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July 2, 2008

Gavin’s Adventures In Beijing, Day 1 (& 2)

Last week, Microsoft sent me to Beijing (along with my fellow MacBU-er Brooke) on business. Our flight left Seattle on Monday, the 23rd; I got home this morning. This afternoon's been a bit brutal, energy-wise - my internal clock is still 15 hours ahead of Pacific time, so my 8:25 AM landing (it's the morning!) was 11:55 PM to me (it's time for bed!).

The last 10 days have been a total whirlwind. While very much a work trip, we managed to use our weekend stayover for a bit of sightseeing. Very exciting.

As usual, I took a few notes during the trip:

• During my Monday-morning suitcase-stuffing extravaganza, I peek at Dashboard, which says that Beijing has a low of 70 and a high of 95 all week. Yowza. Pack shorts.
• Brooke's wife gave us a lift to the airport, so on the way out of town we stopped by Vivace for one final cup of Seattle coffee. We then popped downtown so I could give Elaine a goodbye hug at her office. Mid-squeeze, I'm reminded of why I was glad when my insane Product Planning travel schedule came to a close last year.
• Since the time difference between Seattle and Beijing is so pronounced, it meant that our Monday afternoon departure wouldn't land in China until late Tuesday night. (Dude, where's my Tuesday?)
• We're on Northwest for this trip, living large in business class (Microsoft travel policy lets you go business if your flight is more than 7 hours). After clearing Seattle airport security, we head to the South terminal and check out the Northwest executive lounge. It's my first time there, and it's pretty excellent: plenty of windows (lots of natural light), tables (places to spread out and work), free soda and coffee, free WiFi, and lots of quiet.
• (Brooke and I are, I think, the most casually-dressed people in the lounge.)
• Business class is addictive: champagne before takeoff, a fresh Wall Street Journal, an appetizer of seared Ahi tuna skewers with ginger and cucumber. We remark to each other, many times, that we are forever ruined when it comes to future travel in coach.
• Northwest's Airbus A330s have AC power outlets in business. My initial feeling of joy ("Score!") gives way to mild annoyance as I realize the flight's AC power system is put together with baling wire and a couple of D batteries. The juice stops frequently, which makes it hard to sustain (or retain) a laptop charge. Our power manages to last the whole flight (and I have an outbox of queued up e-mail to prove it), but things feel very touch-and-go most of the time.
• Our flight connects through Tokyo. I've never been to Japan before, so as we're descending I'm peering out the window of the plane like a 5-year old in front of a toy store, nose pressed against the glass and trying to absorb everything I'm seeing. The country is unbelievably green - they have farms and fields laid out in grids as far as the eye can see, incredibly lush and gorgeous.
• We arrive in Tokyo at 4:15 PM, local time. We are pooped.
• My iPhone can't seem to lock on to a cellular provider in Japan. I had this fantasy that I'd be able to zip around the world and at least have the option of paying $4.99 a minute on foreign networks, but apparently the AT&T people aren't talking to their Japanese counterparts. Grr.
• The Tokyo airport has a McDonald's. Next to a sushi bar. I swear I am not making this up.
• On the flight from Tokyo to Beijing, I watch "Ralph Nader: An Unreasonable Man", which I find to be an insightful and balanced portrait of a very complicated and stubborn guy. It starts with his work in the 1960s and 1970s, and then proceeds up to his 2000 presidential bid. Truthfully, I'd been a bit mad at Nader over 2000, and had seen him as a spoiler for Gore. After the movie ... well, I'm not mad anymore; I think I have a good sense of where he's coming from. I don't necessarily agree with him, but I do think I understand him a bit better. Highly recommended.
• After the film, I manage to sleep for an hour.
• We touch down at 9:28 PM, local time (6:28 AM Pacific).
• Beijing's airport is gigantic, just enormous. It seems to go on forever. We taxi for a full 15 minutes after landing, and never run out of new things to look at - stretches of tarmac and clusters of buildings, going on and on and on.
• The plane's doors pop, and the weather hits us. Beijing feels a lot like Houston - humid and hot, almost menacingly so, as if the weather wants you to know that it can take things from "pretty warm" to "Crock-Pot cooking" whenever it feels like it.
• Inside, the airport looks like any other modern European airport, except with Chinese signage. Most signs and displays have English translations; international pictograms are used for bathrooms, exits, and the like. Navigating is not a problem.
• The Chinese customs people are friendly and polite. They also have a push-button customer-satisfaction poll on the customer's side of the counter; you push the smiley-face or frowny-face that matches your experience ("Very satisfied", "satisfied", "unsatisfied", "Very unsatisfied"). I give my guy a "very satisfied" and head off to get my bag.
• We are met at the airport by some of our fellow Microsofties. They meet us in front of ... the Starbucks. (I am a sad, sad Seattle cliche.)
• A taxi is procured to take us in to Beijing proper, and our hotel. I had been warned about the driving in China, but the reality of it is really quite striking - people change lanes whenever they want, drive at different speeds on the freeway (very fast, very slow), pass on the shoulder, you name it. For all the chaos, the drivers seem acclimated, alert, and ready for anything.
• (Brooke and I are both alarmed to find that our taxi doesn't have seatbelts in the rear seats. As we later learn, virtually none of them do.)
• Our taxi ride takes 45 minutes, and sets us back 75 Yuan. That's about $10 US.
• The hotel is very nice, very clean, and clearly caters to visiting Western businesspeople and tourists.
• After unpacking everything, I notice the small sign in the bathroom - "The tap water is not safe for drinking." The hotel has set out two 12-oz bottles of (privately branded) water for personal use. I'd been warned about the water situation before leaving, but being confronted with it still requires a shift in my thinking. I need to use these two bottles for pretty much everything - drinking, rinsing my toothbrush, taking vitamins, everything. Conserving water becomes something I think about a lot during the trip, and I find myself wondering whether this kind of water rationing is something humanity as a whole is going to have to get used to in the future.
• Slightly before midnight, I bomb out.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated July 2, 2008 4:47 PM.
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June 23, 2008

A Few Random Notes From Our Quickie Weekend Trip To Sun Valley

Matt and Kari tied the knot this weekend, so Elaine and I got to fly to Sun Valley, Idaho to see them say "I do". A few notes from the trip:

• Neither of us had ever been to Sun Valley, and we were plenty excited to make the journey and see the place. You have two choices if you're flying from Seattle - go direct, or fly to Boise and drive (which adds about two hours). Seattle-Boise flights are a bit cheaper and quite a bit more frequent; Seattle-Sun Valley flights run just once a day. We elect to pay a bit more for the convenience, and fly direct.
• From the "Is Our Children Learning?" department: the Starbucks in SeaTac's main concourse was selling "Raisen Scones." Really.
• I'm one of those obnoxious people who insists on getting to the airport two hours ahead of the flight, which means, invariably, that there's plenty of time to kill once we clear security. As it happens, our gate was directly across from one of those airport massage bars, and, on a whim, I decided to try it.
• The place sells quick-hit massages (a "single shot" is 15 minutes; "double shot" is 30, and so on), but they also sell a 10-minute foot massage for $18, which pretty much sealed the deal. After signing in (and waiting a bit), they parked me in a super-comfy reclining chair, put a hot pillow around the back of my neck, rotated the chair so my back was parallel to the floor (and, thus, my feet were popped up), put a blackout cover over my eyes, and went to work.
• 10 minutes is not near enough time. And, truth be told, the massage was good enough that I completely forgot that I was in an airport.
• For some reason, I always forget that Horizon Airlines offers complimentary beer and wine on their flights. While this may speak to early Alzheimer's (or, perhaps, too much overall beer and wine consumption), it does allow me to experience that, "I love this airline!" feeling on a recurring basis. (Hooray for Horizon!)
• Our landing was bumpy - like, sparks-shoot-off-the-landing-gear-and-smoke-pours-off-the-wheels bumpy. Elaine and I are very, very glad once we're on the ground.
• Sun Valley, like a lot of Idaho, is gorgeous. Rolling green hills, dotted with trees and brush; wide-open expanses of blue sky; fast-moving, wide rivers. It all seems to go on forever.
• The Hertz people were terrific to work with; they gave us a brand-new (507 miles!) Subaru Outback to tool around in for the weekend. I'd never driven an Outback before, but wouldn't mind doing it again - it's peppy, roomy, very responsive. I don't know what I was expecting, but after renting that gawd-awful PT Cruiser in San Francisco in '06, I'm pretty much prepared for a kick in the shins at the rental counter.
• The Sun Valley airport is in Hailey, ID; "Sun Valley" is actually Ketchum, ID. They're about 12 miles from one another.
• We stayed at the Sun Valley Lodge, which is a very nice hotel. Friendly people, clean rooms, free parking. It's not exactly our style (it caters to the polo shirt and blue blazer crowd), but we really liked it.
• The Science Channel is running a hypnotic show called "How It's Made", which is crack for geeks. We caught one show about how to make golf balls, parking meters and cabinet handles - unbelievably cool. What makes the show work is learning both the anatomy of how things work (e.g., golf balls have rubber cores, cabinet handles start as zinc) as well as seeing the wicked industrial machinery, robotics, and processes that are responsible for synthesizing raw materials into something you see at Home Depot. So cool.
• There's a great little 1-mile-long trail from the Sun Valley Lodge that takes you to downtown Ketchum. On a nice, sunny day (of which Idaho seems to have in near-infinite supply), it's a terrific way to spend part of your morning.
• Don't miss the "Bowl of Soul" at Java on Fourth.
• For some reason, every time I put on a suit, I feel, at some vague level, like a 12-year-old playing in his dad's closet. I never can quite get used to suits.
• Kari and Matt could not have picked a better spot for their wedding - the setting was spectacular.
• Given that I met Matt in business school, the wedding was a bit of a UW MBA Class of '05 reunion. Chris Meyer and I wound up reflecting that this was, jointly, our fifth MBA wedding since graduation. How time flies.
• Getting out of Sun Valley got a little ... touchy. Turns out that Horizon oversold the Saturday flight to Seattle (as airlines are wont to do), and needed people to volunteer to get bumped. Problem is - this was the only flight that day, so nobody wanted to budge. Compounding the problem was that the carrot they were dangling - a free roundtrip ticket - wasn't very tasty (since you'd need to arrange a hotel stay, that pretty much cancelled the benefit). Unsurprisingly, nobody took the offer. And, unsurprisingly, the unlucky folks who got mandatorily bumped (a couple of poor Australian guys) were pissed off about it.
• (Note to self: I never, ever, ever, ever want to work at an airline counter.)
• The flight home was so bumpy that they had to stop the beverage service three times. I gave a silent prayer when we touched down - smoothly - in Seattle.

Damn, it's good to be home.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated June 23, 2008 8:08 AM.
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June 22, 2008

Escaping From Alcatraz, Days 4 & 5 - Sightseeing

A few more trip notes:

• Monday morning was, in every sense, The Morning After. I didn't bother to set the alarm the night before (I'd felt, for some strange reason, that I'd earned my right to sleep in), and consequently I didn't open my eyes until 9 or so. And then I didn't bother to get out of bed for a good half hour or so after that.
• Everything aches. Everything. My neck is sore, my back is sore, my legs are sore, my hip flexers are sore. I have slightly-sunburned parts of my skin competing with my fatigued muscles to see which can get more of my attention. (This is not a competition I'm pleased to have going on in my body.)
• Eventually, clothes are procured (the shower is skipped) and the four of us head downstairs to the hotel diner for some truly good, greasy-spoon omelette and french toast. The coffee's OK, but the potatoes rock. Jeff and I keep shooting sheepish, happy, can't-believe-its-over grins at one another across the table. If the ladies weren't with us, the other patrons would think we were a couple.
• By strange coincidence, today is the first day of Apple's weeklong World Wide Developer's Conference, also taking place here in San Francisco, and a number of my MacBU colleagues are in town for the event. Steve Jobs is giving the keynote at 10 AM, and thus, as of about 10:05 AM, I become one of those truly annoying table guests who obsessivly checks their phone every few seconds for news and information.
• (My verdict? The new iPhone is excellent, but the big news is the $199 price, not the 3G technology. Apple is going to take the market with these things. Near as I can tell, there are just three types of mobile phones now - free phones, BlackBerries, and iPhones. Everyone else is going to have to scramble to prove themselves.)
• The girls want to shop, so we head back up to the room, get showered and changed, and are off to H&M.
• As the day progresses, the four of us decide to split up. Elaine and I head out to meet Kim for lunch and some sightseeing.
• If you have the opportunity, be sure to get the Kickin' Chicken sandwich at Blue Barn Gourmet. It's about 18 types of deliciousness between two pieces of bread. Unbelievable.
• I generally dig shamelessly touristy activities - if you come to Seattle, I'm all about going to the Space Needle or Riding the Ducks. In keeping with this spirit, we decide to walk the Golden Gate Bridge from the south end to the midspan and back. (Given that Kim is planning to deliver her first child next week, this makes me seriously doubt which of us is in better physical condition. I'm giving the nod to her.)
• The Golden Gate, on foot, is exactly what you'd expect: majestic and awesome (and that's 'awesome' in the "Old Testament" sense, and not in the "Bill S. Preson, Esquire and Ted 'Theodore' Logan" sense).
• The weather is windy, gusty and blustery and threatening to throw us around if it gets much worse. We've all got lightweight jackets, and we're using 'em.
• Alcatraz looks very, very, very far away from shore. My ego inflates a bit.
• I might be the only person on Earth to be surprised by this, but the Golden Gate Gift Shop has pretty crappy service. If you find a decent t-shirt, you'll have to fight to be able to buy it. Be warned.
• San Francisco has some pretty incredible transit. Kim, Elaine and I manage to ride the cable cars, BART, and street-level light rail. The systems all interoperate smoothly, and I'm struck by how much SF has in common with Seattle - confusing geography, lots of different transit users, and distinct types of transit modes (bus, monorail, light rail, streetcar). Spending the day in San Francisco's transit system gives a glimpse of what Seattle will be like around 2020 or so.
• Cable cars, in particular, are astoundingly fun to ride in sunny weather. And if you have a chance, check out the free cable car museum; the exhibits are seriously interesting for any transit geek (and you get to see the actual machinery that drives the cable system in the city!).
• The commuter rail train station at 4th & King is also way cool - light, airy, and smoothly interconnecting heavy rail, light rail and buses. Plenty of bike lockers. We saw a gadzillion geek commuters disgorge from a Caltrain from San Jose and then stream in to the city. The closest thing we have in Seattle is King Street Station, but that's a few years/decades from seeing this kind of use.
• Tuesday morning, we had breakfast at Louis', overlooking the Sutro Bathhouse ruins. Better coffee, fantastic potatoes, cash only.
• Jeff and Barb had planned to take an extra day or two to drive through Napa and on to Washington, so the four of us parted ways (with much hugging). After loading my bike in the back of the Highlander, Lane and I headed for the airport.
• The new international concourse at SFO is gorgeous. Modern, clean, full of light, and, at least when we got there, totally deserted. I started wondering if we'd missed some kind of Homeland Security update.
• Our flight back to Seattle was on Virgin America; this was our first time flying the carrier. My colleague Stuart had raved about VA's service from Los Angeles, so we had high expectations. We were not disappointed: the plane was clean (and even had that 'new plane smell'), and each seat is equipped with a touchscreen entertainment system and a small game controller/keyboard in the arm. Elaine and I immediately discovered the plane-wide instant message system, and started flirting with one another over IM.
• Best. Airplane. Orientation. Video. Ever.
• You order drinks through the touchscreeen, and pay with your credit card (the plane does not accept cash). After placing your order, the attendant materializes over your shoulder with your beverage ready to go. It's about as slick as can be.
• After arriving at SeaTac, we noticed that there's a kick-ass Link Light Rail photo gallery on display in Concourse A. We were both pretty tired after the long weekend, but Elaine was kind enough to let me stand and study this sucker for a good 5 minutes. If you're in the airport and have a few minutes to kill, look for it.

Damn, it's good to be home.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated June 22, 2008 10:43 AM.
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June 21, 2008

Escaping From Alcatraz, Day 3 - Race!

At precisely 4:20 AM on Sunday, my iPhone's alarm went off (the first 20 seconds of "Clocks", if you're curious), and, despite being unable to get much sleep the night before, I sat bolt-upright in bed, 80% awake and climbing.

Race day.

Glancing across the room, Jeff is already up and climbing out of his bed. I stand up, grab a DoubleShot from the mini fridge, and manage to fire down a banana and a CLIF bar before my stomach nerves decide to get the better of me. (Better not push it.)

Jeff and I need to be at Marina Green by 5 AM, so we start pulling on clothes, zipping up our duffel bags, and basically getting ready to move out. Elaine, bless her heart, rouses herself to slather me in waterproof sunscreen; I pull on my swimsuit, warmup pants, t-shirt, reflective jacket, and bike helmet, meet Jeff at the door, and pose for photographs,

We're gone by a quarter to 5, heading down Van Ness on our bikes, duffel bags strapped to our backs and race numbers on our helmets.

Turns out that a quickie, two-mile ride at five in the morning is the perfect thing to do before a race. In my case, it gets my blood flowing, some cool wind in my face, and helps me feel comfortable and psyched for the race. We also aren't alone - we see a bunch of other cyclists on streets across the city, all converging on the race site. (Too cool.)

Marina Green is black black black, the only illumination being stretlights and the flashlights of hundreds of volunteers, all barking orders at racers and keeping us corralled and moving. Our mission is simple: find our designated slots in the transition area, park our bikes there, lay out our transition clothes and supplies, drop our post-swim bag at the truck, and then head for the bus that takes us to the boat.

I find the "682" slot on the bike rack, get my bike on the rack, and then proceed to flatten out my duffel on the wet grass underneath. I laid out everything I'd want before the ride segment - bike jersey, helmet, roadside repair stuff, water bottle, food. After gettting it arranged just so, we drop our post-swim bags at the loading truck, and board the shuttle bus to the boat. Once safely on the bus, Jeff and I turn, look at each other, and spontaneously start grinning.

(Dude, I can't believe we're doing this!)

The bus fills with triathletes and eventualy we're under way, heading north into the city and out to the piers just east of Coit Tower. Dawn is breaking, so there's daylight, and as the bus drops us off we're met by more volunteers, each of whom directs us to head toward the moored San Francisco Belle.

The pier is full of racers, with more are arriving as the morning progresses and additional buses arrive. Jeff and I wait in line to get bodymarked - our numbers written in black Sharpie on our biceps/thighs/hands, our ages written on our left calves - and then head over and grab seats on empty stretches of concrete pier. It's all waiting at this point - waiting to board the boat, waiting for the boat to get under way, waiting to travel out to Alcatraz, waiting to jump in the water.

We're both a bit jittery. Jeff tells corny jokes (the "Smell Mop" knock-knock makes an appearance); I practice my terrible Sean Connery impression ("Losers always whine about their best...").

I begin singing snippets of catchy, annoying songs - precisely the type that will stick in your head during an atheletic event - and Jeff threatens me with bodily harm if I continue.

Around 6:30, we board the Belle, and secure seats on the floor. The boat fills quickly, and the temperature begins rising with all the body heat.

At 7:05 AM, the boat engines roar to life, and everyone on board gives a cheer. Finally under way, we head out to the Bay.

The weather is astounding. The sun is out (but not warm), the fog is burning off, the water in the bay is gloriously calm. The city is bathed in this unbelievable warm orange light, and I am reminded of something that one of the race directors said during orientation the day before:

"No matter what God you believe in, the experience you're going to have tomorrow is life-changing. Chances are good that you're not one of the elites, so as long as you've already kissed the possibility of finishing first goodbye, I encourage you to pause a moment during your swim, turn over, float on your back, and just drink in the majesty of this beautiful city and this beautiful place, and really just give thanks for being fortunate enough to be alive."

I think about this - think about it a lot, actually - and my nerves leave me. Completely.

At 7:40, we're getting close to Alcatraz and are just 20 minutes from start. Jeff and I strip down to our swimsuits, strap our timing chips on to our left ankles, and wriggle in to our wetsuits. We keep our wetsuit hoods, official (lime-green!) Alcatraz swim caps, and goggles; all our other stuff (shoes, socks, t-shirt, etc.) goes in to a race bag with our respective numbers on them. (We'll leave them on the boat and get them after the race is all over.)

7:55. The Belle is in position, just off the Alcatraz shore. There are helicopters flying around, guys on jetskis, kayaks, police boats. Media is interviewing the top athletes, who are perched on the railings alongside the boat. It's controlled chaos, and the vibe among the hoi palloi on the Belle is approaching fever-pitch excitement. We're ready.

At 8:00 the gun goes off, and the elites are in the water, hauling ass for shore. The rest of us wait about two minutes and suddenly start moving for the thrown-open side doors of the Belle. The swim starts as simply as possibe - you jump in, and try not to land on the guy in front of you. At 8:05, I cross over the timing sensor, take two steps forward, and JERONIMO! into San Francisco Bay.

(Oh, so that's that 55-degree water feels like! Holy crap!)

The water is choppy with all the swimmers jumping in and thrashing around, and, for a brief while, we're all on top of each other like those poor crabs stacked three-high in the fishtank at the Chinese place down the street. People are bumping in to me, I'm bumping in to them; it's insane. Eventually, I find my stride (and a clear bit of water), and focus on getting to shore without killing myself. I settle in to a three-stroke-breathe pattern, and start to enjoy myself.

Swimming isn't a sport that's known for its great views, so if you want to simulate the experience of swimming in San Francisco Bay at home, here's what you do. First, get a bucket and fill it to the brim with chilled brownish saltwater. Second, get a desk lamp with a good 200-watt bulb in it. Set up the desk lamp to one side of the bucket. Now, put your face head-down in the bucket and blow bubbles for at least 15 seconds, and turn your head to the side when you need to breathe. Notice that every time you turn toward the desk lamp, your eyeballs are practically burned out of your skull (that's "the sun" in the real swim); notice, too, that the experience of putting your head in a bucket of cold, brownish saltwater is pretty monotonous after about, oh, 45 seconds.

(And if you want a really good simulation, have a friend or family member come bump you - hard - at random intervals, to simulate encounters with other swimmers. Trust me - you'll love it.)

Swimming in open water is a bit strange - your ability to gauge distance is all goofed up, because there are no landmarks that get recognizably closer. I pause after ten minutes or so, float on my back, drink in the view, give thanks, and suddenly wonder - am I actually going anywhere?. I mean, it looks like I am exactly where I was when I leaped off the boat, relative to the shore. I turn around, look at the Belle (yep, it's back there a fair bit), mentally shrug my shoulders, and get back to the swim.

The swim does have a compass, however, and it's called Sutro Tower. This tall, red radio tower is a stationary landmark that you can see from anywhere in the bay. If you're swimming from Alcatraz, keep Sutro at 12 o'clock and the strong bay currents will do the rest, sweeping you west as you swim north. My routine, then, is swim-swim-swim-swim-peek-adjust-swim-swim-swim-swim.

Suddenly, I'm at shore. And just as suddenly, I'm fighting with the surf to stand upright, unzipping my wetsuit, and trying to get to the swim transition area. I locate my bag, finish striping out of the wetsuit, towel off, pull on shoes and socks, stuff the suit back in the bag, and start jogging back to my bike in the transition area (roughly a mile away). I feel great - the swim was invigorating, I've got lots of energy, and the overwhelming feeling of doing this thing is carrying me forward.

(I don't learn this until later, but I finished the swim in 34 minutes - a fantastic time. I clearly caught some current, but, regardless I'm really proud of that number.)

It's about a quarter to nine at this point, and as I'm jogging back to my bike I'm shocked at how many people are lined up to cheer for us all. There are friends and families of athletes, of course, but there's a lot of local San Franciscans out with fair-trade, shade-grown morning coffee in hand, giving it up for the folks in the event. I will confess, freely, that it made me happy, and not just a little bit proud.

So I get to the transition area, run down the chute, find my bike, and am immediately trying to get geared up for my ride. I pull on my bike jersey (a Canadian-flag number that Elaine bought for me), strap on my helmet, switch in to the bike shoes, pop a handful of ClifShot into my mouth, and am gone, run/walking my bike toward the bike start line. I cross the line, throw a leg over, and am suddenly moving at 15 mph in the clear morning light, riding back against the stream of runners coming from the swim. I pass (and cheer to) Jeff, who has emerged from his swim and is heading for transition. We exchange white-guy high-fives.

The ride feels great. There's no wind, so I'm left to make my own as I pedal, getting in to the rhythm of the ride, letting my body get used to the idea of a new sport, a different kind of exertion.

Here's the thing with the Alcatraz ride segment: it giveth, and then it taketh away. The entire 18 miles is an up-and-down, out-and-back monstrosity; you go from Marina Green to the Presidio, then up to the Legion of Honor, then out to the Cliff House, down the hill on the 101 to ride along the ocean, and, finally, up and in to Golden Gate Park, at which point you turn around and go back. At that point, every hill you fought your way up to get to the park is now a downhill, and the downhills that gave you relief/exhiliration on the way to the park (Cliff House Hill, I'm looking at you) are now laying in wait for you, like some loanshark that loaned you $10k when you needed it most and now wants the cash back, with interest.

The ride is incredible. The hills are hard, but manageable; my body feels great; the views of the Golden Gate, the ocean, and some of San Francisco's best real estate are beyond amazing. I have two small mechanical bike issues (a brake thingy, a chain lockup), but neither is a problem. As the ride goes on, I find my groove and quickly start seeing the same riders over and over again; we share camaraderie as we trade positions and pass one another.

Jeff, for his part, passes me (with another white-guy high-five) in the first quarter of the ride. But an hour and 20 later, I'm flying back in to transition, putting my bike on the rack, switching out into my running shoes, and heading back out for the final, 8-mile run. As I hit transition, I hear Elaine cheering for me; I steal a (wonderful) kiss, and head out.

At this point it's 10:30, and the sun is starting to make its presence known. I give mental thanks to Elaine for the sunscreen, and focus on finding my rhythm.

The course is reasonably flat for the first two miles of the run; we're heading from Marina Green toward the Golden Gate Bridge, past Crissey Field and out (ultimately) to Baker Beach. As I hit the two-mile mark, I round the corner next to some restrooms and suddenly see that the run course goes straight up some very, very steep steps. And it is at this point that my body - which has done so well all morning with keeping me moving and feeling great - tells me to take it easy.

It's not muscle fatigue, or my quads throwing in the towel, or my legs converting to Jell-O; rather, this is about my heart and lungs hitting their limits, pushing as much blood and O2 as they can, and my body recognizing, at some primal level, that those limits do not include Olympic-speed performance while gaining 800 feet of elevation on some packed-earth stairs.

So I walk. And then I run, and then I walk, and then I run, which turns in to the pattern for the whole segment. I run down hills, jog on flats, and make the valiant attempt on the elevation to build and keep momentum. My results are mezzo-mezzo, but I keep at it, always moving.

I marvel at the terrain - concrete, asphalt, bricks, wet sand, dry sand, dirt, pebbles, vegatation, wood chips. Just about everything except snow and ice. Unbelievable.

The views are, as with the ride, jaw-dropping.

Baker Beach is a cruel and nasty turnaound point - it's dry sand, uneven and pock-marked from the thousand atheletes that have come before me. Even walking, it's all I can do to keep focused on not twisting an ankle. I hit the turnaround, and start heading back; I'm perhaps a quarter mile in before the sand ladder, which I take as carefully as I can. 5,223 steps later (or whatever), I'm at the top of the ladder next to the CLIF guys, who have a DJ and are playing some serious dance music. I move on.

The final two miles are the hardest. It's flat again, which, mentally, means "I have no excuse not to run", but my system is pretty tapped out. I breathe, remember the 'float on your back and enjoy it' line, and push on. As I get closer to Marina Green, the crowd re-materializes, and everyone seems to be cheering and giving an encouraging word. It helps.

Once the finish line is within sight, it's like the starting gun going off all over again. Whatever's left in the tank is put front and center, and I'm moving, heading down the street, into the chute, and across the finish line and the readout says 3:55:14 and I'm done, like done done done in a big way, gasping for breath and smiling and hoping, for all my life, that the professional race photos of me running down the chute don't look too dorky. 'Cause I'm really proud of that last bit, and I want 'em.

(Later, I learn that they are, indeed, dorky. But there's one of my on my bike that I love.)

And that's it. My final race time was 3:53 and change, which is about 10 minutes slower than my time back in 2000. I'm OK with that - losing 10 minutes after 8 years is just fine - and then I found out that Jeff, stud triathlete that he is, did it in 3:05. Which makes my head explode, just a little. (The dude amazes me.)

Elaine and Barb help us back to our hotel, where we shower, change, and then head out for some more In-N-Out Burger. During the meal, we talk about doing it again next year, if we can get in.

And then we go back to the hotel.
And then we sleep.
Well.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated June 21, 2008 7:46 PM.
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June 15, 2008

Escaping From Alcatraz, Day 2 - Orientation

More trip notes:

• Our hotel in San Francisco was the Broadway Manor. Located at the intersection of Van Ness and Broadway, it's like a lot of San Francisco - older, renovated, and central to just about everything. The hotel itself isn't much to look at, but they have free parking, clean rooms, good (basic) service and a diner on the ground floor.
• They also have super-comfortable beds - everyone slept unbelievably well.
• Saturday was a slow start - since we arrived after midnight, nobody was in any kind of hurry to get up and move around. As a result, we started flipping through cable TV and wound up watching Hillary's concession speech on MBSNC. I have to say, I think it was the best speech I've ever seen her deliver - gracious, loose, from the heart, poignant, classy (and no, I'm not just saying that because I liked the content).
• (Side note - why is it that some politicians only seem to do their best work at the end? I remember watching Al Gore give his concession speech in 2000 - he was loose, friendly, accessible, authentic - and thinking, "Where was that guy during the campaign?".)
• After rousing, we walked a couple blocks down Van Ness and got coffee at "Notes From Underground." The coffee's OK, but the breakfast - one it arrives - is to die for. Fantastic omelettes, great potatoes. You just need to budget an hour or so for the damn plates to arrive.
• Every coffee house in San Francisco has free WiFi. I love this.
• Ground Zero for all things Escape From Alcatraz is Marina Green, which is on the waterfront. We need to pick up our registration packets and attend an orientation at 1 PM. Since it's only about two miles from the hotel, we elect to walk.
• A bike shop across Van Ness has a banner up: "Welcome! Alcatraz Triathletes Good Luck!". Jeff and I start to get excited.
• Marina Green has been completely taken over with Escape stuff - vendor tents, the bike-transition area, orientation stage, finish line, signage, food stalls. The place is mobbed, too - Marina Green is a busy part of San Francisco on a given Saturday, but today it's crazy with pedestrians, triathletes (plus their families and friends), rollerbladers, bikers, kids selling lemonade, etc.
• Jeff and I get our registration packets (a duffel bag with our bib numbers, stickers, plastic bags for transition, mini-CLIF Bars, and goodies from other local businesses) and head over for orientation.
• Orientation takes about an hour, but there's only about 15 minutes worth of content. The organizers spend a bit more time than they need to in thanking sponsors and pointing out that you can take home souvenirs.
• For all that, the information is terrific. I am very impressed with how safety-oriented the event is: the swim, for instance, is planned to a T. In addition to swimming with the current, we'll be accompanied by kayaks, jetskis, boats, and a helicopter or two (just in case). The trick with the swim is to look for Sutro Tower, keep it at 12 o'clock, and swim toward it; the current will do the rest. Kayakers and others will make sure that you don't get too far off-course; if you do, they'll get you back in position.
• Headphones are not allowed on the run or the ride. (Back in my hotel room, my iPod Shuffle starts crying.)
• By the end of the orientation, the four of us are sunburned (the weather is spectacular) and a little tired.
• We head back to the hotel, jump in the car, and drive the bike course. As we're swooping up and down hills (Legion of Honor, I'm looking at YOU), I'm suddenly remembering just how frickin' crazy the ride actually is. Yowza. Thank God for training.
• Dinner is at Marnee Thai, which, if you're at all in to Thai food, is a must-try the next time you're in SF.
• We call it an early night; I want to be asleep by 9:30. After returning to the hotel, I prep my bike (pump the tires, get my number attached, fill the waterbottle) and then pack my various bags. There are three bags to worry about - one goes with you on the boat in the morning, one goes in your transition zone, and the third is available after you get out of the water from the swim. The post-swim bag gets my running shoes, socks, and a towel. The transition bag gets my bike helmet, bike jersey, and other bike stuff (e.g., puncture repair kit). The bag on the boat will contain all the stuff I will wear before I jump in the water (and will want later) like my fleece, warmup pants, and the like. I get all three bags put together, set out my clothing for the morning, and, ultimately call it a night.
• 10:30 PM. I'm staring at the ceiling. Still awake. Can't sleep.
• 11:30 PM. I'm staring at the ceiling. Still awake. Can't sleep.
• 12:30 AM. I'm staring at the ceiling. Still awake. Can't sleep.
• 1:30 AM. I'm staring at the ceiling. Still awake. Can't sleep.

2:30 AM. I'm staring at the ceiling. Still awake. Can't sleep.
(Sigh.)

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated June 15, 2008 11:40 AM.
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June 11, 2008

Escaping From Alcatraz, Day 1 - ROAD TRIP!

After months of training and prep, the Escape From Alcatraz triathlon finally happened on Sunday, June 8. My good friend Jeff and I both participated, and I'm proud to say that I am not a) dead, b) crippled, or c) in the belly of a shark somewhere in the San Francisco Bay.

In fact, the thing was a hell of a lot of fun.

As per usual, here are some trip notes - in this case, from Friday, the 6th (aka, "Day 1")

• The general plan is that Elaine, Jeff, Barb and I will drive down Friday with the bikes and the wetsuits and the gear and the hey hey hey, spend Saturday getting oriented, do the race Sunday morning, sleep Sunday afternoon, and then be all touristy-n'-shit for Monday/Tuesday. This means, of course, that we've got to actually get to San Francisco through that most time-honored of all American pastimes - ROAD TRIP!
• It's a long drive, and a long day, so we'd intended to be on the road by 6 AM sharp. Instead, after a few too many rounds of Mario Kart Wii the night before (where, it must be said, I got my ass handed to me), we elected to, uh delay by getting up 6, and had a strong plan to be out the door at 7.
• (We actually left the condo at 7:30.)
• You can't road trip on an empty stomach, so we headed to Zoka for coffee and heavenly, bacon-egg-cheese panini breakfast.
• Zoka is slow, so we got on the road - for realsies - by 8 AM. The good news is that this means we only have 12.5 hours to go if we don't stop for gas, bathroom breaks, or food.
• Both couples have passenger cars (read: not enough space for the four of us, plus bikes and other business), so Jeff rented a Toyota Highlander for the trip. It's a pretty sweet ride - great handling, great amenities, lots of cup holders, the usual. The Highlander also has an auxiliary jack for the stereo, so the four of us took turns hijacking the sound system with our own respective iPods.
• The weather was awful as we left Seattle - nasty, blattering, wet-to-the-bone rain that makes it hard to see much of anything. Ugh.
• 10 AM: We're telling knock knock jokes. My new favorite: "Knock knock?" "Who's there?" "Smell mop."
• (Say the punchline. You'll laugh.)
• We pass by the Great Wolf Lodge in Centralia, which appears out of nowhere like some kind of crazy casino/kid's wonderland (which is pretty much what it is). Imagine huge waterslides and a Northwest timber motif, and you've basically got it. All I can think is, "when did they put that in?"
• 10:45 AM: "Wish You Were Here" is fantastic road trip music.
• 11 AM: We hit Portland. The weather continues to be awful.
• An hour south of Portland, we see the Enchanted Forest theme park, which looks like a Park Time Forgot - run down, a rickety coaster, fading signage. The weather isn't helping, of course - who wants to go to a theme park in this kind of rain? - but I can't help wonder who the customers for the place are. What parents bring their kids here? Those "Funtastic" traveling carnivals in supermarket parking lots look like a better deal.
• 12:15 PM. We begin playing Tenacious D.
• Roughly 200 miles in to Oregon, it finally stops raining.
• Roughly 10 miles later, it starts again.
• We're hungry, and start using the iPhone to look for lunch recommendations. We get all excited about trying Burgerville in Albany, but miss the off-ramp as I dick around with the mapping application (the iPhone's "current location" always thinks I'm heading north on I-5, which leads to entertaining directions, to say the least.). We find an awesome wiki with restaurant recommendations for Eugene, and settle on the Cornucopia.
• Cornucopia is fantastic. The waitress says they're "known for their burgers" and she wasn't kidding - the BBQ bacon burger is to die for, and their beer selection is astounding. The three of us begin extolling the virtues of the open road, new restaurants, and Oregon in general.
• Another note on Oregon: everybody in Oregon - and I mean everybody is incredibly nice. The lady taking our order, the lady pumping our gas, the crazy homeless guy, everybody. It's not in a Stepford Wives kind of way, either; people just seem relaxed and happy.
• Traveling for any substantial distance on the interstate makes you realize that roads are really about trucks, not cars. I mean, we see lots of cars, sure, but mostly our fellow travelers are trucks going about their business, delivering trees/cookies/aluminum tubing/packages, you name it. It's like peeking behind the curtain of commerce, and seeing how the machinery really works.
• By the way, every trucking company is looking for drivers right now.
• We stopped at the Beanery in Ashland, Oregon, for a caffeine buzz. Maybe it was just because we'd been in the car all day (and were thus punchy), but the four of us could not stop giggling about two drinks - "Pooh's Picnic" and "Flavored Steamer" - followed one another on the readerboard.
• (I do recommend the mocha with Mexican chocolate. Fantastimo.)
• As we left Ashland, the rain stopped. (For good, this time, as it happens.)
• 5:42 PM - We enter California, and begin vigorous debate about the proper pronunciation of "Yreka".
• Dinner is at In-N-Out Burger.
• 9:57 PM. We're 60 miles from Sacramento. It's dark outside, and we're actively stopping at rest areas to jump around and keep our energy up.
• Howard Jones' "No One Is To Blame" comes on the stereo, and we all start singing along, like some cut scene from Reality Bites
• 11:35 PM: We zip through Berkeley, CA and find ourselves paying a $4 toll to cross in to San Francisco across the Bay Bridge.
• The city is beautiful at night - elegant, vibrant, sprawling, fantastic. It's the coolest thing we've seen all day.
• 11:55 PM: With a heavy, happy smile, Jeff pulls in to the hotel lot, parks, and kills the engine.

"We're here."

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated June 11, 2008 8:38 PM.
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May 7, 2008

Some Random Notes From The Not-Quite-24 Hours I Just Spent In Toronto

I'm back in Seattle after a quick jaunt to Toronto for a work event. It was one of those leave-Monday-morning, fly-home-Tuesday-evening kinds of things. I'm dehydrated, sick of plastic-wrapped airport sandwiches, and just plain beat.

As usual, the trip notes:

• This was my first time flying Northwest in a long, long time, and the early indication of the experience wasn't very encouraging. I got to Sea-Tac and found myself barked into a line that fed into another line that led to another line and, eventually, ended with my getting a boarding pass, achy feet, and relief from an overwhelming, fellow-passenger BO smell. As trip starts go, this wasn't auspicious.
• I will say that the woman who gave me the boarding pass and took my checked bag was really wonderful, but the people working the lines themselves shout orders like they've just retired from 40+ years in the correctional system. Memo to Northwest: your customer experience would improve if you'd just get it over already by putting tags in our ears and using cattle prods to move us along. Moooooo.
• I've learned to pack my own food on to the airplane these days; you never know if the airline will be serving anything, or even if they have those horrid $5 "snack boxes" for sale on the flight. My line-of-a-line-of-a-line experience being what it was, I was a bit behind the eight-ball on time and had to swoop in to a Starbucks for bottled water and a plastic-wrapped sandwich.
• (Mmmmmmm .... plastic-wrapped sandwich....)
• Sign That You Might Want To Choose Another Aircraft #22: The aircraft lavatory's under-sink paneling won't latch shut, meaning it swings open whenever the plane pitches up, closes rapidly when the plane pitches down, and smacks the holy hell out of your ankles in the process. Yikes.
• Before I left home, I'd used CosmoPod to grab a fantastic BBC documentary about the Gutenberg press off YouTube. It's in six parts, about an hour in total, and uttery wonderful. (Tip 'o the hat to Daring Fireball for the pointer.)
• My flight to Toronto had a short Minneapolis layover, which meant I was sprinting from my arrival to find the right departure gate. I eventually arrived, did a quick survey of the food options nearby, found the selection wanting, and settled on ... a plastic-wrapped ham and cheese sandwich. With a Diet Coke.
• (Mmmmmmm .... plastic-wrapped sandwich....)
• I had about 10 minutes before boarding, so I decided to do a quick bit of work on my laptop. So there I am, using Publishing Layout View in Word 2008, merrily zooming around my document, when the guy sitting three seats to my right finally breaks his not-remotely-subtle staring at my screen to ask - very politely - what software I'm working with. I explain that it's the new Word 2008, show him a bit about what it can do, and suddenly I'm Ron Popeil giving an 8-minute infomercial for Mac Office. The guy's asking questions, I'm showing off features, he's smiling, I'm smiling, and we're both really enjoying it. Then the boarding call goes off, we both get up, and that's that. A totally random moment of mutual-geek enthusiasm.
• (You know, I don't think I ever mentioned that I worked for Microsoft, either.)
• In contrast to the cattle-call experience of the Seattle-Minneapolis trip, the Minneapolis-Toronto leg was sparse. The flight attendants seemed beside themselves with such a small passenger list, and lavished tons of personal attention on everyone. It was like a free first-class upgrade, but without the booze, legroom, and warm cashews.
• (Which, I guess on the re-reading, means the flight wasn't like business class at all. Ah, well.)
• On the flight to Toronto, I was seated behind a couple of hipster-ish, late-twentysomething Canadian geek professionals who chattered on between themselves for the entire flight. And man, I gotta tell ya - and this from one who's married to a Canuck - Canadians say "eh" an awful lot.
• The Toronto airport is very nice, very clean, and the Canadian customs people are thorough and polite.
• One nice thing about in-n-out trips: no real jet lag, and no need to try to acclimate. Sure, you're up at 4 AM Pacific time or whatever on the morning of, but it's only for one day. It made me feel very Pacific Standard Tribal.
• We had a weird cab-related snafu on the way home - namely, the nice receptionist called one, it arrived, and then the driver informed us that he "didn't go to the airport" and was "local only." I confess to being totally baffled by this - whaaaat?, but the driver promised to radio for another cab that could take care of us. We said OK, the cab drives off, we wait 5, 10 minutes - no new cab. So we got reception to call for another one, which arrived very quickly, and, thankfully, wasn't afraid of going near aircraft. But still - WTF? Does Toronto have some crazy non-cabies that drive around and just punk people?
• I'd been making jokes for much of the trip about Tim Horton's - a Candian fast-food chain known for its yummy coffee - and implying that my Tuesday dinner choice was likely to be limited to the 'Tim Horton's at the airport.' Well, it turns out that there is one at the Toronto Airport (see photo). Problem is, it was on the other side of the security perimeter, which meant that I was unable to complete my passive-aggressive Canadian joke by, you know, actually getting a bite there.
• Fortunately, I was able to buy - you guessed it - a plastic-wrapped sandwich from a kiosk right next to the gate. I swear I am not making this up.
• White wine is a great thing at to drink when flying.
• After buying a few different magazines at the airport, I can confidently say that Esquire > GQ > Details. Details, in fact, has very little reason to live.
• When I was in Minneapolis, CNN reported that Barack Obama had won North Carolina. This made me happy.
• I found seat 38D on the Minneapolis-Seattle home stretch, sat down, and promptly managed to lose the Monster cable adapter that allows me plug my iPhone into regular headphones - which pretty much meant I was hosed in the "gee, I'd like to watch a movie in-flight" department. I don't know whether to blame Steve Jobs' design decision (a recessed headphone jack? Really?), my own butterfingered ineptitude, or the strange vortex that somehow magically spirited away the jack to the land of lost keys, ball-point pens, and tchotkes.
• We arrived in Seattle about a half-hour late, which put us really close to midnight. All "Pacific Standard Tribe" posturing aside, that's a really long day.

Damn, it's good to be home.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated May 7, 2008 8:38 AM.
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October 27, 2007

Notes From My Quickie Trip To Los Angeles

This week's work trip to Los Angeles was an in-and-out affair; I touched down at LAX Tuesday evening and was back at my desk by 2 PM Thursday. Fast, fast fast - a far cry from some of my more involved trips as a Planner.

The usual (but somewhat abbreviated) trip notes:

• It's damn exciting to see light rail going in at Sea-Tac. The station along 99 has been built, and the tracks are now being put in place from that station all the way to terminal. Opening Day 2009 is fast approaching, folks, and it's going to be great when it gets here.
• So there I am, sitting at Gate D2 and doing a bit of e-mail, when I look up and spy today's USA Today ... with an iPhone sitting on top of it. All by itself. I was so surprised that I actually did a double-take (did someone forget their iPhone?!?!?), and then had the "candid camera" moment. After deciding that it wasn't some kind of SeaTac police sting thingy, I decided to get the phone out of plain sight and see if the owner came back for it. Twenty minutes go by ... no owner. I'm beginning to wonder if the poor sod is on Flight 2300 to Singapore right now, cursing him/herself for forgettting the phone, and I'm also wondering where SeaTac's lost and found is. A bit later, a guy shows up with a slightly-distressed look in his eyes: "Seen an iPhone around here?"
• (I must say, witnessing their reunion was a bit touching.)
• I'm still amazed at what people will talk about - very publicly and loudly - in an airport while on a cell phone. I personally overheard product plans, the outcome of a rather contentious board meeting (the guy was swearing so much I thought I was in an episode of Deadwood), Google AdSense response rates, how hard someone was working (and how his boss better not give him any more work, thank you), how hard someone was not working (and how she thinks her boss is figuring it out), and sex.
• (Really.)
• I got to LAX, snagged the shuttle to the rental car center, and proceeded to have another suboptimal Avis experience. The poor folks were swamped with customers, so, by the time I get to the front of the line it's been a good wait. The lady behind the counter checks me in, and then fixes me in the eye to deliver some bad news.
  

  Her: "I've got, like, 10 or 12 cars in front of you for cleaning, washing and delivery."
  Me: "Uh ... how long is that going to take?"
  Her: (Unconvincingly) "Uh, 20 or 30 minutes."
  Me: (Looks at watch). "What else you got?"
  Her: "We have a sixteen-person passenger van."
  

  
  And thus it came to be that I was tooling along the 405 in something that could hold a soccer team or a church group - possibly at the same time. It's big, it's bulky, it's underpowered, it steers like the Titanic. It's also, as you might imagine, a nightmare to park and has horrible visibility.
• (But hey, at least I'm mobile.)
• Microsoft was kind enough to put me up in the W Hotel. Holy cow, it's nice. There you are, dear traveller, tired and exhausted from your recent trip. You've checked in, made your way to your hotel room. You slide the keycard into the slot, hear the "cheep cheep" to let you know the door is unlocked, and the door swings open. Inside, the room is lit, music is playing. Things feel tasteful and calm. You stand, slack-jawed, at how nice everything is. No fumbling for light switches, no smell of mold, no hunting for a remote control to turn on the TV for some background noise. You just step in to the environment, and you're home. Fantastic. Apple does "out of the box" experience better than anyone in electronics; W does "out of the box" better than anyone in the hotel business.
• The California wildfires are, if anything, bigger and scarier than the national news is conveying. Local news is dominated by it, and the sheer volume and scale of the thing is boggling.
• The W's hotel bar has super-tasty club sandwiches and fries.
• Back at LAX, I was again reminded of how people will talk about anything on their damn phones. This time, some blowhard was name-dropping Celebrities He Knows (George Clooney, etc.) to get something out of the person on the other end of the line. Sheesh.
• The Starbucks' at LAX don't offer iTunes integration just yet, which seems odd to me, given that LA is Ground Zero for the recording industry.
• With the exception of a few persistently cranky kids with generous lungs, the flight back to Seattle was one of the most pleasant I can remember taking in recent memory - fast, comfortable, courteous people. We even arrived 20 minutes early.

Damn, it's good to be home.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated October 27, 2007 11:22 AM.
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October 23, 2007

Off To LA

I'm heading to Los Angeles for some Microsoft business until Thursday; I'll blog when I can.

Posted by Gavin Shearer. Last updated October 23, 2007 1:55 PM.
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October 12, 2007

Notes On A Parisian Honeymoon

Whoa.

It's been two weeks since my "hey, we're home!" post, and, truthfully, I'm shocked at how quickly 14 days can pass a fella by. It feels like just a few days ago that we both stepped our jet-lagged selves off the plane, lollygagged our way down Concourse C, and, finally, returned to the warm, familiar environs of our home.

So imagine my shock to glance at the calendar this morning and see OCT 12 staring back at me with an accusatory stare, like I'd just shown up three hours late for an important dinner and no good excuse. I realized I was overdue (way overdue) for a blog post, and, well, here I am.

The break was nice - the reason for the break was nicer - and I'm pleased to report that we had a fantastic time in Paris.

A few notes (Flickr photostream available):

• We went Air France both ways, taking advantage of their new-since-June direct flight from Seattle to Charles de Gaulle. Two words about the flight: it rocks. We did Continental on last year's trip, which, while fine, invo