The blizzard's never seen the desert sands, and I have never understood a written plan. I have set my house on fire cause I don't need it anymore; oh the blizzard's never seen the desert sand.

Weary, smelly, but incredibly content, we made our way to Las Vegas to pick up the beautiful Alana Richards, who was flying out to join us for the Grand Canyon. 

This was certain to be a fantastic time, but it did raise some issues. We were barely squeezing three of us, with gear, into Appa, so the addition of a fourth and more luggage had potential to be troublesome.

However, we tracked her down at the airport and made it work. As an added bonus, the cramped conditions during our five hour drive from Vegas to the Canyon would allow Alana and Steve to get better acquainted. We made a quick supply stop at Target, had a parking lot picnic, piled back into Appa, now more cramped with additional food stuffs, and set off for the grandest of canyons.

After a few hours of driving, we pulled off the main highway onto the historic Highway 66. which took us through Williams, Arizona, an old town vaguely reminiscent of the animated town, Radiator Springs, from the Pixar classic, Cars. Ready for a break from the car, we took some time to explore this rustic old town, full of old diners and classic cars, relics of a time now lost. Though well beyond its heyday, it is not hard to imagine this town bustling with life and teeming with eclectic cross-country travelers before the advent of the highway system. It was getting on in the day and the sun was all but down, but some of the shops were still open, so we took a gander. The shops were mostly full of cheap touristy trinkets and souvenirs, but despite the obvious downturn in visitor flow, the spirits of the two shopkeepers we met did not seem to be dampened. Both were warm and inviting, genuinely interested in where we were from and where we were going. 

Feeling peckish, we began looking for a place to get a bite to eat, and as though a beam of light from heaven itself shone down upon it, I spotted, in the distance (or restaurants.com), our oasis - Pancho McGillicuddy's. Finally, someone combined the ne'er compared cuisines and beverages from south of the border and the Emerald Isle.  I had my fingers crossed for a roast beef and yorkshire pudding taco. 

We gorged ourselves on copious amounts of food and local brews, trying to fatten ourselves up for the upcoming cold nights. Feeling genuinely stuffed, we headed back to Appa, ready for our final cramped hour on the road.

Much to our dismay, the top of the canyon was already snow-covered when we arrived. Alana was well-prepared, with a sleeping bag fit for arctic explorers. Dan, Steve and I were a little less prepared. Ultimately, it was decided that we would set up Steve's two-person tent on a relatively thin pile of snow, and Alana and Dan would squeeze in there. Steve and I would layer up, hot box Appa with body heat and sleep there.

Though quite cold, it was not the worst night we have had. I was just beginning to be bothered by cold's cruel bite when my alarm went off, thus spiting the not-yet-risen sun by denying it the opportunity to wake me up, as it has grown accustomed to. We planned to hike down to the bottom of the canyon and back today, so we hit the road and arrived at the Angel Bright trailhead as the sun was rising.

The trail was snowy and icy at the rim of the canyon, so our progress was slow at first. However, Steve and I soon found that we could make like penguins, a la Super Mario 64, and toboggan on our backsides with greater speed, so long as we avoided the land mines of donkey poop.

After a few switchbacks, the ice and snow faded into dirt and dust, but the trail's downward slope grew steeper forcing us to think warily of our return climb. We came across a sign stating that, "Down is optional. Up is mandatory," which squelched our hopes of getting to the bottom and just collapsing into a nap. So it had been decided - we were required by sign to make it back up alive. No excuses.

Around this time, we noticed a fellow hiker, traveling alone, was approaching the rear of our caravan. Alana, the social butterfly that she is, made friendly with the man, named Jose, who happened to be in town for the Grand Canyon marathon taking place the following day. It seemed a bold strategy to hike the Grand Canyon a day before running 26.2 miles. We'll see how it plays out for him, Cotton.

So our group, now a quintet, continued onward and downward into the canyon. I noticed my shoelace had come undone, and as I bent down to retie it, I felt something bump into me…

I apologized to Sean; I had not seen him bend over to relace his shoe. I'm really glad I met this group. Hiking the trail alone would have been much less exciting, and that group of older guys I passed before were a bit on the strange side. Plus they seem to be interested in marathons as well.

After about an hour and a half and 4.5 miles, we made it to the bottom of the canyon. 3000 feet down. Impressive. I looked back up at the trail we just traversed. The climb looked daunting, to say the least, and by the look of the faces of my newfound friends, they seemed to agree. 

We decided to continue on to Plateau Point, another 1.5 miles and 110 feet in elevation change, and it was well worth the hike. The point juts outward, overlooking the powerful Colorado River as it surges through and continues to the shape the Grand Canyon. We all had some lunch enjoying the views. Before we left for our return trip, they wanted to take a picture of the five of us at 11:11 on 11/11/11.

Alright, so maybe this group was a little strange too.

We started to make our way back - only six miles to go and 3110 feet to climb. Sean and I set off at a bit of a quicker pace than the rest. I could have gone faster still, but since I had my race the next day, I decided to linger back with him.

We fought our way up the trail, which was quite steep and particularly muddy at points due to the melting ice and snow. We took a quick break three miles in and another at 4.5 miles in and then pushed our way through the final mile and a half. Along the way, we saw several groups that had absolutely no chance of making it down and back up - one group with people wearing flip-flops and another with a girl wearing pure-white, designer boots that looked very expensive. Apparently they underestimated the grandness of the Grand Canyon.

At last, we took the final uphill step and put our feet on the flat land of the canyon rim. I turned to Sean, congratulating him and bumping his fist.

I looked at Jose, still regaining my breath from the 4.5 mile and 3000-foot incline climb we just completed in under 2 hours and 40 minutes. Dan, Steve and Alana made it up a bit after us, impressively under the three hour mark as well. 

In total, we hiked 12 miles through an elevation change of 3110 feet, which called for a celebratory drink and meal. Plus, Jose needed to carbo-load for the race the next day. Full on food and drink, and just beginning to come down from our hiker's high, we said goodbye to Jose and started to make our way back to camp, stopping at a viewpoint to watch the sun's light dance along the canyon walls as it set.

Back at camp, Dan started a fire, which we all thoroughly enjoyed for a bit before calling it a night. We woke early the next day to go see Jose off in his race. Luckily, we found him and were able to give him our best wishes. We watched the start of the race, cheering as he ran by, which seemed to genuinely brighten his already surprisingly cheery demeanor. I don't think any of the four of us would have been particularly jovial if we had to run a marathon that day. 

However, we did have enough in our tanks to venture back into the heart of the canyon again, this time taking the South Kaibab trail, a 6-mile roundtrip trail with a 2020-foot elevation change. We set off on the trail, again gleefully (less so for Alana) being reduced to the penguin slide for the first few switchbacks. About halfway down, we passed Ooh-Aah point, an aptly-named view that gave breathtaking gasp-eliciting views of the canyon. We lingered there, saying nothing, mesmerized by the scenery, until other groups of hikers arrived and sullied the silence. So we pressed on to Skeleton Point, the culmination of this day's trek, enjoying another panoramic vista as well as a bite of lunch, before embarking on the perpendicular ascent back to the rim of the canyon. 

Back at the car, we enjoyed a hard-earned parking lot picnic before setting out on one last hike along the canyon rim, which not only lent us some final spectacular views of the canyon in the light of the descending sun, but also brought us to a grand total of 21 horizontal and two vertical miles of hiking in two days, an impressive feat by any measure. We celebrated in the lodge, in true vagabond fashion, with me bringing in a can of chili and eating it cold and Dan taking some leftover pizza cast aside by the neighboring table's previous occupants. There is no depth to our penny-pinching.

When other patrons began eyeing us uneasily, in much the same way one eyes the homeless man rooting through a garbage can, we thought it best to transplant our smelly selves to our campsite and retire for the night. At this point the cold was of little consequence in comparison to our aching and sleep-deprived bodies, and we slept as soundly as one can on frozen grounds and semi-reclined car seats. We awoke the following morning, had a light breakfast, repacked the car and crammed in for our voyage to the Silver City - Las Vegas.

This post has been brought to you by Jose Ramil Jamosmos, boss.

Say you just can't live that negative way if you know what I mean - make way for the positive day...

11/7/11

12:00 pm - Feeling rejuvenated and full of such life that only a bed, shower and Target can bring you, we set off back to Zion National Park, with the sun shining on us.

2:00 pm - We have entered Zion, secured a campsite and arrived at our first hike, a trek into what has been dubbed, Hidden Canyon.

2:05 pm - This hike is insufferably steep. It is mind-boggling to me that nobody has yet to install escalators onto mountainsides.

2:44 pm - Steve jumped down from a step on the trail, raising the furor of a passing woman who warms him not to "poopoo the danger" while hiking these trails.

2:45 pm - We begin poopoo-ing the danger by any and all means necessary.

3:02 pm - Using the chains set up, we finish hiking the literally cliffside trail, but we don't see the canyon. It seems to be living up to its name.

3:07 pm - After a bit of scrambling, we make it into the canyon. We walk between the plant-covered canyon walls until we reach a seemingly impassable rock wall. Steve and Dan concede defeat.

3:10 pm - I am at the top of said wall, urging them upward. We continue on.

3:22 pm - Another wall, another concession, another victory for Seansquatch. We could keep going, but our hands are growing numb and the sun is retreating to the horizon. We turn to head back.

5:02 pm - We take a small detour to Weeping Rock. We are unable to determine the causes of this rock's melancholy, but it seems to have something to do with the waterfall constantly pouring over it.

5:45 pm - Back at camp, we eat a small meal, decide its unnaturally cold and opt to retreat to the safety of a bar for some Monday Night Football, warmth and alcohol. 

9:30 pm - After a disappointing loss for Dan's Eagles, we reluctantly return to the cold night, immediately trying to fall asleep after taking a few shots of rum to warm our insides. The temperature is 33 degrees.

11:22 pm - 27 degrees.

11/8/11

2:56 am -  In case you were wondering, it is still really, really cold. I haven't felt my toes in hours. 

8:12 am - The sun is up, though the temperatures have not gotten that memo yet. We are driving to the Middle Taylor Creek trailhead, with the heat in Appa set to the surface of the sun.

9:08 am -  We begin the trail, but the snow on the path gives an ominous sense of foreboding.

9:40 am - The trail has crossed the creek several times already, and we have now come to a crossing that doesn't seem to be passable without moistening our already snow-covered toes. However, within minutes, I have successfully fashioned a stepping-stone bridge, making our crossing manageable. I'm a problem solver. I ask questions.

10:03 am - The snow is getting progressively deeper. Dan seems unconcerned as he is wearing boots, but those of us in sneakers are growing wary.

10:07 am - My calf is fully submerged.

10:52 am - We have made it to the end of our trail- Double Arch Alcove. It is a beautiful cave-like rock formation, with a (mostly) frozen pool in the middle. The rock forms a sort of natural dome formation, where shades of brown, red, and white swirl majestically. A look back towards Taylor Creek reveals a great view of the sun washing over the cliffs of the valley we've just hiked. We decide to have a bit to eat here before heading back.

12:07 pm - We are nearly back to the trailhead. Steve has miniature ice-balls clinging to the heels of his sweatpants, a true testament to older generations' diatribes against baggy pants.

12:28 pm - Steve has abandoned his sweatpants for the rest of the trip, and is now whipping them against any large rock we pass by in an attempt to break the ice off the pants. He just stumbled while crossing the creek, nearly submerging his foot.

12:37 pm - His foot went fully in this time. He is having a rough morning.

12:49 pm - Finally made it back to Appa. Steve attempts to defrost his pants.

1:17 pm - We've climbed to a lookout of Zion, persevering a squishy and muddy trail. The view is equally split between a massive wall of red cliffs topped off in snow, and a panoramic look out at miles and miles of rolling hills, covered in both trees and snow, flanked with Zion's typical red mountains. A delightful group of older ladies who have also made trip ask if we'd like our picture taken, and we oblige, of course repaying the favor. Not only did they not lecture us on poopoo-ing danger, I believe Steve may have gotten some digits.

2:45 pm - We make it back to the main section of the park and decide upon the Riverside Walk for our next hike. It is supposed to give a good view into the Narrows, a popular area of the park.  We should be able to get some good intel for our superiors.

2:53 pm - Finally a hike with an incline grade bordering on zero. This is something I can get behind. While this trail is not so challenging, it doubles as the beginning of a much more serious trek, which wades through the river several times. 

5:45 pm - Back at camp. The sun is setting fast and the temperatures faster still. Lows tonight are predicted to drop below 20 degrees. Time to layer up and take some shots.

6:57 pm - Thermal underwear, shorts, two pairs of sweatpants, under armour, t-shirt, two thermals, two hoodies, four pairs of socks, gloves, and a delightfully fashionable hat. Bring it on, cold.

8:22 pm - Bring it on a little less, please.

11/9/11

1:03 am - It is epically cold, and moral is low. There is talk of mutiny amongst the men.

6:47 am - I have never been so happy to see the sun at such an ungodly hour.

8:00 am - After eating breakfast and thawing out our extremities, we have arrived at Angel's Landing trailhead, for what will be the most difficult climb of our excursion. It is still quite cold, so we decide to keep on several of our layers.

9:58 am - Halfway there and quite possibly several pounds lighter. We were forced to take off several layers as to not sweat out our internal organs. The final leg of the trail is a treacherous climb to the summit along the edge of the cliffs. Game on.

12:22 pm - The three of us spend about an hour on the landing, essentially the culmination of our expedition to these three national parks. The panoramic view of the Virgin River carving its way through the soft red walls of Zion Canyon is stunning, and we are sure to take copious amounts of photographs. Command will be most pleased with this informa…wait…what was that? Oh god, they are everywhere…

12:55 pm - We just survived an ambush from a ravenous brigade of chipmunks, but barely. They seemed to be attracted to our eclectic assortment of Clif bars and fruit snacks, but we were able to defend our rations by flailing our limbs and yelling obscenities. I saw one bite the head off an innocent passing cricket. They were vicious hooligans. They may be gathering reinforcements for a second wave, so we don't stick around to find out.

2:35 pm - Back in Appa we deice we still have enough energy to do one final hike. We settle on a route up to Upper Emerald Pool.

3:37 pm - We arrive at Upper Emerald Pool, a peaceful, little pond nestled deep in the canyon. We sit down to relax with our feet in the ice, blue water, enjoying the silence and serenity that is broken sporadically only by the chirping of the birds or the rustling of the wind through the trees.

4:18 pm - The silence is broken abruptly by the voice of a woman from Alaska. She truly lovely to talk to, but borders on too friendly. She turned the entire area into a social hotspot, with all of the previously quiet enjoyers of nature chatting to each other as if at a potluck dinner. It turns out that she and her husband sold their house and and are traveling the country by RV. Also, they do not like Obama at all.

4:40 pm - She is going still, showing substantial endurance. It seems she has three daughters, all adventurous in their travels. She has sparked a curiosity within Steve and I as to whether any of the three are spicy.

4:52 pm - We say our goodbyes and begin heading down. Mrs. Alaska gets one more shot in about how Obama has ruined our lives. I'm tempted to ask her of her views of fellow Alaskan, Sarah Palin, but I think better of setting her on another tangent. The sun will be down soon as it is.

7:30 pm - Back at camp for our last night. Luckily, we are incredibly exhausted from quite a bit of hiking, so hopefully, we will sleep through the cold. The 17 layers I just put on certainly won't hurt either. Good night, Zion.

9:48 pm - I guess we were not tired enough to sleep through it. It is getting nippy out here…

Several entries between the times of 10:00 pm on 11/9/11 and 6:30 am on 11/10/11 could not be transcribed because they were highly illegible, possibly due to excessive shivering and teeth chattering.

6:37 am - Cold, tired and sore. But alive. Time to break down camp.

7:30 am - We are leaving Zion National Park, the mission a success. We are en route to Las Vegas for debriefing and to pick up the newest addition to our crew - Alana "Grandma" Richards. Finally, a feminine touch in Appa. 

This post has been brought to you by cliffside chains, snow-covered cabins, and cold soup.

The Sound of Silence

St. George, Utah. We ate lots of food, watched lots of football and shopped at the local Target on more than one occasion in preparation for the cold days ahead.

There is not much else going on over there.

This post has been brought to you by relatively little.

Let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream. I am a traveler of both time and space to be where I have been.

The mission orders just came down from the brass upstairs. They were to embark on a twelve-day exploratory missions into three different national parks in the southwest quadrant of the territory known as the United States of America. Their mission, should they choose to accept it (oh, they'll accept it), is to explore, via hiking and climbing, Joshua Tree, Death Valley and Zion National Parks.

They set off in the S.S. Appa on November 1, 2011 with an experienced crew of three members - Bombardier Daniel "Danimal" Hagen, Deckhand Steve "Stev" McFadden and myself, Colonel Sean "The Squatch" Cogan. 

The following is a recovered written log of their exploits:

11/1/11

3:00 pm -  We've arrived at Joshua Tree National Park and are forced to pay an entrance fee. Do they not realize we are on a serious reconnaissance mission here?

3:25 pm - We stop at Hidden Valley and set off on a loop that circles through the canyon. I begin to do some rock climbing.

3:32 pm -  I already lost my crew. I use my newfound altitude to try and locate them.

3:34 pm - This technique fails to yield any results.

3:42 pm - I successfully climb down from my perch, continuing my hunt from the ground.

4:26 pm - I jogged around the trail for a bit, searching in vain for my comrades. After confirming that they were nowhere on the loop, I nervously return to Appa, only to find them relaxing nearby. They had apparently left the loop and made their own trail back. Lesson learned - yell if you die.

6:30 pm - We made it to our campsite, after a stop at Baker's Dam. The sun had long since set, leaving us to set up camp in the dark. The wind is picking up.

7:18 pm - Our camp is fully set up and we have eaten an underwhelming meal of Clif bars. It is a crisp, clear night, with a sky full of stars and an especially bright moon, lighting up the campsite.

7:42 pm -  There is alarmingly little to do while camping after the sun sets when you do not have a fire. We are considering going to bed for lack of more entertaining options.

11:45 pm -  We have been asleep for a bit now, but we periodically wake up to what sounds like carnivorous creatures lurking around our tent. We are hoping that it is just the gale force winds blowing the tents around, as the rocky ground made it impossible to stake them down.

11/2/11

6:53 am - The sun can be vicious vixen in the mornings.

8:42 am - Having finally succumbed to the perpetual shining of nature's alarm, we ate breakfast and are now in the S.S. Appa on our way to the Lost Palm's Trail.

9:36 am - Apparently in September about 3 inches of rain poured down on the southern section of the park in less than 30 minutes, washing away an entire campsite as well as the road we need to access the Lost Palms trailhead. Time to rework our plans.

10:07 am - We stumbled across an enormous cactus farm and decided to explore it.

10:09 am - Multiple signs adamantly caution against making any contact with these cacti. Being a long-time friend of the cacti, I am skeptical of the warnings.

10:13 am - I picked up a dead bit of cactus off the ground with little difficultly, in my mind proving those signs wrong.

10:14 am - Just because you can pick up a piece of dead cactus does necessarily qualify you to dropkick it. I should know - I now have about 8 needles in my toe.

10:17 am - All needles removed. Toe and ego are still slightly bruised.

10:27 am -  I try to make nice with the cacti. They don't comply. There is now a piece of cactus hanging off my arm.

10:33 am - I've successfully trapped the piece of cactus previously in my arm in an old Clif bar box. Natural selection at its best.

11:17 am -  We set off on the 49 Palms Oasis Trail. We expect there to be no fewer than 49 palms.

11:32 am - We pass by a tall, old man carrying a rock on the trail. He informs us that there are a "lotta Brits on the trail today." We politely nod at the strange, old man, and begin to move ourselves out of range of his projectile.

11:58 am - We meet a couple from Brooklyn, who inform us that the crazy, old man we saw earlier was none other than Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin. We feel foolish.

12:12 pm - The number of palms on this trail can not be confirmed, but they are certainly bountiful.

2:07 pm - We stop at Skull Rock and climb for a bit. Done exploring, we head over to the namesake of the area, a rock that is vaguely reminiscent of a skull, shockingly enough. Dan and I climb into the "eye sockets" while Steve sets his camera's self timer for 10 seconds and runs to climb into the picture.

2:07 pm + 10 seconds - Steve doesn't make it.

3:47 pm - We have successfully scaled Ryan Mountain, giving ourselves a panoramic view of Joshua Tree National Park, full of the abstract-looking trees that give it the park its name.

5:15 pm - We arrive back at the campsite. I begin climbing the surrounding rock-faces.

5:45 p m - Dan and Steve scramble up some rocks to get a good view of the sunset. I am lurking above them, in the shadows.

6:23 pm - I have successfully climbed to the top of the entire rock formation. I am unsure of whether I will be able to get back down.

6:52 pm - I am back on the ground, in one piece. Dan and Steve seem unimpressed.

8:42 pm - The sun has been down for quite some time now. Time for bed.

11/3/11

6:27 am - There is one beam of sunlight peaking out from behind the rocks, and it has managed to successfully find its way directly into my right eye.

8:30 am - Packed and ready to go. Death Valley awaits.

1:02 pm - We have reached the outer limits of the supposed valley of death. It seems to be teeming with life.

1:32 pm - We find a fox roaming in the middle of the street. We slow to a stop, watching him as he circles the car curiously. I meet his gaze; he seems friendly. However, we think it best for the mission to leave him to his own devices.

1:43 pm - We stop at Badwater, an enormous salt flat 200 feet below sea level. We taste it. It is indeed salty.

2:42 pm - We come across Mosaic Canyon and wander in. We explore for a bit, and while climbing up one of the canyon walls, I draw the audience of an old man hiking alone. To the best of our knowledge, he is not the lead singer of any band of consequence.

4:13 pm - We stumble upon some giant piles of sand, known as Mesquite Sand Dunes. We  take off our shoes and head out.

4:17 pm - Feeling at home, Steve and I decide to hit around the volleyball a bit.

4:29 pm - Volleyball has been called on account of cacti.

5:45 pm - We arrive at the campsite and set up the tents. Dan sets up his hammock.

7:33 pm - The sun has set, and our dinner has been consumed. The wind is steadily picking up.

8:30 pm - I'm no meteorologist, but I'm relatively certain that these winds are closing in on gale-force. 

10:45 pm - We are camping in what now appears to be a rainless category-4 hurricane. Dan is in his hammock still, but it is dubious whether the tree he is dangling from will make it through the night, so I can not imagine his hammock has better odds.

11/4/11

1:45 am - It's dark, but I am fairly sure I just saw Dorothy and random cow fly by. However, it may have just been Steve and his tent. The rocks he brought in to weigh down his tent have proven no match for this wind.

6:43 am - The wind storm has subsided just in time to allow for the sun to rise. Nature is cruel mistress.

9:00 am - After breaking down camp, we set out for a day of hiking.

3:00 pm - We have already completed treks into two different canyons, both of which were beautiful in a colorfully barren sort of way. We are ready to begin our final hike in the Golden Canyon.

3:15 pm - The mist and wind give the landscape a very Star Wars-y feel. I half expect to be attacked by a Jawa. 

3:22 pm - We have reached a literal fork in the road with no available clues to help us reach an educated decision. Perhaps we should have stuck to clearer trails, instead of the ones with abstract instructions on how to return to your car. I flip a coin.

3:35 pm - At long last, a trail marker confirms our previous choice. However, we have come to yet another unmarked split in the path. The wind is picking up and the mist is growing thicker, giving all of our choices the feeling of having epic implications.

4:17 pm - We may be lost. Steve is no longer allowed to make directional decisions. Too much is at stake.

4:37 pm - I have us back on course. We may survive this hike after all.

4:45 pm -  Yet another fork; still no sign. For a park with such heavy signage warning of the dangers of the heat exhaustion, dehydration and death in Death Valley, they go surprisingly light on the trail markers,

5:22 pm - We finally make it back to the car. The trail ended with a walk through a gulch, ending in a dried-up waterfall. Combined with the setting sun over the salt flats in the background and mountains beyond that still, It was one of the most picturesque views we have seen thus far.

6:00 pm - We drive up to Dante's Point, which is supposed to give the best views of the park. However, our plans were foiled by a passing snow flurry. Such is life.

6:45 pm - We took the weather as a sign to leave Death Valley and make our way to our final destination, Zion National Park. As we enter Nevada, we stop at a gas station/brothel to get our fill of gas and promiscuous women. 

6:47 pm - The voice in our heads stop up dead in our tracks - "No," it avers, "we have a mission to complete. There is no time to be wasted on these wanton women."

11/5/11

12:36 am -We pull over in a truck stop to get a few hours of sleep. 

1:47 am - Three people and an immense amount of gear makes for some uncomfortable sleeping conditions in a VW Jetta.

2:23 am - Judging by the ice of the windshield and our shivering bodies, we probably should have brought out our sleeping bags or blankets or something.

6:45 am - We abandon hope of sleeping this night and voyage onward to Zion. 

9:35 am - We arrive and are greeted with a steady rainfall. There is really only one option for us at this point - put off Zion for a sunnier day and retreat to the safety of a hotel for showers, beds and football.

This post has been brought to you by petroglyphs, confrontational cacti and abstract hiking trails.

Drunk Girls Cause Hangovers

Our reputation with the ladies of San Diego never stood a chance.

We rolled into San Diego late on the Saturday preceding Halloween, a ragtag group of primarily sickly individuals. Steve had been feeling ill all day, having already logged four vomits already. My malady was relatively novel, having ambushed me on the drive over from our late lunch with my cousins outside of Los Angeles. Dan, on the other hand, felt simply superb.

We were being hosted by Cara and Noelle, two of Dan's friends from Jersey who moved out to San Diego the previous summer. As we drove into their neighborhood, which they affectionately called the gay part of town, we were immediately thrust into quite a scene. An enormous Halloween block party was going on just down the street from their apartment. As we circled the blocks, looking for parking, the streets teemed with glittery, half-naked men. 

After parking over a mile away, we finally arrived at their apartment. Upon dropping our stuff, Steve sank into the couch and I allowed my body to become totally dependent on the support of their wall. It rapidly became abundantly clear that Steve and I had no intention of imbibing any alcohol, let along costuming up for a night on the town. This was the first affront to our manhood in the eyes of our hosts. The drunken and generally raucous shouts emanating from the predominately homosexual shenanigans outside were not helping our case either.

Strike one.

So the three of them, formerly Dan, Cara and Noelle, now the boy from Up!, Olive Oyl and a dinosaur headed out for a night on the town, leaving the sickly ones home alone in a dark room to watch How to Train Your Dragon. 

Strike two.

They did not return until the following morning, implying a good night full of copious amounts of alcohol. Steve and I were recovering well; a bro-mantic evening was just the teaspoon of medicine we needed, and we were ready to head to Jolt'n Joe's to watch some football. After eating lunch, the first meal for Steve and I in about 24 hours, we engaged in some highly competitive ping-pong action. Steve emerged victorious from this epic battle as the afternoon games were concluding, so we left to meet Noelle to watch the Eagles' game. Noelle, like Dan, is a huge Eagles' fan, and she found an Eagles' bar,  named Plum Crazy, nestled in San Diego. We entered and were immediately bombarded with an disproportionate number of Eagles' fans per square Californian foot. Luckily for the city of San Diego, the Eagles trounced the Dallas Cowboys. Unluckily for one of the three Cowboys' fans that were brave enough to have entered Plums, Eagles' fan are notoriously terrible zealots. This poor fan ended up getting attacked by a particularly deplorable Eagles' fan, and it did not end well for him at all. 

When the game ended, we went back to the apartment to get ready for the night. Dan retransformed into the boy scout, and I suited up as Woody from Toy Story. Steve, completely lacking a costume, donned his Mexican soccer jersey and a floppy witch's hat. The six of us (us three, Noelle, Cara, and her boyfriend Ken) went to their friends' apartment for a little bit of pregaming, where we were immediately greeted with double shots of rum. Once we were a solid eight shots deep, the group of us made our way to a bar, which we promptly left because Dan lost his license and was denied entry (Don't worry kids, it was later found back at Plums). In lieu of a bar, we headed to World Curry, a restaurant that had long since closed for the evening, but because Noelle is friends with several of its employees who had both key access and a morally suspect policy of using it, we were granted entry, along with free beer from the tap and an undeniably potent smell of curry.

There is something to be said for peer pressure. It is difficult enough to feel masculine while wearing a Woody the Cowboy costume; it is impossible to feel masculine while wearing that costume and having several females half your size assail you with emasculating slurs coaxing you to drink more. Eventually, you will waver and take that next shot. And eventually the number of shots you have taken will have skyrocketed well into the double digits. And eventually you will probably black out. You might say that this should be a learning experience about succumbing to peer pressure, and it would be, if not for the fact that after taking 14 shots in less than two hours, you rarely have the cognitive function to remember anything, let alone lessons.

When 4 a.m. rolled around, as far as I can remember, the three of us were quite ready to collapse. We made our way back to the apartment where the drinking began, accompanied by Noelle and a friend, who were both continuing the onslaught of disparaging attacks on our collective manhood.

Strike three.

We awoke the next morning, feeling the brunt of a night that we don't entirely remember. After a bit of recovery time, our hosts and us headed out for a walk in nearby Balboa Park, hoping that some sunshine would help us feel like human beings again. Sadly, despite both lovely weather and beautiful surroundings, we remained immensely hungover. However, we pushed through the pain and set out onto the San Diego Bay atop kayaks, paddling right up to sea lions barking and bickering with each other. The teenage years are toughest for any species.

We successfully were not eaten by these aquatic lions, leaving us free to go play some beach volleyball with the one and only Andrew J. Bennett Esq, winning a best of three series against him in heroic fashion. Afterwards, we grabbed a bite to eat with Andy, where he bombarded us with compelling arguments to move out to San Diego immediately. However, we still have a road trip to complete, so we said our goodbyes to Andrew and made our way back to the apartment. The girls were already out for day three of their Halloween shenanigans, and they fully expected us to join them. Dan immediately began getting into costume, while Steve and I starting melting into the couch. Dan, at that point in full costume, made a halfhearted plea for us to join him, but seeing that we were watching Arrested Development with rapt attention, he quickly realized he was fighting a losing battle.

Both girls had work early the next day, so we were not able to see them before we had to depart San Diego, but Dan relayed a message that is simply not suitable for our younger readers. It is often considered difficult to make it to four strikes, but both Steve and myself, well, we are of a different breed, it seems. 

At this point, I feel the need to log a defense for the two of us. The constant shift from sunrise wake-up calls in national parks to the expected "raging" in cities impressively disrupts one's internal clock. We are not usually this lame. Well, at the very least, Steve is not usually this lame.

So after about two weeks on the Californian coast, it was finally time to began our trek back east. Our next two weeks have 12 days of camping lined up, with several of the nights' forecasted temperatures set at well below freezing, with a few projected to be in the teens. We are relatively pessimistic about survival.

This post was brought to you by Sprouts, beach volleyball and men on stilts.

Whole Hearts and Broken Dreams in La La Land

It is late in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Three men, mid twenties gather at an In + Out Burger in Southern California. They sit alone, with other customers keeping their distance, owing mainly to the overwhelming odor accumulated from 3 days of hiking emanating from the table.

Steve

(cringing at his own odor) 

Damn, I smell.

Dan

Well, you have worn that exact outfit for 4 straight days.

Sean (VO)

In Steve's defense, we had just spent 3 days in Yosemite National Park, completing "strenuous" hikes and being too cold to even consider the thought of changing our pants. It's a rough and tough life on the road. I took the final bite of my burger. The juicy beef was rejuvenating after 3 days of nothing but Clif bars and trail mix.

Sean

(sitting back in seat, holding stomach)

Well, I feel like almost a human being again.

Dan

I'll share that sentiment once I've showered.

Cue music - "California" by Phantom Planet

Sean (VO)

With that, we got back on the road. The other customers were eyeing us with the same caution one gives a mangey stray dog in a dark alley, and it was disconcerting. Also, the glitz and glamour of the city of Angels was beckoning out to us. We were greeted by the Hollywood sign, the same landmark that has greeted millions on their quest to be discovered. Perhaps today, a Dana Gordon-type exec will be stricken by the angelic figure longboarding the streets of the city.

The sun has set around the Adventurer All-Suite Hostel in Los Angeles, California, where Dan, Sean, and Steve sit in the open-air bar, amongst hostel patrons. Admist the sounds of the television and a humming popcorn machine, there are conversations going on in several different languages and accents.

Dan

(noticeably relieved and well-groomed)

Now I feel like a human again.

Sean (VO)

Steve and I both nod. Our showers had been both invigorating and refreshing, and I no longer felt like people were inching their tables away from us. Now all we needed was a good night's sleep and several more bags from the free 24-hour popcorn machine, and we would be ready to take on LA.

Sean

How many bags of popcorn have you knocked down?

Steve

Well, it's debatable.

Dan

No, it's quite literally six.

Enter old lady from stage right. She is shuffling her feet as she walks, muttering incoherently to herself.

Woman

(Audibly, but to herself) 

During the day, I'm in the kitchen, and at night, I'm always naked.

Sean (VO)

We stared at each other, baffled. La La land certainly has a cast of characters. Just a few minutes ago we saw an older man hitting on a young Asian woman, using tales of his divorce, attempted suicide and anti-depressant medications. She indulged him politely, but you had to assume that barring an unforeseeable rise in her BAC, that was going nowhere.

Dan

Oh god, look to your 4:30.

Steve and Sean look to their 4:30, where a fern sits innocently. They look at Dan. He finally points to the woman, who had shuffled up to the television and began doing a sort of pained happy dance. She was apparently a big Notre Dame fan and had gotten over her obvious dissatisfaction of being naked every night, as they began their trouncing of Navy.

Dan

Well, I've seen enough.

Steve

Time for bed?

Sean (VO)

Though still early, we headed to bed. We had lots of sleep to catch up on and an entire city to see tomorrow. 

It is a perfect sunny late afternoon at Venice Beach, California. The sun is starting to consider setting for the night as our three compadres walk down the boardwalk, idly roaming past a multitude of shops and characters.

Dan

What a beautiful way to end this day.

Sean (VO)

In a very cliche way, he was right. We had a pleasant day in LA. We caught a matinee of Ides of March in the iconic ArcLight Theatre after perusing the enormous Amoeba Music store. We also meandered down the Walk of Fame, ending at the Chinese Mann Theatre, complete with its famous cemented handprints. Unfortunately, however, even in the heart of Hollywood, we were neither approached or discovered. Nevertheless, we kept our heads held high. If the road to fame wasn't full of some bumps and detours, everyone would take it. The literal roads in LA were full of both of those things too, as well as an exuberant amount of traffic, so after battling through LA's parking lot of vehicles for what felt like hours, we had finally made it to Venice Beach.

Enter man in green scrubs on stage right. He speaks with a typical California stoner drawl. 

Man

Do you guys want to get legal today? Only $40 to get your Medical Marijuana card!

Sean (VO)

We chuckle. He is standing under a big sign reading "Green Doctor."

Man

Don't hesitate, medicate! The doctor is in!

Sean

No thanks, we're all good.

Sean (VO)

Our lime-robed friend didn't miss a beat and immediately moved on to the group of females passing behind us.

Man

You ladies looking to get high tonight?

Sean (VO)

That's the problem with Los Angeles. Faux male nurses in green scrubs only act like your friend to sell you pot. It's full of phonies. 

Dan

Hey look, muscle beach!

Sean (VO)

In an outdoor, beachside facility, we see several guys getting their collective swell on. They were probably trying to look their best for head-shots or casting calls.

Steve

I wonder if they got the full spectrum of amino acids.

Sean (VO)

They probably did. They have that look about them, what with their 80's styled sweatpants and muscle tees. I can imagine them taking a plethora of supplements. Unsurprisingly, all this thought of working out has made me hungry.

Sean: Dinner?

The night's darkness envelopes the windows of a mediocre sushi restaurant in LA. The guys are being served by a flamboyant Latino waiter, who had affectionately called them "thirsties" already. 

Sean

(with a mouth full of spicy tuna)

I want to see a game 7. 

(To Steve) 

Even if you were a Rangers fan, wouldn't you kinda wanna blow this game just to see a game 7?

Steve

That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. A game 7 is a toss-up!

Game six of the World Series between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Texas Rangers was on the television. The Rangers were on the verge of winning the series, with a two run lead going into the ninth.

Cut the lights, and empty the restaurant. The boys still sit at the table, as St. Louis has tied the game, given up two runs, tied the game again, and Ryan Freese stepped to the plate.

Waiter

(with the entire staff by the door, anxiously looking at their watches)

So how much time is left?

Steve

(apprehensively)

Well, it should be any minute now..

And Freese hits one deep! It is high, it is far, it is... gone! Sean Cogan fist pumps enthusiastically as his dreams of a game 7 are realized.

Sean (VO)

We pack up and leave quickly, thanking the waiter for his hospitality. HIs generosity and the Cardinals' come-from-behind win has rekindled our belief in the soul of Hollywood. We head to bed, with dreams of making it big still pouring through our heads.

The sun is setting over the Pacific at Huntington Beach, California. Dan meanders around the beach capturing the photogenic sunset from all the right angles. Steve has found his way into a pickup game of volleyball with a few of the locals, and Sean, having had to return to the car to replace his shoes after his incredibly used flip-flops were heartlessly stolen, watched jealously.

Sean

I am so beat, I would kill for a meal and a bed right now.

Sean (VO)

Our exhaustion was understandable, considering the day we had. It was filled with competitive frisbee H-O-R-S-E, dabbles into beach volleyball, frigid dips in the Pacific and active bargaining at a local market. TK's burgers, a local surfer joint had filled our bellies at noon, but by the time of the sunset, a full-sized hunger had grown.

Steve

OK, I think they are calling the game on account of the sun being down for 20 minutes.

Sean (VO)

And with that, we set off in search of a place to dine.

Dan, Sean and Steve are sitting in an Irish pub. The lights above their table are off, leaving the nearby television to be their primary source of light as they poured over the menu.

Sean (VO)

Restaurants.com led us to Gallagher's, an Irish-pub right off the beach that was conveniently showing Game 7 of the World Series. We were greeted by the overtly Irish bartender, and sat down at a table near the TV.

Enter Irish bartender on stage left.

Irish bartender

(with a comically heavy Irish accent)

So where ya boys from?

Steve

Jersey.

Irish bartender

(with his accent still hilariously strong)

Oh, Joisey, eh? Where there are the crooks and criminals and the good times, eh?

Dan

(with a straight face)

So you've been there?

Sean (VO)

He took our order and left us to watch the game. The Cardinals were leading, leaving the underdog lover in me considering throwing my support in Texas's corner.

Enter Drunken Irishman on stage right.

Drunken Irishman

(in a hardly comprehensible Irish accent)

G'evening lads. You gents e'er been to Ireland?

Sean

I have. My dad was born there.

Drunken Irishman

(in an even more slurred accent)

I'm from Donegal, but don't go letting people know I'm in the IRA!

Sean

(awkwardly laughing)

Oh, yeah, I wouldn't want to do that…

Sean (VO)

Our new, apparently radically militant Irish friend left us to our meal, and we turned our attention to the game, just in time to watch the Cardinals cap off an amazing series come back to win the World Series. We finished up our drinks, paid our bill and left the bar, which turned out to be a hotspot for the middle-aged crowd in Huntington Beach. Maybe another night we would have stayed and partied late into the night with this older, washed-up crowd, but tonight, in LA, they just evoked memories of our broken dreams. They reminded us that we didn't make it big.

Cue music - "Under the Bridge" by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It seems to pointless to say, but it is another perfect day in Southern California. Dan Steve and Sean are sitting at a restaurant eating lunch with Sean's cousins Eugene  and Anna, and Eugene's wife, Desirae.

Eugene: So where are you guys off to next?

Dan: We are heading down to San Diego tonight for Halloween. I am going as the kid from Up!, and Sean is going as Woody. We are doing a bit of a tribute to Pixar and Steve Jobs. We wanted Steve to go as Rex the dinosaur, but he hasn't gotten a costume yet, right Steve? Steve?

Steve
(head in hands, looking down) 

I need to go sit in the car.

Sean (VO)

Some combination of tasty Irish pub sandwiches, one shot of whiskey and too much free popcorn was punishing Steve, who spent several hours doubled over and mostly incoherent. A perfectly timed arrival at lunch saved Appa from any danger, but the city of LA was not safe as Steve already unleashed four public ralphs upon it. We finished up our meal and said goodbye to my cousins, with the hope that our time apart would be short. The atmosphere in Southern California makes it easy to be hopeful, unless, as in Steve's case, it relegates you to the front seat of the car feeling like you might throw up for a fifth time in as many hours.

We set off down the Pacific Coast Highway, and with the lights and glamour of Hollywood in our rearview mirror, we started to get our senses back, realizing we were probably better suited for a more laid-back scene in San Diego. 

Cue music - "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus. A red VW Jetta, driven by Dan, with Sean and Steve as passengers, is seen driving down an oceanside highway, with the sun setting over the ocean.

Cut to black.

This post has been brought to you by a liberal state, the film and volleyball capitals of the world and Hollywood dreaming.

Tours of Yosemite - Buy None, Get One Free!

Welcome to Yosemite, or for our Spanish reading readers, Bienvenidos a Yosemite y para continuer en espanol, marque el dos. My name is Sean, and I'll be your guide for this entry.

Firstly, allow me to commend you on your brazen decision to bravely set you alarm clock so early last night in SF.  The way you awoke at its buzzing, stumbled into your car and promptly fell back asleep, forcing Dan to drive southeast and alone while staring straight into the rising California sun is nothing short of extraordinary. You certainly will not regret your early arrival here.  

Now before we set off to enjoy nature's splendor, I am required by California state law to give you the first of so many warning about bears, that you will find yourself not going to the bathroom at night for fear of being mauled whist making the two minute walk to the hole in the ground we call a toilet.

On that note, Let's set off, shall we? Please close all other windows and applications and save all comments for the end of the post.  

Our first stop is Bridalveil Falls, one of Yosemite's smaller cascades. Please take note of the sign warning against climbing on the wet boulders beneath the falls and kindly ignore it. You might want to remove your flip-flops prior to climbing all the way up to the falling water. 

Alright now, hurry along and scroll down your page to a little bit.  Our next stop will be Yosemite Falls, the logic waterfall in the United States.  Please take notice and copiously photograph any and all adorable deer you see.

As you can see, the falls are separated into two cascades, Upper and Lower Falls.  

We will only be hiking up to the Lower Falls. The water is very low this time of year as it is the dry season, but that does not make the views any less majestic.  

Please, by all means, put life and limb on the line to traverse the slippery rocks up to the cascading water, and be sure to enjoy some serene moments of tranquility listening to the falling water hit the rocks as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon.  

Now let's make our way to the campsite. If you take a look below these words, you can see the light from the setting sun reflecting off the wondrous Half Dome, giving the gray slab of rock a stunning, reddish hue.  

Welcome to your campsite.  As you set up your tent, let me again remind you that bears will probably eat you as you sleep.  You will need to totally empty your car of any and all food, beverage, soap, shampoo, toothpaste and deodorant; essentially anything that could smell appealing to a bear in search of food or a nice refreshing shower. You will need put all of these things into your designated metal bear-box, because while bears have the strength of 50 men and can rip off car doors this metal box is impenetrable to them due to their lack of opposable thumbs.

Try to not smell too delicious tonight.  

Good morning, simply lovely to see you didn't get eaten. What do you mean you didn't sleep well? Did the cold and fear of mauling not soothe you into slumber? Well never you mind - I have the perfect thing to wake and warm you up.  We are going to wake up to Vernal and Nevada Falls.  Don't let the steep incline intimidate you- the views will be well worth the climb. Keep up now, you bums.  Vernal Falls is coming up right below.  

I think the beauty of the falls speaks for itself.  If you look again you will see a rainbow forming in the cascade, its palette of colors swirling in the falling water.

Congratulations.  You just hiked a mile and a half, climbing over 900 feet in less than five minutes (maybe a bit longer for you slow readers). Again, take note of and subsequently ignore the fenced areas to refill your water bottle and to take photographs while teetering on the edge of certain death.

Time for lunch.  Go on - you earned it.  I'll wait here while you go make a sandwich.  

Ready? Perfect. I found a lovely little spot over here.  Make sure you do not feed the wildlife, unless they are a cute squirrel who looks absolutely adorable nibbling on a tortilla chip.  

Now that all of us, Nibbles the Squirrel included, are sufficiently satiated, let's continue to Nevada Falls; look, you can see them in the distance 

I know the trail goes off in that direction, but as your licensed blog guide, I will take you through the untamed woods right up to the bottom of the falls.  

I'm not entirely sure how to get back to the trail, but I am relatively certain that if we climb over these rocks and cross this fallen tree spanning that massive gap, we should be able to…ah, yes, here it is. Let us press onward. Don't mind me; I plan on not staying on trail for more than 30 seconds at a time

Welcome to Nevada Falls, the climax of this journey.  A baffling 594 feet, it is a force to be reckoned with.  Excuse me while I hop this fence, walk out onto this rock that protrudes out over the falls, and pensively stare off into the expansive beauty of mother nature.  

Oh, would you like to come out here as well? Don't be shy.

  

There you go,  Easy does it...

Now that wasn't so bad, was it?

How are you feeling?  Sufficiently tired? Ok, let's pound a Clif bar and hike back down 2,000 feet in three seconds.  

Well done.

The sun is starting to set, so I've decided to take us to the Glacier Point to watch its descent. As the sun falls to the westward horizon the colors dance along Half Dome and the other peaks, changing them from their normal stoney gray to a constantly shifting slideshow of reds, yellow, orange and eventually purples.  

If you look closely, you can see both of the waterfalls we hiked to today. Glacier Point is about 3000 feet higher then both of them.   

With the sun down and luckily no moon out, tonight will be a perfect night for stargazing.  Let's linger here for a few seconds to see them.  

That will do. We should go rest up; its our last day tomorrow and...WAIT, what is that? It's a…a wolf.

A blurry image, yes, but that is what you get when you stare into the reddened eyes of a creature that truly terrifying.  His gaze is soul-piercing, and even though there is a car frame in between you and him, there is still a part of you that must resist the urge to run.  

Did I forget to mention the wolves?  Yes, you could be eaten by both bears and wolves, along with an assortment of other carnivorous creatures.

Rest up. 

How did you sleep?  You tried sleeping in a hammock with your keys and its "panic" button in one hand and a knife in the other, with several projectiles lined up to hurl at a potential attacker?  How did that fare?

10 minutes before you ran back to the tent?  Well done.  

Well, it is time for our last stop - Mariposa Grove, filled to the clouds with enormous Sequoias but lacking even a single Mariposa by my calculations. 

There are plenty of trees here to remember, including the Fallen Monarch;

The aged 2000 year old Grizzly Giant;
 

The Faithful Couple, who are so in love that their trunks conjoined into one;


And last but not least, the Fallen Tunnel, which used to be a tree you could drive through until it finally succumbed to gravity's wishes.

Take a picture, it will last longer. Better yet take about 2,000. That seems appropriate.

Well, I suppose it is time to say goodbye to Yosemite and get back to your everyday life. One more log bridge image and we should be back to the car. 

Perhaps we will run into each other again in Los Angeles, after we take a much needed shower and sleep in a warm bed.  

This post has been brought to you by falling water, heartless bears and the soul-piercing glares of wolves.

Standing on the rooftops, never going to regret watching all the sunsets...

The sun had long since set as we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and entered San Francisco. Steve's hometown friend, Meghan, had recently moved out from New Jersey and graciously invited us to stay with her and her boyfriend, Andrew, in her swanky apartment in the marina district. Hungry as we always are, Meghan and Andrew took us to a local taco bar for the often underrated combinations of tacos and margaritas. Once we had our fill of tacos we headed over to the Kozy Kar, a bar themed after an '80s-styled panel van. The fenders on the walls and the '80s music certainly fit with this motif. On the other hand, the pornographic photographs on the walls and the raunchy video snippets that kept popping up on the television were more open to interpretation. The ratio of people to available oxygen was a little overwhelming for us, so Meghan and Andrew took us to their local watering hole whose sign beckoned to passersby, "Hark, cocktails." After one last drink, we headed back to her place, and after coming to the conclusion that we were all adults, we agreed to a nightcap on the roof of her building, which had an amazing panoramic view of the city.

Appa was in the desperate need of an oil change, so we headed into Oakland the following morning to get her fixed up. While she was getting pampered, we grabbed some lunch and loitered around in a park on a 70 degree, sunny day, climbing trees and hitting around a volleyball. We were treated to a little afternoon disquietude as one of the largest groups of Occupy protestors we have yet seen marched right passed us. When Appa was ready, we headed over to the Golden Gate Bridge to see if in the daylight. The overlook, crowded as it was, offered a magnificent view of both the hilly, multi-layered city and the famous bridge. Afterwards, we took a drive through Sausalito, a neighboring town vaguely reminiscent of some Italian villages nestled in the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

At least an hour had passed since we last ate, and Fisherman's Wharf's famous chowder was beckoning us, so we headed its seductive call. We ordered a couple of bread bowls teeming with chowder at the Blue Mermaid, a fixture on the Wharf. We basked in the glory of the soup and departed to spectate a Major League Soccer match between the tragically named San Jose Earthquakes and Dallas FC. The match took place at a college campus soccer field (a sad display of the state of professional American soccer, to be sure). San Jose blew out the Dallas squad, nearly scoring enough to outscore some NFL teams that week. The excitement in the air was palpable; I could hardly contain myself. After a particularly unmemorable play, I joined in with  the rowdy crowd for a We Will Rock You inspired chant and promptly proceeded to allow Dan's phone to swan dive 20 feet until the gravel and dirt beneath the bleachers broke its fall. Amazingly, in the best play of the night, the phone survived, a true testament to the never say die mentality we trail blazers have taken on this trip.

After the game, we met up with Meghan and Andrew for some dinner and drinks. Andrew need not have reminded us of our mutual adulthood that night - we knew what we were in for. To the roof we went, and hellof good times were had by all.

The next morning we awoke and headed to a nearby bar for some morning time football. The west coast is a bit screwy lagging behind the east by three hours, so the games start at 10:30 am. That, however did not stop Danimal from getting an early start with a house whisky on the rocks, apparently with the mindset that it was drinking time somewhere. When we were sufficiently saturated with beverages and football, we took our leave and began wandering the city in another sunny, 75 degree day. We climbed to the top of the main hill in the city, with the intention of having me longboard back down it. So with Steve as my lookout and Dan manning the camera, I stared down my foe, cried on the inside and started riding. I made it about halfway down before bailing off, but I can say with a reasonable amount of pride that I at least partially stomped a San Francisco hill.

With that, we headed down to a waterfront park with a great view of the bridge and the rest of the San Francisco Bay. There happened to be a little festival with live music taking place as we arrived, adding to the area's naturally laid-back vibe. We spent the afternoon there playing grass volleyball and tossing around the frisbee. 

As the sun began to fall and the last notes were played on the little makeshift stage, we headed back to Meghan's apartment. In much the same way I wanted to conquer a San Francisco hill on my longboard, Dan wanted to to do so on the jog, so despite a mounting hunger, I joined him in solidarity. Steve, under the influence of either superior intelligence or laziness, opted to hang back on the couch. Dan and I set off at a brisk pace along the flat, city streets, weaving through San Francisco's pedestrians and trolleys until we ran into the geological equivalent of a brick wall. The hill quickly slowed our run to an impassioned walk, and then it shrewdly crawled upward with an equivalent slowness. Nevertheless, with no major arterial ruptures, we successfully reached the top, breathlessly enjoying the view that would have otherwise taken our breath away. The descent back down below the clouds was less eventful, and we triumphantly returned to the apartment. 

Our last night in San Francisco was quiet but fun. We grabbed some dinner and drinks, and yet again, we got live on the roof, enjoying one final nighttime view of the San Fran cityscape. However, all good things must come to an end. We went to sleep, woke up far too early and set off for a few days in our fair country's national parks system.

This post has been brought to you by rooftop views, Troy Dayak's cowboy hat, and hellof fools all over San Francisco.

Excuse me please, one more drink. Could you make it strong? Cause I don't need to think..

We drove to Seattle with one goal on our minds - to go up into the Space Needle. After a few hours of driving, filled with magnificent views of Mount Saint Helen's and Mount Rainier, we arrived and politely told the proprietors to suck it, describing their prices as blasphemous. We opted instead to circle the bottom, getting some artistic shots of the relatively underwhelming structure. We began walking around the city, and after seeing the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation HQ, we hopped on the monorail to the downtown area.

That's when the day took a turn, in what direction, I'll leave you to decide.

Steve dusted off the old college tradition of taking 5 shots in 10 minutes. I said if we are going to get rowdy in Seattle, then we ought to do it properly, with 5 shots in no more than 5 minutes.

And so we made our way into a sketchy parking garage stairwell and did the deed.

The city of Seattle takes on a whole new beauty after splitting a bottle of vodka three ways. The sun setting over the Puget Sound was stunning enough for the engagement photos we drunkenly tried to crash.

The time consuming nature of our alcoholic shenanigans forced us to miss the local fish market, but we did manage to see the first ever Starbucks, which, for 3 non-coffee-drinkers, was moving. We found a local bar to continue binge drinking before stumbling into an Indian restaurant, to what can only have been the dismay of our waiter. To give you some insight into where we were at that point, let me just say that Steve had lost the ability to order for himself, yet still managed to tip the waiter twice.

We said goodbye to Seattle, which didn't even rain on us once, and headed toward Vancouver. After dumping all of our drugs, alcohol, and illegal immigrants, we crossed the border and made our way to the city. We checked into our hotel, and on the advice of our friendly Canadian hotel clerk, we dined on some Vietnamese food before renting two bikes for Dan and Steve so that I could try to keep up with them on my longboard through a beautiful park on the waterfront. We rode around for a few hours and then headed to Granville, a waterfront district whose warehouses have all been converted to shops, restaurants, and art galleries.

My memory of the rest of the night there is a little bit hazy. However, I can say with relative certainty that we drove up to a lookout of the city for some magnificent views. A passerby would have seen, in linear order, an Asian couple, another Asian couple, two more Asian couples, three white men, followed by three more Asian couples. We seemed to have stumbled on the Asian tourists' makeout point, but I like to think we added some flair to the ambiance.

The next morning we said our goodbyes to Vancouver and to Canada. Steve had the hardest time saying farewell, but we made it across the border with no international incidents.

We asked Mother Nature for permission to see Mount Saint Helen on our way back down to Portland, but our request was seemingly denied with a thick layer of fog. We battled through the sight-impairing conditions to the main lookout of the mountain and were rewarded with a panoramic view of the inside of a cloud. Having been defeated, we continued onward to Portland. It was well past sun down when we arrived at our gracious host, Yona's house. 

After a good night filled with good cheer and hot tubs, we were reenergized for the rest of our trip down the Pacific Coast. We said our goodbyes and set off, with Yona's dog Zuke circling the car. When he continued to follow us out on the main road, we quickly drove him back and once again, took our leave, stopping only for one last taste of the Portland food trucks. We put Hotel California into our GPS and started flying down the Pacific Coast.

Flying might not be the best verb choice, seeing as it implies we made it to our destination in a timely fashion. I'm not sure if this is common knowledge, but the Pacific Coast is quite lengthy. One might argue, "Well Sean, there are only three states on that coast. The East Coast has more than four times that many states." Exactly, but here's the catch - the states out here are fucking enormous. I'm relatively certain Oregon could eat Rhode Island without anyone really noticing.

So suffice it to say, it took a while to get from Portland to our destination at Redwoods National Park. To be fair, we took a few stops, including one at a beach in Southern Oregon that appeared to be some sort of mass graveyard for unruly birds. It was quite unsettling. We also grabbed a bite to eat at a Subway Sandwich shop. I would like to give a bit of advice to our followers - do not ever go to a Subway on a Thursday evening, for they will be out of nearly everything. The poor gentlemen in line behind us grew so frustrated that he left, and we saw him later walking down the road to the local Taco Bell. We finally made it to the Redwoods, and with some minor difficulties, we found a campsite and passed out.

We woke the next morning to some oversized trees. They are like nature's version of novelty-sized collectibles, including but not limited to stuffed animals, foam fingers and cowboy hats. They were a touch more beautiful, though. We took a hike through the forest of giants, and before turning back, we each gave the largest tree we could find a hug, thanking it for doing such a good job at growing and making oxygen. Realizing our arms barely made it an eighth of the way around, we united for the triple hug, giving the tree the loving it deserved. With that, we headed back to the car to make the long drive down to San Francisco, literally driving through a tree trunk to do so. We are nothing if not persistent.

This post has been brought to you by big trees, shady Canucks and copious amounts of alcohol.