and I come back in for more paper towels, and then it hits me.
My room has a fireplace. Score.
To sum up
I've only got an hour to get ready for my blind date, so I'll make this quick.
The $5 hat fit, as did the $6 shorts. The $9 cover up was a waste of money, as was the $3 sports bra (but, really, I didn't have much hope for the latter).
My horse didn't throw me, but my kayak did. Lost the $5 hat. And my glasses. I am only minorly peeved about the latter as I was actually wearing my spare pair at the time. (It was very close -- I nearly wore my almost brand-new, overpriced, frameless ones, but the guide convinced me that the fog would burn off, so I'd want my sunglasses -- and I haven't yet bought the sunglasses attachment for my new glasses, so was wearing the old ones.) Am VERY glad about that decision. Am also glad that I decided to leave my camera -- which is water resistant, but not likely to survive a dumped kayak.
Now, to get ready. Biggest decision facing me -- Hot shower (where it's easy to wash my hair) or hot bath in jacuzzi tub (and shove head under the tap)?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I'm Really Here
Yes, I made it to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Santa Barbara. I walked from the train station to my hotel – which looked like three blocks on the map, but the map didn’t say anything about “oh yeah, there’s a hill. And that street has no street lights.” Met some random nice local who was out walking his cat – wondering if I needed directions to the Youth Hostel. Continued walking uphill in the relative dark, wondering why I’d thought this was a good idea.
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Found my bed and breakfast before the check-in desk closed. Got given a map and directions to my room (which I repeated back) and info on breakfast (which I also repeated – and promptly forgot). Found my room and
… holy crap. I took pictures, but out of everything I brought, I didn’t bring the uploading cable so you’ll have to wait. Fireplace. Jacuzzi tub. Big screen TV. After I unpack, I’m gonna aim that TV toward the tub, and dive on in. Gotta do what I can to make my arm feel better for kayaking tomorrow.
I Hope I See My Car Again
So. Bought all that stuff. Conveniently, I have a new suitcase to put it in. In my office. I ordered it off eBags, and I was hoping it would come in time for this trip. It did; it just didn’t come in time for me to pack it for this trip.
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Train leaves at <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />7:00. Train station is no more than 5 minutes away.
At about 6:00, I open up my brand new suitcase on my desk. I shove my $27 worth on crap in it. I leave the office around 6:10. (It took forever to get those little metal thingies out of the socks; and I had to use a staple remover to get the tag off the sports bra – it was sewn on and nothing else could get under the thread.) To my car!
In the parking lot, I open the hatchback of my car. Put new suitcase in. Open old suitcase. Move contents from B to A. Move contents of backpack as well. (Yay! Backpack now much lighter.) Get in car. 6:20.
Drive to Amtrak station. The lights are taking forever. One more light and I’m the station. 6:30! Yay! I made it!
I didn’t make it yet. The parking lot says “No overnight parking.” I’m looking for long-term parking. I don’t find it.
I find a guy in a little booth. “Hey, where do I park?” He tells me to go back to that lot. “It says no overnight parking.” He tells me go down to the light, turn right, turn right again, and then there’s parking.
I leave the land of Amtrak and wait for two more slooooooow lights to change. I’m circling a very big block. I finally see a sign pointing me toward parking, which is sorta under a building.
I go in. I park relatively near an elevator. I take the elevator. 6:40, now. I can make this.
The elevator dumps me at… the top of the parking lot. I look up. I need to be up there. At the next level up. There’s no stairs; no elevator.
I see a janitor guy cleaning up. Ask the janitor guy how to get in. He tells me to walk back into the parking structure, make a left, and go through the double doors. I thank him profusely.
I go in the parking structure. I make a left. There are no double doors. There’s a big metal garage-door type thing and it’s closed. Behind me there’s an elevator lobby but there’s a wall between me and it and while I can jump the wall, my luggage can’t. There’s no way around the wall.
I keep trudging through the parking structure and find the left turn and double doors of which the janitor spoke. I dive in there. Take the elevator to …
… the Transit Authority office building. With a security guard at the desk.
“Um. How do I get to the Amtrak station?” (As if my frantic look and luggage behind me does not give that one away.) He tells me to walk out the door, turn right, go into the next building, down the escalator, and down the tunnel.
I repeat this back to him. (Teenage Drama Workshop training kicks in. When the stage manager yells “Five Minutes,” you yell back, “Five Minutes, Thank you!”) I seem to have it right.
I also have 15 minutes until my train leaves.
Small bonus here – once I walk out the door and turn right, I actually know where I am. I’m in the transit plaza where – on those rare days when I take the train to work, I catch the connecting bus to my office. So I know there’s a very long tunnel with platforms off of it. I just need to find the right one. AND I know there’s a ticketing machine at the front of tunnel, where I can pick up my reserved tickets.
At 6:47.
I pad on down the tunnel, looking for the train to Santa Barbara. It isn’t on any of the signs. I ask a helpful employee where my train is – he takes a guess at the platform. I head off toward that tunnel where another helpful employee is setting up the sign for my train. She scolds me for being here – apparently, they haven’t called the train yet and I’m not supposed to have to left the station yet. (She has no idea that I’ve never actually set foot in the station.) Yes. I’m EARLY.
… but I honestly don’t know how I’ll ever find my car again. Both the elevator I took inside the parking garage AND the Transit Authority office building will be closed when my train gets back at 9:45 on Thursday night.
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