Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I still have a job!
15 minutes ago I passed my preliminary exams and thus did not get fired this year either. Yay me! Now I'm off on a bender. Three to four years until the next ordeal of that magnitude. That should leave me time for a few drinks...
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Happy New Year!
Uh, somewhat belatedly, I guess. We're a good three weeks into 2009 already, and so far it's been a pretty decent year. I am no longer under the misrule of the Texan, the science shit is shaping up, and the weather has been fantastic lately. I've actually been out climbing without my shirt on (seems the Palace is good for something), and Vedauwoo has been at least bareable this last week.
The weather and the climbing haven't been that fantastic ever since Thanksgiving, though. High-falutin' plans to spend a Week at the Creek were totally demolished by a storm system that conspired to drench five states in snow, hail and ice at the end of November. The pictures I've seen make me pretty happy I didn't go, but nonetheless I'm 0/2 for trips down there... Oh, well, there's always March.
Then there was the matter of my second Christmas in the US. I was somewhat non-psyched about it, since Christmas is one of those really important family holidays to me. I'm big into the whole traditional aspect of Yuletide, as well, and there was little hope of Swedish orthodoxy creeping into American holiday celebrations. Fortunately, Amanda had invited me to spend Christmas with her parents in upstate NY, and that turned the whole thing around. I admit to dreading the visit a little bit (who wouldn't?), but it turned out great. I got along well with her relatives (they're a hoot!), there were plenty of Christmas traditions to enjoy, I got to eat the better part of a whole pig, and generally had a good time hanging out in a peaceful and snowy Hudson Valley. Pretty cush accomodations:
And White Christmas vibes aplenty:
We also made a blitz visit to the Big Apple, complete with staying in a crack neighborhood (don't go to Franklin Ave if you can avoid it), going to some cool museums, and eating really tasty ethnic food. Not so ethnic, or at least not accurately so, was this breakfast restaurant:
New York was much as I remembered it, minus two skyscrapers. A copious number of cabs:
Awesome architecture (I'm a big Neo-Gothic/Art Deco fan):
And surprisingly, Swedish coffee shops:
After a boring and drawn-out trip back to Wyoming (Nebraska sucks), I re-loaded for New Year's. It's one of these events that always turn out to be boom or bust for me: either I go to bed at 12.30, or hit it hard. 2008 ended up in the latter category. I went to see Widespread Panic play a gig in Denver with Tom, Corey and Emily, and their buddy Julia (who graciously provided floor space to crash on). We started at breakneck pace and then revved it up from there. Widespread gave it all they had, and most certainly outlasted us - by 1.30 AM we were fading but they stayed to play another hour.
The less said about New Year's Day, the better. Not very surprisingly, the flu then decided to strike me down and I basically stayed in bed for a week. I'll take it as a symptom of a night well spent.
Next up on my social calender is a visit to the Old Country, and the first wedding (of many, I'm sure) starring people I went to high school with. This semester of school/work also entails going through prelims (preliminary exams). That is another one of my yearly chances of getting fired and sent back to Sweden, so I'll be quite preoccupied with keeping my job over the next couple of months. Rest assured that you'll know ASAP how it went - I can spare half an hour to type something up before I start celebrating/drowning my sorrows.
The weather and the climbing haven't been that fantastic ever since Thanksgiving, though. High-falutin' plans to spend a Week at the Creek were totally demolished by a storm system that conspired to drench five states in snow, hail and ice at the end of November. The pictures I've seen make me pretty happy I didn't go, but nonetheless I'm 0/2 for trips down there... Oh, well, there's always March.
Then there was the matter of my second Christmas in the US. I was somewhat non-psyched about it, since Christmas is one of those really important family holidays to me. I'm big into the whole traditional aspect of Yuletide, as well, and there was little hope of Swedish orthodoxy creeping into American holiday celebrations. Fortunately, Amanda had invited me to spend Christmas with her parents in upstate NY, and that turned the whole thing around. I admit to dreading the visit a little bit (who wouldn't?), but it turned out great. I got along well with her relatives (they're a hoot!), there were plenty of Christmas traditions to enjoy, I got to eat the better part of a whole pig, and generally had a good time hanging out in a peaceful and snowy Hudson Valley. Pretty cush accomodations:
And White Christmas vibes aplenty:
We also made a blitz visit to the Big Apple, complete with staying in a crack neighborhood (don't go to Franklin Ave if you can avoid it), going to some cool museums, and eating really tasty ethnic food. Not so ethnic, or at least not accurately so, was this breakfast restaurant:
New York was much as I remembered it, minus two skyscrapers. A copious number of cabs:
Awesome architecture (I'm a big Neo-Gothic/Art Deco fan):
And surprisingly, Swedish coffee shops:
After a boring and drawn-out trip back to Wyoming (Nebraska sucks), I re-loaded for New Year's. It's one of these events that always turn out to be boom or bust for me: either I go to bed at 12.30, or hit it hard. 2008 ended up in the latter category. I went to see Widespread Panic play a gig in Denver with Tom, Corey and Emily, and their buddy Julia (who graciously provided floor space to crash on). We started at breakneck pace and then revved it up from there. Widespread gave it all they had, and most certainly outlasted us - by 1.30 AM we were fading but they stayed to play another hour.
The less said about New Year's Day, the better. Not very surprisingly, the flu then decided to strike me down and I basically stayed in bed for a week. I'll take it as a symptom of a night well spent.
Next up on my social calender is a visit to the Old Country, and the first wedding (of many, I'm sure) starring people I went to high school with. This semester of school/work also entails going through prelims (preliminary exams). That is another one of my yearly chances of getting fired and sent back to Sweden, so I'll be quite preoccupied with keeping my job over the next couple of months. Rest assured that you'll know ASAP how it went - I can spare half an hour to type something up before I start celebrating/drowning my sorrows.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Easing into winter
Poof! goes another month or two. And all of a sudden it's winter again. I still haven't gotten used to the violent swings in the weather here - both on a day-to-day basis and a seasonal one. It seems as though I missed Fall by blinking at the wrong moment. One morning I woke up and it was winter. Winds are now hitting 60 mph again (yuck!) and the clouds have that thin, wispy look to them that heralds snowfall rather than thunderstorms. Vedauwoo is totally snowed in, and the cracks choked with ice - time to start driving south.
But before all that happened, Halloween came upon us again. I carved my first pumpkin (guess which one!):
And I was introduced to the other good use for white gas:
I also went to a costume party, snazzily dressed as a submarine captain (no mean feat in a landlocked state). No shots of that, but there were some pretty hilarious costumes this year: Bulldog With Lipstick, the Dude, Tom Parchman (bit of an in-joke but the funniest thing I've seen in months), and of course numerous Slutty [Insert Occupation Here]. A good time, as usual. If Sweden hasn't already imported this holiday wholesale, it should.
The Mericans also had an election, which can't have escaped your notice. I tired of the whole circus well before the primaries were over, but then again I can't vote here. Joe seems to have been happy to do so, though:
In the end, and as expected, our team won. Or as they say back in the Old Country: "Rätt låt vann, för en gångs skull". Can you imagine what would've happened if McCain had won, and then predictably croaked before the end of his term? The most powerful country in the world could've ended up with a leader that needs to be briefed on the difference between continents and countries. And you thought Bush was the bottom of the barrel...
But back to it being cold and nasty in Wyoming. This year I have A Plan: I'll escape the windy purgatory that is the Laramie valley as often as possible by going to the deserts of the southwest. Just a few states over, in Utah, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico, the sun shines 365 days a year and the climbing is as tasty in January as it is in July. Even better, actually, since summer in the desert can be pretty punishing. I tested my cunning plan recently, minus climbing, by heading down to the Moab area in Utah. A paltry 8-hour drive through Colorado takes you to some pretty spectacular scenery:
We arrived quite late at night, and consequently I almost shat myself from sheer surprise and wonderment when I stepped out of the tent in the morning. The landscape surrounding us was, for lack of a better word, mind-blowing. Sandstone towers, canyons, rivers, mesas and buttes as far as the eye could see, and then some. We quickly hiked into the most adjacent cool stuff: the Fisher Towers area. The views were quite dramatic:
The rock architecture was beyond freaky:
Although apparently not all that solid:
We made up it up to the Titan before turning back. At 900 feet, it's the tallest free-standing tower in the US, and standing underneath it inspires an immediate wish to climb to the top. Unfortunately the "hike" up seems a bit steep:
After exploring Moab a little bit, and noting the proliferation of old men in very tight bike shorts, we made an afternoon foray into Arches National Park. And there were plenty of arches in there, alright, in addition to other pretty things to look at. Landscape Arch is a fairly unlikely-looking formation, and indeed a good chunk of it fell down in the early nineties:
The local sandstone is anything but stable, apparently. We made our way up to Wall Arch only to find out that it wasn't actually there anymore:
This is the second time I've arrived at a sandstone tourist attraction only to find a heap of rubble staring me in the face - one of the Twelve Apostles in Australia managed to collapse just months before I came to see it. So if you're anxious to see a funny sandstone formation somewhere in the world, I recommend going ASAP: put it off and you might just end up viewing gravel.
The sunset in the Park was lovely:
And it made our destination, Double O Arch, look quite pretty:
As an aside, climbing up onto the second O in hiking boots felt less than trivial. The 5.easy slab move to gain the top had me puzzled for a good 5 minutes. Oh, how I detest low-angle friction climbing...
The next day we woke up in one of the Indian Creek campgrounds. Seeing the North Six Shooter on one side of the canyon, and a couple of thousand crack climbs on the other, was inspiring as all get-out. I immediately resolved to come back as soon as time and gas prices allowed. Tentatively, I'll spend Thanksgiving giving my thumbs a workout and my hands new scars.
But we weren't there to climb; we had come for the hiking. So we went into Canyonlands National Park, and ventured onto the Joint Trail in the Needles. The Needles is a magical-looking blend of towers, fins, valleys and miniature peaks, all in brilliant reds and whites, interspersed with green vegetation:
If you look a bit closer between the sage brush, you'll notice the ubiquitous cryptobiotic soil. It's funny mix of bacteria, algae and protists that forms the basis of the desert food web, and is probably the main reason the area is so green. In spots the ground is almost blackened by the thick mat of microorganisms:
Treading carefully to avoid centuries of bacterial build-up, we made out way through the maze-like trail. There were so many spectacular views that the mind became almost numb after a while: when every corner you turn is more fantastic than the next, it's hard to appreciate how nice the scenery is. But we did stop and get some pictures, at least:
There were plenty of spires to be gawked at and walked through:
Some cool and windy caves to pass:
And even a decent imitation of a slot canyon (probably the best reason to take the Joint Trail in particular):
After 11 miles of fantastic views but strenuous hiking, we arrived back at the car totally pooped. Some milkshakes and beers later we had re-equilibrated and made camp. Having brought a 20 F sleeping bag to a 15 F party, I quickly learned how cold the desert nights are. Shaking ice off the rain sheet in the morning brought home the point, and also did marvels for getting out of there as quickly as possible. A long and uneventful drive brought us back to home base and the drudgery of everyday life. But I'll back soon enough...
But before all that happened, Halloween came upon us again. I carved my first pumpkin (guess which one!):
And I was introduced to the other good use for white gas:
I also went to a costume party, snazzily dressed as a submarine captain (no mean feat in a landlocked state). No shots of that, but there were some pretty hilarious costumes this year: Bulldog With Lipstick, the Dude, Tom Parchman (bit of an in-joke but the funniest thing I've seen in months), and of course numerous Slutty [Insert Occupation Here]. A good time, as usual. If Sweden hasn't already imported this holiday wholesale, it should.
The Mericans also had an election, which can't have escaped your notice. I tired of the whole circus well before the primaries were over, but then again I can't vote here. Joe seems to have been happy to do so, though:
In the end, and as expected, our team won. Or as they say back in the Old Country: "Rätt låt vann, för en gångs skull". Can you imagine what would've happened if McCain had won, and then predictably croaked before the end of his term? The most powerful country in the world could've ended up with a leader that needs to be briefed on the difference between continents and countries. And you thought Bush was the bottom of the barrel...
But back to it being cold and nasty in Wyoming. This year I have A Plan: I'll escape the windy purgatory that is the Laramie valley as often as possible by going to the deserts of the southwest. Just a few states over, in Utah, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico, the sun shines 365 days a year and the climbing is as tasty in January as it is in July. Even better, actually, since summer in the desert can be pretty punishing. I tested my cunning plan recently, minus climbing, by heading down to the Moab area in Utah. A paltry 8-hour drive through Colorado takes you to some pretty spectacular scenery:
We arrived quite late at night, and consequently I almost shat myself from sheer surprise and wonderment when I stepped out of the tent in the morning. The landscape surrounding us was, for lack of a better word, mind-blowing. Sandstone towers, canyons, rivers, mesas and buttes as far as the eye could see, and then some. We quickly hiked into the most adjacent cool stuff: the Fisher Towers area. The views were quite dramatic:
The rock architecture was beyond freaky:
Although apparently not all that solid:
We made up it up to the Titan before turning back. At 900 feet, it's the tallest free-standing tower in the US, and standing underneath it inspires an immediate wish to climb to the top. Unfortunately the "hike" up seems a bit steep:
After exploring Moab a little bit, and noting the proliferation of old men in very tight bike shorts, we made an afternoon foray into Arches National Park. And there were plenty of arches in there, alright, in addition to other pretty things to look at. Landscape Arch is a fairly unlikely-looking formation, and indeed a good chunk of it fell down in the early nineties:
The local sandstone is anything but stable, apparently. We made our way up to Wall Arch only to find out that it wasn't actually there anymore:
This is the second time I've arrived at a sandstone tourist attraction only to find a heap of rubble staring me in the face - one of the Twelve Apostles in Australia managed to collapse just months before I came to see it. So if you're anxious to see a funny sandstone formation somewhere in the world, I recommend going ASAP: put it off and you might just end up viewing gravel.
The sunset in the Park was lovely:
And it made our destination, Double O Arch, look quite pretty:
As an aside, climbing up onto the second O in hiking boots felt less than trivial. The 5.easy slab move to gain the top had me puzzled for a good 5 minutes. Oh, how I detest low-angle friction climbing...
The next day we woke up in one of the Indian Creek campgrounds. Seeing the North Six Shooter on one side of the canyon, and a couple of thousand crack climbs on the other, was inspiring as all get-out. I immediately resolved to come back as soon as time and gas prices allowed. Tentatively, I'll spend Thanksgiving giving my thumbs a workout and my hands new scars.
But we weren't there to climb; we had come for the hiking. So we went into Canyonlands National Park, and ventured onto the Joint Trail in the Needles. The Needles is a magical-looking blend of towers, fins, valleys and miniature peaks, all in brilliant reds and whites, interspersed with green vegetation:
If you look a bit closer between the sage brush, you'll notice the ubiquitous cryptobiotic soil. It's funny mix of bacteria, algae and protists that forms the basis of the desert food web, and is probably the main reason the area is so green. In spots the ground is almost blackened by the thick mat of microorganisms:
Treading carefully to avoid centuries of bacterial build-up, we made out way through the maze-like trail. There were so many spectacular views that the mind became almost numb after a while: when every corner you turn is more fantastic than the next, it's hard to appreciate how nice the scenery is. But we did stop and get some pictures, at least:
There were plenty of spires to be gawked at and walked through:
Some cool and windy caves to pass:
And even a decent imitation of a slot canyon (probably the best reason to take the Joint Trail in particular):
After 11 miles of fantastic views but strenuous hiking, we arrived back at the car totally pooped. Some milkshakes and beers later we had re-equilibrated and made camp. Having brought a 20 F sleeping bag to a 15 F party, I quickly learned how cold the desert nights are. Shaking ice off the rain sheet in the morning brought home the point, and also did marvels for getting out of there as quickly as possible. A long and uneventful drive brought us back to home base and the drudgery of everyday life. But I'll back soon enough...
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Redneckedness
Wyoming seems to be getting to me. After somewhat more than a year here, I'm getting slowly but surely sucked into the local customs. When I see an over-sized truck, I no longer think "Good Lord, what possible use could that thing be?" but rather "I gotta get me one of these":
Listening to country music, yep, that too. It started fairly innocently with some classic Johnny Cash, then slid on through Willie Nelson and clownish Trace Adkins, finally stopping (I hope) with hicker-than-thou Rodney Atkins. I'm not sure how it could get much worse... or, well, I guess it could.
Another rednecky thing to do is to shoot guns just for the hell of it. You can claim you're doing some target practice, or whatever, but it's mostly about the "BANG!" and the satisfying sight of the target being blown to bits. After many years with Nintendo and bb guns, graduating to Colt .45 and assault shotgun felt suprisingly natural. True, it's hard to miss anything at 20 feet with a shotgun, but a semi-auto handgun is a bit trickier. As for stub-nosed revolvers, it's a mystery why anyone would carry such a contraption: at the distance you can hit things with it, it'll do more damage being thrown or used as a club. Nevertheless, it has a funny Western movie feel to it. And Wyoming is nothing if not Western. As Pete so eloquently put it: "I love coming up to Wyoming. I can take a shit wherever I want, shoot my guns and drink cheap beer, without 50,000 people crawling up my ass."
So, am I turning into a total hillbilly? You be the judge:
By the way, I gotta plug Pete's book "An Eye at the Top of the World". Part Himalayan travelogue, part spy novel, part just plain awesome, it's being adapted for the silver screen as I type this. Why not get the book now, so you can go "Oh, but the book was so much better!" when you leave the cinema?
I've also been doing some hiking and camping. Going up to the Snowy Range, just an hour west of town, always reminds me of the forested emptiness of Norrland:
And if you look real close, you can find tiny beautiful things:
A couple of weekends ago I spent some time out in the High Desert proper:
There's lots of sand:
And the odd ghost town - the "ghost" part happens when the oil runs out:
Water supplies don't last real long out there - although the barrels themselves do, what with the low humidity:
The term "county road" has a slightly different meaning:
But the best thing to happen lately was having Dad visit. He happened to be in Kansas, of all places, on business and dropped by Laramie on the way home. I don't see my family much these days, separated as we are by the Atlantic Ocean, so it's always great to see my folks and my sister. This was Dad's first visit to the Mountain West, and I did my best to show him the cool things about it. Just the vast open plains are pretty exotic if you're from Sweden, since the Old Country is like 85% evergreen forest. The mountains here blow anything in Northern Europe out of the water, with Laramie Valley sitting higher than any point in Sweden. When we hiked up toward Medicine Bow Peak, Dad got to experience first hand what high altitude (about 11,000 feet) does to your ability to breathe. Sucking wind from a slight uphill walk, and a resting pulse of 140 or so, no doubt convinced him that the High Country is just that. To recover and rehydrate, we hit the local bars with a vengence, sampling both microbrews and the comparatively awful atmosphere of the Buckhorn Saloon. We also took one of our all-to-infrequent fishing trips, this time for brown trout in the North Platte River. The scenery on the drive into the mountains alone was worth the trip, and the narrow valley carved by the Platte is a spectacular setting as well. Among sagebrush, fiery aspen and sparse pine we had a blast trying to coax the fish out of the water. And I swear, I caught a fish thiiis big!
Unfortunately, I don't have a single picture of Dad's visit, since we were so busy having a good time that we kept forgetting to bring the camera. No matter - I'll remember it for years to come anyway. Anyone else want to come visit? I got a spare bed and any amount of wilderness to show you...
Listening to country music, yep, that too. It started fairly innocently with some classic Johnny Cash, then slid on through Willie Nelson and clownish Trace Adkins, finally stopping (I hope) with hicker-than-thou Rodney Atkins. I'm not sure how it could get much worse... or, well, I guess it could.
Another rednecky thing to do is to shoot guns just for the hell of it. You can claim you're doing some target practice, or whatever, but it's mostly about the "BANG!" and the satisfying sight of the target being blown to bits. After many years with Nintendo and bb guns, graduating to Colt .45 and assault shotgun felt suprisingly natural. True, it's hard to miss anything at 20 feet with a shotgun, but a semi-auto handgun is a bit trickier. As for stub-nosed revolvers, it's a mystery why anyone would carry such a contraption: at the distance you can hit things with it, it'll do more damage being thrown or used as a club. Nevertheless, it has a funny Western movie feel to it. And Wyoming is nothing if not Western. As Pete so eloquently put it: "I love coming up to Wyoming. I can take a shit wherever I want, shoot my guns and drink cheap beer, without 50,000 people crawling up my ass."
So, am I turning into a total hillbilly? You be the judge:
By the way, I gotta plug Pete's book "An Eye at the Top of the World". Part Himalayan travelogue, part spy novel, part just plain awesome, it's being adapted for the silver screen as I type this. Why not get the book now, so you can go "Oh, but the book was so much better!" when you leave the cinema?
I've also been doing some hiking and camping. Going up to the Snowy Range, just an hour west of town, always reminds me of the forested emptiness of Norrland:
And if you look real close, you can find tiny beautiful things:
A couple of weekends ago I spent some time out in the High Desert proper:
There's lots of sand:
And the odd ghost town - the "ghost" part happens when the oil runs out:
Water supplies don't last real long out there - although the barrels themselves do, what with the low humidity:
The term "county road" has a slightly different meaning:
But the best thing to happen lately was having Dad visit. He happened to be in Kansas, of all places, on business and dropped by Laramie on the way home. I don't see my family much these days, separated as we are by the Atlantic Ocean, so it's always great to see my folks and my sister. This was Dad's first visit to the Mountain West, and I did my best to show him the cool things about it. Just the vast open plains are pretty exotic if you're from Sweden, since the Old Country is like 85% evergreen forest. The mountains here blow anything in Northern Europe out of the water, with Laramie Valley sitting higher than any point in Sweden. When we hiked up toward Medicine Bow Peak, Dad got to experience first hand what high altitude (about 11,000 feet) does to your ability to breathe. Sucking wind from a slight uphill walk, and a resting pulse of 140 or so, no doubt convinced him that the High Country is just that. To recover and rehydrate, we hit the local bars with a vengence, sampling both microbrews and the comparatively awful atmosphere of the Buckhorn Saloon. We also took one of our all-to-infrequent fishing trips, this time for brown trout in the North Platte River. The scenery on the drive into the mountains alone was worth the trip, and the narrow valley carved by the Platte is a spectacular setting as well. Among sagebrush, fiery aspen and sparse pine we had a blast trying to coax the fish out of the water. And I swear, I caught a fish thiiis big!
Unfortunately, I don't have a single picture of Dad's visit, since we were so busy having a good time that we kept forgetting to bring the camera. No matter - I'll remember it for years to come anyway. Anyone else want to come visit? I got a spare bed and any amount of wilderness to show you...
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Well, that went by fast
Last week saw me passing three milestones of my time here in Laramie: the one-year anniversary of my moving here, the Official End of Summer and the purchase of my very own automobile. Kind of a big week, in retrospect, although it certainly didn't feel like it at the time.
So, my first year living in Laramie and going to UW is done. Funny, doesn't quite feel like a whole year has come and gone. I can still vividly remember arriving, amazed at the tiny-ness of the town, out of breath (the altitude!) and fairly disoriented after the long flight. Reading my blog entry from one week after arrival, it seems like I was both stressed and pretty happy all at once. In a way, that hasn't changed that much: I still enjoy the hell out of living here, and there's still a lot going on. Between the excellent climbing, the beautiful surroundings (saw one of the prettiest sunsets of my life yesterday), the difficult-but-interesting research and what turned out to be an interesting night life, I'm both busy and entertained. Can't really ask for much more than that.
It's also almost exactly a year since I met Joe, who's probably the very first friend I made in Laramie. He's also my roommate since a few months back, and very handy to have around the house. For instance, he's always ready to go to war to protect our beloved garage from insect invasion:
But I think he's kinda lost it when it comes to yard maintainence, though: there ain't no grass, Joe!
Summer has also come and gone. If you count from the last snows (June 11) to the first week of sub-freezing temperatures at night and constant rain (August 11-17), it worked out to exactly two months. They were two absolutely gorgeous months, though, with possibly the best summer weather I've ever experienced and the best climbing season I've ever had. But it's over, or at least heading that way. The sun is now solely responsible for all warmth, nights are getting toward frosty, and you can smell the autumn in the air. You know that crisp, slightly moist, smell of dying vegetation? Yeah, that one. Although there will be many fine warm days to come - we were up past 80 F again yesterday - summer is for all intents and purposes finito. Time to start heading to Lander, Fremont Canyon, Colorado and the deserts of the south to keep the climbing season going. It's looking pretty grim around here:
Buying a car is something I've been thinking about for quite some time - since, say, September last year. I'd occasionally go into Car Search Mode and spend a week or so checking out the local used car market, and inevitably be severely disappointed. Laramie isn't big enough to produce that many used cars (imagine going shopping for one in Knivsta for comparison), and most of them are of the Gigantic Gas Guzzling Truck variety. I was on the lookout for something small, Japanese and cheap, which turned out to be quite the elusive objective. Last week I finally broke down and decided to just buy something that would keep rolling for a little while. I spent some time scouring craigslist and the local classifieds before heading down to Fort Collins, which is about the size of my home town Uppsala. After a brief search and some very tasty sandwiches, I came upon this beauty:
A mid-nineties Toyota Camry sounded like a good idea in general, and after a cursory inspection and some slight bargaining I closed the deal - much to Amanda's shock and dismay. A multi-thousand dollar "impulse buy" was a bit beyond what she considered sane, but I hate shopping and was most pleased to have concluded the painful task of finding an automobile. The seller drove it up here on Monday, and I can see it parked outside my house from where I'm sitting right now. The car seemed eerily familiar to me, but I couldn't place it until my dad reminded me that a station wagon Camry had been his first company car sometime in the early nineties. I mostly remember it for being light blue (a nice color) and having the awesomely cool power windows. So now my horizons have widened about 1000% and I can drive to... well, not much, actually, since Wyoming is mostly empty, but nonetheless. I celebrated by driving to Cheyenne along scenic Happy Jack Road and having Korean for dinner (not available in Laramie). Life's looking up, or at least it's looking faster. And look what else I found in Fort Collins!
And as usual, I've been climbing. Not that much lately, given the weather and other committments, but progress has been pretty steady this season. I'm bleeding less and less, which is either a sign that I'm getting better (probably) or just not trying as hard (also likely). Pete Takeda, professional climber/author/funny fucker, came up to visit after a lengthy period of injury. He started out pretty skinny, which helped on the finger cracks, and he's even thinner now. Bob Scarpelli obviously took the other approach:
Other than that, nothing much to report. The semester starts again in about a week, and if I play my cards right I should be able to get out of taking classes this semester, greatly enhancing my scientific productivity and reducing my irritation about wasted time by up to 235%. Campus should also be inundated with undergrads, now mostly born in the 90's, presumably not knowing shit about shit. And overcrowding my favorite bars. Why, oh why couldn't summer have lasted a bit longer?
So, my first year living in Laramie and going to UW is done. Funny, doesn't quite feel like a whole year has come and gone. I can still vividly remember arriving, amazed at the tiny-ness of the town, out of breath (the altitude!) and fairly disoriented after the long flight. Reading my blog entry from one week after arrival, it seems like I was both stressed and pretty happy all at once. In a way, that hasn't changed that much: I still enjoy the hell out of living here, and there's still a lot going on. Between the excellent climbing, the beautiful surroundings (saw one of the prettiest sunsets of my life yesterday), the difficult-but-interesting research and what turned out to be an interesting night life, I'm both busy and entertained. Can't really ask for much more than that.
It's also almost exactly a year since I met Joe, who's probably the very first friend I made in Laramie. He's also my roommate since a few months back, and very handy to have around the house. For instance, he's always ready to go to war to protect our beloved garage from insect invasion:
But I think he's kinda lost it when it comes to yard maintainence, though: there ain't no grass, Joe!
Summer has also come and gone. If you count from the last snows (June 11) to the first week of sub-freezing temperatures at night and constant rain (August 11-17), it worked out to exactly two months. They were two absolutely gorgeous months, though, with possibly the best summer weather I've ever experienced and the best climbing season I've ever had. But it's over, or at least heading that way. The sun is now solely responsible for all warmth, nights are getting toward frosty, and you can smell the autumn in the air. You know that crisp, slightly moist, smell of dying vegetation? Yeah, that one. Although there will be many fine warm days to come - we were up past 80 F again yesterday - summer is for all intents and purposes finito. Time to start heading to Lander, Fremont Canyon, Colorado and the deserts of the south to keep the climbing season going. It's looking pretty grim around here:
Buying a car is something I've been thinking about for quite some time - since, say, September last year. I'd occasionally go into Car Search Mode and spend a week or so checking out the local used car market, and inevitably be severely disappointed. Laramie isn't big enough to produce that many used cars (imagine going shopping for one in Knivsta for comparison), and most of them are of the Gigantic Gas Guzzling Truck variety. I was on the lookout for something small, Japanese and cheap, which turned out to be quite the elusive objective. Last week I finally broke down and decided to just buy something that would keep rolling for a little while. I spent some time scouring craigslist and the local classifieds before heading down to Fort Collins, which is about the size of my home town Uppsala. After a brief search and some very tasty sandwiches, I came upon this beauty:
A mid-nineties Toyota Camry sounded like a good idea in general, and after a cursory inspection and some slight bargaining I closed the deal - much to Amanda's shock and dismay. A multi-thousand dollar "impulse buy" was a bit beyond what she considered sane, but I hate shopping and was most pleased to have concluded the painful task of finding an automobile. The seller drove it up here on Monday, and I can see it parked outside my house from where I'm sitting right now. The car seemed eerily familiar to me, but I couldn't place it until my dad reminded me that a station wagon Camry had been his first company car sometime in the early nineties. I mostly remember it for being light blue (a nice color) and having the awesomely cool power windows. So now my horizons have widened about 1000% and I can drive to... well, not much, actually, since Wyoming is mostly empty, but nonetheless. I celebrated by driving to Cheyenne along scenic Happy Jack Road and having Korean for dinner (not available in Laramie). Life's looking up, or at least it's looking faster. And look what else I found in Fort Collins!
And as usual, I've been climbing. Not that much lately, given the weather and other committments, but progress has been pretty steady this season. I'm bleeding less and less, which is either a sign that I'm getting better (probably) or just not trying as hard (also likely). Pete Takeda, professional climber/author/funny fucker, came up to visit after a lengthy period of injury. He started out pretty skinny, which helped on the finger cracks, and he's even thinner now. Bob Scarpelli obviously took the other approach:
Other than that, nothing much to report. The semester starts again in about a week, and if I play my cards right I should be able to get out of taking classes this semester, greatly enhancing my scientific productivity and reducing my irritation about wasted time by up to 235%. Campus should also be inundated with undergrads, now mostly born in the 90's, presumably not knowing shit about shit. And overcrowding my favorite bars. Why, oh why couldn't summer have lasted a bit longer?
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