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.