Cheers from Chelan

Literally, cheers from Chelan, WA.

If you have any interest in watching me nerd out with fun facts left over from my unused education, then catch me now. I'm not sure that I have ever drank as much gin in my entire life as I have this week.

The weather here has been unbearably windy, which does not make for good flying conditions. So that leaves us to some creative time filling activities. Let's see, we've played Bocce Ball, miniature golf, go-carting, swimming, mastering the art of the wave runner, and binge drinking. Oh, and a massive amount of trashy talk (I'll withhold examples- although, if you want to here some completely mortifying jokes that break every social and moral guideline, just ask me- I'm rooming with a ex-lawyer turned Alta ski junky).

The group of us staying here at Moms Motel, which is the perfect example of a dive motel, have set up a permanent camp in the dirt in front of our rooms. It's from this post that we have sunken deep into the socially derelict. Our title has become the 'Dirty Mouths.' We have hopes of gaining sponsorship from Orbit Gum. So far we've succeeded only in mortifying our fellow pilots, but for some reason, they keep coming back for more.

Chris is currently in first place in the Serial Class, which is the non-comp glider class. (A comp glider is a very fast, twitchy glider that has no DHV rating that most wives don't let their husbands fly). He's flying great, but it looks like we won't have enough fly days (because of the bad weather) for this competition to be fully valid. The up side is that XC Skies has forecasted flawlessly for each day's conditions! There's a saying that goes "Pilots spend more time looking at the weather than they do actually flying" and with all these no fly days people have been gathered in front of their laptops mastering XC Skies. This is good for us, and very good for our hopes of a vagabond's life.

This is Melanie, or as we call Mal-on-y. She's a retired smoke jumper- and Cliff, the ex-lawyer turned ski bum. This is the start line, look at the determination. I'm sure that there was some serious trash talking happening here that couldn't be caught with a camera. This is a no-nonsense group of athletes- otherwise known as "World Class Ass-leats".


Utter Chaos. This is a race track, we are supposed to be moving together in a forward motion. I guess Mel-on-y got confused and thought that it was a left turn day.
Check out the look on Chris's face. Priceless.


The Dive, and the 'Dirty Mouth' post, pre-camp assembly.


One of my swimming holes.
Yes, I'm working on my courage to jump off the bridge. I have two more days.


Waiting...


How high do you think they are?


7200 feet, over the Chelan Butte.


Goal. A school playground- a tight squeeze.


Chris' landing, perfect.


These are local daycare kids collecting autographs from the pilots. This pilot is Brian Webb, an awesome pilot from Australia. I don't think that they will ever forget the day that 40+ people rained from the sky onto their playground.

Here's something that will blow your mind. The guy in this video made me a 'Speed Jacket' for flying. It says 'Team Galli' on the back and it's blue and has stars! I know, you can't wait til I post a picture of it. This video of him is incredible: Mike Sandberg, otherwise know as Michigan Mike. He parachuted into the 1988 Olympic games in Seoul, Korea.

And thats all for now. Until I have something more of interest to share with you, it's Sarah G., signing off.

Happy Days

Have you ever seen him look so happy? I can't believe that I caught it on camera. This is the first day of the competition, Chris at goal. 62.2 Kilometers. Wow. That's my man.

Stellar Sky. Otherwise known as great conditions. This is the vantage point from launch, the Chelan Butte, coming it at 3825 Feet of elevation.

The chaos of launch. Lots of adrenalin and pending egos.

The flying secret service, air patrol. It's amazing how beautiful they look when they're in the air flying, given how messy, wrinkled and foul smelling they are when on the ground. This is a new class of people: We call them 'The Pilot'.

If I recall correctly, I'm heckling Chris. Power overtakes me when I'm given too much control.

It's a right turn day. First day of the comp- they're still a little weary of each other and are keeping they're distance, but you can still make out a very vague, wide thermal that they're climbing in.

Just so you know what we do when we're not in the air. It's a blur of ruckus. Dirty mouthed, and funky smelling. At least we make sure to tip well.

Apples

There are about one million of these in our back yard, on the ground. They are much prettier and definitely more desirable when still attached to the tree. But inevitably, they end up on the ground, in the grass, decaying to mush. The back yard has started to give off a stench not unlike what I imagine a bootleg brewery to smell like, in the 1920's, before the invention of air conditioning.

Am I complaining? Maybe a little. I've always wanted a fruit tree. As a kid I use to imagine waking up in the morning, walking to my backyard and picking fruit from one of my many and diverse trees that would be swaying in the breeze, waiting for my arrival. I would then carry my choice picks to my kitchen, cut them to fine strips and feed them into my Jack Lalanne Power Juicer. I would sit, with my dog and drink my fresh, sweet, perfect juice. Then, in my imagination, I would lift my shirt to see a beautiful 4-pack appear. The skin on my face would clear up to be a flawless, rosy completion and a twinkle of my perfectly straight, white teeth would catch the eye of my imaginary boyfriend, luke, beckoning him to greet me with a good morning kiss.

But this is not how having a fruit tree is going down in reality. It has been a messy, smelly and dangerous (another story for another blog) experience. Mother Nature sensed my aggravation and created a gust front that resulted in one half of the apple tree laying over a power line- dispersing apples everywhere. After It was all cleaned up, which entailed a morning of me imitating Mike Rowe (yes you missed it, I'll show you when I see you next), with power tools and one big a$$ truck.

I feel bad for hating the apple tree, because now it looks so sad, one half of a tree standing alone in the backyard, with rotting fruit all around its feet. I'm almost compelled to dig out my favorite children's book The Giving Tree to gain some perspective, or maybe I should write my own book about my tree. Maybe not.

So, if any of you know where I live, and need some extra sour green apples, feel free to pick them and take them home to your own juicer. Maybe I should have you sign a waiver first just in case you break your leg by falling out of my tree, we have nothing for you to win in a settlement, unless of course, you want half of an apple tree.

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We're heading to Chelan, Washington in the morning for the XC Open and the Canadian Nationals Paragliding Competition. It'll be a blast. I'll post pictures for you all to see. I'm hoping that it won't be 100+ degrees like it was last time we were out there. If it is, I'll ditch to comp and spend the week in the river. Rivers are so good.

O.k., I know that some of you are thinking: Wow, she's a blogging fool- and that's kinda foolish. But in my defense, I'm sick. And I have had a lot, and I'm talking a lot of time on my hands. I've heard NPR loop for the past 3 days, that's how much time I'm talking about. No more Garrison Keeler's Writer's Almanac.

I have, however managed to leave the house at least once a day, if only to make small talk with the coffee slinger. I haven't missed an afternoon caffeine run yet, it would be a drag to go through caffeine withdrawal on top of being sickly, and anyway, I don't find my afternoon cup of coffee satisfying if it's not delivered in a to-go cup. But see, this is where I'm stumped by dilemma. I'm going to admit to something kinda drastic here, ready? I'm a firm believer in sanitariums for the sickly. Those of you who've worked in the customer service industry should be nodding your heads right now. There's nothing like being handed a palm full a coins by someone who's also gripping a snot rag and sporting beads of sweat in the crease of their upper lip. It's even more memorable when the coins are clammy with little remnants of moistness on them.(mumm,I know you want to borrow my laptop to check your stock options right now). So the question is: do I balance my sanity by exposing my snottiness to what appears to be a healthy, relatively happy barista or baristo, (is there such a thing as a baristo? because today's coffee slinger was male) just for the sake of my own selfish need of human interaction and the to-go cup? I wonder if he was thinking what I would be thinking if I were in his shoes. I won't elaborate on that thought, but I will say that my intake form does read that if you're feeling ill due to sickness you're not responsible for the cancellation fee. I wish there were bubble boy coffee slingers.

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And between pondering deep thoughts like the above, I've been passing my time by reading other people's blogs. Some good, some very bad. Again, I vow that I will never stop seeing my mental therapist.

So that's the deal. Please trust that I will not gain 50 pounds and leave my laptop only for more mac and cheese-and caffeine, as a result of a newly acquired love affair with the world of blogging. Soon I will have a life again. But until then, keep reading me, because I'd hate to think that I'm only making myself laugh-- maybe I should back off on the Robitussin.

Here, this will make you laugh: click here

This will make you feel old

Remember the baby on the cover if Nirvana's Nevermind?

Now he probably wears Teen Spirit.

Check it out

Team Galli

Here we are: Team Galli. Mr. and Mrs. SuperStar. Yup, this is probably only in my head, but still- I can brag to the internet because it can't talk back, or at least I can filter it's back-talk.

We just got back from Ruch, Oregon. Chris flew in the Rat Race Paragliding comp. (did you see how I linked to that? pretty spiffy yeh?) It was a total blast. It was hot hot hot.

There's a beautiful river in Ruch, the Applegate River. I gained access (with my the help of my sweat smile and good charms) to the 'Super Secret Spot' on the river that only the locals, or as they say "family" know about. And let me tell you, there is a rope swing there, and jumping cliffs that should be outlawed. I still have bruises from the Slap of the water hitting my skin. Remember that feeling? The OWWW feeling? I hadn't felt that since, since I can't remember..no, I can remember- it was when I tried to out-water ski my sister a couple of years ago, and after a huge wipe out I figured that it's o.k., I've always wanted to adopt anyways. (sorry, I forgot to filter that thought, you guys will get used to it with time).

Anyways, it was great and I've got some great photos that I'll post later. Right now I'm on my way to Super Walmart- I know, completely against all of my morals - but it's so cheap! I'm going there to purchase an air conditioning unit because I can't take one more day of this heat. I'll tell you what: to off-set this newly acquired bad karma, I'll make sure that when I eat out I ask the waiter to package up my leftovers and send them to Bangladesh. Deal? Now I've gone and given myself a guilt trip.

home sweet home

It's small and perfect but not without it's flaws.

One: It's HOT, yes HOT with all capital letters, and many of the windows have been painted shut. A couple weeks ago I woke up, got a ladder, a chisel and hammer and went to work on opening them. This happened before coffee while I was still in my pajamas. Yes, I agree, my neighbors probably do assume that I'm nuts. But that's o.k, it's early yet and I have plenty on time to win them over.

Two: The basement. Need I say more? do I want to say more? I'll filter for those of you with sensitive ears. Men previously occupied the house. Maybe that's not enough explanation to do justice to the turmoil of the basement. Not only did men occupy the house before we did, but they had animals that they kept in the basement. When the weather heats up outside with just a little bit of humidity it becomes very obvious that the Men didn't believe in litter boxes, and that maybe they had been raising ferrets. Chris emptied bags, multiple heavy duty bags of poo that had been hiding behind the walls. I love my husband. He hosed everything down and sprayed with some sort of industrial concoction that claims to harbor live bacteria that will eat other bad bacteria. This is high tech stuff. Did I mention that I love my husband? Because I do. If the smell doesn't fade soon our next plan of action is to paint with concrete paint. Maybe we can do a nice purple color. I remember a house on the block that I grew up on that had a blue fireplace, the goal was to rid the house of evil spirits, do you think that purple is worthy of ridding the house of poo?

Three: Porn. the Men. Yup, we have-had a porn stash. A porn stash in the basement wall. Very cheesy porn printed on the back of biology power point notes. Not only Men, but nerdy men occupied our house. Not so sexy.

So I've decided that if the smell doesn't diminish before we run out of money from excessive vacationing, I'll just backfill the basement. Whats a couple extra hundred square feet?