The Independent Stitch

3,742.7 miles, eight states, a good book, music, and a Wyoming oasis

Ending trip mileage: 3,742.7 (6023.3km). Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, (Oregon again), California, Nevada, Utah, (Wyoming and Colorado again).

Trip average: 31.8 miles per gallon, although I reached 33.7 on the outbound half (the 1100-mile section that did not include Seattle and Sacramento). The car is rated for 19 city, 26 highway. It's a manual, so I have some control over mileage through my driving style, and I think I'm getting the feel of the transmission down pretty well. On last year's similar trip, the overall average was a bit under 30 m.p.g.

Most mornings, I drove enjoying the sound of the air through the open windows. Especially when I was traveling two-lane asphalt, those times were reminiscent of road trips in the '50s and '60s. (I drove interstates when necessary, but logged a lot of miles on well-paved now-secondary highways.)

As the heat increased and the day (and my energy) wore on, I tended to close the windows, turn on the air conditioning (highest registered outside temperature was 101 F / 38 C), and listen to a book or some music.

The book I checked out of the library was Temple Grandin's new Animals Make Us Human:

There's still a long list of holds at the library for the regular books, but I was second in line for the audio version and it was returned just in time for the trip. Perfect!

I especially enjoyed the chapter on wildlife, in which she talks about lab science versus field science. She mentions a discussion she had with her dissertation adviser about experiments without controls. She contended that they could be valuable, and that careful field observation studies the subject in its natural environment where behaviors are not distorted as they are in a lab. He contended that control groups are essential for real science, and that careful observation is insufficient. She countered that astronomy is considered a real science, and all of its methods are based on observation. Often her straightforward logic, part of the way her mind works because of her brain's particular neurology, quickly slices to the core of a question. There's more in the chapter that intrigued me. I'd like to read or listen to the book again.

I wish I could listen to music when I work, but I concentrate so hard that I rarely can. It's nice to have some drive time because I do love music. I haven't figured out how to feed the iPod's sound through the car's speakers (I know it can be done), so I grabbed CDs. It's interesting to try to grab a collection of what I might want to listen to on a particular trip. What would I be in the mood for, given the likely landscapes and events, for the next three weeks?

I didn't have time to listen to everything I took with me, mostly because I do like quiet, and there were lots of good options I left at home. Here's some of what I listened to, a whole bunch of proven favorites (often several albums by an artist or group) and a couple of new discoveries:

• The Wild Tchoupitoulas (ongoing thanks to my brother-in-law for introducing me to this album years ago)
• The Rankin Family
• Linda Ronstadt (including one album with Aaron Neville, a nice follow-up to Wild Tchoupitoulas)
• Wolfe Tones
• Anonymous 4
• Grand Dérangement
  
• Dixie Chicks
• Ken Woodard
• Golden Bough
• Paul Simon
• Sweethearts of the Rodeo
• Capercaillie
• O Sister 2
• Kathy Mattea

I took, but didn't listen to, a couple of albums of Andean music and several shape note collections. I listen to those relatively frequently when I'm at home. No classical music in the CD set: not great for staying awake while driving. I had some on my iPod and listened to it during non-driving times.

Nevada and Utah, as I've mentioned, were not great spots for vegetarian food for the traveler. Neither was western Wyoming. So toward the end of the trip, I hoped to encounter a particular location in Laramie, Wyoming, at a time when it was open:

 

It was Monday, a day when many restaurants at home close, and a few minutes after 11. It looked pretty quiet on the street.

 

They'd just opened for the day. Whew. I rarely have room for dessert, but I think a couple of days of short rations left space. I made it through the peach-raspberry cobbler, after a veggie reuben and delicious kale slaw. I ordered a slice of vegan chocolate cake to go, to share with my daughter, because by this time I was about an hour from home. It was all worth waiting for.

If you're ever in Laramie and need healthy food, check out Sweet Melissa. Downtown, by the railroad tracks. No website.

Covering ground: out of California, to Nevada, Utah, and Wyoming

As I write this, it's time to get home. I've been working, but now I need to get different sorts of work done, and I need to be back in my usual surroundings to do that. I've had to cover another 1100-plus miles (1770+ km).

California, across the Sierra Nevada

 

 

Into the state of Nevada

There was a drastic change of scenery from the part of California I'd just left. I've been through all these parts of the world by car before, but it's been a long time.

 

 

Traversing these places, one becomes a connoisseur of light, vegetation, and rocks: colors, angles, relationships. Also stunned by the thought of coming across these miles and miles and miles on foot or horseback, or by wagon, at times when there were no roads or wayfinding aids. Or cooling breezes. And where the winters can be severe.

I didn't find the good Japanese restaurant in Carson City. Unfortunately. And I didn't have time to research vegetarian options along the route; there probably weren't many.

I've used up my stash of Luna bars and Larabars and the Annie Chun's dinners I brought along (with the hotpot to heat the water to prepare them). I've picked up apples and tea and yogurts and juice at grocery stores along the way, although in Nevada—for the first time I can remember this has happened—I could only find good yogurt in quarts, which aren't very practical for traveling. Usually being vegetarian is no problem. It probably wouldn't be in Nevada if I were there long enough to get my bearings.

Cresting a hill into Utah

As diverse as each state's landscape is, the arbitrary political units also end up having geographic identities. I came to the top of a rise, caught the view, and thought, "Yep, that's Utah!" And it was. Not that all of Utah looks like what I saw, but the scene definitely wasn't Nevada any more.

 

That white stuff is sand, and it stretched on both sides of the road for as far as I could see. It's very specific sand—the Bonneville Salt Flats, where land speed records are set:

 

This is what water looked like in the same area:

Not so different.

East of Salt Lake City, the colors and topography changed drastically:

 

There's a WHOLE lot of road and bridge reconstruction going on in the seven states I've been traversing. Each state has a "Putting America to work" sign near its border, although never in a spot where I can reasonably take its picture. The accomplishments are not busy work: the differences between worked-on and un-worked-on stretches are significant. The old infrastructure was falling apart.

As I drive along, I keep having an unrealistic but engaging (to me) fantasy in which half of the new pavement gets turned over to bikes and other alternative, low-impact modes of transportation. Lots of changes would need to support that shift: differently spaced rest areas and food and sleep resources (which would mean jobs spread across the landscape as well), plus widespread use of CycleTotes for kids and elders (and dogs). (CycleTotes are really easy to haul.)

It'd be a slow way to travel, but nowhere near as slow as a wagon train. We'd need to solve a whole different set of problems than we are currently concentrating on, maybe some more interesting ones, like figuring out ways to temper the effects of heat on the travelers or how to make travel in winter possible (which it isn't in any case in many spots along this route), but I ponder how that could be done . . . clothing? minor redesign of cycles? lots of possibilities.

Buckminster Fuller would have sketched out not only the challenges but a full complement of possible solutions. I think about his calculations of the amount of gas wasted by cars at stoplights. I just have time to form the initial idea and then move on to the next task. . . . Then again, he got along well on four hours of sleep a night!

I've seen many people traveling by bike in certain sections of this trip: Portland, Sierra Nevada, east of Salt Lake City, even in long, hot, dry stretches of I-80 through Wyoming! Anyway, this smooth new pavement would last longer if it were used mostly by bicycles. . . . I know it would take a long time to get places. . . . That might be part of the fun, if we changed our expectations. . . .

If it's windy, it must be Wyoming. . . .

In the photo, you can't see the little flags flapping away. They were. There were also bison in an adjacent field, with a "bison are dangerous" sign on one fence (the other fence had a sign with "buffalo are dangerous"). But the bison were sleeping on the far side of the field, and I couldn't get a good picture of them.

Back on the road and a little farther east—about 27 miles into Wyoming—I saw a large wind farm, a handy demo of the principles in the interpretive signs at the information center:

Last year on this route (I-80), we saw some wind farms in the distance, and also turbine blades being trucked across the state. I think those blades have been installed. That wind farm along the horizon is much closer to the road than anything we saw last year. The education center in the first Wyoming photo talks about how to get involved in the wind farming program.

This is the same farm, closer up. I couldn't get a really good photograph. The view of the turbines was great but there was no way to pull off the highway and snap it.

The Wyoming department of transportation buys signs by the gross that say "High wind possible" and "next five miles" (small rectangle below the high-wind yellow diamond). They're not placed every five miles, but it seems that they are!

I also keep thinking about all the buildings whose roofs could have solar panels on them. When panels are mounted on existing structures, they don't add any elements to the landscape that aren't already there, which I consider a big plus. I wonder what type of reworking of social and economic forces would let everyone who wanted to install solar panels do so. Same thought last year. No solar panels on my house yet.

That's some of the stuff I ponder while driving across hundreds of miles of Western landscape, with relatively few interruptions by towns and other distractions.

I'm writing this in a motel room in Rawlins, Wyoming. By the time it's posted, I should be home and may have managed to unpack the car. I've got a handful of books to edit, one to continue writing, and a pair of socks to finish knitting. . . .

A foray into California to see long-time friends

I'm still on the road back from Sock Summit in Portland, Oregon. It's quite the trip.

Since I needed to be in southern Oregon, I looked at the map and traced out the possibilities of getting into northern California to see spinner/weaver/dyer/multifiberist Stephenie Gaustad and master wheelmaker (among other things) Alden Amos. I haven't seen them in way too many years. I tried to get a visit in last year, but the mileage and timing didn't work at all. This time . . . well, what's a few hundred miles and another day?

These posts will continue to be long on photos and short on words. I've been doing a lot of looking. The constant variations in the landscape fascinate me.

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In transit

Welcome to California. STOP: "Are you transporting any fresh fruit?"

 

Lovely rest stop:

 

(I should have taken a comparison one in Nevada two days later, but I didn't stick around long enough there.)

Mount Shasta:

I've also been looking at a lot of this:

 

The driving has been amazingly pleasant, except for within a certain radius of Sacramento. Drivers became precipitous and rude. Wound way too tight. I was there about 3 in the afternoon but they acted like they had been dealing with both rush hour and construction zones indefinitely. I revamped my route on the spot and took a longer road that got me out of there faster.

It also took me past this:

 

I didn't know until I saw Alden that this is Rancho Seco, a nuclear plant that has been decommissioned. I found the sight of the cooling towers above the vineyards disturbing. Apparently, the area is now a park. (I also saw a pair of cooling towers while driving in southwest Washington, but I can't figure out what site they were. Washington's nuclear sites have been elsewhere in the state, and although I could have seen something that large in Oregon the Trojan site's single cooling tower was demolished in 2006.)

About then, I was wondering where the heck Stephenie and Alden lived, and why they lived there, and whether adding this piece to my trip was such a good idea. . . .

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Hurray!

Fortunately, the Dragonfly Farms (Stephenie and Alden) part of the state of California is delightful.

 

I got a tour of the studios and workshops, where both Stephenie and Alden craft the tools to do fine textile work (and do a lot of fine textile work, and bookbinding as well). I got to watch Alden shape the accelerating wheel for a banjo charkha (lathe work, done freehand).

Supper was exquisite—a multi-bean soup with fresh garlic, a mix of zucchini and hominy, and pineapple-lime juice—and since the topic had come up we watched the 1935 Max Reinhardt version of A Midsummer Night's Dream (with James Cagney as Bottom, Mickey Rooney as Puck, and Olivia de Havilland as Hermia).

Then we stayed up later than any of us usually do, talking and spinning (I got to spin on Stephenie's bull-pup, and on two lovely little tahkli spindles, both of local fabrication). I was so tired I was drafting with the hand I don't usually use to draft and figured that I was just exhausted and haven't spun cotton in a while. . . . I figured out later, in the middle of sleeping, that I'd been drafting with my less agile hand. . . . Considering that, I'd done pretty well!

In the morning, we looked at textiles that required magnification to be fully appreciated. I hope to have more posts on that later, although I need to figure out how to get pictures of really tiny stuff.

Anything I say about Stephenie and Alden is inadequate, except that I'm so glad I got to see them. Even after too many years, we picked up just where we'd been, or better. . . .

 

Visiting Soays (rare sheep!)

I'm still on the road—getting ready to leave a motel in Elko, Nevada—so there will be photos here but not much text.

A couple of days ago, I had the pleasure of visiting some folks who have Soay sheep. Soays are as close as we have to the original domesticated sheep. They were located only on one island well offshore of western Scotland, and may have been there for thousands of years. A small population on a rock out being battered by the Atlantic Ocean is vulnerable, so now there are satellite flocks elsewhere.

Priscilla and Steve Weaver at Saltmarsh Ranch have a large satellite flock and are working on maximizing genetic diversity within the breed. Steve is a geneticist. They have both British and American Soay flocks. They are in love with their Soays. It's very easy to see many reasons why.

Soays in the morning:

Soays are tiny sheep, which doesn't exactly show in these photos.

 

Their friend and guardian, Isaac, who is significantly larger than they are:

He keeps coyotes away. There are four guardian dogs with the Soays at Saltmarsh Ranch. I fell in love with Isaac.

Also Molly (Mollie?), the herding associate, who injured a leg recently and has to be on forced rest for a bit.

Although, as you can see, she is always on the alert for a bit of work she might do:

Maybe she could help????? With ANYTHING?????

These Soays are clearing underbrush: eating star thistle and blackberry vines in preference to the grass. They'll eat the grass if all the good weeds are gone.

These are young Soays:

We went out to look over and snap photos of the rams, several of whom are going to other farms fairly soon (with genetically diverse ewes). They are identified as to lineage by the tape on their horns (all Soay rams and many Soay ewes have horns).

 

I have more photos, but I don't have more time at the moment. There's a great article on Soays in the January/February 2008 issue of Hobby Farms magazine.

Yes, Soay wool is fine and spinnable. There isn't much per sheep each year and it tends to be on the short side, and it roos (sheds) instead of being shorn, which makes gathering it a challenge. The quality of the wool, however, is part of what makes Soays the link between wild sheep (which you can see in their coloring and some of their behavior) and early domestication.

And now I-80 calls me again.

On the road again: Lincoln sheep, and Woodland Woolworks

Technically, I'm on my way home from Sock Summit and visiting with family. It's a working trip: I'm not getting to take side trips to see the museums and other sites for which I see signs along the way. But I've planned in a few even more intriguing stops en route.

Yesterday I stopped briefly to visit some Lincolns and Romneys being raised by Christiane Payton at North Valley Farm, in the wine country outside Salem (I also saw, in passing, rose growers, and the nurseries from which many garden shops get their plants . . . fascinating agricultural area). Alas, I didn't get any photos of the Lincolns, which were my primary interest. First, it was a very hot day and the sheep were (sensibly) hanging out in the shade, where it was hard to get a good photo. Second, I wasn't there long enough and I tend to forget I've got a camera when I'm mostly listening to someone who is passionate and smart about what she's doing, which in Christiane's case is breeding Lincolns for their color. Gorgeous!

I initially contacted Christiane looking for white Lincoln, when I realized that for the book I'm working on I had samples for colors but not the basic white stuff. It sounded as though she had lovely fleece (she does), and she graciously brought some white samples for me to pick up at Sock Summit.

She also tucked in a few of her colors. I was happily blown away, and wanted to see a bit more of what she's up to, so I took a quick side-trip to visit with Christiane and her flock.

Then I stopped at Woodland Woolworks for a diz. That wasn't all I got. Even though Carlton, Oregon, is a very small town, I had to go into the post office and ask how to find 100 E. Washington. This is what it looks like when you get there:

Lots of great warehouse/showroom type browsing, and a stash-enhancement room of closeouts. I didn't plan to try any spinning wheels, but when they're sitting there with fiber next to them and you've been invited to try anything you'd like, I couldn't resist. A lot of new wheels have been put into circulation since I was editing Spin-Off magazine and had ready access to trying wheels at the SOAR marketplace.

I did get my diz. I got two, while I was at it. My knitting-needle gauge has been working fine in that capacity, but it needs to be in the knitting bag again.

Sock Summit knitting: Socks, of course!

In celebration of Sock Summit 2009, Priscilla Gibson-Roberts put together instructions for some socks she made that evoke "How did you make those???" questions whenever she wears them. We sold a bunch of patterns at the Summit and expect to have them available for sale through the Nomad Press website in early September. They are printed pattern booklets (because we haven't had time yet to determine the best way for us to sell downloadable PDFs, and we are still tactile enough to love print, even as we do more work electronically). I'll talk about that more later, but for now here's the cover with photos of Priscilla's socks:

Priscilla knitted both pairs (rainbow and random) with leftovers from the Bazaar Socks she designed that appeared in Interweave Knits and are now available as a downloadable PDF from Interweave's store (they have an actual staff to figure out the downloadable PDF thing). The yarns are Brown Sheep's Cotton Fine (80% cotton and 20% wool), which comes in a miraculous array of colors. Priscilla worked her socks at 10 stitches to the inch (40 stitches/10cm).

The written pattern talks about substituting other yarns. Not many appropriate lines of fiber come in enough solid colors to get the effect Priscilla did. (For dyers, this is a great project to use up samples. For knitters of commercial yarn, it can be adapted to use any array of leftovers that is moderately harmonious.)

I decided to knit a pair in Blue Moon's Sock Candy (96% cotton and 4% Elite elastic), which is offered in an array of nice colors. I began working before Sock Summit, worked through Sock Summit, and am knitting after Sock Summit. This design is very entertaining to knit and progress is quick when I'm actually knitting (instead of doing other things, like teaching), and I'll have more photos later.

Picking the right gauge

Socks knitted at a relatively tight (although not board-like) gauge last longer. Sock Candy is slightly heavier than Cotton Fine. I cranked the needle size down from the recommendation for the yarn (spec'd for 7-8 stitches to the inch) and worked at 8.5 stitches to the inch (34 stitches/10cm). I loved the weight and feel of the fabric, but I ran into two problems. First, at that gauge the tips of my needles kept separating the plies of the yarn. Also, working the stitches that firmly ended up being hard on my hands—it was hard to pull the new loops through the old ones.

During the Summit, I made a lot of progress on the sock at that gauge, shown at left in the photo below, but after the festivities ended I decided to start over on one-size-larger needles. The gauge is now 8.25 stitches to the inch (33/10cm), and the two sock-portions shown on the right are the new pair. I'll unravel the first, tighter, sock after I replicate large portions of its color sequence, which I like, on the second sock of the "real" pair. On the first sock at the new gauge, I shifted colors around, which is one of the ways I keep myself from being bothered by reknitting things: I make them differently on the rework.

When the socks are on feet, the bands stretch out and they look like the socks in the photo on the pattern, even though they're worked in a different yarn at a different gauge. (I'll have more pictures later, when they're closer to done. That turquoise stitch marker shows me which is the little-toe edge of the four-toes section of the sock.)

What a difference a quarter-stitch (per inch) makes!

That shift in needle sizes and therefore gauge made all the difference in the world for my knitting pleasure. I'm no longer splitting plies and it's easy to form the stitches. The fabric is noticeably less firm—even with that tiny adjustment!—but should still be sturdy enough (even for me).

I think those facts are rather stunning. A QUARTER-STITCH per inch makes a night-and-day difference in all aspects of this knitting project. With a coarser yarn, a quarter-stitch wouldn't have that impact—but a half-stitch could. With sock yarn, a quarter-stitch is all it takes.

What effect does my shift have on sock size? At the original gauge of 8.5 stitches to the inch, the sock's circumference was 8.47 inches (21.5cm). That works for me. The sock, which I could try on as I went, fit snugly and would have worked fine.

When I changed needle sizes, I stayed with the same number of stitches (72). At 8.25 stitches to the inch, the circumference is 8.72 inches (22.1cm). The result is slightly looser—enough easier to get on that I like it better and think that I will wear this version a lot more often than I would have worn the previous version.

In this photo, the new (larger, 8.25 gauge) sock is underneath and the old (smaller. 8.5 gauge) sock is on top, to show the very slight difference in circumference.

Socks are very flexible projects, but small things can matter nonetheless.

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Note on needle sizes: I work loosely, because it's easier on my hands. With the Sock Candy, I was on size 1.5mm (000) needles and changed to 1.75mm (00). A "normal" knitter would have been on 2mm (0) and moved to 2.25mm (1).

One sort of perfect day, part 2

The afternoon of the day that started with the bike ride to Oysterville was equally satisfying in a different way.

I've been to the Long Beach peninsula in southwest Washington State once before, and was able to go up in North Head Lighthouse. The site was completely socked in with fog at the time, which made the visit short on views but long on the reality of what lighthouses are about. We weren't able to hike over to Cape Disappointment Lighthouse at the time because the Coast Guard was having shooting practice and the surrounding area was closed for an extended period.

There are two lighthouses at this location, the mouth of the Columbia River, because these are some of the most treacherous waters on earth. In fact, the stretch of Pacific shore along here is known as the Graveyard of the Pacific. It took several extra years to build the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse (the older of the two) because a ship carrying materials for it wrecked near the site of the current lighthouse and its cargo was lost. This is history, but it is not just history: ships can be lost there even with every bit of modern safety equipment in play.

More than 2,000 vessels have been lost at the mouth of the river alone, along what is called the Columbia Bar, where weather and water systems meet in quickly shifting turmoil. Specially trained pilots board ships to help them traverse the Bar; it's highly skilled and dangerous work. then other specially trained pilots help the ships navigate the Columbia River past the Bar.

On the previous day, we'd been to the Columbia River Maritime Museum, where we'd learned a lot more about the Columbia River, the Bar, and the Coast Guard. It's also handy to have a brother-in-law around who has built boats and spent more than two decades fishing for salmon in Alaska. He knows a bunch of stuff and is more than willing to help the rest of us understand it.

It's a great museum. There are a lot of actual boats inside (one is a replica, but it was built to the specifications of a type of boat of which no originals remain), and terrific interactive exhibits. Good for both inquisitive adults and rambunctious kids. (Or vice versa.)

Thanks to my brother-in-law's quick action, I also got a tour of the Coast Guard Cutter Steadfast, which is in its home port right now. Half our group went on to locate lunch, while a contingent waited for me to come back from the ship and tell me where they'd gone.

The last ship I got to visit in port was the historic fireboat John J. Harvey, in New York, thanks to Jessica DuLong, one of the world's only female fireboat engineers, who gave me a fascinating tour. The engines on that fireboat are astonishing. (Jessica's new book, My River Chronicles: Rediscovering America on the Hudson, will be released in less than a month, in early September 2009. My copy is pre-ordered at my local independent bookstore. I've been following her work for a number of years and am thrilled that this book is being published.)

So the afternoon of the following day—the one-sort-of-perfect-day afternoon—my mother and I set out to explore Cape Disappointment, and to consider the possibility of seeing the lighthouse we hadn't caught on the previous trip. Because of my visit to the Steadfast, I knew the Coast Guard did not have the area closed and didn't intend to close it. They'd already practiced shooting for this season.

We arrived at the park, and got our bearings.

We found the trailhead for the Cape Disappointment lighthouse (North Head is a short, fairly level walk from the parking lot; Cape Disappointment involves an actual hike, shortish but not a stroll in the park).

My mother is 85, and has some problems with her feet that in past years have made even a trip around the block less than comfortable. But this year she's doing well and she was game for a go at this adventure. We went prepared to turn around at any time, if either of us chose to, for any reason. As it turned out, we went to the lighthouse from the trailhead at the parking lot and we returned by way of the trail to the interpretive center, so we didn't have to retrace our route completely.

 

The distance markers on these signs may be slightly distorted. This said we were .5 mile (.8km) from the lighthouse. After going a way in, we came across another sign that said we were still .5 mile (.8km) from the lighthouse. That diamond-shaped indicator at the far right means "steep ups and downs." It was correct. I don't have any photos of the ups and downs, but I have a few of the trail.

That's the Coast Guard station down there with the red roof.

We took the hike at a very leisurely pace, frequently checking our desire to proceed. At one point, we met some folks on the return trip and asked them if (1) there was in fact a lighthouse at the other end and (2) whether the trip was worth it. They said, YES, and YES!!!

Shortly after, we came to an overlook for Dead Man's Cove:

What you can't tell from the photo is how high we were above the beach . . . or how gorgeous it was. The photo just hints.

We made it all the way to the lighthouse, one step at a time and always ready to call it a day and call it good, rather than push ourselves beyond our comfort level.

Mom's still saying how glad she is we took that walk (especially during the long drive to her home today, when we needed to get out of the car several times to stretch our legs).

The two lighthouses, in service since 1856 (Cape Disappointment) and 1898 (North Head), still serve critical functions for marine safety along the Bar.

 

Here's a view of the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center from the site of the Cape Disappointment lighthouse:

And here's the Cape Disappointment lighthouse from the interpretive center:

On the way back to rejoin the rest of the crew, we stopped at Dooger's to share a serving of marionberry cobbler. It was as good as we hoped it might be: not too sweet, even with the scoop of real-vanilla-bean ice cream we added to it.

One sort of perfect day, part 1

Today was about as good as it gets, although I didn't get enough work done. I'll have to tell about it in two portions or it will be too long.

So here's the morning.

I decided to take a bike ride, and my sister thought that was a good idea.

That's my bike, and my sister walking toward it. Behind her, my mother is heading for the cabin where we are congregating for meals, and heading out the right side of the photograph is my niece, who is on her way to the coffee shop with her computer.

My bike has a Brooks (leather) saddle on it that I'm breaking in. I finally gave up on other saddles, which were uncomfortable and likely to be that way forever, and got a leather saddle, which is said to be uncomfortable for the first several hundred miles and then to be a delight, except by the few people who never get them broken in. I've decided that even UNbroken-in, it is not appreciably less comfortable than the other saddles I've tried. I'm willing to give it a good trial run (and the test period with full refund is quite long).

The saddle arrived a couple of days before I left—long enough that I could treat the leather (especially important during break-in), install it on the bike, and test it a few times. I repositioned until I thought it was in the right adjustment range, and ascertained that it would be okay to hit the road with this as my only saddle. I also borrowed bike shorts from a friend, who suggested that even if I didn't wear them later I'd appreciate them during break-in (the question being debatable as to which was being broken in, the leather or my butt).

That's my bike on the left, and my sister's on the right. They're relatively similar bikes (of different brands) but are set up entirely differently: seats, grips (I'll be changing mine, but haven't yet), and positions of handlebars, seats, and so on. We swapped bikes for a while, each appreciated the other's, and happily went back to our own.

We rode to Oysterville. Oysterville is a historic site on Willapa Bay. 1854 is a very early date for this type of settlement in this part of the world.

Here's my sister, with the bay behind her.

The sign below says, "When in Honolulu, take home pineapples. When in Oysterville, take home oysters." The rest of the crew got oysters the other day, but what does a vegetarian take home from Oysterville?

CRANNIES! Last year, I bought a one-pound (450g) bag and we had to ration them severely. This year I figured price-per-pound and went straight for the industrial-size seven-pound (3.2kg) bag. Salads, muffins, eating 'em plain (the way they all got eaten last year). . . . I'm thinking they might last until we can come back, if we're judicious in our use of them.

It's a little challenging to stay off the highway when biking in this part of Washington State, because in some places there just aren't other roads. The shoulders on the highway are smooth but very narrow: probably 12 inches [30cm]). Not much margin for traffic error. We managed to pretty much stay off the main route on this ride. There's a lot more interesting stuff to see off the beaten path, like this gate my sister noticed as we pedaled past:

The adjacent fence was constructed of similar materials, in a less complex configuration.

And I snapped a photo of this house, which I spotted through the shrubbery (Colorado's a little short of shrubbery with this much enthusiasm), for Lynn H at Colorjoy!:

On the way back into town, we stopped at the coffee house and discovered the place was full of people we knew. Five of the seven customers in this photo are part of our crew.

My sister and I sat at the table in the foreground, drank excellent chai, and caught each other up on what's been happening in our respective parts of the family.

Below is one of the coffee house's browsing shelves. There's a bookstore in the other half of the space: small but superb selection. One could read well for quite a while in this small town (population 1500).

And that was just the morning. The afternoon was equally fine, but I'll have to relate those events later.

Traveling after Sock Summit: Astoria, OR, and a sea lion experience

After Sock Summit, I have some family gatherings to attend, so I started the next part of my trip by heading northwest of Portland and through Astoria, Oregon, where I stopped for gas and yogurt at a Safeway on highway 30. The Safeway is on the waterfront, with a multi-use trail and a trolley running along the shore. I decided I had time to take a short walk and enjoy the locale along with the yogurt.

As I ambled along the trail, I noted birds congregating by type on the various pilings: cormorants in one place, gulls in another.

While walking, I heard the distinctive sound of seals or sea lions, and thought there might be some on the rocky shore, not visible because of the thick shrubs. I hadn't seen any seals or sea lions in a lot of years, and I was curious. I continued along the trail, figuring that at some point I might be able to catch sight of the shore at an angle that would let me see what was making the noise.

The calls varied in intensity, and sometimes became quite a ruckus, echoing off the breakwater and the shore. I was puzzled about their source.

Looking out across the harbor, I realized that the docks appeared to be moving. Very odd. And then I connected the movement—and there was a lot of it—to the tumult of barking sounds.

The closer I got to the harbor, the more sea lions I could distinguish along the docks.

And in the water. They were almost everywhere.

When I first arrived, even the wire cage (not enclosed) at the end of the dock was full of sunning sea lions. A few minutes later, the cage was empty, although I wasn't aware of any sort of mass exodus. Just the general shifting and napping and diving and swimming and nudging and calling of the population as a whole.

Some were playing "King of the Mountain" and pushing each other off the docks.

Others were snoozing the afternoon away. (They are captured and branded for tracking.)

They obviously hang out here a lot. They even have their own sign.

The danger appears to be due to their size and their numbers. I think they are California sea lions, which are intelligent, social, and trainable.

I wondered about the folks who have boats in these slips—how would they get to and from their moorings?

The sea lions are quite peaceful, but I'd seen them rousting each other about, and they can weigh a lot.

They're obviously individuals, even to a casual observer: looks and personalities are distinctive.

When I went back a few days later, I discovered how at least one person gets to and from his boat through the bevy of sea lions: by bicycle. The critters moved right out of his way, some diving into the water and some just lumbering to the side of the dock to let him pass.

Discovering them was an amazing delight, and I hope peaceful coexistence between humans and pinnipeds is possible.

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Sea lions (otariids) are "eared seals"—when you are close to them, you can see their ears, as you can in some of the photos above. True seals (phocids) are better long-distance swimmers than otariids, but their flippers are less maneuverable and they can't manage on land as well. Otariids, or sea lions, are therefore the "seals" often trained to perform for people at zoos: they are much more adept at the tricks they are asked to learn.

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These sea lions seem to especially like THIS particular harbor *IN* Astoria. They are not congregating to this extent in many other locations.

More good Sock Summit links

As I mentioned, I didn't get many firsthand photos of Sock Summit due to the other things I was paying attention to, but I do have the ability to evaluate other folks' presentations of what happened there. Here are some more good options.

News media

The Oregonian, Oregon Living, “Have Needles, Will Knit: Portland's First Sock Summit Is a Hit,” by Nancy Haught, Sunday August 9, 2009 (this was the front page of the living section in the Sunday paper).

The Oregonian, K2Tog: A Knitting Blog, by Peggy McMullen and Mims Copeland, “Lessons from Sock Summit,” posted by Mary Mooney, August 10, 2009.

Notes on upcoming podcasts

Twisted Stitches, “Portland Sock Summit Day 5” - These folks interviewed Barbara Walker for a podcast, and also got great photos of the Luminary Panel.

Michael Wade is starting a new podcast/news show called “Fiber Beat” and interviewed Priscilla Gibson-Roberts for it, although I don’t have any other information on that yet.

Participants

LynnH at Colorjoy! got some great photos of a couple of instructors' feet . . . everyone's feet were interesting during Sock Summit. . . .

Two Sock Knitters, some about Portland and some about post-Sock Summit recovery (Sock Summit was friendly to all humans who were well behaved, including infants; there was a "rock and rest" room for parents' and tiny ones' respite, when necessary).

Vendors

Wool Candy, a great overview from a vendor, with lots of photos (although not as many as she wanted to take).

Periwinkle Sheep, a vendor's perspective (from the end of an aisle: she had a good vantage point).

Traveller's Yarn, "Sock Summit Report," another vendor's perspective (vendors seemed to do well; I was worried about a few who had booths with very limited offerings, or things not well enough aligned to the attendees' interests).

UK Knit Camp

I'll also mention that Jo Watson crossed the Atlantic to offer Sock Summit folks information on the UK Knit Camp, inspired by Meg Swansen's Knit Camps and happening in Scotland in August 2010. A number of the Sock Summit instructors will be there. It promises to be a fine occasion.

Future adventures?

All indications are that Tina and Stephanie, who organized Sock Summit, will be doing more events in the future, but (1) they need to recover from Sock Summit and (2) I'm thinking they won't repeat themselves but will keep us guessing and enthralled with their next audacious endeavor.

Maybe the convention center(s) and other suppliers will take them seriously from the start next time. They—ST-1 and ST-2 (Sock Team 1, which was Tina and Stephanie, and Sock Team 2, which included the amazing Rachel, Debbie, Debra, and JoAnn)—and a handful of exceptionally competent volunteers ran the best event (of any type) I've ever attended. Mind-blowingly well done. It takes a while to rest up after such a feat. . . . But maybe, just maybe, there will be less uphill battle convincing suppliers that yes, they know what they're doing. . . .