I couldn’t title this post “Catching Up” because I’ve fallen back on that idiom twice before. I’m sorry for neglecting you, Duolab. A lot has transpired, but I didn’t take down notes and can’t even manage a glut of adjective-laden anecdotes like I did in July.

I know I meant to write about backpacking in August but kept putting it off because I hadn’t processed the photos yet. The trip was fantastic, aside from the concussion close-call we had towards the end. Gorgeous lakes, shitty instant soups, shittier lasagna, miles of strenuous marching, foolhardy cliff traversals, whiskey, and counting shooting stars from the comfort of a sleeping bag atop hardy grass. I kept repeating “the chitinous staccato of grasshoppers and sinewy crackle of knees” in my head as we hiked out because I meant to write some flowery prose about all the sounds (or lack thereof) we wrapped ourselves in, but I think I’ll just leave it at that. Here are the visuals.

I visited San Diego for Megan’s wedding and then again a couple weeks later for the annual Bike Bar Tour. Both trips were awesome. I miss San Diego. I miss burritos and biking everywhere.

Fall was beautiful. It’s hard to describe the feeling that washes over you as the air turns crisp and the leaves flush with color before accumulating on the ground. I keep straining to sample random smokey accents laced through each breeze. Living in San Diego for six years has definitely made me appreciate the foothills more.

And now it’s snowing.

In no particular order:

BART, barbecued filet mignon, and a gadget/water fountain/LED-studded jacuzzi in Hayward; baby turkeys and almost hitting a startled vulture with my bike; distressingly avant-garde ballet in Stern Grove, tandem bikes in Golden Gate park followed by spicy hot chocolate in Pacific Heights; smokey air and gibbous moons like blood oranges; river trips, toe-curious fish, deep and chilly water, skinny dipping and cliff jumping in a private sanctuary spotted on Google’s satellite maps; Troy Tuesday at Laszlo with amazing crab tostadas, Ratatat and sauntering home with bagged-up Sparks, walking miles around the Mission District in search of the perfect necklace; B movies and glasses full of Baby Guinness; baby fawns and picking blackberries; cycling and cycling and hill climbing and finally installing a second bottle cage so I don’t get dehydrated in the oppressive heat; seeing the milky way on after-dinner walks and finally learning to consistently locate Polaris; receiving bourbon in the mail that’s so good my brain stutters; a proper picnic dinner—baguette, camembert, goat cheese with herbs, prosciutto, garlic feta orzo, and an olive medley—in the park with cherries and a good Cabernet.

Duolab reunion next weekend!

A bear knocked down an oak tree right outside the kitchen window last night. It was trying to get at a bird feeder full of seed. Yeah, the tree was pretty much dead and its roots weren’t providing much structural support, but still.

This is on top of the fact that there are almost always one or two wild turkeys hunting for bugs below the deck to the west (sometimes a parade of two dozen or more will mosey on through), and on my first bike outing I noted both coyote and bear scat within 200 yards of the house.

Welcome to the boonies, population: me.

I don’t recall having much trouble while backpacking above 10,000 ft last August, but Nevada City’s modest elevation was killing me today when I pulled my bike out of storage and took it for a ten mile spin. It might have been due in part to the head cold I just put behind me, but damn were my lungs on fire. Back at it tomorrow, though—I’ve been craving pedal action like a suburban dropout craves Tina, and I’ll take what I can get.

Despite the punishing jet lag, I had a blast dilly-dallying in SF for a couple nights after my return flight from Auckland. Within two hours of running the gauntlet at customs I was drinking noon-time beers with Kevin and the lil’ bro at their place of employ, and things only got better from there. Still on the To Do list: many return trips to Latin America Club, playing with Troy’s new fixie, drinking the Rambow boys under the table, and hopefully a house party or two with Mac’s new co-workers.

The return to my home town has been a bit surreal thus far, but there are a couple of exciting things coming up that should prove thoroughly engaging. Meanwhile, I’m like a walking blizzard as the too-good-to-be-true tan flees my body with traitorous assistance from the dry mountain air.

Thailand is still percolating. Bear with me.

My cat’s breath smells like two turds fucking.

I flew the coop. I left San Diego. The mourning process was exhausting, and I miss my friends already.

I’m in New Zealand now, and things have been fantastic so far. We’re staying at a quaint motel in Thames—a tiny town just south of Coromandel—and I should make this quick because it’s late and the free wi-fi is spotty.

Auckland is pretty and reminds me of Vancouver—lots of tall, modern buildings and fobby asians. Even though I’ve only been a passenger so far, driving on the opposite side of the road was quite unsettling for the first day. My cousins are great, and the bars and clubs they showed us make me miss North Park (RIP Scolari’s). King’s Cup has slightly different rules here, the drinking age is 18, and you can drink on the street or in a car if you’re a passenger. Bars stay open all night. Gratuities do not exist.

It’s warm and humid here, but I’m enjoying it because the snow that greeted me as I drove to my parents’ house in Norcal was a pain in the ass. I’m already a bit sunburned, though—the ozone layer is thin down here.

Things that are disappointing: Comic Sans on shop signs, no turning at a red light, and fat people. (The fatties are preventing me from pretending that this is Europe.) Also, it’s pretty heartbreaking to see dead hedgehogs on the side of the road.

Onward! I’ll probably groom this post later. Maybe.