jforbess.org

The first two miles I biked today gained 1000 ft. (Or, to put it
sensibly, the first 3 km I biked gained 300 meters.) A ten percent
grade. That’s pretty steep. I had been warned by the biking group
staying at my hotel about the climb, so I fretted a little, and
dawdled on the internet, pretending I was letting my bagel digest.

It was hard, but I did it with just two brief stops to catch my
breath. Then I biked another 12 miles uphill to gain another 2000
ft. It took three hours. Theoretically the rest of the day was
downhill, which really, it was, with a few rolling hills on the Old
Mamalahoa highway. Unfortunately, the trade winds were unusually
strong, from 10 to 15 mph, with gusts up to at least 25 mph. And they
were headwinds and crosswinds, making my day much harder. Everytime I
stopped, I would wonder why I was so sore. And then I would realize
how much harder I was working from the wind. That’s the last time I
listen to Death for advice with biking itineraries. Predominantly
downhill, he said, trade winds on both sides of the island, he said.

When I crested the fourth tallest mountain on the Big Island, at 3564
ft, I could see the telescopes on the top of Mauna Kea, shining
white. I was struck by how much they reminded me of the navigational
heiau I’d seen a few days before. Instead of dark brown stones
sandwiched between golden grass and the blue sea, they were white
globes sandwiched between the dark brown mountain and the blue
sky. But both reminded us that there were amazing worlds far away that
we wouldn’t know of without intelligence and science. Even if the
science does seem more like magic to those of us who aren’t students
of it.

As I coasted down the mountain to Waimea, I had to stay in the middle
of the lane, as I feared a badly timed gust of wind could push me off
the side of the road. Waimea was still at 2500 ft, so I had plenty of
coasting down left to do.

Waimea is definitely a cowtown. Well, partly that’s just how they
primp themselves out for tourists. I saw a lot of country craft type
stores, and I when I wandered through the Parker Ranch store looking
for beef jerky, I was amused to see it filled with western shirts,
cowboy hats and tooled leather purses and belts.

Luckily, they also had a natural foods store, so I was able to get
lunch from someplace besides McDonald’s, KFC or Starbucks. All the
local restaurants close on Sundays. Grr.

The ride out of town was fine once the road turned from city
thoroughfare to state highway, and the shoulder got bigger. I decided
to take the Old Mamalahoa highway, because while the shoulder was
decently sized, there was alot of traffic passing me every
minute. Luckily for me, it didn’t involve heading straight up a hill
to begin. In fact, it was a pleasantly rolling ride through fields,
some with grazing cattle. It reminded me of Wisconsin or Michigan in
early summer. Sun, cool winds, sharp corners on roads with no
shoulders and no traffic. I think that my ride out of Houghton, MI had
high winds.

The last mile or two was much more sharply down. Which was fun. It was
also more protected by trees. I’m really glad I wasn’t travelling in
the other direction.

I arrived in Honoka’a, and found my hotel, Hotel Honoka’a Club. I
really like mom and pop hotels. Especially mom and pop hotels with
free wireless. This one isn’t as nice as the Kohala Village Inn, but
the ceilings are high, the courtyard has a beautiful tree of some
tropical nature, and the bed is comfortable.

I got takeout from the nearby fast food place, which for some reason
in Hawaii is called a Drive-Inn. It makes me crazy. I ordered saimin
with roast pork, which ended up being a noodle soup type thing with
cabbage and bean sprouts, plus a side of roast pork. The pork was
awesome, the rest not so much. At least it wasn’t covered in gravy,
like the other Hawaiian specialty, loco moco, which I believe is meat
and eggs on rice covered in gravy. Eeee.

Today I biked part of the ironman, snorkeled, hiked to an ancient
stone formation representing where the islands of polynesia are, and
bought a necklace and a skirt. Then I had an excellent meal while
watching a Hawai’ian duo sing. Chicken sate pot stickers with lots of
peanut sauce, ono with a soy citrus sauce, and coconut cream
brulee. Oh, and a lilikoi (passionfruit) daiquiri. I love
passionfruit. My stomach hurt after the brulee, though. Oink.

My last night of camping for the foreseeable future wasn’t very
comfortable. Somehow I’ve lost the knack of sleeping in a tent. The
campground surface was dust, with bedrock about two inches down. I
don’t know how I managed to get the four necessary tent stakes in the
ground. I had to give up on the two that held the doors on either
side, and keep my rain fly open all night. It was warm, so that was
ok, but when the wind kicked up before dawn, I ended up with dust in
my mouth. And one of the first four tent stakes pulled up, but
luckily, it was the corner where I stashed my laptop, and was barely
noticeable.

As I pulled out of camp, I was cheered on by two locals who were
impressed with my accomplishments. Stuff like that can really improve
my mood, and I pushed through the fourteen percent grade up with
barely a huff. (The sign was posted on the way down, but luckily I
didn’t obsess over it all night.)

I coasted two miles downhill to breakfast, where one of the other
customers claimed to be deathly allergic to onions. Is that possible?

The 270 road up the coast was rolling, but the headwinds were a
challenge. 15 to 25 mph winds, pushing me slightly towards the middle
of the pavement. There were two beaches described in my guidebook as
having good snorkeling, so I decided to try at least one of them.

The first one, Mahukona, was in the harbor of an old sugar cane
warehouse. I was told by a local in Hawi that this harbor was where
all of the sugar from the north point of the island was taken to be
shipped to the West Coast where it was processed. Underwater were
supposed to be remnants of the sugar cane machinery. The huge chain I
saw was pretty picturesque.

The fish I saw were interesting, and numerous, and the water was
medium clear. What I liked was the ladder down (beach entries are
unnerving, with the slippery rocks), and the fact that I was the only
one snorkeling. I was walking back to my bike and deciding that I was
happy with my decision to punt on Captain Cook and spend more time
along this less populated coast when I saw a spinner dolphin in the
distance. These are the only dolphins that regularly spin
longitudinally without coaching. And that’s what I saw. It was a joy
to see another creature enjoying a beautiful day just like I was, if I
can anthropomorphize a bit.

Then I hiked along the coast to a navigational heiau, where the stones
were aligned to indicate the other Hawaiian islands and other islands
in Polynesia. Amazing.

I biked back up to the highway, and turned off two miles further on to
the next beach, Kapa’a. The road down to the beach was excitingly downhill,
meaning it was going to be painfully uphill on the return.

I almost didn’t snorkel, because the entry to the water was full of
slippery rocks. But I was already halfway in the water, and I didn’t
want to have to make that bike ride up for nothing, so I took the
plunge. The water was amazingly clear. The best I’d seen. The fish
were neat, and I saw some sea snake type creature that made me
shiver. Again, I was in the water all by myself, despite the fact that
it was 11 am on a beautiful Saturday morning. Nice.

When I returned to land to dry off, I noticed that there were quite a
number of bees, as the guidebook had mentioned. I don’t mind bees, but
I did have to pay attention, not wanting to squoosh one
accidentally. Anyone who is allergic or has a phobia would probably
want to skip this beach.

After the slog up the hill, it was just five miles to Hawi, where I
was staying for the evening. I had thought of biking the sixteen mile
round trip past Hawi to the end of the road for the view, but the
headwind sucked that desire away. I passed a couple also struggling
with the headwind. They ended up being part of a biking group that
stayed at the same hotel.

I got to Hawi and had an iced latte and some lychee
sorbet. Awesome. Then I wandered through the boutiques until it was
time to check into my hotel. I chatted with the owner of one store who
thought Hawi was too built up now, having moved in 24 years ago. (Hawi
might be 3000 people. Maybe.) I chatted with a guy who was bragging
about his minimal carbon diet, which was being tested at the
coffeehouse. He has only been on an airplane to get to Hawaii once,
and he walks and bikes most of the time. He’s in construction and
heavy labor, and says that the Hawaiian culture really values strength
in jobs like that, whereas on the mainland, it’s irrelevant, since
there are huge machines to do whatever you need. He described
different facets of Hawaiian culture, and knew a lot about Captain
Cook’s interactions with the Polynesians. It was a really interesting
conversation. He did make me start to dread the ride up the mountain
the next morning. I investigated on the internet and found I’d be
climbing 3000 ft in 12 miles. Yikes. Plus gusting winds!

The Kohala Village Inn is a really nice hotel for how cheap it is. It
has a nice ring of rooms around a courtyard, and though I did have to
deal with the bar noise outside my room, I don’t have any traffic
noise. Which is nice. And free wifi!

Today I forgot to buy dinner. I was so fixated on eating both taro
pancrepes and sushi in Kona that I forgot how limited my options
afterwards would be. So dinner was three Lara bars (lemon, cherry,
banana), a half cup of dried pineapple, a cup of dried bananas, some
very hot wasabi dried edamame and half of an unripe avocado
sprinkled with lemon. The lemon was better than the avocado, so I
sprinkled it in my water after giving up on the avocado. Tomorrow
night I’ll be eating at a posh restaurant recommended by the guide
book and Death. Bike touring is like that.

I checked out ten minutes late this morning because I was so busy
buying plane tickets and IMing my sister(!) that I didn’t start
packing until too late. Luckily, they were nice.

I had a few bad experiences with pickup trucks hating me today. One
honked, I gave it the finger, and it stopped further up the road to
take the opportunity to yell “Fuck you!” at me. That made me laugh.
The other one came close to hitting me as it pulled from the shoulder
to the road. I have no idea how the guy thought I wouldn’t hit him. I
braked. And swore.

Snorkeling was more pleasant. I went to the newbie friendly Kahalu’u
Beach, and risked having everything stolen while I looked at some
great fish. The variety seemed better than at Honaunau Bay
yesterday. Perhaps I wasn’t in the right place down there. I’m still
surprised how much barer the places look than Phu Quoc. I have a hard
time snorkeling for long by myself, because it’s not as much fun
seeing pretty fish without sharing it. Maybe I should get an
underwater camera. I didn’t snorkel for long, maybe half an hour,
partly because of my paranoia about my valuables, and partly because I
got bored. I will stop by another beach tomorrow, I think, and see one
more round of fish before I head east, to the colder, rougher coast of
Hilo.

Then I biked up Ali’i Dr to find the recommended taro
pancrepes. Sadly, I didn’t think they were all that awesome. I got a
savory breakfast one, and perhaps it really shines with the sweet
toppings. (I spread really good guava jelly on the last third, and
that was awesome, but I think it was the jelly.) Where’s the taro
flavor?

Then I went shopping! An alohawear craze had set in after wandering
through the stupid tourist crap shops. I managed to get out with just
a purple sarong. Made in Indonesia.

After reserving dinner and a room in Hawi for Saturday night, I headed
out of town. Into the grueling lava fields made famous by the
Ironman. They weren’t that bad. I had a tailwind for the beginning. It
got cloudy, which was detrimental to the view, but probably kept me
alive with my two quickly emptying water bottles. I saw the wild goats
of Hawaii. Then I got bored and tired and still had 15 more miles to
go. Out of 30. Rather than the 112 that the Ironman covers.

I ended up at Spencer Beach Park, with a nice little beach, and
lukewarm outdoor showers. Better than guerrilla camping. Unless they
kick me out because I don’t have a permit. I watched the sunset from
my tent.

The third time I acquired fruit today I was charmed by a briliantly
colored gecko. Bright green, with yellow patches, blue around the eyes
and on its feet. I tried to photograph it, since I had my camera in my
hand from fiddling with my wallet, but it was camera-shy, and scooted
around the corner of the post each time I tried. So I just stood there
and stared at it. It licked its lips, its tongue coming out a bit more
each time, until it was licking its eye, which seemed to satisfy it.

Today was idyllic. 20 miles of bike riding over rolling hills before
breakfast at an organic fruit stand. I tried the Kona coffee, but it
wasn’t dark enough. I bought two kinds of mangoes, two kinds of monkey
bananas, a papaya, and a mountain apple, native to Hawaii. It tasted a
lot like a pear. Meh. Plus zucchini bread and dried pineapple and
bananas. Neither of the two kinds of bananas were as good as the
bananas in Vietnam. I chatted with a woman who’d stopped on her way to
Volcano about her bike ride from Chicago to Eureka 25 years ago.

I had already stopped to pick three avocados off the street, falling
over while clipped in. I hope those avocados ripen nicely.

Then I zipped down to the coast to Puuhonua o Honaunau. I can pronouce
that now, but I can’t remember the syllables if I’m not looking at
them. It’s a Place of Refuge from the original Hawaiian culture, now a
National Park. Usually if you did something taboo, anyone could kill
you for it. But if you escaped all of their attempts, and made it to
the Place of Refuge, you were home free. It’s a beautiful place to
contemplate your wrongdoings. Palm trees, sand, blue skies, and waves
tumbling against the rocks. Just around the corner, there happens to
be good snorkeling.

Snorkeling alone was kind of intimidating. I decided not to try to
negotiate the submerged rocks from the beach I was standing near, and
instead went over to the crowded rocks that dropped straight in. I
waited for the one step that didn’t seem to be covered with tiny
urchins. And then I hopped in. I was surprised to discover that I
didn’t think it was as impressive as the snorkeling off of Phu Quoc. I
thought there were fewer fish. Perhaps I didn’t find the really close
to the surface stunning bit. I feel stupid describing the fish by
their colors, since I don’t know the names of most fish, still. The
really excellent one was iridescent turquoise.

As I waded my way back to my gear, I found the little beach to be full
of sea turtles. Well, at least two or three. I had been given to
understand that they were very rare, but since I saw one in Oahu, and
many here at the Refuge, I think they might be making a
comeback. Which is great.

[While I was staring at the turtles, I chatted with two guys from
Switzerland who had been hiking at Volcano the same night I
did. Apparently I am charming, as Death suggested. One of them
seemed to want to spend more time together, but I wasn’t quite up to
it, and he didn’t ask outright.]

The road from Puuhonua o Honauau to the beach across from the Captain
Cook monument was dry and full of cactus. Which was odd, considering
the thunderstorms looming to the southeast. The road drifted down more
than seemed possible, considering the refuge was also at sea level.

I stopped at the kayak launching point to stare at the Cook monument
and wonder how he came to die here, rather than at the hands of any of
the other Polynesians he met. I should read a biography of Cook. What
an amazing trip he took.

While planning the trip, I had been hoping to rent a kayak and head to
the Cook monument for some highly recommended snorkeling. But I found
out that it wasn’t a given that there would be kayaks for rent down at
the wharf, and I didn’t have a car to transport it. So I gave
up on that idea, and snorkeled at Puuhonua o Honauau. As I was leaving
the wharf, I was offered a kayak to rent by a guy with one in his
van. I turned him down. The wind was picking up, and the sky was
ominous, and the hill back up to the highway was mean. Sitting in the
hotel room writing this, I’m glad I didn’t try to do it all.

The road up to the highway was brutal, but beautiful. Coffee trees,
tropical fruits and flowers of all sorts. The aforementioned fruit
stand with geckos. Getting back on 11 was a shock. Over the five miles
I had traveled close to the shore, it had gone from being a nice
little country highway with good shoulders, to being a nasty city
highway with minimal shoulders covered in rubble.

I hadn’t booked a hotel, but the Manango was cheap and on my map. And
full. But Pineapple Park was a mile closer to Kona, and not
full. Awesome. With Wifi. And a washer and dryer. I think my dinner
will be lame tonight, but that’s ok.

For the sunny side of the island, Kona’s storm clouds were
impressive.

Today I ate an avocado like an apple standing on the side of the road
in the rain. I had stopped to investigate the fruit lying on the side
of the road which turned out to be green avocados. The one I initially
picked up was hard as a rock, and I threw it aside and started to move
on, but rolled over a mushy one. So I ended up eating one and taking
one for later. Which I ate in my tent, guerrilla camping at Manuka
State Park (no camping, contrary to the icon on my map).

Waking up to a sunny National Park campsite under tall eucalyptus
trees was a good feeling. As was the knowledge that I would be
coasting for the first 20 miles.

Punalu’u Black Sand Beach was the bottom of the 20 miles. I had
thought of camping there. Snorkeling to see the green turtles. But I
arrived by noon, and the surf was vehement. Watching it crash on the
outlying rocks was more satisfying than strolling the beach, but I
couldn’t sit still and watch it for long, regardless. I’m not a beach
sitting kind of person.

Then I started biking uphill. Severely uphill. This wasn’t in the
plan. I think it was about 20 miles uphill again. Plus it started
raining. The rain trickled to a stop as I rounded the corner and
passed the road to the South Point. The incline became less grueling
and more rolling. Perfectly round little brown balls appeared on the
side of the road, first one or two at a time, then a handful, and I
thought of stopping to collect them, assuming they were macadamia
nuts, but didn’t know how I would shell them. (The folk method is to
put them under a board and drive your car over it.) I passed a few
people who had the same idea, and left them to it. I don’t even like
mac nuts that much. They’re not worth that much saturated fat guilt.

I thought of stopping for a meal in HOVE (Hawaiian Ocean View Estates,
but called HOVE generally), but there wasn’t an obvious place. I had
even told myself (when it was raining) I could stop for a hotel, if
there was one, but no dice. So I just pedalled my butt to Manuka State
Park, and asked the two women at the picnic table where the camping
area was. They said they’d never heard of camping there, and they were
locals. The other options were over 20 miles away, so I found a little
nook where I wasn’t visible from the road or the parking lot, and
nestled in.

Then the feral pig rustled some bushes near by. It jumped and ran when
I moved, but I spent the rest of the night wondering if a feral pig
would attack to have a go at my empty baked bean can. And to think I
had felt smug when I had reviewed in my mind if I had to worry about
bears, before I remembered I was in Hawaii. It was a restless
night.

Wow. It’s a good thing I’m charming. Otherwise it
would have been even later than midnight before I got back to my
tent. I biked 20 miles down the road to see the molten lava, depending
on someone to have an empty trunk to take me and my bike back up the
4000 feet climb. The ranger at the Visitor Center said he was
confident I could find someone. The ranger at the station by the lava
trail was confident too, but he said that after 9pm there would be
less than 30 cars. It takes two hours to walk to the lava. It gets
dark at 7pm.

I started chatting with another hiker visiting Hawaii with his
family. Nothing like being a bike tourist to have a built-in topic of
conversation. It’s a good thing I had someone to talk to, because I
don’t think I would have made it the full two hours out. Too much
hiking, and I would have been paranoid about my options for a return
ride. And the molten lava was pretty cool. We mostly saw glowing
cracks, but there was a place where it was oozing about 20 or 30 feet
away.

The lava we hiked over was the smooth kind, pahoehoe. During the walk
out, when it was still daylight, it was often iridescent, sometimes in
a kind of leopard skin pattern. I’m glad there was no a’a, the chunky
kind, because I might have tripped more than the one time I did. That
was caused by stepping from the lava down onto the flat road. My
ankles were not ready for the flatness.

The day started with a little sprinkle on my tent, and then
cleared. Until I retraced my steps three miles back to the entrance to
the park, where it was misting with heavy grey clouds. When I finally
summoned the courage to bike the Crater Rim Road, I was miserable for
the first few miles. It was tempting to step right into the Sulphur
Banks for the heat. But when I stepped up to the edge of the big
crater, the mist seemed to frame the steaming vents better than a
harsh tropical sun could have.

I worked my way around to the Thurston lava tube which is set up for
tour buses. Lights, flatter floor, etc. At the normal exit you can
walk further into the tube, which has been left in a natural state: no
lights, slightly less flat floor. I had a headlamp so I followed it to
the end, where the floor dropped five or ten feet. I was surprisingly
undaunted by the caveness of it all. I am minorly claustrophobic. The
ceiling was high in most bits.

As I returned I heard a girl asking her mother, “Why didn’t they put
lights in this part, too?” with slightly scared, slightly distainful
note in her voice. Her mother responded, “So you can be more
adventurous.”

After lunch, I walked the Kilauea Iki trail. It had been recommended
by the Big Island Revealed and the National Park itself. I walked it
backwards from normal, I think, starting in rain forest and walking
along the rim of the crater to the far end where the trail descends
into the crater to return. The rain forest didn’t look as lush as in
New Zealand. I think it’s the moss in NZ. It’s lush, like a carpet,
and many different shades and textures. Plus, I like the ferns with
the black stems better. Though the fuzzy redheadedness of the new
unfurling fronds grew on me through the walk.

Walking across the crater floor was great. Weird to think that it was
molten not so long ago. Maybe 30 years.

Then I zoomed down Chain of Craters Road. 20 miles. 4000 feet. Lots of
opportunities to take the archetypical photo of shiny smooth lava (mmm
so chocolate icing like) next to rocky hard lava. Stupid headwinds for
the last mile or so.

Rob the ranger at the bottom was friendly, probably because I
represented an opportunity for a conversation that wasn’t “don’t be
stupid, even though you have plenty of opportunities”.

Wow. That hurt. I always forget that spending a month off the bicycle
means I lose the ability to sit on a bike for more than a mile without
getting sore. I was reminded of it just last October when I biked to
Big Sur with Death after a couple week hiatus. But that paled in
comparison to the six week vacation from the bicycle I just had. And I
left the seat too low.

Oh, and I biked 30 miles up hill. Seriously. No short coasts downhill
at all. Just the first 8 km from N’Djamena’s house to Hilo, and 57 km
up after that. Those first 8 km were pretty nice, though. N’Djamena
and his wife Tara, and their baby Evan sent me off with a campstove to
warm my baked beans, snorkeling gear, and a goodbye ceremony involving
a coconut, a ti leaf and a machete. The coconut tasted good.

I stopped at both natural food stores in Hilo, the one downtown for
the canned goods, and the one in BigBox land for two yuppie gatorades
and a potty stop. I ran into another bike tourist downtown. He was
headed north, and had started in Kona. This was his ninth trip around
the island. He’s from Vermont, but apparently has friends in the
artists’ community above (north? higher altitude? not sure) Kona. He
reassured me that I could camp without an advance permit, but warned
me away from a specific site, where he had been emphatically not
welcomed by locals.

The main campgrounds in the National Park looked just like Northern
California. Tall eucalyptus, cute little cabins, pavilion with stone
fireplace. The camping bathroom didn’t have a shower, but there was a
nice cabin renter who opened the communal cabin-sitter bathroom so I
could have a hot shower. Thank god.

My first can of American baked beans was slightly disappointing. I
think that the organic brand doesn’t quite have enough sickeningly
sweet molasses flavor to it. Plus no bacon.

Ehren reminded me I forgot to include another amusing anecdote from Manly.

I read a sign from across the beach: MANLY BEEF EQUINOX.

From 10 metres it read: MANLY SURF PAVILION.

Ehren couldn’t get over it. Apparently my stream of consciousness sign reading meets with his approval.

Lembas! Geoff’s traditional weekend breakfast.

The airport in Hawaii is concerned about passengers taking
agricultural products out of Hawaii, but not what people might
be bringing in. Weird.

N’Djamena left his car at the airport, since he and his family were
going to be attending an Easter egg hunt brunch. I found it and headed
to the opening ceremonies of the Merrie Monarch celebration, a
festival of hula. Plus competitions. They will be judged.

But this afternoon it was just exhibition, and I walked into a full
epic production with three rows of girls in hula skirts and one row of
boys in loin clothes. After they wrapped it up, there was a duet sung
for someone’s anniversary, and then a group of older women came out to
dance in clothing somewhere between a sundress and a mumu. I think
they did three dances, some of which seemed faster than I thought of a
hula being. The women varied in skill, and it was easy to see which of
them were basing the movements from their hips, and which were just
doing the memorized arm motions.

The next group was made up of young girls, with accessories! A gourd
drum and bamboo flailing sticks were the most interesting bits. The
songs were even faster, especially with the flailing sticks.

As the afternoon passed, the ground was littered with flower petals
from the leis. I stepped into the lobby for some pig with cabbage. The
roast pork was intensely flavored, and I looked forward to more at Jim
and Becca’s wedding.

After an hour I headed to downtown, which was mostly closed, and then
to N’Djamena’s house where I sat on the patio and contemplated the
steaming volcano in the distance.

Hmm. The three Wild Turkeys I had the previous evening were noticeable
in my stomach and head for the first hour I was awake. Which was at
6am so that we could get to Hanauma Bay to snorkel before the
crowds. Sadly, it was cloudy, so it was chilly when we got there. I
was able to snorkel long enough to see a green sea turtle and a huge
puffer fish, as well as an assortment of other shiny striped fish.

But then I had to get out of the water and shiver for a while, while
Star hopped in and out. She got to see a small hammerhead shark. Geoff
napped the entire time on the beach.

Then we got a quick breakfast and drove around the east coast of the
island, returning through the middle. Every five miles or so was a
beautiful little beach with surfers or parafoilers or something. The
Pali lookout had a plaque citing Mark Twain calling it one of the most
beautiful views in the world. Sadly, the tour bus crowds distracted
above, and the golf courses and developments distracted below.

The afternoon was packed full with a trip to a beer tasting that was
disappointing for me, since it was all Mainland beers. Oh, and a
framboise lambic that made Geoff happy. I picked up a red ale from
Hilo and a pale ale from Oregon for the barbeque later that afternoon.

The barbeque was for one of the grad students 30th birthday. As he was
congratulated on achieving his 30th year, he looked around, wondering
out loud if he was the oldest person around. I told him he didn’t have
that honor.

After stuffing ourselves on brats, grilled pineapple, steak,
luau-bbq-flavored potato chips and homemade cookies, we headed back to
the apartment for an evening of Settlers and Apples to Apples with
still another friend of Geoff’s. True to form, I spent the game of
Settlers being pissed off how far behind I was, and then won. Apples
to Apples was much more relaxed.