The CD is not dead, yet

When I was shopping for a new car, I zero'd in on the Subaru Crosstrek pretty early on. As I looked into it further, I locked in on the 2021 model specifically. Why? It was the first year that offered the larger engine, and it was the last year that a CD player was included. The CD player wasn't a deal breaker, but it was definitely something I wanted.

I saw Donovan Woods for the first time as an opener a couple of months ago, and he was totally great. During his set, he mentioned that he had a CD for sale in the lobby, "not that anyone listens to those anymore." Of course I picked one up during the break. Why do I keep buying CDs, this somewhat outdated tech. Am I just of that age and set in my ways? 

Maybe, maybe not. Hear me out.

I own a lot of music that came out before digital versions existed. I have created MP3s from a number of my CDs, but certainly not all. Some albums I listen to so infrequently that it is not worth the effort, and not all of the music would fit onto the iPod I use anyway. Of course I could listen to most of the music online through Spotify or some other service. They aren't going to have those great Live from the Mountain Lounge acoustic albums for example, but I do listen online sometimes, particularly when I hear about a new band I want to check out. But for various reasons I don't want to pay for the service, and the free version has some drawbacks .

One maybe minor reason I continue to buy CDs is the order of the songs. Typically, Spotify shuffles the songs (and inserts an ad or two). In my head, the artist put the songs in a particular order intentionally. I certainly thought about song order when I made playlists and copied them to tape or burned them to CD (which I am also glad to still have). Artists can't really dictate how you experience their work, but I like to think that listening to songs in their intended order is part of their creation.

A more recent consideration is how I can support the artist most effectively. Buying the music or merch from the artist (directly if possible) is orders of magnitude more profitable than streaming their music. An album or T-shirt purchase is the equivalent of thousands and thousands of streams. This is even more true for small, independent artists like the ones I follow on Twitch. Listening online can help the artist reach more listeners, so that is part of it as well, but buy their merch! 

Now, I could still buy the music digitally, but I was reminded of other reasons for the physical over the digital this weekend. As I headed out for my road trip to Crater Lake, I knew I had many hours and days of driving ahead of me, and I wanted to lean into music instead of the podcasts I generally defer to. I looked through my cabinet of 300-400 CDs to see what hit my taste buds in that moment. As I thumbed through the shelves, I was reminded of something else I did to more appreciate art and joy. 

We all have thousands and thousands of photos buried in computer folders, most never seen or appreciated ever again. When I was on my own again and creating a new home, I printed some of those forgotten pictures into physical form for the walls of my home, so I could be reminded again and again of those moments. When I was choosing music and going through the CDs, it was more tangible and real, like looking through a bookcase and seeing so many disparate works that somehow create a whole. The CD from the random band I picked up thirty years ago has a chance to be seen, and not lost in folders of various computers.

Some 80s albums from my youth jumped out at me and made it into the shoebox for the trip. For two bands, I put their most popular albums in, as well as the follow up albums that were not nearly as radio popular, but that I love as much or more. Would I have thought to include them if I was searching computer files instead of perusing their physical forms. Maybe. But they certainly never would have popped up on a Spotify shuffle to remind me of the album. 

Finally, there is also the art of the physical album that feels more tangible. I can feel the brush strokes on Wonder's hand painted CD sleeve, the stitching on Holly Frost's with the cool shirt button closure on the back, and I can't wait to get a copy of the CD that features my friend Holly's artwork, even though I know nothing of the musicians. 

Now please excuse me as I queue up another favorite CD that probably never hit the airwaves for my drive home. 

Oh, I would walk three hundred miles...

Over the last three years through hip pain and hip recovery, I have fallen out of shape and put on weight. Though I have run and biked for more than the last fifteen years, It feels like I am starting at zero, less than zero really. 

I suppose the last fifteen years are part of why now feels so difficult, so hopeless, remembering where I used to be. Still, you have to start somewhere. So I started walking. 

I set myself a goal of logging 300 miles of walking in 2024. A little under 6 miles a week, less than a mile a day. The number seemed achievable, but would still require me to get outside on a regular basis. Moving outside would do both my body and mind some good. 

I am not counting all the random steps I take, the short dog walks we take at work, or the many steps when I get out for a round of golf. Just the intentional walks, where that is why I am out there, taking steps in the right direction. 

I stayed on track for the first couple of months at the start of the year, but no surprise, fell behind in March and April as work hours increased ahead of the tax deadline. The month of May I was back to more regular walking, but I was still behind and not keeping pace. 

June it was time to get serious again, for the arbitrary challenge, but more importantly for my flailing physical and mental health. I finished out the month with nearly sixty miles on the paths and roads, and I am now at 164 miles halfway through the year. I still feel out of shape, but not quite as wildly so as I was even a month ago. 

I am doing a few things to take my health more seriously this year. The walking bit is the most concrete and easiest to measure. There have been some false starts and hiccups with each piece of the puzzle, but progress is being made. The path ahead is hopefully long, and I want to walk it with more care. 

Some photos from my June walks.

Kid stuff

Yesterday, leaving breakfast, there was a back-up to get out of the parking lot and onto Gilman Blvd. To my right we're 7 or 8 kids, standing outside of a Baskin-Robins. They were amped, and not just because of the sugar.

When we were kids, riding in the back seat of our parent's car, passing a semi, we would make the motion of pulling a cord to try and get the driver to honk. It rarely worked, but when it did it was this little spark of joy. The kids on Sunday were doing the same motion. What could I do but honk.

Instant elation, dancing in victory. Two moms were sitting on a bench twenty feet away, smiling. The line of cars still wasn't moving, and the kids kept giving me the thumbs up for participating. Then one shouted that I was the twentieth car to honk.

Pure unadulterated joy, and it kept this adult smiling for the rest of the morning. 

Change is good, every decade or so

I bought my first car 39 years ago. In that span of time I've owned four cars. My guess is that one car every decade is below the national average, but I tend to hang onto things, for better or worse. Not that I planned it this way, but as I move into my fifth decade of car ownership, I bought car number five in May. 

I bought my first car, a '67 Mustang the day after I graduated high school. Though the Mustang is a classic car, this one was more of a mutt. Mostly green, but with a red door, out of place mag wheels, and an engine size it didn't start with. But it was my mutt. 

Several years in, I spent a summer with my friend Buzz, taking over his mom's garage and driveway, each of us putting a new engine in our cars (returning the car to the V8 it was born with). Over the years I replaced brakes, clutches, did tune ups and learned all about working on cars. Eventually I got a cheap paint job from Earl Scheib so it was finally one color. I had that car for fifteen years. 

My next car was my favorite (so far), though I only had it for a couple of years. It was a Volkswagen Corrado, which was the sportier successor to the Scirocco (not that this reference helps these days). Man that was a fun car to drive. I started working in construction not long after buying the car, so this kinda-nice car was going to get beat up, and what I really needed was a truck to haul tools and materials. Hated to see it go. 

I bought my one and only new car, a 2000 Dodge Dakota in the fall of 1999. It was more boring and practical, but it was my daily driver for another fifteen year stretch, half of its life after I no longer needed it for construction. It was basically on its last legs when it was replaced. Transmission failing, heater core bypassed because it was leaking, any major repair more expensive than it was worth. I got $200 trade in value for it when I bought my next and most recent car, a 2003 Honda Element.

moving stuff from old to new(er) car

The Element has been another favorite. It is the swiss army knife of vehicles. The suicide doors make it easy to throw people, gear or dogs in the back seat. If you have more to haul, the back seats can be flipped up to the walls, or removed entirely, making it a mini cargo van. Nearly every surface is easy to clean rubber or plastic, a car you can take anywhere and not worry about ruining it. The perfect dog, camping, bike rack kind of vehicle.

On that note, I haven't ever purchased a really "nice" car, a status or luxury car. All but the truck have been years or decades old when I got them, and generally missing the technology of the times. When people would talk about the bells, whistles and screens in their cars, I would often say, "My car has power windows" in my best Ralph Wigum voice. 

While shopping for cars, this picture came up in my feed. Random opinion of a random guy, but all of my cars have been on the "Has no Money" side, and on both the "Fun to be Around" and "Insufferable" quadrants. 

The new car will keep to that pattern.

The Element was getting tired. It has about 248,000 miles on it, and it is more than twenty years old. The engine has always been underpowered, but recently it has become so gutless as to be a roadblock to other cars as it struggled to get up over the mountain passes. I love everything about the Element, except it feeling like the engine is powered by a couple of hamsters running on a treadmill. 

I have been looking at the car to replace it for two to three years now. I hesitated to buy a new car first because the pandemic pushed used car prices through the roof. Then last year, all my money went to medical bills. The Element struggling to get over the hills on the way back from eastern Washington earlier this month finally made me take the plunge. I wanted to choose when to replace it, and not have to scramble if it finally broke down. 

Even though having a fancy or status car is not important to me, each time I bought a car, I was looking for a specific car, so cars are definitely important to me on some level. I did not go to a dealership, Autotrader or Craigslist looking for a sedan, hatchback, SUV, etc. I went looking for a specific model, if not a specific year. I wanted a Mustang, and I wanted the 1967 version. I wanted this sort of unknown Volkswagen (I always had to explain what the Corrado was). I wanted the Element, which was this unique car that I found had a bit of a cult following. Even the truck, which was the most generic of all, I wanted a Dakota, and I wanted a stick shift. 

Since I narrow my search before I even start, cars can be hard to find. My last two vehicles I had to go to Oregon, because I could not find anything local. Even though Dakotas were everywhere, I had to go to Oregon to get a stick shift, and Element owners hang onto their cars forever so I had to broaden my search area to find one in decent shape for sale.  

The new car will keep to that car from Oregon pattern. 

So here she is, a 2021 Subaru Crosstrek Sport.

Crosstreks have had some nice colors over the years, but 90% of the used ones for sale were either white or black, neither of which I was too excited about. The one I ended up with appears to be a love it or hate it color, but I am a fan, and after driving an orange car for the last nine years, I guess I am a fan of distinctive colors. 

Buying the car in Oregon was a bit of a hassle, and it was my own version of planes, trains and automobiles to pick it up a week and a half later, but now that I have it, I am pretty happy with it. Still learning what all these buttons and screens do, but I have lots of time to learn. If the pattern holds, it should be around for another decade.

And the Element is still around, but more on that later. 

The roads we travel

Every time I drive to Portland, I can't help but think of the more winding STP bike route. Flying past the exit signs along the freeway, I never knew the small towns of Winlock and Vader before riding through them more slowly. Never knew how perfectly Centralia was named until it was the overnight, halfway point for the two day ride.

I drove to Hillsboro outside of Portland for car shopping on Sunday, and all those great moments and memories were right there with me. On the way home, the GPS routed me along Highway 30 to Longview, likely to avoid a traffic logjam through Portland, so I got to see that part of the course, headed in the opposite direction. I remember the hotter years, the harder years, the moments we didn't think we could go on, and those glorious moments of triumph. Not sure I knew how high the Longview bridge was until I saw it in profile, but the narrow shoulder and long climb are burned into memory.

Sometimes we travel roads together, sometimes alone. Each time is a little different. Just the city of Longview has meant something new nearly every time through since that first ride more than 20 years ago, and it was different yet again yesterday. Each time down the path informs the next, memories providing texture to the present.

It was a long, tiring, but beautiful day on Sunday, and it will add another element to the road next time through.

It will be new, different, and familiar at every turn.

A Walk in the Woods

My friend Cherie, who has twisted my arm into biking, then into running, also got me into backpacking. 

The summer after I moved back to Washington, she invited me along on a family backpacking trip. Her dad Jim had been going to this semi-secret lake for much of his life, and in 2013 he was headed to the hills again with his daughter and grandson, a three-generation group. Cherie's husband Brian and I rounded out the pack. The hike was challenging, including a bit of hand over hand climbing, and pushing through overgrown fisherman trails, but I was pretty well hooked from the start. 

My family did a bit of hiking and camping when I was quite young, and I started camping again in my early twenties. I love so many things about it. Being outside in the wilderness is restorative. I feel so present, away from the comforts and routine of home. I actually appreciate how long it takes to make coffee and cook food when I am camping. It just seems to make me appreciate everything a bit more. 

Backpacking adds another level to it. You have to carry everything on your back, thus reducing how many comforts you want to bring along. You also have to carry this weight up and down hills, rather than just from your car to your tent. When you get to that secret or not so secret lake at the end of the trail, it feels that much sweeter that you got there under your own power. 

And once you are there, life is just so gloriously slow. You have nowhere else to be. Time to sit and enjoy your coffee. Time to wade into the mountain lake. Time for a day hike through the woods. Time to sit on a log and read, surrounded by the sounds of nature. Time to fish if you hauled that inflatable raft that nearly crushed you. Time to just be. 

I think our group has been on four backpacking trips, but it has been a few years since we headed to the woods together. Summers can fill up fast, and then the pandemic and the appearance of my hip arthritis made it a non-starter. Prior to 2020, I had applied several times to get a permit to hike the Wonderland Trail solo, but have come up empty each time. With the new hip and the limits on running, I want to get back into backpacking again.

My YouTube watchlist has been filled lately with backpacking videos, and also bikepacking videos where they trade shoes for wheels, trails for roads. Part of it is the anticipation and desire to get moving again, but I think this happens every tax season. As the hours increase, and the weekends away from work disappear, mental plans are made for the summer, something to look forward to after April 15th. 

In the meantime, and as part of the surgery recovery, I have been going on longer walks lately. The place that has become a regular favorite is Bridle Trails Park. It is a wooded oasis in the middle of the city. There are three main trails - 1 mile, 1.8 miles, and 3.5 miles, and you can mix and combine based on what you need any particular day. I choose the 1.8 when Izzy is with me, and the 3.5 when I leave her at home (much less stopping and sniffing). Every weekend it seems I find a new tree that captures my attention, and the trail is always a little different based on the weather, time of day, and level of sunshine breaking through the trees. From the name, you obviously see horses pretty regularly, but I have also seen owls and deer on my walks. 

My body and brain are better for it every time I go for a walk in the woods, even if only for an hour or two.

Scenes from this weekend.

If you can't be an athlete, be an athletic supporter

 

This photo is from January twelve years ago, and it popped in a nice Facebook memory last week. It is still one of my favorite running photos. The original Facebook caption is:

"Another great day on the road at the Carlsbad Marathon. New PR of 3:44:57. Thanks to my awesome support crew, including the tambourine girl who is nine months pregnant."

Tambourine girl is my friend Marci. Along with her daughter in the pink hat, and Kristy who was taking the photo, she was cheering on both her husband Sean, and me, the other Sean, as we ran the Carlsbad Marathon. Marci has run a number of marathons herself, and back in 2006 she and I crossed hand in hand at my first marathon finish line in Washington D.C., but at nine months pregnant she was obviously out for this one. 

The marathon is of course a difficult endeavor, and though you are out there fighting yourself, the course and the clock, it is rarely a solo effort. The support of your family and friends, and even random strangers cheering you on can make all the difference. I have always felt that the day spent as support crew could be just as long and difficult as those running the race. I have volunteered at a number of races and events, but haven't been on the sidelines cheering on people I knew very often, since we were often running together. I had a chance to do just that in November of 2022.

I was signed up to do the 2020 Arizona Ironman. It was of course postponed to 2021 due to Covid, and then to 2022. In the meantime, I developed arthritis in my right hip and could no longer run, so I would not be toeing the start line. However, I had three friends doing the Ironman, so I flew down to cheer them on. 

Even though I wasn’t participating, I had paid the (non-refundable) entry fee, so I picked up my gear along with my friends. Along with a bit of swag, I had the wristband that would get me some backstage athlete access on race day. 

On race day I got up early to go to the start line with my friends. It was a 3:30am wake up call to what would be a very long day. 

The Ironman distance is:
a 2.4 mile swim,
followed by a 112 mile bike ride,
followed by a 26.2 marathon distance run

As I have mentioned before, I am a sucker for the emotion of a finish line, but the start line is pretty special too. All the pent-up energy, nervousness and excitement is palpable. After months and sometimes years of training, the day is finally here. So many different stories and paths brought the varied people to this single moment. Race morning is often a bit of hurry up and wait, so you have lots of time with your thoughts before the gun goes off. I drank it all in while doing my best to support my friends Sean, Jonathan, and BG as they prepared and waited.

After seeing them off into the swim, I started my walking of the course. I went to one of the bridges to watch the swimmers go by as the sun came up, before heading to the finish line of the swim. 

The Ironman event is a pretty well-oiled machine and depends on hundreds of volunteers. At the swim finish line there was a line of volunteers there to help the wobbly swimmers get out of their wetsuits. Jonathan was first out of the water, followed by BG (who I somehow missed) and then Sean after an hour and fifty minutes of swimming. After getting out of their wetsuits, they jogged back to the transition area to start the next challenge, the 112 mile bike ride. 

The bike course was a three lap out-and-back route, so rather than try and fight the traffic and closed roads, I stationed myself about a half mile up from the turn-around. I would watch them head in at the end of each lap, then cross the street and see them again as they headed back out a few minutes later. The Ironman had a pretty good tracking app, so I had a decent idea of when each person would be coming by. Since my three guys started the course at different times and were biking at different paces, the times they came by were pretty spread out, so I was still able to duck out and get food or a cup of coffee now and then.

The riders were fighting winds for most of the ride, so the times were a bit slower than they expected. Sean was also fighting a raging headache. I had tried to find him some Tylenol or Advil between laps, but came up empty. Something to add to the support checklist for next time. 

Overall, athletes need to finish the Ironman in under seventeen hours. However, each leg of the Ironman has its own cut off time. You need to be out of the water by a certain time to be allowed to start the bike. Then you need to finish the bike ride by a certain point to be able to start the run. Since the bike route was a three loop course, you also had to start the third lap by a certain time or you would be pulled off the course. As I made my way toward the finish line and the bike turnaround, I saw the first few riders be told the heartbreaking news that their day was over. 

We headed to the bike finish to see Jonathan and then Sean come in to finish the ride. BG had started the third lap on time, but he unfortunately did not make a time cut off further down the road. He and other athletes were swept up, having already ridden 100 of the 112 miles. He was understandably pretty dejected when we caught up with him later. 

The run course was a two lap route, so we mostly stayed in one place to see Jonathan and Sean go by. Sean was slowly reeling in Jonathan on the run, but he was still struggling with the headache and of course the other aches and fatigue of all the distance he had already covered. After seeing him go by at mile seventeen, we all headed to the finish line to wait for Jonathan. 

All finish lines are amazing, but the one at the Ironman is really something special. Of course it is rewarding and emotional to be the one crossing the line, but I get choked up watching strangers finish as well. Back before I bottled everything up, one of the few things that would make me cry was watching a finish line. The Ironman did not disappoint. 

This is a moment for some random runner.

We saw both Jonathan and Sean cross the finish line, and hear their names called out by Mike Reilly followed by, “You are an Ironman!” Mike Reilly has been the voice of the Ironman finish line for 33 years, and this was the second to last race that he was announcing before retiring, so it was a little extra special to be there to hear him call out their names.

After Sean and Jonathan had some time to rest and get a bit of food in them, we gathered up their gear and made our way home. Even though we had been up close to 24 hours, we stayed up a while longer to hear stories about each of their journeys. It was such an incredible day. I desperately wished I had been on their side of the event, running alongside them, but it was still a pretty amazing day as a spectator. Wistful but wonderful.

I hope to participate in start and finish lines again on the other side of the ropes in the coming years. I am just not ready to close the door on that part of my life, which I will probably write about soon. In the meantime and near future, I will lean into the role of volunteer, head cheerleader, and/or designated domestique. 

And get me a tambourine. 

Accidental beginnings, and more intentional habits.

 Three weeks into January seems a little early for a resolution/habit check in, but since it is a 2022 resolution, it is probably a bit late. 

As I wrote in this January 2022 post, the habit started a bit by accident. Partially due to a hibernation week, staying home in the snow after a possible Covid exposure, and partially due to Amazon tracking my reading days on the Kindle (thanks big data), halfway through January I found out that I had read thirty-one days in a row. Since I had the streak going already, I resolved to read every day of 2022.

I made it through 2022 successfully, reading at least a few pages every day of the year. Then I continued the streak through every day of 2023 and into another January. After a bit of math, I have figured that I have now read 765 days in a row. 

As I written about previously, I was not much of a reader growing up. Though both of my parents were consistent readers, I barely cracked a book until I was in my twenties. For the past thirty plus years though, reading has been a semi-consistent part of my life. I've found insight, relief, solace, joy, and other worlds on and between the pages. The amount I read changed year to year, falling in and out of the habit. My mental health seemed to improve when I was a consistent reader, but like any other habit it was hard to re-start when I drifted away from it. Failing at re-starting became its own mental struggle. 

Like most of us, I have probably failed more than succeeded at resolutions, New Year's or otherwise. In 2011 I put a twist on it and had a different resolution each month. It was an interesting exercise in habit development and was a relative success. Part of the lesson, which should be obvious but isn't always, is that developing the habit is much more important to your success than your desire for the resolution's outcome. I can resolve and desire all I want, but until I put the work in through the development of a habit, then there is no path that will get me there. 

To keep the reading streak alive, I obviously put the work in each day, but the simplest of tricks is what made it actually happen. I have a reminder on my phone that goes off at 9:00 each night asking, "Did you read yet?" The reminder sits on my phone until I clear it. Sometimes it gets cleared at 11:45pm, and sometimes only a few pages are read, but for 765 days in a row I have answered "yes" to the reminder. 

So, how did the habit change the amount I read? Below are the recaps from Goodreads for 2021 (pre-habit), and then 2022 and 2023:

I plan to keep the streak alive again through 2024. I have set my arbitrary goal of reading 30 books again this year, and I hope to reach it again, but maybe not hit 40 this time around. There are some other goals, habits and hobbies I'd like to add (back) this year and spend time with. The past couple of years have been difficult, but I am seeing a bit of light again. This challenge and habit formation shows that I can still find some focus, even when my brain seems to be rebelling. Reading has felt like a bit of self-care when things feel noisy inside. I want to find more things that bring me a bit of peace.

Another 2024 resolution - more reminders set on my phone this year. 

By any other name

Like many of us, I have had a number of nicknames over the years. Fortunately, most have been kind, or at least I have forgotten any mean ones in those awkward days of growing up. A lot of them came from work friends, one of which I have hung onto for myself, even though no one calls me it anymore, but my first nickname and my latest nickname have the same sort of origin story. 

When I was an infant/toddler, I had a cousin who was just three months older than I was. Charlie (soon to be Chuck) couldn't pronounce the name Sean, so I became "Na". My brother Kevin came a long a year later, and it was another name Charlie couldn't pronounce, so Kevin became "Beebee" for baby. The name Na stuck, Beebee did not (which I think Kevin is grateful for). 

The name Na was most enthusiastically used by my Uncle Jim, Charlie's dad. To be honest, I can't really remember him calling me Sean, but I can still hear his voice saying my nickname, always punctuated with an exclamation point, every time we saw each other well into adulthood. My dad and my brothers still use the name Na regularly, and I have been signing my emails to them with Na for several years now. 

I can remember when neighborhood kids or kids from school would hear the nickname, and try to tease me with it. When my only reaction was that I liked the nickname, the teasing stopped. I would like to think I was clever to steal their thunder, but I was honestly just, "Yeah? And?" There were plenty of teasing opportunities, because kids can be cruel sometimes, but this was not what I was self-conscious about.

My latest nickname, more than fifty years later, is from another young child who hasn't quite figured out how to say Sean. It would be even worse if I showed him how my name is spelled. I don't get the pronunciation out of that spelling either buddy. 

My friends Matt and Jenica's son Connor has started calling me "Uncle Han", and I love it. I mean, I already love this kid, and whatever he wants to call me is fine by me, but to be (accidentally) paired up with this guy is pretty great.

My Honda Element is a rather distinctive looking car, and apparently a red one has been semi-regularly parking across the street from Matt and Jenica's house, and Connor will point out the window and say, "Uncle Han!". So freaking adorable. A few week ago, I was over at their house for Jenica's birthday, and as Connor was going to bed, he asked Uncle Han to read him a bedtime story. 

It could melt a heart frozen in carbonite.