DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

News and spoilers (and tantalizing stills) in today’s Newsweek: The Matrix Makers

There is also a ton of content at WB’s Matrix website.

Zion National Park is not a ski resort, so most people don’t go there in the winter. We did because, frankly, we needed a vacation and all the flights to warm places were sold out. The idea that the park would not be teeming with people appealed to me, as well — personally I would rather hike through snow than sit in warm weather in a parade of overheating RVs searching for a parking spot.

A few of the trails were closed, but we found these warnings to be arbitrary. Some of the trails that were officially closed were easier to traverse than the trails that were officially open. Conditions probably change faster than the rangers are able to update their lists. And we were not the only visitors to hike past “TRAIL CLOSED” signs, although I’m sure the signs did dissuade the people who hadn’t dressed appropriately for the environment, e.g. anyone not covered forehead-to-toenails in brand-name synthetic-fiber “high-performance” clothing (Dacron, Thor-Lon, Thinsulate, Gore-Tex, etc.).

Our first hike in Zion was the Hidden Canyon Trail. This trail seems to me to be typical for the park, in that it is characterized by steep climbs, stunning views (see the panorama I posted earlier), crazy rock formations, and sheer cliffs. The language on the sign at the trailhead reads, “Trail is hardened much of the way, but is very steep, rising 850 feet in only a mile. Severe dropoffs make this trail unsuitable for anyone fearful of heights.” And then it shows a little stick-figure flailing his arms as the edge of the cliff crumbles to dust underfoot — an iconographic warning of certain doom should anyone fail to heed the warning and try to “hang ten” over the edge of the cliff. I’m not fearful of heights, but I kept my distance from the edges all the same.

The ascent was less difficult than we expected, considering the grade and altitude (~4000 feet). The so-called “hardened” trail was buried in snow, but the snow was still crunchy enough to provide adequate footholds.

A few sections of the trail cross rock outcroppings. Chains bolted to the rock provide a handrail of sorts. These passages were the most difficult in the park, because the footing ranges from “uncertain” to “treacherous.” My feet shot out from under me at one point, and the only thing preventing me from dropping 15 feet into a ice-crusted pool was my grip on the chain. My wife had a few near-spills as well.

On the descent, we ate frozen Clif Bars. That’s the other thing about winter hikes — we learned to store snacks inside our jackets.

California’s Office of the Attorney General offers tips for reducing unwanted marketing communications, especially telemarketing calls.

Most are the same as every other list of such tips, e.g. “submit your name to the DMA’s no-call list,” but one tip caught my eye because it contained new information: “Remove your name from commercial street address directories”.

I made contact with one of the listed companies, Haines, which produces a series of CD-ROM directories called Criss+Cross. This directory tells marketers your name, address, telephone number, years at address, and wealth rating, which, whatever it is, isn’t data anyone should know about me as far as I’m concerned.

The directories are printed annually. (The Northern California version is printed in the Spring.) You can have your name added to Haines’ permanent killfile by calling 1-800-843-8452 ext. 312.

When you call, please be nice! I’d hate for them to disconnect this toll-free opt-out method due to abuse.

The recent storms have done some damage. We took inventory today:

• massive, tire-eating ruts in the driveway
• one downed oak tree
• one downed birch tree, plus fence damage
• broken branches in precarious positions
• and, dare I say it, general debris.

We lost power again, too, late on the 30th. I woke on the 31st with disturbing visions of hosting our New Year’s Eve dinner party by candlelight, without benefit of ovens or the five hours of MP3s I’d arranged to accompany the phases of the evening. But as I was laying in bed that morning, mourning the blank unpowered face of my LCD alarm clock, I heard a remote beep, and then a surge in white noise as the furnace kicked on… and with relief I abandoned plans of serving cold soup, warm salad, and extra layers of clothing.

Ironically, today I went shopping for a chainsaw.

mountains + winter = snow
snow + roads = travel delays
travel delays + vacation = -1*(fun)

We were headed to Utah for a week’s vacation in the mountains. My wife suggested renting a 4WD, in case we would face snowy mountain roads. It seemed like a good idea. So for a week I became an SUV maniac, sitting six feet in the air and burning up a gallon of gas every 10 miles and telling myself it really is possible to “be environmentally correct and drive a [planet-wrecking, fume-spewing, road-hogging, visibility-blocking pig of a recreational vehicle]”. I think the Dodge Durango we rented burns slightly less fuel than the Hummer 2, but you get the idea.

I’ll admit the truck was comfortable, with electronic seat and mirror controls. A knob on the dash allowed 4WD to be engaged on the fly. The stereo played CDs as well as tapes, and sounded great.

Considering its size, the truck felt easy to drive. It performed admirably on the highway. I think we began to feel a bit invincible, as if this tank of an automobile could scale any incline, shave the apex of any turn, and still fit into a parking space (well, the RV spots anyway).

Then we ran into a snowy section of road within Zion National Park, and learned that there is no magic feature of our 4600 lb monster-vehicle to keep from sliding sideways on a patch of ice, even on a straight road. The front wheels drifted to the left, and then with a shudder the rear wheels broke free and we were riding a heavy, unresponsive toboggan on a tangent to the approaching curve.

Highway 9 doesn’t have guardrails. There was a rock wall to the right — smashing into that would have been inconvenient and expensive, but not fatal. Unfortunately that’s not what we were sliding toward.

On the far side of the low snowbank on the left shoulder, the ground dropped away several dozen feet. Had we slid over the edge, I’d be writing this story from the afterlife, assuming that there, unlike Utah, I could get an Internet connection.

Within a foot or two of the edge, the tires caught enough pavement to spin us back the other way. We spun 180° clockwise, slid back to the right side of the road, then the tires caught again and we spun counterclockwise again. By this time we’d slowed down enough to regain traction; we pulled off the road for ten seconds to breathe, thank our guardian angels, and in my case correct the momentary lapse of sanity that had caused me to not fasten my seatbelt. Then we drove to the Hidden Canyon trailhead and hiked a few miles up the face of the mountain and took this cool vertical-panorama picture, which shows our truck/coffin in dramatic perspective at the bottom.