.Sherowski Daily.

Good morning. Halloween is coming. Not sure if this happens everywhere, but in Portland people hang Halloween lights instead of Christmas lights. Yep. Strings of orange and purple lit up the night on our bike ride down to the beer store.

Anyhoo, I have something for you. Judas Priest, covering Joan Baez’s “Diamonds and Rust.” Sung by Joan or Rob, it’s a great song—a bit of a poem about when she got dumped by Bob Dylan, or, like, frozen out by him, and how even a decade later, the ghost of it still lingers.

I can’t listen to Joan Baez a lot. It gets a little operatic for me, or something. Not rockin’ enough. But I do think she’s a bad ass. If you don’t agree, or even if you do, you should watch this—Joan Baez: How Sweet The Sound.

And without further ado:

02 – Diamonds And Rust

admin Uncategorized bob dylan, joan baez, judas priest, music

Every so often, Tricia and I get it in our minds to go somewhere. It’s nothing too thought out or planned out. I have a list of things I gotta do, not on paper, more like in my head, but these trips are usually a way to cross items off of this.

Anyway, last time it was Hawaii. The big island—jungle hikes down to secret snorkel spots and roasting on the beach. This time, the Grand Canyon. You go there like going on a pilgrimage, looking down into the pit and contemplating it solitarily—kinda like staring into a pile of burning embers. But the thing is, seeing it from the rim is a whole lot like just looking at the photo. There’s a haze in the distance between you and it, and you are very, very far away.

So, we climbed down to the bottom, stuck our feet in the cold-ass Colorado River (just like John Wesley Powell did, I’m sure). Then we hoofed it back up. Even a mile down the trail, we both agreed that this was the only way see the canyon. You get a sense of perspective, inspecting layers of rock first-hand as you stumble past them and feeling like an insignificant spec as you sneak by looming cliffs wearing the stains of the ages.

It was an amazing trip, kinda cosmic. In fact, the Grand Canyon is a cosmic place—where us non-”devout” folks go to appreciate the mysteries of the universe.

Sure, I’ma nerd. But I’m about to hike 4,500 feet down and back up again in two days. I could barely walk for days. So sore.

Yeah, take the burrows, you pussies. We’re gonna walk.

A new set of thunderheads rolled through every hour … we could see ‘em coming.

Down, down, down, keep going down.

At last, the Colorado River, and a quiet beach to rest our weary selves.

But what’t this? A thunder-hail extravaganza on the way back up? A good excuse to sit the fuck down.

We camped out half way up the canyon. The next morning, after torrential rains in the night, the chasm was shrouded in cloud.

And it was time to climb out. Yeah, all the way to the tippy top of that cliff up there.

Sedona sunset later that evening, dog tired and readier for a cocktail than I’ve ever been in my life.

Dirty, tired, sore—but we made it. Yep.

admin Uncategorized arizona, grand canyon, hiking, travel, tricia byrnes

Just returned to my Portland residence after a week in the southwest. I’ve got much to say about its astonishing awesomeness. The air smells like dust and piñon. Real cowboys shovel dirt into divots along Bright Angel trail. And the sun sets at 5:37 p.m. to resplendent effect. More to come, stay tuned…

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Well so that new Nike bowl I keep talking about got finished a few days ago (see above). It’s, like, perfect. I seized my opportunity, knowing it might be the only one, and materialized right when the boyz were sweeping up the last pile of sawdust. And guys, it’s good. Nice birch, pretty, smooth and fast, and coping like stepping on a silver bullet.

Lance got so fired up that he front-boarded the railing that leads up to the new bowl. Unlike other rickety-ass wooden handrails, Ben Mohr built this one, so of course it didn’t disintegrate into a pile toothpicks. Quality craftsmanship. Sorry ’bout the blurry photo.

And after many long hours adding up to long days where many important deadlines were met, I drove over to Dude Barn for an impromptu Q. The sun was catching the crimson leaves just right on broadway, and it’s October, people, have you noticed?

admin Uncategorized nike, skateboarding

Along with it being October 13th, today is the anniversary of my big sister’s birth. So … below, a song for her. Fifteen, covering Jawbreaker. This is to kick her morning in the ass. It’s also as a tribute to the old days back on the front range, when she was at the 12th Street house and I was at the 20th Street house, and when we both lived on Marine Street, and when the nights were alternately too hot or too cold, and when Jawbreaker got us through the many disappointments of young adult life.

Caroline

Happy Birthday Melissa!

admin Uncategorized fifteen, jawbreaker, melissa sherowski, music

Here’s a bit of writing I did for the Nike Snowboarding Facebook page. Extremely proud to be involved, as there’s nothing but good folk over there. I get to kickturn with Meeks at the skatepark from time to time, and Craighill I’d always see with a camera attached to his face on the side of the X-Games course or something. Although now he lives in Portland, so I bet we’ll start running into each other at Walgreens and stuff. “Rash cream, eh?” Anyhoo, there you have it, a small piece of what’s been keeping shackled to the keyboard lately, proudly, and with love, of course.

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Woke up this morning to rain on the roof. It’s nice to just lay in bed and listen to this. And then get up even though you know you don’t have to. Do the dishes with a soapy sponge and hot water. Clean the countertops until they shine. Then a poached egg with toast, butter, strawberry jelly. Nothing special. Just started a new book: Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck (thanks Dave). It’s autobiographical. Says he:

“I’ve lived in good climate, and it bores the hell out of me. I like weather rather than climate. I’d like to see how long an Araoostook County [Maine] man can stand Florida. I wonder if … sitting on a nylon-and-aluminum chair out on a changelessly green lawn slapping mosquitos in the evening of a Florida October—I do wonder if the stab of memory doesn’t strike him high in the stomach just below the ribs where it hurts. And in the humid ever-summer I dare his picturing mind not to go back to the shout of color, to the clean rasp of frosty air, to the smell of pine wood burning and the caressing warmth of kitchens. For how can one know color in perpetual green, and what good is warmth without cold to give it sweetness?”

It’s nice, and true, I dare say.

In other news, the boys are down at Nike park building a new bowl. Looks fun, no? Sawdust everywhere, and empty bottles of gatorade. One Slayer CD is getting them through the whole project, it seems. Oh, look at Lance in his new tool belt. Tradesman chic.

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A song for these bright fall days. I believe there’s a way to shut the things you don’t need out.

04 Harvest Moon

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I just mapquested it. My mom lives 1,184 miles away from me. A little too far for a quick lunch or a walk in the woods or an afternoon of gardening. So she came to visit for the weekend and we did all of these things. Now she’s gone, and yeah, already, I miss my mom.

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Yesterday was my birthday. We cooked a huge Mexican feast and everyone came over. We hung around in the yard and were all very tipsy. Sasha made horchata with rum, and when all was said and done there were, like, a hundred empty beer cans with lime wedges perched on the rim. It was fabulous. Thanks everyone!!

I’m pretty sure we used every dish in the house. So awesome.

And a birthday gift to myself, or to the household, really. A vintage GMC Sierra, made in 1977—the same year I was born. Look at that thing! Baby we just get better with age, don’t we?

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