Las Aventuras de la Familia Rouse

Hydrate or Die

   The Black Bear Challenge turned out to be a pretty cool adventure race.  For those that don't know what the race entailed you can go here to find out other details.  I didn't have to go alone this year.  I was able to convince three other guys to come along and give this adventure racing thing a shot.  That made the experience fun despite the physical challenges I ran into.  

  Here is the basic run down (I don't want to give too much away because finding out was part of the adventure):

• We were given points to plot on the map they provided (which was 1:36,000, that took some getting used to)
• We could run or mountain bike to the points but we had to start the race running and finish the race on our mountain bikes.
• We had 6 hours 59 minutes and 59 seconds to complete our race.  

   There is the bare bones rundown of how the race is supposed to go.  Here is how it went down for us:

The entire pack (minus 2 guys) took off in the same direction when the shotgun was fired.  We knew the direction we needed to go but why check that direction when everyone seems to be running the same way you want to go.  That was our first mistake.  Then my superior navigation skills (I have taught this stuff in the past so it should have been a breeze, right?) got us lost bewildered for a while.  

Once we realized where we were we ran to the bike transition area and mounted our foot powered steeds.  We rode out from the transition area hoping that the bikes would speed our progress and get us to these "easy to see" checkpoints.  We missed our first turn and decided that the best plan of attack was to not bomb down the roads on our bikes and try to reconnoiter at the intersections to keep our bearings.  That decision made we checked the map again, found our position and decided that we would go for the second furthest northwestern lying checkpoint since it was now the closest one.  

We found the draw it was located near (and two bikes lying next to the road) and started our ascent to the point.  After climbing a few hundred feet in elevation along a deer path we were able to find our first point.  This was two hours into the race.  At that time we not only found the checkpoint but we ran into our confidence also.  This made it easier to navigate to our next few points.       

After our second point I started feeling a slight cramp in my right calf.  About that time I realized that I had kept myself so busy before the race that I had only had one cup of coffee the day before race.  I started drinking as much water as I could but it was too late.  After our fourth checkpoint I told the guys I would see them at the finish line.  I put the bike in the lowest gear and pedaled slowly back to the finish line with my 4 little checkpoints and my pride dragging somewhere behind.  So at somewhere around 4 hours 57 minutes I crossed the finish line and waited for the other three to come in.    

   I will definitely try this race again.  Even though it was challenging and painful I really enjoyed it and now that I have one under my belt I can't wait for the next.  Besides I can only improve from my current performance.  

   On a side note, I really enjoy the community that races bring together.  The people I get to meet at the races tend to be some of the coolest folks around.  Even though I felt pretty beat up over my lackluster performance people were there to cheer me up, commenting about the effort I put in and give some sage advice about hydrating before an event.  I enjoy meeting and talking to people that have some of the same interests and hobbies.  Although we might not be on the same page in every aspect of our lives a race gives us a common thread to share and makes it really easy to sit down and rehash the events of the day.  Sometimes you run into people and start to make a bond that may turn into a friendship. And so I lift my NUUN tabbed water and banana saying,  "Here's to the racers, the races, and to grabbing life by the horns and not watching someone else live the life you would like to have. See you next year Grizzly Man."   

Going For It - sort of

Well I've finally done it and will be competing in my first adventure race.

A few years ago I ran across the GrizzlyMan Adventure Race and made a goal of actually completing the race during my time in Montana.  Well, not long after making that goal they changed the course, upped the mileage, added a water portion, moved the venue and morphed it into an actual adventure race.  At first this bummed me out because I don't have the resources for the entire race (specifically the water portion).  As I read through the website a glimmer of hope appeared when I saw that they had also made the Black Bear Challenge.  Essentially this was the Grizzly Man without the water course. Needless to say I was excited. 

So then fitness procrastination took over and I never gained the level of fitness necessary to complete this race.  A few bouts with self realization kept me from signing up and embarrassing myself.  I was disappointed in my lack of discipline every time this race came up and I failed to enter.

This year though is a completely different story.  I have kept the running up for about a year now and have been working out on a bicycle when the weather is cooperative.   The weight has been constantly going down and the level of fitness constantly going up. It has been increasing to the point that I will also run at least one if not two sprint distance triathlons this summer.  

First though I must complete the Black Bear Challenge.  I was able to con a few guys from work to join me this year and now I have some accountability to keep the training regimen going.  I figured I would need some help actually getting there, and this group of guys will chastise me relentlessly if I do not go.  I was the one that talked them into it and now it is on my shoulders to show up. 

Hopefully come April 22nd I will be able to share some of my experiences from a strong showing at my first adventure race. 

 

Part 2 - Untitled Picture is not Escondido

The sun finishes its dive into the western horizon and the light gives way to the dark.  The street lamps have turned on and so have the headlights of the vehicles passing through the streets as their drivers finish their daily California work commutes.

  Calls come in for traffic collisions and burglaries throughout the shift.  There are calls for domestic disturbances that come from the usual residences.  When you are on a first name basis with the local police because of the frequency of their visits and not a friendship held outside of their professional capacity you may want to rethink your path in life.  This is common anywhere you go.  There is a small percentage of the population that uses the local policing resources more than the rest of the city.  Not that they are all bad people, some have just made some poor choices or are in a rut and it  is hard to get out.  No matter the reason for their situation, their calls will be answered. 

We continue to provide assistance to other officers, and take the lead on other calls, so that the paperwork will not fall on one officer or another.  Paperwork in any aspect of law enforcement will make or break a reputation.  If you avoid it, you will be branded a "slug" and will end up not receiving the help you may need when it comes to your paperwork load in the future.  If you are good at it, some will automatically put you in the front of the line when they see any paper coming down the tubes.  It's a double edged sword and you must choose which way you will go.  That is if you care about a reputation.  Which most officers and agents do. 

The night moved on quickly due to the frequency of the calls.  The caseload wasn't overwhelming but it kept us busy through out the shift.  Many experiences were created; some funny and some serious but all were pretty cool.  It's not every night you get a chance to work with your little tiny baby brother doing something you love to do.  I would take him on a ride along at my station but I think it would be almost embarrassingly slow.   Maybe one of these days he'll have a chance to see how it's done by his big brother. 

Part I - Untitled Picture is not Escondido

At 4p.m. the sun in Southern California hangs a little higher in the sky than it does at the same time in Northern Montana.  As you drive to the west the blinding glare can make driving a chore as it obliterates your view through the windshield.  Right now though I don't have to worry about driving while visually impaired.  My only chore is to sit in the passenger seat and let my tour guide drive me through the streets of Escondido for the next 9 hours.  I left here in 1995, and many of the neighborhoods we drive through seem new to me eventhough I have been in them before.  Over the years the streets have changed, various homes and businesses have been replaced by newer buildings and many people I knew have moved away but that is not what makes the scenery seem different.  The fact that I get to see the city through the windshield of a police cruiser brings about a brand new perspective.  

A tide of memories from the different neighborhoods rises as we drive through some of the old stomping ground and I can't help but smile as I think of last time I was in this place or that.  Even through the rose colored glasses provided by my memories I can't help bu notice the way the people react to a patrol car moving down the street.  From some it's a completely different reaction than it is to a normal car.  They swivel their heads to watch the cruiser drive by from where they stand or they tap the brakes to slowdown or come to an exagerrated complete stop at a stop sign.  From others the reaction is one of indifference to our presence.  Some seem to not notice the black and white cherry topper (although there is a blue light now and the lights are slim and flat) gliding by and they continue about their life and bad driving habits.

Tonight we are on patrol answering calls as they come out over the radio and show up on the computer screen.  I learn how calls are prioritized and the order of response to each call.  As the muffled voices on the radio speak the list on the computer grows each time a call comes out from 911 dispactch.  Every high pitched keytone that blares from the radio is followed by the voice of the dispatcher telling us of some new event, so we change direction and move closer to the location or drive to cover another officer.    

Where I currently live my job is very slow.  As the calls begin to stack up a pang builds in my chest and I realize how much I miss the feeling of accomplishment that comes with a busy productive shift.  I think the feeling is a hereditary one that my progenitors must have passed on while I watch as my brother responds to calls and relays stories of past call experiences while we move through the city at sunset.  Some of the stories are funny and some are serious, but they all seem to ring with the same grittiness that weaves through all the stories in the law enforcement community.  These stories show a different side of life that many never experience and probably never will until they put on a uniform and enforce laws while trying to keep their community safe.  

 

Take It Easy Sargent

    One of the things I like most about riding my motorcycle is the people I meet out on the road.  Growing up I found it hard to socialize in groups of people or even just one on one.  Needless to say, through much practice I have pretty much overcome that.  Now as I travel I like to engage people in conversations about their life, interests, and the weather.  The more people I meet the more interesting their stories become.  During my extended vacation last month I stopped at a barbershop I like to frequent in Great Falls.  I typically go in there to be harassed by the man with clippers about my former life as a Marine and take some ribbing about my current occupation.  During this visit our back and forth banter was slightly interrupted by a younger man that stepped inside the shop and quietly took his seat.  Judging from his haircut I figured he was in some branch of the military, maybe the Air Force, seeing that Malmstrom Air Base is located in Great Falls.  We continued our verbal jabs back and forth (mind you I was much more civil in my tone toward the man with clippers and my head of hair being operated on by him) when the Marine subject came up again.  Once the cat was out of the bag the young man waiting in the chair let out the honorary "OOH RAH" and the connection was made.  A few comments from the others in the peanut gallery about being out numbered flew in the direction of my clipper wielding barber, but made me feel at ease with my increasing numbers.  

   So as typical with Marines, once you find a fellow Devil Dog out and about, I asked the obligatory questions: what his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty)was, how long he'd been in, and if he had been involved in the war.  I believe he was involved in one of the infantry specialties early in his career and now had moved over to one of the public affairs specialties since coming home from Iraq.  He said Iraq was why he only could move his left hand "this much", and then held out his hands and rotated his left wrist only about 1/4 to 1/2 of a normal range of motion.  At that I could see a scar that went from his wrist and moved up along the middle of his forearm to almost the elbow.  I asked if he minded the question and then inquired about the circumstances that lead to his injury.  

   A quick rundown of his story is that the Humvee next to his was hit by an IED (Improvised Explosive Device).  The explosion caused the primary Humvee to slam into the Humvee he was riding in.  No one in the primary Humvee was injured, but those in his were.  During the collision his left arm struck the rack between the driver and shotgun seats which caused both bones to fracture.  He said the  sound of his bones being snapped was like a gunshot.  At the time the adrenaline was too much to feel any pain, but the pain he felt after surgery more than made up for the temporary loss of feeling at the battle site.  

  Most of us in the barber shop at the time were prior military and a few had been to Vietnam and Korea.  We asked about how it affected his current enlistment and the challenges it brought about by not being able to fully utilize his left arm.  He didn't gripe about it but laughed and said it made doing pull-ups a little harder during the PFT (Physical Fitness Test).  Being that it was group of men we moved the conversation from wounds and suffering to something much lighter, probably about the evils and suffering caused by women in our lives, but I can't really remember now.  Despite my efforts at civility and humor the clipper wielder had taken a little more off the top than I had hoped for, but the conversation and events more than made up for the shorter hair style.  

  I walked over to the cash register and told the barber that the young Marine's haircut was paid for along with mine.  When I grabbed my helmet and said good bye to all the occupants the Marine jumped out of the barber's chair caught up with me and told me to wait before I left.  As I waited he went into the back of his sedan and threw me a T-Shirt.  I said thank you, shook his hand, wished him luck in his future endeavors and rode off.  

  I wore that shirt on every run for about two weeks until I lost it.  I remembered washing it because a certain group of people that live in my house were complaining about my sweaty clothing, and then it was gone. I was truly bummed out.  So last night, one month after losing it, I found it behind the dryer.  Sorry to those who don't like my sweaty shirts, but it will be a while before I wash this one again.  It is my favorite work out shirt.

  The shirt reminds me of the sacrifice that our men and women make when they volunteer to go overseas and fight in the wars that our country asks them to.  It also reminds me of the day I was able to pay for the haircut and shake the hand of one our nations heroes.