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June, 2001


Monday, June 4 2001

My mind isn't completely back from Mt. Shasta yet, and I don't think it will be for another year or two. Oh, no I wasn't injured or even in much danger at any point. (BTW, thank-you to those who wrote me with concern over a concurrent incident on Mt. Rainier. You know who you are and your messages were well received even if I wasn't in good enough temper to reply, as you shall see.) The problem is, I didn't climb the damn thing, and it's going to eat at me until I do.

When the time came, I chose not to go to the summit. I stand by the decision I made at the time, but I have come to regret it. It was a good, solid decision based on all the available facts. What I didn't know, was how painful I would find not climbing the mountain later on. If I had known that, I might have gone for it. Woulda, coulda, shoulda ...

This was my second trip to Mt. Shasta. My first, two years ago, was a reconnaissance to 12,000 ft. that I conducted solo. I did not intend to go to the summit on that trip due to the hazards of being alone on steep snow. This trip I was the leader and organizer for our group of three. I tried not to assume responsibility for the safety of the other two, (I am by no means a professional mountain guide. I know professional mountain guides; my skill level is nothing close to that.) But I did start to feel responsible for enhancing their chances of summiting safely.

I was at the wheel for the seven hours it took to get to Shasta. I organized all the meals and climbing gear. I carried the tent (Shane carried the tent poles) and all the photo and video equipment. I cooked the meals. I taught Aric the technique of self-belay and self-arrest he would need later in the climb on the upper mountain. Ultimately, I invested a fair amount of my limited personal energy in the well-being of the other two climbers.

I didn't train enough for the climb. I spent a lot of time coordinating the logistics and mistook that time for physical training time. Even though I'd been high on Shasta before, I underestimated the physical demands it would make on me. My summit of Mt. Rainier (a more technically difficult and somewhat higher mountain) last July made me a bit cocky and cavalier about Mt. Shasta.

The combination of my hubris and my generosity resulted in my failure on the mountain. The first day's climb to high camp at 10,000 ft. took a lot out of me. I should have had more in reserve. The next morning, when the time came to climb to the summit, I felt weak. A cold wind was gusting through the camp and I knew it would be much stronger up high. The summit route looked very long, cold, and steep. From my experience on Rainier, I knew the amount of energy it takes and, moreover, the amount of will it takes to summit a 14,000 ft. peak. At the moment of decision, I knew I didn't have enough of the latter to summon up enough of the former.

Trying to climb a little bit and failing seemed like a wasted effort. I thought I might as well stay in camp, rest, and be prepared for the next day's grueling descent back to the land of warm, thick air, and trees. I gave the last of my water to the other two, and sent them on their way, confident in my decision. I remained confident during the day as I fixed our camp to endure the gusty winds and brewed melt water for drinking when my two partners returned.

Nine hours later, when Shane and Aric returned to camp with a fantastic summit shot in their digital camera, I was still tired, but I began to wonder about my choice. Twenty four hours after that, looking at the mountain out the back window of the car, riding with two successful summiters, I didn't feel good about my choice at all.

If I had known how bad not going to the summit was going to feel, I would have had the will necessary to leave camp and climb to the top. They say we learn from our failures. Well, I sure did. I'll have a new crop to flog myself with the next time I'm on a mountain.

Now, it feels like such a waste to have put so much effort into the climb and not have completed it. It amazes me how correct and right I thought I was when I didn't go for it. It will be at least a year before I can create another opportunity to go to Mt. Shasta and erase my mistake of this year. When I do, I'll have to invest all the time and money I put into it this year for a second time. Such a waste!

I'm not a very experienced mountaineer, and it shows. I've certainly gained from this experience. There's a fine balance between really pushing yourself to the limit to achieve your goal, and knowing how much to hold in reserve for safety. I need to go to more mountains and learn, from experience, where that limit is.

Friday, June 15 2001

For whatever reason blogger hasn't been functioning for a few days, which forces me to write a proper journal entry as opposed to a quick and dirty blog on my Kibbles and Bits page. Never the less, I encourage readers to check in on Kibbles and Bits often, because, when it's working, you will see more frequent little update there.

Shoptalk aside, there are a few thoughts on my mind today concerning a vote that occurred yesterday in the U.S. Senate. Since the Boy Scouts actively exclude gay kids and scout leaders because homosexuals do not meet the scouting standard of 'morally straight', some public school districts in the various states have denied the exclusive private club access to meet in their public facilities.

The federal government wasn't satisfied with school districts making local decisions about the appropriate use of local public facilities. Here's what the AP reports today:

WASHINGTON (AP) - The Senate voted narrowly Thursday to withhold federal funds from school districts that deny use of their facilities to the Boy Scouts because of the organization's exclusion of homosexuals.

The executive director of the National School Boards Association was not satisfied with the vote saying, "Now we have a piece of legislation in which the Congress is dictating to school districts and school principals all across the United States which groups should have access to their campus. That should be a locally determined decision. This is congressional micromanagement at its worst."

Why would the federal government want to do something like this to public schools across America? Senator Jesse Helms, the sponsor of the bill, said his legislation was meant to combat "the organized lesbians and homosexuals in this country of ours." That's nice, at least the old fossil isn't still trying to combat the organized uppity niggers of this country.

So why is it that a corrupt and bloated bigot from the deep South can dictate public school policy to more enlightened regions of the country? Are public schools local entities or national assets? For instance, the interstate commerce clause of the Constitution justifies federal control of the nation's interstate highways and airways. What justifies federal control of public education?

In some ways this problem might call into question the wisdom of the Constitution. Shouldn't we amend the constitution to dissolve the fifty states and standardize government policy from Washington? Wouldn't that be the most effective means of maintaining an activist national government? I've always thought that Carolina's tobacco business and racist social interests weren't well represented enough here in California.

Monday, June 18 2001

It was a really fun weekend. I finished work at 5:00 on Friday and went downstairs to the pub. (It's dangerous having your office, bank branch office, and favorite local pub all in the same building!) I met with a few of the ski tour guides over a couple of beers. Shawn is going to work in Alaska for the summer and won't be back until the end of September, so we had to send him off properly!

Brent met me back at my apartment in the evening. We had a pleasant night at home together, listing to music and reading. I've been feeling particularly affectionate for the last week, so it was really nice to have him there as I drifted off to sleep, and to find his arm still around me when I woke up on Saturday.

We didn't actually get out of bed until well after 9:00 and then walked by the lake outside my apartments for breakfast at a breakfast restaurant a few blocks away. After that, we stopped by my apartment again, to put on some sunscreen and get ready to go to Monterey Pride.

Brent and I have both seen Gay Pride festivals on TV before, but have never been to one. We were a little concerned, because the outrageous activities at Pride festivals which the media focus on make us both feel uncomfortable. We weren't going to stay long if the thing turned out to be an unsavory sideshow. We stayed all afternoon!

When we arrived, we found an area of the Monterey County Fair Grounds sectioned off for the Festival. (The Monterey County Fair grounds are best known for a festival that took place there in 1967 called 'Monterey Pop'. It featured the Who, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Ravi Shankar, Country Joe and the Fish, and a bunch of other 60's legends. I'm told that this was the show which put the Who on the American radar and was the show where Hendrix recorded the Star Spangled Banner and burned his guitar for the crowd.)

There was a baseball field sized grassy park with an outdoor stage. Around the grass were arranged many booths hawking a variety of food and representing various gay community groups and causes. They also had a little section of mini-carnival games set up, all the proceeds going to help put on next year's festival. At one of the carnival games, Brent won a toy stuffed White Tiger from the Discovery Channel collection. It was very cute, so I named it Kangchenjunga and carried it around under my arm during the times that it wasn't resting next to us on the grass. By mid afternoon there were about two to three hundred people milling around and stretched out on the lawn. No one looked particularly outrageous, so we didn't feel uncomfortable. The mix of men and women was about 50-50 so the usual all-male discomfort I feel at some gay clubs wasn't there either.

Three different rock bands played on the stage during the course of the afternoon. They were all pretty good and all-female. The MC was a drag queen. She was really the only major representation of the old camp culture around. Of course, the lawn was dotted with same-sex couples, but the atmosphere was more like that of a large company picnic than a political rally (media weren't even specifically invited - I observed none there) or a lewd sex show. Everybody was having fun enjoying the music, the good food, the company, and the opportunity to express ourselves naturally with our dates and significant others without any concern of what other people thought about it. I particularly enjoyed giving Brent an excited smooch when one of our favorite songs came on, and resting my head on his stomach while we lay on the grass together.

After the festival we went over to our friends' the Brians. I met Brian and Brian on AOL when I was just starting to come out in 1994. They are a bit older than me and have kind of been my gay mentors over the years. They were throwing a post-Pride party and wanted us to be there. I'm very busy with all my hobbies and Brent has been a full time student and nurse since we've been dating, so we don't socialize much in the local gay community. The Brians, on the other hand, know everyone! We felt a little lost at their party, but most of the people were nice to us so we had fun. Actually, the lesbians were the more sociable ones. Most of the gay guys were single and from the bar culture. I think they might have resented Brent and I being together and happy.

The post-Pride party wrapped shortly after 10:00 as the bar-flies wanted to get over to the bar and start interviewing the same fifty candidates for their trick of the night, and the lesbians went off to where ever lesbians go in the evening (Santa Cruz?). Brent and I had more important things to go to. Like, say, another party! That's right, we were party hoppers! This next party was with my racing friends and had started at, get this, 6:00 a.m. that morning! It wouldn't end until 7:00 a.m. on Sunday, and it wasn't even a rave.

This party was to celebrate the 24 Hours of Le Mans that was being broadcast live from France. The famous French race is the premier event in world endurance sports car racing. The most dedicated aficionados of sports car racing among my friends, Chris and Stuart, had taken a vow to watch the entire race - without sleeping! They were drinking margaritas when we got there, but had switched to Red Bull and vodka by the time we left at 1:00 a.m. to ensure they had the energy to go the distance. Brent and I wished them good luck, and went back to his house to get a night's sleep. I must be getting old. There's no way I would have wimped-out and let my friends do that while I slept in the past.

At least I woke up briefly (and without an alarm!) at 6:00 a.m. to watch the finish of the race on Brent's TV from bed. Brent, who doesn't care that much about racing, never even put on his glasses to look. After the checkered flag came out, I put off the TV and snuggled up to Brent for another couple of hours of dozing.

Brent dropped me off at home around 11:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. He was off to do Father's day stuff, which I'm not invited to since he's not out to his family. That meant that I got to have a nice quiet day at home alone. I need days like that every now and then and enjoyed it to it's fullest. I watched the CART race from Detroit on TV, then fired up my computer and played on my Formula One racing simulator game for something like four hours. I know, I seem like a totally pathetic looser to geek out like that, but it's been ages since I've indulged myself that way. Besides, the new sims are so good, so accurate, that they actually make good learning tools for driving my own car better at the autocross course. No! I'm serious. It really is that good, if you're a total geek and have a racing wheel and pedals attached to your computer like I do. *sheepish grin*

So, that was my weekend. It was a nice weekend. I actually did the sort of things that normal gay geek bois do on weekends!

Thursday, June 21 2001

Since I last wrote about a relaxing weekend, it's turned into a dizzying work week. I'm still in my office, 11 hours after I arrived here this morning, and there's yet work to be done. I'm taking a few minutes of writing in my journal to divert my attention a little bit, but I'm not really bitching about the workload. I'm tired, but I feel good. I like my work, and I feel like I am working hard and living well.

Working very hard at an unrewarding or uncared for job is a common and sad way to live in the industrial west. I sometimes wonder if the thousands of people working just up the road from Monterey in Silicon Valley really made the right choice. Most commute for more than an hour each way in nerve-wracking traffic and work long hours under immense pressure. They are paid handsomely, no doubt, but is stupid money really worth selling away the precious hours of your life? You never get back a single minute, you know.

My demanding week centers around a mistake I made months ago when I scheduled production deadlines for my alumni magazine during graduation week. I should have known that the heavy demands of both events wouldn't compliment each other.

Then, to compound my scheduling mistake, I hired two Navy reservists to help me for two weeks during the same period. They are here to go through the archived paper alumni records and enter them into the computer alumni database. Their work, when completed, will be a big boost to my program, but their presence demands orientation, supervision, and IT support. The latter took two of my working days because of the gross incompetence of our IT helpdesk! The school was lucky it had an experienced network administrator as an Alumni Director this week, or the two weeks of reserve support would have gone to waste.

Today was graduation day. Most of the morning I spent schmoozing with the graduates outside the auditorium as the assembled for the procession (it's a nice way to get them interested in being involved alumni) and at the ceremonies.

This afternoon I spent giving a VIP tour of the campus facilities to John Gordon, a 1970 alumnus, who was here as the graduation speaker. He now works in Washington D.C. as the Under Secretary of Nuclear Security and as the Administrator of the National Nuclear Security Administration. When I learned about what he is responsible for, I was astonished. But looking at his career experience, I don't think there is another person alive more qualified for the duties he shoulders.

His Administration is responsible for the design, test, production, maintenance, and safety of our nation's entire nuclear arsenal. He oversees the design and production of all Navy nuclear propulsion plants. His is also the government agency charged with promoting international nuclear safety and non-proliferation. The man I spent the afternoon with practically holds the keys to the atomic kingdom.

His professional experience began as a physics major, and then as a graduate student here in Monterey. He had a brilliant career as a missile officer in the Air Force and went on to be the Deputy Director of Central Intelligence. His technical and operational understanding of the application of nuclear power and his experience as a leader in intelligence make him the perfect steward of America's nuclear capability.

Do you think you have the mental horsepower, educational toolkit, and leadership experience to bear the colossal responsibility that the man I spent the afternoon with bears? The safety of the nation and of the globe rests, to a large degree, on his shoulders. When I think of myself, well, the ability to turn a quaint phrase or to ascend a bump on the landscape falls far short of the mark.

Now I must turn my attention back to writing and editing my alumni magazine. I'll go home at 8:00 p.m., just in time to pour a nice cold martini and then get a nice hot pizza ready for dinner with Brent.