Vegetable Oil Road Trip

Winter Grease

2009-02-10T06:24:00.000-08:00

I left the family homestead at 5AM, with a beautiful full moon lighting up the frosted Taconic Valley. The Fried Piper, a 1993 Ford Econoline converted to burn waste vegetable oil, is back on the road for a swing through the northeastern US to visit colleges. I'll be speaking to classes and outdoor clubs about the International Wilderness Leadership School. Along the way, in typical fashion, I'll meet up with old friends and family, have a few adventures here and there, and hopefully eat some tasty regional food.
This trip brings new challenges. Diesel engines are happy to burn vegetable oil, providing it's warmed to 175 degrees or so. The temperature right now is about 5 degrees, making the grease in my Racor filter, pump and fuel lines resemble that bacon fat you left on your counter overnight. So, I start the van on diesel, with the help of an engine block heater, and after radiator coolant heats the grease tank, I flip over to grease in short bursts with the goal of melting the tub of lard that is my fuel filter. Soon enough, everything is flowing nicely.
The real problem will be collecting the grease. Usually I just pull up to a restaurant, obtain permission from someone in the kitchen, and stick my hose in the vat, extracting something that looks more or less like a darker version of the bottle of Wesson oil on your shelf. In this weather it's more like Crisco, which obviously doesn't work for the pump. So I have to hope for a warmer day (at odds with my love of snow) and a restaurant that uses no hydrogenated oil and doesn't fry much meat. Vermont sushi, anyone?

Coast to Coast

2008-12-18T18:43:00.000-08:00

We left Yuma with a new rear differential and camped in Las Cruces. Slim pickins' on grease in El Paso. It was blowing like snot in the desert. Beautiful, windy ride across west Texas to Austin under a big orange moon, past little central Texas towns festooned with thousand of strands of white lights.
Found our old friend, the fiddler Ben Swan, in Austin, and returned to the Continental Club to see Haybale, a great band featuring Merle Haggard's guitarist. Hit up a jazz club downtown before bed.
Easy Austin grease fill-up and north to the town of West, and their Czech stuffed pastries. The kolaches tasted good, but made a solid mass in one's stomach. North some more towards Arkansas, but news of an ice storm steers us east toward Shreveport instead. The road trip arrives at Herby K's, a cajun shack in the abandoned industrial part of town. It glowed like a campfire when we turned down a quiet street, and was better than we hoped. Great cajun food, Abita, internet, fine grease, and friendly people. An idea was hatched to make the most of the detour and paddle Caddo Lake, on my radar since a few years ago, when OK WFR Dave showed photos of deep, dark cypress groves a few hours west of Dallas.
It was a cold and beautiful sunrise paddle through the swamp and a huge push to Bessemer, Al, for a welcome feed at Bob Sykes' BBQ. We drove through a rainstorm and camped in Ft. Payne at the edge of a field. Chicken's night terrors continue, as he wakes up shouting that I am plotting to kill him. He wakes up yelling three or four times a night.
Early morning grease score at a Japanese restaurant in Chattanooga for the big push to DC. Quick stop at Dude's Drive-In in Christiansburg, VA, along the way up the Blue Ridge.
Johnny heralds our arrival in DC with a bunch of friends and jugs of mead.

Video Postcard from Sykes BBQ, Bessemer, AL

2008-12-16T20:23:00.000-08:00

4:20 to Yuma

2008-12-12T20:07:00.000-08:00

We spend the day in Yuma with the motley crew at Ramco Automotive: a racist business owner/Minuteman, a tatoo guinea pig, a chain smoking accountant, a Native American mechanic, some bikers, and a bunch of truckers gathered for a fried catfish lunch. "You boys don't want that oil, it'll be a brick in the morning. That there is pig fat."
The rear differential is dead, long live the rear differential, en route from San Diego.
Later, we walk down 4th Avenue, America is all its western sprawl dusty sheen. Jiffy Lube, Pizza Hut, Drive-thru Liqour Store, Bob's furniture. Inhale exhaust of a dozen cars, then sewage. Hustle through the intersection. Shopping at the Goodwill, Chicken Dave looking for records, me replacing pants covered in grease from late-night mis-guided marathon mechanicin' session. Christmas carols in the 99 cent store, shoppers pluck through scented soaps and pasta sauce.
Now, encamped at the Yuma Cabana. Hopeful for early-afternoon escape. Chicken plucks guitar, takes my money in Texas Hold-Em. Fluorescent lights buzz along with the chords.

Grease Nation

2008-12-10T07:27:00.000-08:00

From base camp at the Shea-Lee's, I made some loops east and north. I multi-tasked in Las Vegas, working on the campaign and visiting UNLV, celebrating election night on the strip before driving to Flagstaff.
I put a few ads on the internet for people frying turkeys on Thanksgiving and spent Black Friday driving around the city with Kristin to pick up their used grease.
The van has traveled 36,000 miles since the conversion in Haines, all of it on waste vegetable oil.
Today begins the next chapter, a winter cross-country grease road trip. The goal: San Diego to northern New York, with stops in Austin, Memphis, Nashville, DC, NY. It's going to be a greasy, musical exploration of America, with Chicken Dave sitting shotgun. Just gotta keep that grease flowing.....

Filling in the edges

2008-12-10T06:51:00.000-08:00

Autumn 2008 saw the Road Trip bouncing up and down the west coast. After the Olympic Peninsula, we motored south in record time, dropping Hawthorne at the train depot in Chico after a celebratory lunch at Sierra Nevada, complete with fill-up. After some family time in California, it was north again, a return to Oregon for school visits and old friend visits in Ashland and Portland. A frozen bike ride up Mt. Ashland and some cider pressing with the Portland crew were highlights. On a whim, I inquired about grease at a downtown Portland taco shop late one night. Tony said to meet him outside. A door opened in the sidewalk, and in a moment I was in Portland famed underground tunnel system, beneath a strip club, surrounded by 60 cubies of liquid gold! It's not impossible to find grease in ultra-hip Portland, you just have to dig for it.
I left the city with a brimming tank and cruised the coast from Tillamook to Gold Beach, paddling here and there along the way. At Cascade Head, I enjoyed a beautiful afternoon surfing waves in the mouth of the Salmon River, with sunshine lighting up the wind-whipped spindrift above the gorgeous spilling waves.
Crescent City was magic as always, car-camping and paddling from downtown this time. UC Davis, then Chico again, for a birthday morning hike up to Feather Falls and ablutions under a faucet. The grease trail lead to Berkeley that night for a late-night roof top fondue fest.

Washington

2008-10-30T22:08:00.000-07:00

After a successful symposium, Matt and I drove back to Neah Bay, home of the Macah whale hunters, for the purpose a launching another Olympic open coast trip. The people of the reservation were as welcoming as always and tolerated our many comings and goings, which often including a hobo feast in one of their covered public areas. Matt was in a funk, the new VHF radio was giving scary forecasts, and there were a few equipment and logistical items to sort out. But, after a couple days in a holding pattern we broke the eddy of Neah Bay and paddled out in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, reuniting with sea lion friends. At Cape Flattery, when we faced the crux move of cuttting inside Tatoosh Island, the winds dropped as predicted and the swells were manageable. For the next two and a half days we enjoyed every bit of the spectacular open coast between Neah Bay and La Push including beautiful caves and magnificent pillars, survived a hairy surf landing, camped on some stunning beaches and forgot all worries of heartbreak and impending financial disaster.

In Spokane, Headed to Port Townsend

2008-09-17T15:43:00.000-07:00

It'e 90 degrees in Spokane right now, where I'm visiting Gonzaga University. Their grease dumpster is brimming and I'm expecting a huge turnout tonight at Wolff Auditorium for an IWLS presentation.

The Road Trip reunites with Matt Hawthorne tomorrow at Sea-Tac airport, then heads to Port Townsend for the West Coast Sea Kayak Symposium, where we'll show off the new Point 65 kayaks. If you're in the neighborhood, come check it out....

Wisconsin

2008-09-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

In Wisconsin, I visited the ultra-green campus of Northland College and did some wonderful paddling in the Apostle Islands of Lake Superior.

Good morning North Dakota

2008-09-14T21:34:00.001-07:00

This is the view I had at sunrise on Sunday, looked out at the badlands of Painted Canyon in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park in western North Dakota. After many years of being stuck at 48 states visited, now only Hawaii remains. And a fine time in North Dakota it was. I visited friends from Ketchikan, the Van Walden family, who bought an old homestead in Bismarck and refurbished it. The place sits on a beautiful, wooded ten acres near the mighty Missouri River. They did an incredible job on the house, while living in the garage all winter(this is North Dakota, remember), homeschooling the three kids, while Erik worked full time with the Forest Service. A modern frontier family. Their life seems idyllic, but they reminded me I visited in early September, the rest of the year is apparently bitter cold or hot and swarming with insects. This plus a dearth of PLU's may entice them to sell the homestead and move on.
After a great breakfast, all six of us loaded in the Fried Piper and cruised Bismarck, visiting a street fair, the Dakota zoo, and going on a successful family grease hunt through the town's alleys.

Up dere in da UP, eh?

2008-09-09T18:30:00.000-07:00

I enjoy loitering at historic hotels. Tonight the Road Trip has landed at a fine one. The Landmark in Marquette, MI, formerly known as the Northland, is a classic place on the shore of Lake Superior. Jim Harrison has written about it and is apparently frequent guest, and the Rolling Stones gathered here recently on their way to a funeral. I just climbed up to the top of the fire escape to eat ice cream and check out the moon on the lake, and now I've decamped to the lobby for the wireless and ambience, putting off, for a bit, a late night run to Wisconsin.
I crossed back into the US yesterday at Sault Ste. Marie, after a last-minute bit of paranoia had me covering the "powered by vegetable oil" slogans with electrical tape for the border. The customs guy looked at the tank and only asked how much gas costs in AK.
Late afternoon in Musining, I popped into the visitors center for Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and on a whim picked up a backcountry permit, threw together a pack and hiked in eight miles atop sandstone cliffs to a place called Chapel Beach. What a place! Crashing lake surf on Moab-like cliff formations topped with a beautiful deciduous forest. And no people. I had the camp to myself, and made a tasty sunset dinner on a fluffy white sand beach in a cove that seemed more like Thailand than Michigan. Sunrise was wonderful too, with a perfect arch of rainbow lighting up the sky before a downpour drove me back into the tent to make a pot of cowboy coffee and curl up with the New Yorker. These are good times. I made a loop out of the hike past a couple waterfalls, returned to the van, grabbed an obligatory pasty and arrived at the University of Northern Michigan with time to spare.

Headed west again!

2008-09-07T11:37:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Ontario. Just got in from a lovely three-day paddle on Georgian Bay, Lake Huron. Now headed north for Sault-ste. Marie and da UP.
I left Springhill on a beautiful New York September day, the van loaded down with tomatoes from Jimmy's garden, squash and garlic from the Dassatti's, blueberries I picked with Ahmom, and some smoked salmon from Alaska. I had 13 days to traverse the country, with a few school visits scheduled along the way.
The van travelled west toward Buffalo and the Canadian border at Niagra Falls. A brief check for grease came up short- there was plenty, but stickers advertising "Buffalo Biodiesel" and warning of prosecution scared me off. There was no need to worry. In Canada I would have access to alll the grease I could handle.
In Parry Sound, Ontario, I camped off the road in the rain and found White Squall Kayak Centre in the morning. Really friendly Canadians, tons of great kayaks, and a bunch of chickens. My kind of place! They hooked me up with a nice loaner and I quickly took off amidst the remnants of Hurricane Gustav for a three day loop in the archipelago of Georgian Bay, a UNESCO World Heritage Biosphere. Great paddling, beautiful camping, no people, brilliant stars when the storm cleared and some wonderful swims in water that felt downright tropical after a summer in Alaska.
On a quiet Sunday morning, I drove back into Parry Sound and filled the tank at a low-rent hotel with lots of bemused residents checking things out and chatting. Canadians are an unfailing friendly people. Following Lake Huron's east coast I made my way to Sudbury and west toward Sault. The next morning, after scoring a new filter and filling the tank again it was over the bridge and back to the USA, quietly importing 400 litres of used vegetable oil from Canada.

Sunrise at Quoddy Head, Maine

2008-09-07T11:32:00.000-07:00

Kristin and I recently road-tripped "down east" to the point furthest east in the US. A wonderful spot to hike on cliffs above the sea.

Fried Scrod

2008-09-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

This is my old friend Derek (Scrod) with Celine and their daughters Alexia and Nikka, showing off their newly converted grease bug

Klondike Ho!

2008-05-31T16:43:00.000-07:00

Back in Haines in all its summer glory. Paddled to Taiyasanka harbor with Corngdog, rowed a midnight Devil's Elbow river trip with Liam and Sylvia and the CG gang and enjoyed many a french press/PBR with old friends, looking out at the huge raft of surf scoters on the sea, from the porch at Brutopia.
Matt Hawthorne and I are now rigging a trip for Alaska Mountain Guides. We're headed, with six clients from the UK, over the Chilkoot Trail from Skagway to Lake Bennett, then jumping in canoes and paddling nine days down the Yukon River to Dawson City. We'll be following the route of miners in the Klondike Gold Rush, except we'll have a shuttle van, Gore-tex, access to dental care, and about 1900 fewer pounds of gear.

Skirting the 59th Parallel, Around the Globe

2008-05-28T20:48:00.001-07:00

The road trip is rolling down the Alaska Marine Highway, aboard the ferry Malaspina, en route from Juneau to Haines. This is the climatic end to a mad voyage that began a few days ago in Goteborg, Sweden, hanging out in the streets at 3 am , eating kabobs with my brother, Matt.
Now, traveling up the Lynn Canal, the longest fjord in North America, on a spectacular late-May Alaskan evening, enjoying the amenities of the Malaspina: incredible views, a nice shower, egg salad sandwiches and (incredibly) free wireless internet. From the back solarium deck, taking in the 360 degrees filled with memories of past adventures and future ones promised. So much snow on the peaks this year! But summer now bursting through with the long and sunny days.
Now we pass the famous Eldred Rock lighthouse, perched on a basalt plug in the middle of the fjord. It was here, perhaps exactly six years ago to the day, on a paddling trip from Juneau to Haines, where I climbed up the tower late one evening to watch a storm roll up the fjord from the south, and saw whales in every direction. I spent the night in one of the abandoned quarters and spooked myself with every creaky sound, in the morning flying north with a strong following sea, and smelling the breath of a huge bull sea lion for the first, and hopefully last time.

Malmö , the heart of Skåne

2008-05-18T09:19:00.000-07:00

After one last great bike to work on Bike to Work Day, I bid farewell to Stockholm one last time and drove 500km south with 28 kayaks on the trailer. Luckily, southern Sweden has no hills. I was headed back to Sweden's third largest city, Malmö for a two day kayak festival.
I stayed with my colleague, Malmö native Staffan Ahltin and his great family. After work on Saturday, Staffan gave me a proper tour of the old downtown, with a particular focus on churches and pubs. There was a great barbecue with all the other folks from the festival, another day of kayak antics, a now the Pointmobile is northbound once again....

Swedish Things

2008-05-15T00:10:00.001-07:00

Swedish McDonald's

Swedish car dealership

Swedish snack bar

Ah, Copenhagen

2008-05-09T15:28:00.000-07:00

Studies consistently show that Denmark is home to the world's happiest people. After two days of exhaustive research I can offer an explanation: sunshine, bicycles, and beer.
I was to meet an outdoor gear product designer from a European chain of retailers called Stadium, their Denmark head of operations, managers from around the country, the coach of the Copenhagen kayak racing team, and a bunch of other water-loving folks for an all-day event in Copenhagen that would showcase the Point 65 line and teach some kayak skills and knowledge to Stadium employees.
But first, a few free hours to soak up Copenhagen on its finest day of 2008. I ditched the trailer, then the car, and set off to find a bicycle. Copenhagen is arguably the cycling capital of the world. To find out more about this culture, or if you just want to see well-composed shots of fashionable Danes on bikes, click here.
The free city bikes were nowhere to be found on such a gorgeous day, despite my searching through the Nyham district. Not to worry, a helpful woman on her own classy bike told me, just find a people's bike. I would know one if it was a) unlocked, and b) looking a bit neglected. Soon enough, I had a sweet ride of my own. If I misunderstood this system, I apologize to the owner of a black cruiser. You can find your bike two blocks off the canal on Nyham....
Soaking up the bohemian vibe of Christiana, the beautiful King's Garden park, and the alleys and street of downtown, I quickly tapped into some of the legendary happiness.
Soon, I met my contacts and we made our way to the kayak club, setting up tents for the night and having a planning session while debating the merits of Carlsberg vs. Tuborg.
The next day was even more beautiful than the last. Folks trickled in and we were all treated to a smorgasbord more befitting a wedding than a kayak demo.
Some on-land instruction followed and then some time for everyone to try out the boats. The Danish racing team, peparing to leave for a meet in Germany, joined us on the water and soon we were all involved in some really fun relay races with ever kind of kayak imaginable in the fray. At sunset, with satisfied grins, my colleague Staffan, the young Swedish expedition paddler John, and I crammed into the Pointmobile, bid farewell to our hosts, and drove off, crossing the bridge into Sweden and passing through the beautiful southern farmland on our way north to more events in Karlstad.

Further South

2008-05-06T15:06:00.000-07:00

I drove to Norrköping for an event with Nomado, and then past beautiful fields of future vegetable oil at sunset, stumbling upon the sleepy seaside village of Christianople where I camped behind a big stone wall. The place reminded me of a campground in Findhorn, Scotland where Johnny and I stayed in 1998. I woke up early looking for rough seas in which to test the Whisky. Instead, I found a perfectly glassy Baltic. Paddled offshore to a wind farm slalom course.
Back in the car and on to an event in Karlskrona. Then another Vaxjö. Now staying with Blue Ribbon veteran (paddled entire Swedish coast) John in Helsingborg and catching the ferry to Denmark in the morning. Very excited to see Copenhagen by bicycle and kayak and connect with my people.

More from Örebro

2008-05-06T14:51:00.000-07:00

tiny houses, a mushroom water tower, the ubiquitous Megamid, etc.

Örebro

2008-05-03T12:53:00.000-07:00

The road trip has arrived in beautiful Örebro, Sweden. The brand new VW Caddy diesel is a gem and Fiona (GPS voice) guided the way with her usual dulcet firmness. I met Christer, my host and his wife Margaret at the hostel they'd arranged. There was a pack of thirty teens on the doorstep and I soon realized this was not the "cool French Canadian couple, two crazy Israelis, friendly nurses from Australia, one German cycle tourist" kind of hostel. More like the "history class from a high school in Stockholm" kind of hostel. I begged off as politely as I could and slept better than I have in weeks, in my tent, down by the river.
In the morning, everything found its place in the Pointmobile and the French press and muesli bowl were filled to brimming. Soon Christer arrived and we set up a demo in a great spot between river and wetlands. There is water everywhere in Sweden, it's really fantastic.
The demo was a success, and before we packed up I was able to paddle the brand-new Whisky 16 into the city- a fairy tale paddle past immaculate gardens bursting with tulips, stately homes, big willows with new leaves, under stone arch bridges. I ended up at the impressive Örebro Castle, dating from the 1200's. After wandering around like an idiot in my sprayskirt and lime green Crocs, it was time to paddle back for some rolling (exhale through nose to keep duck crap out) and packing. Christer took off, and I went for a short run in the wetlands and a shorter outdoor freezing shower. I went back to the castle and had a delightful sunset picnic of pickled herring, bread and a splash of wine, grinning like Samantha Brown on the Travel Channel. If I had a show it would be called "Let's Camp and Paddle and Picnic in Europe.

Vuja Day

2008-05-03T12:08:00.001-07:00

Another diesel gets fancy graphics

And is sent out on the road.

May Day Scenes

2008-05-02T01:13:00.000-07:00

Bonfire to ward off spirits, or usher out winter. I'm not exactly sure.

Socialist rallies in the streets

Recreation in the sunshine.

Fish eggs in a tube.

2008-04-28T06:19:00.000-07:00

Stockholm Archipelago is made up of something like 25,000 islands. Or maybe 100,000, it depends on whom you ask. Last Friday, I set out to visit 30 or 40 of them. My trip began with a drive to Bjorkvik, where I delivered six Point 65 kayaks to Pierre at Kayakriet. A cool guy with a rambling compound of farmhouse, barn, yurt, tipi, Pierre runs an outfitter shop and has big groups come in for courses during the summer. His beautiful spot sits on a spit at the edge of the archipelago, perfect for launching a trip. I borrowed a boat from him, as well as the very crucial chart and compass and set off for a day trip.
From a distance the hundreds of island blend together and seem to form one unbroken horizon of land, but by taking bearings and following them I soon was finding my way around. I always love trying to hit a very specific spot on a chart by following a given heading. With little wind and almost no tidal current, I was right on course, heading out to the beacon at Bjornoon and croosing the sound to the big islands of Uvon and Morto, and the big cliff knob called Mortoklobb.
From there, I wound my way through some more little islands, on a course for a tiny little channel Pierre had shown me on the map, cutting between the islands of Angskar and Jungfruskar. I was sure I had landed in the right cove, but there was no passage, just tall water grasses. I almost left but saw a little break in the grass and poked the nose of my kayak into it. Sure enough a little passage way opened up and lead me back out to the open water. It reminded of this special place in Glacier Bay where you can sneak through a slough at the highest tides( which in August come around the witching hour) and end up flushed into Skidmore Bay. I hope to do it again this summer with students on an IWLS course.
I kept paddling from island to island, enjoying the day and the lack of people, plus all the birds.
I saw lots of eiders, murres and other ducks and my first ever sea eagle(Haliaeetus Albicilla), a close cousin to our American Bald Eagle.
Finally reaching the end of the archipelago at Gaston, I stopped and cooked some lunch, the open Baltic sea spread out before me.
From there, it was south to Gillinge, and into a cove dotted with cute houses. Pierre was actually paddling here with two girls to check out a spot for a future Point 65 trip and take a sauna.
I was hoping to run into them, but there is only so much one can reasonably expect from life. So, it the beautiful evening light and a bit of wind chop I set course back to Bjorkvik, making a couple big open-water crossings on the way, and arriving back at the car exhausted, hungry, cold, and elated.
As I drove from the take-out I was treated to a great view of a cow Moose, munching grass on the roadside in the fading light of day. And then back to the city....

Breakfast: Cardboard and Capppucino

2008-04-24T01:40:00.001-07:00

You will not find a finer coffee making device at any kayak shop, anywhere in the world.

Stockholm Sailing

2008-04-23T05:18:00.000-07:00

On Saturday morning, I went with my colleague Paul to this lovely little marina filled with Hobie Cats. We scrubbed the Swedish winter off of one of them, and rigged and launched it.

Paul, "The Flying Dutchman", a former world-class rower is now entered in a world class Hobie Cat race from Stockholm to Finland and back. He has no business doing this. So begins his "training".

I got to hang in the trapeze, a new experience. We had some great puffs of wind and the boat really took off. Too soon, it was time to return to work and rig the trailer for Gothenburg.

What the Hell am I Doing in Sweden?

2008-04-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

It all started a couple months ago, with a kevlar sea kayak smashed to bits on I-10 in western Lousiana, an event so painful it was not reported on this blog. Despite that, the story bounced around the world through other channels. The kayak world is fairly small, it turns out.
While searching unsuccessfully for another kayak to put on the roof of the Fried Piper, I got in touch with Richard Ohman, who, with his brother Thomas, owns the Swedish kayak company Point 65. I'd met Richard last spring at a kayak symposium in San Diego. Nigel Foster, a recurring character on this blog, introduced us. Nigel had just begun his new role as designer for the company. The three of us, and nine other paddling characters, enjoyed a trip to Baja after the symposium for some fun rock gardening and seafood. Richard thrust his card at me late night outside a restaurant in Ensenada and jumped in his rental car for a midnight run to LAX and on to China to check up on production.
Since it seems I'm in the road tour business, Richard asked me to come to Sweden and tour around with the Point 65 fleet, doing some demos and shows and such. Also, I'm spending some time at the flagship store in Stockholm, Pampas Kajak, helping to develop an instructional program and doing whatever else needs doing. On the side, I hope to get myself in shape for summer after a winter sitting on my butt in the Fried Piper, listening to NPR podcasts.

Road Trip to Gothenburg

2008-04-22T05:37:00.000-07:00

The Swedish version of the Fried Piper is not at all fried. It runs on petrol that costs nearly US$10 per gallon.

A busy day of work, testing some gear
at the last island in the archipelago, with the open North Sea beyond.

Swedish Schwedule

2008-04-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

New Chapter

2008-04-17T01:29:00.000-07:00

The tour has landed..........in Sweden.

The second-largest stone obelisk in North America

2008-04-17T01:25:00.000-07:00

Wrapping up the semester tour in the homeland.

2008-04-17T01:21:00.000-07:00

Pennsyltucky

2008-04-17T01:07:00.000-07:00

I visited my cousin, Lance, an arms dealer in central Pennsylvania. He's more Ted Nugent than Adnan Kashoggi.

Mount Saint Mary's

2008-04-09T12:16:00.000-07:00

I gave a presentation at this stately Catholic school in Maryland yesterday. Pulling around the back during an afternoon break, I found about three hundred gallons of sweet sweet used vegetable oil, and the school was happy to give me some. Interestingly, the two theological schools I visited on this leg of the tour, MSM and Montreat, each had cups which runneth over with grease .

The largest stone obelisk in North America

2008-04-09T12:11:00.001-07:00

Goin' boatin' with Johnny and friends

2008-04-09T12:08:00.000-07:00

My newest cousin

2008-04-02T16:01:00.000-07:00

Radford University

2008-04-02T15:59:00.001-07:00

Lynchburg College

2008-04-02T15:57:00.000-07:00

Running Rivers in Virginia

2008-04-02T15:42:00.001-07:00

This is Gordon, my paddling partner for a day on the Maury river at Goshen pass, Virginia. It was pretty bony, with a lot of bouncing over and careening off rocks, but still a beautiful way to spend a day off in the rolling hills near Lynchburg, VA.

The Winter Months

2008-03-19T12:31:00.000-07:00

So, for any old readers of this blog who happen to stumble on it again, you may notice that some months are missing and Matt has disappeared. We ended our historic fall trip in San Diego in early December and Matt made his way to South America, where he still roams, chasing the wave. In June we are scheduled to guide a Chilkoot Trail/Yukon River trip together, so I expect some stories. I spent December, January and most of February in California, visiting some schools and adventuring here and there. It was a particularly snowy winter in southern California, so the skis and snowshoes got some use. On a college tour in the LA region, I picked kumquats at the Tenenbaum house in the morning and skinned up the San Gorgonio mountains in the afternoon.
Another weekend I went with my wonderful and patient girlfriend, Kristin, to the little mountain town of Idyllwild. We stayed in a cozy little cabin and christening our new fondue pot, then went for an epic 10 hour snowshoe ascent of 11,000 ft. Mt. San Jacinto the following day, getting up high on the escarpment and looking out across the desert to the Salton Sea.

Brackets

2008-03-18T22:20:00.001-07:00

It's late in Chapel Hill. Someone at open mike night is covering Dylan's "One More Cup of Coffee."

Visiting this legendary basketball school on a cool day in March inspires the Fact of the Day:
The Fried Piper has thus far visited eight schools in the NCAA tournament, with three more scheduled before the tour finishes on April 11.

Hitchin' Post

2008-03-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

When you kayak alone on rivers, you get to do a fair amount of hitch hiking. Luckily, when you’re standing in goofy looking clothes, dripping wet and shivering, people tend to stop. It looked bleak in unpopulated north Alabama, after my run on the Little River, but then a Park Service law enforcement guy took pity on me. I sat shotgun with his shotgun.
Ben Franklin picked me up after my first paddle on the Rio Grande, an eight mile section through Colorado Canyon in Big Bend State Park, upriver from the National Park. Ben Franklin and his wife Debbie. I wasn’t even hitching, just contemplating my impending bicycle shuttle into a headwind, with a seat I’d forgotten to tighten. He pulled,over, offered a ride and I accepted. Debbie gave up the front seat and sat silently in back of me the whole way. Ben was the very epitome of the good ole boy Texan stereotype. Very polite and expansive. I told him about my paddle and he asked if I’d seen any Mexicans. I could tell right away that if I said, “Why, yes, I saw three and shot them dead," he would have been fine with that. It went south quickly with a diatribe worthy of a Minuteman blog quickly building.

“…And none of these politicians will touch it, not even John McCain, who will most-likely be our next president. And Hillary knows she just needs to get these illegals to vote for her and she’s all set.”

He’s referring to the Texas primary, just a few days away.

“But illegals can’t vote,”I protest in that gentle way I learned when I first started hitch-hiking.

“BUT THEY DO! How do you think Bill Richardson got elected governor of New Mexico?”

I attempt something lame about legal hispanics recognizing the need for a solution, but bristling at the overt racism inherent in much of the anti-immigration voice. He doesn’t buy it.

“I used to feel that way, that compassionate conservative stuff. But I tell you what: it’s like someone breaks into your house, steals everything, cooks you breakfast, then asks to stay.”

I don’t really follow the metaphor, but luckily we’ve arrived back at the van.
The next day after my overnight paddle, truly freezing from a temperature drop of 40 degrees, I was picked up
by two more classic Texas characters, Boyd and his wife’s first cousin, Charlie. They threw my boat in the back of the truck and told me stories of canoeing the river as kids and taking mules up to the little villages on the Mexican side. I sunk deep in my seat, lulled by the beautiful heat blowing through the cab and the soft cadence of their thick Texas accents.

The Demonet Family

2008-03-18T21:36:00.001-07:00

Greg's family has grown since I last saw him ten years ago. Little Autumn is now a teenager, he's married to Paula and they have two more daughters, Elianna,2.5, and Emma Grace, 3 months.
A proper mountain time ensued including fire, music, church, beer, chicken, cycling in the Smoky Mtn NP, and some proper late night up-catching.

Run In with the Sherriff in Sylva, NC

2008-03-18T21:31:00.000-07:00

On the right is Ceil Clausen, the widow of my paternal grandfather. In the middle is her neighbor, who called the police three times to report a "suspicious person and vehicle", on the left is the county sherriff who responded.

My Own Private SXSW

2008-03-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

Suck it, all you hipster music bloggers sipping lattes in Austin right now. I've had my very own SXSW festival over the past week, without the $650 wristband, long lines, or insufferable pretentious prattle.
In Austin, I managed to see four of the very best local acts as they geared up for the festival onslaught with inspired shows to appreciative and manageable crowds at the very cool Continental Club on S. Congress.

And,since many roads to Austin pass through Nashville, I was able to catch two of the most (deservedly) hyped bands out of the 1700 playing the festival, in warm-up shows on the way to Austin. For $10 at the door I caught a hauntingly beautiful, melodic set from Bon Iver followed by a blistering throw-down from awesome Canadian psych-rock outfit Black Mountain. And, burning used grease the whole way, my carbon footprint was almost nil. Take that, sustainability bloggers!

Sweet Foam Alabama

2008-03-10T09:06:00.000-07:00

Scouting a 45 foot drop on the Little River.

Bam!

2008-03-10T09:02:00.000-07:00

The Fried Piper made it to New Orleans( a fried city if ever there was one), on a beautiful saturday morning just in time for beignets and chicory coffee at Cafe du Monde. Scoring grease proved to be a challenge. It was hard to get to, hydrogenated, or filthy. Finally I turned to one of the luminaries of New Orleans cookery, celebrity chef and transplanted New Englander Emeril Lagasse. He set me me up with enough high-class grease from Delmonico to get to the border.

In Hattiesburg, Mississippi,150 yards from the Interstate you'll find a Japanese restaurant with a tank filled with the nicest grease this side of Austin. Further north, you'll tune into a great live music radio show from Oxford. You'll want to check out this legendary literary town, but the road leads NW, to a rest area in Alabama....

Hanging out with James McMurtry in Austin

2008-03-10T08:58:00.001-07:00

He was enthralled with my tales of the road, clearly...............

On to Austin

2008-03-10T08:47:00.000-07:00

In 28 hours I saw five music performances, did some marketing work for IWLS at UT-Austin and an outdoor store, rode my bike along the river, ate some delicious tamales, watched the evening emergence of thousands of Mexican free-tailed bats, and scored 40 gallons of beautiful, kosher grease from the UT Hillel. I love this town.

Waco!

2008-03-10T08:43:00.001-07:00

Students took me out to see the two
real live ursi americanus at Baylor University.

Big Bend

2008-03-05T12:12:00.000-08:00

Hello from Austin. Way too nice to blog. I've got a million stories, hopefully I'll be someplace more boring soon....

PLU's

2008-03-01T10:22:00.000-08:00

Slept on a USFS road in the Gila National Forest on Tuesday and drove through the mountains to Hillsboro, NM on my way to NM State in Las Cruces. Then back north to Albuquerque.
In Albuquerque, I was hosted in fine style by Dara and Jeremy Johnson. Dara is the sister of my old friend and colleague Ben Houdek. Last year I worked with the third Houdek, Josh, lobbying Congress in support of a wilderness bill, so it was nice to meet Dara and round out the Houdektrifecta. Jeremy was busy in his role as outdoor programs director for a prep-school, so Dara and I biked and hiked around the area and hunted for grease. I found a huge score at a sushi place just down the street from their house, but the bin was locked. Decided to ask just to be sure. “We’ve been waiting for you,” the manager replied. Hmm. He’s made arrangements with someone and thinks I’m the one. Do I fess up, or just play along and score the fill-up? I fess up. “Uh, you must be mistaken. I’m just passing through.”
“Yeah, the bin’s full and we’ve been waiting for someone like you to show up and empty it for us. Go help yourself.” Someone like me…..

So the impeller in my gathering and transfer pump is broken and a new one and while Golden Fuel is great about shipping a new one, they can’t get it to me any sooner than Waco, some 1000 miles down the road. I result to the old dip and slop method. This works, but leaves me covered in grease and sweat. My high tech system has been taken back to a more primitive era. I resemble Daniel Plainview in the early scenes of There Will Be Blood. After a crazy time searching every business that supplies pumps to the southwest, I finally locate a hand-crank cast iron unit thanks to Dara. It will get me to Waco, but it won’t be easy. It’s a cool device though, really heavy and bright red, like something from a firefighting museum.

Now back south to Las Cruces- El Paso- Big Bend NP........

One Veggie Burrito and 20 gallons of fuel: $3.25 +tax

2008-02-26T15:46:00.000-08:00

Jacques and Rachel bought a canoe at a swap meet a couple days ago and built a rack for the VW microbus on loan from Jacques' sister. They loaded up on food and set off for Texas, intent on spending a couple weeks paddling the Rio Grande. For reasons not entirely clear, a few hours later they returned to Tucson unloaded the canoe, replaced it with two surfboards and left for a month-long tour through Mexico, surfing and mountain biking along the way. These are my kind of people. When reached by phone on their way to the border, they really had no choice but to turn around again and head back to Tucson to meet their old Grand Canyon raft mate. They were waiting at the campsite when I rolled in late, a warm dutch oven stuffed with enchiladas and cold Tecates under a perfect Sonoran night sky. Fellow adventures and greasers, they marveled at the FP and helped me trouble shoot a pump issue while we caught up on the past year. In the morning more tasty food came out of the microbus after a beautiful hike through the saguaro, ocotillo, greasewood, prickly pear and cholla to the top a little mountain with a beautiful view of mountains and valley.
Yesterday, a chance encounter at ASU-Phoenix lead to a guest lecture opportunity at Dr. Don Charpio's "Nature-Based Tourism" class before the late-night run to Tucson in anticipation of today's U of A visit. Now, with belly and tank full, it's off to New Mexico in search of some hot springs

Thank You!

2007-12-26T00:12:00.000-08:00

To our employers who believed in this crazy idea, and our sponsors who helped make it happen. To all the students who attended our presentations and the faculty who facilitated them. To those who housed, fed, and entertained us. To those who waited patiently for us to pull over so they could pass. To those who drove our shuttles and shared local knowledge. To those who loaned tools, expertise, houseboats, wives, etc. To all the Canadians and Americans who were so friendly every place we went.
But especially to:

Glyn, Terri, Alana and Isaac
Heather and Joe, and baby Pearl
Nigel and Kristin
One T and his Bellingham posse
The Makah Nation
National Park Service
Alex and her crew at Golden Fuel Systems
Sarah Amspacher
Claire Tenenbaum and Riley Dopler
Dee Custer
Bryan Miller, Sue Miller, Whitey, and CP
The Yurok Nation
Robin Barlow
Chicken Dave
Sierra Nevada Brewing
Dude Williard, Jessica, David Press, and Hez
Shirley, John, Lynne, Rhiannon, Michael, Eliza, and Dylan West
WK Stewart and Family
Justin and Janet in SF

We'll see you down the road............

2007-12-25T23:17:00.000-08:00

Piper's Index

17------------------# of schools visited
7, 053------------- Total miles driven
70 -----------------Total, in US Dollars, spent on diesel fuel
4------------------- Number of Raycor Filters changed, at $12/filter
0------------------- Tickets received for parking illegally or speeding
2 -------------------# of times pulled over in vehicles skateboard/bike
1 -------------------House fires we started while house guests
1--------------------Cases of homemade Alaska berry preserves eaten
2------------------- Cases of smoked salmon consumed
1.5 -----------------Amount, in Kg, of red lentils consumed on the trip
37-------------------# of raw oysters consumed
7--------------------# of Haines friends visited
2 -------------------# of Haines friends bumped into
2 -------------------Childhood friends visited
4 -------------------# of provinces/ states where we kayaked rivers
1 -------------------# of provinces states where we swam in the sea
2 -------------------Museums visited
1------------------- Number of churches attended

Winding Down

2007-12-25T22:16:00.000-08:00

The fall 2007 portion of the university tour wrapped up with visits to San Jose State and UC-Santa Cruz. Dr. Gonzaga da Gama was our gregarious host at San Jose, and we soon found ourselves speaking and showing slides in a bunch of different classes, including a graduate seminar and an eco-tourism class. Santa Cruz was a slightly different story- a wetter, lonelier story. The tour ended huddled under the Kelty wing outside the rec center as a december storm blew through Santa Cruz.
To celebrate, we retired to the lovely village of Carmel-by-the -Sea and called on Haines friend Thad Stewart. Thad and his wife Martha own and run Mosey's, a fantastic southwestern restaurant up in Alaska. They had just made a chile run to New Mexico to procur the 1.5 tons needed for the next summer season and afterward Thad had returned to his childhood home, a beautiful old hacienda overlooking the sea between Carmel and Big Sur. Our host was his father, W.K. Stewart, Esq., a nonagenarian practicing lawyer, anti-war activist, WWII vet and general bon vivant. We had a great time sitting by the fire in the library hearing stories from Bill's half-century in Carmel, with cameos from Ansel Adams, Henry Miller, Joan Baez, and Bob Dylan, as well as several unsuccessful Japanese kamikaze pilots. Thad took us to Big Creek, a 5,000 acre swath of land in the heart of Big Sur, once owned by Bill and some associates. They donated the entire parcel to UCSC in the seventies, but all the families retain access for a couple generations, and each have a small cabin on the land, surely some of the most incredible real estate on the west coast. We hiked to a beautiful little cabin nestled in the redwoods, built in the style of the Haida natives from our neck of the woods. Later, working our way to the top of the ridge, we came to Bill and Thad's place, a beautiful little post and beam cabin with lots of glass that looks out on sweeping views of hills and sea. Someday a wildfire will claim it and it won't be rebuilt. For now, it's a great little weekend getaway spot for the family and lucky friends.
We woke up early on Sunday and drove back to San Francisco for the 11 o'clock mass at Glide Memorial Church. On the way in, Matt ran into two folks from our little Alaskan town, coming out of the early mass. After the memorable service we walked around the Mission District in search of a cabeza-sized burrito, and, stuffed, stumbled upon the Radio Havana Social Club. A hole-in-the wall plastered in Cuban and American kitsch, it was spilling over with percussionists, two elderly salsa dancers and a handful of appreciative audience members. Another beautiful find on the roads of America.
At Vladimir's in Inverness a couple weeks before, a dining couple had brazenly offered their houseboat in Sausalito. Perhaps they pitied us sleeping cramped in the back of the Piper, perhaps it was the wine, but in any case we do not pass up such offers. Their beautiful floating home proved to be a great spot to launch a paddle trip under the GG bridge and for entertaining Chicken Dave and his friend Jen. We grilled fresh Monterey sardines, sang songs and carried on late into the night, until the carriage became a pumpkin, or a Piper, once again.............

Bad Vibes, Good Fun

2007-12-03T15:48:00.000-08:00

"You gotta be kidding me," announced a heckler as Natcho and I carried our whitewater kayaks towards the stairs descending to Pleasure Point. We had arrived in Santa Cruz and, after a quick peek at the famed break Steamer's Lane, were headed for what I remembered as the mellow longboarding spot south of town.
"You guys aren't going out there?" asked a woman scouting the surf.
Well, yeah, we were thinking about it.
No. Don't go there. Kayakers are not welcomed here. No way. You'll get yelled at, your car might get messed with. (How would they know which vehicle we were in?) They might waterboard you, or tie your paddle around your neck. You might be alright just paddling past everyone and over to the inside break, but who knows, they may still mess with your vehicle.
Depressed, ostracized and feeling quite self-conscious, we slunk back to the Fried Piper and ignominiously left Pleasure Point, boats inside the van and still dressed in paddling gear.
But we couldn't just leave it at that. We've entered surf country, with nice waves and warm sun. Plus, town was abuzz with talk of the huge swell on its way. Forty foot waves 350 miles offshore, headed for town. The surf contest at Mavericks was just announced and big wave riders would soon be descending upon the area. We had to get in at least one surf session.
So we searched town and found a kayak shop and they directed us to Capitola, where we wouldn't get knifed or have the Fried Piper defaced by keys. We paddled out past the pier and played on waves on the inside for a bit, before venturing out to the better break alongside a few longboarders.
"You guys speak English?" asked an older dude.
Yeah, a little bit.
"Big waves are coming."
But aside from that snide comment, people were cool and accommodating and we enjoyed the best rides of the trip. Long, glassy breaking waves that weren't too steep for dropping into.
We've entered a different part California, according to both the road atlas and the vibe on the water.
But our perseverance continues and we are determined to find PLUs in all corners. This proved the case during our time in Inverness, as we were welcomed into a beautiful home at the top of a canyon above Tomales Bay. Nestled in the woods, it is surrounded by pine and madrones and a few prominent snags that are home to Osprey and woodpeckers.
My childhood friend Dude has been caretaking the home for several years and has built tiered garden beds and encouraged a small orchard of plums, olives, apples and more. Also an avid mushroom hunter and harvester, we enjoyed sharing tales of subsistence and comparing Southeast Alaska to coastal California.
During our time there, we also had the pleasure of spending time with Jessica as well as David and Hez. David grew up in the house and now works for the park service as a biologist. He was counting elephant seals the day we were there. His parents moved to the area in the 1970s and now live in DC, where his father, Bill Press, is a political commentator and writer who co-hosted (with Robert Novak) CNN's CrossFire.
Our final night was capped with a dinner of Hog Island oysters, raw and barbecued, and some music making. Dude plays the kora, and it was the most unique jam session of the trip since one with an accordion player at Evergreen State College.
For the next few days, we'll be staying with Natcho's family in San Jose, his sister Eliza, brother-in-law Mike and nephew Dylan, whose link is on the blog. We're off to San Jose State to speak to classes tonight and tomorrow.

Czeching out NoCal

2007-11-30T07:45:00.001-08:00

On the tour of the Sierra Nevada brewery in Chico, we had heard about the company's commitment to renewable energy, which includes a large solar array and what they touted as one of the country's biggest hydrogen fuel cell installations. The carbon dioxide produced through fermentation is captured and used around the brewery, and their waste water is captured to power the fuel cells. So, it seemed like a good place to ask for a sample of the other amber liquid they produce: waste vegetable oil from their adjoining restaurant. Our request was passed up the chain through a few people, and soon Michael Ilse, the executive chef, came out to meet us. He was really enthusiastic about what we're doing and personally let us in to the dumpster where we found a jackpot of used rice oil, the first on this trip. It's high quality and produced locally in California, so it fits into the company commitment to local agriculture. Michael told us that the beef served in the restaurant is raised naturally nearby at CSU-Chico , the animals munching on the spent barley and hops from the brewing process. We took several keg's worth of grease off their hands and left Chico with our 100 gallon tank full to brimming....
A week into the California portion of our journey, we find ourselves in the little town of Inverness, squeezed between Tomales Bay and the Pt. Reyes National Seashore, a little piece of bucolic nirvana just a stone's throw from San Francisco. We came here for some sea kayaking and to look up a childhood friend of Matt's, David "Dude" Willard, a sustainable energy consultant who, among other projects, works with local wineries to help them lower their carbon footprint. Matt is picking the mandolin as the morning light filters through the trees and fills the beautiful post and beam house tucked into the hillside, and well designed to suck up every bit of this late-November sunlight.
We had great visits to UCDavis, where the Fried Piper was welcomed into the bicycle-only campus, and CSU-Chico where we gave a presentation to the monthly meeting of their outdoor club. Multi-tasking in Chico, we visited Haines friend Robin Barlow and dropped off two cases of canned sockeye salmon, an Alaskan-style care package from her mother in Haines. We also got to see the only three-story covered bridge in the nation. Filled with brewery grease, we braved the crazy freeways and made our way to the Bay Area for a Thursday visit at the Bay School, a fairly new prep school nestled in the Presidio. We rolled into Berkeley late on Wednesday and hooked up with Chicken Dave, and old Vermont friend and classic character. A fondue plan was hatched late night, including a slideshow of the trip with Matt playing the mandolin and improvising lyrics. After dinner and tunes we slept on the roof of Chicken's apartment building, with me perched at the edge closest to the van, figuring I could throw stones at any potential thieves.
We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, Matt in van , me on bicycle, in the bright California sunshine and made our way to Marin Headlands to scout the surf. Instead we found a contracting crew dressed in haz-mat suits, cleaning balls of fuel oil off the beach. The oil had ridden tides out of the bay and north up the coast after the spill of a few weeks ago. No surfing here, bru.
North again through a beautiful grove of redwoods and the rolling pasture land of Pt. Reyes. The wind was howling on the beach, so we hunkered down at Vladimir's, a restaurant run by a Czech man who has been in business since 1960. Stumbling on little places like this is one of the sublime pleasures of the American road trip. We enjoyed some Pilsner Urquell and played some backgammon while we listened to three locals opine on current politics ( "I hate commies as much as anyone, I fought them in Africa..."). Vlad runs the place by himself, at one point we saw him in the back, hunched over the next roll of apple strudel. The locals left and were replaced by a couple from the city on an overnight getaway. We chatted with them and before long they were offering use of their houseboat in Sausalito. It's that kind of place. The bread was reminiscent of shoe leather and the prices were somewhat shocking, but the pickled red cabbage was delicious and the experience was priceless.

Surf and Turf

2007-11-25T19:59:00.000-08:00

We’re at the square in Arcata after an incredible day on the north coast. Sitting at a cozy café with the first Christmas carols the stereo and a large tree being raised in the square, eating a delicious sandwich.
For the second day in a row we awoke in the redwood grove and set out for mad adventure. It was sunny and beautiful and the surf was kicking at South Beach, so we started the morning catching the first ocean waves of the trip. In the parking lot the Fried Piper continued to be something of a magnet for old guys with a lot to say.
Our efforts pounding our way out through the surf were rewarded with lots of sweet rides on overhead waves. It was sunny and warm, perfect for drying out whitewater gear in between two leisurely surf sessions. Matt fixed the surfboard and switched from the kayak to shred some waves standing up, his first rides since nearly a year ago in Nicaragua (he still doesn’t have a cutback). Then it was back on the road, heading south past a broken coast sparkling below the bluffs. We dropped down to the Klamath River and climbed again, pulling over at a vista 600 feet above the sea. Scrambling down a slippery path, we landed at a beach with amazing rock spires and huge surf bucking up right at the beach and pounding down with a fury.
We walked the beach towards the mouth of the Klamath, past a massive redwood rootball submerged in the sand, a dead sea lion and beautiful succulent plants clinging to giant boulders. The river makes a lazy bend at the end and forms a beautiful little cove where a raft of surf scoters were hanging out near a lone fly fisherman. These birds apparently fared the worst in the SF Bay fuel spill.
At the river mouth we passed through the ceremonial site for the Urok natives. It’s a little fish camp with perfect shake buildings and a cedar sweat lodge. We walked back to the road and back to the van for sunset. Matt rode his skateboard down the mountain to complete the multi-sport weekend. Now it’s on to Chico for an IWLS presentation at Chico State tomorrow.

Going to California, Back on the Blog

2007-11-24T21:02:00.000-08:00

With bellies full and the Fried Piper brimming with Thanksgiving leftovers and some strange grease from behind a super market in Talent, Ore., we crossed the state line into California. Shortly thereafter, we saw a Hummer, a dangerously fast driver and were panhandled by a grifter. We were also stunned by the beauty of the redwood forest of Northern California and the coastline surrounding Crescent City. California: the best and worst of America.

Our time in Oregon was eventful, and we apologize to readers about the lack of writing or photos. Trips to the coast, city time in Portland, and Thanksgiving in Ashland with several Haines friends were big highlights. Bryan “Millagio” Miller hosted us for the holiday, and made great rosemary mashed potatoes for the feast. Natcho contributed filo dough stuffed with ricotta/chantrelle stuffing and homemade jalapeno poppers, and Matt added sweet potato pie and cherry pie made with pie cherries from Paradise Cove, Alaska, canned this past summer. Sue Miller hosted fourteen people, including Bryan “Y.T.” White and Chris “C.P.” Pintozzi. Thanks Sue.

We arrived in Crescent City, a town devastated by a tsunami in 1964, to find flat surf and grey whales offshore. We paddled out at sunset and were sandwiched between a huge moon and the setting sun. The whales kept their distance, but their breathing punctuated an otherwise silent dusk.

We slept in an enchanted grove of redwoods, sans tent, with moonlight filtering through the giant evergreen trees and making for a most memorable night.

We awoke to the hammering of a pileated woodpecker and sipped tea (forgot the coffee at Miller’s) and ate some power-packed hot gruel cereal before embarking on our biggest stretch of whitewater yet: the gorge of the Middle Fork of the Smith River.

Incredibly clear and beautiful, the river meandered through forested hillsides and rocky bluffs for several miles before dropping into a gorge of polished rock. We picked our way through rapids, scouting every one, and running safety on several (where one of us stands downstream of the rapid with a throw bag in case of a swim). Oregon Hole was the biggest rapid of the run and we both managed to avoid the big hole and get propelled through a chute of turbulent water. Several more good-sized rapids kept us sharp and we finished our paddle as dusk neared.

Postcard from California

2007-11-24T20:37:00.000-08:00

The sun was shining as we made for the coast. Sun Kil Moon covering Modest Mouse on the stereo:

start at the northwest corner, go down through California....

We stopped for Matt to use the facilities, an outhouse with a gigantic fly on the roof. The door was locked. Key at the counter, attached to a flyswatter.

got yourself a trucker's atlas.....

Billboard in field : "US out of the United Nations."

Now Manu Chao sings:

El viento viene,
El viento se va......
Por la frontera

Por la frontera we go, out of Oregon and into California, the Golden State, land of dreams.

Por la carretera....

Good Morning from Our Portland Headquarters

2007-11-13T09:03:00.001-08:00

Gorge Us

2007-11-13T08:48:00.000-08:00

The Fried Piper has entered Oregon, a new state and new fates. Gone are the days of covertly sleeping in unzoned areas, for we are now enjoying a comfortable life in Eliot Tower. An 18-story high rise condominium in downtown Portland, we rub elbows with professionals on our daily commute around the city.
Overlooking the Portland art museum, a place in the Tower was loaned to us by Delores Custer. A professional chef and food stylist in New York, “Dee” has kindly provided proper digs for our time in the city at the confluence of the Willamette and Columbia Rivers.
Our first weekend in Oregon was spent on the banks of the Columbia, upstream in the Hood River/White Salmon area. A land rich with whitewater rivers, fruit orchards, kite boarders and old friends, we enjoyed catching up with many of the latter and staged a bit of a Misty Fjords sea kayak ranger reunion. Our friend Jonathan Graca, who runs a nonprofit overseeing land use in the area, joined us for breakfast and a run down the Big White Salmon. Will Cole, who worked with Matt as an outdoor educator and is now a firefighter in Redmond, OR, also joined up for the run. River levels were low, but we managed to run the river and had fun in the numerous rapids. The photo here is Jonathan’s textbook run down Husum Falls.
Our hosts in White Salmon were Riley Dopler and Claire Tenenbaum. Riley was out in the mountains doggedly stalking elk during the brief hunt opening, but he came back briefly and we caught up over Claire’s wonderful green chile chili. Recently engaged, the “Doplbaumers” are friends of Natcho’s from his time in Misty Fjords and they were great hosts. We enjoyed the last of the garden’s bounty, eating grape tomatoes and cucumbers on salads, and Claire worked her seamstress magic, hemming pants and repairing torn elbows on our clothing. Thank you so much Claire! We’ve noticed the residents of Eliot casting furtive, admiring glances at our newly mended duds. We also visited the Skamania Lodge, where Claire and Riley will be married in the spring, and scored grease from the stylish lodge. Heading into Portland, land of grease wars, according to a report on NPR’s Splendid Table, we had full tanks. The one dumpster we have scouted, at the Rogue brewpub, backed up the NPR report. It was padlocked and affixed with a sticker threatening would-be grease thieves with a year in jail and a $5000 fine.
Yesterday we kicked off our first four-university week with a visit to Reed College on Veteran’s Day. It was a stormy Monday with high winds and rain buffeting Oregon. A storm from the coast, where 82 mph winds were recorded, whipped up into the Willamette Valley leaving much of Portland without power. Reed was also impacted and the line in the dining hall was slowed to a crawl, with students waiting patiently for an $0.85 bowl of beans and rice. Power returned just in time for our slideshow and we glided back to the Eliot feeling alright.

Day 21: Tacoma- the World's 6th Largest Port

2007-11-06T18:22:00.000-08:00

Tacoma, WA 6:25 Pm-
Justin Canny, the Outdoor Program leader at University of Puget Sound is an IWLS supporter and true FOP (Friend of the Piper). He greased the wheels for the greasy travelers by arranging, through security, a special parking permit that allowed us to put the van right in the middle of campus. We set up our little scene and Matt began an impromptu workshop in camp cookery (breakfast). Soon the smells of Ethiopian coffee, salmon scrambled eggs, and dandelion greens with zucchini and ginger were wafting throughout the campus and drawing curious students and faculty. The van was the perfect billboard and people were excited to check out the grease system and our info table. We're giving our presentation to the Outdoor Club's meeting in a few minutes and should have a huge turnout. After the show, the autograph session, and the after-party, we'll be diving headlong into the campus grease vat, which was pre-scouted and found to be full of at least 50 gallons (!) of liquid gold.

Gear and Gears

2007-11-05T19:18:00.000-08:00

For those interested in the adventures we take and the various risks involved, we've decided to post gear lists for some of these trips. The recent paddle on the outer coast of the Pacific and into the Strait of Juan de Fuca was not taken lightly. We undertook the paddle only after checking swell, wind, current, weather and tide charts and were prepared to turn around at any point. In addition to knowing the forecasts, we carried: a hypothermia kit in each boat (fleece top/bottom/hat/socks/lighter, enclosed in a dry bag); one tent and one sleeping bag and pad; two flashlights; flares on each person and a cell phone. We wore helmets, life jackets and were dressed to swim (drysuit or paddle tops and bottoms) and carried a waist-mounted tow rope.

Also, the Fried Piper is about to roll again. Here is a list of schools for the duration of the trip. We'll be seeing many old friends along the way and hope to meet many more, so let us know of PLUs (people like us) in the areas we're heading to.

Nov. 6--University of Puget Sound, Tacoma, WA
Nov. 7--Evergreen State College, Olympia, WA
Nov. 8--Pacific University, Forest Grove, OR

Nov. 12--Reed College, Portland, OR
Nov. 13--University of Portland
Nov. 14--Lewis and Clark College, Portland, OR
Nov. 15--Mt. Hood Community College, Portland

Nov. 19--University of Oregon, Eugene
Nov. 20--Southern Oregon University, Ashland

Nov. 26--California State University- Chico
Nov. 27--University of California Davis
Nov. 28--California State University Sacramento
Nov. 29--Bay School, San Francisco

Dec. 3--San Francisco State
Dec. 4/5--San Jose State
Dec. 6--University of California Santa Cruz

Day 17-Olympic Peninsula

2007-11-02T22:44:00.001-07:00

We are spending a few days here, waiting for a part to be shipped from Golden Fuel in Missouri to General Delivery, Port Angeles, WA. But we're managing to keep ourselves occupied........

Corner of the Continental US

2007-11-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

After various hijinx in the city and the outlying area, we skipped out on urban Halloween celebrations and headed for the Olympic Peninsula. A late night, curvy drive to Port Angeles found us in a town larger than we had expected with nowhere to sleep. After scouting dark side streets and contemplating some campgrounds in the vicinity, we settled for the Wal-Mart parking lot. Joining fifth wheels, trailers and RVs, we bedded down in America’s free campground, living the dream vacation of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, who apparently travels the United States staying in the smiley-faced lots.
Errands in the city and a great breakfast of toasted bagels with smoked salmon scrambled eggs and a French press of coffee cooked in the Safeway parking lot left us fed and ready to run whitewater. But the dam-controlled Elwah River wasn’t flowing high enough, so we burned grease out to the very tip of America: Neah Bay, Makah Native American lands. We bathed in the Pacific at Shi Shi beach after a hike through large red cedars and towering Sitka Spruce, the ground covered with all manner of fungus, even bright purple mushrooms. A fine meal cooked overlooking the breakers of the Pacific and early to bed for the eagerly anticipated paddle around Cape Flattery and into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, a trip recommended Nigel and Kristin a couple nights ago. To check out our route, click here.
It is a famed coastline, renown for its remoteness, wild storms, rich waters and huge rain forest trees. It is also home of the Makah, one of the few whale hunting tribes in the Pacific Northwest, traditionally hunting from long canoes. It is also home to my first big open water paddle, we set out at the Waatch River and wove our way through breakers, finding a smooth route past the swell. The forecast called for 11 foot swell at 12 second intervals and I was nervous, but the seas were fairly calm once we got out a bit. We worked our way north, towards the Cape and Tatoosh Island. Boomers exploded on rocks inshore from us and large cliffs and rocky beaches, littered with driftwood logs, lay behind the monoliths of the ocean. The entrance to Juan De Fuca, on the inside of Tatoosh, was a bit tricky with the incoming tide pushing in. We lunched on bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon in a sheltered cove on Tatoosh, dubbed Seal Cove, since we came upon a colony of seals hauled out on the rocks. They all dashed and flopped into the water and studied us with their canine-like eyes as we ate, with one fat , lazy white and grey stippled seal ignoring us from its rock perch.
We paddled back into the sea and safely passed into the Strait, where the water turned smooth, dark black with big, slow rollers turning aqua when washing up on rocks or into caves. A beautiful stretch, with lichen draped alders and huge evergreens hanging over cliff walls that tumbled into the sea, the rock forming arches and caves and little sandy coves. In the water, we paddled with seals and sea lions and were surprised by a whale’s spout as it worked the kelp beds for food. A V-shaped spray came from its blowhole, grey or minke perhaps. We also came upon a group of sea otters hauled out, floating on kelp. And all around us birds: huge clouds of them out at sea or over the trees, auklets and murres floating beside us and ducks, murrelets and more diving and flying. We both agreed it was one of the finer paddles we’ve ever done and got back to Neah Bay just before the rains started. A quick dinner under the shelter of a red cedar plank house made as a tribute to Veterans, opening kick-off of the Neah Bay football game Go Red Devils!) and we are back on the road, running on grease down to Forks where One T will join us for hiking up the Hoh River.
MH

Stuck in the Streets of Seattle

2007-10-31T17:33:00.000-07:00

It’s 2 a.m. and we’re stranded on the streets of Seattle. The Fried Piper won’t start, the vegetable oil has congealed in the fuel lines on this cool, crisp night. We’re armed with our mechanicin’ tools (hair dryer, warm water bottles and jumper cables) and we are trying desperately to warm the system, since the Fried Piper has to be to a garage tonight to dry out for its Halloween Costume.
The oil has congealed because we didn’t purge the system, and let the van sit for too long with oil in its lines. A visit with kayak legend Nigel Foster and his partner, paddler and potter Kristin Nelson extended into the wee hours as we had a few beers, played music, planned a trip to the Olympic Peninsula and shared tales of recent adventures. After toast and tea, we were off to take the Fried Piper in for its wrap job. But the good times lasted too long and now we’re trying to create heat. Frantic calls to roadside assistance, plans of towing and pans of hot embers, all failing, desperation setting in, when the van finally fired up with the help of jumper cables and consistent cranking.
Hoorah! A grand completion to a fine evening with great folks.
We drove off down I-5 to Auburn, triumphant, with spirits high. We pulled into the garage and set up camp, laying down pads and sleeping bags in a dark room off the bay. Camping in the industrial district.
MH

Campus Tour in Full Swing

2007-10-31T17:28:00.000-07:00

We visited Western Washington University on Monday while our brakes were "fixed". Spoke to Jim Moore's class and were well received. Caught the bus back to the van and prepared a fine dinner of Alaskan clam and chantrelle pasta at the Chicken Ranch, with the family and Haines friends Scot"One T" Nichols, Coleus, and Meghan. A late night Mac session with One T set us up tech-wise and, after a bit of sleep, we were on the freeway again, down I-5 to Seattle Pacific University, where we spoke to the Outdoor Club. The Fried Piper got a bit of love from a Sikh body shop near Safeco Field, now ready for its glorious transformation

Day 12-East of Deception, West of the Town of Gibraltar

2007-10-29T08:39:00.000-07:00

We've entered US roads and waterways again, where kilometres are miles and rivers are no longer recorded in cubic meters per second but cubic feet per second. Also,where six-packs are reasonably priced, the grease is soy based and the water tastes like wine.

Our return to the Lower 48, or Outside as it's called by Alaskans, has been calm, with time spent in the idyllic hamlet of Bellingham, eating beets, gathering squash and making homemade applesauce. Some displaced southerners, Joe and Heather, and their daughter Pearl and dog Lusa, have taken us into their wonderful home. We've been eating the last of the garden's bounty and enjoying the temperate climate of the Pacific Northwest.

Today's adventure was a trip along the coastal route out to Deception Pass, where Natcho and I paddled the thin waterway separating the mainland of Washington from Whidbey Island. We caravaned to the water in the family minivan, a perfect advertisement for Toyota, as Natcho put it. The family with the kid in the car seat, kayaks on the roof and the two dirtbag friends in back.

A calm day, with glassy seas and a hazy sunshine breaking through the clouds, made for perfect paddling. "I guess this is my introduction to urban paddling," I said, as we paddled under a major bridge and past waterfront homes. But compared to Natcho's experiences in San Diego, suburban or pastoral might be more apt. We approached the straits tentatively, running the passage left of the island. Current pushed kelp flat, the blades like the hair of an underwater medusa, and we shot past rock walls and tidepools and into the relative calm of the bay. We played in the currents, ferrying across eddy lines and catching swirling back pools, getting used to our big boats again. Birds not seen since my time last exploring the Northwest in 2004 swam and dove around us: cormorants, murres and grebes. Seals and sea lions were our companions again and we enjoyed an afternoon in new waters, having fun and getting excited as we talked about potential adventures on Washington's Olympic Peninsula next weekend.

The family met us in Gibraltar, west of Whidbey, east of Deception and Joe, who works on large ships, shared with us his knowledge of the oil and gas industry in the region. Huge networks of boat lines, refineries and pipelines bringing crude from Alaska to Washington, where it is off loaded and refined. He pointed out "the eternal flame" burning at the Anacortes refinery while we drove back to town.

We had pizza and good northwest beers at a restaurant downtown, across from where we had scored grease the night before, filling our tank for free and listening to the World Series on the radio. We've tapped into our own eternal flame with the Fried Piper.
MH

Ravens in the City

2007-10-29T07:50:00.000-07:00

The Museum Of Anthropology is housed in a soaring concrete and glass "post and beam" structure on top of a hill on the UBC campus, with sweeping views of the coast. They have an extensive collection of carvings, totem poles, house post and beams, bentwood boxes, dugout canoes, potlatch serving dishes, and jewelry, mostly from the Salish tribes of southern BC and the Haida from Haia Gwaii (the Queen Charlotte Islands). We arrived just when they opened on Saturday morning, squeezing in a visit before leaving town. The "Raven w/ Early Humans" carving, by legendary Haida artist Bill Reid had been much anticipated since Matt described it to me some days earlier. It's carved from a huge block of yellow cedar and sits on a WWII gun turret the museum built around. A skylight above makes the sculpture glow.

We hooked up with David Wolowidnyk for lunch after the museum. He's an old friend from Cayman who paddled Glacier Bay with me in 2001. So, bellies distended from poutine, we navigated the street of Surrey, BC, past lots of very American stripmall development and huge, tightly packed houses sprouting like mushrooms, the Fried Piper maneuvering among the hordes of Canadians heading south to spend their soaring dollar in the malls of America.
The homeland security people had no interest in our homemade power plant, and we were back in the US without incident, soon plying the familiar alleys of Bellingham in search of a greasy fix. A locked dumpster and a few empty ones caused some fuel jitters, "maybe the supply is finally locked down!", but Matt stayed calm and eventually we were slurping an old familiar dumpster dry and heading for a fine reunion at the chicken ranch, with Joe, Heather, and baby Pearl.
NS

Down the Mountain and into Vancouver

2007-10-28T10:21:00.000-07:00

We braved the crazy roads from Whistler to Vancouver, past the massive and controversial road project readying the region for the 2010 Olympics, and into the beautiful city. A return for Matt, much anticipated first time for me. Took care of some errands and made our way to Glyn and Terri's house in West Van. I met Glyn when he came to Alaska this summer and went on a kayak trip with two old friends. He made the classic mistake of proffering an invite and we took him up on it. They are really wonderful folks, cheerfully taking in two stinky travellers despite the steady stream of family and work commitments they have. Nine-year old Alana and her eight-year old brother Isaac got to check out some of our slide show in between a full schedule of school, hockey games, piano lessons, tennis, soccer, etc. They are really cute, smart kids with a passion for maps (apparently Canada teaches its kids geography) so they enjoyed our stories and photos.
Our first IWLS presentation was Thursday at Simon Fraser University. We set up our tent in the student union to differentiate us from the Costco table and the people signing up students for credit cards. We realized that having some internal support from schools will make a big difference in our success. Luckily we have this at most of our schools. Anyway, we made some good contacts and got comfortable with the slide show.
We had given up on Skookumchuck, the legendary ocean inlet that forms a huge wave on incoming tidal currents of up to 17 knots, content to take in some of the more genteel offerings of the city. Glyn and his buddies from the Alaska trip, Ken and Jeff, heard this over beers at a pub and were disgusted. A free day, let alone a sunny one, is too precious in their world for a museum visit. So, we were up at dawn and on our way to Horseshoe Bay and the ferry to the Sunshine Coast. A really beautiful part of the world, worth the trip for the drive alone. We passed the quaint little town of Sechelt and into the tiny village of Egmont. From there, we paddled our whitewater boats two miles down the coast, surrounded by huge sea lions playing in the sun. We found the spot, a rock ledge that forms the wave as the current builds on a sufficient tide. Soon enough, the placid inlet became a maelstrom before our eyes, and we were out there with the sea lions, cradled in the bliss of the endless wave. We surfed, rested, surfed some more, took photos, saw a seal catch a huge salmon, and surfed one more time before the wave disappeared as quickly as it came. The 4 km hike out with our boats was exhausting, but a small price to pay for such a wonderful and historic day.

Fried Piper in The News

2007-10-27T07:03:00.000-07:00

We are in Vancouver, BC, this morning,after a eventful few days. Stories and photos to follow. If you use the link on the right to the Chilkat Valley News you'll see the grease van made the front page! It's a great small town paper that's worth a look anyway. The other links are useful, too. The IWLS website will give you a better idea of what this is all about, and Golden Fuels is one of the two major outfits in the country that sell conversion kits for diesel engines. If you enjoy adorable kid photos, check out Dylan's blog.

NS

The Road is Hard

2007-10-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

Breakfast on the dash, somewhere between Smithers and Prince George.

The Road to Stewart & Hyder (last week)

2007-10-25T16:22:00.001-07:00

A shot of the Fried Piper heading to Stewart, BC and Hyder, AK, past the largest roadside glacier in the world.

Day 6- We find ourselves in Whistler

2007-10-23T11:37:00.000-07:00

As hoped for, we found desert warmth and big rivers in southern British Columbia. After catching the second half of Game 6 in the Indians/Sox series (a challenge, since nearly every pub and eatery was showing Ultimate Fighting Championship 79628), we drove down the winding canyon on the Thompson River and arrived at a riverside camp after dark. The sound of whitewater and the smell of sage greeted us, as did the rotting carcasses of a late fall fish run.

A breakfast of sauteed fresh chantrelles and hedgehog mushrooms wrapped in tortillas with cheese warmed us up as did rounds of coffee from the french press. A friendly family from Vancouver--Dave and Shirley and their daughter Bridget, a rising softball phenom in B.C.-- chatted with us about our drive and the grease conversion and offered to run our shuttle for the day's river run.

In an ominous upstream wind that some might call a gale, we dropped the Fried Piper near the confluence of the Fraser and Thompson Rivers and traveled back to the put in with our new Canadian friends. They watched from the banks as we paddled into the first rapid, The Frog, and hucked our boats into the surf waves above the large, amphibian-shaped basalt plug.

The Thompson, a famed big water run in North America (according to our guide book), was plenty powerful, even at the low flows of October. Canyon walls hemmed us in, while the rush of whitewater drowned out the noise of the paralleling highway and traintracks. Big wavetrains and swirling eddies tossed us around, but we made it through the more challenging upper canyon in tact.
"How do you keep these eddy lines from squirting your boat," asked Bru, but before he could get an answer said eddy line grabbed his tail, squirted him up and sent him downstream.

Big winds replaced big water, so powerful they blew Matt vertical and over after a current line dipped his tail. Paddling the last few rapids with impaired vision, for the winds were sending blinding spray off the whitewater of the rapids, we reached the take out and hiked up to the sleepy town of Lytton.

A public park was turned into an interim home, where we hung our gear to dry and feasted on smoked salmon with cream cheese and crackers and the last of our homemade cookies from Haines.
We found baseball and beer at the only open establishment in all of Lytton, and eventually the locals warmed to us. Saw the the Red Sox win and thought of various friends and family celebrating, while mourning for a few long-suffering Indians we're close to. The friendly BC folks had given us some firewood which made for a nice night under the stars, eating curried red lentils while Matt picked the mandolin. Natcho turned 35 living in a van, down by the river.
Woke up to realize we had put down our bed rolls right in the spot dozens of local native kids pass through to catch the bus. Matt gave a salmon skin to their dog, who daintily carried it away, set it down, peed on it, and walked away. We enjoyed another great day of whitewater, battled some really unbelievable winds in the canyon, found out San Diego is burning, and took off on a crazy, winding drive to Whistler.
Now, we're getting ready for our first college presentation Thursday at Simon Fraser in Vancouver.
MH/NS

Day 4-The Fried Piper Glides into Prince George, BC

2007-10-20T14:39:00.000-07:00

We arrived here, the first major outpost of civilization since Whitehorse 1000 miles ago, sad to say goodbye to the "wilderness" part of the journey, but excited for some upcoming paddling. The grease van (Fried Piper) has been running like an absolute champ since its brief hiccup on the Cassiar and the crew is falling into the rhythm of the journey. Good coffee from the French press, then breakfast down the road a piece. Yesterday it happened to be on a runway at a mining camp where the mineral bounty of BC (copper and melybdenum) is being extracted. It was cold and clear as we set up a breakfast cafe on the frozen landing strip. Puddle crunched underfoot as Peggy Lee purred from the speakers, the random shuffle of 3500 songs once again perfectly timed.

it's a good day for shining your shoes, and its a good day for loosing those blues, everything to gain and nothing to lose...

Breakfast porridge greatly enhanced by the preserves we put up in August from currants and thimbleberries growing in Matt's yard. We hadn't checked in with security, and soon enough a big truck emblazoned with the company logo"Copper Fox" roared up. Turns out it was just the friendly camp cook, a sassy redhead who informed us that she, in fact, was the copper fox.

... so take a deep breath and throw away your pills, a good day from morning to night.

We rolled down the road, the calendar rolling back to autumn as we made southern headway and returned towards the temperate coastal area below the massive, snow covered coast range.
A side trip to the funny little coastal towns of Stewart, BC and Hyder, Alaska was approved (it's just grease) and was well worth the time. The Switzerland of Canada/Alaska? No bears at the viewing station, but loads of blackies on the road. Back on the Cassiar we visited a roadside mushroom buyer. This is a somewhat shady subculture Matt had infiltrated years ago on a mission partly journalistic. His description was apt, a rough looking family ensemble in a makeshift home at a highway pull-off. We checked out his Matsutakes, a vaunted mushroom bound for aphrodisiac-crazed Asia, and he gave us some Chanterelles. Matt talked me into giving him some our our precious frozen salmon fillets, but as we approached he layed into his wife with a barrage of expletives. We spun on our heels, and returned to the van, salmon in hand. I was able to play off my reluctance as a "bad vibe" rather than greed, and we were on our way.
Smithers, BC, once again proved to be grease paradise. Returned to the Blue Fin Sushi a year later and we also scored big at the Alpenhorn. Maxed out with 100 gallons(!) we went down the road to Hungry Hills and camped for the night, discovering this morning that we had chosen the very spot where a succession of enormous grizzlies had been terrorizing local ranchers for the past eight years.
-NS

Day 3-South to Autumn

2007-10-20T14:33:00.000-07:00

10/19

Spent last night just past Dease Lake, B.C., just past the turnoff for Telegraph Creek and the mighty Stikine River, camped at an empty Lion's Club Campground on the banks of the Tanzilla River.
Pasta with rehydrated chantrelles, sauteed in olive oil with garlic, onion and anchovy paste with freshly grated asiago cheese for dinner. Slept in the van, warmed by 70 gallons of hot grease, but woke up cold, a heavy freeze overnight, with ice coating the puddles and clinging to the banks of the Tanzilla.
But overall, 200 km into the Cassiar Highway, winter is receding, thankfully. The snow-covered roads of the mountain passes of the Alcan behind us and the temperate, southerly coastal climes ahead.
Although not without cause for worry, when we entered the Cassiar, for the road looked more like a luge course than a highway: narrow, covered with snow and ice, winding and fast. A two-way luge run, with trucks barreling past as Natcho clutched the wheel, hugged the shoulder and cringed.
"You sure you don't want to stick to the Alcan, go soak at Liard, pards?"
" Oh no Natcho. You gotta see the Cassiar."
All systems go, but then failure, power loss and Natcho frantically switching the fuel line to diesel. All our theories on the loss of pressure in the grease line for naught. Clogged fuel filter. So an impromptu, dirty filter change using old buckets and a leatherman while the sun set and a large orange half-moon rose.
Back on the road in 45 minutes, pressure reading in the positive again.

Our System

2007-10-18T00:07:00.001-07:00

Here is Matt fueling our main tank. We're driving a 1993 Ford Econoline Van that was modified with the help of Golden Fuel Systems in Missouri www.goldenfuelsystems.com, and Haines mechanic Darren Shields. The tank has two chambers, each holding 50 gallons of waste vegetable oil and heated by engine coolant cycling through a chamber in the bottom. We pump dirty grease into the right chamber, heat it while we drive, then transfer it through a sock filter into the left chamber. Heating the oil lowers the viscosity, allowing it to pass through the sock like a hot knife through butter. On the left side of the photo is a Racor filter which further cleans the oil before it heads to the engine
.

Day 1: Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. It's snowing and 1 degreee C

2007-10-17T23:55:00.000-07:00

After a bit of delay, we departed Haines with all systems go: coolant flowing from the engine to the back of our bicolored maroon and white 1993 diesel Ford van; the 100 gallon, bisected tank in back filled with some 60 gallons of partially hydrogenated oils from the various restaurants in town, the tank reading nearly full on the filtered half and the PSI of the flow around 8; and the sweet smell of fried food emanating from the tailpipe. "The smell of freedom," as Natcho likes to say, veteran of grease trips, coaching along the neophyte.

We cruised out of the northern terminus of the Southeast Alaska around 11 a.m. Only after 34 miles did we discover our friend Liam Cassidy asleep in the back. We gave him a morning jolt of warm grease and, after a farewell blessing and naming ceremony, kicked him to the curb to hitchhike back to town. Cottonwoods, birches and willows in partial fall foliage brightened the landscape, where hundreds upon hundreds of bald eagles perched, congregating along the Chilkat River for the late coho and chum salmon runs. Our van was filled with cases of smoked salmon, much of it coho caught on rod and reel from the same river. A summer of harvesting led to a stocked root cellar in the back of the van: one case half-pints of canned clams, two cases of pints of canned pie cherries with a few pints of Royal Anne cherries, two cases half-pints of thimbleberry and red currant jams and jellies, the salmon and one large, commercial pickle jar filled with dehydrated chantrelle mushrooms. A fat larder next to that tank of grease.

Eagles and a clearing river, fresh snow on the peaks as we left the valley. On the pass, fresh snow and migrating raptors. Natcho and I following the pacific flight path. We monitored the van, listening to rattles and clicks with an attuned, if not slightly paranoid, ear as we topped 60 mph for the first time on grease. No loss of pressure, temperature or power as we climbed over the pass and into the Yukon Territory. Any fears we might have had were assuaged after listening to Darren "DP" Shields talk shop last night with a few other motorheads, describing fuel systems for vehicles involving pressuring air captured from the stovepipes of wood stoves and arguing the mechanical feasibility of crafts in the movie "Waterworld".

We pulled into Whitehorse in the early evening, troubling busy Asian restaurants for used grease, having marginal success before a big score at Colonel Saunders. Many gallons and some spilled grease later, we felt good with nearly 80 gallons of grease for our next, most remote stretch of road, the Cassiar Highway.
-MH

The Next Chapter

2007-10-17T23:48:00.000-07:00

Where we embark on a university tour to promote programs offered to students by the International Wilderness Leadership School in converted Ford Econoline Van with four kayaks on the roof, a foldable bicycle, skateboard and several cases of canned salmon.

California

2006-10-14T14:42:00.000-07:00

Oregon

2006-10-14T14:41:00.000-07:00

Bellingham

2006-10-14T14:39:00.000-07:00

Trying to burn sludge as winter quickly approaches

2006-10-11T12:33:00.000-07:00

The Canadian customs officials asked us about guns, tobacco, alcohol, money, even how our can of bear spray was labeled, but made no mention of the forty gallons of alternative fuel in the trunk. After loading up on some BC produce were on way, not south yet, but east towards Prince George, the industrial hub of northern B.C. Our euphoria was short-lived though, as the car quickly began to surge and lose power intermittently. The problem was obvious: hydrogenated vegetable oil. Every since that gift jug in Oregon my guard had been down. With the warm summer temps I had successfully burned some hydrogenated stuff from the halibut&chips shack, but now the chilly inland climate was causing this stuff to turn opaque and thick. You could feel Flo desperately trying to suck this crap through her lines, the proverbial golf ball through the garden hose. The car would bog down, especially on hills, and I'd have to switch the toggle on the dash. Instantly the problem was fixed as petroleum diesel from the second tank blasted out the lines. The human parallels were telling- here was Flo suffering some serious angina from her diet of hydrogenated oil, in need of angioplasty and a major change in diet. We coaxed her along in this manner for many kilometers, constantly switching between tanks and enduring the heart-wrenching surging. We rolled into the bucolic mountain town of Smithers, and found a partial solution in the dumpster behind Bluefin Sushi. Thankful that the sushi craze had made it all the way to this backwater, we traded fifteen gallons of Ketchikan sludge for the same amount of crystal clear Canadian oil.
We still had the problem of the stuff in the tank, and briefly considered siphoning, but we coaxed it a bit more and rolled into a rest area after dark. We needed to filter our new supply, and to do this we first had to heat it. So, while we slept in the woods the oil stayed cozy in the men's room, atop a waterbed heater plugged into an outlet normally used for truckers' electric razors, and nestled in a wool blanket. Dawn revealed a thick layer of frost on the ground, but the oil was nice and warm and quickly flowed through the filter propped between my bicycle and a picnic table. We were finally heading south, and warmer temperatures as well as this new sushi juice were sure to improve the situation.........

Heading South With the Geese and Whales

2006-10-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

What goes up must go down. I'm rolling the dice and trying to drive this Mercedes, thirty years old this month, all the way back to San Diego.......
The Alaska summer was fantastic, with its typical mixture of work, adventure, wildlife, crazy people, and loads of fish. The greasemobile ran like a top, fueled primarily by a halibut&chips shack on the cruise ship dock. Its unbelievable when you think about it, all these tourists spilling off their floating bohemoth, already stuffed with 24 hour buffets, faced with various options for spending their few hours in port. Should we visit the totem pole parks? Go on a flightseeing trip over Misty Fiords National Monument? Hike in the largest contiguous temperate rainforest in the world? Shop for jewelry? Naw, let's go get some fried food. Works for me, the grease taxi was well- fueled all summer. In early October I returned from an 11-day kayak trip and just a few hours later drove onto the ferry bound for Prince Rupert, B.C. and the long road home. Even though the car was over-loaded on the way up, I decided to take on a passenger, my friend and fellow USFS kayak ranger, Ben Houdek. We figured if we barged his stuff and some of mine to Seattle we could make it work. So, after filtering some surplus fish&chip juice in the cold driving rain, we embarked.

Two Mercedes Waiting for the Alaska Ferry

2006-07-08T15:25:00.000-07:00

North to Alaska

2006-06-15T11:42:00.000-07:00

I know that readers of this blog(both of you) are anxious for an update, so here is a brief account of recent events. After much late-night revelry to mark Garder-Broder nuptials, I left Vermont and made the drive to Providence to catch a flight to Chicago, then Seattle. My mother and Rich happened to be at O'Hare Sunday afternoon, a wonderful coincidence. So, after some great family time and a nap on the plane, I was back in the greasemobile heading north to Bellingham. Waited for me there was no less than 60 gallons of delicious tempura juice from Osaka and Wasabee, two local Japanese restaurants. With one more filtering session and a repacking of the car I bid farewell to Heather and Joe and baby Pearl and pointed Flo north for the 900+ mile epic to Prince Rupert , B.C. Luckily the Canadians officials at the border didn't question my strange cargo. I drove north along the Fraser and Thompson Rivers, gawking and the huge waves and boiling eddy lines. There was still tons of snow in the mountains, that plus the blooming lupine and rushing rivers made for some spectacular views.
I drove and drove, watching the kilometers click away as the little industrial hub of Prince George drew slowly closer. This is always a big landmark on the way to Alaska, a major crossroads where I'd hang a left for the little 750K spur to Prince Rupert and the ferry. The sun refused to set and the grease just kept flowing. Nothing could go wrong.
Within an hour of that foolish thought, I made a wrong turn, darkness fell, big, four-legged creatures started playing chicken with Flo, and a fuel filter began to clog. I wanted to pull over and sleep, but needed to get closer to Rupert. With a Coke, some short naps, a prayer to the deer and elk, and some massaging of the fuel system I made it through the night. At 5:30 AM I found myself changing a filter at a rest area in the Skeena valley, a bit delirious from the drive and the blue sky and snow capped peaks. From here it was a mere 250K victory lap to Rupert and the ferry to AK. Now I just need to figure out how to make this work in the cold, wet hills of Ketchikan......
Trip stats:
3, 520 miles
190 gallons of waste vegetable oil
12 restaurants
$27 total fuel costs

Kayak Legend Nigel Foster Tops Off the Tank

2006-06-08T07:28:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island

2006-06-08T07:19:00.000-07:00

I left Flo at a shop in Anacortes and loaded some essential in paniers on my bike. From there a combination of ferries and rainy, beautiful rides, and a chance encounter with Mr. A. Keshoggi, brought me to Cowichan Bay on Vancouver Island. My friend Glenn owns a kayak shop there and lives nearby with Caire and their 3.9 kids. This was homebase for some island explorations by bike and kayak. We also made it to the Vancouver Island Whitewater Festival, and I was able to run the swolen Puntledge River a couple times. The return trip was sunnier and fantastic. I just barely caught the only ferry of the day between VI and Anacortes, and was lucky enough to see a big pod of Orcas on the way back.

Bellingham!

2006-05-31T22:58:00.000-07:00

Have now covered entire west coast of US on veg oil. Arrived at Heather and Joe's in beautiful Bellingham and quickly scored some strategic reserves for the trip to Alaska. Leaving pre-crack to drop off Flo in Anacortes and catch the ferry to Vancouver Island......Turns out the hydrogenated stuff worked fine...

Across the River and Into Washington

2006-05-30T23:01:00.000-07:00

Flo's ass is really hanging low, especially with all that delicious Bend grease in the back. I considered staying in Bend to get her fixed, but found a place in Anacortes, WA instead. That way I can take my bike on the ferry to Vancouver island while she gets her lift and tuck done.
The drive from Bend to Vancouver, Wa was a mix of ugly chain store strips and beautiful mountains and forest. It was nicely broken up by a quick scramble on the Pacific Crest Trail, near Mt. Hood. I then made my way to Aloha, OR to meet up with Brian, a guy who responded to my shameless internet plea for oil. When I turned onto his street I saw a horrific sight in his driveway: three cubies which should have been gleaming in the late day Oregon sun, were filled with cloudy, soupy oil. Apparently Brian uses half hydrogenated oil. He has a heated tank, unlike me, and has run thousands of miles. My post tank heating system should be enough to thin the McJuice, but I've never tried it. A reasonable person would have politely declined rather than experiment on a huge road trip. Not wanting to insult Brian and his generous offer, and overcome with a gambling spirit, I poured ten gallons of the pea soup in
my tank....
Trip stats so far:
2,030 miles
$15.40 fuel costs
1 creature killed (mourning dove)

Smells Like Grease Spirit

2006-05-30T22:33:00.000-07:00

Oh Bend. Bend, Oregon. As if sunshine and mountains and rivers and lakes and fantastic beer and happy people is not enough for one town, you also happen to have the most delectable waste vegetable oil in the western US. At least that's how I'll remember you.
With some fishing and the Flaming Lips show on Sunday (thank you again Les Schwab Amphiteater, you really are too kind for your own good), and a hiking/whitewater trip along the Deschutes with the family on Memorial Day, the task of procuring oil was put off 'til the last minute on monday evening. Luckily I had two assistants, David and Jayne's teenagers Sarah and Graham. People have humored me by going along on grease hunting missions (thanks Mom and Mike), but these kids were really excited. Lets go dig around dumpsters!
As it turned out we acheived the grease hunting equivalent of a hole-in one. The very first restaurant we looked at, a Japanese place just a stone's throw from the Mark family's house, was up to their ears in liquid gold. There 55 gallon drum was full, AND they have four cubies (those much coveted 5gal jugs) sitting in the alley. What a great score! You should have seen the kids' faces. Plus, it was crystal clear. And they were happy to give it to us. One stop, 35 gallons, good to go. Sarah and Graham helped me filter after dinner and had to be dragged away from the grease bucket at bedtime. I'm not making this up. Kids today love the used vegetable oil.

Bend: it likes Beck, hm?

2006-05-29T23:26:00.000-07:00

I've traded Humboldt County and its stoned minions for the uber-outdoor mecca of Bend, Oregon. The eight hour drive was by far the most nerve wracking of the journey thus far. It was quite cold, and when I stopped to "fill up" at a rest area in southern Oregon I noticed my jug of filtered oil, which looked crystal clear a few days prior in San Jose, was now thick and cloudy. Also the car's rear end (henceforth Flo's ass) was hanging particularly low. It had been the whole trip. This is hardly surprising given the thousand or so pounds of oil and miscellaneous crap I'm hauling. But, I was concerned since on this day I didn't have much oil in the trunk and it was still low-ridin'. So, gripped with fear of congealed oil and a beaten-down rear suspension, I entered the Cacade Mountains and was greeted with driving snow(!) as I traversed Crater Lake. Somewhere in the mountains I relented and put 5 gallons of diesel in the reserve tank with an additive recommended by my step-father. I wanted to be able to flip the switch on the dashboard should the oil stop working. All my experience with veg so far has been in sunny so cal and the cold and snow were freaking me out. Everything turned out fine though, and I dropped out of the Cascades and into the high desert of central Oregon. I met up with David and Jayne, British expats living in Bend and great old friends of my brother-in-law's family. At Mike and Eliza's wedding last summer in Wales they had invited me for a visit. One of those"If you ever come to Bend.....". Be warned, people who live in cool places, I WILL come visit. And would it be alright if I filtered a bit of oil in your garage?
David and Jayne's warm hospitality was shared by the promoters of the Bend summer concert series. Than you, Les Schwab Amphiteater for supporting my trip with the free ticket to the Beck concert, a fitting celebration to cap another crazy day.

Sarah and Graham Filtering Bend's Finest

2006-05-26T22:18:00.000-07:00

Nearly Shut Out in Eureka

2006-05-26T21:49:00.000-07:00

In two days here I've only been able to procur 8 gallons of waste vegetable oil, all of which came from a restaurant that must remain nameless. It's reminiscent of that fine oil from the swanky Chez TJ in Mountain View: clean, clear, and golden. Mostly, though, I've been stymied by an Arcata Outfit called Footprint Recycling. They have provided the restaurants in the area with fancy, locked barrels to dump their oil and are using the waste to make about 7, 500 gallons of Biodiesel/month, which they sell locally at $3.99/gallon. They offered to sell me oil for $2.40/gallon, but I've never paid anything for it, so I passed. I still have plenty of Bay-area oil to make it to Bend, and folks in Portand and Washington have offered filtered oil. I drove to Arcata today and toured the Biodiesel facility with Andrew, the founder. The production of Biodiesel is (to me) a very technical process in which waste vegetable oil is scrubbed and filtered, then reacted chemically to separate the glycerides(soap) from the methyl esters (Biodiesel). The fuel is then further refined until it resembles petroleum diesel. The only by-product of the process is glycerin, which gets sold as industrial-type soap. The benefit of Biodiesel over my system is that no engine modification is needed, and it has a broader viability as a fuel. It's great to see people doing this, even though it means not much oil in Humboldt for me.
Today I was a beauty school guinea pig and then went for a beautiful paddle in Trinity Bay. Tomorrow.... on to snowy Oregon.

My Great, Greasy Road Trip

2006-05-26T08:20:00.000-07:00

There I was, hanging out with my mother in an alley behind Castro St. in Mountain View, CA. I was trying to look inconspicuous, at least at much as one can with a 12-volt pump hooked up to a car battery, slurping used vegetable oil from a dumpster, with Mom assisting. She was trying to decide which facet of her California vacation she preferred, helping my sister with newborn Dylan's diaper changes, or me with my grease follies. Technically, I had permission to collect the grease, but as these negotiations often go, there had been a language barrier, and I was not completely sure which of the two restaurants used this dumpster. This alley, at this time, happened to be quite a busy thoroughfare, though most people didn't give us a second look. It's not easy to get noticed in California. Just then, a dapper Chinese octogenarian passed by, and paused for a second look, pointing his cane in my direction. Was he the owner of the chinese restaurant? Was it their bin and not the taco shop's? And how can I not tell the difference between the smell of egg rolls and rolled tacos? A huge smile broke across his face, "Fuel for diesel?" You bet.
Grease, the end bi-product your french fries, your shrimp tempura, your tortilla chips, is what brought me here. I 'm travelling in a 1977 Mercedes Benz 300D, a diesel car that's been slightly modified to run on vegetable oil. As of today, I've driven 1, 400 miles since San Diego, including side trips, and procured and filtered 130 gallons of used vegetable oil. Total fuel costs so far: $0.
I have a sea kayak, a river kayak, and a road bike on the roof, and everything I need for a summer in Alaska in the back seat. I'm also carrying, at any one time, between 300 and 500 pounds of used vegetable oil, in the main fuel tank, an auxillary tank built into the trunk, and plastic cubes holding 5 gallons each.