Fire

    It has been far too long since I have written. Not because there have been no Grand Adventures, but because there have been so many. Some large, some smaller, but no less Grand. I have hesitated to write of the most amazing adventure, though I have wanted to for weeks.  Why would I not write, spilling my excitement over the page, dripping with the sweet taste of adrenaline? Because my most epic adventure was at the cost of another's home. My first structure fire. The most exciting day of my life, but the worst day of another's life. It is a delicate subject, no doubt.
    It was Sunday, three weeks ago. I drove my pickup to Station One so I could do a long bike ride followed immediately by a run, the station being a safe place to leave my gear unattended. I cycled 34 miles, then ran 5-1/2 miles. I was cooling off inside, stretching, drinking some water, eating grapes, and talking to a brother firefighter when tones dropped. The call came in as a "smoke investigation." I didn't have my gear but was told there was loaner gear. A second tone hit, upgrading to possible grass fire. Okay, this was getting good. Out in the engine bay I tried on the loaner gear, it was huge and fit like a clown suit, Not optimal wildland gear, but better than nothing. Then one of my fellow probies showed up and let me use his bunker gear since he would be in wildland gear. Excellent! Tones dropped again! More firefighters arrived at the station but we were waiting for drivers. Finally, a Captain showed, as well as an engine driver. MY fellow probie, along with two of my favorite bros were told to hop on E405. First out of the gate, running Code Three, lights and sirens. The call was upgraded from a grass fire to a structure involved. Holy shit, this was getting good. Flying across the back roads, up into the hills, the call was pretty far out. Still a few miles away we could see the roiling smoke. Oh Holy Shit! Two of us were in bunker gear, the officer in charge turned in his seat, looked at us and said, "You are on the attack line to the structure, get packs on." My fellow probie groaned, "I hate you," since he couldn't fight a structure fire in wildland gear. The two of us assigned the attack line fist-bumped. I was excited, but not nervous or anxious. I did not get a debilitating surge of adrenaline like I had feared. We could hear the radio communications. There was one Tender on site, as well as our assistant Chief. We could hear the tension and excitement in their voices. This was no simple fire, this was going to be a hard fight.
    Nearing the call we could see glimpses of flames through the trees. We all muttered, "Holy shit," under our breath, and looked at each other with gleaming eyes. This is what we trained for. We were going in to do battle. We were the first engine on the scene. The only other vehicle on scene was the Tender, using the turret hose to keep the flames from spreading to trees. The only other crew on scene was the veteran that had brought the tender, and the assistant chief who was Incident Command, dealing with the nightmarish logistics of two fully engulfed structures, surrounded by trees, at the bottom of a long, narrow road, with other homes close enough that if the fire were to get away from us we could lose more structures.
   We jumped out, stretched a line and began to put the wet stuff on the red stuff, just as we were taught. There was no thought of entry, the home was already a total loss. At this point it was a matter of keeping it from spreading as we waited for more engines and manpower. We were so focused on our assigned task that I barely noticed when the others began arriving. We just kept putting wet stuff on the red stuff, though it felt like we were pissing on a bonfire. The heat was astonishing. The flames were high and glorious, terrible and beautiful. I have no idea how long we held our position before a relief team took over and sent us to rehab to cool down and get water. That was when I could see just how extensive an operation we had going. The driveway and property were too confined to allow more than a handful of rigs, as it were, if the fire got out of control we were at risk of possible entrapment. But we weren't worried, the crew was working the scene with amazing skill.
    We did have water problems. The closest hydrant was miles away. Ops set up a Tender operation to shuttle water to a location at the top of the road, and had lay down 1000 feet of supply line to reach our rigs. It was an amazing endeavor.
    My partner and I went back in three more times, until muscle fatigue got the better of us. But by then the fire was nearly out, and definitely in control. It was only later that we found out just how close this came to being a potentially devastating wildfire. Our wildland crews worked their asses off putting out the fires that had spread through the grass and underbrush. Spot fires had popped up 200 feet from the structure, and we were at the head of a canyon that could have funneled a blaze right up into the forest.
    We were lucky on so many levels: The wind was in our favor; the surrounding area was not as dry as it would be in a month; there were no unpleasant surprises like exploding propane tanks.
    But on several counts, I can say, it was not luck, but preparation: Our people are well trained and dedicated; we had great support from surrounding districts who brought Tenders and much needed manpower; and our I.C. kept his cool and made things happen. As they say, "Luck favors the prepared."
    Once the fire was nearly out came the long cleanup. Already tired muscles made to pick up muddy hose, stow it in a truck, ride back to the Station, then clean and restore hoses and rigs. It was 9:30 before I was home. Definitely tired, and with a soul deep sense of satisfaction. It was one of the best days of my life.
    I have met Fire face to face. She is glorious and terrible. It has given me a deeper understanding of so many things, including myself. I know it is wrong to say it aloud, but I understand the addiction, and want more.

OCR

    OCR. Obstacle Course Racing. Not my main focus, or my true racing agenda, but damn, what a f'king blast! Today I ran the Ash Kicker 5K with a good friend who is an avid OCR runner. She has done some serious races and trains specifically, and hard, to finish strong. Today, I was awake at 5:20, yes, on purpose, to drive north and play. It was cold and drizzly, grey, kind of dismal, but the weather rarely matters when you are running. This OCR did not have the ridiculously brutal and fear inspiring obstacles that some events specialize in (electric shocks? No, thank you.), but it had excellent physical challenges more along the lines of the traditional, Marine Corps obstacle course that was the original inspiration for these particular events. There were steep hills, narrow trails, a rope assisted hill climb (after shagging fire hose all winter, this one felt easy-peasy), traverse wall, belly crawl, cold water, mud, cargo nets, wall climbs, and near the end, an ice filled pool to crawl through. Lemme tell ya', that one sucked, big time. And running. I felt great, my legs felt good, my wind was excellent, the cool weather was perfect for racing. I got wet, muddy, sandy, frozen, and covered in bubbles (you heard right, bubbles). It was the perfect mini adventure; close to home, fun, new, and epic. If it weren't for my fear of damaging my knee before my Race, I could definitely see myself getting deeper into the OCR world. Maybe next year.

Stubborn

    There is a downside of living a life full of new and grand adventures. Downside? Truth. Careening through life from one adventure to the next, or working out to prepare myself for more epic adventures, or starting a new job that is an adventure unto itself, leaves very little time for the mundane tasks that keep life flowing smoothly. This last week had the feel of an epic endurance race, with the added stress of starting a new, fabulous job. Between spending my workaday life in the glorious back rooms of a vast Harley dealership, stopping on my way home to swim my usual miles, an evening or two at the fire station, and trying to prepare delicious, vegetarian meals, I have barely enough time to sleep. I think that is the way of adventuring, so much fun to be had, so many important tasks to complete, so much, so much, so much. I am stealing time from sleep just in order to hash out a few meager words to let the world know I am still alive and coherent. Or semi-coherent. Definitely alive! Yesterday, what for most would have been a day of well-deserved rest, I woke at 5:30am, yes, on purpose. Woke in the predawn of a glorious Spring day to drive an hour out into the wilds of Washington County to spend my morning running around a lake. A 10.5 mile race around Hagg Lake. The furthest I have ever run. And I did run. I ran all but maybe 200 yards. Not fast, but in a respectable Hour and 51 minutes to place third in my age group. Not too shabby for someone who even just a year ago did not consider herself to be a runner. It was very nearly the one year anniversary of my knee surgery. Maybe some would not consider a run to be an adventure, but to me it is a stepping stone to an epic adventure. I needed to reassure myself that I am not an absolute lunatic for thinking I can do a half-Ironman at the end of the summer. The run has been my concern, and I know that I still have an enormous amount of training ahead of me, but yesterday made me realize deep down in my very core that yes, I am a runner. I was only a few miles shy of a half marathon yesterday, and if that had been the distance, I know I could have run it. Yes, I am a little sore today. Hell, who am I kidding? My quads are pretty sore, but no worse than after a hard workout. In two weeks I have my first trail run with obstacles, 5 miles, again, in the wilds of Washington County. I am excited.
    Yes, I am rambling on about running because it has made me realize that there is nothing I can't do if I decide I really want to do it. I have made epic changes in my life, my body, my mind, my heart, and my soul. I have worked hard, and worked out hard, to make these changes. I have set my sights on goals, and am reaching them, one by one. I am learning the lessons of faith in myself, persistence paying off, hard work, and the value of a stubborn nature. Maybe that is what is at the core of it all, I am too stubborn to give up, to stubborn to give in. And mostly, when I am told I can't, I am too stubborn to not want to prove them wrong. The world is wide open to me, because I have decided to make it so.

Relax. And Breathe.

    Today is my last day at the job I have held for nearly 7 years. I am down to about 3 hours. In truth, it has not really registered that this will be be the last time I shut down this computer and walk out that door. No more torturous freeway commutes. I will no longer be the only voice of optimism in the office. I will no longer feel my soul being drained by the pervasive gloom that hangs about with the heavy pressure of a pending thunderstorm. I am stepping into a new job, with a whole new cadre of coworkers, into a business that reeks of optimism, potential, and dreams. I tell myself to slow down, do not let the imagination run rampant with the possibilities I am facing, but that is not my nature. Instead I am seeing glorious possibilities, with the job itself, as well as the culture surrounding this new world. Not only will my pay be better, allowing me to catch up, pay off, and relax a bit, but the non-monetary potential is vast. I am already pondering how the connections I will be making will influence my future. The potential is mind boggling. For today, I just need to remember to relax, breathe, get through the next 3 hours. I do not think the reality will sink in until I walk through the door of my new employer on Monday morning. Then, then I will feel the reality of a dream realized. A hard fought, deserved dream coming to fruition. For now, relax, and breathe.

New Job. New Adventures.

    The last 72 hours have been an absolutely phenomenal adventure! I knew that my finals and graduation from the Academy were slated for this weekend. Hell, that has been a carrot on a stick for the last few months, though I admit, I will miss the Academy. What was not expected, or on the agenda was an unexpected job interview. Finally, my months of intensely blanketing the job market paid off. Not only did my efforts finally bear fruit, but it was the most succulent fruit I had hoped, wished, and dreamed of. Not only did I interview splendidly, with a guy that I think will be an excellent boss, but at the end of our meeting he said, "Okay, let's do this." Me, "You mean I got the job?" YES! YesYesYes!!! I got the job. A job that I know I can excel at, that will use my odd, vast array of skills, let me stretch my wings, and learn new, cool shit. What is this sugared plum of a job? Selling Harley-Davidson parts and accessories at the big H-D dealership. A great job, with good pay, full benefits, excellent hours, and Harleys!!! Could it get any better? I don't think so. I really don't. I will be working directly with one of my passions, surrounded by gleaming chrome and luscious paint, the aroma of leather and carnuba wax, and in a culture that I fit into and feel comfortable with.
    I feel like all the pieces of the puzzle have finally, suddenly, snapped into place. Yes, I know there is no guarantee of  Happily Ever After, but I think I have arrived in a place and space where anything seems possible. It has been a battle and a struggle, every step of the way, I won't deny it. It has been a hard fought battle these last 2 years, as I fought, wept, and bled. The one thing I did not do is surrender. Yes, I felt despair, dejection, rejection. I was kicked in the teeth, knocked flat, run over, beat to shit, battered, bruised, and left in the ditch to die. Every time, I picked myself up, wiped away the blood and grime, and continued to put one foot in front of the other. The last 6 months my journey has picked up the pace, I have gone from crawling, to staggering, to bulling ahead, to the final sprint for the finish. So far, 2013 has passed in a frenetic blur. A glorious, difficult, exhilarating, wondrous, adventurous, frenetic blur. I will not rest on my laurels, there is still much to do. Much to learn. Many adventures waiting for me to pull the trigger. Adventures. Grand, Glorious Adventures.

Graduation

The Epicness of life continues. I am now an official, pager carrying, uniform wearing, fumbling probie Firefighter I. Yesterday's graduation was an exhilarating fusion of excitement, relief, enthusiasm, camaraderie, triumph and pride for each and every one of the small graduating class of 2013. I am still processing exactly what this means. For starters, I have my weekends back... at least until the First Responders course I will be taking in June... and the Water Rescue course with dates TBA. There is a lifetime of continuing education opening up before me, mostly free to me, one of the benefits of being a volunteer member of our Fire District: Hazmat training, Search and Rescue, rappelling, EMT classes, learning to drive the station's various emergency vehicles, Incident Command training. The list is endless, and there are going to be classes available that I haven't even thought of yet.

But for now, I will bask in the triumph of an intense 4 months of cramming my brain full of information, and training my body to respond without hesitation. Now the learning really begins.

Advanced Ladders

    Interesting point of Grand Adventures, they do seem to leave less time for passive past-times such as writing, and writing about Grand Adventures. I have been going at a breakneck pace since the first of the year, but as the initial Academy phase of my epic Firefighter Adventure comes to a conclusion in just a few days, I may have just a wee bit more downtime. Maybe. A wee bit.
    Firefighter Academy has had more epic adventures than I can even list. So I will stick with a few recent, extreme highlights. One class I had been awaiting with eager anticipation since my earliest introduction to the Engines, was Advanced Ladders. I know, I know, it does not sound all that amazing. That is, until you realize that part of the class involved the fabulous Ladder Engine. The Engine with an 85' aerial ladder. My heart races a bit just thinking of her. The day of Advanced Ladders dawned sunny and mild, as early Spring in our neck of the woods can be. It truly was a gorgeous day. By 8:30am we were in our PPEs, on the drill grounds, hoisting the 40' extension ladder. Yeah, not so much fun, except that there was a definite sense of victory to hoist that cumbersome mother into the air, extend it to its full height, and to be the first to scramble up and slap the side of the drill tower, 40' in the air. That was kinda cool. We spent the morning hoisting hand ladders, all the while knowing that we had the 85' aerial awaiting us. It was definitely the carrot on the stick. The sooner we showed proficiency with with the bigger extension ladders, we would get our chance to climb to glorious heights.
    Of course, when it came time to climb, the instructor did not even manage to get the words out of his mouth, "Okay, who wants to be first...."  "ME! ME! ME!" My hand was in the air, I was literally jumping up and down, and ready to make a mad dash to the engine. I got to go first. It was every bit as fabulous as I imagined. I was quivering with excitement, like a racehorse at the gate. I had to force myself to climb with an iota of decorum. Once up in the basket, the view was fantastic. I got a brief tutorial on the controls up in the basket, and then I got to feel the grace in which the ladder moves, side to side, up and down, seamless and smooth. I understand the fanaticism of Truckees, the crew assigned to the Ladder Truck, she is an amazing creation. Maybe, someday, if the fire gods smile down on me. I may get to crew such an engine. Or not. I find that each engine, no matter how small or large, is a wonder in its own right. Each engine has a personality, a purpose, and siren's song, literally. I LOVE FIRETRUCKS!

Track Day

    Yesterday was my first taste of driving Portland International Raceway. I am still processing everything. Being behind the wheel of a decently accoutered Subaru, easy to drive, automatic transmission, responsive acceleration made it easier to focus on the track itself, and not on managing the car. The downside was the Subie's suspension giving the ride a bit of a boat-on-the-ocean feel, especially from the passenger side. The result? You guessed it: Motion Sick. The first three laps Jeff drove, giving me a comprehensive running description of each turn and straight, but my rebellious stomach made it difficult to fully absorb what I was hearing, seeing, and feeling. I take that back, I was feeling every wow, G-Force, and acceleration. Then I got behind the wheel, and felt better. It is much easier to handle the motion when you are somewhat in control of the situation. I admit, it was epic, and not nearly as nerve-wracking as I was expecting. Feeling the car dive into a tight corner, accelerating through, hearing the tires sing, hitting the back stretch and punching the accelerator is a rush. Granted, my stomach was still reminding me that it was unhappy. Driving a race track is far more difficult than one would think, especially a track like P.I.R which is not an oval of only left turns, it is a series of corners, right and left, tight and flowing, and very technical.
    I drove six laps, then Jeff took the wheel again to teach me some of the finer points. The downside of this, my mildly annoyed stomach suddenly began to protest violently. I could not focus on anything but not losing my breakfast at high speed. The third lap, as we pulled into the pits, all I could say was, "I am going to throw up." Being the sympathetic sort, Jeff didn't chastise me, just helped me find the door handle which I could not find in my fumblings, and said, "Over the rail," as I staggered out. I didn't hurl, happy to say. I did gag, and fight the retching though, then just leaned over the rail, using sheer force of will to not spew green smoothie onto the grass. Even in my misery I was thinking, "Next time, smaller breakfast, and Dramamine." I was not going to let my weakness keep me from getting back on the track and learning to drive. Jeff had a point, "Sometimes Grand Adventures involve throwing up." I have done hard workouts that brought me close to the point of dry heaves, this is no different. Well, maybe it is a little different, but I won't let it stop me.
    I have to confess, I was disappointed with myself. I thought I would take to track driving more naturally. I thought my ability to slice through corners on my motorcycle would transfer to a car. But it is very different. Add in my rebellious stomach, the motion sickness that has seemed to plague me more frequently these days than ever before, and I felt as if I had failed myself. As if Body failed me when I needed it to be solidly behind Brain. The nausea dampened down my exuberance to the point that there was not the sense of victory that I had anticipated. But you know what? I don't care. I don't care that I actually cried because of my failings. I will go back, Dramamine patch in place, stomach mostly void of food, I will remember what I learned, and I will rock the course. It is a learning curve, like anything else. I will learn, practice, let Brain and Body assimilate the lessons learned. Next time, I will rock the course, or at the very least, not have dry heaves.
     

Fire Engines

I just can't help myself. I abso-freakin-lutely LOVE  the Fire Engines. Every single one of them. They are beautiful, exciting, solid, and speak to me in a language most will never hear, much less understand. I dream of knowing them inside and out. Knowing the individual quirks and secrets of each, understanding their individual personalities, their strengths and weaknesses. I want to sit in the station and stare at them, touch them, inhale their heady fragrance. I want to prowl through all the nooks and crannies until I can visualize in my head exactly what goes where, and what they have to offer. I want to learn to drive them, be signed off on each one, from the smaller Rescue Rigs to the gigantic, off-road rig used for wildland fires known affectionately as "The Beast." This is a culmination of a life long infatuation that started at a very young age, and has not faded over time. If anything, the infatuation has spiraled out of control in a glorious crescendo. I LOVE the Engines. Every. Single. One.

Released

    "Released to Respond." Three simple words. One huge accomplishment. Last night was my interview to be released to respond to emergency calls. Yes, I am still a total newb, and I know I have so much yet to learn, but I have taken the first step. I am trying to maintain a mature, adult demeanor through all of this, but what I really want to do is jump up and down, and yell, "Imma be a Fireman! IMMA BE A FIREMAN!!!" The only thing at this point that keeps me from crowing it from the rooftops, plastering it all over every social media I can think of, and grabbing complete strangers to share my exultation, is that I don't want my officers to chastise me for lack of discretion. It is tough reining myself in. Maybe the thrill will wear off once I have been rousted from my bed in the middle of the night a few times, and had to drag myself into work sleep-deprived and loopy. Or maybe it will never wear off. I hope it never wears off. I want to cherish this feeling of accomplishment and triumph. I want to keep my childlike thrill for fire engines and turnout gear. This is truly one of the coolest things I have ever done, a Grand Adventure that will continue on as long as my body can hold out. This is the Adventure of a Lifetime.

What A Weekend

    Holymotherofgods I am tired. Tired to my marrow. So tired I had to rest and suckle a cup of coffee just to get the energy to crawl into the shower. What epic endurance race has left me in such a state? Not a race.  Not a run. Not an obstacle course event. It was a weekend at Firefighter Academy. And, ohmygods, what a weekend. Saturday were midterms, and I was nervous, knowing this weekend would be the deciding factor in being released to go on calls. My nerves did me well, I scored 99% on my written test, and felt good about the practicals. The day is now kind of a blur, we pulled so much hose, sprayed thousands of gallons of water, were given tasks to accomplish as a squad, and did them well. We pulled hose, restored hose to the engine, and pulled it again and again. At the end of the day we were all so jubilant to have survived midterms that we hung around the station house kitchen, eating, laughing, horsing around, scheming about future antics. I was so wired when I got home that even a delicious, hot, carb laden meal, could not simmer me down. What started as grooving to a little Sam Cooke quickly degenerated into Manic Dance Party For One, and I danced for nearly an hour. My soaring spirit kept me from sleep until nearly midnight.
    Today we were in Turnouts and SCBAs by 8:30am and pulling more hose. Today was all about the hose. We pulled every diameter we have available. We attacked hydrants, set master streams, and flowed thousands and thousands of gallons of water. Doing full evolutions from taking the hydrant, laying hose line, setting up the master stream, calling for water, and then letting the water flow. At one point it all dissolved into a water fight with 2-1/2" hose at about 100', until we were all drenched. I felt water pooling in my crotch and flowing freely into my boots. It was epic. Then we pulled more hose, restored hose, pulled hose, restored hose, over and over and over. Pulling hose is the fun part, we Practice How We Play, leaping from the truck, grabbing the tools of the trade, and getting shit done. Restoring the hose is hard damned work. A few minutes of fun followed by 20 to 30 minutes of restoring order. It was one of the best days I have ever had. I confess, by mid afternoon I was as tired as I have ever been. Muscle fatigued, bone weary, joint achingly tired. And yet there was more. We kept going. I forced myself to catch my second wind. I dug deep and found the energy to stay upright and going hard. We pulled hose and restored hose until 5:30.
    I have realized just how firefighting could easily consume one's life. There is so much to learn, so many opportunities for additional classes. I will be taking additional courses for water rescue, rappelling, search and rescue, Rapid Intervention Team. There will be training weekends, hopefully a Burn to Learn where we get a derelict house to burn to the ground while practicing our skills. This does not even take into account how often there will be emergency calls to respond to.
    As of this coming Wednesday I will be cleared to go on calls, receive my pager, and get the app for my phone that will text me details of calls coming from Norcon dispatch. I am just getting my toes wet at this point, soon though will come the full plunge. As I think over the weekend, and all the weekends of 2013 so far, I am boggled by the enormity of my undertaking. This is very likely to be the grandest adventure I could embark on, and it will be a lifetime adventure. This has already been 2012, The Year of Grand Adventures, and it has only just begun.

Getting Better and Better

    I feel as if I have stepped through the Looking Glass. As if my life has become a true reflection of my dreams. Yes, I am sore, battered, bruised, exhausted, stressed, and generally feeling maxed-out. But G'Damn! I am having far more fun than any adult should be able to have without ending up in jail. As training at the Academy starts ramping up, we are hacking things to bits with loud power tools, beating the shit out of stuff with axes and sledgehammers, playing with volatile chemicals, putting water on magnesium (and that is f'king epic!), riding in fire engines, blaring sirens, climbing all over the hose beds like monkeys, playing Search and Rescue in a smoke filled building, lifting "unconscious victims" through windows and carrying them down ladders, and getting to wear gear that reeks faintly of smoke and oil. Yesterday we got to build a large fire inside of a building! Yeah, sure, it is a specially designed Burn Room, but it was awesome! Belly crawling through smoke so thick you can barely see your partner's boot in front of your face, dragging charged hoselines, your own breath sounding like Darth Vader through the mask and breathing apparatus, heading towards the sound of crackling fire and a hellish red glow. Laying on the floor, knowing the ceiling temp is 900 plus degrees, and the floor temp is rising towards 200 degrees. My excitement level was high, even knowing this was a controlled practice session to teach us basics about fire behavior and fire suppression. All through the Academy I feel the excitement in my chest, tinged deliciously with the spice of fear. I shiver with barely contained anticipation of facing the real deal. How will I react? Will I panic? Will I refuse entry? I doubt it. Will I be scared? Hell, yes. Fire is scary shit. It can cause painful damage. It can kill you. There is high risk involved. But risk we are learning to mitigate. Silverton Fire District has never lost a firefighter. NEVER. Established in 1883, with 130 years of continual operations, we have never lost a firefighter. That is a hella proud statistic. And one that makes me trust my fellow firefighters to watch my back, as I will watch their's. Despite these assurance, I plan on maintaining my spice of fear, my respect of fire. I will keep adding to the skills, enjoying every minute, having a f'king blast. As one of my instructors said, in response to my glee, "And it just keeps getting better and better."

Sore, And Bruised, And Tired

    Sometimes, as today, I feel as if I have found my higher calling. In black and white this looks more than a little presumptuous. In the real world it means finding that one thing that combines many of the aspects that make me who I am. I have finally found one thing, one course, one path that fulfills my sense of adventure, my need for physicality, my desire to stretch my brain, my tendency to mother, companionship of heroes, a rush of adrenaline, a tinge of danger, and my wish to do something to better my world. Each weekend of Firefighter Academy takes me one step further along the path, one more skill set put into motion. I read, learn, take written tests, practice a whole variety of skills, learn, and learn, and learn. To hear the seasoned veterans, "We got a call out to a real fun structure fire," makes me laugh every time. I am surrounded by heroes with expansive hearts, and the glee of a 12 year old. It is a fantastic combination.
    This weekend was by far the most physical, and the most fun yet. Saturday we learned ladder basics, which may seem a bit plebeian, until you are climbing a 35' extension ladder while carrying a 12' roof ladder over one shoulder. Then at the top of the ladder, hooking a leg through the rungs to free up both hands, and sliding the roof ladder up the roof to hook over the peak. Sadly, we did not get to climb onto the roof ladder from there. I am fortunate, I do not have a fear of heights or ladders. Lifting and hoisting heavy ladders for a solid 4 hours made for a decent workout, and the joy of climbing high and looking out over the drill grounds from 30' in the air is exhilarating.
    Today. Today was the best day yet. In the first hour we were climbing ladders and rescuing "unconscious victims." This morning I learned that I am more than capable of carrying a 220 pound man, in 40 pounds of gear down a ladder from a second story window. I have to say, what a rush!
    And then... And Then?! We started Search and Rescue, and Rapid Intervention Team training. Ohholymotherofthegods!! We spent a solid 6-1/2 hours in full gear, bellycrawling through the smoke-filled drill tower searching for victims and downed firefighters. To be fully suited up, on canned air, in near zero visibility, working as a team, taxing our bodies to their fullest, learning truly lifesaving skills is a rush I could never have imagined. Search and Rescue appeals to my very core. Rapid Intervention Team, or RIT, is the rapid response team for a downed firefighter. RIT only goes into effect to rescue firefighters. RIT appeals to an even deeper level, it appeals to my very soul.
    Never in my life did I imagine I would find anything as soul satisfying as firefighter training, and the prospect of becoming a firefighter. Yes, I have always held the secret desire to follow this path, but I never in my wildest dreams imagined it would be so satisfying on every level. This is an adventure of a lifetime. It may be The Adventure of A Lifetime. I don't know. All I really know is that this is not make believe, it is not a sport, it is not playing at being the good guy, pretending to be the warrior. It is real, and visceral. It is hard, dirty work with no pay. It is dangerous, the most dangerous job in the world. I am sore, and bruised, and tired. And I am loving every minute of it. Again, let me say, I love my Life.

I Met Her Tonight

    I met Her tonight. The race car. The little beauty. I climbed through the roll cage, felt the seat cradle my ass, wriggled my shoulders into the back rest, gripped the wheel, caressed the gear shifter. My feet felt the pedals, all in perfect position for my legs. I played with the gears a bit, she is a five speed, of course. And then... And Then... I got to fire her up! Holymotherofgod! She roared to life, a throaty vibrato. I could feel her eagerness matching mine. I wanted to slide her into gear and steal away into the night to race hellbound for leather up and down the quiet suburban streets. She quivered like a race horse at the gate, that shiver of the skin that is a telltale sign of a beast ready to race. Then, sadly, I flipped the switch to silence her engine. The smell of exhaust teasing my nose, promising adventures yet to come.
    Then the conversation, tinged with excitement, turned somewhat pragmatic as we discussed plans to clean her up, tweak a few things. She is not perfect. What is the fun in that? True, her engine is turnkey ready, and with very little effort she could be on the track showing us her prowess. But she has just enough things to be fixed, cleaned up, painted to make it a fun project. A way of claiming her for our own, making her truly one of the clan. And then she will tell us her name. And we will race.

Practice How You Play

    Last August I embarked on the adventure of a lifetime, and January 5th it all kicked into shit's-about-to-get-real high gear. Last August was my official beginning as a volunteer firefighter. For the second half of 2012 I spent every Wednesday evening at Station One geeking on fire trucks and gear. I was gifted with my own turnouts, the jacket, pants, helmet and boots of a real honest-to-gods firefighter. Yes, they were used, and redolent with the smell of excitement. I learned basic skills; donning turnouts and SCBA (self contained breathing apparatus), handling fire hose, hooking to hydrants. The oh-my-gods thrill of riding in Engine 514, smacking my fellow rookie on the knee, "Max!! We're riding in a FIRETRUCK!!"  "Yes, we are." "Max!!! I fucking LOVE firetrucks!!" "I know, you've mentioned that, a lot." But he says it all with good humor. From the get-go I have not restrained my enthusiasm. I really do fucking LOVE the fire trucks. Okay, yeah, they are called Engines, I know that. Just like when I enthuse, "Imma be a FIREMAN!!!" I know that it is Firefighter, I do, but you know what? IMMA BE A FIREMAN AND I FUCKING LOVE FIRE TRUCKS!!!
    January 5th I began the official Firefighter Academy, with a text book, written exams to pass, and practicals to be judged on. Every step has been exciting, exhilarating, and more fun than any adult should be able to have. I love it all. From the mundane rig and SCBA checks, to hacking holes in a practice roof with chainsaw and ax, to entering a smoke filled training tower. Every weekend is exhausting, but fulfilling. I can gush on about the engines, and know that the grizzled veterans of the district share my infatuation. I can fondle and caress gleaming chrome and know that I am not the only one. We drill, over and over, basic skills to fuse them into muscle and brain. I can don full turnouts and SCBA in under 2 minutes. I can pull hose and triple port a hydrant in 1 minute 45 seconds. I even love restoring hose to the engine beds, carefully, neatly, with perfection. A key phrase has been, "Practice how you Play." Making every practice session have as much precision and speed as if it were the real deal, even with restoring the engine to pre-call tidiness.
    Mid March I will be released to go on calls. To this point I have been a trainee, now I will step up to probationary, after graduation I will be an honest to god Firefighter 1 Rookie. That is when the reality will really set in. And I am excited beyond belief. My dreams are peppered with turnouts, ladders, gleaming engines, smoke, and flames. I love that the guys at the station say things like, "Gear up, let's go play." Or, "Waiting for tones to drop so we can go play." I am surrounded by dedicated, hardworking, fun-loving, intense people passionate about their avocation. I was fully infected with the fever before I ever stepped foot inside the engine bay and inhaled the perfumes of diesel, oil, and carnuba wax. Now, surrounded as I am with an epidemic of enthusiasm, I am in a constant state of euphoria whenever I am at the station. I was once accused of "Never doing anything by halves," as if it were a bad thing. But in my Here and Now, there is only one course of action, Full Speed Ahead, doing everything to the fullest. No, I never do anything by halves. Why should I when the alternative is so much more rewarding, and such a freakin' blast!

Flags

 
So much to cram into Brain this winter! Ohdeargods my skull might explode *splat*. As if it weren't enough to have to memorize the military alphabet for Academy (alpha, bravo, charlie.. yep, got it nailed), as well as all the weird information required of a firefighter, now I will have to recognize racing signal flags. Not only recognize them, but understand them in an instant and react appropriately. No, not with an Imma-Die-hit-the-brakes reaction, I said, "appropriately." At least there are only a handful of signal flags, and most correlate with something I already know, "Green means go, red means stop." I'm good with that. Poor, poor overworked Brain, never enough sleep, and too much information being thrown at the little grey cells. I fully expect Brain to go on strike at any moment, demanding better pay and fewer hours. But Brain will just have to suck it up like the rest of us blue collar workers and do more for less, it is the new economy. Back to flags...

She's A Beaut

    The race car has been procured, and she is a beaut. I could dance with joy. She is mud brown now, but will soon be satin black with a hot pink stripe. There is a sanding party in my future. We will be racing in the Chump Car class, or Crap Can Racers, as they are lovingly called. These cars are supposed to be cheap, and relatively stock, with the addition of a roll cage, and racing tires. This is not Nascar, and I don't want it to be. I love that I will be getting to drive a grubby little car at a breakneck pace, around a track that has seen a long litany of million dollar cars grace its asphalt. Love is in the air.

Passport Photos

    I now have passport photos awaiting the opportunity to be pasted onto my passport application. I have wanted a passport, and a reason to use a passport, for what seems like an eternity. It is one more step on the path of Grand Adventures. We are already discussing short trips that will be the first stamps in my soon to be realistic, and virgin passport. A trip to an artist colony in Cabo, to explore, get the lay of the land, fantasize about winters spent south of the border, away from long, cold, grey Pacific Northwest winters. No, that would not likely happen for some time, there are too many important aspect of life that keep my firmly anchored in the region that I love. But maybe for the future. The dream of spending lazy days in a cabana on the sands, writing, drawing, swimming in the surf, running on the beach, eating fresh fruits and seafood.
    I have also been  told of the wonders of Cay Caulker in Belize, and it is a destination I am sure to see sooner rather than later. A requisite for such a trip will be getting my Scuba certification so I can explore the reefs, and The Blue Hole. We will snorkel Ray and Shark Alley, and see more tropical fish than I can imagine. From Belize we will jaunt to The Crystal Cave, and to Mayan pyramids. All the while we will sample the epicurean delights of traditional foods, from pupusas hand made by abuelas, to seafood feasts from the fresh catch of the day. My mind reels with the thoughts of such a journey. And it all begins with my passport photos. Step one, on a long, adventurous path.

I Wanna Race!

    Tonight I had my first oral introduction to learning to drive at Portland International Raceway. Just let me start by saying, OhDearGods I wanna race I wanna race!! To hear the shift by shift breakdown of the twelve turns of the raceway, and the sphincter clenching excitement of hanging onto a corner by muscle and sheer force of will, had my pulse racing and my cheeks flushed. The idea of screaming up on a corner at 120mph, grabbing brakes, standing the car on her nose, downshifting, then slamming the gas and powering through the curve. Holyshit! The first step is getting out there on open track day and strapping into the Miata that is the team car. The idea of having even a fingertip of involvement with a racing team has my mind whirling and skittering through the lunar landscape of my imagination. The hint that I might get to co-drive an 8 hour enduro race, has me so excited I don't even dare to let my mind run with this one. I have to keep the imagination in check or I will be blowing gaskets and my brain will be leaking out my ears. Gooey. The car is being picked up this Sunday, I have to keep reminding myself that Sunday is the only day I have off in February and I must attend to the mundane task of pruning my apple trees. G'damn I hate being a grownup. I want to be there the moment the car is loaded onto the trailer. I want to be there when she is off loaded and nestled into the shop. I want to feel the driver's seat cradling my ass as I wriggle my shoulders into the upholstery, and inhale the fragrance of oil, gas, and rubber. I want to grip the wheel, caress the shifter, touch the gauges. This is an epic adventure in the making. An adventure in team colors of satin black and hot pink.

2013 The Year of Grand Adventures

    Before the New Year had begun, I had dubbed it, "2013, The Year of Grand Adventures." Why? What possessed me to attach a moniker to the year? It worked for 2012. I had named 2012 "The Year of Win" in rebellion against 2010 and 2011 which had each been named retroactively as "The Year of Fail." The Year of Win was happy horseshit to convince myself that my years of failure had come to an end. True enough, 2012 took quite a few months to begin to live up to the grandiose title I had attached to it in desperation. But g'damn if it didn't begin to snowball, and ended up reaching a new and glorious benchmark. So 2012 was indeed, The Year of Win.
    This lengthy explanation brings me back to the current year, 2013, and my assertion that it will be The Year of Grand Adventures. We are only just one month in and the adventures have begun. I am working my way through Firefighter Academy, pushing myself mentally and physically, to fulfill my long held dream of being a firefighter, a first responder. If I do nothing else all year, this one venture has set my feet on a path that will lead me to adventures aplenty, and for years to come.
    I have had Allspice leaves hand picked in the rain forests of Central America and smuggled home to me to add spice to my evening tea. This coming weekend I am starting the process to get my passport, another cherished dream, and the first step in many an adventure. A visit to an artist colony in Cabo, and scuba diving and spelunking in Belize have been dangled before me, tempting lures, with solid plans behind the enticement. I will get my Scuba certification this summer, opening new vistas for excitement. I will also learn rappelling down cliff sides, and rock climbing through the fire department, two more skills to add to the mix.
    September will bring my first Half-Ironman, a scary-thrilling prospect, and yet another long held fantasy becoming reality. Between now and then are a slough of races of all kinds: triathlons, road races, trail runs, obstacle course races, adventure races. The hardest part will be deciding which races to do, and which I will have to pass by.
    And icing on the cake, soon I will be at the race track, learning to drive a race car with an eye towards becoming licensed to race. Think of that! Oh dear gods, the idea of getting to actually drive a race car. The very thought has my pulse pounding.
    These are a few of the Adventures queuing up for my personal pleasure. What an amazing prospect! My future is abounding with promise, overflowing with options, freakishly full of fabulous fantasies finally fulfilled. So this is the very first entry in what will become my Grand Adventure Diary. More to come, soon. Much more.