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.