Let's Go Fishing

One week later, the rush and enthusiasm generated from last week's adventures have yet to wear off. Just as I had expected, the fault of taking such a spectacular trip so early in the summer season has made any of my following adventures tame in comparison. Yet, as the days pass by, the southern heat slowly works to weather away my memory of that larger-than-life week, and the flatland of southeast Virginia has become the centerpiece of my latest adventures.

So after spending the first half of the week climbing mountains and jumping off bridges, Cain and I decided we were going to try our luck at fishing and crabbing, a promising adventure given our proximity to the Atlantic Ocean, James River, and the surrounding waterways of Hampton Roads. The new adventure presented the opportunity to catch species of fish never seen before by our Midwestern fishing gear, and the promise of reeling in a catch of saltwater descent that would be heavier than any fish we could have caught in Wisconsin.

Our first real shot at the saltwater prizes hosted in the Chesapeake Bay came on the grounds of First Landing State Park, in Virginia Beach. We were hardly equipped with the right saltwater gear and garb, but our anticipation of what was to come overwhelmed our pride, enabling us to walk into the on-site bait shop with our tails between our legs, seeking any available help. To our comfort, help happened to be waiting for a pair of rooks as ourselves before we even arrived...

Her name was Judy, "Miss Judy" as she insisted to be called. Miss Judy was an older woman, but lively, unbelievably kind, and eager to help. She told us stories of fishing trips on her husband's boat, pointed to fish she had caught and mounted on the walls in her shop, and spoke with us as if we had been friends for years. Certainly, not even southern sweet tea could be as sweet as Miss Judy. Miss Judy made us feel right at home, as if we weren't tourists with out a clue in the world. She informed us that we didn't need the heavy expensive stuff, and stepped out from behind her counter to pull some gear off the shelves for us. The gear included a bucket, crab trap, some saltwater leaders, hooks, squid, and chicken.

"That's it?"

That was it. About $20 worth of gear later, and we were ready to hit the beach and begin terrorizing the Chesapeake Bay with our mastery of fishing under Miss Judy's blessing. She tipped us off where to drop our lines and lay our trap, and we were off.

Let me begin first with the crabbing. We proudly waltzed out into the water maybe 40 yards with our newly purchased, chicken neck loaded crab trap, hoping to get as close as possible to the pile of old wooden posts Miss Judy had referred us to. We could only get so far because the water quickly ran up to our necks, so we dropped the trap where we could and wandered back to shore to wait the recommended 15 minutes for unsuspecting crabs to find their way to our bait.

In the meantime, we strung up some fishing poles again as Miss Judy had recommended, along with the squid she pulled out of her freezer, and thus began our first official saltwater fishing experience. We hadn't a clue what we were doing, but it felt good. There was a certain pride and joy to shore fishing like this, and with a satisfying tone I said to myself, "Man, I could get used to this."

But before I could get too used to the whole game, Cain was already running back into the water to track down our first victim of the day. Apparently, curiosity had won some sort of battle with patience in Cain, and he did what I was dying to do: check our crab trap. As I followed him into the water, he swam ahead and pulled our trap out of the water. VIC-TO-RY! He held up the trap, and sure enough, there was our first crab. That was a proud moment to say the least.

We walked back to shore, and struggled to find a way to get our new friend into the bucket that would later become his site of his unfortunate demise. After some poking and prodding, some unsuccessful attempts to strike our crab into obedience, I just dumped him out of the trap into the bucket, shaking it until he could hang on no more. And that was the mark of success, our first catch, and the birth of a new hobby.

Crabbing is an absolute blast, as it is extremely cheap, easy, and exciting. And although I have not eaten any of my catches, I'm told it is unbelievably sweet and quite a culinary reward to bring home some fresh crab. You can get everything you need for $12, trap and bait included, and begin dropping it anywhere you think you can find crab. It is a great way to pass the afternoon, spend time with family, or feel better about yourself when you can't catch any fish on your expensive fishing pole. Which reminds me...

We couldn't catch a darn thing. An older man just 20 yards down from us, had pulled a blue fish out of the water to our encouragement. "There are fish out here," we kept telling each other. "If he got one, we can get one." Apparently the man thought the same, as he came over to check on us. Apparently, despite feeling like pros already, we didn't look like it.

The man came over, and showed us how to better bait our hooks. We had basically packed squid guts on our hooks, which the man said the fish don't want. Makes sense, now that I think about it. I wouldn't want any guts, so why would they? He showed us how to cut strips out of the squid's exterior, leaving the guts and heads behind. With a newfound inspiration and encouragement, Cain and I cut away at our squid to prepare for the real domination to begin... Unfortunately, however, it never came.

We still never caught anything.

But when the day was all said and done, it was an outstanding finish to an exciting week. A new hobby was born in crabbing, and a renewed addiction to fishing surfaced. We would go out again the next day, this time to the Eastern Shore, where we would catch more crabs, and Cain managed to pull a very junior black drum out of the bay. Now that I am thoroughly addicted to these activities, you can expect some fishing reports, crabbing tips, and anything else I can think of that you might find helpful. Just be warned, you start crabbing and fishing, it'll take your life over. Humor me... before you know it, you'll be hooked too.

2 vs 1: The James River Foot Bridge

Indescribable as jumping 50 feet into water is, here goes my best shot. After completing the near four mile hike that morning, both Mike and I were exhausted. We stopped at a gas station and picked up our victory drink as soon as we could. We drank orange soda. We got on the road for our roughly two hour drive to the bridge. There was a certain air of excitement, and trust me there had to be because both of us were drained. So after an hour of driving, I gave the wheel to Mike because I could hardly keep focused on the road. He got us there safely and we geared up for the jump.

Here is a snapshot of my thought process: Wow, that's high. I want to jump. I hope I don't chicken out. Where's my shoes? I want more orange soda. Wow, that's high. I hope the water isn't cold. I've never done anything like this. I hope we get a sweet picture. Wow, that's high...

So after keeping it cool we approached the bridge with great courage. Think Apollo 13 when they're boarding the spaceship. As we approached the jump spot, we saw a group of younger kids jumping from the bridge. We stopped to take some pictures (featured below), and continued on. After taking off the shirt, shoes, and cowardice we were standing next to our 50 ft opponent.

I looked at Mike and he asked if I wanted to start on the lower level of the bridge like these kids were doing. I told him that we would end up jumping from the top, so we should just start there. We both mounted the top beam, and got ready to roll. Took a good long look at each other and then down at our landing zone. I told Mike to count it off. 3....2....1....

Here i would like to interject and apologize for the recent use of a journalistic cliche. The slow countdown in print never really works, and really seems to be overrated. The sports version of this is Christian Laettner, Ryan Leaf, Darko Milicic, or any body else that looks great on paper but never really pans out. The countdown just doesn't seem effective unless you're the one that uses it. Sorry for the interjection, but all that to say that, like the Grizzlies and Darko, given the right situation I still believe in that little number/ellipse combination.

... In the air is an incredible feeling. There is no control to be had over the next few moments of your life. You're hitting that water weather you like it or not, but there is no time to think about any of that. All you can think is wow, I'm in the air and I'm going fast. Then there is the water and you're in it. Really a fantastic feeling to surface. There is a feeling like you just beat something. Like you're bigger than that bridge and like the river owes you something.

We spent the rest of the afternoon jumping from the bridge about 5 or 6 times and playing with a really cool rope swing (also featured below). You would run forward on this cement block under the bridge and swing out over the river on the rope. It feels like a summer movie.

The experience was something I can never forget and has wet my appetite for something bigger and more extreme. If you're ever in West Virginia and you want to test your courage, take the jump.

McAfee's Knob 2007-07-15

McAfee's Knob Trail Report: Over the years, I have spent most of my breaks from school dreaming up camping trips to remote rivers and mountains, seeking out the most beautiful and sometimes challenging encounters with nature that I could find. Finally, I was able to realize my dream for an intense and breathtaking experience with nature at McAfee's Knob in Catawba, VA. The fact that the climb to the Knob, the most photographed spot on the Appalachian Trail, was so strenuous is what turns a breathtaking experience into a story. It is because I had never hiked with a pack before, to such high elevation even more, that I could have a story to narrate such unexplainable pictures that you see at the end of this post.

Upon arriving at the parking lot on VA-311, I could hardly wait to get on the trail. The drive along VA-311 into Catawba (near Roanoke) was like something out of a car commercial, as the road quite dramatically winds through the mountains. Intense grades and twists actually make it a daunting yet adolescently enjoyable task, certainly whetting one's appetite for the climb that is to come. Cain and I quickly packed our things (too quickly as we would later find out), strapped on our packs, and headed across the road to an immediately breathtaking stone staircase.

The hike did in fact start out as a breathtaking experience. Only thing is, it wasn't breathtaking because of its beauty. It was just down right exhausting, and just a hundred yards in, we were spent. Huffing and puffing, discussing how we were out of shape flat-landers, we reached the registration board and officially began our trip along the AT. We took a brief moment to read a few notes in the registration journal, signed our names, and moved along. The wonder of the view we were soon to achieve was so enticing that nothing was going to hold our attention for very long until we arrived at our final destination.

The hike continued to be quite strenuous, yet we walked at a very brisk pace. Each of us had about 30-40 pounds on our back, which very quickly became annoying up the steep trails that would eventually take us to 3200 ft elevation. Although, the weight was bearable and satisfying. There was something pure and authentic about carrying all our gear on our backs and spending the night on the mountain. I actually drew encouragement as we passed other people without packs; they looked at us with awe and they seemed impressed with our desire to hike with all that just to sleep up the mountain. In fact, most people gave us encouragement as we passed and commended us for our efforts. My pride swelled, and I felt like a true outdoorsman, a real mountain man and trail expert, when in reality I was just an exhausted flat-lander who was too stubborn to accept anything less than the most extreme way of experiencing McAfee's Knob.

Along the way, we encountered a variety of wildlife, including lizards, vultures, caterpillars, and deer. There were wild berries, deep forest, and intimidating rock slabs that were so dominant that footbridges had to be built over their steep grade to allow safe passing. We stopped a number of times for water and photos, but still managed to walk at a brisk pace. It only ended up taking us about 2 hours to get to the top, which in my mind is impressive for a few first-timers climbing 1200 ft over 3.5 miles with up to 40 pounds on our backs.

As we approached the highly anticipated moment of victory atop McAfee's Knob, the trail became extremely rocky and steep. Loose rock on the painfully steep trail made walking difficult, and we were entering a realm of exhaustion. Yet the drive to make it to the top was overpowering, and after a painful final few hundred feet, a clearing emerged. A sign confirmed our suspicion of accomplishment: McAfee Knob 3197 ft. We were there.

The view from the Knob was unbelievable to say the least. We threw off our packs (as we had been wishing to do for about the last 2 miles), finished off a water bottle, and dangled our feet over the cliffs we had just conquered. The view was unreal, and I couldn't believe what was before me. One thing was apparent: pictures were not going to tell the real story of what McAfee's Knob really looks like. We sat in silence, in awe of the spectacle. Vultures flew over the ridges ahead, and birds sang through the valley like nature's own orchestra. It was a sight to behold, to sit above the ridges, above the tress, and even above the birds' song. There was plenty of room along the overlook to pace up and down, catching a glimpse of the most spectacular view from every angle we could. In just a moment, all of the treacherous walking had suddenly become worth it.

After falling in love with the Catawba Valley below and the unbelievable view, we decided to press on and continue exploring our way to our campsite. We had plenty of time as the hike didn't take as long as expected, so we figured later in the afternoon would hold a return trip to the brilliance of the Knob. After our descent down through Devil's Kitchen, that idea quickly faded away. We had heard the .9 mi trek down the other side of the mountain was steep, but we had no idea it was this steep. The trail was extremely narrow, and thus required more precise passing than before. The path was loose, which meant one wrong step and you were sliding down a slippery slope of dry pine needles and similar forest carpeting that blanketed the mountainside. It was .9 miles of switchbacks, stepping over fallen trees, and clinging to tree branches around difficult turns.

Finally arriving at our campsite, we were pleased to see a picnic table, fire pit, and home for our tent for the night. Once again we eagerly threw off our packs and collapsed on the table. One thing was apparent before anything else: we weren't going back up that trail again tonight. Our feet were sore and our legs shot, we were hungry and thirsty. It was time to set up camp.

After scarfing down some water and energy bars, we elected to first set up our tent. This was a comical experience, not because it was a disaster trying to set it up, but because once it was up, we couldn't tell if it was the actual tent or one of those model tents they put on the store shelves to show you what a life-size version would look like. It was that small. We decided to deal with that issue later though, as it was now nap time. Cain found his way to the tent while I decided to leave my gear with him and hike back up to the Knob.

I couldn't resist. As I sat there and stared into the deep forest, I heard the Knob calling me out. It was such an enticing view that I had to ignore my blisters and sore legs in favor of one more glimpse of greatness. I fought my way back up through Devil's Kitchen, returning to the Knob with great satisfaction. This time, I had it all to myself. The sun was setting and the breeze was chilling. It was almost creepy being there alone, but it was a new experience in itself. I'm glad I trekked to the spot by myself, because it offered an intimacy with the experience that is quite memorable.

Later that night, after Cain's nap and my solitary excursion at the Knob, it was finally dinnertime. We cooked at our campsite as the risk of a bear visit was apparently slim, and we were too tired to go anywhere else anyway. We warmed up some food on the propane stove, and enjoyed some stew and barbecue sandwiches. Although, we had left our forks in the car when we rushed ourselves onto the trail upon arrival, so I had to cut the bottoms off some empty waterbottles to function as spoons. The meal was satisfying, and after cleaning our mess we lit a fire in the fire ring and waited for darkness to fall.

We couldn't see any stars as we were in thick woods, and for the most part it was pitch black outside. There were no bugs, which made it easy to sit around the fire and peer into the darkness of the woods. The wind was picking up, so we let the fire cool and headed off to bed, jamming ourselves in our miniature tent. The designated tent site happened to be on a slight hill, which made sleeping even harder, but I think we were so tired, we managed to get at least some rest.

The next morning, we were awakened by a deer walking through our campsite. It was searching for food apparently, and was comfortable enough with our presence that it wasn't startled when we woke up and poked out heads out to watch it. The deer looked back at us, then back down to the ground to mind his business. We sat for about 2-3 minutes watching the deer, before it finally walked off disappointed that we hadn't left any food for its taking.

Breakfast was quick, we cooked our remaining sausages (which we had hung in a bag off a tree 50 yards away from out campsite during the night) and ate an energy bar. Then, after cleaning up and making sure we left nothing behind, we once again hit the trail. The walk up through Devil's Kitchen was once again breath taking, in the most challenging sense once again. It was painful and unrewarding, offering just one small overlook of a nearby mountain where trees had been cleared for a powerline. However, we knew there was one reward at the end: McAfee's Knob, this time an early morning encounter.

The view in the morning was twice as nice. Fog rolled over the hills and elegantly highlighted their depth. The sun peaked over a ridge, and the birds once again played their tune, animating the valley. It was now that I realized this was something that everyone has to see, not matter how difficult they find the hike. We sat, dangling our legs over the cliff and savoring every second with sheer joy. There was a sense of completeness sitting there, a oneness with God and sense of accomplishment for our toils. Before leaving, we captured a few more photos of ourselves on the Knob and offered our final farewells to the most beautiful thing I've ever seen not named Laura Trotta.

As we began our hike down the mountain, we couldn't help but feel an incredible sense of victory in the air. We were the only ones on the mountain, the morning was cool, and we had just survived our first AT camping trip while getting to see one of Virginia's most beautiful sites. The hike down was hard, although not hard like it was coming up. The way up was a take your breath away, punch you in the stomach and stub your toe hard. This descent was brutal on our already tired legs, more just wearing than anything.

Within a mile of reaching VA-311, where our car was parked, we finally ran into someone else. A local man from the Appalachian Trail Conservancy was just hitting the trail, looking for fallen trees that may have covered the path during last night's wind. We sat and chatted for about 10 minutes, and his company was quite pleasant. He offered us each an apple, which at that point was much needed as we were out of water and hungry, and he also tipped us off on some lesser known views that we should check out along the trail next time. Sharing this conversation with this man added to the mystique of the trip, as we were able to experience the camaraderie of the AT while discussing our adventures on the trail.

After our conversation with the kind gentleman, we finally were able to finish our return trip. We signed out at the registration board, confirming our safe return and reporting our great night in the woods. It was here that every sentiment described above became official: I was now a successful outdoorsman and a trail aficionado, confirmed in the record book kept at the registration board. McAfees Knob was now my friend, and I was a part of the AT community.

Nickel Creek 2007-07-14

Ashland, Kentucky was the site of my fourth Nickel Creek concert, and possibly my last. The band is taking a break after their 2007 farewell tour, so I had to make the seven hour drive to little Ashland, just south of Charleston, WV. An old favorite of mine, Glen Phillips, was opening for Nickel Creek, so it seemed as if the perfect storm of events had created the potential for an epic concert. It was Kentucky, known as bluegrass country. It was Glen Phillips, a Nickel Creek classic act. And finally, it was a farewell show. I wasn't going to miss all that...

However, I did. Some of it, at least. Putting the fate of my concert enjoying experience on the shoulders of Google Maps was a mistake I'll never make again, as Cain and I found ourselves to southern Virginia instead of northern Kentucky, on an accidental two hour detour. We are unsure of where exactly the mistake was made, but it was in fact a painful one: finally arriving in Ashland an hour late, we had missed Glen Phillips' set. This was quite an awful feeling, as I had been dying to see Glen play live for years. At this point I thought to myself, "Nickel Creek better put on one heck of a show to make up for our misfortune and erase such a blemish from my memory." Later on, that once depressing thought became a dream come true.

We dropped into our seats during an intermission between sets, and joined the sold out Paramount Theater crowd in a frenzy. The chatty crowd had taken on the image of a grade school lunch room, buzzing with a chaos of chatter. We, however, sat silent regretting our late arrival. Ten minutes would pass before Nickel Creek came on to stage and enriched our lives like they have done so many times before. Finally, the much anticipated show had begun.

Early on in the set, the band was on fire. I was especially impressed with about the first four songs, in which Nickel Creek seemed determine to play harder and better than ever before. They were hitting notes with such intensity and perfection that the act swept me off my feet. I was locked in on the miraculous performance, and realized there was something special in the air tonight. Each song had a mysterious intro of musical creativity only Nickel Creek could dream up, and they left me on the edge of my seat as I wondered what would come next.

Later in the set, however, the band seemed to fall into their regular routine of playing Nickel Creek classics to please the casual fan. They began to lose the intense luster the first half of the set offered, yet much of the crowd watched with great satisfaction. Here I began to understand why the band is taking a break: the same old was just getting old, and the lack of passion was reflected in the music. I could tell the difference, and began to sympathize with the band.

Mid-set banter, which was some of the best I have heard, seemed to reflect this sentient. Thile jokingly mentioned how he didn't care what the fans thought of the show because the band didn't have to worry about motivating fans to come back again, they were after all done touring and filling seats was no longer a concern. Although he was joking, one could tell there was some truth behind his humor. The band's banter was much more relaxed, honest, and open than I had seen in the past. They seemed to be enjoying the liberty of not having to worry about what they said. That was for me nice to see, and something I felt considerably worth noting for any Nickel Creek fan.

The second set, that being the encore, picked back up a little in intensity and excitement, but it still lacked the sheer musical madness of the first half of the first set. When the encore set was all said and done, I was thoroughly impressed and satisfied with yet another top notch Nickel Creek performance. The crowd was less responsive and grateful than I have seen in the past, as the cheering and vocal appreciation was short lived. The Ashland fans were less than impressive and hardcore for the most part, but altogether they sold the place out, Nickel Creek was fantastic once again, and I had a great time.

It was after the show, however, that really made this trip a memorable concert. As we waited outside the band's bus hoping to catch some autographs, Sara came out to take pictures and sign autographs. There were more people than I have ever seen waiting outside with us, but we were quickly able to catch a quick photo with her and say hello. Almost immediately after our memorable picture with the lovable Sara Watkins, her brother and Nickel Creek guitarist had began playing with Glen Phillips in the parking lot! This is where the night really became epic.

Right in front of me, within an arms reach, was Glen Phillips, one of my all time favorite musicians and the man I drove 9 hours only to miss due our late arrival. He had his guitar and a jar of moonshine and cherries, playing an acoustic set with Sean. After all that worry and sorrow for missing his set, there he was looking back at me with his guitar singing into the warm Kentucky night. He and Sean were just jamming, playing whatever they felt like, including some of Glen's classics. Soon enough Chris and Sara joined in, and the epic night became a dream. For the first time ever, I was watching Nickel Creek with Glen Phillips, all acoustic, playing right in front of me. They were no longer performing, they were just enjoying the night and the last few months together on the road.

The parking lot acoustic set was unplanned, as the band took requests from the crowd. Even the band's guitar tech came out with a few beers, danced in the moonlight, and played a song under the peer pressure of the hilarious Glen Phillips. It was quite an honor and pleasure to see all the guys together just having fun, really enjoying the music and each other's company. The only thing that made me sad to see was people kept on being rude and asking Chris to play songs he told them he didn't want to play. Sort of mocking someone who kept requesting Lighthouse, Chris played some backwards version of the song and said, "There, you happy?" Then, another time, while playing Green and Grey Chris just stopped playing and said, "I forgot the next verse." When someone started singing it and asked if he remembered now, he said, "Nope, still don't remember. How about no more Nickel Creek songs." It was an unfortunate reality of how selfish fans had challenged the integrity and joy of the music, and helped me further understand why the band has decided to take a break.

At the end of the day, Cain and I walked away with our most memorable Nickel Creek concert ever. We caught a fantastic set at the Paramount, and then got to live the dreamy experience of a personal acoustic Nickel Creek jam with Glen Phillips and friends added to the mix of brilliance. This will be a night I will remember forever, especially because of the parking lot show. It was a great way to end years of enjoying Nickel Creek's music and their appreciation for their fans. Hopefully other bands will take a note from Nickel Creek's story and begin to make their fans their friends, just as Chris, Sean, Sara, and Glen did with us that memorable night of July 14 2007.

Cold Comfort Band And Summerfest

This weekend trip back home was comparable only to seeing the Rockets bench in 2005. For those who don’t know how exciting of an experience that was, Patrick Ewing was stationed directly next to Yao Ming, and if that wasn’t enough, when I was fortunate enough to see this roughly ten feet away Ervin Johnson was getting his legs stretched out. Only in America my friends (Honorable mentions on that bench: “Skip-to-my-Lou”, T-Mac, and Luther Head. I’m absolutely shocked that the universe is still functioning after that night). Seeing my parents, brothers and friends was the break I needed.
The music started my first night in town. The venue was an alley behind Whelan’s Coffee and Cream. For a local show the venue gets a solid “A” for atmosphere. Serving great coffee and ice cream, the locally owned shop created a truly captivating vibe. Not all types of music would hit a home run here, but The Cold Comfort Band certainly did. This 8 piece ensemble from the Lake Country Area of southeastern Wisconsin had me feeling it. Think solid indie rock thrown in a blender with vocals on a trapeze and horns playing hooky from band camp and looking for an adventure. The mix is awesome.
That night, the band made the venue and the venue made the band. It was the kind of night to remember my younger days by. Great coffee and great local music in an alley. If you get a chance to see these guys, go for it. If you get a chance to stop by Whelan’s, go for it. If you get the chance to see them together, don’t miss it.

The following Sunday I made the trip to Summerfest. For those who don’t know, Summerfest is an annual music party in Milwaukee. It’s huge. There is live music from 2:30 PM until about 12:30 AM on a bunch of stages for 11 days. They bring in a lot of really big artists too. This year there was a really good sampling from all over the place. Panic! At the Disco, Toby Keith, Brian McKnight, and Dashboard Confessional were just a few of the awesome acts to be found over some of the days.
I caught the last day of the festival, and it was a great day to go. We started the day seeing Plumb Loco. Plumb Loco is a local Wisconsin band with world class talent. They keep an electric atmosphere up for the entirety of the show with great personality and musicianship. With a track record of bringing the house down for over 30 years, they are as electric as ever.
After the opening show I decided to check out the festival. Most festivals are too crowded, the food is over-priced, and people generally smell bad. These complaints hold up, but with a little stick to it, this is no reason to stay home. Think amusement park with no rides and great music. While walking around, I stumbled upon a tiki hut stage with some pretty good jams going down. Shortly after, an Elvis impersonator took stage on the mini tiki hut. This was nothing short of epic, and I’m sorry that you missed it, but Elvis covers in a tiki hut is something I will not soon forget. After some lounging around on the rocks by Lake Michigan and an ear of roasted corn, The evening’s headliners were getting ready to start.
For the headlining show, I saw three different bands: Brian McKnight, G. Love and the Special Sauce, and Lupe Fiasco. All three were good shows, but Lupe Fiasco tore the roof off of the outdoor venue. We’ll call it a high energy hip-hop show with all the makings of a great concert. I also have to hand it to the Milwaukee hip-hop scene for making a killer atmosphere for this emerging artist. If you don’t know Lupe Fiasco, get to know him.
G. Love was good too, good jam but didn’t stand out all that much. Brian McKnight set it off as well. You can tell he was a seasoned veteran that had the crowd the whole way.
Good shows, and the atmosphere was great for a festival. I wouldn’t go to Summerfest to see a band I was on the fence about, but I wouldn’t stay away from the show just because it’s at a festival.
After all was said and done, it was a great trip home. Next update: Cain AND Mike reviewing Nickel Creek and Glen Phillips. Oh snap, its bananas.

A More Urban Affair

Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Cain Anderson, the co-conspirator for this blog. I'm much obliged to be invited to share my adventures with all of you.
I intend to bring you my take on life through the lens of adventure. Adventures of both a grandiose scale and of a more common nature. Adventure is proving to be more of an attitude or approach than an event, so it looks like I'll be facing down a lot of adventure.
My latest adventure has been my trip home to Wales, WI. I know Wales may not seem exceedingly exciting, but there is plenty to keep me, and in turn you, entertained.
But, I'd hate to get ahead of myself, so I'll begin where I started at 6:00 AM on July 6th (that was last Friday). Coincidentally my problems started just about then. Have you ever poured yourself a big bowl of cereal in a ravenous breakfast rage only to find out that all the milk has been wasted on everyone else's cereal? It's the same feeling you get when you forget to "shake well" the orange juice before pouring and you have a whole glass of orange tasting water that you can't justify pouring out because, well, you brought this on yourself and why should the orange juice suffer? The worst part about that feeling is that you know the rest of the OJ will be too strong because you just messed up the concentrate to water mixture like a pro. Truly heart wrenching. You can't get a good glass of the stuff until you pop the cap on the next carton. Well, missing your flight is that feeling on HGH (that's human growth hormone, the stuff that home runs are made of).
My flight was scheduled to take off at 6:00 AM, and me waking up then just didn't cut it. So after a minute or two of scrambling and freaking out while checking my flight info like it was the refrigerator to my missing milk, i decided to eat my proverbial cereal dry.
After my great roommate and his dog got me to the airport, i bid them fairwell and told them that I would be able to figure it out and that they shouldn't let it ruin their day, because I wouldn't let it ruin mine. Then, following a humbling discussion about my inability to wake up in the morning, i sat down to do some word puzzles, because nothing is more frustrating that the "easy word puzzle" books. Can anyone actually complete these? Or is this some sick joke by the failures that create these things. Too close for missiles; switching to guns, or in this case Bon Appetit.
A successful trip to the airport is defined by three things:
1. Being able to avoid the tourist traps known as news stands. You probably already predicted my utter failure at this from the last paragraph. Also bought a Golf magazine.
2. A good snack on the flight. This is critical. I do OK with the pretzels, I like peanuts more, but those cookies on Midwest Express are the definition of in-flight baller status. I fell asleep on my flight far before I could get a snack or a drink, so this flight couldn't pass this test either, although again my fault.
3. Decent conversation with the other passengers. I usually try to spark up a conversation with my fellow travelers. This time, however, I happened to notice that I was sitting next to the "annoying guy" on the plane. There is always one. If you can't find one, its you. I found him, and fell asleep. He liked to make conversation with all the people on board about the weather, and his golf game. Thinking that my magazine may offer up means for discussion, I went with the frustrating puzzles for roughly 13 seconds.

So with my flight a failure completely, I got in my Dad's truck and went home to see everybody that makes me happy. And, all of this before lunch.

I'm sure you're as tired of reading as I am of typing. I'll tell you all about after lunch and the amazing Cold Comfort Band next time.

Cain Anderson

Quick Update

Just a little update. I was back in Wisconsin for a week, spent the day with my wonderful girlfriend in Chicago, and am now back in Williamsburg. My camera has been MIA lately due to some dead batteries, but I should get it going again soon.

This afternoon, however, I wish I did have my camera. While biking the Colonial Parkway along the James River, I encountered two bald eagles fishing in the river. It was absolutely incredible watching them hunt and fly around just over my head. Hopefully soon I'll get back there with a camera and a full report. Nonetheless, the James in Williamsburg shows some real adventure promise...