Remy, the French-American, only-child owner of Mojo Bicycle Cafe, hired me as a barista despite my not having had any experience, and let me tell you, my two months as a barista was an experience.
As the new guy I, naturally, was gifted with the most sought-after shift - the one starting at 6:15 in the morning. Waking up at 5:15 and biking to work (a mere four-minute commute) in the dark five days a week went against my grain but taught me that I could get by, even if painfully, on just a few hours of sleep if need be. And the real beauty of the early-bird shift?: being finished at 12:30 each day.
Not only did I learn my limits of sleep and my appreciation for being a free bird in the afternoons; I also learned during my tenure at Mojo that:
1. consistently pouring the perfect shot of espresso is not an easy feat; in fact, it is an art form that is pretty exacting. The shot should be "tamped," for instance, with thirty pounds of pressure, and a good one-ounce shot should pour for no longer than thirty seconds.
2. the only difference between a cappucino and a latte is the consistency of the milk. Who'd a thunk it?
2. people love to feel like they're king of the castle, and making them feel this way is as easy as, "Good morning, Susie Q. Would you like your ususal decaf soy latte?"
3. baristas are not tipped the way bartenders are. What's with the double standard, folks?
4. opening a coffee shop with only a handful of pennies in your register (because your co-worker who closed shop the night before accidentally pocketed the keys to the cash boxes) is pretty trying, but yours truly managed to pull it off.
5. opening a coffee shop with your coworker named Jesus, who's almost always hungover (and who spends a good part of the shift getting sick in the bathroom), is pretty trying, but yours truly managed to pull it off.
6. being a barista is a lot of fun. I relished getting espresso grounds all over my clothes; listening to my eclectic Pandora station throughout my shift; getting hopped up on caffeinated beverages; being a part of the SF bike culture (and getting free tune-ups by great mechanics); and eating free pesto-mozzerella sandwiches and other free, tasty things at the end of each shift. And did I mention being finished by 12:30 each day?
So why did I give up my lush barista lifestyle? Well, once again a little (or big?) fortuity was at play, and Alice Howell, my good friend - or should I say, "guardian angel"?, got me moving in the right direction by getting me a job at a high-end, adventure travel company. If it weren't for that, my complacency may have led me to be a lifelong barista; I was a little apprehensive about losing my Mojo, but I said good riddance to predawn hours and micro-management and hello to Geographic Expeditions.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Keep Tahoe Golden
I escaped the mayhem of The City by car, once again, and went this time to Tahoe. Plans for the getaway had been in the works for a while since my friend Melissa had been wanting to surprise my friend Hayden, her boyfriend, for his 26th birthday.
About fifteen of us made it to the rental cabin in North Lake despite the snow storm that erupted that Friday, the first big snow of the season. It took my friend Brent and I about six hours to do the drive, which normally takes three and a half hours, because we were forced to stop and buy chains for my tires and to drive 30mph for the last fifty or so miles. When I asked the guy who sold us the chains why they're required in California but never in places like Colorado, where I drove sans chains through the snow on plenty of occasions, he simply replied, "Because of California drivers".
So once all of us - save Melissa and Hayden - made it safely to the nicely furnished cabin, with its firetruck bunked beds, cheesy family ski photos, foosball table, and well-stocked kitchen, we made ourselves at home and then planned the surprise attack on Hayden. After mulling over a number of ideas, we decided the best one was to greet Hayden on the street...in our underwear....with snowballs. Once they finally arrived, about two hours after we had stripped down to our skivvies, we were drunk and freezing cold and ready to go. We launched snowballs at the car and then proceeded to stand in a line and moon them. I don't think Hayden would have had it any other way.
The remainder of the weekend was marked by: many nerve-wrenching games of Jenga; hardcore sled riding; hot tub stews (it never did get quite hot enough); Back to the Future; guitar jams; dancing; and, needless to say, a lot of eating and drinking. I may have shaved a few years off my life between Jenga, sledding injuries, and inhaling some Black Box Wine, but I'd say they were a small price to pay for the fun that was had.
About fifteen of us made it to the rental cabin in North Lake despite the snow storm that erupted that Friday, the first big snow of the season. It took my friend Brent and I about six hours to do the drive, which normally takes three and a half hours, because we were forced to stop and buy chains for my tires and to drive 30mph for the last fifty or so miles. When I asked the guy who sold us the chains why they're required in California but never in places like Colorado, where I drove sans chains through the snow on plenty of occasions, he simply replied, "Because of California drivers".
So once all of us - save Melissa and Hayden - made it safely to the nicely furnished cabin, with its firetruck bunked beds, cheesy family ski photos, foosball table, and well-stocked kitchen, we made ourselves at home and then planned the surprise attack on Hayden. After mulling over a number of ideas, we decided the best one was to greet Hayden on the street...in our underwear....with snowballs. Once they finally arrived, about two hours after we had stripped down to our skivvies, we were drunk and freezing cold and ready to go. We launched snowballs at the car and then proceeded to stand in a line and moon them. I don't think Hayden would have had it any other way.
The remainder of the weekend was marked by: many nerve-wrenching games of Jenga; hardcore sled riding; hot tub stews (it never did get quite hot enough); Back to the Future; guitar jams; dancing; and, needless to say, a lot of eating and drinking. I may have shaved a few years off my life between Jenga, sledding injuries, and inhaling some Black Box Wine, but I'd say they were a small price to pay for the fun that was had.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Humboldt
My first weekend getaway of my second round in San Francisco took place just a couple of weeks after my move back out here, because even though I'm living just enough for The City, I'm not just living for The City. It was time to escape the congestion, and a silver friend of mine, with whom I crossed paths the week before, had invited me to visit his cabin in Arcata. Once he mentioned the words "cabin," "redwoods," and "sangria," I was pretty well sold.
One of my roommates and I made the five-hour trek late on Thursday and met "Yo-Heezy," the owner of the cabin, and another one of my roommates around 1:00 in the morning. Much to their delight, I brought along some Black Box wine and Sarah Lee baked goods (not to be confused with Sara Lee baked goods), and we commenced our celebration of social solitude in the unkempt but cozy cabin.
The rain and the cool air on the following day made it difficult to leave the comforts of the cabin, but I experienced a bit of the culture up North nonetheless. Dinnertime snuck up on us, and me and the fellas made a hodgepodge of yams and ginger, guacamole, fajitas, and sangria that left us slightly comatose. Ironically, in an effort to revitalize ourselves and mend some of our ailments, Yo-Heezy nearly broke his back while trying to crack mine (I suppose I ate a little too much guacamole), so he was bed-ridden for the rest of the night; the remaining three, however, managed to shake our comas and adventure through the duration of the night.
With the Lost Coast Brewery as our sponsor, we built a roaring fire of aging furniture and other odds and ends in a large and rusted barrel, which we called the Barrel of Monkeys. We were impressed with ourselves since the conditions were rather wet - though the rain had finally subsided - but our biggest task was still ahead: making the unfunctional sauna functional without doing any rewiring. And so we put a bunch of rocks in a metal pale and put the pale in the fire and then poured water over the hot rocks once inside the sauna. We tried this a number of times over the course of a couple of hours, and strange as it was, the first attempt, with mediocre results, was the most successful. Once this cat-and-mouse game lost its fun, we played in the shipwreck of redwood trunks and fifteen-foot stumps just beyond the cabin, and once that lost its fun (or did it?), we retired to the cabin and fell asleep, sometime between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning.
The next day of in-and-out of sleep, reflecting, and burnt bacon ended around midnight, when my roommate and I made it sleepily back to San Francisco, which was not so sleepy itself. It was a lively Saturday night, but I went straight to bed, readying myself for my 7:15 barista shift the next morning.
One of my roommates and I made the five-hour trek late on Thursday and met "Yo-Heezy," the owner of the cabin, and another one of my roommates around 1:00 in the morning. Much to their delight, I brought along some Black Box wine and Sarah Lee baked goods (not to be confused with Sara Lee baked goods), and we commenced our celebration of social solitude in the unkempt but cozy cabin.
The rain and the cool air on the following day made it difficult to leave the comforts of the cabin, but I experienced a bit of the culture up North nonetheless. Dinnertime snuck up on us, and me and the fellas made a hodgepodge of yams and ginger, guacamole, fajitas, and sangria that left us slightly comatose. Ironically, in an effort to revitalize ourselves and mend some of our ailments, Yo-Heezy nearly broke his back while trying to crack mine (I suppose I ate a little too much guacamole), so he was bed-ridden for the rest of the night; the remaining three, however, managed to shake our comas and adventure through the duration of the night.
With the Lost Coast Brewery as our sponsor, we built a roaring fire of aging furniture and other odds and ends in a large and rusted barrel, which we called the Barrel of Monkeys. We were impressed with ourselves since the conditions were rather wet - though the rain had finally subsided - but our biggest task was still ahead: making the unfunctional sauna functional without doing any rewiring. And so we put a bunch of rocks in a metal pale and put the pale in the fire and then poured water over the hot rocks once inside the sauna. We tried this a number of times over the course of a couple of hours, and strange as it was, the first attempt, with mediocre results, was the most successful. Once this cat-and-mouse game lost its fun, we played in the shipwreck of redwood trunks and fifteen-foot stumps just beyond the cabin, and once that lost its fun (or did it?), we retired to the cabin and fell asleep, sometime between 8:00 and 9:00 in the morning.
The next day of in-and-out of sleep, reflecting, and burnt bacon ended around midnight, when my roommate and I made it sleepily back to San Francisco, which was not so sleepy itself. It was a lively Saturday night, but I went straight to bed, readying myself for my 7:15 barista shift the next morning.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
A Righteous Return
This year has taken me far South, far North and back to the Heart of It All, but after all of life's twists and turns the road inevitably led West again. The great bivalve mollusc that is the World swallowed me whole and spit me out in San Francisco - The City by The Bay, the "golden handcuff with the key thrown away," and "the most cordial and sociable city in the Union."
I resisted the City's lure for ten months and then finally gave in to its charms, packed my Honda with all of my things and hit the road. How could I let a silly thing like not having much money or not having a job lined up prevent me from reigniting my love affair? After all, hadn't I made it work the first time, when I was starting from scratch?
I immediately moved into an apartment in the Lower Haight with some friends of a friend - four guys, as it goes - who are, so far, quirky, bright and lovable. That they keep a clean apartment with maps all over the walls is probably enough for me, but I can certainly appreciate the distinct personalities as well: the vegan, entrepreneurial sweetheart; the hippie with crystals in his dreadlocks who loves drawing brainstorming webs on his over-sized whiteboard; the excitable grad student; and the has-his-shit-together business professional who gets off on camping and literature.
The apartment was not the only thing that fell into place; a job did as well. A mere three days into my SF renaissance, I was hired as a barista at Mojo Bicycle Shop & Cafe. And so, as my dear friend Alice said, I was "back into the SF groove," and boy did it feel good.
I resisted the City's lure for ten months and then finally gave in to its charms, packed my Honda with all of my things and hit the road. How could I let a silly thing like not having much money or not having a job lined up prevent me from reigniting my love affair? After all, hadn't I made it work the first time, when I was starting from scratch?
I immediately moved into an apartment in the Lower Haight with some friends of a friend - four guys, as it goes - who are, so far, quirky, bright and lovable. That they keep a clean apartment with maps all over the walls is probably enough for me, but I can certainly appreciate the distinct personalities as well: the vegan, entrepreneurial sweetheart; the hippie with crystals in his dreadlocks who loves drawing brainstorming webs on his over-sized whiteboard; the excitable grad student; and the has-his-shit-together business professional who gets off on camping and literature.
The apartment was not the only thing that fell into place; a job did as well. A mere three days into my SF renaissance, I was hired as a barista at Mojo Bicycle Shop & Cafe. And so, as my dear friend Alice said, I was "back into the SF groove," and boy did it feel good.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Zenali
We checked the forecast for Denali the night before we left, and it said something along the lines of 63 and sunny with a very low chance of rain. I thought, "Fat chance!", after all I had heard about typical conditions in the park, i.e., only 30% of visitors to the park get to even see Denali (Mt. McKinley) because of fog, clouds and rain. As we drove the four hours toward the park the next morning, however, my cynicism was put to rest; there was not a cloud in the sky, and we could already see Denali, in all its glory, from 130 miles away.
Once inside the park we boarded the camper bus, because private vehicles are not permitted beyond Mile 15 of the 90-mile park road. The bus was brimming with excitement about the exceptional weather, and even Alan Seegert, our blasé driver who has worked at the park for decades, seemed eager. Alan carried himself much like Carl Spackler from Caddyshack, low-talking with a side-slung underbite and looking through catatonic eyes. He told us repeatedly that whether or not we were to see an abundance of wildlife was all "sloppy luck" but that we had come to the park on what was probably the most beautiful day of the year.
We rode through about five hours of slopes and valleys shaped by glaciers 10-14,000 years ago, and along the way we saw a grizzly and her two cubs grazing along a stream and a caribou taking a drink from a pond. The vegetation on the tundra was starting to take on burnt Fall colors, and the views of Denali made my heart swell. The four-mile high peak, with a greater rise and bulk than Everest, evokes a certain feeling of reverence that is rare and impossible to forget.
Other highlights of the bus ride included the caribou fight that Ashley and I had when we hoisted sets of extremely heavy antlers above our heads and also the friends that we made: a couple of guys from Milwaukee, who we saved from getting left behind by the bus, and a Frenchie named Julien, who we invited to share our campsite at Wonder Lake.
Our campsite, just 26 miles from the base of Denali, was not lacking for views or good company. Julien, so grateful that we had taken him in, perched his tent next to ours and promised us a French-themed party when we were all back in San Francisco, and a group from Seattle shared with us utensils and pulls from their bottle of Jaigermeister. We all watched the moutain range turn into a soft pink color when the sun set around 10p.m., and thanks to sloppy luck (or maybe karma), Julien spotted the Aurora Borealis (the Northern Lights) a couple of hours later. As we watched the green lights make waves through the night sky I grabbed and hugged Julien and told Ashley that we did well in bringing him there with us.
The temperature had dropped to thirty degrees by the time we retreated to our tents, making it difficult to find sleep, but I thought it was a small price to pay for the day we had just had. What made it even more worth it was that conditions the next morning were optimal for seeing Denali's perfectly still reflection in the pond made famous by some Ansel Adams photographs. The bus driver that day, a guy named Chuck, told us that we were extremely lucky because a reflection that clear can only be seen about five days out of the year. Not only did we have that good fortune; we also got to see a large bull moose, a herd of caribou, and a grizzly that walked just in front of our bus for a good five minutes. Oh, la vie est bonne!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Seward's Folly Makes Me Jolly
Past the Turnagain Arm (where we did not, unfortunately, see the 40-foot bore tide or any belugas), lies Seward, Alaska, named after William H. Seward, the Secretary of State who spearheaded the Alaska Purchase, or "Seward's Folly" as it was commonly referred to at the time.
A peaceable harbor town, Seward sits on Resurrection Bay and is just a few miles from the Harding Ice Field. Ashley and I set up camp at a dinky municipal campground, heated up a couple of cans of soup - a nice change from the pb&j's - and headed to Exit Glacier. The trail head at the glacier, like many we encountered on our trip, had bear warnings that described how to avoid bears and what to do in case of an encounter. The matter-of-fact instructions went something like this:
Black Bear: Fight back.
Brown Bear: Curl into the fetal position. If it starts to eat you, fight back.
(Ohhhh okay, so if the grizzly puts my head into his mouth and starts sinking his teeth into my neck, I should maybe try to punch him in the face... Alright, let's hike.)
So we hiked to the edge of the formidable, brilliant-blue glacier (without any bear run-ins, thankfully), and as I got close I could feel its chilly glacial breath. There was a moment where I forgot where I was entirely, and I had to remind myself that I was here on Earth, in a magical place called Alasssska!
Back at camp, Ashley and I made fish foil meals (delicious concoctions, usually made with beef, for which the Pat Cassedy family takes undue credit), and we made friends with some North Dakotans next door. These fellas, not amused by my asking if people in ND speak like the characters in Fargo, were so kind as to share with us some of the silver salmon that they had caught that day. Ash and I were too poor to charter a fishing boat ourselves, but at least we still got to reap the benefits.
The next morning in Seward was one of those wonderful times when you think, "Holy Hell, my life is good." We found a 2-for-1 sea kayaking deal and were delighted to find that the expedition would be just us and John from Illinois, our lovable guide. As luck would have it, the conditions of the morning were perfectly serene. The bay was basking in warm, early-morning sun, and the wind and water were calm, which John said was rare. We were surrounded by mountains; otters and porpoises circled near our kayaks, peeping out of the water to check us out; and a couple of bald eagles were perched regally on shoreline trees.
We beached our kayaks to hike to a waterfall and then to a salmon spawning area, and we snacked on blueberries that grew amongst trees dangling with a moss, which is known for obvious reasons as Old Man's Beard. John was happy to have a couple of low-maintenance girls who could actually paddle, and the three of us cursed false ideals of stability, 8-5's with benefits, and mortgages. After all, you only need the Bare Necessities...
"Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life...
...And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you"
A peaceable harbor town, Seward sits on Resurrection Bay and is just a few miles from the Harding Ice Field. Ashley and I set up camp at a dinky municipal campground, heated up a couple of cans of soup - a nice change from the pb&j's - and headed to Exit Glacier. The trail head at the glacier, like many we encountered on our trip, had bear warnings that described how to avoid bears and what to do in case of an encounter. The matter-of-fact instructions went something like this:
Black Bear: Fight back.
Brown Bear: Curl into the fetal position. If it starts to eat you, fight back.
(Ohhhh okay, so if the grizzly puts my head into his mouth and starts sinking his teeth into my neck, I should maybe try to punch him in the face... Alright, let's hike.)
So we hiked to the edge of the formidable, brilliant-blue glacier (without any bear run-ins, thankfully), and as I got close I could feel its chilly glacial breath. There was a moment where I forgot where I was entirely, and I had to remind myself that I was here on Earth, in a magical place called Alasssska!
Back at camp, Ashley and I made fish foil meals (delicious concoctions, usually made with beef, for which the Pat Cassedy family takes undue credit), and we made friends with some North Dakotans next door. These fellas, not amused by my asking if people in ND speak like the characters in Fargo, were so kind as to share with us some of the silver salmon that they had caught that day. Ash and I were too poor to charter a fishing boat ourselves, but at least we still got to reap the benefits.
The next morning in Seward was one of those wonderful times when you think, "Holy Hell, my life is good." We found a 2-for-1 sea kayaking deal and were delighted to find that the expedition would be just us and John from Illinois, our lovable guide. As luck would have it, the conditions of the morning were perfectly serene. The bay was basking in warm, early-morning sun, and the wind and water were calm, which John said was rare. We were surrounded by mountains; otters and porpoises circled near our kayaks, peeping out of the water to check us out; and a couple of bald eagles were perched regally on shoreline trees.
We beached our kayaks to hike to a waterfall and then to a salmon spawning area, and we snacked on blueberries that grew amongst trees dangling with a moss, which is known for obvious reasons as Old Man's Beard. John was happy to have a couple of low-maintenance girls who could actually paddle, and the three of us cursed false ideals of stability, 8-5's with benefits, and mortgages. After all, you only need the Bare Necessities...
"Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life...
...And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you"
Monday, September 7, 2009
Cheechakos in The Great Land
After another night with our friends at the double-wide in Skagway, Ashley and I left Alaska only to come back in at a point further north. The logistics are somewhat complicated (especially for those of you inept at geography, you who didn't even know it was possible to drive from the Lower 48 to Alaska), but you have to travel back through Canada to drive from the Southeast Peninsula to the rest of the state. This drive was an adventure and a good sign of things to come. More specifically, we had a close encounter with our first grizzly. He (or she) was slinking across the Alaska Highway and grazing just alongside it. We pulled to the opposite side of the road and stuck our upper halves out of the sun roof to watch it from about twenty yards away. Ashley was snapping a few photos, and I was looking on with unabashed excitement. The grizzly then took notice of us and stood on its hind legs to check us out. Having heard what we've heard about grizzlies, Ashley yelled, "Sarah, go, go, go!" and I slammed my foot on the gas; our adrenaline was pumping, but we couldn't help but die laughing.
Now Alaska being the size that it is - more than twice the size of Texas (sorry Texans but you're not as big and bad as you think) - we had to crash for the night between one small "town" and the next (namely, Glennallen and Palmer), and in the morning we headed toward Seward, on the eastern coast of the Kenai Peninsula. We slid through the Chugach mountain range, and as we approached the Anchorage area, we began to see, for the first time since Vancouver, signs of development such as a Best Buy and fast-food joints. These came and went, however, because soon we were on the peninsula - Alaska's Playground - and back into nature and passing through the occasional Northern Exposure-esque "town" like Moose Pass.
Oh, The Great Land!
Vocabulary...
cheechako: a "tenderfoot" who has never spent the winter in Alaska or the Yukon
Now Alaska being the size that it is - more than twice the size of Texas (sorry Texans but you're not as big and bad as you think) - we had to crash for the night between one small "town" and the next (namely, Glennallen and Palmer), and in the morning we headed toward Seward, on the eastern coast of the Kenai Peninsula. We slid through the Chugach mountain range, and as we approached the Anchorage area, we began to see, for the first time since Vancouver, signs of development such as a Best Buy and fast-food joints. These came and went, however, because soon we were on the peninsula - Alaska's Playground - and back into nature and passing through the occasional Northern Exposure-esque "town" like Moose Pass.
Oh, The Great Land!
Vocabulary...
cheechako: a "tenderfoot" who has never spent the winter in Alaska or the Yukon
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