Bliznarok Day 2: Finding a Tribe

We are less than 24 hours since the White Beast arrived. 

She be constrictor, this Bliznarok. You can see her, plain as day, coming from the distance, yet she is upon you in a blink and you find yourself in her death grip. Mobility near impossible but your brain is still working while she slowly tightens her grasp. Soon she swallows you whole. 

Going it alone during the storm can sound appealing but there is safety in numbers, so my travel companion and I venture out into the storm in search of a tribe. 

The streets are empty as far as the eye can see. That which She allows us to see. We pass a lone worker shoveling snow outside the entrance to Peter's Restaurant. He's been at it a while, his face belying his lost cause. A brief "hello" and "good morning" and we are on the moving. His greeting more a chance to catch his breath than anything but else. 

At the Expo Hall we find our tribe. They've emerged from the drifts and snow banks seeking our same goals; a group, knowledge, and sustenance. The latter being the first we will lose in the coming days. 

Bliznarok Jonas, Day 1

There's a special kind of quiet in the city this morning. The normal hustle and bustle of the morning commute is absent. No impatient drivers rushing to jobs they hate. Tourists are missing; having cancelled their trips or are hibernating in their hotel room. That's my theory anyway--I still haven't left my room.

The end is near.

Bliznarok Jonas is nearly upon us and the City of Baltimore is looking forward to as much as Camp Rock 3.

It had been a rough night. The guy I'm traveling with is prone to conversations both laconic and verbose; he doesn't say much until he gets going. Sentence punctuation is optional. His sleep is very much the same; brief bouts of silence punctuated by rips and snores. Though maybe it wasn't the chainsaw symphony that kept me awake, but the thought of the impending storm. The blizzard's plodding approach has cast more concern and anxiety among Washingtonians and Baltimorites... Baltimorons... Baltimoreans... than rush hour traffic.

Breakfast is functional. Some sort of egg turnover with a slice of cheese in the middle and sausage patties that could be used as coasters. I go for a second serving.

Fox & Friends beats the storm panic drums in the background. A business traveler drones on the phone at the table next to me, while the rest of the Hampton Inn's guests enjoy what could be their last warm meal until spring.

I venture out. It's time to see what this storm has wrought.

What fools these mortals be.

The streets are distractingly... normal. Must be my imagination, or softened West Coast sensibilities. After all, our snow tends to stay in the mountains in a somewhat civilized fashion. Here, the chilled precipitation mixes with everyday life. Ironically bringing that same everyday life to a standstill.

But not here in Charm City, Not yet. Somewhere out there, a meteorological beast closes in on the hunt, seeking sustenance, with an insatiable lust for monochromacy and snow angels.

All we can do now is wait...

The Day After The Day After Tomorrow

DISCLAIMER: This is not a motorcycle posting, so feel free to pop that kickstand and gear up if it's not yer thang. However, I am flying from Seattle to Baltimore for the National Lacrosse Convention (#laxcon) for the weekend.

I have just one request for the weekend that goes out to the greater Washington-Baltimore populace: Can you please keep your scheisse together for one weekend?!

A supposedly monster snowstorm is headed toward DC and Baltimore at this very minute. Chaos is ruling the roadways and there isn't a gallon of milk or roll of toilet paper to be found in any store. Something about snowstorms turns all those meek policy wonks into survivalists

Baltimore Inner Harbor (Conceptual)

I just want to fly in, attend the conference, and fly out. So please, refrain from your snowgasms long enough for me to exit safely and securely, so I can return to Seattle where we have a civilized approach to snow; it stays in the mountains.

That's All, Folks!

This morning's USA Today features a story on the newest attraction at the Warner Bros Studio Tour. Stage 48: Script to Screen unearths some of the studio's best treasures, including Central Perk from "Friends," Christopher Reeves' cape from "Superman," and Jack Warner's address book (opened to Walt Disney's phone number).

Cece and I just happened to take the tour one day after the official opening of Stage 48. Here are my highlights (before my phone's battery died). Unfortunately, Blogger's features are really limited on an iPad, so I can't include captions for all the phones. So just enjoy the photos.

We attended the 4pm tour on Saturday. The backlot was quiet, but we also got to see and do more than if we went on a weekday.

America's Greatest Byways

If you read enough motorcycle magazines, you're bound to come across an article claiming to list the BEST rides in America, or BUCKET LIST rides from around the world. Dig a little deeper and you soon find out that the "best of" lists are based on some guy's experience or favorites from an editorial white boarding session rather than an objectively calculated list of rides that has a quantitative or qualitative formula.

So why can't I have my own Best Rides list?

Well I do, and here it is. Read 'em and weep.

TOTALLY AWESOME RANKING OF RIDES IN THE US*

1. U.S.-129 NC/TN. Known as "Tail of the Dragon"
2. US-14 WY. Passes through Big Horn National Forest
3. US-385 SD. Ride from Sturgis to Deadwood
4. US-719 VA to US-50 to US-17 to US-66. Purcellville to Upperville to Paris to Delaplane 
5. Skyline Drive/Blue Ridge Parkway
6. US-20 and US-15 VA. The Constitution Route (Charlottesville-Scottsville-Farmville)
7. George Washington Parkway. From Arlington to Alexandria
8. U.S-202 Redmond-Fall City Road. From Redmond to Snoqualmie

*Ranked by uniqueness, "wow" moments, and my mood at the time.

By the way, there is a source for objective-rated rides. It's called the Destination Highways guide.

Casa du Café

Dried-out wood is a sad sight.

So it's with a great deal of relief--and happiness--that I can look at the exterior of my house now that it is finally painted.

We've been living here for 6 years. When we moved in, Cece and I created a master list of all projects, conducted independent ranking of those projects, and then merged the two rankings into one.

"Obsessive," you say? Maybe. But in all the years together, we've never had a less contentious relationship when it comes to the priority of home projects.

Here's the house before the paint job:

And here it is afterward:

The color is much warmer and the job also managed to repair the south wall (left), which was a battleground a couple years ago between a Northern Flicker and me. It was covered with pock marks, metal plates, and a very attractive hanging net. I'm sure the neighbors are pleased with the improvements.

All of our work on the house has been gradual and it's really coming together. From a time capsule POV, here's what the house looked like 4 years ago (Courtesy of Google Maps):

And here's a similar view today:

A Stretch of Highway, A Chrome Pipe, And Thee

Driving on Southern California highways can be rough. I dodge more accidents each day between LA and Irvine than a month of Seattle driving. 

Most recently, I was on I-5 north (the 5) near Los Alamitos with little traffic around me on a clear day. The radio was blasting on 101FM and life was good. 

A few cars ahead there was unusual motion and then like it was shot up by a rubberband, a four-foot long chrome pipe was airborn and spinning toward me. 

For the record, the sight of a four-foot long chrome pipe spinning in the air is mesmerizing. For example, your brain might think:

"Hey, look at that. You don't see that everyday."

Or "look how the sun reflects off that spinning chrome pipe in the clear blue sky. Sure is pretty."

Or "it's weird how that pipe looks like it is moving in slow motion toward me."

Or your brain could think all of these thoughts at the same time before registering the inevitable "holy crap--evasive action!"

Which is what I did, managing to avoid impailment, but dinging the left front bumper in the process. 

A shot to the car, but who's to blame?

And with that, here are your Top Song Clichés While Driving in Southern California:

Anything by the Eagles

Low Rider by War

Ventura Highway by America

Anything by Steve Miller

I Love LA by Randy Newman