Night Ride on the Flume Trail

Skiing footage from Silverton, CO on October 6th 2009. Sadly, not my footie.

Another image I'm pondering this evening:

This picture was lifted from a:

a) 1979 edition of Hustler

b) this year's flyer advertising the Truckee Ski Swap

c) "how to"manual for a James Bond stunt double

d) unused sniper training target

Can't help it. The cold, cold weather and dusting of snow this morning made me think about skiing and all I can do in the meantime is ride my bike a wait.

Home and back Home again

It's no secret I live in two separate worlds. Born and raised in New Jersey from the pea sized year that started with 0 through the next 18 calenders that would grace my childhood kitchen counter top on an annual basis. Remember? Before iPhones and Google Calender and Outlook, there were calenders...that we could touch..that we actually wrote on with a pen or pencil. My Mom organized an entire city council, a small calligraphy business and two children on that kitchen calender---seems impossible, but she pulled it off, no complaints. Since those paper calender and pencil days, I've been cultivating my "adult" life in Arizona, Colorado, California, Utah, and Nevada. Even after some 15 years of living out west, it's still hard to say where home is, exactly. On the East Coast, specifically New York and New Jersey, there are some essential parts of me that I cannot do without. My family, of course is the main motivator that makes me call the East Coast home. I mean seriously, I'm inextricably attached to these awesome people for obvious reasons...look how much fun they're having taking up an entire Manhattan side walk. They own that place!

I still lock my house and car doors even if I dash out for just a few minutes. I still love thin crust pizza and can't call anything else, pizza. I love the general buzz of city streets and appreciate a little trash, graffiti and urine smell here and there to spice things up. I took me about 1 year and a strict shit giving session from some good friends for me to start saying Nevada, rather than Nevaaaada.

I like it when people talk and walk fast. I enjoy quick thinking, witty banter that draws from a long history of east coast living that centers around kosher pickles from a barrel, Wall Street secretaries on their lunch hour in skirts and running shoes, and warm, salty pretzels for sale at the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel.

I like to mystify people with my nonexistent New Jersey accent. I've learned to stuff my hands into my pockets and humor the super nerd who asks me what exit I'm from. Please, "for the love of Pete", can't someone come up with a new question, like, have you ever spotted the Jersey Devil in the Pine Barrens? It's about as relevant and provides a nice change for any New Jersey-ite.

On the other side of the Mississippi, there's the other home which is, for me, the Greater Western United States Area. This is where is I have made the best friends of my life. This is where I can score the tastiest, authentic-o, baddest burrito that will last in my stomach all day.

This is where I play on rocks and river, trails and snow. This is where the other half of my heart lives.

I'll never get the Jersey out of me, but the G.W.U.S.A. has long been creeping in for a take over. I think the East and the West will just have to share a place inside of me forever. There won't be a winner. I'll just be the only person living in a safe and sound town in California who still locks her house and car doors even if she just steps out for a few minutes.