Great Blog Post on Chronicle

I loved this. Who gives an F if Andre Agassi did some Crystal Meth or if half the successful older guys that I know have been sober for years because they went off the chain with blow in the 80's, or have been married three times, or were miserable as kids. It's a long and nuts road, no one feels good all the time, does good all the time. Keep on keeping on my friends.

"So for some unknowable reason I'm watching Andre Agassi tell Katie Couric on "60 Minutes" about the time he did crystal meth for a short period of months something like 13 years ago, back when he was hating the living hell out of tennis and his ruthless tennis Nazi of a father and his own unfelt, unwanted, completely unconscious superstar tennis life, and gosh, are we not all just a little bit shocked?

Well, not really. Aside from the deeply surreal hit of "Wait, wait, wait, am I really sitting here watching the mulleted multimillionaire, 'Image is everything' spokesdude of yore tell the tiny, chirpy 'Today' show chick that he snorted some illegal who-the-hell-cares for a few months back in the '90s while wearing a hair weave, and what a strange world this is" -- besides all that, I could not help but find myself asking, aloud, right to the TV screen, right to Andre's somber and very, very round face, "Why the hell aren't you laughing?"

"Can you believe this crazy life, Katie? I did meth! I had a frosted hair weave! I married Brooke Shields! I made 100 million dollars! I was miserable for many years, but now I'm not! Life is absurd! What a ride it's been! It's all so crazy and divine and joyful, I can't even begin to tell you. Ha ha! Who wants wine?"

Of course, he didn't say any of that. Not even close. It was all so serious, Agassi terribly solemn about his "dark" period of low-down meth-snortin', Couric all prim, pseudo-naive: "Gosh-golly Andre, just how frequently did you snort crystal for less than a year way back when no one really gave a crap anyway?

"And weren't you ashamed? And do you regret admitting it in your new book? And, by the way, I hear meth is a kooky mindf--k of a drug and that having sex on it is completely awesome, and I bet you can tell by looking at me I've never sucked down anything stronger than a wine spritzer and maybe a pot brownie back in college, and OK maybe some blow in the restroom of CBGB with Matt Lauer back in '94, but just once -- OK maybe 30 or 40 times, but that's it."

It was all just terribly awkward to watch, joyless and strange. Agassi merely talked about how this brief drug experimentation came during a period when he wasn't really caring about much of anything -- career, money, health, pre-minivan Brooke Shields, the works. Why not try some stupid drug? Why not dabble and downwardly spiral? Hey, it's the American way.

But it didn't last long. Agassi climbed out of his little pothole within a few months and moved on, and within 18 months he was world champ again. So it's not like he was confessing to any sort of wild, out-of-control, street-urchin addiction. There was no abuse, no secret murder, no sodomy with a farm animal or attempted suicide by huffing oil fumes from a tennis ball machine. Was there one deliciously sordid tale of scoring some midget hookers and a pound of blow with John McEnroe during a lost weekend in Paris after the '96 French Open? Nope.

It got stupider. Couric went on to mention how Martina Navratilova and even Rafael Nadal have said some nasty words about Andre after his meth confession, which is all flavors of nauseating hypocrisy, as if every pro on the circuit isn't full of secrets, as if anyone besides a few five-year-olds still harbor the illusion that pro sports -- all of them -- aren't packed like cans of bad tuna with all manner of human foibles: nightmare parents, abusive childhoods, brain damage by age 20, enough drugs and enhancers, booze and painkillers to make a few snorts of crystal meth seem like baby aspirin. And, of course, no one's liked Martina Navratilova since about 1971.

But no, there will be no such talk, not on "60 Minutes" anyway. We must brood and ponder. We must frown whenever illegal drugs are mentioned because They Are Wrong. We must feign disgust and moral outrage, even as we beg for sordid details and pretend to be shocked at the revelations that our heroes have issues and turmoil and crappy marriages, that they might be just as messed up, just as fearful, just as entranced and confused by the fire and the bliss, the pain and the dark underbelly of this life as everyone else.

Why isn't he laughing? I kept thinking it, over and over, as I watched Agassi's face move from pain to tears to a wan smile. Why isn't this guy sitting there with a giant grin and an easy chuckle, saying, "Oh my God, Katie, can you freakin' believe it? I made it to here! What a ride it's been! My dad was a total jackass, my childhood was nonexistent, my Bon Jovi hair was totally fake, and, by the way, let me happily pop everyone's precious tennis bubble and tell you flat-out that tennis pros are just as -- if not far, far more -- messed up than anyone else. Dear God, have you seen the Williams sisters lately? Tick tick, you know?

"And the meth? Big deal. It was fun for a while. Then it wasn't. It was stupid, but it also served a purpose to get me through to here. All part of the path, Katie. Meth ain't so bad. It's just a thing. It's just energy. Not a very good energy, but just energy. Not much different than sex, money, celebrity, God. Just energy. It all depends on how you use it, or are used by it, you know? It's all about how you tap into that divine source, the thrust and the battle and the various epiphanies that help get you there.

"Oh, and by the way, Katie? Meth sex is mindblowing. Turn off the camera, and I'll tell you all about it."

And then Katie would be laughing, too, and blushing, and nodding, because she knows. She would be right there alongside him saying, "Wow, no s--t Andre? Meth did that for you? Was it fun? You ever do any with Brooke Shields? Did she get freaky? This life is amazing, isn't it? A cosmic circus sideshow of agony and joy and complaining about your parents? I am so right there with you. Let me tell you about news people sometime. I mean, oh my God! Turn off the camera. Let's go get some wine.""

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2009/11/11/notes111109.DTL#ixzz0WZaKxULv

El Castillito = Super Good

There are at least 10 El Castallito's in San Francisco. I don't know if there is a connection between some or all of them but this one serves up one of the best burritos in San Francisco consistently.

It is super big, reasonably priced, they grill the shiz out of the tortilla, the meat is heated up for each burrito, avocado instead of guacamole at request, all sorts of salsa. It's pretty much the bomb. It also doesn't sit all that badly considering it's a 1000 calorie food injection. And, you can park in the Safeway Castro parking lot with no worries.

If you are debating the best way to get there directly from Pac Heights take the Fillmore straight down........Thanks Eli. I was set on arriving directly at el Castillito and not hitting market at all. After multiple loops in the Western Addition I failed and popped out on the East side of the Safeway. Eli was convinced Fillmore was the street but I didn't believe him, thought it would put us to far West. He was right. Fillmore is the ticket. (Get in front of the damn ball Dorn, don't give me this ole bullshit....there, that's the ticket).

Oh, and the massive slice of German Chocolate Lara Cake at Safeway for $1.50 is pretty much as good as the $6 piece at Plant. Word.

http://www.yelp.com/biz/el-castillito-san-francisco-2

Lombardi on Winning

This quote meant so much to me when I was little I memorized. I think I was in fifth grade and Pop Warner was life. I would chase this with Walter Payton motivational tapes that I listed to before I went to sleep. I was pretty intense when I was little. I wonder when I mellowed out?

Still a very good quote and there is no question about the last line. A good hard fought victory is life's best reward.

BTW the picture is of Lombardi and Jerry Kramer who wrote a killer book on playing for Lombardi called Instant Replay. One of the best sports books ever if you like that sort of thing.

"Winning is not a sometime thing. You don't win once-in-a-while. You don't do things right once-in-a-while. You do them right all the time.

Winning is a habit. Unfortunately, so is losing. There is no room for second place. There is only one place in my game, and that is first place. I have finished second twice in my time at Green Bay, and I don't ever want to finish second again. There is a second place bowl game--but it is a game for losers played by losers. It is and always has been an American zeal to be the first in anything we do and to win, and to win, and to win.

Every time a football player goes out to play, he's got to play from the ground up. From the soles of his feet right up to his head. Every inch of him has to play. Some guys play with their heads. That's okay - you've got to be smart to be number one in my business. But, more important, you've got to play with your heart. With every fiber of your body. If you are lucky enough to find a guy with a lot of head and a lot of heart, he's never going to come off the field second.

Running a football team is no different from running any other kind of organization--an army, a political party, a business. The problems are the same. The objective is to win. To beat the other guy. Maybe that sounds hard or cruel. I don't think it is.

It is a reality of life that men are competitive and the most competitive games draw the most competitive team. That's why they're here--to compete. They know the rules and the objectives when they get in the game. The objective is to win--fairly, squarely, decently, by the rules--but to win. And in truth, I have never known a man worth his salt who in the long run, deep down in his heart, did not appreciate the grind--the discipline. There is something in good men that really yearns for...needs...discipline and the harsh reality of head-to-head combat.

I don't say these things because I believe in the "brute" nature of man, or that men must be brutalized to be competitive. I believe in God, and I believe in human decency. But I firmly believe that any man's finest hours, his greatest fulfillment to all he holds dear, is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle victorious." - Vince Lombardi

Hemingway

“It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle.” – Ernest Hemingway

More from China Camp

This is a X post from Songotheday, a killer website that is worth checking out. www.songotheday.com.

I left my house on Sunday afternoon to spin the single speed around China Camp with no particular goal other than to be outside for a few hours. Beautiful windy day. Over the course of a few hours I made my way to the top of the park and spent some time checking out the view. Tam perfectly clear in one direction, San Pablo bay and the Big Rock open space area in the other. No one around. I was feeling lazy but pretty stoked to be outside.

I decided to try and find this trail I had read about in the IJ a few months before. Apparently a commando trail builder got busted building it and it dropped from around where I was to the neighborhood I grew up in, pretty much on my way home. I was on the rigid single speed, the wrong bike for gnarly trail exploration but I figured I’d walk if I needed to, I was in no rush and I had nowhere to go.

I slowly crept down the fire road I thought the trail would start from looking for the stacked dead bush piles that are usually used to hide the entrance to poach trails. Eventually I found it, clearly a bike trail but clearly long out of use. I hiked down it a little bit and it looked somewhat ride-able so I went back to the trailhead, got my bike and slowly dropped in. The trail was ok at first but was descending quickly and starting to get steeper and steeper. I was listening to a mix on my ipod and right as the trail dropped from a sunny hillside into a Manzanita and Oak forest this Leonard Cohen song cued.

The trail kept descending, now barely visible and so steep my stomach was behind my seat so I could keep traction. Like butt bumping on the rear tire I was so far back on the bike and I was still sliding. The surrounding woods had become really dense and felt more and more isolated. It was late in the day and almost dark under the trees. A little Blair Witch like…..and I was starting to get a little creepy.

A few miles into the trail I came across this old tree fort that was broken down and littered with really old beer cans. It was probably really cool in 1970 but the proof of human presence (at some point) and the disarray of the old fort was unnerving. Leonard Cohen’s slowly drawn out voice over the low accordion was resonating in both ears and with late afternoon sun trickling through the dense trees and brush was very surreal and in a not so good way.

I must have gotten distracted and missed a turn somewhere. The “trail” I was on ended abruptly and I was in this super thick grove of Manzanita. I couldn’t figure out how to continue on but I could see a little bit of a house down below me a few hundred yards and there was a big gnarly sign that said No Trespassing, Beware of Dog. The music was disorienting me and I was starting to get that, “oh shit I’m lost” feeling. I turned off the Ipod, set my bike down and started to hike around to see if I could find a trail out. Worst case scenario I figured I could hike back up the way I came down, but even that trail wasn’t obvious any longer. I had pretty much been sliding down the hill, dodging trees for at least a half a mile. Everything looked the same.

I left the bike laying on the ground and starting pushing through the bushes following a deer trail that seemed to head in the correct direction. I was almost on my hands and knees in spots, being super careful not to get a branch in the eye or to touch any poison oak. I came into a little clearing in the brush and stood up. It was really super quiet, I couldn’t see my bike any longer. I was in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard this really gnarly noise. Like some mix of a growl and a scream. Like kind of human and kind of animal. It wasn’t that loud but it sounded like it was coming from the direction I had left my bike and pretty close. Dude….I started freaking out. The deer trail I had been following had dead ended. There was nowhere to go forward unless I just started full on hacking through bushes and even then I was moving away from the houses down below……and my bike was back there.

My heart was pounding and I was trying not to panic. I was crouched down, just kind of waiting and breathing and then “eeeeeeiiiiieeeeeeuuuuuuhhhhh” that freakin noise again, really high pitched and louder, definitely back in the direction of my bike. It’s hard to describe the noise, like a wounded animal maybe but waay more human. I was legitimately scared now but I kept telling myself that nothing could happen to me in Glenwood, that these were my hills. I started moving back towards my bike. Really slowly, trying to be super quiet. Eventually I got to where I could see the red frame in the distance and I hadn’t heard that noise again, it has been at least a few minutes. I started to calm down a little bit. Maybe I imagined it? I got to the bike and was ready to get the fuck out of there so I decided that I was going to just barrel through the bushes to the house I saw below and that I’d deal with whatever dog or pissed off person I had to when I got there.

Right as I picked up the bike I heard the noise again, way louder and it felt like right behind me. Definitely not human but not like any animal I’ve ever heard. I didn’t even turn around this time, I just bolted down hill through the bushes. Full on commando charge style, yanking the bike through the underbrush as I went. The bike kept snagging and it felt like it took forever but I was getting closer to the house. Like 5 minutes later I popped through, onto the top of a long driveway with no one around….and no dog. I jumped on my bike and took off…….When I got down to the street there were kids around and people washing cars and shit. It was really sunny and peaceful out. I sat down on the curb, heart racing and covered in grime and sweat…….man.

3rd Grove

The boy sat on the ridge of the hillside facing west. The sun caught him directly in the face and he squinted. In the distance the pieces of water that were not shadowed by cloud glimmered with sunlight.

It had been wet the past days and the ground he sat on was still moist. He could feel the moisture dampening the seat of his pants and he knew that if he did not move in the next few minutes the wet would soak through his boxers and his return walk would be cold. There were still a few hours of daylight left but he had been gone since morning and his people would begin to miss him shortly.

“That will teach them” he thought, and adjusted his position slightly.

He wasn’t far from home, four or five miles, but looking down over the valley with the trees above and behind him he felt distant and small. He didn’t want to stay out any longer. The land, while familiar, was eerily quiet and he knew that he would be scared when it was dark.

The band of glimmering water in the distance was wider now, nearly as wide as his range of vision. “I have probably misjudged the time” he thought. “It will probably be dark in an hour, maybe less.”

He stood quickly and felt his backside, but was unable to tell whether it was wet or cold from the cold ground. He looked over his shoulder and could see the outline of moisture on his bottom. Behind and above him a breeze ran through the tree grove. The rustling of the leaves increased the hollowing feeling growing inside him.

He turned back toward the water and again the glimmering band seemed to widen. Only a few minutes had past but it felt like he had been on the west-facing hillside for hours. He was sure then that he had misjudged the sunlight. “It is going to be dark any minute” he thought and felt an uneasiness rise at the base of his throat. His movements quickened and he fought off an impulse to run.

“Nothing has changed” he told himself, now speaking quietly but out loud. “Nothing has changed.” But he knew that it wasn’t true. Everything had changed. He had misjudged the daylight. It would be dark any minute and he was miles from home. His pants were wet and he was cold.

His mind flashed to his home, his backyard, and the ease he felt there late in the day. He remembered the details of the space, the smell, the refracted sunlight that lingered in the upper corners of the yard before dark settled. The arguing from the night before was not a consideration now. He could not remember why he had come out here alone, what he was trying to prove.

He looked down to his bag which had slid down of the worn hill face and come to a rest some 30 yards below. It looked out of place against the brown green ground. He thought back to the morning, in his room, stuffing the bag with tee shirts and books. He had been angry then.

He looked back up the hill to the Eucalyptus above him. Through the swaying branches he could see pieces of moving blue sky. He took a deep breathe and moved down the hill to where his bag rested. He picked it up and again turned back toward the horizon. "I can come back," he thought. "This will be here," and he began deliberately ascending the hill.

In the distance, through the bare tree trunks he could see the path he had come by. It was shaded but he knew that around the corner it would be covered in light.

China Camp is Haunted

I have known China Camp was haunted for a long time. It's pretty tough to prove, or really even explain, but that place has creeped me out for years and I know the hill very well. I have been exploring China Camp my whole life and have spent as much time out there as anyone could have, barring the Rangers (and the ghosts) over the past ten years. I have been in nearly every part of the park, at nearly every part of the day and night either on foot or on my bike. I have spent countless hours running up and down barely discernible deer tracks, taking wrong turns and inevitably ending up in someones back yard. China Camp is one of my favorite places in the world......but the place is freaking haunted......particularly the San Rafael side.

I'll start with the less tangible. There are a couple of abandoned radio towers at the top of China Camp. Whenever I have been up there, whether it's been a perfect sunny Saturday afternoon or an ominous rainy evening there has always been a strange unsettled feeling around those towers. For those of you familiar with China Camp I'm not talking about the Nike Site drop ins. These towers are closer to Glenwood. It' s hard to describe but the feeling is tangible. It is just creepy up there, like there are people around when you know there aren't.

I also know a family who recently built a house on that side of the hill, a big house, when they began expanding Glenwood upwards around 2000. The couple almost put the house on the market because of ghost problems. Seriously. And this is a reasonable, very successful older couple who have lived in Glenwood for 20+. There contractors basically quit because so many strange things happened. They ultimately had a Miwok Indian priest bless the house although I don't know if it helped. Really weird stuff was going on, straight out of Poltergeist, and recently. I am not the only one that things China Camp is haunted.

Now a quick history:

China Camp has been a working state park since the late 70's. It was "purchased" for $2.70 and is about 1,600 acres. It connects to Harry Barbier park which is not a state park but rather owned by the city of San Rafael. China Camp was a Chinese Camp for many years and a fishing village. It primarily accommodated Chinese migrant workers who worked for the McNear family in their quarry which is located nearby. The quarry is still functioning btw, despite a huge amount of protest from local residents.

In the early 1900's legislation stopped shrimping in the bay (as well as increasing sediment levels in the bay) and the Chinese village broke up and slowly moved away.

Before the Chinese and before the settlement of San Rafael it was Coastal Miwok Indian Land. The hills of China Camp were the tribes hunting lands and were also the used as a site of burial and worship.

In the years between the Chinese village breaking up and the incorporation of the state park China Camp was accessible by car and a great spot for local high school kids to party. This explains the three old cars (that I am aware of) that are rusting away at the bottom of valleys up there. I know at least one of these crashes resulted in two dead teenagers. Whoah.

Final incident......China Camp was briefly made famous in 1975 by a occult influenced double murder popularly coined "the barbecue murders." A 19 year old dork from Terra Linda HS and his 16 year old girl friend killed both of her parents in a TL suburb, wrapped then in a carpet, doused it in lighter fluid and burned them in a fire pit in China Camp. There was a book written on the murders called Bad Blood.

Ok, so quick summary. China Camp land was initially Miwok Indian land. Countless Miwok Indians died of disease when San Rafael was being settled. Then it was Chinese land until the Chinese were forced out by changing laws and lack of food/sustenance from the Bay. At least two kids were killed up there in car crashes and it was the scene of a infamous occult double murder. It's also creepy as hell. I'd say that is a pretty strong case for a small, local state park.

Quick Story:

Last night about an hour after dark I was riding up on the far western side of China Camp with two friends. We were in a fairly isolated part of the park and randomly came across an older guy walking down a fire trail with no lights, no dog, nothing. Just walking out of the hills in the pitch dark, at least an hour after sunset. There wasn't even really a moon. Very strang.

Two of us ride past him with a quick nod of the head. Our third rider says hello and what does he respond with? "Don't get killed up there." Seriously.......

Ode to Blackberrys

Oh, Blackberry. You purple finger, prick me in the arm little fucker.
You summer sun, baseball gone forever in your tangles.

You, tart and alluring. You, sweet and evasive. You pay to play son of a bitch.
Half wild, half domestic, tribute to resilience.
Grow where you please, blackberry jam, total suburban indifference.
Give me my baseball back.

Ode to Joy

Oh friends, not these tones!
Rather, let us raise our voices in more pleasing
And more joyful sounds!
Joy! Joy!

Joy, beautiful spark of gods
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter drunk with fire,
Heavenly one, your sanctuary!
Your magic binds again
What custom strictly divided.
All men become brothers,
Where your gentle wing rests.

Whoever has had the great fortune
To be a friend's friend,
Whoever has won a devoted wife,
Join in our jubilation!
Indeed, whoever can call even one soul,
His own on this earth!
And whoever was never able to, must creep
Tearfully away from this band!

Joy all creatures drink
At the breasts of nature;
All good, all bad
Follow her trail of roses.
Kisses she gave us, and wine,
A friend, proven in death;
Pleasure was to the worm given,
And the cherub stands before God.

Glad, as His suns fly
Through the Heaven's glorious design,
Run, brothers, your race,
Joyful, as a hero to victory.

Be embraced, millions!
This kiss for the whole world!
Brothers, above the starry canopy
Must a loving Father dwell.
Do you bow down, millions?
Do you sense the Creator, world?
Seek Him beyond the starry canopy!
Beyond the stars must He dwell.

Finale repeats the words:
Be embraced, you millions!
This kiss for the whole world!
Brothers, beyond the star-canopy
Must a loving Father dwell.
Be embraced,
This kiss for the whole world!
Joy, beautiful spark of gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
Joy, beautiful spark of gods

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFsy9WqjmSI

Marin, Bikes and Trail Access

http://www.marinij.com/marinnews/ci_13210153

This debate has been going on forever. It's tired and pointless. Mt. Tam is never going to be open to bikes and I'm really not sure it should be or that I want it to be. Bikes are hard on trails and trail users. They are fast, loud and dangerous when the rider doesn't have a real, vested interest in being considerate and sane.

The Marin locals that really know the mountain understand this. The guys I know that ride Marin hard care about the mountain, care about other trail users and really aren't the ones bitching about a lack of good single track to ride.......they know how to ride the good stuff and how to do it under the radar. They ride at 5am or in the middle of the night, or when it's pouring rain or the fog is so thick and the North West winds are so strong no one else wants to be outside. They study maps and pay attention to usage patterns on the mountain. They know what trails are too far to be accessible by foot 30 minutes before dark and which trails are going to be full of tourists and they plan rides accordingly. And if they get sloppy about it, or lazy, or inconsiderate, or occasionally unlucky they pay the price in tickets.

It's funny. The super aggressive people that are all about No Bikes, you don't find them 4 miles up Tam at 8pm or above Woodacre an hour after sunrise on a Saturday. They are hiking Steep Ravine at 9am on a Tuesday. The hikers and equestrians you do meet way out in West Marin, when you are miles off the beaten track, they are almost always cool. There is a mutual respect between people who put up with cold and rain and other obstacles to do what they love.......whether they are hikers or bikers or they are just Marin cruisers who like to burn a breakfast bowl and watch the sunrise.

If you really want to ride illegal trails, get up early or stay up late. Invest in a light system. Bikes are faster than hikers you should be able to get there first. If you insist on riding Troop 80 at noon on a Saturday you deserve the ticket and the mouthful you are inevitably going to get from angry, scared hikers........

Go Ride!