adventure – Page 4 – HappyStinkingJoy

“Deadwood”… or “Where Not to Eat While in South Dakota! Part 2″

So other than the crappy places to eat, the first day of our Black Hills weekend-getaway was pretty nice. Despite the the trailer trash at Tin Lizzie, the yuppies and horrible food at Deadwood Thyme Cafe and Bistro, and the stupid parking fees (seriously, Deadwood, you don’t make enough on the taxes on gaming… you gotta screw people out of money to park? Deadwood city officials should all be duct-taped down to a booth at Tin Lizzie next to moo moo trailer trash lady while having a New York strip from Deadwood Thyme Cafe & Bistro shoved down their throats), we manage to have a pretty good time in Deadwood… and we didn’t even gamble away our life savings! Gambled less than 10 bucks in like 5 hours in the casinos 🙂 Yeah, they weren’t tripping over themselves to offer us free drinks or anything, but I did grab a couple of bowls of free dirty rice at Bourbon Street… ’cause the steak at Deadwood Thyme Cafe & Bistro actually may have created a black-hole of hungriness in my stomach. Bourbon Street even gave the wife and me some beads, like we were in New Orleans or something, and we didn’t even have to flash our hoo hahs… I kept offering, but the waitress told me she’d call security if at any point during our visit my hoo hahs joined the party. Party pooper 🙁

We awoke on the luxurious bed at our Legends cabin refreshed and relaxed and ready for a grand day! We already knew where we are going for lunch, and we were excited. See, I told you in the previous post that eating at new places is kinda our main reason for taking holiday. Hahaha… “taking holiday”… all of a sudden I’m Harry Potter, ’cause eating good food is somehow magical for me or something 🙂

Breakfast was provided by the owners of Legends. We had heart-shaped blueberry muffins and trail mix and orange juice and cereal bars. All of this was awaiting us on our arrival in a cute little basket on the dining-table-for-two in our kitchenette! Seriously, I can’t recommend this place enough… very romantic, very charming, and no matter how crappy the food in Deadwood was, our stay at Legends made the entire trip worth while (disclaimer: I am receiving no compensation in any way, shape or form from Legends for my recommendations… however, if the owners of Legends ever stumble across my blog and would like to throw a little sumthin-sumthin my way, I’m a greedy little person and would be more than willing to consider any and all offers 🙂 )

After lounging around the cabin for most of the morning, we embark on the 1/2 hour drive to Rapid City. We have a day full of activities planned for our Saturday (which means finding a good bookstore or two and losing ourselves in our true passion [besides each other 😉 ]: reading), and we are ready to get going. When we arrive in Rapid City, we make our first mission finding our lunch destination… Philly Ted’s .

I’m a sucker for Philly-style cheese-steak sandwiches. I don’t know if this love evolves from my love of sandwiches, steak, Cheez Whiz, or the Philadelphia Phillies; but I know I like a good Philly cheese-steak. Thing is, I discovered I had never really eaten a good Philly cheese-steak until we actually found Philly Ted’s.

Now finding places when traveling, for the wife and me, usualy doesn’t go well. I’m really lazy, so I don’t look at directions or maps or anything before setting out to a destination. The wife is meticulous and knows the address of every place we plan on visiting… but she sucks at directions. So we are driving into Rapid City on the interstate and I say, “Where is Philly Ted’s?”

The wife spouts off the address, “1415 LaCrosse Street.”

“And how do we get there?” I ask.

“We find LaCrosse Street,” says the wife. “Then we find 1415.”

“And where is LaCrosse Street?” I ask.

The wife gives me that here-we-go-again-look and says, “You know how I am with directions! Why are you asking me?”

We exchange a few more sentences, most of which looked like this:

me: “where is the map”

wife: “I didn’t get a map. why didn’t you get a map?”

me: “do I have to do everything”

wife: “I can’t believe you didn’t plan better”

me: “do I have to do everything”

wife: “just stop and ask for directions”

me: “so you’re saying I’m weak”

wife: “I’m not saying anything, I just think you should stop and ask for directions”

me: “you think I’m an unfit husband”

wife: “just take the next exit, stop at a convenience store, and ask for directions”

me: “you don’t trust me. you wouldn’t want to be lost in a forest with me because you think I couldn’t hack it… you think I’d let us both die!”

wife: “I’m just saying that asking for directions would probably help us find the restaurant, and I’m hungry.”

me: “so you think I’m worthless and you’re wondering why you ever married me… that you’d starve if your safety depended on me… that you can’t count on me when the going gets tough!”

wife: “just take he next exit.”

So, I take the next exit… which happens to actually be LaCrosse Street, and drive south for a couple of blocks… and, what do you know… there’s Philly Ted’s.

“See, we didn’t need to ask for directions,” I say. The wife just gives me a side-ways glance and rolls her eyes. She loves me 🙂

okay… so these two chicks didn’t actually greet us… but we could feel their love…

Inside Philly Ted’s is… uh… well, an order counter; that’s about it. There are all kinds of really cool signs on the wall, like “If you want a kid’s meal, put on your big-boy pants and go down the street… they have it for you under their heat lamps.” Hahaha! No kids meals at Philly Ted’s, but I doubt there are many “kids” who would not love one of these sandwiches. I ordered the “Viking” (’cause I love the Minnesota Vikings… and they have sandwiches named after every good NFL team), with consisted of cheese-steak and bacon. The wife had a cheese-steak with mushrooms.

The wait to get the sandwiches wasn’t too long, and we thought we would eat in the “dining area.” We discovered that the dining area consisted of about three tables resting right beside the kitchen, and it was full. We opted to eat at the outside dining area, which consisted of a couple of plastic tables… and we had to pull our chairs from a stack-o-chairs resting against the building. Even with the effort required in setting up our own dining-area, Philly Ted’s was an awesome experience! The sandwiches were kind of like Arby’s Beef & Cheddars… except with real meat and tasty cheese… so they were nothing like Arby’s Beef and Cheddars, but they were very AWESOME! They had to be close to a foot long and were loaded with thinly sliced steak and Cheez Whiz on a hoagie-style bun.

I finished mine in a matter of minutes, and the wife couldn’t finish hers. Needless to say, I had to help the wife out by finishing hers. What a great place to eat. Philly Ted’s will definitely be a place we have to stop every time we visit Rapid City 😀

After the feast, we scoured the city for some cool bookstores. We found a neat little place downtown called Again Books & Bazaar . This was a pretty cool little new/used bookstore and we had a pretty good time here, but I like my used book stores to have a little more selection and to be a little cheaper. There are some pretty cool used book stores in Estes Park, Boulder and Ft. Collins that far surpassed Again Books, but it was worth checking out.

After downtown, we made our way out by the mall and spent most of the remainder of the afternoon at Borders. Now, Border’s ain’t no Barnes & Noble (’cause it isn’t nearly as big), but it was close. Isle after isle of book after book containing multitudes of ways to escape reality and lose oneself in an adventure were to be found at Borders. The chain stores like Borders and Barnes & Noble are a good way to waste a couple of hours on any given afternoon. The wife and I prefer more intimate, personal bookstores. The Tattered Cover in Denver is one of our favorite places to “lose” ourselves. In fact, this past summer we made a special trip to the Tattered Cover, driving four hours with the entire family in tow, just so that I could get the newest book by my favorite author signed by the man himself. I am a huge Christopher Moore fan. The wife had never read any of his work. I have read almost everything he has written. I asked the wife to read Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story and You Suck: A Love Story, because they were the prequels to his newest release: Bite Me: A Love Story. The wife, who is more into the Twilight crap that she is into funny stuff, reluctantly obliged. She read Christopher Moore, she liked him, and she agreed that a signed copy of Bite Me would be cool… and this is the reason we have been married for over 16-years 🙂 Needless to say, having Christopher Moore write “Rich & Kim… OMFG… CM” inside a first edition copy of Bite Me was one of the coolest experiences of my life… but back to Rapid City…

For supper, the wife and I found ourselves up against a conundrum. We wanted to have a classy meal with good food, but we didn’t want to bust our budget. We had asked our Facebook friends for help in choosing a good supper place in Rapid City, but none of the suggestions were working out. One friend had recommended Alpine Inn in Hill City… but Hill City was too far away to meet our hunger needs. A second friend had recommended the Fireside Inn, but we couldn’t find a website for it, so we backed out. We settled for a quaint little place on our drive from Rapid City back to Deadwood called the Pirates Table. We were not disappointed.

When we first walked in, I was amazed at all of the young hotties dressed as bar wenches and female pirates in tight-fitting pirate gear. I knew this place wouldn’t disappoint! We were seated and told that our wait-person would be with us shortly. I was already drooling 😉

The wife seemed hesitant as we awaited the arrival of our wait-person. We glanced over the menu and our mouths watered over the vast selection of bovine and aquatic selections that awaited our ordering! The wife decided on the coconut shrimp, and I had arrived at the conclusion that scallops (deep fried, not sautéed) would be my choice. We were both ready to have our appetites tamed when our wait-person arrived…
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“Good evening,” the pirate dude said, “my name is Stephen. Are you ready to order?”

Needless to say, the wind in my sail departed and I truly focused on the food. The wife ordered her shrimp and I ordered my scallops. The hairy guy left and I got kind of pouty.

When the food actually arrived, the fact that our server was a dude crept to the back of my conscientiousness (didn’t disappear, mind you, just crept to the back). The food was AWESOME. The wife claims it was the best coconut shrimp she had ever tasted (and the wife knows shrimp). As for the scallops, they were AWESOME! And they came with a side of FRIES! The night in Rapid City ended with a bang. We drove back to our cabin at Legends and were sated!

The next morning, we packed our getaway stuff and prepared for the trip home. We were going to have one final feasting experience before we headed home. We had scoped-out an all-you-can-eat brunch buffet in Deadwood while we wandered the casinos a couple of days previous. “All-you-can-eat” + “brunch” + “casino” seemed like it had to = AMAZING! Apparently, in Deadwood, they use fuzzy math.

We went to the Silverado, headed to the dining luxury of the basement, and were overcharged for a buffet that looked like a couple of breakfast items had been thrown in with some crap from the evening buffet the previous day. There were scrambled eggs and dried-out looking meatloaf and link sausage and really tough fried chicken and bacon and a green bean casserole and really tough biscuits with a really watery gravy. Stinking Golden Corral would have been better… and would have cost less that $10 per person. Plus, they had stupid announcements going over the intercom about who had won what and whatnot. Not a good dining experience… which would have been acceptable if the buffet had been cheaper, or had included drinks, or the waitress hadn’t acted like we were a pain-in-her-ass just for deciding to eat there… or SOMETHING.

We drove home and lamented our miserable brunch experience the entire way. Overall, the trip was a blast. The food in Rapid City was wonderful. If there was one thing to be learned from our weekend away, we learned… STAY AWAY FROM THE FOOD IN DEADWOOD!!!

“Deadwood”… or “Where Not to Eat While in South Dakota! Part 1”

Okay… I’m gonna be completely upfront and honest about my idea of a vacation. When I travel on business or pleasure (and the wife feels almost as strongly about this as I do), my one rule is that I do not eat at any place that I can eat at in the Craphandle of Nebraska. Even if the kids are screaming bloody murder ’cause they are “starving”, we will not stop at McDonald’s while on the road. If our only choice is between Applebees and the scary looking place with all the Harley’s parked outside and the two fat dudes with leather vests and ZZ Top beards duking it out in the parking lot… well, I’ve discovered that drunk bikers will usually leave you alone if you’ve got kids… and you don’t touch their bikes nor look them in the eyes. At least 50% of the fun of a vacation is trying new places to eat!

Eating at new places is an adventure of a sort. There is little chance you can be hurt by trying a new place to eat (as long as you keep your eyes off the biker’s babe… no matter how short her shorts are, or how low-cut her t-shirt is…) and the potential reward is humongous. You may just discover a favorite place that will become a necessary stop every time you visit a certain local.

The wife and I just celebrated an anniversary, and we spent the weekend in the Black Hills of South Dakota. We love the Black Hills, but on our few visits over the past 12 years or so, we have had kids in tow. When you have kids in tow, your sense of adventure is diminished by the fact that you have to go somewhere that serves something that the kids will actually eat. TGI Fridays, Burger King, Red Lobster, Olive Garden… these are the kinds of places you are stuck going when you travel with kids. These places all are not available in the Craphandle, and they all have kids menus. Thus, the wife and I decided we were not going to go anyplace that we would have chosen had the kids been with us. We were so excited!

For our anniversary, the wife and I usually go to the Estes Park, CO area. Estes Park has all kinds of cool places to eat and all kinds of fun things to do… and if you tire of Estes Park, you can always go on an excursion to Boulder or Longmont or even into Denver for restaurants and excitement. We usually stay at a little place right outside of Lyons, CO called Shelly’s Cottages . Shelly’s cottages is an awesomely romantic place to stay. They are like rustic little apartments right on the St. Vrain river. If you go in the fall, you can pick apples and pears right off the trees growing by the river. If you get one of the cottages with a hot tub (which I highly recommend), you can sit in the hot tub and (if the time of year is right) bask in the warm water as snow gently floats around you. Awesome! However, we thought that this year, we would try something new.

Because we really like the Black Hills, and because we really like the hot tub/cottage vibe of Shelly’s Cottages, we looked for a place like Shelly’s in the Black Hills.

Enter Legends .

Legends is AWESOME! We stayed in the Lakota Suite, and to say the decoration was radical would be a major understatement. This cabin was all hardwood, from the floors to the vaulted ceilings. We could actually smell the wood when we walked in. The Native American decor was really cool and… was… everywhere. In fact, there was Native American music playing on the CD player when we arrived. I could go on and on… but that would detract from the fact that I wanted to write about how much food in Deadwood sucked!

Although Legends has a Sturgis address, it is way closer to Deadwood than it is Sturgis. Our check-in wasn’t until 2 pm, so we thought we would stop at one of the casinos for lunch before checking in. One of the great things about Deadwood is how they get your money at every opportunity. Parking anywhere near any of the casinos costs money. As we were driving down the main street, we noticed that Tin Lizzie had free parking… for their guests. Well, we weren’t going to be forced to spend our money at a place just to get free parking! So, we drove all the way to the other end of town into a residential area. We parked in the first free parking spot we could find, and we proceeded to hike. We walked and walked and walked, popping into every casino that had a restaurant, in an attempt to find something that sounded good. After like an hour, we found ourselves standing outside Tin Lizzie… and we were “starving”… so we went in to have lunch. Hindsight, huh?

So we go in and the lady at the food counter tells us that the special of the day is the shrimp dinner. That sounds great and all, but the shrimp dinner comes with baked potato and I’m kinda craving fries, so I order the shrimp basket (which is the same thing but it comes with fries). The wife orders the same. We sit and wait and finally the little light-up-thingamajig that they gave us goes off and I go get the plates.

After I sit back down, the wife says, “Didn’t you order a basket?”

Sure enough, where the fries should be sitting is resting a baked potato. Damn it! I get up and start toward the order counter to get my fries. I am not going to let our anniversary weekend start like this!

Directly in front of me, I see a severely overweight lady of about 30 in a moo moo walking with a cane. She is with an older lady who looks very similar to her. The two are obviously sisters or mother and daughter.

“What’s that over there?” the older lady asks of the young gimp in the moo moo, pointing at the salad bar.

“That’s the salad bar,” says the gimp

The older lady looks at the gimp, confused, and asks again, “What’s that over there?”

“It’s the salad bar!” screams the gimp. “Put in your f#%&ing hearing aid, you stupid b#@ch!”

I immediately turn around and sit back down with the wife. “Baked potato sounds kinda good,” I conclude.

After we finish our shrimp dinners with the stinking baked potatoes, we are forced to walk by the hearing impaired lady and her very disrespectful gimp-sister/daughter/gay lover or whatever. I happen to catch part of the conversation going on between the gimp and the unfortunate lady that chose to sit at the booth beside her.

“Yeah, I spent some time working at the Hampton Inn,” says the gimp.

“Oh, and how are things going over there?” Asks the other lady, and you can tell by the meek way that she asks it that she really is looking for the conversation to end.

“Wouldn’t know,” says the gimp. “The son of a b#@chs wouldn’t let me come back after my fifth surgery. I’m gonna sue the s%*t out of them b%#*@$ds!”

As we were leaving Tin Lizzie, I came to the realization how much of a resemblance there is between a casino and Walmart. Needless to say, this was actually the best meal we had in Deadwood.

So the wife and I go and check out our awesome cabin up in the hills. We are so impressed with the cabin that lunch is soon forgotten. The owners of Legends leave all kinds of personal little notes all over the cabin in a welcomed attempt to make your stay more enjoyable. In one of their notes, they make some recommendations of local restaurants. The place that they point out as their favorite is a place the wife remembers seeing very positive reviews of online before we left. It is called Deadwood Thyme Cafe and Bistro, and we suddenly know where we are going for supper. Now, all of the reviews that the wife remembers reading were for breakfast and lunch; and even on the menu that is in the binder of menus of local restaurants in our cabin, there is no mention of dinner. But, hey, we figure if the place is that popular for breakfast and lunch, they have to serve a killer supper, right?

A sign by Thyme states that there is parking in back, ’cause there definitely ain’t no parking in front. We drive around back… and find parking meters at every parking spot. Crap! So, we fork over some change to park, and I’m already thinking, “This had better be good.”

We walk in and the waitress… the only waitress in the entire place… brings us our menu. The menu is on one side of one piece of paper. Every meal on the menu is around $20, and most of it looks like fancy crap that is not going to fill a guy up. The waitress tells us of the special, which is a New York strip with starch and vegetable for $19. The wife orders the special, and so do I. Turns out that starch means either rice or broiled potato… no fries. Damn it! We both order the potato. The meal doesn’t come with any soup or salad… those are extra.

The wife ordered a Sprite, to which the waitress says, “Uh, we don’t have Sprite. Would you like a… (and this is the point where one would expect the waitress to say something like ‘Sierra Mist’ or maybe ‘7-Up’, but instead she comes back with)… lemonade?”

“Uh… I guess that would be fine,” says the wife.

I order an iced tea and the waitress is off to fulfill her duty of waiting. The waitress pops her head out of the kitchen and says to me, “Uh, it appears that we are out of iced tea. Would you like some hot tea, or perhaps some coffee?”

“Uh, how about a Coke?”

“Fine, coming right up,” smiles the waitress.

So she brings out the lemonade for the wife and she brings me… a very expensive looking glass bottle of Coke. Apparently no fries… and free refills on the cola are out. Crap!

“Heh heh, make sure you keep that water coming,” I smile. I don’t think the waitress heard me, or if she did, she wasn’t amused.

As we are waiting for our food, the place starts to fill up. Of course, right next to us, they seat a young couple… and that young couple’s three toddlers! We drive for over four hours for a relaxing weekend away from our kids to spend an expensive evening next to someone else’s noisy, can’t-sit-still kids. C’mon! At least we like our kids! At least I’ve already seen the menu, and I know there isn’t a kids meal in sight. The yuppies are going to be forking over some major cash to feed the toddlers. Sometimes, life can be a little sweet!

Our food arrived. I wish there was a way to de-emphasize the typed word… you know, like how you can emphasize a word by italicizing it. If such a de-emphasis existed, I would have definitely used it when I typed “Our food arrived”. A few thin slices of carrot, four or five very small chunks of potato, and a small steak that appears to be at least 1/5 fat.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I say to the wife. She just starts to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“This whole thing is funny,” she laughs even harder. She is having a hell of a time cutting through her New York Strip. I try to cut mine and see exactly where she is coming from. It’s like trying to cut a rope in half with a butter knife. “Maybe we just need sharper knifes.” She takes a bite and chews… and chews and chews and chews. By now we are both laughing and chewing and laughing and chewing.

“No, I don’t think it’s the knifes,” I say. “I think they served the wrong part of the cow. I don’t believe a New York Strip is usually cut from the hide.”

I take a bite of potato.

“Tastes like cardboard,” I say, and the wife laughs all the harder.

“The carrots are good” says the wife, and she’s right. Best thing on the plate is the stinking vegetables… you know, the thing you usually don’t eat when you get a steak dinner… and there are only four or five thin slices.

I hear a grunt come from the yuppie table next door and I see the young wife, near tears, attempting to cut up a steak to divide amongst her toddlers. The husband is working on his own steak, his face red, beads of sweat on his brow. The kids are relatively quiet. They look hungry.

“Here, you work on this for awhile,” says the yuppie wife as she shoves the partially shredded steak-on-a-plate at her husband.

The husband mumbles something under his breath and starts working on the children’s steak, as the smallest of the three children, crying, says quietly to the mother, “I’m hungry, Mommy.”

My wife and I look at each other and we stop laughing. We both realize that if we distract the young parents from the cutting of their children’s food, a child may die. This steak is the kind of steak that your parents warned you about when they said, “You might choke on this if you don’t chew it all the way.” Well, there ain’t no chewing this crap all the way to anywhere, so the wife and I stop the laughing and let the yuppies concentrate. Quiet weekend away from kids or not, no one wants to see a child choke on cowhide.

When the waitress comes and asks us if we are interested in desert, we start the laughing all over again. The waitress, somewhat confused, walks away. I notice the yuppies again. The young wife is weeping openly, the husband has his head in his arms on the table, and all three hungry children are crying. My wife and I stop laughing and leave.

Before going back to the cabin, we decide to get some snacks. We’re both still hungry as hell and know we won’t make it ’til morning on what we just ate. Just a couple of warnings to you if you ever decide to go to Deadwood:

1. Deadwood does not have a grocery store.

2. Expensive convenience stores in Deadwood close at 10:00 pm… at least on a Friday night… and even though many of the casinos are open 24 hours a day, aside from the casinos, there is no where in Deadwood to get food after 10:00 pm.

We ended up driving to Lead a few miles away to find an Exxon at which to grab a couple of bags of chips and some pop. Like $30 later, we went back to the cabin.

This is only the first day of our adventure. Day two actually went much better… and I have a couple of really cool places to recommend for you to eat in Rapid City… but this post is already way too long to hold the interest of the average reader, so I’m calling it quits for today. Consider this “Part 1”. “Part 2” will follow shortly 🙂

Looking for Websites…

Alrighty, kiddos, Adventurer Rich is looking for some help. I have the gall to call myself “Adventurer” when I rarely, if ever, actually “adventure”. Oh sure, I have my little adventures with Boy Scouts… and I consider my time spent amongst trailer folk at Walmart a semi-adventure… even daily life could be considered an “adventure (in “adventure’s” mildest form), but I never really truly “adventure”. All of that is about to change…

I’m looking for your favorite websites. You know, those wacky pages on the Internet that you visit on occasion (or daily… or every fifteen minutes…) looking for humor or advice or just a little escape. I am not looking for social networking sites like Facebook or your E*Trade account or any site that requires a login to access. I am looking for blogs and advice columns and fun places you like to visit. I will visit these sites, pick the ones I like, chose random information from these sites, compile a list of links, post the links on this blog… and let the scavenger hunt begin! It will be up to my loyal readers to follow the links, search the sites, find the information I am looking for, and return your answers to me (seriously… this is gonna be a blast for all ten of you!) There’s gonna be a prize and everything… don’t know what it will be yet, but I’m sure it will be relatively cheap and stupid… but YOU COULD WIN IT!!! I won’t even charge you shipping to get it to you 🙂

So you’re wondering, “How can I help Adventurer Rich and submit my favorite website?” Well, it’s all really easy. Just comment on this post with a link to your favorite site.

1. At the top of the blog post, where it says “No Comments” or “6 Comments” or whatever, click on that link; this should automatically take you to the comments section of this post. Under the incredibly long list of comments, you will find the section where you can “Leave a Reply”.

2. You will need to enter your name (please do not enter your real full name… ’cause it will be available to anyone and everyone on the Internet who ever happens to stumble across my site… enter your first name or a nickname or make up a really “cool” Internet name… like “Adventurer Rich”, but that’s already taken…)

3. You will have to enter your email address. Please do enter your real, legitimate email address. I will not sell or give away your address, but I may at some point use it to notify you of contest dates and such. Your email address will only be accessible to me… and I’m relatively harmless…

4. Enter the website address of the site you would like me to check out. If it’s your own site, SUPER COOL! If it is the site of someone else, that’s pretty cool too:)

5. Please re-enter the address of the site you would like me to check out in the “message” section (this is the big box under the “website” box). By putting this information in the message section of the site, everyone who visits my comments will be able to know your favorite site! Also, please give me a very brief description of why I should visit the site (i.e. why you like it).

I have a few of my favorite sites in mind that I already plan on using for my scavenger hunt, but I need many more to make this challenging and fun 🙂 I have very few restrictions as to which sites I will or will not use, I just have to like it. I do ask that the content of the site be PG-13 or cleaner. There are a few young people who stumble across my site, and I don’t want to lead them into the world of porn and obscenity… I’ll leave that to Google.

I would like to have all recommendations entered by Saturday, October 2, 2010 at noon. I will not consider any sites submitted after that date and time for this scavenger hunt.

One final way you can help out old Adventurer Rich is to hit the “Like” button at the bottom of this post if you have a Facebook account. This will let all of your Facebook friends who are not my Facebook friends see this post and they too can contribute their sites! I guess if you know how to “Digg This”, you could do that as well; I’ve just been too lazy to research a good plugin to add that feature to my site 🙂

Thanks for visiting my site… thanks for taking the time to read this post… and thanks for helping me start a true adventure 🙂

Stinking Technology!

Isn’t technology amazing? Hasn’t it made daily life so much easier? Nothing reduces stress like modern technology!

First-thing on a typical Monday morning in Tech Support:

Me: Thanks for calling tech support, how can I help you?

Little old lady on Phone (lol): My internet isn’t working.

Me: I’m sorry to hear that. Let’s see if we can’t get it fixed for you.

Instant Message from new co-worker (im1): Hey, why would someone’s dealie tell them their network cable is unplugged?

Me: How long has your Internet not been working?

Me: What dealie?

Instant Message from old co-worker (im2): I got a weird one. this guy can’t see anything on his screen.

lol: It hasn’t worked all morning.

im1: I don’t know, the little dealie in the bottom corner of the monitor.

Me: What do you mean “can’t see anything”?

Me: So it was working yesterday?

Instant Message from boss (im3): Did you get that equipment ordered?

im2: the screen is completely blank.

Me: Did you have them check their network cable?

lol: I didn’t use it yesterday.

Me: What equipment?

Text Message from the wife (text1): Can u grab a gallon of milk after work?

Me: The blue screen of death?

im3: the routers for the Schergenrader installation.

Me: When is the last time you used it?

im2: What network cable?

Me: Yeah, how come?

im2: no, it’s completely black

lol: I haven’t used it for a couple of weeks.

Me: I don’t know anything about the Scherkenderfer installation.

text1: I have to pick the boy up from school and won’t have time.

Me: The network cable going into the back of the computer from her router.

Me: What do you see on your screen right now?

im3: Maybe I forgot to tell you about it. I need you to order 3 routers, next day, for the Schergenrader installation tomorrow.

Me: Are you sure there is power to the monitor?

Text Message from the boy (text2): Can u pk me up aftr skwl?

im1: OK, I’ll have her check that.

lol: Nothing.

Me: I’d have to order in the next 10 minutes to get it guaranteed by tomorrow.

im2: she says it is plugged in.

im1: The cable is connected, but the lights on her router aren’t on.

Me: I thought your mom was gonna pick you up.

text2: Mom g2 p u milk or sumtin

Me: So, your screen is just blue?

im3: Yeah, we really need them. I’d order them, but I have an appointment to get my hair cut. I’m already late.

Me: The boy is asking me to pick him up

lol: No, the screen is black

Me: Your mom asked me to get the milk, she said she was going to get you. Could you work it out with her and let me know what I need to do. I’m kind of busy.

text2: wrtg a novel? L2 txt. uradrk 🙂

text1: no, I’ll get him. You need to get the milk.

Me: I don’t know if I will have time.

Me: Can you work it out with the boy? I’m kind of busy right now. Just let me know what you guys decide and I’ll do whatever that is.

Me: How about we try pushing the power button?

lol: What power button?

im1: Power button on what?

text2: That’s the longest text ever. uradrk ♥

im2: Push what?

im3: Power button? What in the hell are you talking about? Just get it done!

Me: The power button on the monitor.

Me: Make sure the router is plugged in.

Me: The power button on the monitor.

lol: Well what do you know. Looks like that didn’t get turned on. Looks like my internet is actually working. Thank you.

im1: Oh, hey, it was unplugged. Seems to be good now.

Me: Your welcome.

text2: Mom get me, u get milk

im2: Yeah, the monitor wasn’t turned on. All is well.

text2: I’ll get the boy, you get the milk… just like I first wrote.

Me: Great

im3: “Great” what? Are you smoking something funny?

Me: No, I mean, yes, I mean… never mind. I’ll get the routers ordered. Then I can start going through my email…

Technology SUCKS!!! Man, I miss my Blackberry…

Farting is Funny… Until it’s Not…

Come on, who hasn’t busted a gut laughing at an inappropriately-timed eruption of flatulence? We all have. Think back to some of the great moments in history and think of how much cooler they would have been if someone had cut the cheese.

Reagan: Mr. Gorbachev, TEAR DOWN THIS WALL! BLPPPTT!

Chuckles from the audience

Reagan: Damn, if I’m not careful, I may end up taking out a wall or two myself!

Just think of how much more laid-back the Soviet/US relationship could have been over the past couple of decades if Ronnie had passed the gas.

Even famous movies could have added a little humor and/or drama by adding a toot or two:

Frankly, my dear… BLPPPTT!

I may actually sit through Gone with the Wind if the gas bomb got dropped.

Darth Vader: If you only knew the power of the Dark Side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.

Luke Skywalker: He told me enough! He told me you killed him!

Darth Vader: No. I am your father.

Luke Skywalker: No… that’s not true! That’s impossible!

Darth Vader: Search your feelings. You know it to be true… BLPPPTT!

Luke Skywalker: HAHAHAHA! Okay, you are my father… BLPPPTT!

Just think, we could have avoided the entire Ewok disaster if Vader had shared this revelation through spontaneous expulsion and he and Luke could have lived happily ever after.

Yeah, farting is fun. However, I remember when I was a kid, farting was kind of taboo. Oh sure, as a young boy, my friends and I would fart like it was going out of style. We’d fart on things and at things and over things and through things. We’d fart into jars and screw on the lid to see what the farts would smell like weeks later. We’d hold each other down and fart in each others faces. Farts were one of the most enjoyable free things I can remember from my youth. But intentionally farting around adults was kind of avoided. Even if you had a squeaker sneak out, you became embarrassed and usually asked to be excused or apologized… if you couldn’t blame it on the dog. Nowadays, things seem to be different.

My boys fart all the time. If they have a bout of gas, they happily and proudly share their orchestral analosity with anyone who is willing to listen… which is no one… but they share anyway. Once one of my boys starts farting, it’s only a matter of time before the second starts. It’s like their flatulence is contagious. If their mom isn’t home, I seem to catch a case of it myself. There the three of us will be, farting and laughing and having a good time. The sad thing is, a fart party can never end well. The worst ending to a fart party (which I have never experienced myself… seriously… I’m being honest… NEVER!) is when one of the farters seems to have run out of gas.

Get that… see what I did there… gas… fart… “run out of gas”…hahaha.

Anywho…

Even though the fart-party guest has no more “toot” left in the trumpet, he is usually pretty sure he can squeeze… out… just… one… more… fart. Something gets squeezed out, all right, but it isn’t a fart, and the party is immediately over.

Another way a fart party can end is when the scent of the festivities actually begins to fill up the room. When the smell of butt-breeze is all you can smell, the party is pretty much over.

Forcing out farts can lead to stomach aches, and stomach aches lead to a not-very-fun ending to a fart party.

Fart parties often lead to someone trying to “light one up”, which is never a good idea. I have seen more than one butt get burned by some idiot trying to create a rear-axle flame thrower. This never ends well… but always ends funny. Even if someone ends up in the emergency room, the laughs never end. Imagine walking into an emergency room and having to answer the “what exactly happened?” question from the doctor.

The final way a fart party can end poorly is by a female walking into the room. Usually, a female walks in, the party’s over, period. However, sometimes there are some good-natured females who can appreciate a good fart party. This is a sad commentary on the human condition. If a female attempts to join in the party… stop the party immediately. There is just something soooo very not funny about a chick farting!

Of course, maybe I’m being a little immature about the whole chick-farting-thing. I just wrote an entire blog post about farts… so questioning my maturity should be par for the course.

Something About Nebraska That… Doesn’t… Suck… I Guess

I have come to the conclusion that the negative attitude I hold toward all things Nebraska is starting to have a negative impact on my health. My family has an ongoing rivalry with heart disease, and heart disease seems to be winning. All of the males (and some of the females) on my dad’s side of the family have battled high blood pressure and I am no exception. I can actually feel my blood pressure rise when I get stressed, and I am constantly getting stressed. The stress gets so bad that, once it kicks in, I can’t concentrate. My thoughts flutter around my head like moths around a campfire. If I try to pull those thoughts into my psyche to concentrate on, the thoughts, much like the moths, burst into flames and are forgotten. The feelings of hopelessness then descend in waves, and I actually begin to question my sanity. Ever felt like you were going crazy? Not a good time. Stress makes me feel like I’m going crazy.

In order to try to alleviate a little of the stress I feel in my life, I decided to focus this entry on something about the panhandle of Nebraska that actually makes me happy. That’s right, I’m going to try to find a positive angle to follow on something. Finding something in the panhandle that I don’t perceive as completely sucking is not easy, but I’m going to give it a shot.

Nebraska is known for its beef: marbled, corn-fed beef that practically melts in your mouth. If you want a truly great rib-eye steak (perhaps the best rib-eye on the planet), and you want to experience that steak in a truly Nebraska-esque setting, there is only one place to go…

The Oregon Trail Wagon Train.

The Oregon Trail Wagon Train is a local landmark. It used to be known as “Gordon Howard’s” until the Howard family sold it. I’m sure that most folks are familiar with a chuck-wagon-style cookout. Many of the touristy places in the West and Midwest have these kinds of cookouts, but most of them serve crap like barbecue beef or barbecue chicken… you know, the shredded stuff that goes on a bun… and with most of them, you are paying for the experience (because the food sucks).

I remember going to the Flying T chuck-wagon supper last summer near Rapid City, SD. It was over $20 per adult, the food was not impressive, and the portions didn’t come close to filling me up. The staff was kind of rude and barked orders to the paying customers (which, I guess, is supposed to be part of the charm). There was some good-old country music after the meal (if you like good-old country music… which I don’t) and the band tried to hawk their CDs the whole time. I love Rapid City… the Black Hills are one of my favorite areas to visit… but I will never go back to the Flying T. There are much better places to eat in the Black Hills.

Anywho, back to a good chuck-wagon meal. At the Oregon Trail Wagon Train, the ambiance is pretty rustic.

They have a horse-drawn wagon and they take you for a short ride. Usually on the wagon ride, the driver will point out spots in the vicinity that were actually part of the Pony Express trail. It’s pretty cool to think that Pony Express riders used to actually ride so close to where you are about to enjoy your heavenly steak.

The “cowboy coffee” is plentiful and is cooked over an open fire.

When you get to the botton of your cup, you get a mouthful of grounds… which is the way it should be. If you ain’t chewing your coffee, it ain’t real cowboy coffee. All of the food is cooked over wood coals from a real fire… as opposed to a fake fire, I guess. The boiled potatoes and the green beans are cooking in these funky, homemade-looking metal structures, and the “grill” is loaded with fire wood. When they light the wood, you know that good times are getting near. See, this is the thing with the Oregon Train Wagon Train: you pay something like $22 per adult (same as the Flying T), but you are actually getting an honest-to-goodness rib-eye dinner that exceeds the quality of a steak you could get in a fancy chop house.

On my last visit to the Oregon Trail Wagon Train (which was a couple of weeks ago), there were a crapload of grasshoppers. I happened to notice a spider hanging in her web on the eave of one of the old buildings. I figured that, since my family was about to dine on some good grub, I would treat the spider. I grabbed a grasshopper and threw him into the spider’s web. Honestly, I didn’t figure the spider would mess with him, but I went back about fifteen minutes later and found the following:

I showed the kids (the wife refused to look) and they thought it was gross. You can actually see where she has her mouth attached to the hopper. You know she injected her venom into the hopper, waited for the venom to start dissolving the workings inside the exoskeleton, and is now sucking out the juicy remains. Awesome! The kids didn’t really think so… not right before dinner. Still, I thought it was pretty cool.

While I was playing with the spider, the wood on the grill had been started.

Now we were just waiting for the fire to burn to coals and the steaks would go on. There are some pretty cool things to check out while you are waiting for the steaks to start cooking. There is a path you can follow that takes you back to the North Platte River.

Usually this area is kind of mosquito-infested, but this late in the summer, I guess the mosquitoes had other things to do. There is a little fort for the kids (of all ages:) ) to check out. You can actually climb up into the watch tower and check out the grounds.

There is a old black lab that hangs out (except she seems to disappear at meal time) and she loves to have her belly rubbed (if you are so inclined to rub a dog’s belly… which I am).

There are a variety of old tools attached to the sides of the out buildings that are kind of fun to check out. The Oregon Trail Wagon Train also has a small gift shop and a small bar attached to the gift shop, so you can buy some overpriced, low-quality toys and nick-knacks right before you start downing the brews.

I usually avoid the gift shop and the bar. Why pay for a beer when there is all of that free cowboy coffee to chew on?

For the more sportsy people, there are a couple of horseshoe pits.

Yeah, I guess horseshoe tossing ain’t really a sport, but this is Nebraska, so horseshoe tossing is right up there alongside tumbleweed chasin’, cow tippin’, and sheep… uh…

… shearing? Besides, tossing a shoe from time to time can be kind of fun.

If you run out of things to do and are feeling a little bored waiting for the steaks to go on the grill, there is a multitude of spiders which I am sure would love to find a juicy grasshopper in their webs 🙂

Finally, the fire has burned down to coals, the coals are raked out nice and smooth, and the steaks get thrown on the grill.

Every time I have been to the Oregon Trail Wagon Train, the guys in charge of grilling the steaks seem to have a beer in their hands. Every time. And dinner is served 7 nights-a-week all summer long. I wonder if they are hiring?

The dinner bell rings, we all get in a line, and we proceed by the grill. They ask you how you like your steak done, and you get it exactly how you like it. You then get a heaping spoon of green beans and a large, red boiled potato. You help yourself to the available condiments (from which steak sauce is absent… and you better not even think about asking for it) and make your way to a table. Waiting for you on the table is a freshly baked loaf of the best sourdough bread in Nebraska.

After you gorge yourself on a hearty meat and potato meal, you head to the ice cream counter and get yourself a cone filled with delicious home-made vanilla ice cream.

While you are licking your dessert, you are directed to the campfire area where one of the steak cookers (half-baked on beer) will lead the entire dining group through several sing-along songs that are usually silly and probably quite fun (if you go for sing-alongs… which I do not).

We usually leave after a song or two and head for home, quite satisfied.

I promised myself that I was not going to bitch about anything at the Oregon Trail Wagon Train. This chuck-wagon-cookout is the best cookout-type place I’ve ever been to, and I am trying to manage my blood pressure. However, I am know for breaking promises… and it goes against my nature to not complain about something, so I’m gonna complain about the flies. The Oregon Trail Wagon Train is out in the middle of nowhere. You can see Chimney Rock from the cookout site, which is also in the middle of nowhere.

When you are in the middle of nowhere and you cook-up good grub, you are going to be invaded by flies. And I’m not talking about a few flies, I’m talking about flies of horror movie proportions. The setting is great, the food is awesome, but you are going to spend a large portion of your time waving flies away from your plate. I guess this doesn’t bother me too much. The food is worth the waving, but I kind of wish the owners of the Oregon Trail Wagon Train would do something about the flies. I don’t know what they could do, but if they could find something, I would not have a single bitch about the place 🙂

If you ever find yourself in the panhandle of Nebraska, I have a couple of things to let you know. First, I want to apologize that you are in the panhandle of Nebraska. Second, if you find the time, check out the Oregon Trail Wagon Train . It’s out of the way, but worth it. Besides, the entire panhandle is out of the way, and your here, so you might as well eat some good grub!

101 Things to do in Wyobraska!

Here it is, Saturday evening, and I was trying to figure out something to do with the family. I get tired of sitting around on the weekends doing nothing fun. Our local crappaper, the Star-Herald, is always trying new things to get people to fork over a buck for a paper not worth 25¢. This is a newspaper that charges for obituaries, so I have little respect for the heads of this paper (who are based in Omaha… so they are complete idiots who know nothing about life in rural Nebraska). The Star-Herald‘s most recent attempt at suckering people into purchasing this rag was a little insert they put in the regular paper called “101 Things to do in Wyobraska”. I kept this insert to use as a reference for times just like this; times when I’m trying to find something for my family to do to get out of the house and away from the TV and computer. Well, after glancing through the Star-Herald’s “101 Things to do in Wyobraska,” I was still clueless.

The wife says, “Did you decide what you want to do… I kinda wanted to take a shower tonight, so if we’re going to do something, let’s do it.”

“Go ahead and take your shower,” I say. “I’m going to spend yet another night on the stinking computer. The boys will rot their brains in front of the TV and I’m going to write a blog post about how there really is nothing to do around the Craphole… and how the Star-Herald’s suggestions suck!”

“Okay, have fun with that,” says the wife as she heads off to take her shower. I get no sympathy.

“101 Things to do in Wyobraska”… seriously!?! In the introduction to this guide, the editors of the Star-Herald admit that a common complaint around our area is that there is nothing to do here. They don’t believe that is true (because if young people continue to leave the area, all that will be left are old people, and although old people are more likely to read newspapers than young people, old people die… and there will be no one left to pay for their overpriced paper… so what else are they going to say?) In their introduction, the editors go on about how they know there are way more than 101 things to do in our area, and don’t worry if your favorite is missing because they are going to be making this an annual project, blah blah blah blah. An annual project?!? It seems like they were seriously scraping the bottom of the barrel just to come up with this stinking list! There is no way I am going to waste your time or mine covering each of the 101 things covered in the Star-Herald’s guide. I’m just going to cover some of the highlights… and then it will be off to bed… early… again… because there is nothing fun to do here.

#28 – Reel in a pike at Box Butte Reservoir

#48 – Troll for a monster at Walgren Lake near Hay Springs

#52 – Battle a bluegill at Smith Lake

#61 – Fish walleyes through the ice at Whitney Lake

#83 – Wet a line in the waters at Fort Robinson State Park

#87 – Fish for trout on Nine Mile Creek

Apparently someone on the Star-Herald’s staff really likes his fishing.

I can’t get my kids to sit still for fishing for more than 15 minutes, so driving umpteen miles to some middle-of-nowhere fishing destination only to leave with screaming, fighting kids only 15 minutes later and have to drive all the way back home does not sound like something to do… it sounds like something to AVOID! Those six are out immediately.

#24 – Eat a Tin Roof Sundae in Potter

Potter is over 60 miles from where we live. 60 miles. It would be an hour each way. That’s two hours of drive time for an ice cream sundae. My car gets 25 miler-per-gallon, so we’re looking at almost 5 gallons of gas at almost $3 per gallon. That’s 2 hours and $15 just to make the trip! That doesn’t include the cost of the sundae’s once you get there. The drive from the Scottsbluff to Potter, by the way, is far from scenic. These would have to be the best sundaes in the entire world to get me to make this trip… which I highly doubt they are. I’m sure they are good, but I doubt they are worth a 2 hour drive and $15 in gas.

#39 – Listen to a windmill whisper at the wind farm near Kimball

“Windmill whisper”… really!?! These are not your typical windmills. These are wind turbines used to create energy.

They are really tall, and I agree they are cool to look at from the road, but making a 45 minute trip to listen to them “whisper”… not a family fun activity.

#54 – Photograph the foundations of Nebraska’s potash boom near Antioch

Yeah, I didn’t know what potash was either. Apparently potash is used in fertilizer. Potash is separated from alkaline lakes, and Antioch was at the head of this boom… which apparently lasted about 5 years and no one really remembers it. The only traces of the “boom” are some foundations to some buildings. So, driving out to the middle-of-nowhere to look at some old foundations from a boom that no one remembers…

…see what I mean by scraping the bottom of the barrel?

#60 – Buy a pair of spurs at Morgan’s Cowpoke Haven in Ellsworth

I don’t own a horse, so why would I need spurs? I don’t think most of the residents of our community own horses, so I doubt they need spurs either.

Not to mention the fact that Ellsworth is almost 100 miles away and seriously in the middle-of-nowhere. I’m packing up the family for a trip to Ellsworth as I write… sure I am.

#64 – Spin a yarn at the Scotts Bluff Valley Fiber Arts Fair

Wow, I’ve always wanted to learn how to knit. Nothing brings to mind a night of family fun like the word “knit.”

There really is stuff to do in Wyobraska. Someone shoot me now, please!

#72 – Get history on the go at the region’s wayside markers

Wayside markers… you know, those little signs on the side of the road that explain trivial bits of history that no one actually stops to read unless it’s a guy who really has to take a leak.

This is one of the “101 Things to do in Wyobraska”? I think we may have actually dug through the bottom of the barrel and mucking around in the dirt below.

#14 – Relive history at Robidoux Pass National Historic Landmark

This one really hit home for me. When I saw this listed at #14, I knew this list was going to mostly be a joke. You see, I have actually done this. One day, a few years ago, I took the wife and our son (at that time, we only had one) to Fort Laramie National Historic Site (which comes in at #66 – Enjoy any season at Fort Laramie with the spirits of past visitors). Fort Laramie, I’ll admit, is pretty cool. This historic site is an old fort with many of the original buildings still standing. It is fun to go to… about once every 10 years. We’re only a couple of years from going again. Anyway, after a spending a day in history, we didn’t want our history lesson to end.

After leaving the fort, I said to the wife, “Hey, what about that Robidoux Trading Post? Have you ever been there. It sounds cool.”

“Nope, never been there,” says the wife. “Why don’t we go.”

So, we drive all the way back to Scottsbluff from Ft. Laramie and go on a search for the historic Robidoux Trading Post. We drive and we drive and we drive over bumpy gravel road and breath in the wonderful dust of Nebraska. Finally, off to the south, we see a crappy looking shack.

“I think that’s it,” says the wife.

“That’s it? I ask.

“Pretty sure that’s it,” says the wife.

You’ve got to be kidding,” I say. “For crying out loud. That’s just a shack.”

“Says here,” the wife says, looking at the wayside marker by the shack, “that this isn’t even the original shack. This is a reproduction.”

“Why would anyone reproduce a crappy little shack?” I ask, my head starting to hurt.

“For historic preservation?” ventures the wife.

“Why would anyone reproduce a crappy little shack and put it out in the middle-of-nowhere and encourage people to drive over crappy, bumpy gravel roads and breath in all of that crappy dust just to get to it and be disappointed?” By this time, I’m actually rubbing my temples.

“I guess some people like stuff like this,” says the wife.

“IT’S A CRAPPY REPRODUCTION OF A CRAPPY LITTLE SHACK IN THE MIDDLE-OF-NOWHERE!”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” says the wife. “Let’s go home.” The wife doesn’t let things stress her out like I do.

Of course, this list of things to do includes a lot of “eat this here” and “buy that there”, many of which I have tried and few of which I would consider a destination for family fun. The Star-Herald’s lame attempt at giving the average family something to do in Wyobraska actually made me reconsider my stance that there is nothing to do here. There is all kinds of stuff to do here… it’s all just really, really lame.

Wireless Cowboys in St. Louis

I haven’t flown in a lot of years. I hate lines, I hate large groups of people, I hate being searched, I hate being presumed guilty until proven innocent, and I think hurling to my death from 2000 ft knowing survival is not gonna happen would be the absolute worst way to die. So, on the flight to St Louis for the WISPA Regional Meeting, I entered a sweaty, heart-poundy, semi-zombie trance state for an hour and a half, clutching the armrest on one side with both hands and quietly chanting, “We’re all gonna die, we’re all gonna die, we’re all gonna die…”

Even stewardesses tend to avoid me on flights.

And then we landed. I was kind of hoping I’d see the Arch on the way in, but I didn’t. All I saw was the Missouri River flooding part of the city… and, let me tell you, it was kind of cool!

So, the boss and I get on a shuttle bus to the Renaissance Hotel, which we are staying at and where the conference is. Little do I realize at this point how close that hotel and I are about to become. I’m still under the illusion that I’m going to get to see the city… hahaha… foolish illusion.

So, we get into the hotel, check in, put our crap in the room (which I am sharing with the boss… and sharing hotels rooms with dudes makes me uncomfortable… but I know that my ability to explode eardrums with my snore will prevent any future sleeping arrangement similar to this), and go check out the conference area. There are already WISPA dudes working on putting together welcome packets and I am quickly recruited to help. Stuffing packets turns into checking in attendees as they arrive turns in to many hours sitting at a stinking table in front of a stinking computer looking out a stinking window at a stinking fountain.

Oh, I know, “that’s a pretty cool fountain,” you may be saying to yourself. Yeah. it was… for about the first five hours staring at it.

So, we had arrived in St. Louis around noon and it was pretty much sitting at that table in the “prefunction area” (i.e. the hallway outside the concourses) until around 8 or 9 at night.

Around 7pm, a group of people talked one of the hotel shuttle drivers into a trip to go see the Gateway Arch (something they apparently don’t do, but for the right amount of tip…)… and I needed to man the WISPA table, so actually seeing the Arch wasn’t in the cards for this trip to St. Louis… maybe next time. It only took me 40 years to make it to St. Louis the first time… so maybe when I’m 80 (me, live to be eighty… hahaha) I may make it back to St. Louis to see that arch.

After a supper of what tasted very much like overcooked Freshetta pizzas at the meet-and-greet (which I enjoyed from the WISPA table while staring at the fountain)

I was finally allowed to shut down the WISPA table for the day.

Next morning, back to the WISPA table, checking people in, selling tickets, registering new members, selling shirts (yeah… selling shirts), and once again I have a lovely view for the day.
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Lunch rolls around, and all the WISPA dudes and attendees go to the 13th floor for lunch. Of course, I’m asked to man the WISPA table through lunch. I do, and lunch is brought to me… I think it was a bologna sandwich. So far, I’m loving St. Louis!

Lunch gets over and all of the WISPA members seem to be enjoying the meeting. Everyone is friendly and excited and, every once in awhile, someone goes all tech on me (apparently thinking that because I’m sitting at the WISPA table staring at the stinking fountain
I must be techie myself). I’m not very techie, so I smile and nod.

“You know, if the FCC would allow us access to portion of the white space spectrum, many of our current interference issues would fall by the way-side,” says the techie dude.

I smile.

“Just the thought of getting into that 3650 MHz spectrum makes my routing redirect, but in a positive way, if you know what I mean,” the techie laughs, nudging me with his elbow and winking.

I nod, having not the foggiest.

“Nice talking to ya, man,” says techie. “Nice to find someone with a similar point of view.”

I smile and nod.

Evening rolls around, and one of the vendors at the meeting sponsors a supper for everyone. Well, I, of course, am sitting at the WISPA table. Everyone goes upstairs to the big feast. I sit at the table looking at the fountain.

Around 7pm, when I finally shut down the WISPA table, I decide I’m gonna go for a walk. My boss warned me, “Uh, I don’t think this is the best area to go walking around in.”

“How bad can it be?” I glance at the fountain one more time

… and I start on my walk.

Within a couple of blocks of the hotel, I notice that the neighborhood may be a little questionable.
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Still, I’m thinking, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

As I continue, I notice that the neighborhood really isn’t getting any better
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“Well, if I can just find someplace to get something to eat, I’ll be fine.” I continue on my way when I notice these dudes strolling my way:
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Being completely homophobic, I quickly turn down a side street
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and I run into
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these guys:

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CRAP!
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Roofers! They are insisting that they “fix roof cheap, less than gringo, insurance will pay.” I tell them that I don’t even live in St. Louis, but it’s like they don’t understand English. So I run away and find myself down a dark alley. At the end of the alley I see:
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Killer clowns… seriously?!? St. Louis SUCKS!

Not wanting to mess with killer clowns in any way, shape or fashion, I quickly turn around and make my way back out of the alley. I’m not going to take on killer clowns. The odds of surviving a killer clown attack are like 1 in 900,000,000,000. A person has a much higher chance of winning the Lottery than he or she does of surviving a killer clown attack. I’m not that stupid.

As I’m leaving the killer clowns in my dust, I notice something in the shadows up ahead. It seems to be moving. As I get closer, it starts to emerge from the shadows. When I first see its face, I can’t believe what I am seeing. I freeze, a deer in the headlights, sure I am about to meet my ultimate doom. As It comes into full light, I scream the scream of a little girl being eaten alive by rats
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I turn and run back at the killer clowns. They are about to pounce when they spy the monstrosity behind me. They, too, scream like little girls and fall in behind me as they retreat from certain doom.

I run and I run and I run until I find myself sitting at the base of the fountain outside the hotel.
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Okay, there may be a slight amount of exaggeration in my description of my escapade into St. Louis… slight… but it wasn’t very fun. Stupid fountain never looked so good. I went in and up to my room. Ordered an Imo’s Pizza (a St. Louis classic, I’m told) and was very pleased with my supper choice. At least I got to try some real St. Louis style pizza while in St. Louis.

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Next day, another day at the WISPA table; another day staring at the fountain. This time, for lunch, there was no bologna sandwich. This time for lunch, there was nothing.

By the time the WISPA Regional Meeting started wrapping up in the late afternoon, I was starving. After we got everything cleaned up and everyone headed their separate ways, I snuck out of the hotel and went the opposite direction from which I had gone the night before. On the next block… Jack In The Box. I like trying places I’ve never eaten at when I travel, and I had never eaten at a Jack In The Box, so I did. Had me some Jack In The Box tacos… you know, the 2 for 99-cent kind.
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Seriously, nastiest tacos ever. Deep-fried grossness with almost no filling. These are something I will never eat again. What a disappointment.

Later that night, the boss told me a bunch of guys were meeting by the hotel pool and just kind of hanging out. I decided to throw aside my loathing of St. Louis and try to hang out with these guys (and I don’t really like people, so I thought this would be a challenge). I ended up having a pretty good time. Before going to bed, I actually went outside and ran through that stinking fountain in front of the Renaissance Hotel (which is kind of supposed to be off limits). I went to my room stinking like rancid pond water and feeling a bit of the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on that stinking fountain.

The next morning, the boss and I grabbed a ride to the airport, flew an excruciating flight back to Denver (my hands once again gripping the one armrest I had access to the entire flight), and came home. I was glad to be back in the Craphole of Nebraska… ok, not really, but it was better than the killer clowns of St. Louis.

Overall, I am glad I went to St. Louis. Did I see the Arch? No. Did I have a splendid time? Did you see the picture of the anti-Christ Clinton? Not really. I did, however, gain a couple of insights. First, I learned that the people (or really, person… Rick H 🙂 ) who prepare for and execute at these conferences are amazing individuals. Everything at the 2010 WISPA Regional Meeting went pretty smoothly. I wouldn’t say that it went off without a hitch, because there were a couple of hitches; but considering the amount of variables that could have worked against us… things went quite well. Second, as technologically geeky as many of the participants at this conference were, it was utterly and completely cool to be surrounded by a bunch of men and women who are so passionate about what they do! My biggest bitch on this blog is the fact that I can’t find and follow my passion. Did I learn that wireless Internet is my passion? Nope. I did find, though, that there are really people out there who have a passion, follow that passion, and better the lives of those around them with their passion. Most of these WISPs are not raking in bu-cu bucks. They aren’t in it for the money. They are in it because they believe all people have the right to access the wonderful world of the Internet at something faster than dial-up… and these people should not have to take out a second mortgage to be able to afford the service. And there was serious passion.

My trip to St. Louis didn’t make me more passionate about anything. My trip to St. Louis did, however, help me see that wireless Internet is something to be passionate about. Seeing people with passion for something, whether it is a passion you can share or not, is good for the soul. My trip to St. Louis enriched my soul. Now, if only I could rid myself of the nightmares…

Wireless Cowboys

I work for a wireless Internet service provider. What exactly is a wireless Internet service provider, you may ask? Well, a wireless Internet service provider (WISP for short… which I could have notated a couple of “wireless Internet service provider” mentions ago… but I’m a sucker for the want to hunt and peck out extremely long, tedious sentences… which is why, I figure, most people who visit my blog stay less than 53 seconds… a person can’t read one of my posts in less than 5 minutes, ’cause I’m way to wordy and I take WAY to long to get to my point… as the current sentence proves… and if you are still reading this far into the sentence, you have my eternal debt:) ) is a person or company that provides Internet to people who cannot get (or are sick of dealing with) cable and DSL Internet.

Anyway, back to the whole wireless Internet provider (WISP) thingie. Three years ago, I had very little idea what a WISP was. I knew my wife did the finances for one, but I was still clueless. And then, out of nowhere and thanks to the urging of my wife, the owner of this WISP approaches me and says, “How’d you like to work for me?” Well, at the time, I was working for Alltel… which sucked… and I really liked the way the guy combined “how” and “would” into “how’d”… ’cause that shows a laid-back persona, as far as I’m concerned. Now, I was making fairly good money at Allhell… er… Alltel, and I would be taking a pretty significant cut in pay to work for this “WISP”… but I figured with the approaching-forty thing and the high blood pressure and the inability to deal with stress and/or pissed-off customers, how could I say no. So, I said yes and the rest is history. Now, I deal with the stress of pissed-off customers every day and I get to make less money. YEAH ME! Of course, I’m kidding (i.e. my boss reads this blog). In all seriousness, although not perfect, I don’t hate my current job. It frustrates me at times and there is stress (I don’t think the stress-free job exists because there is not a job where you do not have to have any contact with another person… and people cause stress… period). But, the lack of the corporate rules and rigidity and BS makes this job much preferable to the hack job I held at Alltel.

My boss is very active in an organization called WISPA. WISPA is the Wireless Internet Providers’ Association. WISPA is also Womens International Squash Players Association, but that may or may not be the topic of a future post.
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WISPA, the one with sweaty chicks.

Founding members of WISPA, the one without with less sweaty chicks… or maybe this is Microsoft… who knows. All them tech people look the same to me.

WISPA, a candy bar from Cadbury containing no known sweaty chicks.

WISPA is a non-profit organization that serves the interests of WISPs not only in the US but around the world. So still, you’re saying, “I still don’t understand what a WISP is.”

A WISP provides an alternative to the crappy, government-subsidized telephone company DSL and dial-up Internet services provided around the country. WISPs also compete against outrageously-priced cable and satellite Internet providers. A WISP does not need telephone lines or fiber-optic cables to bring the Internet to your home or business. WISPs mount radio equipment on towers and broadcast the Internet through microwaves to a receiver on your property that gives you the Internet. In other words, WISPs provide Internet in rural and hard-to-reach areas that cable providers and DSL providers are not willing to spend the money to service. WISPs are the cowboys of the modern age; they go into uncharted territory and do whatever it takes to bring civilization (i.e. high speed Internet) to the wastelands. I am, of course, stealing from my boss with the whole cowboy analogy. If you are at all technically savy and want to learn more about this industry, check out the boss’s blog at Wireless Cowboys .

Long-story short (I know… too late), the boss is active in WISPA, so somehow I end up handling a large portion of the billing and member-support responsibilities for WISPA as part of my job responsibilities. Normally, these responsibilities are a breeze and take little of my time. Then, all of a sudden, the WISPA people decide they need to hold a regional meeting. “Regional meeting” means that there are registrations and tickets and confirmations and whatnot and, somehow, a large portion of the dealing with this stuff gets thrown in my lap. All of a sudden the easy and somewhat fun WISPA responsibilities become a several-hour-a-day monstrosity that consumes much of the time I am supposed to be spending on my real job. This goes on for well over a month. This would probably not have been that big of a deal… except for the facts that I took a week off for scout camp with my son, and the family and I took our week-long family vacation, all during this registration period for the WISPA Regional Conference. It was kind of like ‘take some time off’ and then ‘really bust your ass’… then ‘take some more time off’ and then ‘really bust your ass’. I’m feeling like I am not meant to come back from these vacations. Then, the boss says, “I know you’ve been working hard, so I’d like to bring you to St. Louis to help with the conference.” I’m thinking he’s kind of blowing smoke up my rear to keep me from freaking out. Then, the president of WISPA calls me and says, “We know how much time you’ve put into this, and we are trying to talk the board into allowing you to help at the conference.” Well, all of a sudden I feel appreciated. All of a sudden, I’m potentially going to be rewarded for all of my hard work with a trip to St. Louis. I’ve never been to St. Louis, and I’m getting kind of excited.

As the conference approaches, the board decided to allow me to help at the conference… and I’m thinking, “Hey, St. Louis, here I come!” Bright lights, big city, right? Fast living and good-ol’ St. Louis style pizza right? Blues and a trip to the Arch, you know? There is an airplane flight that will be involved… and I hate flying… but I’m excited! This is going to be a great time. St. Louis, HERE I COME!!!

How to Avoid Pretentiousness… NOT!

Pretentious: according to The Free Dictionary, this means “making claim to distinction or importance, esp undeservedly.” A large portion of my adult life has been spent trying to avoid looking pretentious. Pretentious people tend to make me mad, and pretentious people tend to show exactly how pretentious they are by the clothes they wear and the cars they drive… sigh.

This past weekend, the wife and I came to the conclusion that it was time to replace my car. “My car”… as if I own anything of my own anymore. Once you get married, you enter into a socialist state in which everything is community property. However, in the state of my marriage, I have always tended to get the crappy car. You know, we head to the dealership with my old piece of crap as the trade-in, we get a nice vehicle, the wife gets the nice vehicle, and I get the next piece of crap that used to be the wife’s. This has always been my choice, because I don’t mind driving a good car that looks like a piece of crap… what’s pretentious about a beat-up Taurus station wagon? Nothing, that’s what; so I drove the Taurus for a few years. It was a good, non-pretentious car.

Then, all of a sudden, the head gasket on the Taurus goes out. Well, that sucks. It’s gonna cost like $2000 to get that head gasket replaced, and the Blue Book on a 1996 Taurus wagon with a physical condition matching ours is like $1500. Doesn’t make sense to fix it, does it? So, I limp the thing along. I get used to it wanting to die at stop lights, and I get used to adding oil and antifreeze. No big deal. It’s all so un-pretentious, you know? Well, a few months later, I notice that the tires are looking a little ragged… as in, they are all completely bald at exactly the same time. Crap. Well, I just drive the thing around town, and I tell the Scoutmaster that I can’t haul the scouts in the Taurus anymore (which is a relief… ’cause hauling those kids around gets a little pricey when most of the parents aren’t kicking in for gas moolah). No big deal right… except, I notice that there is actually metal showing through on one of the tires.

Is metal supposed to show through on a tire? I’m kind of doubting it. I know the tires are “steel-belted”, and I know my “belt” shows most of the time (except when my belly is hanging over it… oh, who am I kidding, my belt never shows; but I know on normal people, belts show). I know next to nothing about anything auto-mechanically related (which the actual mechanics in our area seem to love), but I’m a figurin’ that metal fiber showing up on the outside of the tire ain’t a good thing. Crap.

Ok, so I’m justifying in my head how I can keep driving the Taurus around for a bit longer. I am, after all, just driving the thing in town. If the tires actually blows, I’ll probably be going less than 50 mph, so all is well, right? Sure! Until, all of a sudden, every time I step on the brakes, I hear the horrid sound of metal on metal. What the… aren’t the brakes supposed to squeal before you get the whole metal on metal thing? Again, a mechanic I am not; I know you are supposed to hear a stinking squeal before you hear the brain-gnashing nails-on-chalkboard-esque metal-on-metal horror-fest that all of a sudden I am experiencing. Crap. I am beginning to realize that it’s about time to call it quits with the Taurus.

The wife, for like the past six months, has been telling me we need to get a new car. I am finally at the point where I can agree. So, we go looking for cars. We will, as our main intention, buy a car on Saturday. So, Friday night, we go through some of the local lots to see what is available. One thing we learned by driving through the local lots: if you, as a local car lot dude, do not display the prices you are asking for your cars either on the car itself or, at least, on your website… I will not buy a car from you. There is absolutely nothing more exasperating to me when trying to make a multi-thousand-dollar purchase then not to be able to weigh your options before being assaulted by the onslaught of commission-based sales representatives. I will not do it. We saw plenty of cars that we really liked at several of the smaller lots, but we had no idea how much these things were selling for. We were looking in the $5000 range. We would have felt stupid asking about a car that we thought might have been in our range and finding out that car was being sold for $12,000 (which is what we expected to be the reality). Needless-to-say, we avoided all lots with no published prices. My duty was to myself and my family… not a salesman who was going to try to sell me more than what I was looking for.

After doing a brief bit of browsing, the wife and I had narrowed it down to one lot in particular (that had at least one non-pushy sales person and obviously-displayed prices… and the lot we bought our past two vehicles at). Now, we just had to decide on a vehicle.

Great time to interject that the wife finds my blog… this blog… a little disturbing. Through this blog, the wife has discovered that I feel kind of old and that turning forty really sucked for me and that I am kind of going through a mid-life crisis. The wife knows that I love her and I would never trade her in for a newer model… because, you know, I don’t sense a blown head gasket and she keeps her tires pretty well rotated. However, the wife is constantly looking for ways to improve my libido and self-esteem at this precarious point in my life ( if anyone has potential winning Power-ball numbers, please forward them to my wife). So, as we’re looking for cars, she keeps saying, “Make sure you pick something you are going to be happy driving.” I think she is messing with me, you know, just playing with my esteem so if I end up picking something I end up hating she can come back and say, “I told you to pick something that would make you happy.” Well, a Jeep Wrangler would make me happy, but there was none of those in the $5000 arena. However, there was this nice little Pontiac Firebird with funky orange paint.

Ahhh… a true lower-middle class mid-life crisis car. Thing is, no matter what we looked at, the wife kept saying, “Don’t forget about the Firebird.” I think she was serious! It was a little more than we were looking at spending, but we could have swung it. She either really wanted me to have the Firebird, or she knew that my reason would kick in and I would come to the conclusion on my own that a sports car is not a realistic option for a 40-year-old with a wife and two young-uns. Damn, I wanted that Firebird! But, the reason kicked in and I knew it would make more sense to drive something like that when I turn fifty… you know, when the senior discounts start to kick in… and the hair is completely gray… and the chances of actually losing that belly are ZERO… slightly less than 10 years from now…

…sigh…

… and she is still going to be able to say, “I told you to pick something you would be happy driving.” I married a pretty bright dame 🙂

Okay, so the Firebird is postponed for the next 10 years or so. We are seriously down to two cars within our range. One is a 2001 Cadillac Catera, the other is a Chevy Aveo. The Caddy has less than 100,000 miles and is in great shape… and is about a grand less than we were looking to spend.

The Aveo is a 2009 with less than 8,000 miles and in about a grand more than we were planning on spending.

I’m immediately leaning toward the Aveo. It’s low-mileage, it will last almost forever, it gets great gas mileage, and it is so stinking ugly that “pretentious” would never a word to describe it. The wife seems fine with my choice of one of the ugliest cars since the Vega, and I am ready to take her for a test drive… the car, not the wife.

Handles like a dream, pretty punchy for such a little piece of crap, rides like a cardboard soap-box derby car, but, hey… it can’t weight more than I do. It starts to get a little warm in her as we’re taking her around town.

“Turn on the AC,” says the wife.

Travis, our awesome little sales dude, looks kind of sheepishly at us from the back seat and says, “Uh, this one doesn’t have AC.”

Stardate: 2010. We have encountered an alien life form known as the Aveo. On her world, they still make cars with no AC. Hers is a dying world, but one on which we are momentarily trapped. I am quickly sending our coordinates to Spock so he can beam us the hell out of here.

“I could live with no AC,” I say. “I’ll be the one mostly driving it, it gets like 40 miles-per-gallon, and I don’t mind sweating a little… it’ll help me keep my weight down.”

“Having a car that gets 40 miles-per-gallon would make sense if we could take it on trips… but I will not ride in a car with no AC.” The wife doesn’t even smile as she makes her assertion.

“We could roll down the windows,” I smile, still hoping to avoid any chance of looking pretentious. After all, there is nothing I can imagine that would be less pretentious than my sweaty-ass driving around in this little piece of crap with all the windows down and me justifying at the top of my lungs to any passerby who looks my way, “I’m getting 40 miles-per-gallon, so screw you!”

“Can you imagine how cranky your boys will be if we’re taking a trip to Denver in this thing in the middle of the summer with no AC?” She has a point. The boys are barely bearable on any kind of lengthy trip when the climate is perfect. Hot wind blowing in our faces as sweat pours down our faces would not add to the delight of any of our outings.

“So, I guess it’s the Cadillac,” I surrender.

“There’s always the Firebird, ” the wife reminds me.”

The Cadillac, of course, drives like a dream… and has AC.

So, we head into the offices so Travis can help us figure out which car we want.

“Which car have you folks decided on,” Travis asks.

“Well, I guess we’d like the Cadillac,” I say.

“You don’t sound so sure,” says Travis.

“There is still the Firebird,” says the wife.

“Does the Firebird come with the blond?” I ask.

“No, I’m afraid not,” says Travis. “You wouldn’t believe how many 40-year-old-looking guys ask that, though.”

“…sigh… I guess the Cadillac it is.”

Here we are, a few days later, and I love the Cadillac. It really does drive like a dream… considering the thing is almost 10 years old. The Bose sound system is amazing, and the thing has more buttons than a person can push on a relatively lengthy drive. There is still the pretentious-factor. I still feel like the only people who drive Cadillacs are snotty people with money and posers. The wife insists I’m wrong, but I still have a vague recollection of an ad I once saw…

… maybe it’s just my imagination. I guess being a poser ain’t so bad… not when the tunes sound so flipping good on that Bose…