Biking for the Inyo

I feel like my childhood was pretty similar to a lot of kids in the 1990s; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Saturday morning cartoons, pillow forts, and getting bullied by my siblings were regular parts of my life in the last decade of the last millennium. However, I do feel like my upbringing-- and the majority of my life, really-- were uniquely special because of where I lived. 

Looking north from the valley floor, April 2014

The Owens Valley is a place near and dear to me, and though I've talked about it at length before in other posts it deserves praise at every opportunity. It lays between the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada and the western side of the Inyo Mountains in Inyo County. Despite being one of the largest counties in California, it only contains about 2% privately owned land with the rest being split between the National Park Service, The Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, and the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. It's a beautiful, harsh high desert environment that has been host to Native peoples for thousands of years and unique geology and ecology since time immemorial. Scars exist on the landscape from attempts to extract resources, from water to minerals, but despite the damage done by colonizers in the past Inyo County and the Owens Valley remain a natural wonder. 

The issue these days, though, is the same as it's been for the last couple hundred years. People look to take what the land can offer. The Los Angeles Department of Water and Power, or LADWP, still extracts water from the valley floor. Mining companies still look to secure contracts to extract gold, silver, and lead from the ground, promising jobs in exchange for environmental degradation and invasion of traditional Native lands. I've been fortunate enough to see the Owens River go from a dried swath of desert to a lush, green sea of life along the valley floor. Seeing the rains from the early part of the decade flood the Owens Lake, and seeing the water reflect the mountainsides for the first time since LADWP drained the lake in 1913, is something people might never see again. I've witnessed what nature can reclaim, and what it can bring with proper help from agencies looking to help it. 

Friends of the Inyo is one such agency. They've played a role in stewardship and policy to help protect and serve the Inyo National Forest and the areas within Inyo and Mono counties. Their mission is "to protect and care for the land and water of the Eastern Sierra" which means a lot to me. 

Now, a brief note about my history with bikes:

Like a lot of kids, I had bikes growing up. At one point early in high school I decided to take my bike down Mazourka Canyon Road, outside of my hometown of Independence. The bike itself was cobbled together with parts from other bikes, and even though it wasn't much to look at it did what it was supposed to well enough. That is, until, after riding to the end of the pavement five miles away in 105 degree desert summer heat, the rear tire went flat. Fortunately for me, after walking for awhile I got a ride from some of my friends dads who were driving through for work, so I only got a little sunburned instead of mummified and dead. Much later, in my 20s, I'd ridden a route with some friends on an old Schwinn Traveller with a warped rear wheel. That day lead me to running since running shoes are cheaper than a bike, but since then I've gotten back into riding bikes. I now go farther and faster than before-- thanks in no small part to running for so many years now-- and I've decided to do something worthwhile with my new cycling abilities.

This April I'm planning to go to Las Vegas to ride the Tour de Summerlin. The team I'm on, NevCali Riders, is riding for a variety of causes, and I'm fundraising in support of Friends of the Inyo. I hope to raise funds for the organization and awareness of what they do and represent. If you can donate, let me know! I hope you help support the cause to respect and protect Payahuunadü. 

My heart, my little bike shorts, my beefy legs, and I would greatly appreciate it if you can.

The Dregs

I've said before that I am a fan of good coffee. Very little compares to a well made cup of high quality coffee on a cool, quiet morning, though I do see the value of a cup of cheap coffee because I'm not the snob I used to be. Still, I try to buy good coffee when I can; if I'm able to support organic farming and fair trade coffee then, for the sake of the people producing my daily caffeine fix and the land that grows it, I'll do it.

Because I make my coffee the same way every day-- two tablespoons of ground coffee for every cup, and usually three cups between my wife and me-- sometimes I'll end up with just a little extra left at the bottom of the bag. Normally I'd use the last bit in a bag of coffee with grounds from the new bag since I'd be drinking it eventually anyway. Some people just dump the remainder into a new bag of coffee, and apparently some people throw it away-- which is wild to me. 

At some point, though, I decided to take the little bit of coffee I had left in a bag and saved it in a jar. Over the course of weeks I'd try different brands and roasts of coffee, and once a bag was almost through I'd take the little bit left in the bag and add it to the jar. Eventually enough coffee ended up in the jar to make a full pot of coffee.

I call it the dregs. 

Some folks during the early months of covid had "infinity bottle" projects, and I'm no exception. The concept is, essentially, that you take a small amount of whiskey (or any spirit, really) from bottles you enjoyed and blend them together in what ends up being a highly custom blended whiskey (though it's kind of a glorified and more notated Kings Cup). As whiskey is added, the flavor and character of the contents changes, and it becomes a new experience over time. This, along with not wanting to waste perfectly good coffee, was the reason I stared saving the little remainders of coffee in a jar; I wanted a unique cup of coffee that also wasn't so wasteful. 

However, unlike whiskey, coffee gets stale and loses flavor over time. It's why most coffee is nitrogen packed or vacuum sealed, so mixing old ground coffee in an old repurposed pasta jar isn't going to yield the same sensory experience as, say, blending a 12 year old Islay Scotch with a quality Kentucky bourbon. You won't find the dregs of whatever mix of coffee I got on sale served in a high end cafe in Paris. 

Here's the thing, though; I ain't picky. I appreciate carefully crafted artisan roasted coffee grown in small family farms served in hand crafted ceramic ware in high end coffee shops, but if I have a cup of three-hour old Farmer Brothers hotel lobby coffee in front of me I'll drink it too. If I have a mix of old coffees from the last couple months, and haven't gone to the store to get more coffee yet, I'm more than happy to see how the dregs is tasting. It caffeinates, it isn't wasted, and it has yet to taste too bad, so it's a win-win-win in my book. 

Yesterday I hand ground some organic, fair trade beans and brewed it in a press. Today I'm enjoying the dregs from the coffee pot, and I appreciate them both for what they are. 

Bike Lanes in Lancaster: Some Thoughts

I'm planning on racing with this
thing in April, look out for that.

Last month I decided to buy a pretty nice road bike off Facebook Marketplace. It's a Trek Domane 2, and it came with front and rear lights, a seat post bag, along with a few other extras, and for an entry level road bike it is a hell of a get. Although I already had a bike-- an REI branded mountain bike outfitted with a rack and panniers that I love dearly-- I wanted something a little lighter and faster, so now I have the bike I can take to the grocery store and one I can take to charity rides and use as an excuse to wear Lycra shorts and wraparound sunglasses. 

I still go running more than I go cycling, though, and part of that is because of where I live. The first time I took my REI mountain bike for a spin I hit a pothole in the bike lane and scraped my leg pretty badly (I finished that damn ride, even though the tumble took off some of my tattoo). Often, when driving to work, I see people using the bike lane as their own personal expressway, which doesn't offer much confidence when it's my fleshy body and 20 pounds of aluminum versus a half-ton of Nissan Maxima with a driver on their cell phone going 65 miles per hour. Running isn't much better since I've nearly been splatted by drivers who forget pedestrians get the right of way, but at least I'm not going as fast as I would be on a bike and I'm able to stop a lot faster. 

I was thinking about all this because of a post on Facebook I saw from the mayor talking about the benefits of bike lanes, with a link to a Fast Company article that-- hilariously-- can't be found. 

"I am normal and can be trusted with
running a city of 174,000 people."

He talked about how, while traffic might be a little slower, bike lanes are important from a safety standpoint, then offered no elaboration as to how they make roads safer. Granted, I'm just some guy who uses bike lanes and sidewalks throughout the city, but I think he's half right in this case. 

The BLVD, the downtown area of Lancaster, California, is his pride and joy, and is an attempt in urban design that almost works. It offers walkable shops and restaurants, a farmers market every Thursday during the warmer months, mixed use buildings with upper floor apartments and lower floor store fronts, and-- most importantly for the purposes of this post-- mixed use streets for bikes and cars. The infrastructure for being less car-centered is cool in theory, but it's only a quarter mile strip of street in the city, and car parking takes up a lot of space in that quarter mile.  

Essentially, my point is this: R. Rex Parris is almost right. Bike lanes, and by extension pedestrian-friendly infrastructure, is good for public safety, but primarily because it reduces the likelihood of being in a car accident. Fewer cars means fewer accidents, and fewer accidents means fewer injuries and deaths as a result of driving. However, the east side of the city-- the poorer side, where I live-- is in desperate need of infrastructure repair. Sure, I can ride my bike to Aldi pretty easily if I need some milk and whatever insane limited-run shit they have (I really hope they re-release the Aldi branded shoes), but the bike lanes shoulder up to car traffic going a mile a minute, and the state of the pavement makes for a rough ride whether you're on a bike or in a car. Riding a bike to The BLVD is doable from the east side, but is often a hair-raising experience. 

Having goods and services accessible without the need of a car would do a lot for the well-being of the community, which means more mixed-use neighborhoods, pedestrian-friendly infrastructure like protected bike lanes and sidewalks with actual shade during the triple-digit heat of the summer, fixing rutted and potholed streets beyond the gentrified strip in the center, and incentivizing biking, walking, and public transit in general. It's a lot to ask of a city built up by suburban sprawl but, if the mayor wants to talk about bike lanes and safety, he should consider making the streets actually safe to use. 

I know the city has a lot of issues to address, but hopefully infrastructure improves so bike lanes can actually make things safer. 

A Brief Dive Into The Monster Mash

It's that time of year again for horror movies, pumpkin carving, and novelty songs about skeletons-- spooky, scary, and otherwise-- among other spooky subject matter, like the 1960s classic "The Monster Mash." Recently there has been some contention with the song, with some people claiming it's a song about the Monster Mash, and that we don't really know what it sounds like, in much the same vein as The Greatest Song In The World in Tenacious D's "Tribute."

While interesting, I had a thought in the shower that sent me down a really, really pointless rabbit hole that prompted me to dust off my blog and hammer out a theory nobody cares about nor asked for.

The Monster Mash was initially a dance: the monster from his slab began to rise and did the Mash. The ghouls came from their humble abodes to get a jolt from an electrode and did the Mash. It's easy enough to believe that it's just a dance and not a song they're talking about in The Monster Mash.

The song, however, later says they played the Mash, which throws a wrench into the assumption that it's only a dance. Dracula shakes his fists and says, "Whatever happened to my Transylvania Twist?" which, in reply, is stated that it's now the Mash, it's now The Monster Mash, et cetera. Final nail in the coffin (pun intended) for knowing what the song is.

Except it's not. 

The 1962 album The Original Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett and The Crypt-Kickers does, in fact, have a track called "The Transylvania Twist." It can be inferred that, if they said The Transylvania Twist is now The Monster Mash, that the song played in "The Monster Mash" sounds like "The Transylvania Twist" which solves the mystery of what they played in "The Monster Mash" sounds like.

This, however, leaves the mystery of what the dance might look like. I don't have a definitive answer to what the dance of The Monster Mash might look like, but considering ghouls got a jolt from an electrode, the monster-- who I'm guessing is like Frankenstein's monster-- also got a jolt, and that The Transylvania Twist could be a variation of the original dance, I'd imagine the dance being a jerking type movement like a zombie getting electrocuted while doing The Twist.

That, of course, is all conjecture, but it's something to think about if you want a topic to talk about at the next Halloween party to ensure you're not invited next time. 

Creep it real and have a happy Halloween. 

In Memoriam: My Shorts

It is with a heavy heart that I have decided to retire my favorite pair of running shorts. 

I bought a pair of Patagonia Strider 5 inch shorts (I think) in 2017 (I think) at my local outdoor gear shop (Elevation Sierra Adventure Essentials, that I'm sure of), not realizing that the shorts I'd run in previously were two inches longer. I was self-conscious about wearing them when I ran because my legs were ghostly white. It was bad enough running in longer shorts, but showing more thigh was not something I was used to. However, having only a couple other pairs of shorts meant I had no other choice but to wear them eventually if I wanted to go for a run before laundry day. Besides, I ran in the desert outside of town so no prying eyes would be blinded by my pasty gams. 

I grew to love those shorts. They taught me how to not give a shit about how my legs looked and to embrace the lightness and freedom of movement short shorts provide. I tried to get another pair of Strider shorts but, of course, the new versions of them weren't as good as the original. The rest of my shorts-- all 5 inch inseams now, of course-- have been fine, but not quite as good as those green Patagonia ones. 

I ran my first marathon in them. I tackled mountain trails, desert scrambles, city streets, and suburban sidewalks in them. They were in my rotation just about every week, even as other pairs of shorts blew out and fell apart. 

Last week, after my Wednesday morning run, I was hurting. It wasn't soreness from the run, and I didn't pull anything; it was from chafing. The hundreds of miles of thigh rubbing, sweaty unmentionables, and farts finally took their toll on my thin polyester butt-cover. The holes in the inner thigh no longer keep my legs from rubbing, the inner liner no longer supports like it used to, the elastic in the side pockets is going bad, and for the sake of my skin, the contents of my pockets, and my modesty, it's time for them to retire. It has happened with other shorts before, and assuredly it will happen again with others, but I can't help but feel a little bummed that my favorite pair of running shorts has finally run its course. 

I plan to mail them to Patagonia to have them recycled, so maybe the blood, sweat, and tears I've put in these shorts will live on in other well-loved gear in the future. 

Maybe some of the farts, too. 

One can only hope.

An Overly Detailed How-To for Pretty Good Coffee

I am a self-professed recovering coffee snob. While I appreciate a finely crafted cup of coffee, my opinions on it are much the same as my views on pizza: Even a mediocre pizza is still pizza, and thus is still pretty good pizza. It's a good cup of coffee if you like what's in your cup, and I hold that as truth. 

However, on weekends I like to treat myself to a little meditation in a cup by making coffee with my French press. It's a process that I have practiced for years, and I have worked this practice to make an end product I thoroughly enjoy, so I'd like to share that with you.

First, I wake up earlier than I'd like. As I've gotten older (and no longer work until 11pm since I left the hotel industry), I've found my body likes to start the day before 6:30am, and generally likes to get going by 5:30am. So, silently, as to not wake up my spouse, I make my way to the kitchen and gather my tools for a good batch of coffee.  

I like a good whole bean coffee when making coffee in a press. Caster's Coffee is a local roaster in Lancaster, California, who trains and employs unhoused people in the community to help elevate them from homelessness. They roast beans from small, independent farms from Central America and Africa in their facility not too far from my house. I like their Poppy Blend; it's bright, mildly floral, and even-bodied, though their Challenger Blend dark roast is great too. 

I have found that grinding beans by hand in a burr grinder produces better results than with an electric blade grinder; a burr grinder gives a more consistent grind than a blade grinder so there isn't so much sludge on the bottom of the cup, though a blade grinder is fine for drip coffee in my opinion. Grinding by hand is a slow process but one that allows me to appreciate the aroma of the coffee and the feel of the grounds, and grinding whole beans allows the oils inside them to be released as fresh as possible, making a more complex and delicious cup. 

I measure out about three tablespoons of beans per cup-- not like per 8 fluid ounces, but for each cup of coffee I plan to drink, which is more like 12 ounces or so I think. Generally, with a drip machine, I'll do one tablespoon of ground coffee to 6 ounces of water, but I like a more robust batch of pressed coffee. Plus, I find a coarser grind can make a batch of coffee weaker, so I err on the bolder side. 

I fill my kettle with two coffee cups of water, plus another third or so to compensate for the water absorbed by the grounds. The kettle itself is an Optimus Terra that I got from Elevation Sierra Adventure Essentials years ago after using it to transfer eggnog to my first world-renowned Independence Fruitcake Festival. Over the years-- and many cups of coffee and tea-- I've come to learn the sounds it makes when the water is the temperature I want. The recommended temperature to brew coffee is 200F, and most hot water dispensers and electric kettles will get to about that, but as long as the water is just below boiling you're good. 

After my kettle gives a low pitched rumbling and wisps of steam start flitting out of its little spout, I slowly pour the water onto the grounds in the press in a circular motion, being mindful to not dump in all the water at once. A nice frothy bloom is produced, and even though some people think it's sacrilegious I like to stir the grounds and water to better incorporate the whole mix. 

The press itself is one I found in Ikea some years ago, but before that I used a stainless steel one my brother found in the lost and found of the hotel we worked at back in 2009. The mesh strainer of the steel one was pretty ratty by the time I got the Swedish mass-market replacement, but it still worked fine, and I use the old metal press whenever I go camping. For home use-- and the sake of easier cleanup-- the little glass one with the melted base from that time I set it on a hot burner does the job quite well. 

I let it sit and steep for about 15 to 20 minutes after pouring the water. Theoretically it's good to go after 7 to 10, but I like to give it an opportunity to rest and really let the water extract all the goodness it can. During that time I occasionally tidy up around the house, open up the doors and windows during the warmer months to let in fresh air, open the blinds and curtains during the cooler months to bring in sunshine, or take a quick shower to help start my day, but generally just appreciate the stillness of the early morning and the little sounds of life outside. 

After that time has passed and the coffee has cooled to a drinkable temperature, I slowly depress the plunger of the press, and with that it's ready to serve. I slowly pour myself a cup to ensure as little mud as possible from the bottom of the press gets out, and with the first sip take time appreciate the warmth, aromas, and flavors I worked to produce. 

I reserve this for my weekends because, admittedly, it's time consuming. During the week I program a drip machine with pre-ground coffee to have a pot ready as soon as I roll out of bed, and as a functional beverage it's a great thing. After all, I don't always have two hours to dedicate to making and drinking a couple cups of coffee, and a convenient way to access caffeine before a 6:30am work shift is a beautiful thing I wouldn't want to give up any time soon.

However, I think it's important to set a day aside, or at least a morning-- any time of day, really-- every now and again to dedicate to a methodical and meditative process. It's easy to feel detached from things, and making things by hand is a way to connect with those little joys we sometimes take for granted. Making a quilt and pouring love and attention to its construction helps you appreciate it even more when you're snuggled up on a cool evening. Building a birdhouse gives you a place for the wildlife to hang out and something nice to look at. Growing your own tomato gives a sense of pride along with a third of your BLT. Cooking a meal from scratch helps you appreciate the nourishment it provides, and allows you to practice making something you like if you're not so talented in the kitchen (like me). Brewing coffee in a slower, low-tech way helps you appreciate the stillness of the morning and the quality of a good cup of coffee. 

Make something nice for yourself. You'll enjoy it. 

The Vegan Chicken Nugget Reviews Nobody Wanted or Asked For, pt. 1

One question people bring up when complaining about non-meat meats is, "Why don't they just eat real meat if they have to make it look and taste like meat?" as if seasoned ground beef looks and tastes like a cow. Granted, a lot of plant-based meat substitutes have binders and fillers that don't make them particularly good for you, but I'm not going to say the Beyond Famous Star from Carl's Jr. is in any way a health food item. It's more environmentally friendly, sure, but it's still junk food at the end of the day. 

That said, I like chicken nuggets. They are a meat product that is so thoroughly process and reliant on artificial flavoring that I could at least spare some birds lives and carbon emissions and get down on some equally mysterious plant-based varieties. Living in the 21st century has made finding these options pretty easy, and I have been trying a number of them over the last few months when I leave work and feel too lazy to actually cook something or go through a fast food drive-thru. All the plant-based nuggets I've tried look like a chicken nugget, but where do they stand flavor-wise?

Let me share some of what I've found with you:

Gardein Chicken Nuggets

Being a big name in the faux-meat game, I expected a lot from Gardein, but they only got it kind of right with their standard issue nug. The texture was soft, but a little too soft, even after cooking them at the manufacturer's recommended specifications. The breading was inoffensive, like a standard nugget, and the flavor was actually pretty alright, akin with mechanically separated chicken. If you're looking for an easily accessible and relatively cheap nugget to keep in your freezer this would be a good start. 7/10

Rebellyous Plant Based Nuggets

The company Rebellyous prides themselves in making products that look and taste like chicken, and they did well to deliver on that with their nuggets. They're soft, but not too soft, and the breading is pretty good. The thing that impressed me was how they managed to accurately recreate the flavor of actual frozen chicken nuggets-- not exactly chicken, but not exactly not chicken. They taste a lot like the kind I used to microwave when I was in high school, so I would get them again if I was looking for a not-meat meaty snack throwback. 8.5/10

Simulate Nuggs, Spicy

The packaging is extremely unassuming, but Simulate Nuggs are super good-- especially the spicy variety. The texture is as close to a 1-to-1 as I have found to the real deal, and the breading is crisp and dense like a spicy nugget should be. It actually tastes like chicken, and the spicy kick elevates the experience even more by leaving a little heat behind after each bite. Plus, Simulate also has Dino-shaped Nuggs, so the brand overall gets high marks. I'd easily get them again, not just because they're good as a meatless nugget but because they're a good nugget in general. 9.5/10

The fact that this is part one of a series speaks to how many plant based options for foods there are and how much I enjoy junk food. I'm kind of surprised there aren't more plant-based nugget options in fast food restaurants besides KFC (which I haven't tried yet since the KFC nearest to me doesn't even have chicken half the time, like how are you going to have a chicken restaurant without chicken? C'mon. Get your shit together.) but I get the feeling that, with faux meat options offered at more places across the country, vegan nuggets will come to a drive-thru near you sometime in the near future. Until then, I'll keep looking at the freezer section and report back with what I discover. 

Happy snacking!