Given how diligently commercialised the rest of the holidays in America have become, it comes as a pleasant surprise just how innocent and positive Thanksgiving is. Gather with friends and family, eat a little too much, drink until tipsy, and in the case of about thirty other Californians, head to the beach to throw a ball around and enjoy the Autumn sunset.
In that spirit (forgive me if I am getting a little too Californian here), I could not be where I am right now without the love and support of some great family and friends. I am an extremely lucky guy!
Thankyou.
Little Miss SunshineReminds me of a summer with the Scottish guys in LacaneuxWatercoloursRunning home in time for dinner
The rental market in San Francisco is notoriously challenging. Estate agent advertising is virtually non-existent, and people rely on what should be a relic; Craigslist. It came as a bit of a shock, then, to be presented with a place almost perfectly matching our needs after a mere day and half of searching. It’s a modestly-sized, renovated Victorian apartment in the south of Noe Valley – the location balances access to the freeway, public transport downtown and while it is not quite as close to the beating heart of some of the areas like Potrero and Mission, that is probably not such a bad thing; we are but a walk away to Mexican food and more cosmopolitan entertainment. Noe Valley could be compared to Notting Hill … but with more Labradors and baby strollers.
A short walk to the more exciting areas of Mission – here you will find the fixie bikes, hipsters and yoga, but also Mexican murals and awesome food from down southI am really excited by the food options – local, independent butchers, fruit and veg on the corner, any number of delicatessens … oh and online delivery for Safeway. No excuses not to cook now!Superb cafes within a stone's throwSuper access to public transport … downtown only 15 minutes away on the new J-Line that runs by at the bottom of our streetOur street – soon to be called home!And our home … not perhaps the most beautiful example of Victorian style, but it still means we have a little slice of San Francisco living.
Within about 72 hours of landing, I already had my first riding date arranged with Marc Walliser from the office … I have yet to receive my own bike, so he was kind enough to lend me a very nice Rocky Mountain for the task. Awesome!
Ewok ForestNice riding – though lacking the killer technical sections of Taiwan so far!Looking happy with myself.
Seven and a half years ago, almost to the day, I arrived in Taiwan with a rucksack, a pack of CDs, a job with a little-known computer company and not a clue about what the future might hold.
I came for a year of experience in Asia, to see if I could cut it as a proper designer, and with a vague notion of getting paid for an extended period of backpacking.
I could not have predicted the depth and breadth of the experience, the amount I learnt about both the world and myself, the formation of such lasting, granite-strong friendships, and that I would form such a strong bond with this little island in the Pacific Ocean.
It is all of this and more that has given me the opportunity to be where I am right now; somewhere above Okinawa, a beautiful girl by my side, a job offer from one of the most exciting organisations in the world, and the goal to make a new home in a place that I thought only existed in the movies. Every time I think about all of this, I shake my head in disbelief and let out a little English-sounding murmur. Beautiful madness.
I’ll miss you, Taiwan. The worn-in familiarity of an old pair of jeans, the warmth and openness of the people, the love for food that is woven into the culture, scenery to make you weep, and enough crazy little details to make me laugh every single day. My secret little gem; a speck in the Pacific Ocean I came to call ‘home’.
The day after our kitsch night out, we planned to escape the city and head for the hills. Joining friends from Facebook and Google, we drove over the Golden Gate and into Marin County. It was all very odd with Abe and Armando; we are 30-ish year guys and we have never been in a car with one of the others driving … the same thing with almost all of my Asia-based friends, in fact. Unthinkable in Europe or the USA.
AtmosphericsArachnid
Making a beeline for Alamere Falls in Marin county, we hit Taipei-levels of traffic as people headed out to make the most of the holiday weekend. Our late start then bled into massive delays, and we arrived at the trail head at about 4pm. Since the sun was likely to set at about 8pm, we decided to strap on our shoes and go for it.
We wound our way through majestic redwoods, light pouring through and the sound of the sea filtering through the birdsong: oh how I wish Taiwan had a more temperate climate, otherwise I would be doing this every weekend!
Breaking through the trees, we began the final descent towards the cliffs, a substantial stream picking its way down through the rocks on its way to the ocean. Gathering to take triumphant photos at the base of the waterfall, it was fantastic to be in such a beautiful place with so many good friends.
Stepping out … a little later than we first planned!Big trees demand a big lensPeeking over the horizon and thinking of Taiwan on the other side!The first of the falls heading down towards the beach.Gorgeous!JAZZ HANDS!‘I was young and I needed the money’Yay!Abe art directs the photo of a perfect Californian view. Armando has other plans.As a direct result of our tardy start, we enjoyed some pretty amazing light and views across the trees.Sunshine account in the red.Seeing this photo, I couldn’t help but think of Japanese photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto, who did the last U2 album coverTeam Jazz Hands!
And a note to myself and the people that were there … ‘deaf hands!’
Explaining why three male, unmarried room mates from Taipei were in San Francisco for ‘entirely independent’ reasons, raised some eyebrows amongst the people that we met. But honest, Abe was visiting family, Armando was jetting through en-route to Austin, and I was leaving Texas on the way back to Asia. These things don’t happen an awful lot, so I was bursting to see what it would be like to meet them in a country where we all speak the same language as the locals.
Through some minor level of planning, we found ourselves on a night out in a relic of 1970s kitcsh, The Tonga Room, complete with Filipino funk band that floats out into the middle of a small lake in the middle of the bar, and retreats again when the rain starts pouring down (yes).
I guess I am as transfixed by the double-decker trains as foreigners are by double-decker buses in the UK.View from my room across the roof topsCalifornia metal
Badly made cocktails, silly dancing and some sore heads set us up for a great morning of brunching and procrastinating on starting a hike off in Marin county…
A wonderful 1992 steel Bianchi … definitely a different feel to the Cervelo.
So I have the bike, the glasses, the funny shorts and the lingo down, but true graduation to road-biker status would not be permitted by Tony without first joining him for some rides in Austin, and participating in the local Driveway criterium series. Tell a lie; I also need to shave my legs.
Instead of renting a bike, Tony had expedited assembly of his 1992 vintage Bianchi. A proper professional-grade thoroughbred from the early 90s, it is a marvel of lugs, lucious Ferrari-red paint and chroming. It showcases the cabinetmaker-standard construction techniques that were employed in Italy, and is in stark contrast to the carbon jelly-moulds around today. It also offers partial explanation for the rebound in custom steel frames that are flooding out of Portland, Berlin, and East London, recreating their ideal of an industry that has long since shifted to Asia.
Turning up at the race track, I quickly donned Lycra and went about warming up. Visions of the Cat 5 ‘beginner’ race had me finishing in the top ten and applying my fitness and handling skills to turn the screws on some of the locals. These thoughts vanished when I saw the waves of carbon, shaved legs, and steely gazes singeing the grass. Yup, this was my first race, I had never seen the back 70% of the track before, and it was my first time riding this (20 year-old) bike. I was absolutely bricking it. Shit!
Criteriums differ from the ‘stage’ racing format, given they are typically hosted on a tight, twisting track and offer fantastic opportunities for spectators to take in the racing, enjoy some drinks and scream their support at the riders. The atmosphere was alive with kids trundling around, music pumping out and the warm sun setting in the distance. America takes its recreation very seriously, and the results are communities like this, with families and friends getting together.
Meanwhile, in Hell, the pack of fifty-odd riders is slowly picking up locomotive pace, and my senses are a mess of static electricity, trying to process sounds, feelings and a spectacle that is completely different from anything I have experienced before. Looking at a pack of riders go by, and it seems so serene, like a rolling flock of birds. Inside that flock of riders, surrounded by a thousand fluttering wings of gear trains, aero wheels and bearings, it is a cacophony of white noise, expressionless Oakleys staring back at you. It is intimidating.
I keep pace pretty well for the first few laps; it’s surprising how little effort you need to apply when air resistance is removed from the equation. But a dull thud, shouting voices and a spray of arms, sunglasses and feet in the air up ahead, and it is quite clear there is a crash at the tightest corner – probably a clipped pedal. The pack splits up, and while we try our best to catch up, the air has suddenly become viscous, and I seem to be plummeting back through the field as my legs turn to plastic. I pick a couple of riders that seem to be attempting to bridge a gap back to the field, but it’s hopeless; they disappear from view.
There is no need to give up though. It’s a lovely evening with the sun splintering through the trees, and myself and a few others keep a reasonable pace. The finish line shouts out numbers: “6 to go!” but I don’t know if they mean minutes, laps or kilometers. I make a mental note through my panting to check with Tony. They scream “1 to go!” and I pick up the pace with the remaining stragglers to give a shot at sprinting for the final lap. Weary, we spear for the line and I see him peeling off, and all of a sudden I am surrounded by riders: were we lapped? Is this the next race starting? Do I stop now? Please?
Yes, so I was a bit confused at the end (I was lapped, and I think there were still a couple of laps to go), but it was a rush, and the memory of being surrounded by riders with ‘that sound’ was intoxicating. I shall be back!
The 'peleton' rolls by; it's a different feeling from the inside!Holding on – it's me somewhere in the back I think.Grin and bear it!
I have never in my life shot a proper gun before. Air rifles, yes. But never anything of the sort that could do anything more than kill a pigeon.
It was therefore with some trepidation that I joined the guys for a team off-site, shooting an assortment of guns at one of the local ranges. Interestingly, my trepidation was matched by the guys originally from New York, Boston and Chicago; basically anywhere without straight lines on their border maps. America really is two places, and our team is split neatly down the middle by who packs heat, and who chooses not to.
While I suggested this event, I actually expected someone to come up with a better plan. Turning up, I and my boss both looked more than slightly concerned by the other guys unloading cases of weaponry from their cars / trucks. Several levels of insight were unpeeled by our team members, as guys I would never has pinned as NRA members pulled out huge rifles and packs of pistols. Truly amazing, and a look into a different culture.
Stepping into the gun shop itself, we definitely left Austin city limits. The guys behind the desk eyed us as we made our way to the rental counter, and grudgingly agreed to my suggestion of being allowed to take photos of the team. Nothing unfriendly; but I guess when both parties could take out a small town with their weaponry, you are likely to look at people twice.
After being being pointed towards one of the pistols and walked through the finer points of loading, I was invited to disarm the safety, aim, and fire. Somewhat like the first moment you hit your first surf wave, it’s all so familiar, but at the same time terrifyingly alien. Squeeze the trigger, grip as hard as you dare, try to predict how hard it is going to kick … and … BANG. Just like that, I shot my first bullet.
Guns work in ways that you can’t immediately appreciate in a movie. Semi-automatic pistols have collections of moving parts that can easily (and did) cut your finger as they explode backwards. Revolvers require an amazing amount of travel before they finally fire. The amazing elk rifle that one of the guys brought could easily bruise your shoulder if held incorrectly. The plethora off different bullets, accessories, optics, holsters and storage boxes was to peer into an abyss of expense. And the vintage rifles that some of the people were firing were really rather magnificent to behold.
After all that, two groups of people met to shoot some bits of paper; those without guns, and those with. While I still don’t agree with the gun laws in place in America, and I don’t understand why someone would want to own a device that is specifically bought to maim or kill another human, I came away humbled, pleased that I had the opportunity to learn something about my other team members, and hell, had one heck of an enjoyable time blasting away.
Before.
Insert movie quote here.
The first of several victims. I was actually quite impressed with myself; by the end I was able to group my shots together surprisingly well.
Sunday was, naturally, Superbowl. The Pittsburgh Steelers played against the Greenbay Packers, in a northern-states head-to-head. This was my first Superbowl, so I was pretty excited to join in with the junk food, half-time adverts and shouting at an inert black box. I had effectively no idea what was happening the entire time, asked countless silly questions, and was probably more intrigued by some of the strange advertising; which was, I must say, a let-down.
Still, it was lots of fun to be there with committed Packers fans, and a bunch of work friends. You can’t but help be swept up in the sheer enthusiasm and pomp of the thing.
Team Latitude enjoy an afternoon of sport (on the sofa)
Insanely excited kids, air pumping and whooping at about age four.
West of Austin is Texas Hill Country; an area of rugged hills that reaches as far as the suburbs, and provides access to some pretty splendid hiking and biking. One of the tourist honeypots of the area is Enchanted Rock, an enormous granite rock dome, rising 130m above the surrounding area. We thought it would be a grand day out for the Bogners, Lattos and, well, Biddle. Perhaps due to the ‘snowpocalypse’ of the previous week, there were fewer people venturing out – and this combined with the fantastic weather and cool air, made for a great day.
ENCHANTED ROCK. YEAH!
It was steep!
Skylar has different ideas on the route. “Should we stop him?’
Les Bogneurs
The girls were on fine form!
Rugged, yet thoughtful. The designer’s designer.
Flyin’ high!
Which way?
Whoa!
Eric gives me the thousand-yard Texas stare. The children’s clothing draped round his neck finishes the look.
GOOD TIMES
Practising for when he needs to work at Dell.
Peekaboo!
Different shades of cuteness.
Yay!
The adventurer sets off once again
Pistols at dawn.
Granite
After, we headed to the truly bizarre Trois Estate … home of a faux-real Texan Mexican ranch church grotto cap-gun museum wine bar. All slightly unhinged, but lots of fun.
Accessories.
Doors leading somwhere
Silly moos.
Silly cow.
Dinner was at one of the ‘seven’ true Texan barbecues; Coopers. I have to say it was not a patch on the truly carcinogenic Louis Mueller’s … I still dream of the steak brisket I had there.
