Michael,

On hearing that he is an 8th cousin of Dick Cheney, Barack Obama said, tongue in cheek, “Every family has a black sheep.”

Lynne Cheney tells about the relationship.

The details of the ancestry were written up in the Bowie Blade News:

An interesting side note–the place where Obama’s and Cheney’s common ancestor, Mareen Duvall, lived was the Marietta Mansion near Bowie, MD. Our daughter Katie worked there for many years as a docent, but I don’t think anyone at the Mansion, including her, knew about this curious relationship until now.

Obama himself knew that some of his white ancestors owned slaves, but not the exact “tortured, tangled” history.

–rakkity

Michael,

I tried this and identified 14 out 16 earth spots viewed from space.  Try it, it’s fun!
–rakkity

Michael,

While we’re looking at pictures snapped from cars, I have this one I shot this morning on my way to Sidney’s Espressso.  I have two questions:

1. Who is this guy? B. Why is he here in Boulder? III. How did he evade the lasers on our border?

–rakkity

PS: Messner’s book is on its way east to your mailbox.

Michael,

While we’re looking at pictures snapped from cars, I have this one I shot this morning on my way to Sidney’s Espressso.  I have two questions:

1. Who is this guy? B. Why is he here in Boulder? III. How did he evade the lasers on our border?

–rakkity

PS: Messner’s book is on its way east to your mailbox.

Boulder has another unexpected claim to fame: the best baristas outside of Fiorenze. I had been meaning to wait until I got a larger sample of the barista’s art, but here I come with photos of 12 picturesque lattes and one non-picturesque (guess which before you look).

The highest-rated and most consistent espresso spot is Joe’s.  I have yet, after dozens of visits, to get an unbeautiful latte made by Joe.  It is not for nothing that Joe has gotten the yearly Boulder award for best espresso.  (He even sponsors barista workshops!) But Laughing Goat and Ozo aren’t bad. Bliss is inconsistent.  Sometimes they have beautiful lattes, but I haven’t been there with my camera at the right time.

Soon I’ll add another dozen lattes.  This is a fun project!

–rakkity

Boulder has another unexpected claim to fame: the best baristas outside of Fiorenze. I had been meaning to wait until I got a larger sample of the barista’s art, but here I come with photos of 12 picturesque lattes and one non-picturesque (guess which before you look).

The highest-rated and most consistent espresso spot is Joe’s.  I have yet, after dozens of visits, to get an unbeautiful latte made by Joe.  It is not for nothing that Joe has gotten the yearly Boulder award for best espresso.  (He even sponsors barista workshops!) But Laughing Goat and Ozo aren’t bad. Bliss is inconsistent.  Sometimes they have beautiful lattes, but I haven’t been there with my camera at the right time.

Soon I’ll add another dozen lattes.  This is a fun project!

–rakkity

Michael,

The Messenger satellite just shot a color picture  of the planet Mercury.  In my attached shot, I’ve tweaked the saturation to make the pink more obvious.

Now Mars isn’t the only pink planet.

–rakkity

Mike,

I’ve been out of town the past week.  Mrs rakkity, I and KT went to see New Yolk, Disnie Woild, The Grande Canaloni, and Gay Paree in a whirlwind tour. And it only cost us $1.00 in quarters.

Free photo tour.
–rakkity

Mike,

This 400-meter runner, Pretorius, has two amputated legs, with attachments that allow him to bound down the track like a goosed kangaroo (see movie). The Olympic committee says the prostheses give him an unfair advantage, so they won’t let him compete in the next Olympics. Appatrently his artificial feet do give him an advantage, but if he weren’t so fast, would the Olympic Committee permit him to compete on the grounds that the prostheses didn’t give him an advantage?

–rakkity

Mike,

This is the first I’ve read of actual lung damage and threat to private parts for members of the 300-deg club.

<quote>

You can’t feel the difference between -25F and -44F. I learned this on my last trip, but this trip I’ve internalized the lesson that cold is cold. You can’t tell the difference between 600F and 800F, either. Hot is hot. The human receptors operate in a specific range. Exceed that range and you only perceive the extreme. You can only get so hot or cold.
The difference between the -25F I experienced when I arrived at pole last week, and the -44F I experienced when I was outside nearly all day today is this: -44F seeps into your clothing faster than -25. The more intense cold effectively finds the gap between your gloves and your coat sleeve. It burns your cheeks beneath the goggles.

In the dead of winter they play a game called the 300 club. When the temps go down to -100F outside, they strip naked and stand in the sauna at 200F for as long as they can stand it. Then, wearing only their extreme-cold-weather boots, they bolt down the stairs in the “beer can”, up the birm and over to the pole to have their picture taken, thus subjecting their bodies to a 300 degree swing in temperature while naked.

The reason they wear boots is their feet would stick to the metal staircases otherwise.

I understand from veterans that the most important thing for a male to do when running the 300 club gauntlet is to protect the obvious exposed features with the hands. Otherwise severe frostbite results.

After running the 300 club, members cough and hack for a week or so while the lungs repair the frost damage done to them. Also, all fine body hair falls out, as the follicles are killed by the cold.

I am told the sensation of running the 300 club is of panic and dying. The feeling that life is running out of your body is palpable. The last hundred yards or so you are literally running for your life.

I bring this up because today and every day at pole I walk the 300 club pathway. I do it wearing a full compliment of ECW gear. I do it at this unescapable altitude. The coldest it has been when I have walked that path is -60F. Today it was -44F. Each time I do it I imagine running out stark naked. Down all those stairs, up the birm, to the pole, and back.

The interesting thing about life is that when you do something that seems impossible your entire perspective on life changes. Right now, running the 300 club seems entirely impossible to me. Even in ECW gear, with a 25kt wind, the atmosphere burns the skin quickly and we’re 56 degrees warmer.

Yet people do it, year after year. I don’t think we’re on the same planet anymore.

</quote>

Ed/rakkity

Michael,

This is a blog-worthy story and album of a once-in-a-lifetime experience of going up 750 feet to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. My cousin Dan Larsen did this despite acrophobia and a brand new unused camera. Enjoy!

–rakkity

Hello Swing members,
Dan Larsen from Alameda, CA, here.
This has been a while in coming, and with Gerry Conley’s gentle, yet relentless persuasion, I believe I have reached an understanding with my editing program to package these photos up and send them out. I think that they will come in a separate email addressed to Swing from my photoshop program, as I haven’t learned all of the functions yet. But for those who have seen them and have asked, this is the answer to how I got them; for those of you who have no idea of what I’m talking about, the pictures, if they arrive, should be viewed first and this story may make better sense.

A client of mine sat on the board of directors for the Golden Gate Bridge Authority and a perk of her position was to get her family and close friends (those that can stomach it) to the top – as in top of the Golden Gate Bridge. As her home remodel contractor in good standing, I was considered to be within this “inner circle” and invited for such an “inspection”. A side note: earlier this year my client’s husband’s doctor (cardiologist) found out about this “in” and begged her to let him go. He said that his son was a photographer and that he would love to get some shots from the top for him. She agreed as long as he followed protocol, as the GGB authority is sensitive to the bridge being a terrorist target. He was told not to shoot pictures within the column of the tower or post pictures on a public website. He ignored both rules and eventually someone traced the photos posted on his website back to my client. There was some consternation from the incident so I was allowed to bring a camera but also warned to be prudent with my picture taking.

Getting to the top is not an everyday affair for the general public, nor even for the passionate bridge fan. I felt honored to have been invited but have no idea how anyone else might get up there without that kind of connection. It was a number of weeks in the planning, yet the likelihood of my getting up that Thursday in November ’06 was sketchy at best. Construction was going on in one of the towers so it was closed, the other tower (north) just opened up from repairs the day before, yet our first winter rain was coming up from the Pacific, making the bureaucrats nervous about bringing guests up. The weather held that crisp morning, yet is was 11:30 am by the time we were allowed to go. My escort and I quickly motored in a rickety 3 wheeled Cushman, from the south parking lot across the sidewalk to the north tower, just as the workers had begun to move off the bridge for lunch (there are 48 painters, one of them a woman, and 23 labor unions associated with the daily workings of the bridge).

As we motored along on the sidewalk near the railing, we had to lean out the windows to ask pedestrians to move out of the way because the horn on the Cushman was broken. At the base of the north tower at sidewalk level, behind a locked submarine style door, there is 2 man elevator inside the hollow leg of the column. We both squeezed into this narrow cage and with only a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling to light the way, we moved very slowly up the 450 ft. shaft. We could hear the random banging of cars driving over the grates on the road deck below echoing through the dark. It was very
eerie! After 5 minutes, it stopped and we stepped into a dark room with a low ceiling and felt our way to a steel ladder that we climbed to room above with a low ceiling and a ladder. Climbing to its top, we popped out of a ceiling hatch and into the bright sunlight. We stepped on to the surface of the highest lintel – we were on top!

There was only a wisp of a warm breeze and we could see at least 30 miles in any direction. It was truly glorious and humbling to be up there! I fumbled with my new digital camera, yet managed to get some pictures, knowing that this opportunity couldn’t be wasted. Around the landing area where we stood there is a thin metal railing with steps at either end that lead to the column caps where the massive cables nest. I was allowed to climb under the big cable (at least 3 ft. in diameter) to gain access to the outside of the tower. It meant that I had to get down on hands and knees and crawl on the grating to reach the other side (I was reminded again of how much I hated heights). With some trepidation, shallow breathing and gritted teeth, I stood up on that open grate, on the other side, and was stunned by an unobstructed view of the entire San Francisco Bay Area, with only a handrail in front of me, and 750 ft down to the water below. A few minutes later, I climbed to the west side of the tower and under its cable to have another unbelievable view of the SF Sunset District, the Farallone Islands and the Marin Headlands.

I shot every angle I could think of with one hand gripping the cast iron column cap, my feeble attempt at resisting a sudden gust of wind. It was surprisingly quiet and peaceful, with no traffic noise or vibration to remind me of the bridge’s purpose. I had a sudden thought, would my cell phone work up here? After a few moments of fumbling with my gear, I saw that it had 3 bars. Who should I call? Why mom, of course!

“I’m on top of the North tower of the Golden Gate Bridge!” I crowed into the phone when she answered.

It took her a few moments for it to sink in and then she wondered aloud, “how can there be a ladder that tall!”

My escort could see in the distance that the workman were on their way back from lunch so she signaled to me that it was time to leave. Once down on the sidewalk, I had to resist grabbing tourists by the lapels to tell them that I was just at the top of the bridge! But I knew I could share this with others as long as the pictures turned out. So, after a year of various attempts to send them out to the swing group, I am trying it again.

I have crossed over the bridge as a regular driver a number of times since. I feel differently whenever I do. It is an amazingly bold feat of engineering and simple aesthetic design that continues to capture my attention. I have taken other pictures from various angles but the most powerful sensation still comes from being on top.

Enjoy!

Best regards, Dan

Hi Mike,

Hope your Christmas was as nice as the rakkity family’s. Between gifting and talking we did a lot of rambling around town. We had dinner at Artu’s in Little Italy. The North End seems to have been mightily revitalized by the Big Dig and the resulting absence of the old network of highways, so now you can easily walk to it from Government Center. Kathy gave us a tour of Beacon Hill and China Town.  We also strolled through Cambridge, toured the Coop, lamented the loss of Bailey’s and their scrumptiously sinful sundaes, then passed by John Harvard’s shiny left foot, and trundled in one side of Memorial Hall and out the other side, stopping to look at the stained glass.

Then the big highlights of Cambridge–We had lunch at the Three Aces, which is still alive and cooking great grinders.  But most amazing of all, one of the cooks is still there from the ’70’s! He asked me if I had survived the blizzard of ’78, and I said it was one of my best times in Cambridge. After memorable grinders, we hiked over to Somerville and looked at the old homestead, 318 Beacon St, which is much the worse for wear, paint peeling off from every square inch, with a beat up old bike thrown down by the front porch.   And there’s a car semi-abandoned in the back yard with snow drifts blocking it in, much like the old days. I would think if you’re in the market for a Somerville home, the building would be one of the more affordable houses, but you’d have to want a real fix-me-up.

Photos

–rakkity