Part III: 2004 A year of Friendship: New friends

I started 2004 with a realization of just how close I'd become to my new friends when I said goodbye to Krysia, Jane, Sascha, Mike, Eric, and my other great Emory friends.

Fortunately, I was able to visit with them from time to time over the year - and hope to be able to in the future as well.

In Costa Rica, Becky and I stopped to help a couple who were having car trouble and wound up being treated to great conversation and an outstanding dinner by this interesting and adventurous duo from California.

I got into motorsports in 2004 when I decided to take my WRX to a track day at Road Atlanta. Little did I know that I'd make friends at that track event whom I'd be playing guitar and drinking Scotch with a year later.

In Washington, D.C., I met two of Gary's good friends, one whom I enjoyed laughing and drinking lunch-time margaritas with -- the other, whom introduced me to hookah bars with middle-eastern music and the best late-night espresso I've had.

In Thailand, I made several new friends while diving, including ex-pat British dive shop owners, dive instructors on mega-extended holidays, and a group of guys from the States who motivated me to dive the Galapagos Islands.

In a small village in the jungle near Burma, I drank rice moonshine with one of my best friends from the States and several new Thai friends, most of whom didn't speak English. That night we listened to an impromptu live concert of folk music and bonded with our new Thai friends through song, food, drink, and smiles. This may stand as my most salient "new friend" experience of the year. Incidentally, several nights later, after another evening of traditional drink and hours of laughing at jokes we had no hope of understanding, a park warden warned us not to venture away from our tents due to the risk of being attacked by a tiger.

In hindsight, I'm not so sure about how well jungle-brewed alcohol and camping in tiger country mix!

In the Galapagos Islands, I spent a week on a liveaboard dive boat, building new friendships with divers from California and the U.K. Experiencing such stunning marine life and amazing scenery in an exotic location with a certain element of risk pulls a group together quickly. I couldn't have asked for a better group to celebrate the Galapagos Islands with.

The sport of cycling led to a huge year of new friendships. Thanks to Becky's motivation to do group road rides and to make new friends in the process, I was introduced to a new and constantly growing group of wonderful people starting in the late spring.

From weekday group rides and cycling trips to the North Georgia mountains to a series of fall parties and off-season activities, I gradually met and bonded with what seemed like a dozen new people a week! As the days grew shorter and darkness fell by late afternoon, we transitioned from cycling to climbing, with various music, movie, and dinner events added along the way. This group of new friends has made a huge impact in my view of living in Atlanta, and I'm looking forward to continuing to spend time with them in many cycling and non-cycling activities over the next year.

Now, it took me just over 1,700 words to explain it, but now that I've completed my reflection on the year, I feel more strongly than ever about what a fantastic year of friendship 2004 was!

I thank my old friends and my new friends alike for playing a role in my life in 2004! I look forward to many more years with your friendship.

Cheers!

Jeff

2004: A year of ?

I've been reflecting quite a bit on 2004 lately.

I've been looking for a simple description of the role that this set of twelve months played in my life. In 10 or 20 years, I want to be able to look back on 2004 and say "ah … 2004 … that was a year of _____".

Is there a single word or idea that captures the essence of this year in my life? What did this year really mean to me? What was it all about?

One possibility is 'change'. It was definitely a year of change. I started the year by making a gut-wrenching decision to change career direction - to move away from pursuit of a PhD - to say goodbye to my good friends and colleagues at Emory and to a path that I'd spent a number of years pursuing. "Change"? Certainly a year of change … but that's not quite the right label for the whole year.

"Travel" is another possibility. I was fortunate enough to experience adventures in Costa Rica, Thailand, Alaska, California, Ecuador, and the Galapagos Islands. 2004 was certainly an epic travel year, but 'travel' just didn't capture the essence of the year - neither did 'adventure'. It was more than that.

"Learning"? That's certainly a good label for the year. I set off on many new learning journeys in 2004, including performance driving, SCUBA diving, backpacking in grizzly country, guitar, and wine tasting. "Learning" is a lifelong focus though, so I don't feel good about labeling one specific year as a year of learning. The same goes for "Family" or even

"Becky" - two wonderful parts of my life that transcend the years and don't seem to fit as the perfect label for a specific year.

So, what was 2004 all about in my life?

I got it -- now I have an answer I can live with - actually, one that seems perfect the more I reflect on it.

For me, 2004 was a year of Friendship - of rekindling old friendships and making many marvelous new friendships, more so than any other time in my life with perhaps the exception of my first year in college. Many of these new friendships started right here in Atlanta, while others developed in other parts of the world. Friendship - that simple word describes a recurring theme throughout the year of 2004 - a theme that seemed to have a special significance in this year of my life.

I have much to say on this topic, so I've decided to split this posting into three. Stay tuned for parts II and III!

Part II: 2004 A year of Friendship: Old friends

Becky and I started 2004 celebrating with

Ken and Sarah, a childhood friend and his wife, whom incidentally we feel we've known for just as long as Ken. I love how things seem to never change with old friends, even when a great deal of time passes between visits.

As the winter turned into spring, I started seeing a lot more of my best friend Sean, whom I've been near-brothers with for over 25 years now. We've lived in different cities for over half the years that our friendship has spanned, so it's been wonderful to be back within an hour's drive again.

The monthly phone chats I have with Chris remind me how happy I am to be back in contact with him after so many years - and how glad I am that we can still play a role in each other's lives while not having lived near each other in over 15 years.

Another great friend, Gary, whom I've only lived near for a few months of nearly a nine year friendship, and I remained in email contact nearly daily in 2004. In addition, we managed to see each other quite a bit through travel, including nearly three weeks together in Thailand - a week of that trekking through the jungle near Burma on elephants and bamboo rafts. Memorable to say the least.

Kevin (a friend from high school, my college roommate, and father of our God-children) dropped in for a fall visit to see another high school friend work his way to the final four on the reality show, the Benefactor.

Late night talks with Kevin played a major role in three years of living together at UGA - and yes, some things never change as we both enjoyed re-enacting our chats and laughs during his excellent visit.

Becky and I enjoyed grilling out with our old neighbors and great friends Meg, Brendan, and Cindy -- and sharing in the joy of Craig and Cindy's wedding with them at their reception party.

Sean and I were fortunate enough to visit with Cleo and Rosalie in August - a couple that really feel more like family to us than friends.

Sonia and Gary visited in the fall, reuniting friendships that started with cycling -- friends who we biked with from the Grand Canyon to Oregon a few years ago and who click so well that we always leave each other's company bummed that two of us live in Atlanta, one in DC, and the other in Seattle.

Becky and I attended Homecoming at UGA this fall, reuniting with many of our band friends -- a group that became our first family away from home nearly 15 years ago. We also saw more of one of my best buddies from college, Jason, as well as bag-pipers and new parents, Tom and Becky.

Dave, Sean, and I went winter backpacking together in the Smokies - I just love spending time with these guys together. Dave is a friend from high school - but one whom I realize I have so much more in common with now than I ever would have thought then. It's too bad we only get to hang out together on one annual backpacking trip!

Becky and I made it out to Colorado for an early December ski trip, and my heart was lifted when I spent time with so many great Colorado friends. These friendships were so important to Becky and me - it was very tough to leave our friends in Colorado, so we were quite happy to be reunited with so many special friends during our visit.

Becky and I felt very happy to live so close to our friend Sandy. Her travels and optimistic, energetic, and adventurous attitude gave us a jolt of energy every time we saw her, which is much easier now that we only live a few miles apart.

We closed out our year with an opportunity to spend time with Kevin, Michelle, Ryan, Kyle, Lori and Lori's new baby Emily.

Thanks to email, I also kept in touch with many other old friends, such as my Aconcagua tent-mate and other expedition members, great friends from former jobs, and many old neighbors from both Georgia and Colorado.

So, one reason that I'm calling my 2004 "A year of friendship" is that we were fortunate enough to spend time with so many old friends - to even have so many old friends in the first place. I suppose that this posting is a bit of a thanksgiving post! While our experiences with old friends had a lot to do with what this year was all about, making new friends also played a huge role - as will be explained in part III!

Guns and Taters

I experienced a day of unusual adventure last Saturday. You see, my wife's parents own a house in the North Georgia mountains. The house has been in the family for a long, long time – the property even longer. The house is located in a scenic section of the foothills, with a nice view of Brasstown Bald and the mountains surrounding the gaps that we love to bike. It's a beautiful place to visit – and a nice departure from the concrete, traffic, and pace of the city. On the flip side, this is also the rural south, replete with rebel flags, loud pickup trucks, and a noticeable lack of restaurants serving items in the non-fried food group. The scenery usually wins out in the love/hate contest though!

On Saturday, I made a day trip up to the house to help my father-in-law with some fall chores. After immensely enjoying my drive through the twisty mountain roads that make up the last 20 miles or so of the trip, I drive up the gravel driveway with a full day of hard work on my mind – ready to jump out of the car and start shoveling, or tractoring, or barn-building – or whatever the tasks that my father-in-law presented me with. I change into my boots, grab my work gloves, and I'm promptly invited to sit on the swing for a while. So, we sit – and chat – and swing – and look out at the field and barn – and swing – and experience a few awkward silences – and swing some more – and look out at the field. I chuckle inside because it strikes me that I'm having a rough time actually slowing down to just chill out and "sit for a spell."

I finally ask what is on my to-do list. He runs down a list of things that we can do, but mentions that we have a choice of working first, and then playing – or playing first, and then working. He reasons that if we work first, that we may run out of time for play – so he suggests playing first and then finishing the day with work. Sounds like good logic to me! But what does playing mean? What entails playing on a farm in the north Georgia mountains? (Could be lots of things, but for the purposes of this story, let's just envision things that are legal and that don't involve sheep!) Back to playing on a farm: If we had a couple tractors, we could play chicken ... ala Footloose. Some extra wood, and we could re-create Burning Man. A banjo and a guitar – well, we could have ourselves a little musical duel.

In this case, an event that incidentally takes place in Dueling Zel Miller's hometown, playing means shootin' guns! Cue "Dixie".

Now I need to pause for a moment to give you the lowdown on my gun background: 1) I have an antique .22-rifle that was passed on to me from my grandfather. I've fired it a few times, but it's more of a special memento than a weapon to me. 2) On one occasion as a teenager, I fired a pistol and a shotgun into a dirt embankment. That's about it – nothing more, nothing less. I'll steer clear of political commentary in this post, but let's just say that I believe the NRA is a dishonest and misguided organization that does much more harm than good. (How's that for steering clear?) It's important to add though that I don't have a problem with the ownership and legitimate use of hunting guns, and that I find the thought of wild venison much more appetizing than pen-kept, chemical-laden cows.

Back to the shootin': my father-in-law pulls some old local election signs out of the chicken house and we make ourselves a shootin' range. Honestly though, I am up for some shootin' today. Too bad I didn't bring along some more recent election signs – that would have made the shootin' even more stress relieving.

I pick out a .22 caliber pistol and light up the target from, oh I don't know, 40 feet away. Like my gun vernacular? Yep, I lit that target up with rounds from a .22. Once I am sufficiently warmed up to the act of firing a gun, I ask to fire the 9mm pistol. I don't believe that I've even seen a 9mm in person – I've heard of them though, and I am honestly quite nervous about firing it. It's the type of gun that I feel the need to refer to as a piece – and refer to my carriage of as packing a piece. I unpack my piece, pull the trigger – and flinch. Nothing happens. I pull the trigger harder – and flinch again . Nothing happens again. I have apparently mis-loaded it – or mis-cocked it – or mis-did it right. We fix the problem, and then I fire away at the target, scared s-less, but also a bit enthused. My adrenaline is definitely surging. I hit the target with both weapons, a better shot than I imagined, but still not very much at ease firing a handgun.

Philosophically, the handgun thing is bugging me a little (yeah, yeah, it's people who kill people – still, I'd rather see less of them – both handguns and those people who use them to harm others). That has nothing to do with our target practice sessions, but it's still hard to just set aside.

We wrap up handgun time and moved on to the .22 rifle, a very easy rifle to aim and fire, and

then the big gun – the canon of the day – the .30-06. We mark off 100 yards and setup a place to shoot the .30-06.

It's a big ole rifle – complete with a scope and an aura that says "this gun is going to kick your butt Jeff."

I use the high power scope to zero in on my target, take a breath in, let it out, take a breath ½ way in ... and then pull the trigger. Once again, nothing happens – except for my giant flinch! I eject the unspent round, and load another in the chamber. Same breathing act, but as I'm starting to pull the trigger, at least a ½ second before I expected it, the gun fires – like a canon it fires. Like a tank parked an inch in front of my face, it fires. BOOM! I manage not to fall down – not to drop the rifle – and not to hit the neighbor's house. I fire it twice more and then walk across the field, fully expecting to see that I not only missed the target completely, but shot up the chicken house. I am in shock to see that I nailed the target. I'll chalk it up to a great scope – and a gun that fired before I expected it to (perhaps jumping the gun on my habit of flinching before I fire.)

Here's where the story takes a new direction .... Following "gun time", I receive my work assignment – dig potatoes out of the garden. "What do you mean 'dig them out'? Don't you just pull them from out of those mesh bags?

Where's the potato tree?"

He says that we need to move some weeds out of the way first. I'm thinking weeds as in clover, blades of grass, and such.

Nope -- up there, weeds mean giant shrubbery that overtakes gardens in an attempt to dominate the world. Seriously, I've never seen weeds as tall and as dense – it felt like bushwhacking through the Alaskan backcountry just to expose the dirt. After clearing the weeds, I set to digging with a hoe, a shovel, and my hands as my father-in-law drives a tiller through the garden in an attempt to make potato salad out of the potatoes that I am so desperately trying to locate and unearth. We work until dark. I'm confident that I have unearthed at least $6.75 worth of potatoes. I had one the other night -- very potato-y.

Well, my adventurous day of shootin' and tater diggin' eventually wound down with a free meal (wahoo!) and a late night drive back down to Atlanta, where my taters come from mesh bags and my gun time is limited to an occassional XBox session. Sometimes adventure comes in different packages -- that this was certainly the case last weekend. A fun day indeed.

Stupid Injuries

Don't you just hate getting hurt through some stupid action? For instance, I played farmer yesterday and spent a couple hours digging potatoes out of the ground in my father-in-law's garden. At one point I stepped on the hoe and smacked myself in the lip with the handle. FRACK! Right in the face -- dead-center on my lower lip. Then, today, I was loading the dishwasher and somehow got my knee perfectly positioned to catch the door as I apparently slammed it upward with all my strength. The edge of the door nailed my patella tendon -- cutting into the skin THROUGH my jeans! It still hurts to walk and I did it several hours ago. Speaking of still hurting, my left foot still hurts from where I kicked a steel protrusion on the dive boat I was on in the Galapagos -- all because I was in a hurry to catch a sunset picture and didn't factor a rolling boat into my "how to walk and not get hurt" formula.

I place these injuries in the same category as breaking an ankle running to catch the phone, fracturing a collarbone in a parking lot the first time you clip into bike pedals, or scratching your pupil with long, flailing shoelaces when you're in a hurry to lace up your hiking boots. We should be getting hurt by jumping off cliffs on skis and snowboards, or by getting crushed by two defenders a half second after kicking a winning goal in soccer, or by mountain biking down a series of 10 foot tall ledges. Yet, it seems that more often than not, the best injuries occur with the story that you just don't want to tell.

"Hey Chuck, how'd you break that arm, windsurfing, hang-gliding, or ice climbing?"

"Well, you see Rudy, I was just sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. Then I thought that I'd see what the temperature was outside, so I got up and promptly fell down when my left foot somehow got tangled up in the chair. I wouldn't have broken my arm though had I not made every attempt to avoid spilling my cereal on the floor. I kept the cereal bowl upright (whew!), but landed on my left elbow, fracturing it into 14 pieces that required 9 operations and $57,000 to fix."

Any other stories about stupid injuries out there? If so, feel free to add a comment!