Having fun spinning in my favorite dress on our porch, pre wine tasting. The day’s off to a great start.
4 comments on Morning Spin
Category: Travel
-
-
I was invited to attend Mighty Summit this weekend. I’ve been looking forward to the event since I first received the invitation, and have been getting even more and more excited about the weekend as I receive informational emails from the organizers, read messages from other attendees, and see tweets about the weekend. And now the day is here. After lunch I’ll rent a car, pick up a buddy at the airport, and make the drive up to the beautiful Russian River.
Anticipation is one of my favorite feelings. Not predicting how something will turn out, necessarily, but looking forward to whatever will happen, however it happens. When I read the agenda for the weekend, I thought to myself, “It’s like summer camp. With awesome women. And wine. And fancy dresses!” Here’s to a mighty, mighty weekend!
-
I’m in St Louis for our Happiness (support) team meetup. One of our co-workers, Ryan, lives in the area and has organized the meetup with military precision. Today was designated as our “local” day to explore. I had no idea what was in store for us.
We started the day with a trip to Schlafly micro-brewery and tap room for lunch. Reading the menu, I see “One pound Reuben” and “Plate of Swine.” Oh, decadence. We gasped as platters of food arrived, more than any of us could consume in one sitting. Here, Ryan ponders how to attack the one pound Reuben.
From there it’s over to the City Museum, a wacky, incredible amusement of a place. I love places like this. Someone has a vision – let’s take recycled materials and do something utterly amazing with them. Like, make a museum. First stop, rooftop, to take our chance on the 10 story slide. As we were waiting in line, an employee asked, “Do you want to go really fast?” What kind of question is that? “Yes!” we screamed. So he preceded us down the corkscrew slide, spraying a teflon-like substance, making the metal slide even more slippery and fast. There’s something ultimately exhilarating about winding down story after story, hearing your screams of glee reverberating off of close metal walls. The slide dumped us into caves that we had an unusually difficult time exiting, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had being lost. The caves involved cages, and tunnels, and very dark passages that required squatting or crawling. After an inordinate amount of time, we found ourselves in the elevator back up to the rooftop. I looked up, surprised to see children crawling along the 50 foot high domed ceiling, protected by insanely close metal casings that allowed 18 inches or so of crawl space. We amused ourselves with the school bus cantilevered over the edge of the roof, the giant slide under a parachute, and a ferris wheel perched delicately on the roof. And then our time was up.
Saddened to leave, we piled into the mini-van and drove an hour to an incredibly remote, this is where they bury bodies, area of rural Illinois. Where we entered a nondescript, windowless brick building. That contained dozens of retrofitted pinball machines. That were ours for two hours of free play. I battled Tron, construction crews, NBA players and scored goals in the World Cup. I navigated haunted houses and raced cars.
And when we thought the day couldn’t get any better, we piled into the vehicles once again and made our way to Ryan’s house, where his family greeted us with home-made pulled pork and brisket. And Rock Band. Hours and hours of rock band. We proved our talents on guitar, bass, drums, and vocals. Who knew video games could be this much fun?
On our way home we stopped at Ted Dewes Frozen Custard. I was under the impression that ice cream was the perfect dessert and that perfection couldn’t be improved upon. I was wrong. This was an incredibly creamy, just the right sweetness frozen concoction that we ate in the parking lot, the heat from the day radiating from the black asphalt as we spooned deliciousness into our mouths under an almost full moon.
I guess all perfect days have to end at some point. And what a way to end.
-
Spending a day at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk with our VaultPress team. I had completely forgotten how much I love sunny days, roller coasters, and ice cream.
-
Remember that horrible/awesome movie from the ’80’s, Clash of the Titans? Where the gods had little clay figurines of key characters and moved them at will? That’s how I felt today.
This weekend I was invited to Raleigh for my college roommate’s son’s bar mitzvah. Since Raleigh is so close to Greensboro, I decided to come a couple of days early and visit with high school friends, as well as cowork with colleagues. It made the most sense (both time wise and economically) to fly into Greensboro and fly out of Raleigh. I would just rent a car to drive from Greensboro to Raleigh. I booked my ticket.
Unbeknownst to me, it is ridiculously expensive to rent a car at one location and return it to another. The rental car to get from Greensboro to Raleigh was going to be almost as much as my plane ticket. Hmmmm. What other options were there? I decided to rent a car at the Greensboro airport, return it in Greensboro, and take Amtrak from Greensboro to Raleigh. Plan in place.
My flight was at 7:35 am this morning and I accidentally overslept, waking at 7:18 am. I noticed I had an email notification that my flight was delayed until 8:29 am. I could make it!
I hailed a cab. He drove me there as I practiced meditative breathing. Calm. In. Out. I arrived to SFO and a kind TSA agent led me to the front of the security line. Ah, this was good. Very good. Things were going my way.
The flight was delayed beyond 8:29 am. I began to worry that I would miss my connection, but then decided there was nothing I could do about it, so if I missed it, I would have a couple of hours to do work in Houston, or get my nails done. It would be a nice break in the day.
We landed in Houston as my connection for Greensboro took off. As I disembarked, the gate agent handed me a stack of boarding passes. From Houston, to Atlanta, to Washington Dulles, to Greensboro, arriving in the wee hours of the morning. “Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake. Is there any way to fly to Greensboro directly?” “You’ll have to go to customer service, ma’am.”
So I went. The agent could best be described as a sour puss. She didn’t look at me, and didn’t seem particularly interested in customer service. When I explained my dilemma, she said, “Yeah, planes don’t really head to the east coast after 3 pm.” WTF? I find that hard to believe.
I tried again. “Are there any direct flights to Greensboro?” “Not until tomorrow,” she answered, still never looking at me. “Is there any way you can get me there sooner?” And at that moment, silent tears slowly creeped from the corners of my eyes down my cheeks. I didn’t want to cry. I was tired, and just wanted to be at my destination. I knew it wasn’t her fault, and I wasn’t mad at her, I was just, well, frustrated. I wanted to be at my destination, having dinner with my friends.
She never looked up, but maybe she sensed my despair. She typed several queries. “I can get you to Raleigh/Durham by 7.” Oh, the irony. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
I looked up to the skies, expecting to see the travel gods mocking me.
Not seeing them, I rushed to the gate, making last call for the flight to Raleigh.
-
Laughing at the monkeys before hitting the waves
We decided to practice surfing when the monkey started throwing pits down at us
Waxing my board
Ready to hit the surf
Almost…
But not quite…
Success!
-
We landed at the local airport in San Jose after a lovely 45 minute flight from the western part of Costa Rica. As we disembarked, we were met by policemen and a dog on the tarmac.
“Drop your bags. Stand behind the line.”
I did, and quickly realized we were about to be searched. I laid my backpack in front of me and took a couple of steps back. I watched as the dog sniffed each bag, both carry-on and checked. We had officers at each end of the line, staring at us.
I turned to my travel companion and whispered, “Do you think this is normal? Or that they’ve been tipped off?” “Not sure. Maybe it’s a training exercise?” It felt more like we were on a movie set for a cop show. I looked around at the other ten passengers. Who was the most likely candidate to be carrying drugs? The young, unshaven guys with golf bags? The young family with the crying baby (no one would ever suspect them). The couple that appeared to be honeymooning?
Alas, it was no one. After several minutes, the officers allowed us to pick up our bags, enter the airport, and go upon our way.
-
Horseback riding on the beach at sunset? Why, yes, please!
When presented with a fun idea, I rarely stop to think through the logistics. Such as, when was the last time I was on a horse? Ummmmm… maybe 35 years ago? What shape is my body in? Somewhat bruised and battered after a week of surfing. And the guide? Monolingual Spanish speaker. I tend to overrate my non-English language abilities. Something one might want to consider when engaging in a new activity with a large animal.
Nonetheless, it was fun. Our guide presented me with a very beautiful, very large horse. I petted it, hoping to create a bond before our ride. “Como te llama?” I asked our guide. “Mo.”
The guide then spoke to me very rapidly. I caught maybe every fifth or sixth word. I asked him to slow down, and he asked me, “Do you understand?” I paraphrased what I thought he said and he repeated that the most important thing was not to pull back hard on the reins. If I did that, Mo would rear, throwing me off him. I consider myself pretty solid, but I was no match for Mo.
I mounted Mo and we started off down the beach at a nice slow trot. Until the dogs gathered round, barking and baring their teeth. Seems like Mo isn’t really a fan of dogs. He took off at (what I considered) full speed down the beach.
As I bounced around in the saddle (one important piece of information that I did not understand from the guide was that I should squeeze my legs tightly around the horse in order not to fall off), Mo continued gaining speed.
Interior voice: Okay, Lori. Don’t be afraid. Don’t panic. Animals can smell panic. Calm down. Stay in the saddle. Don’t fall off. Be gentle with Mo. No rearing.
Exterior voice: Hey, Mo? Think we could slow down a bit? Just a little?
Interior voice: He’s not slowing down. Hm. Ah! Maybe he doesn’t speak English either. Let’s try in Spanish. Hm. I don’t know those words in Spanish. What do I know?
Exterior voice: Bueno, Mo. Bueno, bueno, bueno. Bajo, por favor?
Interior voice: That’s not the word for stop. How do you say stop? Maybe if I pull just slightly on the reins he’ll slow down. Oh, my, I’m high up here. I wonder how many bones I would break if I were tossed?
Exterior voice: Mas despacio, por favor. Bueno, Mo, bueno.
And he slowed down. And it was a lovely ride down the beach, at sunset, me and Mo.
-
Know what made me a better surfer? A total and complete wipeout. I’m sure there’s some psychology behind that, but haven’t figured it out yet.
I saw the wave coming, positioned myself on my board, chest up, long strokes, paddling towards shore. I could hear the wave building behind me, coming closer, closer. I felt the powerful rush of the wave and was thrust forward. And, as if in slow motion, I saw the nose of my board dip further and further beneath the wave. I was too far forward on the board. In my head I thought, “Nooooooooooooooo……” and then felt myself flipping forward, over the nose of the board, careening into the force of the wave, spun around, upside down, hands over head to prevent me from getting knocked out by the board, thinking I was getting up, but heading down towards the ocean floor and finally sputtering to the surface. I righted myself, coughed salt water out of lungs and sinuses, and looked around. My board was floating several feet away from me. I was still in one piece. Our surf instructor was by me in an instant, asking if I was okay. I was, just torn up a bit. I rested for a moment on the beach, then headed out again. And was able to ride more waves in that afternoon than I had all week.
-
The truck bounced us along a cratered, washed-out steep incline. We held onto the edges of the bed of the pickup we were crowded into, trying desperately not to slam into one another, without much success. At the top of the hill, we disembarked and made our way to the first platform. It seemed easy enough – a short distance from our platform to the next one. And there weren’t too many things to remember: cross your legs in front of you, left hand in front of you on the carbine, right hand a good distance behind you ready to tug at any moment to brake, and, oh, remember to relax.
“Are you ready?” Before I could answer, he gave me a healthy push off the platform and I went zipping over the canopy of the jungle.
*filmed with the camera tucked into my belt
LoriLoo 