The balance of the equation that is a sporting event often goes far beyond the score.  Soccer has taught me this more than any other sport, because the best team doesn’t always win.  The unpredictable nature of competition, especially in soccer, might explain why I have spent so many of my free hours watching sports.  The unwritten script too inviting to ignore.  Hellgate was in pursuit of their third consecutive boys state soccer championship.  This fact alone added emotional complexity to the match that wouldn't have been present otherwise.  The championship match tense enough that relief for the winning team had to wait until the final whistle - after added time - and two lead changes.  The subsequent loosening tension a reminder that the game was closer than the favorites expected it would be.  The flash of a red card during the match proof that having a level head and even temper are important qualities to possess in a hotly contested match.  The quiet group of visitors at the other end of the field a reminder of the difference a few short moments and a few seemingly inconsequential decisions can make in the outcome of a close competition.  To put it simply, the sum of the score did not reveal the drama of the game.  Glacier proved a difficult test, reinforcing the idea that the best opponents often sweeten victory.  In this competition I found I was thankful for the team on the field, the parents on the sideline and the coaches who had the boy’s ears.  I am also happy to say that through the work of the season the Fates were on the side of our boys.  Through the efforts of this great group of kids we got to spend one more day in the sun, enjoying an afternoon fulfilling the promise of the season.
 
          There is no rational reason why this championship should be anything more than a marker of accomplishment for the team.  This is what makes the volume of emotion I have about it so amazing.  Maybe the deep waters of being a parent who wants the best for their child can explain it.  Perhaps the fact that the fleeting smile of achievement gives them a moment to just BE, gives me comfort in a world where we expect so much from our kids.  That they can be "presently" happy in the temporary glow of reaching a goal before life whisks them on to another set of expectations.  Happiness can be hard to come by in a pressure filled world.  The smiles and cheers a bit of relief from the daily grind and a reminder that there is a relationship between work and reward. 

          In conversation with Connor a few days ago, and more than a week from the game, he told me he didn't understand why people were making such a big deal out of this.  On one hand, I am thankful that Connor is looking forward to greater accomplishment in his life.  After all holding onto past glory can lead to significant decline down the road.  On the other hand, I want to tell him to savor this just a little longer.  Later in life his perspective might change and he might wish he took the time to realize what he had when his high-school team won their third consecutive state championship.  The third option - to let it ride.  To let the result of this be wholly his with his team.  To let him reflect on it however he feels best fits the context of his life.  Ultimately the third option seemed most appropriate.

          Between the beautiful weather, the intensity of the game, and shared experience with friends the outcome of the day's events were near perfection.   I am writing this to my future self as a reminder that on a day like Saturday, perfection (if you believe in such things), is rarely the consequence of expectations.  Not the overriding expectation of achieving what you set out to do, but the expectation of how it is going to reveal itself.  Perfection is more a state of mind than it is a state of things.  This achievement was the result of a lot of work and planning, with a lot of people in the right place at the right time, in the right frame of mind reaching for the same thing.  Every individual playing an important role in the result.  Every individual with their own motivations.  In a world with so many moving parts this kind of fine-tuned resonance is not permanent but visits you once in a while on a sunny afternoon when the chips fall just so, and the smile of Fate greets you as a friend.  

          Selfishly, I think I might try to hold on to that feeling for a little while.  Even though the championship is not mine to hold on to, I'm sure I can feel good about it for a while longer.                    Happy Days!
  

     "Shannon, the guys wanted me to ask you if you'd like to come to Penticton for the tournament?"
     "Yeah!  I'd love to, I'll run it by management and see if there's time on the schedule.  I cant' commit yet but I'll let you know soon."
     Seven to ten days later it was confirmed, I would be bound for Canada to play for the PEAS Farm Old Boys in Penticton British Columbia.
     The invitation to play "Old Boys" soccer in Canada with my peers meant a lot to me.  I'd been hearing stories for years now, about how much fun this tournament is.  After a challenging but prosperous summer of work I was convinced that this might be just the thing to get me back into the swing of things with my soccer playing brotherhood.  Reestablishing some of those neglected relationships with some good friends that I've missed over the busy months of June, July and August.
     Soccer is something I'm very passionate about.  I've been playing now for over forty years....  I'm not a particularly gifted player but I like to run hard, develop play, work as part of a defense or offense and revel in the security of friendship that my team provides.  A place where men can act like boys and no one cares.  Insulated from the judgment of the people in our lives that might actually expect something productive from us.  I've said it before, a life spent in the constant shadow of responsibility is just as out of balance as one that is spent in the blazing heat of irresponsibility.  The eight hour drive would be our buffer.  Putting some healthy distance between responsibilities and entertainment.  My buddy Scott said it best while we were there, "We're here to play soccer, but it's not just about the soccer.".  Not all teams have that quality but my "Old Boys" team is the best group of comrades that I have had the pleasure of knocking it around with.  Over four days we would vacillate between solving some of our biggest personal problems to revolutionizing the American political system and throw in a fair bit of idiotic behavior.  Behavior that would cross the eyes of the women in our lives.  We would achieve all this with a smile on our face and a beer in our hands.  Those of us less fortunate than others would also be left with a limp.
     My traveling companions would be Tim, Jim, and Tommy.  We would be meeting up with eleven others who were making their way to the vineyards of Penticton.  Scott, Marc, Charlie and Thomas got started a day earlier so they could spend some more time in the blazing heat of irresponsibility.  The rest, with the exception of Michael would show on Friday.  Michael's arrival, Saturday.  Our team is comprised of doctors, business owners, a grant writer - mailman, a couple are employed at the University of Montana, some work for non-profits, ands one is an artist.  We have varied political beliefs and varied religious beliefs.  The youngest of us would be thirty-eight on game day, the oldest sixty-five.  Soccer is the element that makes the chemistry work.  The bonding agent.  The thing that shows us we have more in common than we have in difference. 
     We would be playing in the over thirty-five bracket of the tournament.  With a bit of wisdom under the belt a person might find themselves wondering who thought that was a good idea?  With most of our team over forty-five and half of our team over fifty we were handicapping ourselves.  The rational person would ask why, the emotional person would wonder about the possibility of staying at the top of the food chain.  Explaining the physiological differences between a thirty-five year old and a fifty-five year old seems to be lost on this group.  I think that as you get older taking risk in showing you can compete with the younger men on the pitch is a sexy notion.  One based in millions of years of natural selection.  Keeping the young bucks in check, showing we are taking the responsibility of keeping the herd strong, seriously.  We might be older but we're not played out.  At the end of the tournament two wins, two losses, third place.  Still in the hunt!!  Our brand of soccer produced a 3-2 loss against the eventual champions, a 3-1 loss against the second place team, a win against the Fijians, and a 1-0 win against Bellingham for third place.  These results, in spite of the fact that our average age was probably more than ten years older than our competition.
     During the tournament I got to;
          play a little poker,
          participate in midnight wiffle ball,  
          drink beer, 
          make breakfast for my mates, 
          see the beautiful wine country of Canada,
          buy a couple of bottles for some lovely nurses from Vancouver, 
          party in the clubhouse of the Penticton Soccer Club, 
          drink more beer,
          gather in a juggling circle under the lights of the pitch at night with my friends, 
          sleep in a room full a snoring men, 
          compete on the pitch,
          drink MORE beer
          remember the opportunities for humor with fifteen guys are infinite  
          remember that a drunk guy is has tremendous courage but is still obnoxious, 
          realize that we are nothing without each other,
          understand that the best connections are real - individual - people,
          reconnect with the human condition, 
          understand that relationships are our most valuable currency,  
          understand that sameness is a white sheet of paper and our differences are the words that tell our stories.  This was a valuable four day refresh for me.  I would encourage you to get out and get your own soon.  Take the risk - role the dice!

     "Jer, I've got two hours too fill in the early afternoon Monday, Wednesday, and Friday have you got any ideas?"
     "You should take that Modern class."
     "I don't know anything about dance.  What could I possibly get out of a Modern Dance class?"
     "The movement is great for your conditioning and the teacher is really cool.  I'm telling you, you need to take that class.  Mindy likes it.  There are twelve women to every guy.  Do I really need to go any further?"
     This was the conversation Jerry, my future best man and college roommate, and I were having one afternoon before enrolling in classes for the quarter at The University of Montana.  I didn't have any experience with Modern Dance and was, frankly, trying to find something more fun to do.  My schedule was filled with enough academic classes and I needed something fun to work on.  Fortunately, my core classes conflicted with the other more conventional fun classes offered that quarter.  By "fortunately" I mean that this would be the beginning of a relationship with an art form that I've been in love with since.
     I'll never forget the day I nervously set foot on the Modern I studio floor on campus.  The space was awesome.  Lofty ceilings, maybe thirty feet overhead.  Big enough to hold twenty to thirty students and give them room to move about.  Mirrored at one end, piano nearby.  I vividly remember the smell and feel of the hardwood dance floor and the space that accompanied it.  The creative stew you make when you combine this big space with live music, mixed with an inspirational teacher and a bunch of young people dancing is special.  Throughout that quarter my mind opened up and I understood what Jerry was talking about. 
     My first teacher was Amy Ragsdale.  She made the notion of dance so accessible.  A new world of possibilities lay across the threshold of that studio everyday I showed up for instruction.  The space was a safe place insulated from other responsibilities.  It was always fun.  Learning a few simple techniques along with watching people who were good at it inspired me.  Mind opening and uplifting, I started to develop a relationship with Modern that I haven't been able to shake.  When I see a dancer with skill and artistry I am somehow closer to myself.  Closer to the way I feel.  Meditative and present.
     Dancing in that space was freeing.  An athletic pursuit of a different nature than the soccer games I was used to playing.  I learned a bit about the relationships between balance, flexibility and strength.  Somehow these relationships completely escaped my high-school self.  Clearly, as a teenager, I didn't have the depth to understand the multiple facets that make up top level athletes, and dance is full of them.  I learned that there is artistry in finding a beautiful line and being able to repeat it.  People who are good at it are rare birds.  I learned that dance has vocabulary and can be used as an incredibly powerful story-telling medium.  That a good choreographer can bring you to an unspoken understanding.  Their stories can put you in  touch with your emotions and present infinite combinations.  
     I did dip my foot into the pool of performers in the dance program.  Being one of so few men dancing I think they would've taken any guy who was willing to work hard and pay attention.  In the process of putting on a dance concert, you go through rehearsals and tech rehearsals that add up to hours and hours of togetherness.  You learn a lot about a person in those hours and you make some pretty good friends.  You also learn that grace is an invaluable quality to poses when you are working among a group of physically tired mentally exhausted individuals.  I performed in three showcases on campus; a duet with Gilly Hull and a piece choreographed by Tarin Chaplin.  Gilly was a high-school friend of mine who was willing to take a chance with a novice.  She danced in high-school and had a lot more to offer the dance community than I did.  The exposure to the choreographic process was a great lesson in communication.  Tarin, on the other hand, was not from Missoula.  A guest choreographer from New York, she had a considerably more abstract aesthetic than I aligned with.  She managed to round up three men to be in one of her pieces.  Being from "the big city" she was used to working with dancers in possession of a deeper skill set than the three of us.  I can only imagine she thought of us less as dancers and more like props.  Needless to say, she wasn't bound by the conventional notions of Montana and could have been from outer space as far as I was concerned.  Regardless of all this, we put on a show and I learned a lot about myself in the process. 
     Although my performing career didn't last very long my love for this art form took a solid hold.  This all came to me through the urging of my good friend, Jerry.  If there had been soccer offered at the same time as Modern I, none of this would've happened.  With the smile of fate and three studious quarters of Modern dance I will be forever in love with its' expression.

     Years later my relationship with Modern changed a bit.  My good friend Jeff, from high-school, came back to town from New York and found out through conversation with Amy and Karen, that they were having trouble finding transportation for their dancers to get to performances outside of Missoula.  Jeff was dancing in New York now.  Being that he got started in Missoula at the university he was back visiting friends.  Amy and her colleague Karen Kauffman formed a dance company with the University of Montana and had taken dance on the road.  Jeff mentioned that they should get in touch with me, maybe a car dealer could help them with a transportation problem.  Later I was invited to the board of MoTrans Dance Company as "Minister of Transportation".  MoTrans later morphed into Headwaters Dance Company and lost its' affiliation with The University of Montana.  I think  the relationship with the University became a bit stifling, and increasingly put limitations on what the company  could accomplish.  Additionally, the competition for funding on campus can be rather fierce.  There are many protocols that have to be followed before anyone from the school can fundraise for a project.  The politics are exhausting.
     My experience with the boards of these organizations lead me to have a deeper appreciation for some of the challenges Modern Dance faces.  With arts funding already limited, and Modern being one of the less "understood" art forms, it was hard to raise enough money to support a company.  The lack of public understanding of what Modern Dance is, made private fund raising difficult.  Although audiences appreciated the work of the company it seemed like every year we would just cover the budget.  It was surprising to me that the fund raising challenges were so prevalent in an arts accepting community like Missoula. My involvement was filled with lots of introspective moments where I would ask myself the value of what I was working for.  After all, if its hard to raise the capital to do the project, maybe the value of the project doesn't warranty the expense.  Over and over this internal conversation would repeat itself with the same conclusion, "Hell yeah its' worth it!"
     With the sciences and technology being the favorite child of most universities and the focus of most investors, how do the arts stand a chance?  Math and the sciences are exciting in their own right.  I wouldn't argue that discovery isn't valuable and thrilling.  Pressing for the solutions to the problems that plague mankind is vital.  Surely there are people who believe that through science we will provide the answer to every question and shine light into the last dark corner of the universe. But, as science infringes on the last vestiges of the unknown I believe there will be masses of people who will seek the security of the mysteries of humankind.  After all hope is an emotion, not an answer.  Love is a feeling not a solution.  The balance of the equation between two people isn't science it's feeling.  Putting people in touch with those feelings is going to be a skill that we will all continue to seek out.  Having the skill to put those emotions in a frame of reference, whether written, danced, played, painted or sculpted is a valuable exercise in understanding. Men and women will continue to seek out a place where emotion rolls out beyond the shadow of explanation to a place where they can explore and get closer to themselves and their community.  A place where inspiration runs freely, and they have their sights beyond the horizon where their unknown self waits to be discovered.  So, yes the arts are worth it.  There is power in inspiration.  There is power in having a deeper understanding of yourself.  The arts, and for me Modern Dance, help clarify this understanding.  Modern brings me home and keeps me grounded.  In the end I "feel" more in the balance of an artistic equation, rather than a mathematical one.
    
     This past October Headwaters Dance Company put on its' final fall concert.  It was a bitter pill in some ways.  I have looked forward to this concert every fall now for more than fifteen years.  The understanding that this would be the last one was something that I was having a hard time coming to grips with.  Amy Ragsdale is the artistic director of the company.  Watching her work through the same issues was hard to watch.  If I am honest, I feel a twinge of guilt that I didn't do more while I had the chance.  Amy and I have become good friends and I felt disheartened for her.  In planning for this concert she invited all of her past dancers back to participate.  The ones she could find anyway.  In the end nine could return.  This was impressive to me, considering some of these dancers were coming from a great distance.  It was gratifying to be associated with this community of artists.  Validating that so many would come back and share their craft with Amy and the company.  They'd flown the coup years ago to pursue dance, and a life outside Missoula.  They were beautiful to watch before they left, and more so now.  Seeing Amy's enthusiasm for working with this group of dancers and discuss their accomplishments was an inspiration to me.  It became clear Headwaters had made a contribution to a larger dance community beyond Missoula.  Many of the former dancers had serious chops outside Missoula and Montana.  The number of dancers and their talents made this concert one of the best in my mind. 
     I took my daughter, Sloan, to the Thursday night performance.  After watching a piece about a mother and daughters' relationship called, "The Day I Bathed My Mother" I turned to see a tear running down her cheek.  "I don't know why my eyes are watering.", she said.  I thought, "Because that was a story with a powerful message, and you love your mom.", but I didn't want to steal that from her so instead "That's alright" was all I said.  Sloan was beginning to understand herself a little bit better.  Coming to a closer understanding of her relationship with her mother.  Figuring out how meaningful that relationship is.  I'm not sure she is mature enough to fully realize that or not, but she will be one day, and she'll be a better person for all of us.  "Naranj", a piece from the repertory, was danced as a trio in this concert.  Normally a solo, the addition of two dancers gave one of my favorite pieces new dimension.  The finale, "Lay Bare the Bones", gave Amy the opportunity to show the audience how Headwaters produces work.  Something new that I haven't seen before.  The demonstration gave insiders a look at how phrases and the language of a piece develop through the use of prompts in combination with the dancers individual creative ideas.  Reinforcing the notion that dance is about a  community finding voice.  Seventeen dancers performed in this work which gave it a dynamic range that I'm not used to seeing.  The piece was a powerful ending to the concert.  An exclamation point at the end of years and years of performance.      
     Of course I left wanting more.  In any other year that would've been okay.  I could look forward to the next year's performance.  This year there was a sense of loss.  The emptiness you're left with when you have the last bit of something good and the flavor has left your senses.  Thankful that I got a taste in the first place, disappointed the plate was now empty. Not prepared to have to look for my next meal.  Hoping that something this good would come along again.  In the words of Robert Frost, "Nothing gold can stay".  The cycle had come to a close.

     A week or two after the fall concert I met with Amy for a beer.  Her positive demeanor ever present, I was greeted with a smile and a hug.  We talked about the concert.  I got to tell her how I thought the piece she danced with Ashley about mothers and daughters was beautiful.  I made sure to tell her how it made Sloan cry.  It was a chance to thank her and congratulate her on a great concert, with our best turnout in years.  There will, thankfully, be more dance coming from Amy and other choreographers who have branched out on their own.  Joy French's Bare Bait Dance Company.  Maybe Brian Gerke or Laurel Sears will put some more work up for the community.  Anya Cloud in San Diego, Roxanne Madler in Los Angeles, Felecia Kutch in New York, the list goes on.  Through the years I have found it challenging to explain to people how grateful I am for the experiences I have had with Dance.  I am thankful to have been a small part of some of this and will hold on to it for ever. 

    

     "Alright gang, I'm out!"
     My last words to my fellow employees before I hit the road to Kalispell to watch my son play JV soccer against Flathead High's team.  You can ask any of my friends and family and they will tell you that there is nothing that I enjoy more than watching kids play soccer.  I think there is no better drama than a sporting contest unfolding in front of you.  The outcome undetermined.  The struggle against an opponent.  The feeling of loss, and the limits one will push to avoid it.  The elation of victory and the spoils that go along with winning.  It is also fascinating to watch how competition bonds a team together and the depth to which it will tear them apart.  A team that risks everything together and fails at something they all care about will teach them more about one and other than anything.  As a matter of fact I can't think of one life lesson that can't be taught in competition.
     Watching your kid do something you love is amazing.  The fact that Connor and I share this is something I will never take for granted.  When I tell people I would drive to Mexico to watch my son play soccer, they look at me like I'm a little nuts.  If that was an option, I would do it in a heart beat.  Happily.  I'm sure I'd make some friends along the way, and it would be something else my son and I would be able to share.
   When the wheels come off though, it can be a hard thing to lose.  Anytime you lose something close to you it hurts a little more.  I think that's where deep appreciation and love for something comes from.  When you are faced with obstacles that interfere with the thing you love doing the most you are forced to reckon with the value of the end.  Is the effort worth the sacrifice.  If the answer is "yes" then you have a deeper appreciation for what you are pursuing.  If the answer is "no", then you can finally be at peace.  But only if the answer is really "no"!  If the answer leaves an uneasy feeling, then there is more to reckon with.  The search for the balance between rational and emotional making the discovery a bit more problematic for a serious a person.  The dreamers can always dream up some new reality, the scientist with good rational foundations more reticent to take a leap of faith before more serious thought is required.
    What does this have to do with high-school soccer?  Quite a bit actually.
    Connor is learning that there are obstacles standing in the way of his happiness in soccer, a  game he loves.  He is going through the agonizing process of discovery.  Is the sacrifice worth the reward?  Is the reward even what he thought it was going to be?  I should also mention Connor skews a little more toward the serious side in his commitments.  He has many interests, but when people ask me what he is serious about I tell them school and soccer.  The fact that these two things are often not harmoniously aligned makes balancing them more difficult.  So far this year, Lisa and I have not noticed much struggle in the balancing act that is the life of our high-school athlete.  Tonight my honeymoon from parenting my son came to an abrupt end.  Making it more difficult was the fact that I found myself woefully inept at offering any solace or advice to smooth the rough sea of questions and challenges facing the most amazing young man I know.
     Sometimes there are no answers there is only effort.  Maybe this is one of those times? When you keep moving to stay afloat.  To stop would be the only sure way to fail.  Stay moving, the only way to keep options in play. 
     By the way, the JV team won in an effort that showed character.  They spotted the opposing team two goals in the first ten minutes and then took control of the game and came back to win 3-2.  I was proud of the way Connor played and see great moments on the field for him, making it harder for me to see him struggle with the decision about whether playing is even worth his effort.  Bringing to mind another lesson, sometimes you're close to an exceptional thing but life's priorities get in the way.  All I know for sure is when the happiness is wrung out of something you love it's time to start asking lots of questions, find out who your real friends are, and let them work with you to restore balance.  There is always peace and happiness in the things you love.  Things are not good or bad, they are good and bad.  Dissonance impedes harmony.  Welcome to high-school  disequilibrium.  The struggle before achievement.  I know great things are just around the corner for Connor, I just don't know if I have the courage to stand by and watch?

"That was a gift!" was my comment to Elke.  What was left of the van lay burning on the alter we built earlier that morning.

Burning mini-van was an idea that Elke approached me about this past summer. "Would you be interested in hosting an event I've been thinking about for a while?", was her question.  After explaining the idea; build a van, invite people to throw something into it that they want to let go of, then burn it to the ground, move on.  I was intrigued.  Exploring the transformative, cleansing properties of fire in a community space.  Allowing people to get rid of some festering piece of the past they've been carrying too long.  Doing it all in a safe place and sharing a positive thought together as we venture forth into the new day, a little less weighed down by the guilt, angst, anger, and sadness of whatever it is that we've been carrying too long.  The wooden minivan transporting you to a higher plain of emotional well being.  The idea was cool and quirky and something Missoulians would love.  

Elke is about five foot four, with long blonde hair and a wry smile.  Being present in the same space she is, is like wrangling a fast moving train to the ground with your bare hands.  Its really best to sit back, feed off the momentum, and head in a direction you might not have known existed.  She is well spoken, open, and publishes a magazine called "Mamalode".  Loosely defined it is a magazine for moms about the trials, adventures, challenges and rewards they deal with as mothers raising families in the twenty-first century.  The future redefines the past, and in a world that is moving fast the ground shifts quickly.  Foundations laid twenty years ago cannot be taken for granted today.  No one knows this like mothers and fathers.  Raising children is challenging.  In "Mamalode" women, and to some degree men, have a forum to explore their thoughts and feelings about what they are facing as parents.  Elke is passionate about her work and it is reflected in her readership.  She, along with a core group of staff, have built quite a following.  There is a resonant harmony between this magazine and its' readers.  In short, a group that any car guy would be a fool to not want to be a part of.  In contrast to the magazine the car business has not been associated with a lot of good qualities in the past.  In the past car dealerships have been places with lots of shady corners and secret rooms, where information is locked away and open dialogue isn't welcome.  To date the reflection of the average customer on the average car dealership has not been too rosy.  This is changing slowly.  My feeling, that hosting an event that supports people in the community, outside of buying a car, in order to show them that we are more than a business with their hand out is a direction that I want to head in.  My business is a safe place to come to.  Maybe burning a van could help show people we're challenging the conventions of the car business.

This past January 30th, we did a little something I hope will turn into a much larger deal as the years wear on.  Buring Mini Van was successful by my measure.  I want to take the time to personally thank the staff and interns from "Mamalode" that helped make this event possible.  Also, thank you to Headwaters Dance Company and Amy Ragsdale for their performance with backs turned on a twenty five foot tall fire.  I am humbled by the creative energy and generousity of the group that made this happend.  I hope to see you next year when you bring something to let go of.   

Barry text: "Where are you?"

Kristi text: "At the exchange point!"

Barry text: "So are we!!!!"

     The morning of the relay was an uneventful one.  Becca, Amy and I had some pleasant chat in the room and met the gang around 9:00 for hotel sponsored breakfast.  Waffles, eggs, sausage, and potatoes, a good cup of coffee and planning the important stuff, like where to buy fake mustaches.  The costume goods that weren't provided by Becca's costume closet would come from the Dollar Tree on HWY 95.  Our group consisted of five women and myself, the lone ranger.  Becca and Amy were my bunk mates the night before the race.  We picked them up in Sandpoint where they dropped Becca's car.  Since we hadn't had much contact before this race they were both virtual strangers to me.  Fortunately, Becca and Amy turned out to be really good people.  My impression of them would only improve over the next twenty-nine hours.  Kristi was a new acquaintance as well.  The middle school librarian in Hamilton shatters stereotypes.  She has an adventuresome spirit, is a bit competitive, and has a great sense of humor.  We nicknamed her "Hot Rod" or "Violet" depending upon whether she was wearing the purple wig or not.  My other two teammates, Jess and Holly rode with me all the way from Missoula to Coeur D' Alene.  Holly and I are soccer parents and have known each other through those avenues for years now.  Holly is an asset to have in any endeavor that requires organization.  She is continuously upbeat and always a great person to have a conversation with.  Plus, when you need something done, its done right.  Jess is a food lover and we share an affinity for all things with bacon.  Jess is a comfortable person to have a laugh with.  Her encouragement and humor would be valuable for all of us later in the race.  Amy, Becca, Holly, Jess, Kristi, and Shannon were gonna make Montana Mules - Van #2, the envy of the entire race.  Then.....

     The text.  As it turns out the first exchange was at Sontag Park no matter how much we wanted it to be at exchange point #7.  Fortunately it would be the only detail of consequence we would overlook the entire race. 

LEGS SEVEN THROUGH TWELVE / VAN #2.

     The order of runners was set for the whole race right from the beginning.  Amy ran first, followed by Holly and then Kristi, Jess was fourth, I was fifth then Becca would be our anchor.  When the text came through that we were at the wrong exchange we hustled like crazy to exchange point six for Amy.  Generally speaking you would like to be in a place of peace and preparedness when you take the baton from your teammate.  The fact that Brandi, the anchor for Van #1, is over six feet tall lends an air of consequence to the hand off.  After all who would want to intentionally piss off a person who can get so much painful leverage on your body?  Obviously no one in their right mind.  Amy is a very right minded person and a solid team player.  Brandi had a great outlook, and in spite of the late hand-off we all shrugged it off and immediately moved forward.  Forgiveness is a powerful healer.  Amy headed out for a good leg and we were in the groove.  Over the first four legs we covered some ground in areas of Spokane that I hadn't seen before.  Spokane is a place that has consistently surprised me. 

     Holly's leg was along the river and her exchange was on a footbridge.  The area was full of natural beauty and serenity.  The trail was cooled by the shade of pine trees and the river.  The steady sound of water rushing by lent a meditative quality to the setting.  Kristi had the toughest leg in this set of six.  After taking the handoff from Holly she had a steep hill to cover after getting off course temporarily.  "This hill sucks balls", I believe were her exact words.  From the looks of things, it did.  The hill was about a mile long from its' beginning and it was steep.  Jess had a relatively flat leg through the center of town and Riverfront Park.  Her leg was made difficult because navigation wasn't very intuitive.  This was complicated even further by the fact that locals would occasionally play with the route signs.  Jess put together a good run for the team and I hit the Centennial Trail for my 6.17 mile leg.  By now it felt like it was ninety-five degrees.  Other than having to wait for one crosswalk I had a good run paced at about eight minute miles for the hand off to Becca.  By the time I handed off my shirt was soaked and I needed to put some water and electrolytes back in the tank.  Becca ran strong and we picked her up at another beautiful park just outside of Spokane proper.  Van #2 was done with their first set of legs.  Our race responsibilities were turned over to Van #1 for the time being.  We took a short break, got some pictures of the team in their mustachioed faces, followed Kristi in her captains hat and scarf to the car and sought out a place to get a good bacon cheese burger, with sweat potatoe fries and, much to the delight of Jess and I, an additional side of bacon.  On the way we had a couple of shots of bourbon that immediately took the edge off the run and added to the euphoria of the moment.  We finished the first set with everybody feeling pretty good running right on schedule ready for the next set. 

LEGS NINETEEN THROUGH TWENTY-FOUR 

     After burgers, beers, bacon and enduring the unfortunate company of an annoying mother sitting at the table across from us, we arrived at our next exchange point early enough to get some rest.  The backseat of the Suburban turned into a nice nest with the addition of a sleeping bag and a couple of pillows.  I had the good fortune of taking advantage of this resting spot and collected a few well rested moments while Amy hit the trail for a 6.5 mile out and back near Coeur D' Alene lake.  It was dark now.  Very dark.  On a overcast night.  Running in the dark has advantages and disadvantages.  Since Amy was our first night runner we were keen to hear what she had to say.  The fact that all the runners had to wear flashing red lights and a headlight made them easy to spot.  This turned out to be something Holly was particularly fond of.  We all agreed that it stoked the competitive juices a bit being able to see each runner you were about to pick off.  The lack of light also contributed to a lack of navigational capacity, but it also eliminated some of the monotony of straight and out and back runs.  This would be good for our spirits.  The cool was the most welcome quality of night.  We all agreed that the cool air felt great and it produced our fastest time splits of the event.  Amy turned in a solid time and came in feeling great.  The cool was refreshing and she picked up three "kills".  Kills equal runners passed.  Amy's ass kickin' leg was motivating and I think it rubbed off on Holly. 

     Holly's leg was ridiculously short, a fact we would not let her forget.  At 2.10 miles it was the shortest leg of the relay.  In spite of the razzing, she took complete advantage of her sprinter's background and the good fortune of short distance to turn in the fastest splits of the entire relay for Van #2, while picking up 5 "kills".  Holly is a bit competitive.  The kill per mile ratio being greater than two to one was really good for her attitude, and ours.  Evidently those blinking red lights represented one target after another.  After catching her breath she was all smiles.  Kristi hit the trail next.  Bolstered by the cool night she bested her average split times by about thirty seconds per mile.  She joined the popular past time of the evening collecting two "kills" herself and came off the course feelin' like she brought some smack down on S2S.  Night running was definitely good for us.  Three fast times and a lot of good feelings. 

     Jess's turn to put in an effort.  Her leg was almost exactly seven miles.  A zigzag between Coeur D' Alene and Hayden.  The fact that her middle name is Hayden and she would finish on Lancaster Road, the namesake of the county she was born in, lent a touch of fate to this leg.  More good news, one kill and an uneventful hand off.  My nerves were getting the best of me before this run.  At 7.56 miles it was my longest leg.  I don't regularly run more than six miles.  The distance combined with the darkness, which is also new to me as a runner, and the lack of waypoints made me uneasy.  The map was a good friend of mine and I knew the route well.  My leg was straight for 5.58 miles then a left and on to the finish in 1.98 miles.  Not bad.  The author of the map made sure to mention one railroad crossing and two highways.  Be sure to stay alert.  He did not mention the second railroad crossing though.  The crossing that happened to be busy when I ran.  Just another curiosity to help keep you alert.  The cross road we made a left on was called East Cutoff Road on the map but was in fact Scarletto Road.  None of this would be of any consequence if you weren't running on one hour of sleep over the last twenty two hours in the dark in a strange place near the middle of nowhere, not a friend in sight without use of your cell phone.  Good judgment prevailed and I finished with eight minute splits.  Six kills. 

     The hand off to Becca was timed right and she hit highway forty-one with a smile on her face.  As we pulled out of the parking lot with Captain Rodriguez (Kristi) driving we were happily discussing our night runs.  Amy was asleep in the back and Jess and Kristi were in the front, Holly beside me in the second row.  Our conversation focused on how much fun this night running was and how great the pickles that Jess brought tasted.  Then we started up the long steep uphill portion of Becca's run.  I couldn't have been happier to be eating pickles in the van.  Becca's run would suck, but as we watched her cross the finish line she was in great spirits.  By then I had taken a shower and felt pretty good myself.  Becca handed off to Ken and we made plans to head to the next exchange and wait the five hours until Van #1 finished their final set of legs. 

LEGS THIRTY-ONE THROUGH THIRTY-SIX

     The lead-up to our final set of legs was a little more somber than the light hearted chattiness of our previous sets.  The effort thus far had taken a toll on our energy and the value of good teammates couldn't have been more obvious.  Amy again had the first leg.  It was her longest, at over eight miles.  Jess had a hip that was acting up and my calves were tired.  Becca was in an amazingly good mood and humor was still everyone's friend.  The idea that the end was in sight played into our hands as well.  At least when we were done with this round we wouldn't have anymore running to look forward to.  The fact that the finish was still more than twenty miles from our location started to become less daunting as the morning carried on.  There are times when there is nothing more reassuring than sharing a laugh with friends to convince your weary mind that all things are possible.  This hour was tailored for camaraderie and humor. 

     Amy hit her eight mile leg, van mates who needed coffee grabbed what they needed, and we hit the road.  The coffee was slow and Amy went out fast.  By the time we caught her I think she had covered about four miles.  As we pulled up, Journey's "Its' More Than A Feeling" came on and, being the supportive teammates we were, we felt compelled to serenade our friend.  She wanted to laugh but I think the stitch in her side got the better of her.  The smiling, grimace she gave us was enough to indicate how much she was suffering.  We drove down the road another mile or so and when she arrived we made a plan to have Holly pick up two miles of her leg.  Respite running is a part of endurance relay.  We drove to the next hill and waited.  Amy was apologetic, but we would have none of it.  She was our Guinea Pig.  She ran first.  We had the advantage of her experience before we had to run.  We had her advice from the previous relays she had run.  Her contribution was more than running.  Not to mention she ran more than fifteen miles of the relay in measured steady pace.  We couldn't have done this without her.

     Holly picked up and ran the last two miles of this leg and the more than two miles of her next leg.  Holly's flexibility was such an asset.  She killed her splits and handed off to Kristi who donned the purple wig for her last effort.  The day had heated up and the rain we were expecting never arrived.  This would be a theme that would not play out favorably throughout the remainder of the morning and early afternoon.  Kristi was so hot after her run that she jumped into the river to cool off.  By her reaction this may have been her best move of the relay.  I'm sure you could've convince her to swim a leg after her short dip, but Jess was on the road now and we needed to catch up.  Jess specifically requested that we wait a bit before heading up the road to catch up with her.  She wasn't sure how she would feel and wanted to get in the rhythm of her run before we caught her.  When we did I thought we scared her because of her startled reaction.  Hop step to the side, some shuffle jumping, and the words, "I'm so fucking hot" indicated that she was not scared but baking in the sun.  "Get me some water.  I need someone to pour some water on me.  I'm so fucking hot."  Water out.  Deluge over Jess' head.  Back in the van.  Jess on the road much cooler than before.  As we pulled along side of her we rolled the windows down and shouted, "She's so fucking hot".  Laughter.  We were getting delirious now. 

     I took the next hand off with water in my hand, two hundred yards behind Megan from team Rocket Cheetah.  The first two miles of my run were uphill.  When I caught Megan she had a cramp in her side and I needed some moral support from a fellow runner.  I asked if she would mind some company and we fell in step together.  Megan was twenty-one, from Spokane, with bright red hair, green eyes and a friendly smile.  Her company was great medicine.  She signed up as a single that was assigned by the race directors to her team.  We ran side by side for four miles and passed two more runners.  One of my regrets in this race was that I did not tell Megan how much I admired her spirit.  At twenty-one she signed on to run a twenty-nine hour race with strangers.  The courage she had surprised and inspired me.  Along the way my Montana Mules stopped a couple of times to play loud music and dance by the road side to encourage me to kick it along.  Good friends.  My hand off to Becca could not have come at a more perfect time.  My calves were crampy and I was ready to be done running.  Back in the van to cheer Becca on for the final four plus miles.  Becca knocked out her mileage and brought us home in 29:41:30.4.  We all crossed the line together happy to be done, better for the effort.

REFLECTION 
     There have been some great lessons learned from my first endurance relay.  The thought that you can do what you put your mind to may be the most important lesson gained from all this.  I will never again look at challenges in life the same way I did before this event.  I am still the same person that went but I will always carry the confidence of the resolve it took to do this.  The friendships that were forged because of this lunacy also carry great weight for me.  I owe my teammates a thank you for their support but at the same time gratitude for their friendship.  We were there for each other step by step.  Our individual accomplishments were of no consequence compared to our achievement as a team.  Add to this the achievement of Van #1 and its not long before you can see that harmony in mankind could be our greatest accomplishment.  Alignment and harmony are powerful concepts that provide tremendous results.  Never once did we focus on our differences, instead we had a common goal and the faith in one and other that its' achievement was within us. 

     There wasn't one team out of the eighty-three that entered that did not finish.  By my math that is more than 17,800 team logged miles in less than thirty six hours.  A monumental achievement by any measure. 

     Shed those things that throw you out of alignment and harmony, and have the resolve to do something great.  Remember you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     "Then my calf started to tingle and swell.  It would throb enough that I would sweat at my desk at work.  The only way I could get relief was to elevate my calf over my head and the minute I put it down the throbbing came back."

     I mentioned to Holly that I had been stung by a wasp playing soccer tennis with Connor in the driveway four days ago.  Everything seemed fine until today.  The same day we were to travel for the relay.  This monologue was delivered to me through Holly's cell phone by her friend Mike, just before we left for Idaho to run Spokane to Sandpoint.  Needless to say I did not find this information encouraging on the eve of my nineteen miles of participation, and suffering, with my team of twelve runners.  The other passenger, Jess, was slightly amused and maybe a bit concerned by the news we heard from Mike.  Frankly, this was the best news we heard from him.  Mike went on to explain that a high-school athlete from central Montana who had signed to play with the Bobcats in Bozeman had a similar thing happen and he had to have his foot amputated.  Needless to say I was happy to have the company of friends while my stomach was turning.  They could shepherd me through this with humor and camaraderie.  We had a little over two hundred miles on highway two hundred ahead of us on our trip to Sandpoint then Coure D Alene.  Plenty of time to get to know each other and mentally prepare for the lunatics endeavor ahead of us.

     Spokane to Sandpoint is a two-hundred-four mile foot race where teams of twelve assemble to participate in what the layman would consider idiocy.  Roughly twenty-nine hours of sleepless running, providing support to teammates, navigating unfamiliar routes, to test the stamina of the human spirit.  Easy right?  Wrong.  The team, assembled by Ken and Katy seemed smart, which was also a bit confusing to me.  After all how could such an intelligent group of people do something this ridiculous.  Maybe they needed a challenge outside of intellect to balance the measured pace of daily life.  Perhaps they wanted to test the boundaries of their friendships and get ornery with one and other after twenty-nine hours of close proximity in a smelly van.  The notion of being able to say I have done something that you have not might also provide some motivation.  Personally, a sense of accomplishing something significant outside of rational is motivating.  The triumph of mind.  Putting it out there and rolling with the reality you are faced with, and living in the moment are important exercises of self exploration and character.  Who really knows, the answers would come over the next couple of days.

     On the way to meet for dinner Jess quipped that it would be fun to watch Becca finish the race tomorrow.  When I pointed out to her that we actually finish the day after tomorrow she said that she refused to let that alter her perception of the idea that this was a one day event.  The notion that over one day of running with a team was too much, forced Jess to block the reality and roll with what made her comfortable.  I admired her approach.  The mind is powerful, convincing your body to operate outside of reality might be a good skill set to possess in the next short while. 


     Dinner was only the second time that I had met most of the people on my team.  Holly is someone I have known for a while.  Her son and mine play soccer together.  The rest are strangers to me.  In life, new acquaintances have been one of the elements that make the doldrums disappear.  Riffing off of one and other humanity is a beautiful thing.  New acquaintances generally spice up the dish.  Giving it new depth and altering the flavor of your experience.  This group would not be boring.  Good humor, a sense of joy and a comfortable good natured banter would make this event doable.  The support of my teammates in Van #2 would get me through.  I am confident now.  Tomorrow at mile thirteen I might feel different.  Only time will tell.

    Remember, you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.   

     "I was running and they came out of the bushes along the beach".

     "Skylar, don't worry.  It'll be okay", Peter said.

     "Wait dad, there's more....".

     This was the exchange moments before the final between Argentina and Germany.  The day had been a good one, thus far.  "Just another shitty day in paradise", was how one of my good friends would begin calling extended vacations in amazing places.  Connor and I took the day off from the beach to hang around the pool and play some games there.  Understanding that our beach time would be cut short by the start of the World Cup final.  Clearly a momentous event, planned for days earlier, to be held at the Roxy Bar in Praia Du Frances.  Our good friend Peter making all the arrangements.  Personally, the wait for the final began months ago with the planning of this trip.  This game was charged with expectation.  What would it be like to witness the World Cup final in a bar in Brazil, the most soccer crazed country in the world?  The answer would turn out to be a lot different than I had expected.

     The game was not a disappointment.  There was a small betting pool assembled by Charlie Vandam that assured we would all have a little skin in the game.  Genius on his behalf.  The Roxy Bar had cold beer and pizza and a gigantic projection screen for us to view the game.  Being after 2:30 in the afternoon the edge had worn off the sun in our open air bar.  The table was set.  We arrived eager to witness the crowning of the undisputed kings of the beautiful game through the competition unfolding in front of us.  Argentina was the sentimental favorite of our group.  Germany was the rational favorite.  The Argentines possessing a solid defense and the ability to strike, through arguably the world's best player, Lionel Messi.  Messi is made even more impressive by his humble nature and very un-soccer like quality of not flopping, in combination with his magical ball control skills.  He holds the spirit of the game in his hands with children across the world, our boys included.  When they talk about Messi there is a tambour in their voices that is reserved for few.  They are reverent toward Messi.  He is a Demi-god representative of the soccer god's work here on earth.  The Germans, on the other hand, in possession of the best developed system in the game.  Bringing up quality players on mostly even footing playing a balanced and measured game grinding opponents into submission.  Confident and cool in their dismantling of opponents, they play from solid foundations with odds on their side.  Dispassionate but effective.  It maybe the fact that we were in Brazil or, it may be the fact we like underdogs, but by the time this final had rolled around we were all ready to witness a little magic happen.  We wanted to see a team that played with passion and flair win The Cup not some Teutonic super power.  Argentina in favor of Germany.  Then, "Wait dad, there's more....".

     Skylar had been out for a run before the game.  As any sane person would he was running on the beach.  The sun was shining and the ocean breeze made the heat more tolerable.  This day he was jumped by five Brazilians, three of whom had knives.  I cannot imagine how terrifying it had to be to face five, as one, in nothing but your running shoes and shorts.  Fortunately from them and him there was no language barrier, as Skylar speaks Portuguese.  They wanted his money, of which he had none.  They wanted to know where he was staying, to which he smartly gave them a bit of bad information, "A pousada in Praia Du Frances".  Then they informed him that if he didn't come back to them with $500 Real by 7:00 that night they would come to town and kill him.  On its' face an all together ugly situation, a pure act of bullying and cowardice.  In Skylar's understandably shaken self, terrifying.  The only reason I bring any of this up is that it provided me with a stark counterpoint to the rest of our trip.  We have been guests in Brazil hosted by some of the most gracious people with their arms and hearts open.  On the other side of the coin there are always less hospitable people everywhere you go.  Up to this point I hadn't seen any of them yet.  We spent most of our time visiting the state of Alagoas.  Alagoas is one of the poorest states in Brazil.  There are people here that don't have anything.  They live from day to day with bleak prospects and little to rely on.  In full view of the individuals affording meals on the beach being waited on hand and foot, sipping beers laughing and carrying on without a care in the world.  I imagine this can be hard to accept when your circumstances are so much less than your fellow man.  Envy is as destructive as anger, emotionally.  I also can imagine, being tucked away in the bushes far down the beach away from everyone they might've been getting high and Skylar was a target of opportunity they couldn't resist.  After all what did they have to lose.  It may have been a social balancing of accounts, in their minds the rational for their actions.  This was no Robin Hood and his band of thieves stealing from the rich to give to the poor, though.  Just five bullies acting outside the threat of legal retaliation hoping to scare up enough money for their next fix.  In conference with the owner of the Roxy Bar, it became clear that this happens a fair amount.  My singular intellengence on the perpetrators being high at the time of the attack.  One of the Brazilian friends in our group told us that there was no point in reporting this to the authorities.  Connor was nervous and it took me a while to help him reason through the likely hood of five guys coming to the bar to kill Skylar by 7:00.  It seem very unlikely to me.  Less so to him.  He kept his eye on the back of the establishment for a while.  I wish I could've offered him a beer to settle his nerves.  Skylar got an escort back to the guesthouse for a shower and returned for second half. 

     Brining us back to the game.  I missed most of the first half with all the commotion.  The second half was highly entertaining ending regulation in a tie, 0-0.  Both sides were creating opportunities and each had the chance to end the game in regulation but the fates expected more soccer this Cup.  Extra time finally yielded a goal for the Germans by a well placed substitute, Mario Gotze.  The goal itself a pretty piece of skill coming from a crossing ball from the left wing to be chested down for a right footed finish.  There was nothing the Argentine keeper could do.  The Germans celebrated, scoring what turned out to be the winning goal in the 113th minute.  In an ironic twist Skylar picked Germany to win 1-0 scoring in the 109th minute of play to take home the betting pool.  This fact alone is a sure sign that there are higher powers at work in our lives.  The dissonance early in the evening returned to harmony and balance.  Elemental justice.  Skylar smiling, everyone reveling in a game well played even though the sentimental favorites were being sent home in second place.  Messi was voted man of the tournament in another twist.  His hard work, beautiful play making, and honorable style earning him what the winning teams best player couldn't. 

     All in all a heady evening in Brazil.

     Signing off for the final time in Brazil, wishing you all the Karma you deserve, be it good or bad.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     "I'm not going to give everyone one a hug.  I'm too old and don't like goodbyes"

     Ada's comment before we all loaded on the bus once again and bid farewell to her Pousada.  She wasn't being rude but instead sincere.  I'm quite sure goodbyes were not her forte', she seemed a bit sad, and she didn't want to delay our already late arriving bus.  Our leather faced host with the Tom Waits voice was wonderful to us during our stay in Pontal Du Corouripe.  Filling us in on local politics and history while we ate.  Making her contribution to our understanding of the place.  One of the spices that lend depth to a dish.  I wanted to give her a hug anyway but thought it best to let it play out the way she preferred.  No hug.  Load up.  The intense sun was smoking hot this morning and the bus was packed full with luggage and people.  Not one seat open and luggage in the isles.  The air conditioner was not doing the job we had hoped it would.  Our driver was sweaty and I was sweaty.  The trip would be about an hour to Praia Du Frances.  We needed some ventilation and needed to get rolling.  Amy and Peter said a short farewell to Ada and we were off.

     The countryside is mostly what you'd expect along a coastal road.  Lots of palms, a few glimpses of the beach here and there, sugar cane fields everywhere, and a stiff breeze blowing in off the ocean.  The breeze felt so good.  Like a cool drink of water after a bit of work in the sun.  There were constant reminders we were in Brazil along the way.  Stray dogs here and there, very basic dwellings most of which would be used for storage in the United States, not living.  The road was rougher today than from Penedo, contributing to a pleasant rocking motion that helped me sleep off most of the trip.

     The word passed around from Amy was that the house waiting for us at the end of todays short bus ride was big and much nicer than our accommodations with Ada.  Confirmed upon arrival our house was big, had a pool and a yard with a small tiled courtyard that turned into a short sided futsol court at the whim of the boys.  Short games to two in a twenty by twenty cover courtyard added a pleasant hum during our stay here.  Even though the house had seven bedrooms and four bathrooms some of us had to sleep on the floor.  Although I would describe the house as nice it struck me as a true representation of the country we were visiting.  It looked good but, upon closer inspection, you had to let go of some of the details.  The hot water was in extremely short supply.  The mattresses where thin.  There were no pillows and we had to use dish towels for the showers we took.  Being that there were twenty one of us using the facilities the bathrooms had an unpleasant aroma and we would need to supply our own toilet paper.  Still, somehow I found myself wanting to like it here.  Much like a person would root for the underdog rather than the odds on favorite.  The perfect mirror of my feelings toward Brazil.  So much potential.

     We arrived early enough in Praia Du Frances to unpack and get in a little beach time.  The beach is why we were here, and if I'm honest it would prove to be a much better place to watch the world cup than Pontal Du Corouripe.  After settling in for an hour or so we collectively headed down the street to the beach front.  I cannot stress enough how beautiful the beaches are here.  Praia Du Frances had a busy beach but it was far from crowded.  The sand was fine like sugar and easy on the bottom of your feet.  The breeze blew in cool from the ocean and the water temps were outstanding.  The sun, after about 2:30 lost a lot of its' intensity, contributing to the perfectly balanced afternoon.  The surroundings here are so special I can't imagine being on a nicer beach in my lifetime.  After being here I don't care if I find a nicer beach in my lifetime.  Having been to the top of K2 I wouldn't need to scale Everest.  I took my fair share of turns trying to body surf but could only catch one decent ride into the beach.  No matter, I would count my blessings tonight with full realization that today was a landmark day in my life.  Another waypoint to measure the rest of days.

     Adding to the luxury of the day, was the fact that we had a kitchen now and some good cooks to go along with it.  Peter bought fresh fish and two kilos of huge fresh caught shrimp while we were in Corouripe and several people had been gracious enough to do some shopping while the others were at the beach.  Dinner that night was great.  The evenings we've had the company of the group for dinner have been some of the best moments of this trip for me.  The meals are good and the conversations have been entertaining.  Tonight, preparations were brought up a notch by the promise of the consolation game between Brazil and Holland.  Unfortunately for us this cup has been a tale of two teams for Brazil.  The one with Neymar and the one without.  I admire Brazil's willingness to take risks on the field.  Their style can be so much fun to watch, but without Neymar they don't have enough thread to sew the seems together.  Against strong teams this fact is magnified even more because they exploit your weaknesses mercilessly.  The goals came for the Netherlands in a similar fashion to the way they did for Germany against Brazil.  The game was disappointing to watch.  The disappointment washed away quickly with a great meal and the percussive sounds of two on two soccer in the courtyard. 

     Singing off from Praia Du Frances, Brazil, wishing you all my best on your way to K2, or Everest.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.