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The Church of Sport

2011-12-23T14:32:00.001-08:00

Something I wrote a few moons back...enjoy. g.

THE CHURCH OF SPORT

Someone I highly trust offered me some sage advice years ago. “Never talk about politics, money, or religion with people who you haven’t seen naked.” Although I didn’t know it then, his words to the unwise have kept me out of trouble on more than one occasion.

Along the road of life, I’ve taken a more dim view on the taboos we’ve placed on the discussion of certain topics. As long as our thoughts are carefully constructed, our words well formed, and our general intent is not to slander or hurl insults, I think that frank discussions of what makes the world go ‘round are healthy.

The “separation of church and state” is a hotly debated topic, but isn’t it curious that almost no one brings up the topic of the “separation of church and sport” at the dinner party table. Allow me to stir the pot a bit, and share some thoughts about one of my favorite religions, the Church of Sport.

We’re a non-denominational organization, open to people of all creeds, genders, colors, VO2 max measurements, and shoe sizes. Welcome to the service.

One thing you’ll probably notice here is that our doors are always open, and we don’t have a set time or day of the week when the festivities begin. You can decide when to come, and when to go home, and you don’t need to be here for exactly one hour. You can stay for 20 minutes, a few hours, or a few days. Your choice.

To say that our dress code is liberal would be an understatement. No suit and ties or dresses here. Functional would be the rule. Need to come in running shoes? No problem. Is it o.k. to bring your bike? Sure. Need to come in shorts? Come on in.

We accept donations, and you can choose which currency to pay them with. A long distance run, a tough game of pick-up basketball, or scraped knees while rock climbing in pursuit of a new peak will all suffice for our offering plate.

If you’re looking for a “spiritually uplifting moment”, the Church of Sport is a great place to start your search. Ask any of our congregation who have seen the sun rise (or set) while hiking or running on a remote Northwest trail. Talk to the guy or gal who has just pushed through the final miles of a marathon and can now see the finish line and hear the roaring crowds. Ride along in a kayak as you glide over calm waters that are suddenly broken by a whale dancing to the surface.

A sense of community can also be had here at the Church of Sport. Most of our members will eagerly assist you with a new sporting pursuit, show you the ropes, and lend you some company while you’re at it. If it’s solitude you’re seeking, you can find that, too. Most of the sports we enjoy can just as easily be accomplished solo.

One area where the Church of Sport comes up a little lame is in the food department. I mean this from the standpoint of “smorgasbord = wonderful.” We don’t have any little old ladies with aprons in our basement whipping up pies and other assorted pastries. You’ll have to fend for yourself and make your own dietary choices, although we will help counsel you to steer toward lower fat, healthier alternatives to donuts and coffeecake.

The leaders of the Church of Sport don’t sit on any lofty thrones or in glass palaces. The leaders of this faith are the congregants themselves—those who enjoy their sports with a passion. We encourage the members of the church to take initiative, and to steal the words of a famous footwear manufacturer, to Just Do It.

Still floating aimlessly about out there on the sea of faithless upheaval? Confused by all of the beliefs available to you and still haven’t found one that lights your path? Can’t decide which karma to drive to chase down your dogma? Don’t worry.

The Church of Sport is waiting for you with open arms.

Four Days to Furnace Creek

2011-10-04T18:41:00.000-07:00

Four days until the Pheasant wheels past the starting line of the Furnace Creek 508!

I'm as ready as I can be. Logistics have fallen into place, and all there's left to do is ride 508 miles and climb over 35,000 feet.

I had a wonderful show of support today from a local Portland business, Tri-D Fitness. Owners, brothers, and Holdingford, Minnesota natives Brad & Scott Berscheid are doing some amazing things in their space off Beaverton Hillsdale Hwy (near Jesuit H.S.). In addition to their personal training and group fitness classes, their bootcamp classes, held in a remarkably cavernous den of pain and suffering, are a certain pathway to the best fitness of your life. I really enjoyed talking with Brad today about his plans for expanding his business and learning of the brothers' vision for shaping the fitness futures of Portland's west side. Thanks, Tri-D, for sharing my vision of endurance sport achievement...I look forward to a long relationship with you!

A reminder...here's the link to the webcast for this weekend's race.

Many thanks for all of your support!

The PHEASANT

Furnace Creek, here I come!

2011-09-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Thanks to those of you who found your way here via the Portland Monthly, a must-read magazine for Rose City residents in-the-know. Ramona DeNies, Zach Dundas, and the crew at PM did a very nice job with the short feature on yours truly. My biggest concern in submitting to the interview was coming across as too crazy or arrogant, and I think they presented my quest for the Death Valley Cup in a very kind manner. As for the crazy part, even the finest wordsmith can't do much to justify my often questionable decisions when it comes to the world of endurance sports!

My training for the Furnace Creek 508 bicycle race has been progressing very well. Last Friday, I managed an epic 192-mile training ride that took me from Portland, through Tillamook, Grand Ronde, Sheridan, Amity, St. Paul, Newberg, and back to Portland. It was a great test of my riding fitness and I felt very strong. As strong as I could feel, that is, with an annotated version of bike training that accompanies a Spring and early Summer preparing for a 135-mile footrace through Death Valley.

Do I wish I had another month of training time available? Sure. I think there are precious few times in a person's life when facing a big event where more preparation isn't desired. But sometimes, we have to know when to trust the preparation we have done, and boldly move forward with confidence. It's in that moment of realization ("I've done all I can do") where mental training marches to the front lines and gives us the power to trust in our innate ability to perform, excel, and endure.

A 508-mile bicycle race, synthesized down to its essence, is a fairly simple affair. Begin riding at the starting line and stop when you've reached the finish. But that's a gross oversimplification of the event, the months of training notwithstanding. Each rider's support crew, a dedicated bunch of comrades who support the cyclist's every turn of the cranks, are invaluable to helping us reach our end goal. Over mountain climbs, through desert heat and nighttime cold, fighting brutal winds, suffering sore muscles, and enduring abject fatigue...the constant through it all is a 3-person team in your corner, delivering food, encouragement, and advice by the bucketful. Their contribution to my own race effort cannot and will not be overlooked.

In two weeks, along with Mary Betts, Dan Jensen, and Danny Westergaard, I'll be shooting for a successful completing of the Death Valley Cup. The Badwater Ultramarathon and the Furnace Creek 508 bike race done in the same calendar year. By accepting the challenge, I've already "won." Finishing in Twentynine Palms will simply be the acknowledgment of a goal envisioned, accepted, pursued, and completed.

Whatever your own goal, whether athletic, professional, or personal, my wish for you is as much enjoyment and excitement that I've experienced in the pursuit of the Death Valley Cup.

Halfway to the Death Valley Cup

2011-07-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

Late last Tuesday evening, I became a two-time finisher of the 135-mile Badwater Ultramarathon.

But crossing the finish line, a silver finisher's belt buckle, and a listing on the results sheet don't tell half the story. To me, Badwater ("BW") is an adventurer's tale; a journey filled with peril, emotional highs and lows, and physical malaise. It is a quest to find something lost for years in our modern world--mostly, ourselves. It is an exorcism of inner demons who cook us from the inside while the Mojave desert cooks us from the outside. It is a love story, a drama, and a comedy, not so neatly rolled into one play of 135 separate acts and not nearly as ordered as any famous poetry or prose. It is, rather, an unordered lot of limericks, a hodgepodge of Haiku, and a stockpile of sonnets, all weaving the narrative into something that anyone can read, try to comprehend, yet not fully understand. Unless, of course, you were there.

And yet, to some, it is just a run. A damn long, hot, tough run...but just a run, nonetheless. To those, I nod and will quietly acknowledge their assertion. It is, on one hand, just a run. On the other hand...

---------

The story is difficult to tell--or at least, to tell well--but in the interest of time and readability, I'll stick to the basic details, despite my desire to write a string of ultrarunning-related sonnets or stupid limericks.

But I didn't say anything about avoiding Haiku:

Hands warm, feet warmer
Sun radiates from the road
Forward run and walk

BW began long before I toed the starting line. Months of training, both on the road and in the sauna. I started to feel like the king of my health club sauna, noticing miniscule temperature variations and even recognizing some of the hot box regulars from time to time. Training sessions consisted primarily of moderate-length mid-week runs and stacked long weekend runs, often reaching over 50 miles for a combined Saturday/Sunday. To combat the horrific springtime weather we experienced in the Pacific NW, I ran dressed in multiple layers, even on the rare pleasant days. Laundry time from February through June was a killer (thanks, Stace!).

When it was time to start the race, I had the best support crew in the business. I've always been an advocate of traveling light, so it was a crew of three for me: Tracy, Paul, and Jennifer, the two former of whom had helped me get through the 2007 version of the race. They would shadow me throughout the day and tend to my every need: Water, drinks, food, massage, psychiatry, and most importantly, cracking the whip when needed. Before I go any further, they were the chief reason why I finished this race. Left to my own devices, I shudder to think what might have been.

Support team of three
A trio beyond friendship
Getting my mind straight

Lining up for photos near the starting line, I moved to the side of the "Elevation -282 ft." sign and looked up to see my former colleague and Ironman Hall of Famer Bob Babbitt! It was the first of many pleasant surprises during the race. Bob and his wife Heidi's support were invaluable at many points in the first part of the race. At BW, the smallest things make the biggest difference, and his cheering certainly buoyed my spirits.

10am, Monday, July 11th. The first steps were filled with relief, as the waiting and preparation were finally done and I could focus on getting down the road. I turned and said to my friend Gerhard Lusskandl (Austria), "Finally!" He just smiled and laughed nervously as we passed the parking lot and deposited ourselves onto the first lonely stretch of road.
I use "lonely" lightly. At no time is a BW runner ever truly alone, save for in his or her head. The carefully orchestrated dance of support vehicles, officials, and fellow runners is a sight to behold...that is, if you're able to see through salt-caked eyes and the waves of heat coming off the road surface.

A light tailwind helped as I matched strides with Gerhard, who had informed me he, too was shooting for a sub-30 hour finish. In his third attempt at a BW finish, I was confident that he was the right train to board, so while I made sure to focus on my own effort, I tried to keep Gerhard and his crew in sight. Plus, he's such a nice guy, our occasional banter made things more interesting, he in his halting English, me in my bad German.

The hills are alive
With the sound of my heartbeat
And dreams of bier steins

As I ran through the first checkpoint at mile 17 (Furnace Creek), my pace, temperature, calorie intake, and feet were all doing well. Tracy had produced a chair for me to visit, but I saw no need and continued down the road, mentally checking off the first 'stage' of the event and prepping my mind for the heart of Death Valley in the next 25 miles. The temperature had slowly risen, and if you talk to 10 people you'll probably hear 10 different max temperature readings. Suffice to say that any time the mercury crests 115 F, it's a pretty warm day. I do know that when I would reach my arms out to the side, palms down facing the roadway, it hurt my hands; it was as if I was reaching inside an oven to retrieve a pan of brownies (sans brownies and glass of cold milk).

The next pleasant surprise of the day soon appeared on the horizon: Friends Bob Lynes and Anna Bates had driven from Oregon to climb Mt. Whitney, and had come out onto the BW course to lend their support. I was blown away! Just seeing another familiar face felt like the greatest gift in the world.

They call him The Beast
It's not just his running chops
Big laugh, bigger heart

The horizon also held a few more surprises in store for me, this time, not welcomed. The heat and a brutal headwind started to take it's toll, and I needed a brief stop in the van around mile 35. Five miles later, I was helping 'give back' to the desert by emptying the contents of my stomach, which removed any semblance of wind in my sails. Staggering, dead man walking, I stumbled in the lonely outpost of Stovepipe Wells (mile 42) for the second checkpoint of the race, unsure of anything other than I needed a serious break and a mega-dose of soul-searching. Withdrawing from the race was never an option, but what now? My 30-hour goal started to fade, running through my fingers like a handful of fine desert sand.

Loneliness of the long-distance runner? I contend that there never is, and never has been, any loneliness inherent in long-distance running. A person is only alone as they create in their mind. Like Andy Dufresne said in The Shawshank Redemption, "There are places in this world that aren't made out of stone...there's something inside...that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours." If you can tap into those places that belong only to you, I think you're never alone. Still, those first few miles after leaving Stovepipe Wells felt pretty damn solitary. I couldn't summon the beautiful places and orchestral music, so I looked to my shoes, where I had printed in large letters, "LIVE NOW." By embracing each moment and focusing on the spaces between each breath, I moved slowly forward.

Live in the moment
Not then, not another day
Only now matters One more break in the van a bit further up the road, and I felt my stomach woes starting to fade, slowly, as the sun dropped over the mountains to my right. Another devil had now replaced my sour gut--the hot pavement had again wilted the soles of my feet, which had also happened in the 2007 race. This time, however, the pain was already searing, and I hadn't even reached the 50-mile mark. Once I got my stomach right, I became acutely aware of the fluid squishing to and fro on my feet with each step, and it burned like fire. This was going to be a long race.

Reminding myself to focus, I soldiered on, paced at various times by all three of the crew. Tracy would walk with me for a while, then Paul, then Jennifer. Sometimes it was their bad jokes that helped, and other times, just their presence. At the top of the 15-mile climb of Townes Pass, I took a food and rest break, and continued down into the Panamint Valley on the sharp descent. Just before the checkpoint at Panamint Resort, I was able to push aside the pain in my feet and actually make some good time. But lights started playing tricks on my eyes at this point. Coupled to the wacked out brain train of pain and the stain of my energy drain, the trippy-dippies started to kick in big-time. By the time I was back on the road after a short break at mile 72, I knew I was just hanging on.

Hallucinogens
Usually cost thrice as much
But here they are free

The second major climb of the race was now staring me in the face, but the rising morning sun helped my mood a lot. With feets afire, I tread on, trying as best I could to push through the pain. Around mile 80, I couldn't take it much longer and had Doctor Tracy Medicine Woman lance the blisters to alleviate some of the pressure. Much of the next 10 to 15 miles was a blur, punctuated by an attack of a large bumblebee and the discovery of $0.34 on the ground, which I gave to Paul to see if he could parlay it into riches a few days later in Vegas. With the $0.05 that I found in Lone Pine and gave to Jennifer, it was a real money-making affair.

At the Darwin turnoff checkpoint, fellow runner Luis was having foot surgery courtesy of foot doc John Vonhof. As I checked in, I'll never forget yelling my number and last name, followed by John not looking up from Luis' feet and asking, "How are the feet, Greg?" It was as if he knew...they were toast.

The 100-mile mark came without fanfare, but I did mark the occasion with a bit of caffeine to boost the mind and spirits. 35 miles were all that stood between me and the finish.

One hundred miles down
Just a marathon to go
Plus a measly ten

A death march ensued. Try as I might, it's tough to find an upside to miles 100 through 120. Perseverance? Toughing it out? Death before D.N.F.? Adjectives escape me as I try to explain my fatigue and the pain in my feet. I teetered on the brink of sorrow as the tree-lined town of Lone Pine seemed to purposefully elude my arrival. It almost danced on the horizon, never coming nearer, teasing me with her promise of fast food restaurants, convenient laundromats, and a cheese omelette.

As I finally passed the Lone Pine checkpoint and made the last turn toward Mt. Whitney, I knew the finish was inevitable. Basic math, however, wrapped me in the cold, wet blanket of disappointment as I knew I would be hours from my pre-race goal. I had reached the threshold that so many athletes have faced: The moment where sucking it up is not an option, but a requirement; the point where pride must be swallowed, pain suffered in deafening silence, and a smile forced, not for those on the outside or for the camera, but for oneself, if only to convince the body and soul that you are indeed doing the right and noble thing.

Creator help me
I surrender my body
Help my mind find peace

The road from Lone Pine tilts up sharply for the final 15 miles of the race. My mind, by now so exhausted, could barely process the images my eyes captured. As darkness descended, rocks, sage, and various roadside plants transformed to people on lounge chairs, children playing, and large, Carnival-ish paper mache heads. Cracks in the road were albino snakes, jumping to bite my ankles. A flashing light ahead beckoned me; and I tried in vain to convince Paul that we were DEFINITELY not on the correct course...that we needed to turn and take the special 'runner shortcut' that I'm sure they had for us. At one point, my crazy babbling got so bad that Jennifer delivered a forceful face slap to knock some sense into me...or so she says. I frankly don't recall a moment of it.

Live now. Through the haze that had enveloped my head, I focused on my breath, knowing that the mind-games were simple by-products of a long day and a half. When deep breaths came, a calmness overcame me. I knew that the miles were short and the finish was at hand.

The final miles gave me time to reflect...the sacrifices my wife and kids had made for months while I disappeared for hours at a time to pound the pavement...the evenings when the couch or bed called, but I could be found in a blistering hot sauna for an hour...the social commitments delayed or canceled due to a training schedule...the heart and soul Tracy, Jennifer, and Paul had poured into this race...

So many people
Give of their time and heart
So I can finish

As the finish tape appeared at the Whitney Portals parking area, I had no emotion left to release. My body, mind, and spirit had used up every ounce of energy in getting me across valleys and mountains, that I broke the tape, smiling, so ready to finally stop. The contrast between the start and finish was so distinct...38 hours earlier, I couldn't wait to start, and now, I couldn't wait to just get in the van and drive back to the hotel in Lone Pine.

The blur of the post-race festivities further spun my head on its axis. That warm, warm feeling of being part of the fraternity of BW finishers is a glow that won't escape me any time soon. But just as soon as I find myself reveling in the energy of finishing BW, I'm sobered by another thought: The prospect of facing the 508-mile Furnace Creek 508 bicycle race in October. If I successfully finish it, I'll be only one of eighteen or so folks to ever have done both races in the same calendar year. It was motivation enough to get me off the couch and onto the bike saddle less than one week removed from finishing BW (a painful one-hour ride, if you must know).

There's another thing I carried with me during the entire BW experience: My love and admiration for my younger sister Amy, who is battling demons of her own, albeit of a different sort. Now a breast cancer survivor of a number of months, her courageous head-to-head battle with the disease has been met with grace, dignity, and power...a power that Amy never has had in short supply. As proud as I am of finishing a silly footrace, I'm tenfold proud of Amy. As I traversed Death Valley, I threw Amy's cancer to the mesquite tradewinds of the Mojave, which carried away any whiff of the disease into the ether. Begone.

This race effort is dedicated to Amy, to the spirit of those who have traveled these roads before me, and to those who shall follow behind me.

If I shall be so lucky as to live another 20 or 40 years on this earth, perhaps I will be able to look back and remember when I played a very small role in the drama, comedy, and tragedy known as Badwater...and smile.

Smile today, all day
For tomorrow may not come
Until winter calls

Remember to love the ones you love.

Famous feet

2011-07-18T18:44:00.001-07:00

Thanks to photog extraordinaire Ron Jones for including my now famous foot in a slideshow at Competitor.com. HERE is the link.

Badwater, redux: 2011

2011-06-27T16:54:00.000-07:00

In July of 2007, I finished what was the most difficult endurance event I had ever entered, the Badwater Ultramarathon. For 135 miles through Death Valley, California in the searing heat--where temperatures crest 120 degrees F--I made my way from the dry lake bed of Badwater to the slopes of Mt. Whitney. I had a good day and finished in 13th place.

Now, four years later, I'm ready to do it again. In two weeks I'll be joining some of the world's best ultrarunners (or, craziest, at least!) as we start another version of the race.

Training has gone very well, minus one small tumble I took a few weeks ago where I banged my knee hard on the pavement. My long runs, heat training, core strength work, and mental preparation have all progressed just about as well I could have hoped.

But Badwater, I've found, isn't just about exceptional physical, and even mental preparation. It's about one's willingness to endure discomfort and pain. It's about one's ability to stay in the moment, even in the darkest hours (literally and figuratively). It's about being able to surrender to the forces of nature--the heat, the wind, the burning sun--and continue to move forward regardless of the challenge. It's about being able to surrender your entire being for a short passage of time--around 30 hours--to achieve the simple of breaking the finish line tape.

Simple, but not easy.

Layer on the fact that I'm adding a brutal challenge to my Badwater goal this year: Three months after Badwater is finished, I'll return to Death Valley for the Furnace Creek 508 bicycle race, a 508-mile test that is considered "The toughest 48 hours in endurance sports." If I am blessed (and lucky) enough to finish both races, I will have completed the Death Valley Cup, an honor reserved for those who do both races in the same calendar year. Seventeen or so folks have done this, and I'm trying to add my name to the list. (More on the new PHEASANT image--designed by my buddy Jason Walton--in a later post...the bird being my animal totem for the FC 508).

At my side during Badwater will be my 3-person support crew: Tracy, Paul, and Jennifer, a dedicated group of individuals who will feed me, ice me down, water me, and yell general nasties in my direction (or do whatever it takes to get my sorry ass down the road!).

Also supporting my race efforts are a number of companies who have offered their money, time, and products...and boy, am I ever grateful for their support!

Greenlayer Sports, a company I'm proud to be associated with, is comprised of a dedicated, smart, and hard-working people who have a simple mission: Offer high-end performance running apparel--comprised of recycled polyester materials--at affordable prices. If you're going to be at the Outdoor Retailer expo in Salt Lake in August, check out their booth at PV305. Or, if you have more questions about the company and its products, just ask me! I'll be wearing the Evolution series shirts at Badwater--the perfect shirt for the tough conditions.

When the heat is 'turned up to eleven' (obligatory Spinal Tap reference), there's not other cap I want on my head than one offered by my friends at Headsweats. I'll be wearing the Long Bill and Protech versions in the heat of the Mojave. Most comfortable hats ever! I forget it's even on my head...that is, until the sun is cranking down and I need life-giving shade!

Foot care isn't just a 'good thing' at Badwater...it's life and death! That's why I'm trusting my feet to Drymax socks. Their technology stands feet and feet above the rest. For Badwater, I'll wear the Maximum Protection Running sock.

Our shirts will be have a special logo this year: As the sole entrant from the great state of Oregon with an all-Oregonian crew, I thought it appropriate to show a little love for the place I love. Over my heart, I'll be wearing the Heart In Oregon logo, a nod to the Beaver (and Duck) state. If you're at the race, look for our crew handing out small Heart In Oregon stickers.

So...here I go. Two weeks from today, and counting. Thank you all very much for your support, thoughts, prayers, good vibes, chants, music, and love.

Vive Le Tour!

2009-07-27T03:00:00.001-07:00

Out for dinner with friends on Saturday night, and my mobile rang. It was my buddy Steve, calling from Paris: “If you can get here by noon tomorrow, you’re going to have a great day,” was all he said.

It didn’t much prodding from my dinner companions to decide. I hit the road at 5am, southbound for France. As the sun rose over the Dutch and Belgian countryside, I got another reminder of Europe’s beauty.

Finding a parking garage was pretty easy, and I made my way toward Steve’s hotel near the Champs de Elysees. It was a very warm day to be wearing a suit, but since I had a few “official” duties with Steve’s firm (he manages the hospitality for the Cervelo cycling team’s supporters), it was the least I could do to (try to) look sharp. My job was to simply assist Steve and make sure that the guests were well-cared for (escorted here and there, etc.).

Exiting at the FDR metro stop, I saw that the boulevard was already humming with activity at 11am, over five hours before the riders would arrive. Lunch was a splendid affair at one of the nicest hotels in Paris, period: The Hotel de Crillon, overlooking the Place de la Concorde (the location of the Obelisk that the riders encircle during their 8 laps of the Champs. After a very leisurely lunch, we took the short walk to one of the guest pavilions near the finish line on the Champs. The location was incredible--located directly across from a massive jumbotron, the riders passed us seconds after crossing the finish line on each lap. The shade offered by the canopy above us was quite welcomed, as temps were characteristic of the hot weather that had plagued the Tour for the previous 3 weeks.

Every time the small breakaway group and the peloton crossed in front of us, I almost had to pinch myself to make sure that it wasn’t a dream. I’ve been fortunate enough to see many incredible sporting events, including some of the classic cycling events in the world. But there’s certainly something to be said about being on the Champs de Elysees for the finish of the Tour de France.

After the race, with the green points jersey firmly attached to Cervelo rider Thor Hushovd (yes!!), it was time for the awards ceremony. Remarkably, the podium was located just off to our right, and we had a clear shot of the proceedings. Andy Schleck (2nd place overall plus winner of the white best young rider’s jersey), looked ecstatic. Alberto Contador (race winner in the yellow jersey), was obviously thrilled with his second TdF victory, though I don’t care much for the finger “pistol” salute that has somehow become his trademark touchdown dance. Lance looked...I’m not sure. It was mixture of one part disappointment at not being able to win, one part contentment of making the podium after one of the greatest retirement/comebacks in modern sports history, and one part classic Lance “I told you so” to his French naysayers.

A shot I did like was one of Lance in a tent after coming down off the podium with him and his three older kids and his new baby on his lap. Very nice.

Interesting side note: Over the course of the day, I randomly saw three Americans whom I know!

Finally, the parade of teams wrapped up the amazing day. Smiles all around.

As a cherry on top of the dessert, as I walked out of the pavilion area to catch the metro back to my car, I walked past three men--one of whom was Bernard “The Badger” Hinault, one of the greatest cyclists in history. I turned toward him, smiled, gave him a bon jour and a merci, and shook his hand. Excellent.

Thanks to my buddy Steve for the invite! Thanks to Paris for...well, just being Paris. And thanks to the cyclists of the Tour de France for giving us one of the greatest displays of sport on earth. I’m so glad I was there to witness the finish in person.

A Month of Lasts

2009-07-27T02:25:00.001-07:00

Well...we knew the day would come: The day that we would be faced with leaving our home in Amsterdam and making the journey back to America. Without going too much into details, we knew for some time that it would be this autumn, but the exact date was in question. Now, we know--after some final European travel, we’ll be landing on U.S. shores on the 1st of September.

Visiting somewhere and actually LIVING there are two completely different things. Even extended visits in a location can’t give you a complete picture of a place. Only when your mail, your garbage, your water bills, and your grocery stores are tied to a postal code can you actually get a sense of what your home is really like. And that’s exactly what we have done during our nearly two years in Amsterdam.

As an expat, you make a very big investment in attempting to gain some level of “bi-culturality” of your new location, and I feel that our investment has been large. Learning the language, navigating the cultural waters, adjusting to a different type of lifestyle all take serious time and effort.

But for us, like many expats, the return on investment has been staggering. Travel has taken us to unbelievable destinations. Digging deep into the local culture has taught us more about ourselves and our perceptions of the world than we ever thought possible. And the friends we’ve made are much more than just casual acquaintances--they’re true friends for life.

A goodbye to Holland wouldn’t be complete without a huge note of thanks to our Dutch neighbors and the many Dutch people who have helped to make our short stay in this country a good one. It’s funny...some people make fun of the Dutch, calling them rude, insensitive at times, and closed to possibilities. Our experience has been to the contrary. Warmth, sensitivity, and a fun-loving sensibility have been the defining qualities that we’ve experienced with the Dutch. The world could be a better place if we could all take a little bit of The Netherlands with us.

Before we depart, we’ll visit the fjords of Norway and the sun-drenched beaches of the Greek isles. It’s a great way to wrap up our European journey. For now, it’s a few week of “lasts” in Amsterdam.

Edinburgh: Much more than tartans and bagpipes

2009-07-27T01:13:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the delay in posting about our last international journey, a trip that dad and the kids took in May to Edinburgh, Scotland.

What a wonderful city! Edinburgh and it's beautiful streets, buildings, places, and people will remain as one of the very special destinations we have visited during our time in Europe. Three days of exploring were our agenda, and the city had plenty to keep adults and kids alike engaged and interested. Well done, Scotland!

Click HERE for a link to our photos from Edinburgh.

Disney!

2009-06-09T07:44:00.000-07:00

After a trip to Disneyland in California a few years ago, I (Greg) swore that I'd never visit the “friendliest place on earth” ever again. But what is a parent to do when two sets of young, sad, cute eyes look up at you and plead to visit the European version of Mickey's home? Relent, I guess.

So, with a school holiday in store for the kids, we set off southward for the Parisian suburbs that house the magic kingdom. After an early departure and a 5-hour drive, we arrived as fresh as 2-week old milk, ready for spinning teacups, spacey mountains, and sightings of Pluto.

Stacey stayed with us for the first day before jumping on the train to the center of Paris to join up with some friends. We took advantage of every moment within the park, hitting the rides, watching the parades, and enjoying the experience that only Disney can deliver. One of the highlights for dad was sitting between the two kids on the “Big Thunder Mountain” roller coaster, listening in my right ear as Maya squealed and laughed with delight, then looking over at Cole with a look of sheer terror on his face. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I thought for some time about who he resembled with his face, and a few images popped into my head: Those of Chevy Chase and the teenager in the movie Fletch, when Fletch "borrows" the car to escape from the bad guys...Here are the pics:

Mickey delivered on his promise to show us a good time. I only wish he could have made the drive home (plagued with traffic jams and highway accidents near Brussels) as fun as the time within the Magic Kingdom.

Back home in Amsterdam, we cooled our jets for a full day before heading out on ANOTHER trip that would take us through the remainder of the kids' week holiday from school—but you'll have to read the next blog installment for the details.

The Classics of Spring

2009-04-28T08:25:00.001-07:00

Last April, I treated myself to a trip to northern France for the venerable Paris-Roubaix bicycle race. It was an experienced that I'll never forget...the legions of screaming (mostly Belgian Flemish) cycling fans, huddled along the brutal cobblestone roads in the middle of the countryside, screaming their collective drunk asses off as the riders streamed by. It was almost as if I went to a Flemish street party and a bicycle race broke out.

This year, I made plans to replicate the journey, adding another race or two to my schedule. The Tour of Flanders was out (holiday in Portugal). Fleche Wallone (a mid-week race) would not be too feasible. That left Paris-Roubaix, Amstel Gold, and Liege-Bastogne-Liege. Any 2 out of 3 combo of these races would thrill me. I chose the first two...a return to P.R. and a view of the biggest pro cycling race in the Netherlands (A.G.).

Joining me for PR was a fellow British School parent, Kris, who happens to hail from Seattle. We had our own little corner of the Pacific Northwest set up alongside the cobbles of France, ready for action. Kris offered to drive (with his Washington State license plates), and the comments we had from other race fans were interesting. The plates opened up a number of conversations with interesting people who were amazed that we had driven “all the way from America” to watch the race. Funny.

The flags of Flanders flapped in the wind as the all-night/all-day party roared to life. Depending on your point of view, the weather held out, too. I say “depending” because many PR purists love the challenging weather conditions for which the race is so famous. The “Hell of the North” as it's sometimes called is notorious for rain-slickened cobbles and mud that blackens the riders' faces and clogs their brakes. But the light overnight showers ended early and would not be a factor. In dry years, the dust can be as bad (or worse) for the riders than the mud, but the light precip eliminated even that as a factor. Just the distance of the race, the brutality of the cobbled sections, and the riders' legs and lungs would determine who would arrive first on the velodrome in Roubaix.

A late crash very near our location on Le Carrefour de Arbe (just 20km from the finish) would have a huge outcome on the result. Two-time champion Tom Boonen took advantage of the crash by his opponents, throwing in a surge, and vaulting into the lead that he would hold to the finish. The Belgians were overcome with joy at Boonen's third win! American perennial favorite George Hincapie never got it together and would finish back in the pack.

As for us, we enjoyed the day with a few eats, a few drinks, and soaking up the unique atmosphere. The trip home and following four days weren't too pleasant for me—I had contracted a stomach flu—but the fond memories of another day on the “kinderhoofd” (Dutch for cobblestones) will linger forever.

One week later, I embarked on a 2-hour train ride for Maastricht, in the far southeast corner of the Netherlands. After perusing the maps of the Amstel Gold race, I determined that with a little fancy footwork and help from the regional train network, I might be able to see the race pass by FIVE times. I managed to catch the start in Maastricht, then jumped on the train for the first stop in Meersen, where the riders were faced with a steep, short climb about 38 km into the race. Already, a breakaway group of 5 or 6 had formed and held a 6 or 7 minute advantage on the peloton.

At the top of the climb, I met up with Kris and his family, who were catching more cycling action after a week holiday in Germany. They gave me a lift to the town of Valkenburg, a short drive away after one minor wrong turn (my navigational skills might have been compromised by the excitement of the day). We parted ways as they headed out of town to a major climb and I parked myself on the side of the legendary Cauberg hill in Valkenburg. Over the course of the afternoon, the race would pass my location three times.

The scene in Valkenburg was no less of a party than the nutty Flemish scene in northern France a week earlier. Cafes overflowed with patrons getting in their early-morning, mid-afternoon, late-afternoon, and early-evening cold adult beverages. There might have been some food served, too, but I didn't see much of that. I talked with a number of keen cycling fans from many lands: Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, France, Italy, England, and Luxembourg. To change the scenery a bit, I situated myself in 3 different spots on the Cauberg. On this day, I welcomed the sunshine and clear blue skies as I lounged about in the town, trying to soak up every last bit of cycling ambiance...and it felt SO good.

At the end of the day, Russian rider Sergei Ivanov would prove that previous high finishes in the race were no fluke as he sprinted away from the Dutch rider Karsten Kroon for the win with just 200 meters remaining before the line.

As the crowds screamed their support for the riders over the last kilometer, I knew that my Spring Classic experience was coming to a close for the year. But I couldn't help smiling knowing that I had been a witness to something very special on two consecutive Sundays.

(The beautiful painting above is by Gregory Allen Page...visit HERE to view this painting and his other works.)

Sunny Portugal

2009-04-22T13:01:00.000-07:00

Our European adventure continued in early April with a trip to a long-anticipated destination: Sunny Portugal.

After an early-morning arrival in Lisbon, we grabbed a cab to our home for the next 3 days, a beautiful apartment in the city center. We've stayed in some hard-to-find locations before, but this one took the cake—even the cab driver, a 30-year veteran, had to consult his maps. But we were again pleasantly surprised with the digs, a beautiful 2-story flat with views of the old castle.

And the Castelo de Sao Jorge would be one of our first destinations in Lisbon, a city teeming with history, culture, and residents proud of their city's rich legacy. Everywhere we went in Lisbon, hand-painted tiles covered entire building fronts, their bold colors dancing in the sunlight. An old tram line carried us up the steep city streets...the creaking wood of the tram car a tourist sight unto itself. The castle provided great views of old rooftops, the Tagus River, and the various majestic structures of Lisbon. But the early morning travel and day of exploring Lisbon sent us back to the apartment in search of dinner.

Day #2 was another full day of Lisbon sightseeing, including the Elevador de Santa Justa (a cool old elevator), the Rossio square, the Torre de Belem (tower), the aquarium, and the Expo '98 waterfront area.

The following day, we ventured out of Lisbon to the scenic town of Sintra, where we were treated to a magical visit to the Palacio da Pena, which appeared to be a royal residence straight out of a Disney fairytale. Absolutely stunning!

A stay at a beautiful country inn about 1.5 hours south of Lisbon near the town of Cercal would be our next destination. In this area, we basically explored the beautiful beaches and coastline, sometimes accompanied by our new friends Francisco, Emma, Zachary, and Annabelle, a lovely family from Geneva, Switzerland. Fran's Portugese heritage and command of the language helped considerably, and our kids fell immediately in line with the other two as if they had been friends for years. Two days in this countryside were filled with relaxation, sunshine, and fun times.
We pointed the rental car north of Lisbon for the final leg of our journey. Obidos, a beautiful old fortress town was our destination. If you're planning on visiting Portugal, be sure not to miss this great town. A walk on the sentry paths of the battlements gave us an incredible view of both the town and the surrounding countryside. Off and on rain in our last two days couldn't dampen our spirits, nor take the shine off of our great journey to this marvelous country.

See all the photos of our trip to Portugal HERE.

Good night, Paul Harvey

2009-03-01T01:00:00.000-08:00

Heralded as a leading conservative voice in American Broadcasting, radio great Paul Harvey passed away this past week at the age of 90.

Anyone who has had access to an AM radio since 1951 had probably heard Harvey's distinctive voice, his unique delivery style, and his down-home way of delivering not the news, but stories about real people, both common and famous.

He might have been a champion of the right, but those of us who came to love his twice-a-day musings on life loved him more for his folksy style that reached listeners of every stripe. He made us cry...he made us think...but mostly, he made us laugh.

His catchphrase "Now you know the REST of the story" became as well-known and well-liked as the smell of fresh apple pie cooking in mama's kitchen. But the gift he gave us each time he crafted his tale was much more satisfying than a stomach full of pie.

The voice, now silent, will be missed. Thanks, Paul Harvey. Good DAY!

Austria: A Peaceful, Easy Feeling

2009-02-22T13:33:00.000-08:00

Just rolled back into Amsterdam after a week holiday in the gorgeous Austrian Alps. Our destination for the week was the idyllic village of Obergurgl (which is near Hochgurgl, if you must ask).

We’d been looking forward to this ski holiday for many months, and it exceeded our expectations. Along with enjoying the time together as a family, we were blessed with ideal weather, great snow conditions, and a gorgeous ski in/ski out hotel. Sunshine soaked the slopes for our first few days, then we enjoyed a massive snowstorm that covered the mountains with 20cm of fluffy powder.We cut our skiing short on the snowfall day, opting instead to enjoy a long day poolside in our hotel's incredible spa area. With a big, warm swimming pool for the kids, 2 types of saunas, a hot tub, 2 steam rooms, an ice room, and foot baths, this spa would rank as high as any I've experienced. Stacey enjoyed a massage on our blizzard day – something she’s making a habit of every time it’s offered on our holidays.

Americans are in very short supply during holiday times in Austria. While we ran into busloads of Brits and many Germans & Austrians, the only fellow Yanks we encountered were fellow expats/friends of ours from Amsterdam whom we had recently met through mutual friends. Maya had a great time in ski school with her friend Sami, while we had a blast with Sami's parents and a few other couples. Both kids loved the ski school, and we were very impressed with their skiing abilities by the end of the week.

Another nice part of the week was meeting new friends. Dinner was included in the price of our room, so we had an assigned table for the entire week. While the view out the window didn't change much, we were lucky to be seated next to a family with two children (Frederic and Caroline) with similar ages to ours. The kids became inseparable from the moment we returned from skiing each day until bedtime. The Anderson family from Denmark were delightful, and by day #2, the kids were begging to sit together at mealtime, affording us the chance to get to know Christian and Romana better and find out more about their lives as expats in Berlin. And the food in the dining room was superb...absolutely delicious salads, soups, main courses, and off-the-charts desserts.

On the slopes, gondolas and large chair lifts took us to vantage points that took our breath away. It didn't take a genius to understand that the vistas of the valleys and peaks surrounding Obergurgl keep bringing back skiers year after year. The terrain was varied enough that we had fun discovering new runs each day, and the on-slope dining options for lunch breaks were plentiful--serving up spaetzl and other wonderful Austrian culinary delights.

The drive from Amsterdam to Austria at the beginning of the week was a bit rough (traffic, bad weather), but we split the journey into two days to lessen the impact. Maya and Cole loved the return trip...thanks to our portable DVD player!

Click HERE for all of the photos from our ski holiday.

You Can Move a Tree

2009-02-05T02:37:00.000-08:00

I was out and about this morning in the neighborhood on the bike, when an enormous yellow construction crane caught my eye. Funny, I thought. I hadn't seen the crane before in this particular spot. Curiosity got the best of me as I turned the bike to investigate.

A very small crowd had gathered to watch the crane lift a huge, old tree (poplar? oak? elm? sorry to arborists everywhere for my lack of city-tree knowledge). It seems as if the school from which the tree was being moved is soon to undergo an expansion and building phase, necessitating the move of the tree from its current location to one 20 meters south. The tree's roots had been carefully trimmed and its root ball dug out--and the tree now hung a meter or so above the ground, awaiting its final (?) resting place. A woman and I estimated its age at no less than 80 years and no more than 160 years.

Impossible, right? You can't move a tree!

Perhaps it's the rain today and accompanying gray skies that turned my thoughts toward the philosophical, but I couldn't help find the metaphor that this grand old tree represents.

As children, we sprout roots, growing from seedlings to young pliable trees. The roots make their inevitable spread, cementing us more firmly in place. We suck nutrients (knowledge, experience, view of our surroundings) only from our immediate surroundings. Our view of the sun doesn't change much--only our perspective differs slightly as the seasons change and we gain height. We never see what's just around the corner. We grow and shed new leaves each year, but the cycle is repeated time and time again. Our bark grows thicker. Storms come and go, and we weather them as best we can, riding out the toughest times and hoping for calmer weather. Sometimes, we lose a limb. People climb on us, carve their initials in our trunk, and try to cut us down.

In this tree's case, man has intervened to (hopefully) give a condenmed plant a new lease on life. It might not be an easy journey--the list of perils are long. It's roots might never take to the new soil. It's structural integrity is suspect, at best, until years have passed and it stands as strongly as it has for a century. The stress of the move might be too great for it to survive.

But consider the optimistic possibilities: What if the tree catches a break, its roots take hold, and it thrives for another 100 years (or more)? A neighbor across the street will have a new view of the magnificient tree. New flowers or other plants might thrive in its shadow in a place that didn't previously enjoy vegetation. Birds, bugs, and small animals may nest and play in a spot more conducive to their health. Children in the adjoining playground will have a close-up encounter with one of Amsterdam's magnificent old inhabitants.

It turns out, that, just maybe, you can move a tree. And just the same, we can make positive changes in our lives. It's not easy, and if your motivation isn't high enough, you probably won't do the things you need to do to change. But if a 100-year-old tree can be moved, why can't we start exercising, cut out unhealthy habits, open our minds to a new idea, make a difference in someone else's life, or simply, remember to really love the ones we love.

To quote a well-worn phrase, old habits die hard. Gettin' a "round tuit" is tough to find. But with the right motivation, and an unending belief in yourself, anything is possible.

Even moving an old tree from one place to another.

(photo shown is NOT the tree from this story and used only for illustrative purposes)

In the Land of the Pyramids

2009-01-22T00:52:00.000-08:00

From lush tropical forests to grand old cities to sun-swept beaches...we've been very fortunate to experience an amazing variety of travel destinations.

But very few journeys around the globe could prepare us for our recent whirlwind 8-hour tour of Cairo, Egypt. During our delightful time in South Africa, we examined our travel schedule closely and realized that with a bit of rearranging, we could delay our return to Amsterdam by a day...giving us a day in Cairo to visit the pyramids, see some ancient tombs, and perhaps tour the National Museum for a peek at some King Tut artifacts.

An important note: Thanks to a book that he had recently received, Cole was absolutely OBSESSED with the story of King Tut and the discovery of his tomb, regularly quoting facts that an eighth-grader would be hard pressed to remember! So the prospect of seeing Tut's "stuff" had him nearly shaking with excitement.

Our tour began in the morning with a drive through the city, enjoying the gorgeous early morning sun (more on WHY later) and getting a glimpse of the ancient burial areas, a collection of low-rising "houses" that entomb many generations-worth of Egyptian families. After a brief stop to photograph the (horridly polluted and crowded banks of) Nile River, our driver pulled over at the "Papyrus Museum." I use quotation marks on purpose, because there was nothing "museum" about the place. The Egyptian economy at its best, the driver had some sort of collusive arrangement with the owners of this Papyrus Tourist Trap. Although a brief demonstration of the papyrus-making process was interesting, the hard sell of the papyrus products was less than desirable for these tired tourists. Caveat emptor, right?

Onward we went to a camel-back tour of the incredible pyramids, the Sphinx, and some ancient tombs. Cole loved the camels, while Maya simply tolerated them. But we all loved the views of these remarkable structures and felt privileged to be in their presence. The camel tour operator did a bit softer sell than the papyrus dudes, but still--a word to the wise: Caveat emptor. It was beginning to be a theme. It seemed that I had learned nothing from previous experiences in the souks and markets of Africa and other places in the Middle East!The Egyptian Museum was next...a virtual treasure trove of antiquities. Highlights were the Tut collection (overwhelming in its richness and size), and the MUMMY room!

Next up was a wandering journey through Khan el-Khalili, one of Cairo's major markets. Lots of fun and JAMMED with people looking for bargains or trying to avoid the hawkers. We escaped with most of our money preserved, minus a few Egyptian Pounds for some scarves and trinkets. But the crush of people started to overwhelm us, so we hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel.

That's when we realized the extent of the air pollution in Cairo. That beautiful early-morning sun was now a gorgeous late-afternoon sun, and had turned the sky a marvelous shade of red and orange. But the reasons for this spectacular light show were rather nefarious...the intense haze in the sky wasn't just "high up there" in the clouds. Brownish-gray clouds hung low, and afternoon traffic sputtered choking clouds of diesel fumes that forced us to cover our noses and mouths with scarves. Not a pretty sight.

But the overall experience of Cairo is certainly one that we won't soon forget...and one that you should take yourself if you ever get the chance.

HERE is a link to all of our photos from Cairo. Enjoy!

Inauguration Speech Text

2009-01-20T23:15:00.000-08:00

My fellow citizens:

I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.

Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often, the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because We the People have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebearers, and true to our founding documents.

So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.

That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.

These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land -- a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.

Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America: They will be met.

On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.

On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the fainthearted -- for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long, rugged path toward prosperity and freedom.

For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

Time and again, these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.

For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act -- not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. And all this we will do.

Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions -- who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.

What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them -- that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works -- whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. And those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account -- to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day -- because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.

Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart -- not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: Know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.

Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.

We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort -- even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.

For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.

To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West: Know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.

As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment -- a moment that will define a generation -- it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

This is the source of our confidence -- the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.

This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed -- why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.

So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive... that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it]."

America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back, nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

Lions and Zebras and Elephants...oh my!

2009-01-11T07:40:00.000-08:00

It's hard to find the best words to describe our recent holiday trip to the wondrous country of South Africa. Remarkable; trip-of-a-lifetime; spectacular; marvelous...they are all candidates. But any of these superlatives fall a bit short in explaining the things we saw and experienced.

A much better way of telling the story is simply by directing you to our online collection of photographs that chronicle the trip. Click HERE to view the album.

If you want a brief rundown of our itinerary, here you go: We departed Amsterdam on December 21, made a connection in Cairo, then continued on to Johannesburg. From there, we grabbed a shuttle for the 4-hour drive to the Madikwe Game Reserve for 3 days & nights at the lovely Jaci's Safari Lodge. Each morning (at 5:30) and afternoon (at 4:30) we were taken into the bush by our own game ranger for a 2.5 to 3-hour "hunt" for the most famous residents of the African wilderness. While the kids certainly liked the trip, it was the adults who really savored the experience of seeing lions, giraffe, zebras, elephants, hippos, rhinos, etc. in their natural environment. Watching a young male lion stalk a herd of water buffalo; being threatened by a black rhinoceros just a meter away; seeing a bull elephant charge our jeep; these experiences and many, many more are things that we'll never forget anytime soon.

From Jaci's, we continued our journey with a short flight to Cape Town, located near the southwest tip of the country (and continent). Two days in this delightful city were very nice, with excursions to the city's aquarium, enjoying views from atop Table Mountain, and a visit to Boulders Beach to swim with penguins. A poignant reminder of the sub-standard living conditions (an understatement) for the majority of South Africans was driven home with a tour of one of the city's townships, a collection of shacks and shantys--constructed of wood, corrugated metal, and scraps of plastic--crammed together into large villages where it looks as if sanitation trucks haven't visited in years. But the cleanliness (we're told) inside many of the shacks are surprisingly immaculate.

Next, we headed east on South Africa's famed Garden Route, with stops near Oudtdshoorn and Knysna. At our first stop, we visited an incredible ostrich farm where the kids were able to sit on the back of an ostrich and see an ostrich race. Outside of Knysna, after a day of enjoying the sunshine on the beautiful Indian Ocean beaches, we hopped aboard a boat for a morning tour of Plettenberg Bay to try to spot some bottlenose dolphins...which we did, albeit very briefly.

Our final destination was outside of Port Elizabeth at the incomparable Hitgeheim Lodge, located near Addo Elephant Park. Although we had seen plenty of elephants earlier in the trip, the massive numbers of the big guys who gathered at one of Addo's watering holes was certainly a sight to behold. And an elephant back safari, complete with rides atop two of the mammoth animals, was a fitting end to a holiday that was bigger than life.
Our journey back to Holland was long, but we broke it up with a one-day stay in Cairo to see the pyramids, etc. More on this journey in a subsequent blog post.

Again, all the photos of this holiday are HERE.

I'm thankful for...

2008-11-26T14:30:00.001-08:00

...a royal flush on the flop. Toothpaste that doesn't clump. Lack of b.o. A puppy's breath. A kind checkout clerk at the market. No noise from my derailleur and chain. Funny bumper stickers. Finding joy. Warm potato soup with dumplings. A creamy ale. The satisfaction of a good run. My children's laughter. The smell of pies cooking. Warm sun on my face. The smell of wood burning in a fireplace. Good jeans. Good genes. Thoughtful comedy. Selflessness that I see in others. My health. My wife's embrace and understanding. Patience. Peace. Hope. Love....and about 35,472 other things that I couldn't possibly list right now.

Sinterklaas!

2008-11-25T11:26:00.000-08:00

My favorite Sinterklaas song (click on the lyrics for the tune):

Sinterklaasje, kom maar binnen met je knecht,

en we zitten allemaal even recht.

Misschien heeft u wel even tijd,

voordat u weer naar Spanje rijdt.

Sinterklaasje, kom maar even bij ons aan

en laat uw schimmeltje maar buiten staan.

En we zingen en we springen en we zijn zo blij,

want er zijn geen stoute kind'ren bij.

En we zingen en we springen en we zijn zo blij,

want er zijn geen stoute kind'ren bij.

German Castle Holiday

2008-11-20T02:41:00.000-08:00

The kids had a 4-day weekend last week, so we loaded up the car and headed off to the Rhine River valley in Germany to stay in a few castles. Stacey had work commitments, so it was just daddy & the kids.

We had a blast, enjoying the incredible scenery, great food, and beautiful castles. Cole kept wondering where the actual prince and princess were located, so I had to explain that HE was the real prince.

Here's a link to all of the photos from the journey.

Auf Wiedersehn!

Hup, Holland, Hup!

2008-11-20T01:18:00.000-08:00

I attended my first ever top-tier football (American: soccer) game last night at the Amsterdam Arena, witnessing Holland dominate Sweden in a "friendly" match 3-1.

Dutch stars Van Persie, Sneijder, and Kuyt all saw action, with the former scoring two of three goals and the latter with an impressive header late in the match. MATCH REPORT

The atmosphere at the match was as interesting as the action on the field. Notably absent from this massive stadium: Cheerleaders, continuous sound effects/music, and roving beer/food vendors. Matter of fact, it was an "alcoholvrij" event, meaning that there was NO beer served whatsoever. Oh, the HUMANITY!

Halftime featured a competition sponsored by a local radio station where 3 individuals had to kick a ball from midfield and try to hit the goal crossbar on the fly. Nobody got close! But a guy sitting next to us said that he's seen it happen, and the winner pockets a cool €50,000!

A great time...thanks to my host Mr. Hamilton of Swooshworld International for the gratis tix. By the way, 6453 was well branded throughout the stadium!

Sunning in Turkey

2008-11-09T00:42:00.000-08:00

Although Amsterdam has had lovely autumn weather, the cold and occasional rain can get under your skin.

For a week-long holiday last week, we found the ideal remedy to the cold-weather blues: A trip to the sunny southern coast of Turkey.

Our destination was Lykia World, an all-inclusive resort about 1.5 hours south of Dalaman. No cooking, no cleaning, no errands, no work. Just relaxing in the sunshine by the pool and on the Mediterranean beach next to the clear, refreshing waters of the sea.

We couldn't have asked for better weather. Every day we had high temps around 27 degrees (80 F), and it even hit 30 on occasion. Perfect for sunbathing and feeling great.

Maya & Cole enjoyed the great kids' club at the resort, while Mom & Dad caught up on some pleasure reading and had plenty of sunshine therapy. We ventured out of the resort once to visit some ruins and a remarkable beach at Patara, but otherwise stayed mostly within the confines of the resort. A half-day boat ride was another excursion, complete with swims in clear lagoons, a visit from an old woman selling pancakes from a boat!

Looking for a remarkable holiday with a few of your favorite British, German, and Russian tourists? Check out Turkey. The warmth of the sun is matched only by the warmth of the Turkish people.Click HERE to view all of our photos from Turkey.

The Dawning of a New Day

2008-11-05T00:49:00.000-08:00

"So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other."

-Barack Obama, Victory Speech, Chicago, November 4, 2008

It was these words that moved me to tears as I heard them in Amsterdam's early morning hours. Although the sun had not yet risen over the Amstel River, a new day--and a new era--had indeed dawned on America, and to some extent, the entire world, regardless of time zone.

It's rather difficult to summarize my emotions on this November 5th. As the wind swirls and the cold penetrates through the streets of Amsterdam, I feel as warmly optimistic about my home country's future as I have in a long time.

I've always been what I consider a "patriot," but perhaps in a way that doesn't fall under the traditional definition. I believe wholeheartedly in the power of democracy, the strength of a free-market economy, and the industrialism and ingenuity of Americans. I applaud our nation's creativity, work ethic, friendliness, and incredible generosity (both domestically and internationally). I'm in awe of our forefathers, honor the courage of those who have walked the land before us and who died to protect our freedoms, and love the plenty and gifts that we enjoy today. Our Constitution and the Bill of Rights are brilliant documents, written by forward-thinking, intelligent men who were ahead of their time.

And there are plenty of things to dislike and to be ashamed of. We have abused our privileges and soiled our land, water, and air. We have taken advantage of others, forgotten the helpless, punished the innocent, and profited out of greed and lust for power. We have hated those who look different than us or believed and behaved differently than us. We have made decisions out of haste and ignorance instead of logic and careful consideration. These black marks on America's report card don't extend just eight years into the past, but have existed for generations.

Yet, we march on in pursuit of better lives for our children and subsequent generations. Whom among us doesn't aspire to do better, feel better, and make better decisions?

That's what a great leader--in business, politics, education, or sports--can help us do. They can help inspire, affect change, and see the greatness that lies in our nation and its people. Through things as simple as a speech or a little action, they help make us feel that we can do better, feel better, make better decisions, and be a positive force in this world.

I'm not a big fan of Ronald Regan. But regardless what you think about the man's politics, there's a reason why he was dubbed "The Great Communicator." He had a way, through his words and demeanor, of helping the American people feel better about themselves and believing in their ability to do better things in this world. Some felt that he went too far, instilling a confidence, fueled by a cowboy mentality, that eventually developed into an "international arrogance." Still, he was a leader who lifted us up.

This is what President-elect Obama can do for our country. His calm, studied, intellectual approach lies in stark contrast to what we've become accustomed to in the last eight years. His words, the delivery of those words, coupled with his actions, can affect change at a time when we need it the most.

The immense power that Barack Obama has been granted by the electorate must be quite the weighty burden right now. The eyes of the entire world are upon him, and the world expects change swiftly. Mr. Obama's easel is not blank--every color of paint has been splashed upon the canvas, which must be carefully scraped away and painted over with a fresh base-coat before we (working together) can start to create a masterpiece that we all can stand back and admire. Sacrifices must be made by ALL of us so that we can improve America and stand again as a nation that is respected around the world.

People in Amsterdam and other places across Europe are incredibly curious about the American political process and have been watching this campaign with great interest. Not a day goes by that I don't discuss the topic with a non-American citizen. Each one of these discussions, whether casual comments or deep philosophical talks, renews (1.) my interest in our nation's wellbeing and international perception; and (2.) my sense of pride in our country. Today, I have another reason to be re-energized: The election of a man whom I believe can be the catalyst for great things.

Yes We Can. The challenge now will be for us to transform that saying slightly and believe in our ability to create our own realities. It's not grammatically correct, but I'd like to offer the Obama slogan 2.0: Yes ME Can. It's up to each one of us as individual citizens of a great nation to summon that new spirit of patriotism, service, and responsibility that Mr. Obama spoke of in his speech in Grant Park.

I hope that you share my optimism as we celebrate this new page in American history--a truly historic day on so many different levels. And I invite you to join your neighbor in taking up President-elect Obama's offer to "work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other."

--Greg

Elmer the Elephant

2008-10-13T12:42:00.000-07:00

Cole had his chance to shine last week in his class production of "Elmer the Elephant."

The short (15 minute) show was really cute, and we're so proud of our boy and all of the kids who did a great job memorizing their lines, songs, and bringing their "A" game to the British School of Amsterdam Infant/Nursery School stage.

Here's a short video clip of Elmer...errr, Cole in action. He's telling the other elephants a joke.

A small photo album can be found HERE.

Julien's Hardmoors Race Report

2008-10-06T07:33:00.000-07:00

I ran across Julien's Hardmoors race report HERE. Another view of the same race from another runner's perspective...a great report.

MORE PICS of the race and awards ceremony can be found HERE.

110 miles --on foot--through Jolly Old England

2008-10-04T00:44:00.000-07:00

Sometime last winter I had decided to run the legendary Comrades Ultramarathon in South Africa with my friend Che in June of 2008. But in the midst of settling into our lives as expats in Amsterdam, I lost the motivation to get ready for a June race. So, when the itch to run a long race returned, I scanned the race calendars for something that looked good. In the back of Ultrarunning Magazine, I found it: The “Hardmoors 110-Mile Ultra” would be run for the first time in the North York Moors National Park of England (on the East Coast) in September. Perfect.

Training on the pancake-flat streets of Amsterdam for even a moderately hilly race is not an optimal situation. A friend remarked that it was kind of like training for the Tour de France in Holland. Now, 4 days after the Hardmoors, I know that it's actually like training on a skating rink to climb Mt. Everest. Other than a few various holiday trips to the Alps, I hadn't run much of a hill in almost one full year. For this, the Hardmoors race would make me pay, and pay dearly.

Despite preparation that was sorely lacking, I found myself on the starting line on Friday, 26 September. One of the unique aspects of this race is an evening start time of 5 p.m. This would mean that most competitors, yours truly included, would face the daunting task of running through two evenings.

With me at the start was my incredible crew: Mr. Masters, Mr. Masters, and Mr. Masters! My good buddy Steve, a former RAAM crew chief (his RAF cycling team won the race a few times), is one of the best on the planet when it comes to managing and organizing a race effort. Accompanying Steve were his father, Mick, and his brother (and my pacer/running companion) Richard. Not only are these three some of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, but their attention to detail and selflessness would ensure that I'd make it to the finish line. All I would have to do was put one foot in front of the other.

For a lover of history—especially British history (and literature)--such as myself, this would be a race of superlatives. Along the route, medieval abbeys, ancient bridges, stone cross ruins, and historic literary references dotted the landscape. In one section, I would run down a centuries-old roadway once used by Scottish drovers as they herded cattle and sheep to markets in England. Old stone walls lined the route in many spots. The feet that had passed this way dated back to a time when modern running shoes were as futuristic sounding as men from Mars. There are over 3000 Bronze Age (2,000 B.C.) burial mounds in the moors. Going further back to around 5,000 B.C., the Neolithic people farmed the land here. And when you crank up the way-back machine to its highest setting, there is evidence that around 8,000 B.C. in the Mesolithic period, people hunted, gathered, and fished here.

Our first cultural scenery was adjacent to the starting line...the (relatively NEW--circa early 13th century) Norman castle ruins in Helmsley. With this magnificent castle in the background, we took off just minutes after 5 p.m. Early going, I felt the effects of a stomach bug that had plagued me earlier in the week. I had never fully recovered, and my overall energy level lagged considerably. For much of the first section, I ran with a French guy named Julian—one of the three other non-Brits running the race. After just 10 miles into the race, I had an inkling that it was going to be a long race. My initial goals were for a 28-hour finish, but by the 20-mile mark I knew that I would have to adjust. However, it's a 100+ mile race...ANYTHING can happen!

Richard ran with me from about mile 10 to 20 (Julian had run on ahead), and we enjoyed some of the most spectacular views as the sun set. As we ran to the north along a series of cliffs, we enjoyed the red evening sky, the frequent chattering of grouse and pheasant (saw a lot of the latter), and enjoyed the variety of trees, running through deciduous and evergreen forests alike. When darkness draped its blanket over us, the headlamp became our best friend as grassy pathways alternated with rocky trails. Descending the cliffs and running into the next checkpoint in Osmotherly at mile 20, I was feeling fair. To repeat: Anything can happen.

And anything did happen shortly after the checkpoint. Now on a short road segment, my stomach and energy levels took a turn for the worse. I tried to tell myself that it was a temporary thing, but it was a tough sell. Now on my own for a stretch, the darkness seemed to get darker. With no moonlight whatsoever, I relied only upon my headlamp and the series of maps that I had printed and laminated for the race (a set of almost 40 individual cards). Each segment was accompanied by a written course description that at times would prove very helpful. Navigation was a serious challenge in this race, with a number of competitors going off course at various points. I'm not sure whether it was dumb luck, experience, or a good sense of direction, but I only strayed off course for one very short (50 meter) segment. At one point, I had only sheep and a fenceline to guide me along the route.

Soon, the intense climbing began. The moors, not to be confused with the Muslims from North Africa who reigned in Spain centuries ago, feature a series of very steep and challenging hills. As a veteran of many mountain runs in the American West, it's easy to think that these mere “hills” are nothing tough. WRONG. These babies have incredibly steep paths carved into them. Upon climbing the first hill, I was thankful that the trail builders had placed stone steps to make the climbing easier. That thankfulness quickly turned to dread with each successive stone step up, and rapidly deteriorated to disgust at the entire world when I had to navigate the tricky stone paths that descended from each hilltop. To rub more salt in the wounds, ankle-width drainage gulleys cut diagonally across the path at 10 meter intervals, offering yet more leg-breaking treachery to the brutal path. For nearly 20 miles as I traversed across this section, there was very little runable terrain. Add the intense wind (whipping my jacket so hard at one point that I couldn't hear myself think), the foggy mist that had moved in, and the pitch black conditions...well, you get the point. At least there were no reports of werewolf attacks.

Into the next checkpoint, my stomach had recovered somewhat, but now I faced what would be the toughest part of the course from a navigational standpoint. Providence shined on me again in the form of a fellow runner and his pacer, the latter of whom was an exceptional navigator. The three of us managed to find our way without much trouble through the toughest hours of the night that included an ascent up the brutal steps of Roseberry Topping, a vista which during daylight must have offered exceptional views of the surrounding countryside. But in the darkness, there was nothing but black. Heads down, we moved forward.

As the morning sun peeked over the horizon, the next checkpoint came, and I again picked up Richard.The quiet of the dawn soothed my soul, but my legs still felt like lead. My saving grace was that the town of Saltburn-By-Sea was close, which meant that my race was nearly halfway done. Entering the checkpoint at the coast, 55 miles was in the bag...and just 55 remained.

Now, route finding would be “easy.” Simply head southward along the coast, and eventually I'd run into the finish line in the town of Filey. But along the way, there would be grueling ups and downs and more flagging energy levels. From Saltburn until the town of Robin Hood's Bay, I simply tried to enjoy the magnificent coastal scenery and focus on running whenever possible. At one point, Richard pointed out a Peregrine Falcon. Nice. At Robin Hood, I managed to pass another runner (who would eventually finish around 30 or 45 minutes behind me). I kept moving forward, trying desperately not to let the brutal climbing and descents mess with my mind. Whenever I thought there couldn't be more climbing, I'd be faced with another set of steps.

The beautiful weather conditions helped my mood considerably. Sunshine, paired with the gentle crash of the waves far below the clifftops, made for quite the serene setting. It was only in my legs that the boisterous revolt was taking place. My knees were staging a violent coup against my quadriceps, and my shins ached for a regime change.

Entering the beautiful town of Whitby, I read and re-read the course description, failing to see the bridge described. Certainly I wasn't supposed to descend into the bowels of this tourist town and run through the masses who were strolling the streets...or was I? Yes, the most direct path to the checkpoint at the medieval abbey was via the packed streets, so I ventured forth, fighting for real estate amidst baby carriages, tipsy holiday-makers, and rowdy teens. More than a few people gawked in amazement/curiosity/pity at this guy with crazy hair, knee-high black compression socks, and a double-bottle lumbar pack running through the streets. When I reached the base of the 199 steps leading to the abbey, the crowds let up and I continued unimpeded to the checkpoint at mile 76. The picturesque abbey was the inspiration/setting for Bram Stoker's famous novel “Dracula,” and it's not a stretch to see why. The gothic spires look haunting enough in the bright sunlight, to say nothing of how they might appear at night.

The next 11 miles to the next checkpoint went by in a rather uneventful way. At mile 87, Richard joined me again, where I made the dumb, dumb, dumb mistake of not checking for my headlamp. This would bite me in the ass as darkness soon fell again upon reaching the godforsaken town of Scarborough. Where I once was a fan of the popular Simon & Garfunkel song, I have vowed never to sing the song again after suffering the mental anguish of trying to find the Scarborough checkpoint, and suffering the catcalls and laughs of the town's tourists. All I could think to myself was, “Don't mess with me! I've just run almost 100 miles and I don't deserve your shit!” All the while, the going was made more challenging by the fact that Richard and I had no flashlights!

But...anything can happen. Rejoining Julian at the checkpoint, we continued on, passing the 100-mile point in the darkness along the coast—but this time with the advantage of headlamps! One out-and-back section along a rock promontory known as Filey Brig (outside of the finish town of Filey), and we would be “home free.” Finding the route past this out-and-back proved a bit challenging, but I could smell the barn, so to speak. Nothing would stop me now.

Since Julian and I were most likely going to reach the finish line together, I offered him that he should cross the line in front of me, as I had no pride attached to my finishing place. Showing his grace and gentlemanly nature, he suggested that we join hands and finish in a tie. And thus, the Hardmoors 110 came to a close for me, tied for 5th place with Julian in almost precisely 31 hours.

In the wake of the race, I'm humbled once again by my generous crew led by my good friend Steve Masters. Steve, Mick, and Richard's assistance was invaluable, and runners who crew for themselves (such as Julian!) have my never-ending respect for taking on the challenge in a true solo fashion. And the course itself was supremely challenging, eclipsing my expectations for how difficult I thought it would be. In a word, it was absolutely brutal.

Runners who might be considering an extremely tough 100+ mile race would do themselves a favor by considering this amazing event in a most amazing location. Additional kudos go out to the two-man race organizing duo of Jon Steele and Martin Hall for pulling off a logistical miracle, given the terrain and scope of the event.

With legs that haven't quite stopped aching, I thank all of you for your words of support in advance of the race, and humbly thank you for the plaudits that I've received since finishing.

PHOTOS are HERE.

End of summer...beginning of school

2008-09-29T13:33:00.000-07:00

It's said that all good things must come to an end, and when applied to the summer of 2008, it certainly rings true.

After we returned from Normandy, we tried to jam as much action into the last few weeks of the summer holiday as possible. As soon as school was back in session in early September, our schedule ramped up even more.

A nice trip to a local apple orchard with some friends --- the British School summer fair --- a great showing by Stacey at the Dam to Dam 10-mile race -- and a nice afternoon spent at a Jordaan neighborhood street fair --- all have made the last few weeks a lot of fun.

Click HERE for a few photos from our latest adventures.

Hi NORMandy!

2008-09-08T14:12:00.000-07:00

As our summer officially comes to a close (the kids go back to school tomorrow morning), I thought it best to put the wrap on another brief trip report.

It's been a few weeks since we've been back from Normandy, France, a marvelous region with great scenery, quaint towns, quiet country roads, and lots of relaxation.

We weren't just a family of four this time around...our numbers doubled to 8 with the delightful addition of Stacey's mom, brother, and his two kids. The four kids had a blast together, making up for lost time since we last saw them almost a year ago.

The first half of our holiday was spent inland in Normandy near the village of Coutances. Our residence was the guesthouse of a chateau that was built in 1632. "Extraordinary" doesn't come close to describing this incredible place. Our hosts, an American couple and their children, were the best we could have asked for.

What would one of our holidays be without some antics from our resident monkey boy? Here's a clip of Cole herding sheep--one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time:

For the second half of our holiday, we ventured to the west coast of Normandy and the town of Agon-Coutainville. For some geographical and historical perspective, the D-Day landing beaches are on the north coast of the province. At the close of our holiday, we drove to Omaha beach and visited the American cemetery.

Like most of our vacations, I could go on and on with details about the adventure. This time around, I invite you to let the photographs tell the story...

Click HERE for a link to all of the vacation photos. Enjoy!

Interjecting Some Commentary

2008-08-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

I (Greg) don't often interject too much commentary on our family blog, which has morphed from a daily look into our lives in Amsterdam to a travelogue of all the countries we've visited during our time in Europe.

Tonight, however, I just can't think about hitting the pillow. Beside the usual myriad of thoughts pulsing through my brain, something happened this weekend to an acquaintance of mine that has given me pause and made me shudder.

For details on the woman, Barbara Warren, I'll direct you to the homepage of Competitor Magazine at www.competitorsocal.com. Please read Bob Babbitt's brief biography of Barbara there.

I had only met her a few times during my stint as the start and finish line announcer for the Race Across America (RAAM). But something about this special lady has always stuck with me. Along with her twin sister Angelika, Barbara tackled the supreme endurance contest of RAAM just as she had the other athletic challenges in life: With full force. A veteran of many Ironman triathlons, ultrarunning races, adventure races, a fitness model, a public speaker, and much more, Barbara had a spark that is ignited by the passion of a person who grabs life by the tail and swings with all her might.

Unfortunately, I'm writing about Barbara in the past tense. The details of her death are horrible: Last Sunday during a triathlon in Southern California, she crashed on the bike and was paralyzed from the neck down, and lived her last few days in a hospital bed on a ventilator. Her husband, Tom Warren, the winner of the SECOND Hawaiian Ironman triathlon, was by her side.

When we get on our bike for a training ride, a race, or a trip across town for groceries, an accident as tragic as this one is usually the furthest thing from our mind. But a few pounds of metal and rubber are the only thing between us, the road, cars, trucks, buses, and trams.

Somewhere in Barbara's tragic story there lies a message. For the bike riders reading this, it's painfully obvious: Be safe. Be aware. Be thankful that you're healthy and fit enough to enjoy one of the finer pleasures in life, that of riding on two wheels and feeling the wind in your hair and the sun on your face. For those of us that operate a motor vehicle (even though none was involved in Barbara's accident), it's just another reminder of the exposure that cyclists have to the environment around them. Give them space. Slow down. Pass when, and only when, the coast is clear.

But an even more important message, I believe, is simply to remember to love the ones you love. Hug them. Tell them how much they mean to you. And thank them for being a part of your life. I would expect that this is what Barbara would have wanted us all to do.

R.I.P.
Barbara Warren
1943-2008

A Swiss Family Adventure

2008-08-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

Like most of our adventures, our recent trip to Switzerland held a bit of unknown, promise, and adventure. And just like all of our European adventures to date, Switzerland--and it's indescribable beauty--vastly exceeded our expectations as a magical land of mountains, cows, and family fun.

The trip wasn't originally in our travel plans, but when Stacey realized that she would be attending a work function in southern Germany, the seed was planted. Europe's big outdoor retail trade show would be held in Friedrichshafen, which lies at Germany's southernmost border. The plan looked like this: The kids and daddy would travel via overnight train from Amsterdam to Zurich, meeting Stacey the next day. Perfect!

And perfect it was. Zurich is a marvelous city that sits on a lake with water so clear that it's been deemed safe to drink. While we passed on this method for quenching our thirst, we did marvel at the incredible clarity of the water, where even in the middle of the city one can see the river bottom as it flows swiftly by. "Hey, isn't that a bicycle down there?!?" (We can only imagine if Amsterdam's canals were as clear...imagine being able to see the thousands of bikes that line the canal bottoms!

Our time in Zurich was not long, as we set our sights on an even more beautiful location, the storied mountain town of Grindelwald, which sits below the famed Eiger mountain (elev. 13,026 ft.). The mountain looms over the town, and the scenery looks as if it is a painted backdrop hung around the village by a master artist. But truth/fact is more remarkable than fiction, and these vistas were as real as they get. One can be (incredibly and forever) moved by paintings in a gallery, but there's simply no substitute for landscapes that you can see and touch in person.

The train journey from Zurich to Grindelwald is one of the most picturesque railway rides I've ever experienced. As the train snakes past Interlaken and heads toward Grindelwald, every bend in the tracks offered us another great vista or interesting house/building/river/forest to see.

When pressed for comment, I think that each member of the family might have a distinct highlights of our stay in Grindelwald. No doubt that the kids will remember the great community pool that we visited daily. Stacey might remember the mountain runs and hikes most fondly, which is difficult for me to argue! I would add that our trip to the "Top of Europe," Jungfraujoch (elev. 11,782 ft.), the highest railroad/railway station on the continent, was certainly a most remarkable journey. Note that the peak of the actual Jungfrau mountain sits a bit higher at 13,642 ft. above sea level.
We took one major hike with the entire family. From Grindelwald (3393 ft.), we rode a gondola to First (pronounced "Feerst", a collective of buildings that I hesitate to call a town, elev. 7113 ft.). After a casual lunch, we set out on a 1 hour, 45 minute hike that rolled over some beautiful mountain scenery, past grazing cows, and along ridges that took our breath away, ending at Grosse Scheidegg for a bus ride back to Grindelwald.

A note on the omnipresent Swiss cows: We hadn't given it much thought, but all of that milk for the fondues and chocolates has to come from somewhere. One of our fondest memories might just be of the echoing of the cowbells across the valleys, with each herd wearing a different size/shape/sounding bell, perhaps to help the farmers distinguish one herd from another. The next time you stop by Albert Hein or Fred Meyer to pick yourself up some Toblerone, tip your hat in the direction of Switzerland and thank those magnificent cows who have given so much for so little in return. That said, when I'm reincarnated as a cow, please, oh please Buddha, may I live in the Swiss Alps? Talk about the good life!

Get a feel for yourself...play this movie:

By the way, a chocolate factoid: If you laid the daily production of 100g TOBLERONE bars end to end, it would stretch over a distance of 283 km, the distance from Detroit to Cleveland.

One part of Switzerland that we hadn't adequately prepared for (mentally) was the cost of goods and services. Holy Swiss Franc, Batman! Lunch: 55 Francs! (1 Swiss Franc = approx. 1 US Peso...err, dollar). Dinner: 110 Francs! Postcard: 3 Francs! But, as the commercial says, the Swiss mountain experience: Priceless.

So, after four days and with not a small audible sigh, we checked out of our comfortable apartment hotel and boarded the return train for Zurich to retrace our steps back to Amsterdam. With each feet in elevation lost, it felt as if we were leaving part of ourselves behind, too. But the soul-charging experience that was given to us by the Swiss mountains and the affable Swiss people were just what we needed to kick off the "official" summer break, and we returned to our home better for the entire experience.

Journey along with us and click HERE for photos from our time in Switzerland.

Armstrong/LeMond/Sastre--move aside. Cole can ride a bike!

2008-08-09T11:00:00.000-07:00

Cole has been loving his "free ride" around Amsterdam...that is, a seat on the back of Daddy's bike instead of having to ride a bike of his own.

But we knew that he was plenty big enough to be riding his own two-wheeler--we had just been procrastinating on the "practice" sessions.

After we arrived home from a holiday in Switzerland, we took Cole's bike out into the street to see what would happen without training wheels.

Here's what transpired:

Bonus Feature: The Making of Klompen

2008-08-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Earlier this year, Cole attended a birthday party that was held at a cute little farm just outside of Amsterdam. On this farm, in addition to holding birthday parties, they make really great cheese and also crank out hundreds (thousands?) of pairs of traditional wooden shoes ("klompen") every year.

For whatever reason, I'm a bit fascinated with klompen--perhaps it's my general fascination with unique cultural icons. Whatever the source, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I bought myself a pair.

During my mom's visit, we returned to the farm and watched a pair of wooden shoes being turned out on some ancient machinery.

In this first movie, the shoes are taking their shape:

In this next movie, you can see how the inner parts of the shoe are carved out:

And here is the (partially) finished product.
Mine are customized with the three Amsterdam X's (found in the ubiquitous city crest), with my name etched into the side of one shoe.

Cole Turns 5

2008-08-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that our "baby" is now 5 years old (July 7th). Cole celebrated with a big party and all of his classmates from school and a bunch of other family friends. Everyone had a great time...especially the birthday boy!

Click HERE for all of the pics from the big party.

Greg's Mom Visits Amsterdam

2008-07-27T02:00:00.000-07:00

In early June we had a nice visit from Bonnie & Dick, who made the most of their time during their visit to explore Europe.

Highlights for their trip included a trip to Brugges, Belgium, as well as exploring Amsterdam's sights.

For us, it was just great to spend some time together. Maya and Cole really loved having Grandma and Grandpa with us for the week!

Prague in Springtime

2008-07-27T01:18:00.000-07:00

Busy.

That's my best excuse for not updating the blog earlier. It seems like the past month + has been jammed with activities, so I'll blame it on that.

But let's rewind to late May when we took a great weekend trip to Prague in the Czech Republic. As we've done in other cities, we had booked a small apartment in the center of the city. Upon our arrival, things were a bit amiss: A broken bed, cleaning still not completed from previous guests, and a refrigerator that was inoperable. But these were our biggest inconveniences of the entire trip, which was mostly filled with some great sightseeing and activities. The weather cooperated famously. Warm temps and sunshine greeted us every day.
The chronology of our days is a bit fuzzy, so let's just run down the list. Exploring the city square was great, and the fact that it was a 1-minute walk from our apartment made it even better. The small winding streets of the center of Prague were magical. Communist-era architecture is still evident, but the old buildings of the city pre-date Marx and Lenin by centuries. On one day, we were lucky to catch a folk dance/music/singing festival in the square that featured performers from across all of Eastern Europe. At times, it was hillarious, and at other times, exceptional.

One of Prague's biggest tourist traps, the big glockenspiel clock, was a big disappointment (if you're ever there, don't waste your time waiting for the song or the little dancing figurines to appear), but we didn't invest much time there.

Eating lunch on the rooftop of a central hotel, with resplendent views of the city was one of the highlights. The Karlov Most (Charles Bridge) was another highlight. The bridge has been closed to auto traffic for decades, and is now for pedestrians only. Yes, it's certainly touristy, but still unique enough to visit, whether you're taking in the artist stalls, the elaborate statues that line the bridge, street musicians, or staring at the never-ending parade of tourists from around the globe.

We didn't get the memo before we arrived in Prague: The mullet hairstyle is still quite en vogue at Eastern Europe's finest hair salons and barbershops. Business in the front, party in the back, baby.

The Prague Palace was another jewel. During the first of our two excursions there, we just enjoyed the views of the city from the south walls. But our second trip was much more interesting. We watched the changing of the palace guard at noon (an extra-heavy dose of pomp and circumstance), and Cole in particular was enthralled with the stoic sentries posted at all of the gates.
Another remarkable sight was the old Jewish cemetery. Since space was scarce in the Jewish section of the city, the dead were buried in layers (up to 12 layers in some sections), and an estimated total of about 200,000 are buried here. Today, a maze of 12,000 tombstones remain.

Prague's public transportation system still needs a bit of work, as the trams can be unreliable and don't service all of the city. But generally, we had no problems getting around. One way we explored was renting a pedal boat on the river, which the kids really enjoyed.

We enjoyed a marvelous birthday lunch for Stacey on the banks of the river one day, and also were able to take a cable car to one of the city's peaks and explore a large park and a fun "house of mirrors" there.

Overall, we were struck by the beauty of the city and the architecture, along with the friendly attitudes and good service we encountered. Another great adventure for the Pressler family!

Click HERE for a look at all of our photos from Prague.

Cole's Spring Production

2008-06-19T09:56:00.001-07:00

So sorry for the lack of blogging lately...We've had great weather in Amsterdam, plus, we've been busy enjoying everything that Holland has to offer.

Cole's Spring school production was a rousing success. With an animal theme to guide the kids, we were treated to his class performing the classic kids' book "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" It was a riot, and Cole performed his role as the "Stomping Elephant" with pizazz and professionalism beyond his years. Plus, he's so damn cute!

Click HERE for a link to a few pics from the performance.

And here's a short video clip from Cole's part of the play:

Swedish Meatballin'

2008-05-19T10:34:00.000-07:00

I finally understand why so many Swedish immigrants to the U.S. found their home in Minnesota: Obviously, one can easily draw a parallel to the weather between the two locations (especially in wintertime), but I believe the real draw of the upper Midwest for the Swedes of old is the abundance of water (i.e. the 10,000 lakes), which must have made the new country feel just like home.

Stockholm is a grand city, and was a recent stop on our European travels. It's absolutely exquisite in its beauty. But make no mistake about it—for all of the lovely buildings, palaces, and parks, Stockholm's soul is the water that surrounds the city.

On our archipeligo boat tour, we experience the water up close and personal as we gazed over the inlets at a handful of the over 30,000 islands (150 of which are inhabited) that dot the waterways around Stockholm.An overriding impression of Stockholm is that it is a “lovely” city. I tried on other adjectives, but non seemed to fit as well. The contrasting colors of the buildings, contrasted further against the black tin/lead rooftops, is visually striking. In the oldest parts of the city, the grand castles and palaces that sit on the water's edge look out over harbors that house boats of every imaginable size and use, ranging from personal kayaks to gigantic cruise ships. In the middle of that spectrum, a large selection of fishing, pleasure, and ferry boats would titilate a fan of all things nautical. Study up on your knot tying skills and book your SAS flight now.

In addition to the archipeligo boat tour, our 4 days in Stockholm were filled with fun activities. Highlights included a tour of the Vasa Museum, which houses a huge 17th century boat that was raised from the bottom of the sea in the 1950s. It's considered the world's most well-preserved ship of its age. Junibacken, a children's museum/playhouse based on the story of Pipi Longstocking, was a fun few hours for the kids. We followed that with a visit to Skansen, a collection of old buildings, animals, an aquarium, and working farms. We saw an amazing glass-blowing demonstration here and some great views of the city. Maya, who had been studying vikings recently in school, enjoyed seeing one of the over 2500 rune stones left by vikings as memorials to a friend or family member. A short walking tour of Stockholm's old city cemented why the city is so wonderful. Winding, narrow streets lined with shops (including plenty of gelato stands) took us back in time to old Scandinavia, when tourists came onshore only on sailing ships, perhaps to trade or conduct other business.

The general cleanliness, friendliness, bright sunshine, and general Scandanavian hospitality made Stockholm, Sweden a wonderful place for us to spend a 4-day weekend.

HERE is a link to all of our pictures from Stockholm.

Koninginnedag

2008-05-12T10:32:00.000-07:00

It's the world's largest sidewalk sale and Amsterdam's biggest party all rolled into one: Queen's Day, held every year on April 30th, which fell on a Wednesday this year.

We made furtive preparations: Assembling an entire wardrobe of orange clothes (the national color), setting aside various household goods to sell (including the beautiful black artificial Christmas tree that Mrs. Pressler refused to display beyond its inaugural season), and planning social outings for the day with friends.

Mr. Pressler started the party with a night out on Queen's Day eve, a night that could be a holiday in and of itself. But the late night didn't prevent him from joining the Mrs. on an early morning Queen's Day run, where we saw the city getting ready for the onslaught of visitors. The weather would prove to be a bit cool, but the rain held off.

Later in the morning, we strolled through Vondelpark for a couple of hours with friends. Every road and path was packed to the hilt with people selling everything you could imagine...mostly household stuff that you'd find at a garage sale. The kids wanted to buy other kids old toys (translation: junk), but luckily we made it through the park only buying snacks and playing games.

After lunch, Maya & Cole set up their stand in the park to sell a few of their paintings (space opened because some people seemed to leave after around noon). Maya had a bunch of paintings she had created on canvas, and Cole didn’t want to be left out, so he threw some paint onto paper. They put prices onto each piece ranging from 1 to 3 Euro. We told them their prices might be a bit high, but the young entrepreneur spirit ruled the day. People were very sweet, asking the price, and after the first shocked reaction Maya received to the 3 Euro price tag, she immediately dropped the price to 20 cents and made her first sale. After a couple hours hanging out in the park and selling the art, they each had enough money to buy gelato.

Later in the day, we decided to venture closer to the center of the city, wandering the area near Museumplein with friends to take in the action...err, human spectacle. Crushing crowds turned us around pretty quickly so we could escape the chaos. We wandered past a fire station that was giving the public rides up to the top of their fire truck ladder on a hydraulic lift – no joke, higher than ANY building in Amsterdam. So of course, we paid our one Euro/person for a ride. We told the fireman that you would never see something like this in the US due to the liability and safety concerns. He laughed and told us they aren’t actually allowed to do it here either – some years the police shut them down, and some years they allow it…. Depending upon who is working. NICE. Needless to say, my kids loved it and the view was spectacular.

We ended the day in front of our house, relaxing and sharing some wine with friends. Our corner was packed with people who had come to enjoy live musical entertainment provided by one of the restaurants. Kids played in the streets, people were dancing and drinking, and it was very festive and fun. When the band shut down around 7pm, with enough wine granting some courage, Mr. Pressler decided to go up to our balcony and plug in his guitar in a (very sad) attempt to entertain the crowd. Unfortunately the amp wasn’t working very well, and after capturing their attention with the first few cords, they lost interest since they couldn’t really hear him. But it was very entertaining and offered many laughs to our friends and family. The crowd cleared out by 8pm since the music entertainment was done, which was also great since we had an early flight to catch to Stockholm.

HERE is a link to our Queen's Day photos.

A Flower Extravaganza

2008-05-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

With the arrival of Nancy (Stacey's mom), the biggest holiday in the country looming (Queen's Day), and an upcoming trip to Stockhom, it was shaping up to be a very busy few weeks.

On Sunday, April 27th, we took advantage of some very nice weather and made the 25-minute drive to the world-famous (in the eyes of the Dutch) Keukenhof, a place that has to be seen to be believed. On this multi-acre square of land that sits southwest of Amsterdam, the worlds most astounding display of flowers—especially tulips—can be seen up close. Although you can see the straight rows of flowers growing in nearby fields, ready for harvest, Keukenhof takes floral display many steps further, with meticulously landscaped grounds that feature a stunning display of colors and flower types. The layout alone should qualify for the Academy Award of landscape design (if there were such an award), and then the assault of colors delivers the knockout blow.

Keukenhof is, without a doubt, a little old lady's flower garden on steroids. You can't help but come away impressed with the magnitude and variety that you'll see there. If you ever get the chance to visit, don't pass it up (www.keukenhof.nl).

HERE is a link to all of the photos we took at Keukenhof.

Under the Tuscan Sun

2008-04-18T13:36:00.000-07:00

There are times in your life, when everything goes very smoothly during a holiday. Our recent 10-day Italian extravaganza journey set a new standard for our future vacations.

Dreams of sunshine warming our white Holland faces were put on hold upon our arrival to our first destination, an agriturismo (old farmhouse converted to a guesthouse), located just south of the city of Siena. The rain fell like sheets from the sky, forcing us to spend our first day (Thursday) exploring the region by car. The beautiful hillside towns, most covered with the vines that Tuscan winemakers have made so famous, were beautifully washed in a deep green of Springtime.

Friday dawned beautifully, and Stacey thoroughly enjoyed her morning run down winding roads that see almost no auto traffic. We headed for Siena later in the morning, a small city that is very special for Stacey since she lived there for over 3 months when she was in college.

We sat in the wonderful city piazza, staring up at the huge clock tower that stands as the city’s most recognizable landmark. Of course, the kids were very excited to climb the tower, see the bell(s), and take in the bi

rd’s eye view of Tuscany. Naturally, the kids subsisted on a steady diet of gelato (Italian ice cream), which can be found in as many flavors as you can imagine.

For the curious, Dad liked the cantaloupe flavor, Mom loved banana or hazelnut, while Maya settled on a mixture of “cream” and strawberry. Cole insisted on the (horrific) flavor train-wreck of chocolate and lemon. When we let the kids add a 3^rd flavor, they both chose mint chocolate chip, which we cannot get in Holland. Whatever rocks your boat!

Saturday found us in the wonderful little town of Volterra, where we walked most of the day, enjoying gelato several times, trying a number of pieces of pizza, and drinking more wine than good judgment might advise.

A culinary note: We were as excited to eat great food and drink great wine as the kids were to eat gelato. And typically, we were not disappointed one bit in either. Space here is far too short to list each of the culinary delights we discovered or to log the numerous bottles of wine that fell in service to Mr. & Mrs. Pressler. Suffice to say that our taste buds were very well catered to throughout the journey!

On Sunday, we drove south to Rome, opting for the car instead of the train so we could enjoy some of the sights along the way. We chose the scenic coastal route and stopped for lunch in the town of Porto Santo Stefano (nothing too special, in our opinion), and then stopped 30 minutes outside of Rome and grabbed a local train the rest of the way to avoid Rome’s parking nightmare.

Sunday afternoon and a very full Monday were spent in the magnificent (if dusty) city of Rome. On Sunday, we explored many of Rome’s great fountains (hubs of activity), including the Trevisi Fountain made famous by the movie “Roman Holiday.” We waited until the nighttime, so we could see it gorgeously illuminated by lights. To insure our return to Rome, we all pitched in coins over our shoulder. Maya and Cole were fascinated as they watched a street artist create landscapes with spray paint, the tourists lined up waiting for a chance to buy one.The Spanish Steps were also included in our Sunday tour.

Monday morning, we headed to Vatican City, taking in the incredible architecture and church history. St. Peter’s Basilica is astounding. We took the lift half way to the top of the dome, but climbed the winding and curved stairs to the viewing platforms on the peak to enjoy the stunning views of Rome. The adjoining Sistine Chapel is beyond words, and the magnitude of the Vatican is one that is very difficult to properly describe.

Later in the day, we explored the incredible Colosseum, where Cole in particular was kept interested with tales of battles and fighting. Both kids were kept interested with gelato bribes along the way, and amazed us with how much fun they had.

On Tuesday, we bid ciao to Rome and headed back north to Tuscany. On the way to our agriturismo west of Florence, we took a detour off the highway to the wine lover’s paradise of Montepulciano. The town itself is very sleepy and not at all overrun by tourists, which appealed to us greatly. Wine shops dot every street, and we took the opportunity to pick up a few bottles that we would carefully tote back with us to Amsterdam.

Our arrival near Empoli at the guesthouse that would be our home for the next 4 nights took a little bit of expert navigational skills, but once we found it...it was like stepping into another world, nestled into hills whose beauty defy description. Stacey and I enjoyed the most amazing runs through the hills each morning, every vista more beautiful than the last. It was surreal--we just couldn’t believe we were enjoying a run in Tuscany...simply magical.

The “neighbor’s place” (Fattoria di Piazzano) was a wonderful vineyard, accessed via a 10 minute walk down a gravel road, onto a grass path that wove through vines, up a dirt driveway, and finally terminating at a showroom around the back of the wine processing building. Mrs. Bettarini gladly poured a glass of wine for tasting, which was exceptional. One of the Sangiovese varietals produced at this vineyard is called Ventoso (“wind”), due to the strong winter winds that blow from the Mediterranean coast. One fall a few years ago after a particularly good storm, the winemaker discovered sea salt deposits on the grape leaves, despite the fact that Empoli sits 71 kilometers (44 miles) inland! Unfortunately, we were unable to taste or purchase any of the olive oil produced on the farms due to a poor harvest of olives the previous season.

The iconic image of the Leaning Tower of Pisa is familiar to everyone, but on Wednesday, we were to get an up-close-and-personal look at the marble tower whose construction--and leaning--began in 1173.

Over the next 820 years, visitors have been captivated by this architectural oddity, including us. At the foot of the tower is the most impressive and largest manicured “lawn” that I’ve seen in all

of Europe.

Here's a short video of the kids having a blast in Pisa:

After leaving Pisa (and buying the obligatory small tower statues for the kids), we continued west to the coastal town of Viareggio, which in the summer is overrun with Italians vacationers. There wasn’t much happening during our visit, but the kids did enjoy the sand and small seaside carnival rides.

The granddaddy of all art cities in the world must certainly by Florence, Italy, which was our destination for Thursday. The day began with sunshine and temperatures that were as high as we had experienced on the entire trip. We arrived via a train from Empoli and eagerly boarded a double-decker bus for our tour of the magnificent city. Almost immediately upon departing, black clouds moved into the city, blocking the sun and foreshadowing heavy rain that followed soon after. The cloudbursts held off long enough for us to see many of the major sights including the beautiful Ponte Vecchio covered bridge, the Uffizi gallery’s exterior, and the enormous Florence Duomo. Then...the rains came with a vengeance, putting a challenging end to our day in “art central.”

Since we had the common sense not to drag the kids into any art galleries, we didn’t fall prey to the affliction known as Stendhal syndrome. More info HERE. Scary stuff! ;-)

Fortunately for our moods, Friday was a gorgeous day, and we headed out to the beautiful town of Lucca, which certainly knows how to treat its visitors well but isn’t overrun by tourists and spoiled by endless boutique stores. The town is encircled by huge ancient city walls that effectively protected its citizens for centuries from every attack. Today, these walls make for a perfect family bike tour, which we all enjoyed in the warm sunshine, followed by a delicious lunch at a tiny trattoria in the city center.

Back on the road, we stopped at Pinocchio Park in the town where the story was written, but decided not to pay the obscene entry charges for that tourist trap. Instead we detoured through the town of Montecatini Terme, well-known in the region for its high mineral content waters and healing spas. After the long vacation, we all could have used a bit of a warm soak. Fortunately, we found an inexpensive mineral pool facility that welcomed families with children. The hour-long soak felt fine, indeed.

All good things must come to an end, including our incredible vacation. Tuscany, drenched in sunshine, bathed in verdant green, and lifted up into the clouds by the interminable spirit of her people, will occupy a special place in our memories and hearts forever.

Check out ALL of the photos from our Tuscan holiday HERE.

Paris--oooh, la, la!

2008-04-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

Our big spring vacation plans to Italy had been made, but as the end of March approached, we realized that Nike would be closed for a long Easter weekend. What else to do with our time than book ourselves train tickets to Paris?!?

We found an apartment in the 6th District (St. Germaine) at the recommendation of Stacey’s co-workers, and it was perfectly situated for us to explore the city. The weather was quite cold all weekend, with rain showers on and off all day on Saturday. But the sunshine on Friday and Sunday made up for the one day of bad weather.

On Friday we visited Notre Dame (opting not to climb the tower with the kids, which seemed overly ambitious), ate crepes, and took a sightseeing boat ride on the Seine River. The kids were thrilled to guess which bridge Madeline might have fallen off of into the river from when she was saved by a dog...with sincere apologies to those of you not familiar with the Madeline stories.

We had a great dinner at a brasserie, and when we got back to the apartment the kids collapsed into bed. We’d heard the lines to take the lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower could be brutally long, so we arrived first thing in the morning on Saturday. BIG mistake. We suffered through cold, rain, wind, and the misery of arriving 30 minutes early due to a guidebook error (damn you, Lonely Planet!). Still, we braved the weather.

The kids weren’t quite as happy with the views as we were, but they were excited to have made it all the way to the top of Monsieur Eiffel's great masterpiece.

Their treat was a trip to a café for hot chocolates and baguettes. The cab driver was rude (surprise, surprise) when we gave him the address, telling us we should have walked because it wasn’t very far. But we didn’t care; we were cold, and willing to pay the minimum cab fare to get out of the wind and rain.

After some down time back at our apartment, we headed back out to explore more of the city as the sun returned. We visited the Obelisk, saw the Arc de Triomphe from a distance, and walked through the Jardin du la Concord up to the Louvre. We opted out of going into the museum because we couldn’t imagine a more boring way to spend the time for the kids. Instead, they rode the carousel in the park, played in the maze of bushes, and tried to avoid all the puddles from the rain.

More chocolate was in our immediate future, with a trip that afternoon to the famous Ladurée Bonaparte, where we all indulged in pots of hot chocolate--which is actually more like drinking melted chocolate or chocolate pudding--and ate delicious mint chocolate pastries.

Sunday was Easter, and we let the kids just play in the apartment since we’d rushed them out the previous morning. Mom and dad took turns having an amazing run, going from the apartment to the Louvre, through the park to the Obelisk and then up to the Arc de Triomphe. The sun was shining, and it was spectacular!

Easter didn’t seem complete without an easter egg hunt. Lucky for us, a local park was hosting one for the kids. After registering each kid for 2 Euro, they were allowed to find 3 colored eggs, and trade them for a chocolate croissant and a bag of chocolates. We couldn’t read the French instructions, so our kids went out with usual egg hunt enthusiasm, and started filling their bags. We were politely told about the “rule of 3” and so we went about re-hiding the eggs for all the other children.

Here's a short video clip of the egg hunting action:

Despite the cold and rain on Friday, we really had a fantastic time in Paris. After staying in an apartment, we will probably consider them for many of our future trips. It’s really great to have so much space, a kitchen to cook our own breakfasts, and a washing machine to launder the clothing.

Click HERE for a peek at all of the photos from our Paris trip.

Busy Bees

2008-03-26T23:39:00.000-07:00

After weeks and weeks of practice, we were recently treated to a presentation of the critically-acclaimed British School of Amsterdam's rendition of "Honey." The 4-year olds did marvelously!

Cole was of course shining on the stage, singing loudly and enthusiastically, and we were beaming with pride! Dressed in yellow t-shirts painted with black stripes, black tights, and yellow faces with black stripes – they played their parts as bees very convincingly.

HERE is a link to the photos from the show.

And below is a short video snippet...

Maya's 7th Birthday Party

2008-03-26T23:24:00.000-07:00

Our little princess isn't so little anymore! Maya's 7th birthday party was a hit, celebrated with friends a couple weeks early, since her birthday fell during the 2 week school Easter break (and would coincide with our trips to Paris (see above) and Italy. Maya invited 3 friends for a sleep-over party (Namisha, Ellie and Sofia). As it turned out, only Sofia spent the night – because Namisha’s dad told us it’s just not done in the Indian culture, and Ellie’s mom said she just wasn’t’ ready to sleep away from home.

The girls had a great time – putting on makeup, dancing to music with her new disco ball, watching movies and eating popcorn. Cole was very fortunate, because Sofia seemed to have a crush on him, and insisted that he be included in all activities – even bringing his mattress into Maya’s room for the sleeping portion. He was thrilled, and Maya didn’t seem to mind too much since Sofia was insistent. At the end of the evening when Greg took Ellie & Namisha home, they said it was “the BEST party ever”. So cute!

A few days later, Maya (and Daddy) made cupcakes to share with her classmates.

HERE is a link to all the photos from the party.

An Alpine Holiday

2008-02-23T10:31:00.000-08:00

Ah, the Alps. The mere mention of the word can instantly clear the mind and bring visions of sunshine, craggy mountaintops, and clean, fresh air. Last week, we loaded up the car to prepare for our family's journey to Austria to introduce the kids to skiing and get some well-deserved r&r.

The drive from Amsterdam, if you believe the internet, was supposed to take 9 1/2 hours. But German traffic jams had something else to say about that, turning the overall journey into a 12+ hour affair. We set out on Friday after the kids were done with school, intending to split the drive into two sections. Our goal on day 1: Make it as far as Frankfurt. The only stop of note on the first night was at a delightful Italian restaurant in a tiny little German/Dutch border town. We trusted the handy GPS unit to find us "food", and the darn thing worked like a charm. Nobody spoke a word of English, but it was just as well...the proprietor was able to communicate and deliver his delicious food to us with no problems.

Onward we drove to Frankfurt, and we exited the Autobahn just outside the city, again calling upon the GPS to find our first night's lodging. It looked pretty sketchy as we made turn after turn, descending deeper and deeper into what appeared to be an industrial or trucking company building complex. But don't doubt your GPS! Around the last turn was this quaint little German hotel where we would rest our bones for the night.

The second part of the drive to our destination of Kleinarl, Austria, a quaint village nestled snugly in the Alps, is best left for another day over a cold adult beverage. Suffice to say that the traffic snarls were VERY unpleasant.

But whatever tensions we might have had brewing within were released as we entered Austria and began the winding drive to Kleinarl. For those of you who have never seen them, they seem to me a bit of a cross between the Rocky Mountains and the Cascades. Throw in the magic of the Austrian people and their warmth and hospitality, then you kind of get the picture.

This was a shared holiday, and we eagerly awaited the arrival of our friends. The Kincaids (Che/Wendy/Amalie) would arrive on Sunday, but the Tam-Naulty's (Greg/Amy/Abigail) arrived not too long after we did on Saturday.

Our home away from home was the Hotel Angerwirt, which was positioned perfectly in the town...just a 2 minute (free) van shuttle ride to the ski lift and a 35-second walk to the cross-country trails that Stacey and I used extensively throughout the week. As is typical in many of these smaller Austrian ski towns, one main lift services the town, which you then use to access a much bigger network of trails on adjoining mountains. Taking a trip up your main lift to mid-mountain, using another to get to the top, skiing down the other side, riding up ANOTHER mountain....and back home again...can take the better part of the day.

Maya and Cole were thrilled about entering the ski school, and after a few days, they both felt confident and comfortable on their skis. The ski school was structured very well, and somewhat humorously, most of the instructors were DUTCH gals who were fulfilling some type of college credit! But those were about the only Dutch that we saw most of the week--an odd fact, I thought. According to a British guy I spoke with briefly on the slopes one day, in the neighboring town of Flachau most of the tourists were from the Netherlands. By contrast, in Kleinarl, most of the tourists were from the province of Lower Austria, which was having their spring break. There was also a smattering of Germans, Polish, Czech, and plenty of folks from Denmark. Other than the British guy I mentioned, I encountered no others from the UK, and ZERO Americans. I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a nice side-benefit of taking the path less traveled. Stacey mentioned as we were waiting in one lift line that one of the most annoying things about skiing is dealing with obnoxious people and their inane conversations while waiting. But if you can't understand (most) of the language, no problem!

The kids had a blast each day, and were very content to spend all day with their classes. This gave Stacey and I time to enjoy the slopes as well as some classic and skating xc skiing. Of course, I insisted on making sure that the Austrian hefeweizen beer was up to par, and I was afforded ample opportunities. I would even go as far as saying that enjoying a hefeweizen mountainside in the Austrian Alps is about as good as it gets.

Another thing that really helped our attitudes during the week was the abundance of sunshine. Every day, save for one, was filled with brilliant light. Those of you from the Pacific NW of the US or from the Netherlands can understand the value of the golden ball of fire showering us with her goodness.

Like most holidays, we basically lived from meal to meal, spreading our evening dining experience between a number of local eateries. The kids, especially Maya, fell in love with Wiener Schnitzel! The salads were huge and delicious, and the kasnocken (a cheesy Spätzle dish), Kaiserschmarrn (shredded, carmelized, fried pancakes!), and other local specialties were incredible. For adult beverages besides beer, our group enjoyed the varnish-removing and mind-clearing properties of both Glühwein and Jagertee.

The week would too soon come to a close, but not before the kids were honored in the week-ending awards presentation. We almost blew it off in order to get some swimming time in back at the hotel, but are we glad we didn't! The kids were positively beaming, so proud at their accomplishments on skis. Multiply that pride by 100 for mom & dad! All age groups had a slalom race on the last afternoon, and Maya's age group was timed! Cole got a medal for his participation, and Maya won 3rd place and was given her first trophy - she was thrilled.

Speaking of the pool, the swimming area at the hotel was exceptional. The owners must have pumped a few hundred thousand Euro into the pool alone, which featured a stainless-steel main pool, an aromatherapy/steam room, standard sauna, infrared sauna, foot bath, tea drinking/lounging area, workout room, and tanning bed room. We all loved soaking our muscles here at the end of each long day.

Before we left, we booked a sleigh ride for the whole group - partly on the roads and then straight across the snowfields - just as you'd picture it. The driver picked us up at our hotel, where we embarked on a 60-minute journey to a restaurant at the end of the valley, nestled on the shores of a lake called Jagersee. The ride, the meal, and the return ride in the sleigh under the stars capped off what could be the perfect family vacation.

Check out all of the pictures from our trip by clicking HERE.

The School Commute

2008-02-17T10:51:00.000-08:00

Here's a slice of daily life...getting ready for the ride to school. Fortunately, we ride in much more daylight as we get closer to Spring.

Hij Ligt Voor Pampus

2008-02-04T12:58:00.000-08:00

On a warm day in Los Angeles almost 24 years ago, Hans Koeleman, a Dutchman with Olympic dreams, circled the track in a qualifying heat of the 3000-meter steeplechase. He ran with purpose, no doubt filled with pride to be representing the Netherlands on the worlds biggest athletic stage. He would repeat the feat in Seoul in 1988, this time progressing further in the qualifying heats.

On a cold, windy, and brilliant day yesterday in the Netherlands, I joined Hans for a two-hour run through some beautiful countryside on the outskirts of Amsterdam. As we plodded through muddy bogs on parts of the reclaimed island of Ijburg, we shared tales of two lifetimes spent in pursuit of the joy of running.

For Hans, who retired from competitive running in the late 1980s, the passion for the sport--albeit on a much different level--was rekindled in 1998 when he completed his first marathon in New York City. Since then, he has gone on to complete a number of marathons and ultramarathons, including the reknown Comrades Ultra in South Africa 4 times. We discussed the logistics of the race since I have been contemplating doing it myself. Thanks to an introduction by a mutual friend Che Kincaid, I was able to pick Hans' brain for a few hours as we enjoyed the scenery.

A former hardcore member of the academia (he had abandoned his pursuit of a Ph.D. in history to work for Nike), Hans shared various historical points of interest with me throughout the run. At one point, we ran across a dike that dated back to Medieval times, passing flocks of sheep who sometimes blocked out path. Small garden plots and adjoining "sheds" dotted the landscape, offering a place for city dwellers to grow and harvest their own vegetables (apparently, the waiting lists for the plots are long). Cows grazed in nearby meadows, and ships swayed vigorously in the adjacent sea (part of the ancient Zuiderzee), anchored just off the shoreline.

We approached our turnaround point, the Muiden Castle ("Muiderslot"), and I was dumbfounded at the beauty of the area, the castle, and the sense of the "please pinch me" moment.

On our return, we gazed across the water at an island in the distance. "We have a saying in Dutch," said Hans: " 'Hij ligt voor Pampus,' which means 'he's very tired' or 'he's completely exhausted." Hans gestured out toward the island and continued his explanation. "That is Pampus Island. In the days of sailing ships, the wind at this part of the Zuiderzee, near the island, would often go completely still. The ships would be dead in the water off the coast of Pampus Island, and hence the expression."

But the run left me anything but feeling exhausted. The stimulating conversation and shared experience of a great Sunday run (with an Olympian, no less) left me as invigorated and inspired as I've felt in weeks.

A note to my track geek friends: Hans was a two-time All-American at Clemson University. In 1980, he was the ACC Champion in the mile and two-mile run. He is Clemson's record holder in the two mile run with a time of 8:33.03. Outdoors, he earned All-America honors in the 3000m steeplechase in 1981, 1982 and 1983. He won conference titles in the steeplechase twice (1982, 1983) as well as the 5000m crown in in 1983. His steeplechase p.r. is 8:18.02 (Budapest, 1985), which was the Dutch national record for over 20 years until being broken by European record holder Simon Vroemen. He competed in both the 1984 and 1988 Summer Olympic games.

Blog updates

2008-01-30T02:31:00.000-08:00

Thanks for all of the comments on the blog. We have a lot of fun bringing you updates.

Two new updates include a full range of photos from both of our recent trips to Spain. Look at the end of the Espana! and Barcelona! blog entries for links to the photo albums.

Barcelona!

2008-01-25T07:29:00.000-08:00

I promise that I won't overdo the exclamation points this time, but Barcelona was exceptional.

Stacey was scheduled to attend the Bread & Butter fashion tade show last weekend, so I decided to join her for an extended weekend trip. With her mother visiting us in Amsterdam, babysitting duties were covered.

Barcelona has perhaps eclipsed other cities as my favorite destination in Europe. Revitalized for the 1992 Olympic Games, the city is the shining jewel of Spain. Everything that makes a European city great can be found here: Incredible cuisine, a vibrant nightlife, architecture that leaves you breathless, bustling markets...and plenty of sunshine!

After landing at the airport, I boarded a free, clean, and convenient train and soon connected to the city's subway system. As soon as I emerged from the station in the heart of the city, I knew that the trip would be magical. First, I had to shake off the dust with a glass of Sangria at a tapas bar next to the hotel. Stacey soon met me, and we shared another glass before heading out to meet her enchanting co-workers for a delectable dinner at a locally-owned restaurant that sat on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea.

On Friday, I managed to slip through the gates of the trade show with Stacey (don't ask!). As with any huge international trade show, the booths and products displayed seemed to go on forever. Multiple levels of the main exhibit hall displayed sportswear, fashion lines, denim, and accessories from across the globe. A big "wow" factor.

The rest of the day was spent wandering about the city, weaving through tiny streets, ducking in and out of shops, and satiating our appetite for food and drink. Say what you will about the cuisine of the rest of the world...Spanish tapas deserve their place near the top of the heap.

In the late afternoon, we headed north from the city to the Parc Guell, enjoying the famed architect Antoni Gaudi's incomparable tiled creations--benches, sculptures, rooftops, and caverns.

The view of the entire city was remarkable.

The walk back to the city center took hours and numerous food and drink stops, culminating in one of the many small plazas of the Gracia neighborhood where we enjoyed a meal adjacent to a magnificent bell tower. Needless to say, we slept well that night.

More adventure was on tap for Saturday. But first, we enjoyed a late breakfast/early lunch in the Born district (yes, more tapas!). From there, we walked along the famed La Rambla, enjoying people-watching as much as anything. La Boqueria, Barcelona's enormous food/produce/meat market is the most spectacular I've ever seen. If you're familiar with Amsterdam, think Noordermarkt on steroids x 100!

Onward we went, again heading to higher altitudes, this time to an incredible cathedral that sits high above the city, accessed by a series of trolleys and trams. The views? To say "breathtaking" would be doing the English language a grave injustice and perhaps making the understatement of the century.

I should mention at this point that our traveling companion for the weekend was a good friend from the States and a co-worker of Stacey's, Sam Halvorsen, whose infectious laugh made the journey always fun.

Plus, she's got a knack for finding just the "right" souvenir at gift shops! ;-)

A long night out was ahead of us on Saturday. We kicked off the night by attending an incredible flamenco dancing show. I'm normally very skeptical of tourist-oriented shows, but this one was first class, at nearly bud

get prices. The music, the singing, and mostly, the dancing were done with a passion rarely seen with stage shows, and virtually

every aspect of the show was performed with precision and professionalism. And the Sangria kicked ass, too.

Perhaps it was the Sangria, but after we left the flamenco show, I felt a tear form in my eye and a lump in my throat as we looked up at the incomparable Sagrada Familia. It's beauty is challenging to put into words.

Remarkably, this intricate masterpiece of a church was begun in 1882, and construction continues to this day, with its finish projected sometime around 2026! The sight alone of the magnificent structure is inspirational.

We had an amazing time going to a number of fun night spots, at one time wedging ourselves into an impossibly small aisle with a Danish friend of Sam's who lives in the city. But again, the bed felt comfortable at the end of the evening.

Like any great adventure, this one came to an end all too quickly. If you have never visited Barcelona, I suggest you make reservations sometime very soon to discover, as we did, one of the more incredible destinations on the European continent.

Click HERE to see ALL of the photos we took in Barcelona.

Espana!

2008-01-09T14:44:00.000-08:00

Every sentence written about Spain should end in an exclamation point (and begin with an upside-down one, if you know your Spanish)! There are few better ways to describe the intensity, beauty, and spice of the country, regardless of how laid back a small Spanish town might appear to the casual observer!

We chose Spain for our Christmas/New Year/Birthday holiday trip, and were rewarded with a very memorable journey! While many Dutch and other Europeans head for warmer winter

climates, we chose the moderate temps of Espana’s Costa del Sol and were not disappointed! With the sun on our face for all but 1 or 2 days of the trip, we enjoyed a

leisurely break from Amsterdam life with a wide variety of Spanish experiences!

Malaga was our destination airport, and our home base was the resort town of Fuengirola, a 20 or 30-minute drive from the airport! We wisely chose to rent an apartment unit, which offered us the ability to cook food and use this location as our jumping off point for numerous day trips! Here are the highlights of those trips!

Gibraltar

If you’ve seen the Prudential Insurance logo (Get a Piece of the Rock), you’ve seen an outline of the Rock of Gibraltar! An English territory, Gibraltar isn’t big but is quite impressive, both geologically and historically! We took a van tour to the top of the rock and were treated to siege tunnels (dug by hand in the 1700s to protect the territory from the inevitable Spanish invasion), a colony of legendary Gibraltarian monkeys, and the kids first taste of British fish and chips! It was like a little slice of London, transplanted to southern

Spain, within 12 miles of the coast of Morocco! The strategic importance of Gibraltar is made very clear as one gazes across the water and envisions 17^th or 18^th century clippers nicely making way at cruising speed en route to points east! One rather curious feature of Gibraltar is the airport: The isthmus is quite narrow and therefore quite restrictive to the size of aircraft that can land (737’s are the upper limit)! The runway bisects the road into Gibraltar, which must be closed when aircraft are taking off or landing! Once the plane passes and is at the gate or in the air, the barricades rise and foot and auto traffic is allowed to pass, traveling directly over the tarmac of the runway!

Ronda

No, it’s not the name of a Beach Boys song! Ronda is an incredible little town nestled in the rolling countryside and deep canyons of inner Andalusia, housing Moorish architecture, a gorgeous town, and Spain’s oldest bullfighting ring!

The kids loved the bullfighting ring, and I swear that I could feel the ghost of Hemmingway

as we sat in the sun and gazed upon the ring! Maya and Cole each had great fun playing the bull to their father’s role of the matador! The bell tolls for thee!*

Mijas

Ah, Mijas! Perhaps the most lovely town of our trip, this small village sits in the hills above Fuengirola and overlooks the Mediterranean and the coast! With winding, steep

streets, it’s easy—and a whole lot of fun—to get lost amidst the whitewashed buildings and storefronts! Donkeys, colorfully decorated, pull touristas in small carts about the town, but we opted to travel by foot in our explorations! Cole particu

larly enjoyed the delicious candied almonds sold by street vendors! Daddy enjoyed his 40^th birthday lunch in a nice café overlooking the sea, drenched in sunshine, as well as a wine tasting (mmm, Rioja! Grenache! Tempranillo!) in a small, backstreet wine shop! And we all had fun with other families at a kids’ playground perched on one of the town’s highest streets! Mijas!! The town deserves a double dose of exclamations!!

Benalmadena Costa

The best way to see a long, long way on the Costa del Sol is to take a gondola ride from this little village that sits between Fuengirola and Malaga! Up we went in our little cable car, high above the sea and town! At the apex of the ride, we got out and hiked even higher (w

hich didn’t seem possible) and enjoyed another brilliantly sunshiny day! Before heading back down, we were treated to a show from a well-trained Andalusian horse and handler!

Grenada

Well, this town was a bit of a bust for us, the most disappointing of the trip! We had intended to visit the legendary Alhambra, an ancient Moorish fortress, but tickets must be purchased long in advance and when we arrived on 31 December, we were S.O.L. (aka, “outta luck”)! The next day was a holiday, so same story! So, we explored the streets a bit and grabbed dinner at a Chinese restaurant, a heckuva way to celebrate New Year’s Eve! Spaniards have a rather unique New Year’s custom, which involves ingesting one grape on EACH stroke of the clock at midnight! So, BONG!, one grape in the mouth! A second later, BONG!, in goes the second grape, etc. onward to the 12^th stroke of the clock! Happy New Year!, you now have a mouthful of 12 freakin’ grapes to contend with! Hopefully (unlike me) you chose to purchase pit-free or pre-pitted grapes so you’re not crunching grape nuts along with your fruit! The fireworks continued for hours, but we hit the sack out of exhaustion!

Alpujarra

Leaving Grenada, we drove southward to the Sierra Nevada mountains to see the scenery! And oh, were the vistas incredible! The Alpujarra is a series of small towns & villages that dot this incredible landscape, each nestled in a canyon or perched upon a rock outcropping! After buying a bag of deliciously sweet oranges from an old man alongside the winding road (!), we drove up, up, up to the tiny village of Canar, not far from the town of Orgiva! As the kids played at a park, we looked out over the beautiful landscape, listening to the drums of hikers/trekkers from across the nearest valley, and gazed contently at the sheepherder who tended flock just below the village! I wonder if the job of sheepherding comes with health insurance, or if it’s just built into the job description!

Fuengirola

As our host town, we had ample time to enjoy the seaside boardwalk and restaurants! We dined at Italian, Indian, Dutch, and Spanish tapas res

taurants! We shopped in the amazing Spanish supermarket Eroski! And the kids loved playing and exploring the castle that was just ¼ mile from our hotel, with it’s incredible views of the sea, beautiful architecture, and vibrant history! Maya and Cole really enjoyed the steep steps to the castle’s highest parapets (something that would NEVER be allowed in the litigious US society!) and pretending that they were tour guides!

Alas, all vacations must come to an end! A day or two of clouds weren’t enough

to dampen our spirits or enthusiasm for the people of Spain and their wonderful hospitality and friendliness! Did I mention the paella?!?!!

Click HERE to see ALL of the photos from the trip.

*“If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” –John Donne, 1623

Listen to your parents!

2007-12-22T13:56:00.000-08:00

It was an absolutely gorgeous day in Amsterdam today. The sun was shining, the breeze was light, and the crisp winter weather felt good.

Since it's been so cold (as mentioned in the previous post), most of the ponds in Vondelpark are almost completely frozen. I've also noticed today that a few of the smaller canals have formed some ice, too, giving even more hope to the Elfstedentocht dreams!

Since today was the first day of Christmas vacation, and since the weather was so beautiful, we took a bike ride around Vondelpark. The first thing we noticed were all of the people...kids, mostly...treading on the ice. I said to Stacey, "There is no way that I'd let our kids do that. That ice is WAY too thin." The regular wintertime news flashes of my youth, with horrible news of some kid falling through and freezing to death, must have made an impression. I always seem to remember that 4 inches of ice thickness was the ideal for safe ice travels.

So, after a few laps of the park, Stacey took off on her run, leaving Maya, Cole, and I to enjoy the kids' playpark area, which features a large fountain/reflecting pool, now completely frozen over. There were a number of kids playing on the ice, banging away, slipping around, and enjoying stuff that kids do when on the ice. Maya and Cole were instantly attracted to the ice, and I didn't put up a fight...the water is only 8 or 10 inches deep at best, and upon close examination, the ice seemed pretty thick.

But one spot was a bit concerning...there was a 4-foot wide hole near the center of the ice. Of course, I told the kids about 6 times, "Stay away from the water. Stay away from the hole. Stay away from the water."

After about the 7th time, I just quit. And that's when Cole slipped and fell, face first, into the icy cold drink, completely immersing his lower body, his hands, and a good part of his torso.

It all happened so quickly, and the stoic Dutch nearby reacted predictably: I heard just one guy say, "Oh." Everyone stared as I went into full winter survival mode, scooping up a soaking wet 4-year old under one arm and running for my bike, yelling over my shoulder at Maya to run as fast as she could to follow me. After unlocking the bikes in record time, I threw the sobbing Cole on the bike seat and pleaded with Maya to pedal as if she were sprinting for a Tour de France finish line. Fortunately, the ride home took just minutes, and we had Cole in a hot shower in no time.

It sounds pretty serious, but looking back on the unexpected swim, it was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time! Call me cold (or call my son cold, he he), but it was pretty humorous, especially considering our comments just a few minutes prior to the mishap. I wish I could have had it all on videotape!

A good lesson learned on (another) great day in the Netherlands. Listen to your parents!

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

2007-12-20T08:01:00.001-08:00

And then...the canals froze over.

Not really, but a Dutchman can dream, can’t he?

As the chill has progressively crept into the air above The Netherlands, thoughts have naturally turned toward one of the oldest sports known to the Dutch: Ice skating. When you turn on your television during the next Olympic games, you’ll probably see hoards of Dutch skating fans, decked out in their finest suits of orange, cheering on their nation’s excellent speed skaters. Skating and this country are interchangeable, connected like Canada and maple syrup, Sweden and meatballs, The United States and apple pie.

For the last week or so, the temps have steadily plummeted, making every bike ride around the city—even the short commute to the kids’ school—quite “brisk.” Last weekend, I noticed the first fountain that was partially frozen. Yesterday, a number of the smaller ponds in Vondelpark were frozen over. But the more swiftly moving water of the canals remains fluid.

That’s not stopping our neighbors to the north in the agricultural province of Friesland. This skating-crazy place boasts, besides the world-famous Friesian cows, many skating clubs. Each year when the weather turns cold, it’s a race between the clubs to see which one can host the first ice skating competition of the year, with ice-making specialists huddling and inspecting the ice to determine if the races shall proceed.

The largest competition, called the Elfstendentocht (Eleven Cities Tour), is legendary. I heard about it many years ago when doing research about the world’s greatest tests of endurance.

This 200 kilometer (124 mile) race loops around eleven Frisian cities and features up to 15,000 skaters. It’s allegedly quite the spectacle, made even more special by the fact that since it debuted in 1909, it has been held only 15 times, the last in 1997. It just doesn’t get cold enough, often enough for the race to take place.

If you desire to enter the race, I’ve been told that you need to be a member of one of the numerous skating clubs…either that or do parts of the race unofficially after the official race has passed through.

A man told me the other day that the towns the race passes through become the country’s party-central. Spectators go from pub to pub and café to café, cheering on the skaters, ducking into a pub for a drink, and then back out into the cold again to yell and scream for more skaters. Sounds like fun!

So, the dream continues as we deal with icy canal bridges and freezing winds here in the city. In Friesland and throughout the country, the cold nights are filled, not just with visions of sugar plums and brightly-wrapped gifts of Christmas, but also of the Elfstendentocht, and what might be should the trends of global warming subside for just one wonderful week.

And the Oscar goes to...

2007-12-15T12:24:00.000-08:00

I guess it would be a Tony award, actually...for best performance in live theatre. Maya's Year 2 class (the equivalent of 1st grade in the U.S.) but their best feet and voices forward this week with a stunning holiday performance. Maya's class performed a snowman theme skit, and the kids did great.

Maya seems like a natural on the stage, honed with hours of dancing, singing, and generally hamming it up at home. Gee, are we proud parents, or what? It was pretty funny to hear all of the kids deliver their lines on stage. Most accents are British, so when Maya delivered her lines with the bland American accent, the contrast was striking. One of the scene stealers had to come during the Nativity story, when it was revealed to all in the audience that the young man playing the part of the innkeeper was definitely, without question, from the wonderful nation of Scotland. His thick accent was incredible...and wonderful at the same time.Here's a short video of part of the end of the performance. The file is pretty big, so please allow it ample time to load:

...Well, I'll just carry it on my bike!

2007-12-12T12:17:00.000-08:00

I knew I'd see it sooner or later: A guy carrying a newly purchased Christmas tree on his bicycle. They carry everything else on bikes, so why not a Christmas tree??

This photo was taken in 1936 in Cardiff (just across the English Channel from our location, mind you), as a postman takes home his new tree. (Photo courtesy Fox Photos/Getty Images). But at least you get the idea.

It makes me wonder if I'll see anyone hauling a plastic reindeer (or a giant bunny on Easter) on the back of their ride.

London Calling

2007-12-11T07:57:00.000-08:00

A quick trip to London last weekend for a quick business meeting was refreshing, if not relaxing. It was odd to hear people regularly speaking English in public.

Although my trip there was a quick one, I did manage to see a few sights in the city. Nothing of note really, but then again, London is much more than just Big Ben and the Tower. Her beauty lies in the quirky little neighborhoods, a pub with intense football action on the screen (the local team, Reading, took it to Liverpool on Saturday night), and chip stands & betting parlors on every other block.

I got a good education on London’s tube system, since I utilized it quite a bit during the weekend. Contrary to popular belief, it’s well run, seems (mostly) clean, and was very punctual for me. Strangers were extremely friendly and courteous when asked a question.

But it was good to be back in A’dam on Sunday night, even if it did mean a harrowing late-night bus ride from Centraal Station. The nachtlijn (“night line”) starts running if it’s too late for the trams to operate, and this particular bus driver made me feel like I was on the L.A. city bus in the Keanu Reeves movie “Speed.” This guy was cruising through central Amsterdam doing around 45 or 50 miles per hour in a long articulated bus. Pedestrians must have been shrieking in horror, but I can’t tell you…I was holding on for dear life in one of the middle rows, praying that I’d make it to Leidseplein and live to tell about it. Or, perhaps late-night A’dammers are accustomed to seeing the crazy bus drivers make their rounds. Note to self: Beware the nachtlijn as I step from the curb after a few late-night Heinekens.

The Race is On…To the Castle

2007-12-05T10:51:00.000-08:00

It was time to get back on the horse, metaphorically speaking. I had not toed a starting line of any sort of race since Badwater in July, so I registered for a 15 km running race (9.3 miles) located in the oddly-named town of ‘s-Heerenberg, about 80 miles east of Amsterdam, on the German border. Click HERE to read all of the sordid details of the race.

We had foolishly expected another sunny day (see previous post about our trip to Texel Island), but we're we wrong! It was rained buckets most of the day. Stacey and the kids hung out in a snack shop during the race, but they were already soaked to the bone.

Luckily, the adventure was worth the drive. After the race and a warm shower for Dad, it was on to the family portion of our daily program, a visit to ‘s-Heerenberg’s biggest tourist attraction…

…a medieval CASTLE.

The kids were thrilled, even at the mention of the castle (that’s actually how we “sold” the trip to them). Cole was obsessed with questions about the bad guys, and loved trying on pieces of the armor and holding swords. Maya kept trying to figure out where the king and queen slept, ate, etc. (and princesses/princes as well), but she really loved the armor and skeletons a lot too. The Kasteel Huis Bergh is surrounded by a moat, and it’s a building that goes back as far as the 13^th century. It’s filled with an impressive collection of early Italian paintings, medieval manuscripts, and an immense collection of period coins.

But the structure itself was the most impressive feature. We were treated to a private tour of the castle tower, where we were able to hold replica swords. Here are the kids trying out some Spanish-style armor:

Winding staircases and narrow passageways led us to the roof of the tower, where visitors are treated to an impressive view of the town and surrounding countryside. It’s not too difficult to imagine that you are a 14^th-century sentry on the lookout for marauders.

Check out the castle online at www.huisbergh.nl

An Island Vacation

2007-12-05T07:46:00.000-08:00

Who says that islands have to be tropical to be fun? I’m sure they have a lot of fun in Iceland, and that’s an island. Same with Prince Edward Island and the Aleutians.

What The Netherlands lacks in warmth this time of year, they make up in scenery that can take your breath away. Sometime last week, I read in a travel magazine about the beauty of Texel Island, located about an hour drive north of Amsterdam. On Saturday, we made the spontaneous decision to make the journey.

[The previous day, Nike threw a Sinterklaas party for the children of employees, and it was quite a chaotic event. The entire program was in Dutch, but the kids didn’t seem to mind since they’ve learned all the Sinterklaas songs in Dutch at school. As we've mentioned in the previous Sinterklaas post, one tradition is that Zwart Piet hands out little cookies ("peppernoten") to the children, and these Zwart Piets were making a game of it, throwing handfuls into the air throughout the room during the party. Cole particularly loves them, and was eating them hand over fist. The party ended with a gift given to every child, organized by age groups and gender - a Jasmine Barbie doll for Maya and some trucks for Cole. We capped off the evening in a decidedly Dutch manner by having dinner in a Panekoeken house with some friends.]

Saturday dawned brilliantly sunny, as we set out for the town of Den Helder, where, we boarded a ferry for the brief 20-minute float across the water. And once on Texel, we quickly saw why the magazine had rated the island so highly. Small, quaint villages dotted the landscape, but the feature we enjoyed most was the beach that gave us incredible panoramas of the wild and wooly North Sea. The wind was a bit harsh, so we didn’t stay long on the sand, but the hike from the road to the water and back was great fun. The nice 50 degree F weather certainly helped.

The journey back home was fairly uneventful, but the drive alone was a nice way to spend a Saturday. When you’re a foreigner in a foreign land, every curve in the road holds an adventure.

Goldilocks and the 3 Bears

2007-11-24T13:19:00.000-08:00

The young ladies and gentlemen from Miss Everson's British School of Amsterdam's Reception classroom promised a hearty rendition of the classic "Goldilocks & the 3 Bears" and "Billy Goats Gruff" stories, and they delivered with performances that were Oscar (Meyer Wiener) worthy.

Cole had the distinction of playing the role of Baby Bear, while his good friend Sonia played the lead role of Goldilocks. Eschewing the blond wig for her naturally exquisite jet-black hair, Sonia was captivating as she tasted porridge, sat in chairs, and tested beds. Cole was equally convincing with his performance as the youngest of the three Ursidae, exclaiming in shocked horror when he discovered that a young girl was still sleeping in his bed.

Daddy takes full responsibility for the lameness of the young Mr. Pressler's bear costume, but in my defense, have you ever lived in Amsterdam for a month and tried to track down a bear costume for a 4-year old? I didn't think so. His teacher came to the rescue with the application of face paint and some fabulous bear ears. A furry scarf that I found at a market completed the kit.

Congrats to all of the students for a very fine performance indeed!

Sinterklaas & Zwart Piet

2007-11-20T13:41:00.000-08:00

Nothing quite says “Christmas” like reggae music and blackfaced court jesters!

Most European cultures have their own holiday traditions, and the Dutch are no different. Every year, “Sinterklaas,” a tall, white-bearded bishop with a red cape, arrives in the Netherlands from his home in Spain. The day after his arrival, he makes his way to Amsterdam, first on a boat via the Amstel River, and then on the back of a white horse through the middle of the city.

Of course, Sinterklaas has his helper, Zwart Piet (“Black Pete”), in tow. ZP, as I’ll call him, was once upon a time a slave. Now, ZP’s black face is explained by parents as the “soot that he gets when he comes down the chimney.”

Sinter and ZP travel across the country, landing on rooftops on the white horse, then coming down the chimney to leave chocolates and almonds, etc. for the children who have behaved well. The kids are encouraged to leave carrots and straw to feed the horse.

The troubling part of the deal is ZP. For whatever reason, ZP is a Caucasian person wearing “blackface” painting. It’s more than unnerving, and for most Americans (I think) borders on being outright offensive. And there’s not just one ZP. The official ZP crew appears to be two or three, but every single helper, entertainer, driver, band instrument player, parade horse shit scooper, side of the building rapeller, and acrobat is outfitted in the standard ZP garb: A multicolored, silk court jester outfit, complete with feathered hat. Go ahead, Google “Zwart Piet” and see what you find and make your own call!

Anyway, back to this past Sunday, when we took the kids to the Dam square in Amsterdam Centrum to witness Sinterklaas’s arrival. As a reggae band (?) performed traditional “WE LOVE YOU, SINTERKLAAS!” songs, the kids had a blast, especially since the legions of ZPs hand out the traditional Sinterklaas cookie, the pepernoten. These are little crunchy ginger cookies (not to be confused with the German pfeffernusse) are handed out in the Netherlands and Belgium, carried in enormous burlap sacks. All of the kids along the parade route can be heard screaming “Piet! Piet!” so they can get a few handfuls. Plus, the weather was beautiful.

Here's a short video clip that I captured of the man himself riding into Dam square:

We’re settling in well, with most of our furniture in place…we’re just awaiting the delivery of our family room couches from Ikea. A bunch of boxes still need to be unpacked, which might take a bit of time to complete.

I took my road bike out of Amsterdam for a 50k (31-mile) jaunt today, and really enjoyed some beautiful pastoral scenery. I’ll have much more on the Amsterdam cycling scene in an upcoming post.

Tomorrow: Another meeting with government officials to get residency cards; finding a chiropractor; finalizing Christmas travel plans.

Christmas in November

2007-11-16T11:17:00.000-08:00

Friday, 16 November 2007

The title isn’t that much of a stretch, but that’s what today felt like. The bulk of our belongings arrived from the States, securely packed in the container that we had packed over 7 weeks ago in Oregon.

I was disappointed that the movers didn’t have to utilize the automatic lift that they had brought. Most of our stuff was in light boxes, eliminating the need to use the cool conveyor/lift that is commonly used in Holland. Here’s a picture of one in use:

Nor was the “old school” hook & pulley system used:

I see both of these methods being used on almost a daily basis.

Every box brought a new surprise, since we had almost no idea what was in each box. A carton marked “papers” might have easily been towels. I’m not sure why, but that’s just how it was.

Note to self: The next time you move overseas, cut the amount of everything you bring in half. That will be more than enough to get you through.

One of the highlights for me was seeing my very new bike (only one ride in Oregon on her wheels) arrive in perfect shape. I can’t wait to hit the Dutch countryside this weekend for a cold, but very, very welcomed ride. Same for a new pair of running shoes that I sent over.

Other “surprise” goodies: Boxes of Ziploc bags, the kids’ toys, my guitar, our towels, our rugs (that really help the place feel more…homey), and my desk and computer. But the biggest highlight is our big, comfortable bed and mattress. Goodbye backache? I hope so!

...

On a cultural note, this past Wednesday, I took advantage of a fantastic part of Amsterdam life: Every Wednesday at 12:30pm, the Concertgebouw (concert hall, just a 2-minute bike ride from our house) gives a free, half-hour concert during symphony season. Anyone who shows up is treated to a "practice session" of whomever is performing in the next few evenings. This week, the famous conductor/composer/performer Andre Previn directed the Amsterdam Philharmonic and guest violinist (and Previn's ex-wife), Anne-Sophie Muller. It was remarkable, to say the least. Hearing the orchestra perform Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D was...breathtaking. It's very special to listen and watch as the conductor stops the orchestra to give direction. A sort of "behind the scenes" look at the world of a classic music performance.

This weekend: A bike ride and a relaxing few days at home.