Fun Times with The Great American Eclipse

Until yesterday, I never understood why people would spend huge sums of money and travel to far off reaches of the globe to watch an eclipse risking disappointment if clouds happened to obscure the sky that day. Seriously, you do all that work and some cumulonimbus screws up months or years of planning. Who needs it?

Being in San Francisco, we’d have a large percentage of the sun obscured, so a pretty good partial view without any work. Fog is common, although a short 30-60 mile drive in any direction that isn’t the ocean provides plenty of sun. We could have stayed here with eclipse glasses and had a good show for very little work. Reaching Totality required traveling at least 500 miles north to Oregon.

On a Whim

Six or seven weeks ago on a whim I decided to go and see the eclipse from somewhere within totality. Sometimes I’m a planner, sometimes I’m not. I mentioned to my son I was thinking about going and he jumped on it and said he’d definitely come with me. That was the motivation I was looking for. I knew my daughter, who’s fourteen and about to enter high school, would be a harder sell. In fact, she wouldn’t want to go at all. I knew she was going to join us, she just hadn’t realized it, yet.

I bought the last set of eclipse glasses REI had in San Francisco. I read about everyone’s months long planning on Facebook and announced there I was thinking about going. Friends were great and had plenty of advice. Getting all the technology (telescopes, filters, computers, tracking, cameras) felt like too much work for someone interested in the sky, but who doesn’t already have that equipment. No, for me, the main objective was reaching maximal totality or as near maximum without running into too many people.

Camp site reservations and hotel rooms were off the list and were long since gone, anyway. Western Oregon was predicted to be a madhouse (I have no idea if it was). Same for Madras, Oregon. However, the maps showed plenty of forests there (meaning water, meaning clouds) and I-5 and 101 are straight shots north from California. That was too easy access for folks, so I ruled that out. Having some prior experience with BLM land (free for 14 days of camping), I figured I’d look for some remote, dry, dusty gravel road into the middle of nowhere in Eastern Oregon. I picked two spots - one was basically on the maximal totality path and the other was a little bit south west of that and even more remote. If the former was swamped, the latter would do.

Day One - Preparation and Traveling

Saturday morning, my daughter was still feeling a little bit sick, and we hadn’t finished getting everything we needed for camping, so Mason and I ran errands around SF getting last minute things: water, a new gas burner, cans of corn, chili and beans, hot chocolate powder and instant coffee (discount mocha). I printed a portion of a BLM eclipse map (it showed BLM areas and eclipse path) and a couple of google maps with roads hand marked. These would have to do. We loaded the car and left the house at 4pm, but didn’t leave the city until 5pm (got to have a coffee for the road and tissues for the girl).

The Interstate 80 drive to Tahoe is a pretty fast one for me; having done it on and off for the last 25 years, I know it well. That went by in a blink of the eye. In Sparks, NV, In-n-Out burgers refueled our bodies (the receipt said we were ticket #1, a harbinger of good things to come) and the gas station right next it took care of the car. I had decided to sleep in Winnemucca, NV and if we couldn’t get a room, we'd keep going to Elko or just camp somewhere somehow. While I was trying to call hotels, I hadn’t noticed that Mason was driving 92mph. The cop’s radar did. Whoops. He freaked out a little, good thing I was there. The cop asked him how fast he was going. He told the truth. Cop wrote him up for 81mph because he was honest. Nice guy and saved my son $200 while still teaching him a lesson or two.

We rolled into town at 11:30pm and were roundly screwed by all of the long term eclipse planners. What idiot presumes he can get a hotel room at the last minute a couple of days before the most amazing sky show ever even in the middle of nowhere? Apparently, me.

The fifth place I called told me that someone still hadn’t checked in and to call back in 5 minutes. We drove straight there and politely stood in their lobby. Someone who had made a reservation a year ago had given a credit card that had expired last January and wasn’t answering their phone. Three voicemails and fifteen minutes later, they gave me the room. Yipee! We crashed for the night.

Day Two - More Traveling

Our alarms were set for 5:40am - we considered getting breakfast in town before heading north on 95 into Oregon. Mason observed the motel parking lot was still full, perhaps we had some time before everyone else woke up. Still, best get on the road ahead of as many people was we could. After, we refueled the car and ate apples, carrots and uncooked tortillas for breakfast, we hit the road. Nevada and Southeastern Oregon are pretty desolate. There were cars on the road, but I certainly wouldn’t call it busy; although it might have been for non-eclipse traffic on that road. There was a feeling of excitement. Really, it felt like everyone out there was heading somewhere towards the path of totality.

We stopped in Jordan Valley, OR for gas and at this cute little place that had mochas, smoothies, cinnamon buns and Asiago bagels. Nice town, polite people, pretty area. Google maps then took us into Idaho for a short stretch. I let the kids out to stand on the ground. We have a rule - you’ve only been to a state if your feet have touched the earth there. If you just drive through, it doesn’t count. After all, what’s the difference between driving and flying, right? Idaho.

Back into Oregon and google maps wraps us through some agriculture fields and eventually, after much driving, we reach the Brogan, OR area around 11am Pacific time (we are actually in mountain time there). No cell service at this point, although GPS on the phones still works. Mason has the maps I printed, plus whatever data was left in his google maps phone application and our seven year old car’s electronic map of the area. We stop for a moment and check out our options deciding on the location underneath totality because there’s no one around. We head down that dusty gravel road I was hoping for, and he navigates comparing all four maps (two paper, two electronic) calling out BLM land as we pass through.

We drive up a slot canyon while I spot some really crappy flat areas we could camp on and then hike up, if worse comes to worst. We keep going because we aren’t near maximal, yet, and it’s desolate and still no people. When the road starts climbing, we figure that’s a good sign. We probably climb a several hundred feet off the valley floor and a couple of miles drive in after we turn a corner, there’s a little flatish spit of land with six cars and some tents. We pull over, walk around and pick the most level patch of earth to call home for the next 24 hours.

Day Two - Camping

After parking the car, we said hello to the neighbors. I grabbed a gardening trowel out of the car (brought for latrine purposes) and started pitching cow patties from our site. Whoever said Lacrosse skills wouldn't come in handy in real life? Our next door neighbor asked if we wanted to use a couple of portable shovels he had. Nice guy. Mason and I used the shovels to clear the remaining patties and level off the area a little bit. We pitched the tent and moved the car to its north to block the wind we were told rolls in nightly, pulled out the portable chairs and cooked and ate lunch.

Nice place.

After lunch, Becky set up a chair in the shade of the car and read and Mason and I took a scouting hike to the top of a nearby hill. Our plan, if the hill looked good, was to go up there the next day. With no paths out here in the middle of nowhere, we took 25-30 minutes to bushwhack through the shrubs and shin high grasses to the top. From our campsite, the eclipse would have been just fine. From the top of that hill, it looked to be spectacular. We weren’t on the highest peak, but it was reasonably high and it’s southerly face was proud of the other peaks; we had an incredible view of the Brogan valley floor and beyond, plus the mountain ranges to our west and to our east. Perfect viewing for when the shadow descended and receded.

All we needed were clear skies. The place is bone dry. Scrub brush, not forested (who wants trees at your eclipse viewing party, anyway). Weather maps called for the area to be sunny and cloudless through Tuesday. We had as good a shot as any.

Wind picked up as our neighbor predicted. He is a retired marine. More about him later.

We cooked dinner and watched a few other folks straggle in. One group settled next door; the marine and I debated their country of origin based upon their language. He thought he heard German, I thought I heard a Nordic country, but was pretty certain it wasn’t German. He said he wasn’t ever sent to invade white people’s countries, so he wasn’t familiar with their language. Later on, we found out they were Austrian, so we were both right. One of them is a PhD student studying childhood cancers at Stanford and the two friends had come to visit. His friend is an amateur astronomer and had brought along his really cool telescope, mount and a solar filter. Awesome. I just needed to convince them to climb the hill and we’d be set.

Kids and I made dinner. More chili, beans, corn, tortillas, and some canned artichoke hearts packed in water. We weren’t here for the dinning experience. After we finished the meal, both of them agreed we should be camping more, even when there wasn’t an eclipse. Wow. Not unexpected, but really great to hear. It was wonderful to be out there with them.

Day Two - Shooting the Shit

After clean up, our neighbor the marine, David from Riverside, said he had a bottle of scotch he didn’t want to camp back out and offered me a glass. He also had ice. Amazing! The guy was definitely camping at a level well above ours. I grabbed two chairs (one for mason) and a couple of cups and we sat down with him, sipped scotch on the rocks and traded stories. Eventually, Becky wandered over and joined us.

We heard how he had gotten into the service (joined at 17!), married within weeks of that, had a couple of sons, and was sent to Beirut just after the bombing in ’93. He took his only shot then. A through and through in the left shoulder by some 14 year old sniper. His buddies killed the kid. They patched him up, gave him a purple heart and he did a few more tours: Somalia, Afghanistan, Iraq. He got a college degree through the GI Bill after his first tour. He now trains new recruits and is a project manager for the marines.

Nice guy. We talked about the politics of the military, about AI and drones and engaging the enemy directly vs. from far away and fighting a long, long war (his son went Iraq, too). About a country disengaged from the people it sends off to fight for it and how that isn’t good. Mostly, though, we swapped stories and laughed and he got me really drunk on his scotch, so much so that I could barely stand up straight to relieve myself. My kids got a big kick out of that.

I suggested he join us on the hilltop the next day, but he wanted to hightail it out of there the moment totality had finished. He didn’t want the crowded roads. He liked being out on his own alone (not lonely). He had been there for a few days and the weekend brought a bunch of people. That was OK, but there’s a time for moving along.

Neat man.

Day Three - Ascent into Darkness

We didn’t put up the rain fly and the stars were out in force. I watched them on and off throughout the night. Clear skies were a good sign. Left the tent at dawn, checked out a bright Venus and then peered through our neighbor’s telescope at the planet; she was nearly full. We chatted about climbing the nearby hill and when to head up, which time zone we were in and when the partial would start.

Kids and I made breakfast, more chile and beans and drank our discount mochas. We cleaned up, broke camp and stowed all of the gear in the car. Then, we lathered on sunscreen, loaded our portable chairs with water, eclipse glasses, books, rubix’s cube, bug spray, and a 4K video camera and headed up the hill about 15 behind the Austrians and a group of four people who had driven in from Boise that morning. The parents were from New Mexico and their adult daughter and her boyfriend had flown in from SF. The California continent was strong up there.

Eventually, a tall older gentleman from Seattle who was a retired Boeing Aeronautical Engineer and who had a graduate degree in Mathematics joined us. He had arrived at the campsite about 30 minutes before we did on Sunday in his Prius, slept the night in his small car and had a pair of welding goggles with him (“cheap man’s eclipse glasses”). We chatted about the history of the Rubix’s Cube.

The astronomer had his telescope set up with the filter and we all broke out our glasses when the partial eclipse started about 70 minutes before totality. We had plenty of time to chat and look through the scope at the sun’s spots and wonder about the state of the corona and what the moon’s shadow would look like coming across the horizon.

After 35 minutes, the light was noticeably different. It had an odd dimness to it. You could tell that the world wasn’t as well lit, but the light didn’t have the pink and light blue hues of a sunset; the light was white. It was more like a room well lit with dim florescent bulbs. The world got colder and everyone got excited. Becky sat in her chair and read. Waiting can be boring sometimes.

About 15 minutes before totality, the astronomer connected his camera to the scope, no more viewing with our eyeballs. Later, Mason got his email to trade video for his photographs.

There was so much to look at. The world was getting darker to the East. It was still lighter in the West. The valley floor was slowly dimming. The sun still peeked past the moon and was far too bright to look at (yes, I snuck a quick look from time to time). I watched for the diamond ring effect and balley’s beads, but 2x eclipse glasses just don’t do the trick. The world was getting darker and darker and suddenly, boom, that was it.

Day Three - Totality

Words cannot do justice to Totality. Really, they can’t. If I were reading this last week, I’m not sure what I’d understand. I will do my best here to convey what we saw and felt.

You can cover 99% of the sun, and it is still the sun. It is freaking bright, it hurts your eyes and it lights the world around you.

100% of the sun covered is a jewel in the sky. It’s a beautiful, hanging bright white and black jewel. The moon’s shadowed side, the one we know and love at full moon is an inky black hole in the sun. The corona (and we had a good one) streams out from a glowing white ring. The corona is white and brilliant and ethereal. It shines so bright and softly lights the world around you. The sky isn’t black as night, stars don’t come out (or perhaps, because of our height, we had more light in our field of view). I saw Venus and Mercury. The Boeing Engineer saw Mars.

You almost can’t take your eyes off of the sun/moon combination. It is simultaneously amazing, unnerving and thrilling. It’s like some angry beast up there, beautiful and terrible. And, it’s far, far too short. We were lucky as it lasted over two minutes. If we weren’t under the maximal totality, we were extremely close.

The difference between totality and a 99% partial eclipse is like drinking iced lemonade on a hot summer day while listening a beautiful symphony in park and the other is like grinding salt into an open wound - that is, there is no comparison. One will move and uplift you and the other will stab your eyes.

The world around us was dark for a blink and for eternity. The sun and moon hung up there making a thing not from this world. Then, it was over. The shadow lifted, the moon shadow swept East, the West lightened and the sun came back. Some of our group started to descend. Mason and the astronomer traded info. Becky turned to me, told me it was incredible, that she was really happy to have seen it and that she was glad she came. We said our goodbyes to the Austrians and headed down the hillside towards our car and back out into the world. Mason noticed that far below us David, true to his word, was already driving his truck south on that dusty road.

Day Three - Post Totality & Denouement

The drive back was uneventful. There was some madness on the two lane country road that is 95 with 5% of the cars passing the rest of us for really, no reason whatsoever. We refueled back in Jordan Valley; both the car and the people. We stopped again in Sparks for burgers for dinner and were home before midnight in San Francisco.

I can’t say I’m a changed person, but I can say now more than ever I firmly believe that experiences are far more important than things. Whenever you have a choice in your life, take an experience over a thing. We had very little when we headed out into the Eastern Oregon desolation. Some stuff, some calories, plenty of water, each other and the promise of an adventure. We made camp friends, traded stories, shared stuff and experienced something amazing together.

It was wonderful.

What a trip.

A Most Horrible Holiday Poster from American Eagle

It's the day before Thanksgiving and I'm walking through a mall in downtown San Francisco to do some holiday shopping. Of course, every store has their holiday advertising up and available. I wander past the American Eagle store and see this poster.

Double-take. Now, I've been living in this city for a couple of decades now, I'm not a prude. That said, I found this poster shocking and truly horrible. I have no idea how old that model is, but in person, she looks to be a young girl. Here's a close up.

There had to be nearly a dozen young women on staff in that store. I spoke with the manager about the poster, and she admitted she hadn't even really looked at it before I mentioned it to her. I understand we've become inured to how much advertising uses sex to sell us things.

However, what exactly is being sold here? What is being sexualized and objectified? Who is the 'I' in "All I Want"? The girl laying on the white fur rug or the observer staring at her underwear? What exactly does 'I' want? Underwear? The girl? Her ass?

At this point, may I strongly urge all who read this to (a) ask American Eagle to pull down all of these posters (website here, look for "Feedback" link) and (b) shop somewhere else this season until they remove them.

A Cross Country Trip

filled with Barbecue, a Ballgame and a ton of driving.

Day 1: Bethesda, MD to Warren, OH
Day 2: Warren, OH to Bettendorf, IA
Day 3: Bettendorf, IA to York, NE
Day 4: York, NE to Laramie, WY
Day 5: Laramie, WY to Winnemucca, NV
Day 6: Winnemucca, NV to San Francisco, CA

Chemo Done, Let the Healing Begin

Just got back from my oncologist appointment. As he heard very slight crackle at the base of my lungs, indicative of possible lung disfunction due to Bleomycin, we agreed to cancel my last chemo infusion, so, as of today, I'm done with chemotherapy infusions. Strictly speaking, I'm not done with chemotherapy as this third cycle won't be complete until Day 21, which is July 7th, and more importantly, the Cisplatin I received last week is still floating around my body and will be so for quite some time. I continue to experience nausea, weird sensations and slight side effects from the treatment like clumsiness (related to the platinum eating nerve endings in fingers and toes).

Diane managed to get me to walk a mile, yesterday, which, to be honest, felt awful, but I know was good for me. I look forward to continuing to build my health from there.

The doctor and I discussed what is next in store for me, both (1) follow-up/monitoring and (2) getting back in shape. For the former, I have scans at the end of the summer to detect any remaining tumors. We killed the idea of a PET scan as none of my tumors were large enough to justify the scan nor the exposure to the additional radiation. So, assuming those come back negative (no reason to believe they will be otherwise), we reset my status to Year One and start whatever the standard observation schedule is recommended.

As far as getting back in shape, after a blood test in a couple of weeks just to be sure my blood levels return to normal, I plan to resume bicycling. Nothing crazy, just something to ease my way back into the biking life. In the meantime, I will walk, run and swim until I feel strong enough to endure a CrossFit session with Nate Helming. Perhaps, it's possible I'll be in shape enough to do a Sprint Tri by the Fall, if I can find one.

The last bit is going to be a bit more complicated, trying to figure out what the heck all of this business did to me. I look forward to spending the summer rebuilding my body while building my company. I've received great support from friends and family. Thanks to all of you for your words of wisdom, food for the family, texts, and emails.

It's 2 AM - Do You Know Where Your Cancer Patient Is?

Yesterday, or earlier this morning depending upon how you feel like counting, I received my last dose of heavy chemotherapy drugs. No more Cisplatin or Etoposide Phosphorous pouring into my veins. I have two more weeks, two more days of infusions of Bleomycin. Really, all of these drugs are pretty heavy duty, some are just heavier than others. As part of the pre-infusion treatment, I'm given a steroid. It's that steroid that has me up at 2am.

I've been up at 2am every night this past week and was so every night my first two cycles of treatment. They've given me drugs that can help calm me, but I'm leery of side effects and trade a little bit of exhaustion for a reason to nap in the afternoon. Where we currently live, the water should be filtered before drinking, and the kitchen fridge has the only filter. So, I sleep on the living room couch, makes trips to the first floor bathroom and do my best to take in fluids, graze from the refrigerator and keep the nausea at bay. The classical music cable station sometimes helps. I'm always tired by 5am.

This last cycle is a strange one. I seem to tolerate it better and am not sure why. My kids comment on it and they don't miss a beat. One cannot discount the psychological impact of that light at the end of the tunnel. On the other hand, I really muscled through Cycle 2. During Cycle 1, I went to the ER 4 times (twice during the failed start and twice during the reboot). I resolved to have no ER visits the second cycle and laid on the couch through Day Eleven. By that day, my lungs were slightly bubbly at the bottom, a possible sign I was reacting poorly to the Bleo. I mentioned to my oncologist my very lazy week and we agreed it could possibly be a very slight pneumonia. A chest Xray was ordered for a few days later.

In the meantime, not wanting to make myself any more sick, Day 12 I walked a mile. Day 13, I walked three miles. Day 14, I swam 500 yards (10 x 50 yds). That swim wiped me out; I knew it when I sat down, then laid down on a bench with my eyes closed and the world was spinning. 500 yards used to be a good warm up or light work out - not that day. My Xray was scheduled for Monday (Day 15), so I ran 1.5 miles beforehand, I wanted to clear my lungs of anything over which I had control. The test came back negative. Great! I could continue the Bleomycin because I did not want a fourth round of EP (heavy chemo), for sure. I ran 3 miles on Day 20, then swam a half mile on Day 21. Pre-Cancer Therapy Andy called that a light exercise week. Chemotherapy Andy considers that a sound recovery week.

It also helped to have two great business meetings for the startup (Route Vu). My brain still functions, if not at tip, top levels.

So, here I am, it's 2am, and I wonder how the next few days will go. In the past two cycles, these have been the worst days, for sure. Perhaps, I'll try to get out and walk a little bit. Nothing hard or exciting, just move the body and see how much I tolerate. We know walking is the single most effective thing anyone can do to help their health, if they are unable to do anything else.

My prognosis remains very, very good - nearly 100%. In four to eight weeks, I will have a PET scan to search for any remaining metabolically active tumors. After that, we will set a follow-up observation schedule spanning years perhaps a decade. Most importantly, I should be done with all of this nasty business.

Despite my weakened state from all of the poison, I am buoyed somewhat by the prospect of never having to physically deal with this disease, ever again.

May was Action Month

Highlights for chemotherapy this month:

1. Started chemo, had allergic reaction to the Etoposide, while treating the reaction, I was accidentally overdosed on Epinephrine. I thought I was going to die. HR stayed around 120bpm and BP was 220/110. ER Trip #1 with overnight stay. Hoping for no longterm side effects.
2. Restarted chemo cycle a week later with Etopophos (Etoposide Phosphorus).
3. Weight swing (down) of fifteen pounds put me in the ER (Trip #2) because my temperature spiked to 101.8 (over 100.4 I have to go to ER for possible septic infection). That was a two day hospital visit.
4. Back in ER (Trip #3) for chest pains, which turned out to be a panic attack.
5. I managed to do a couple of light runs and get in some two light and one respectable CrossFit workout.
6. Started second cycle of chemo this week. More fatigue and nausea this time around.

Switched to BEPx3.  I decided that I have enough lung function to spare and will let them take the hit in order to reduce the chance of neuropathy in fingers and toes.  As I am a non-smoker under the age of 50, lung impact is minimal.  Spoke with Dr. Einhorn, famed TC researcher and Lance Armstrong's doctor, he urged me to consider 3xBEP for these reasons.