Unsung Heroes: Captain America

People often ask me why I'm such an outspoken advocate for Captain America. For those who don't know me, the question isn't uncalled for—I own a Captain America wallet, backpack, messenger bag, deck of cards, socks, and am constantly talking about him and how awesome he is (I'm super excited for his new movie in two weeks). Typically people's favorite heros are the really big names like Superman, Batman, or Spider-Man who everyone has always known and loved and not some guy who hardly anyone knew until Marvel started making movies about the Avengers. So why do I like him better than all those super powerful heroes? Is it because I'm ridiculously patriotic? No. I love my country but that's not why I love Cap'. 

I love Captain America because, as a member of the Avengers, he fights alongside an immortal god, a genius who can turn into a green giant with limitless strength, another genius who has tons of money and flies around in a mostly indestructible robot suit (as well as, depending on the story arc, a mutant who heals really quickly and has scary claws and many others) so one would expect Steve Rogers, an Irish-American from a lower-middle class New York family who happens to be really fit and has a super durable shield to pale in comparison but he doesn't! In fact, everyone one of them, even the God of Thunder himself, looks up to him as their leader. The reason is because, as Hawkeye puts it in Hawkeye #1, "having Captain America around all the time, he just—the guys just brings out the absolute best in people. You...want to be good when he's around. You really do." Captain America has this infectious heroism about him that, despite his relative dearth in superpowers, compels everyone around him from ego-maniacs like Tony Stark, to killing machines like Wolverine, and even psychotic mercenary assassins like Deapool to be the absolute best they can be. Deadpool, in Deadpool: The good, the bad, and the ugly #1 describes the Captain as "the Tony Robbins of super heroes. The guidance counselor we all want." Even Deadpool loves Captain America so you should too! 

The A-list-ocracy: Web Comics

5) Bearmageddon: The scientifically credible prediction of the apocalypse caused by the rise of mutated grizzly bears who knock the human race off it's throne of superiority on Earth. Beautifully illustrated. Ridiculous plot line. I don't really know what else to say about it, just look at the title. It's awesome on an apocalyptic scale. 

4) XKCD: XKCD is an almost unrelatablly witty comic. If I'm not mistaken it's run primarily by highly intellectual computer programmers and it shows in their work, aside from the fact that it features exclusively two-dimensional stick-figured when I'm sure the writers are more than capable of producing some amazing CGI characters. The jokes will often go over the head of the layman as this comic consists almost exclusively of inside jokes to the intelligentsia but some of them are legitimately hilarious and remind me to not take myself or my intellectual development too seriously. Some comics of theirs are even kind of serious and poignant and prompt some introspection which is interesting and rare for a web comic. 

3) Yehuda Moon: Yehuda Moon is the story of a radically bearded bicycle zealot who co-owns a small, haunted bike shop called "The Kickstand." As a cyclist myself I can't help but adore this comic. It touches on so many aspects, both positive and negative, of the life of a cyclist and reminds me when I'm trying to fight my way through rain, snow, and wind that I'm not alone out there and that the spirit of Yehuda will always guide me. I can't tell you how often I've considered commuting in a car on a bad weather day and then thinking, "What would Yehuda do?" and then, with a grimace of pride, mounted my steel steed and charged into the tempest. 

2) Hyperbole and a Half: Hyperbole and a Half is a web comic that tells stories with the wit and comedic force that most stand-up comedians could only dream of. The author, Allie Brosh, tells stories from her past equipped with gut-bust ugly rudimentary illustrations and I loved it so much I couldn't help but buy her book which I will occasionally graze through and find myself on the floor struggling for breath within minutes. 

1) The Oatmeal: Just about the funniest thing ever. The Oatmeal is run by a guy with supreme artistic talents who chooses to take those talents, chew them up, swallow them, then regurgitate them in the form of demented, cock-eyed, fat people and cats. The subjects of his comics range from detailed analyses on why Nokolei Tesla is far Superior to Thomas Edison to the life and times of the "Bobcats." His illustrations are hilarious and crazy, his diction is extravagant, and there is just nothing bad about it. 

Sriracha: One Condiment to Rule Them All

Also, I only recently watched American Psycho

I will be very candid, readers, and admit that for many years I resisted the sriracha craze. I thought, "how great could something that's seen nowhere but Noodles & Co, cheap Chinese restaurants, and hipsters' refrigerators really be?" so I continued living my life of lame old condiments boasting pitiful levels of zest and pizazz, I was probably a significantly less friendly person back then as well. But worry not, readers, for I have realized the error of my ways and discovered the One Condiment! My life will never be the same. I now put sriracha on everything from pizza to hummus to the actual Asian food for which it is intended to just about everything else because it goes well with most things. So if you are one of those fools like I used to be who still doesn't think sriracha is the bomb then I highly recommend you really give it a good, thorough second chance because I think you will be surprised. Enjoy! 

P.S. I have literally heard sriracha be described as tasting like EXCLAMATION MARKS!!! 

Self-Cleaning Toilets!

Don't worry folks, there's a better way

What's a super menial job that literally everyone hates doing not because it's so difficult and requires great cognitive faculties but simply because it is degrading and insulting and just feels bad? Cleaning toilets, that's what! To make matters worse, all toilets ever have pretty much everything they need to clean themselves built in. Toilets, for those who aren't familiar, are built in with a device that makes an abundance of water swirl around inside the bowl for a while before being sucked into oblivion, never to be seen again (hopefully), and then refills itself with fresh, clean water. So why has no one installed into the tank of a toilet a device that contains some sort of alkaline fluid (such as, you know, soap) that can be released from time to time when flushed that will then swirl around with the water in the bowl, scrub off all the scum and hard water stains and anything else that may be sullying the pristine porcelain, and then be sucked away alone with it to be replaced by clean water as usual? 

I will be sitting here, patiently waiting for Scrubbing Bubbles to contact me offering a partnership on this. 

~Noley-Boy

P.S. I swear I'm not drunk. I'm totally serious. 

Deadweight Loss: The Importance of Holiday Lists

     

       For most people I've talked to, writing lists of gifts one wants for the holidays (or birthdays) makes one come across as greedy. Most people respond with an attitude akin to: "Excuse me, but I put an extremely moderate amount of thought into this gift thus you should be happy regardless as to whether or not you would ever use it in a million years because I thought of you for five minutes and that's a big deal." Of course being thought of for five minutes is a big deal and you should all be grateful that there are people in your lives who acknowledge your existence and are willing to engage in capitalist traditions of spending money on you. However, random, thoughtful gift giving with no guiding resource is not economically efficient in most cases and holiday lists actually show that a person cares about their loved ones enough to want them to optimally allocate their financial resources. Here's why:

The Race Is On! Apple Acquires PrimeSense

Only a matter of time...

       Good news everybody! Apple Inc. is moving to purchase PrimeSense, the company responsible for the development of the technology behind the first X-Box Kinect. The acquisition is set around $345 million dollars. I've discussed the implications of this acquisition with a couple trusted compadres and it's getting pretty heated and exciting. The main thing I could come up with as to what Apple would want to do with this kind of hands-free technology is for an Apple television–I can't see this ever catching on in the mobile technologies sphere, I think that would just look silly–where one would be able to access applications, type, play games, etc. all by waving one's arms around and sitting on a couch. So awesome! Don't worry ladies and gentlemen, that's not even the most exciting part. The most exciting part is that both Samsung and Google are reported to be working on their own gesture-based hands-free technology which means an all-out war has been waged for which technologies superpower will be the first to perfect this technology. Get ready for an awesome gladiator battle of technology between Apple–this being their first big opportunity for innovation since the death of Steve Jobs (may he rest in peace), Samsung–who allready have some really advanced televisions to work off of. Google–a giant monster, and Microsoft–who, in my opinion doesn't really stand a chance against these competitors. My surces and I believe Apple will pull out the first, most streamlined, and perhaps nicest looking design in the short run but that after a while Samsung will pull ahead with a more innovative and advanced system. I'm so excited about this. Stay tuned.

Noble Novels: The Master and Margarita

Woland, Behemoth, and Korovyov

       First off, how on earth has it been so long and I haven't written a Noble Novels on this noblest of novels! Shame on me. Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita is easily one of the best novels of the 20th century. It tells the story of the devil who calls himself Professor Woland visiting Moscow in a belligerently atheistic time period along with a retinue composed of a giant, vodka swilling cat, a sly ex-choir master, a naked witch, and a red-headed gunslinger. As Moscow essentially falls to it's knees as it is enveloped by the flames of devilish chaos, a novel written by a psychotic author called "The Master" about Pontius Pilate's trial of Yeshua Ha-Notsri (Jesus the Nazarene) as Pilate recognizes a powerful and spiritual craving for this peasant Yeshua and yet later reluctantly submits and allows Yeshua's execution causing himself great personal distress. The Devil and his retinue move to break the Master out of a Muscovite insane asylum and to reunite him with his former mistress, Margarita, leaving Moscow's rigid, bureaucratic social structure practically disintegrated in their wake.

Apologies and Updates

     

Ha! Reminds me of my sister...

       Hello! To begin, I would like to apologize for how long it has been since I posted in here. I have, however, decided that I am going to try to post in here more often and see if I can grow this into a fruitful weblog. The reason why it's been so long since I've posted is because since my last post TONS of things have happened! So once again, I apologize for slacking but thank you for joining me while I get you caught up. 

The Savage Surrenders: Grammar

       

I surrender! 

       I confess, I can definitely be described as a "Grammar Nazi"--so to speak-- but I've read some enlightening literature lately that has opened my eyes and I have decided to attempt to initiate a more laissez-faire approach to the english language. Honestly, this is not actually a surrender. I am not nor will I ever be happy about ending sentences in prepositions, subject-verb disagreements, nonsensically misused figures of speech, or homophone errors but I will attempt to look at them with more positivity and understanding from now on. I suppose this is less of a surrender and more the outlining of my demands for a mutually beneficial treaty.       

The Economics of Friendship

     

So cute

       I know a lot of people who have a lot of friends. As a matter of fact, most people I know have more friends than I. I could go on forever with theories as to why this could be (mass political conspiracy, I presume) but this is no time to discuss sociology. Sometimes I think about my relative dearth of close friends and I feel some degree of sadness but most of the time I'm pretty okay with it. I've been thinking of reasons why that may be and what I came up with was a simile involving money.

Horrid Social Injustices Equipped with Feline Compensation!

     

       May it be well known that my home is being remodeled. I'll have you know, also, that this is not your ordinary remodeling. This is a heinous and tyrannical desecration of all I hold sacred. It should also be known that I am being shamelessly dramatic and the preceding sentence is the epitome of hyperbole. However, it is true that my house has turned into a studio apartment and there is one room that is now furnished for three rooms thus resulting in one, seriously cramped dining-living-cooking-room chimera that is, in a word, unpleasant. To combat this issue I decided, this evening, to go for a stroll along my neighborhood. This was painfully boring. This was painfully boring until I initiated a bit of a challenge/ game type thing to entertain myself and that was to see how many cats I could find hiding in and around the properties of their own homes. This was astoundingly successful and was the source of ample amusement for me. Throughout the remainder of my stroll I met somewhere around seven cats one of which was, I swear to god, Behemoth. He was black and he was absolutely giant and not in a fat way, just enormous like a panther and he stared at me with mischievous, unblinking eyes as I walked past. So I suppose it's not all bad; my questionable living environment has allowed for increased feline interaction. Huzzah!

~Nobilis Saeva

Speaking of Behemoth, I think it's about time for another Noble Novel. 

My Week in the "Zempire"

       The giant trade show known as Outdoor Retailer (OR for short) visited, as it does twice a year, my city of residence this week. I, due to my family's connections in this industry, was called upon as a bit of a taskmaster for a footwear company called ZEMgear or just Zem. The name is a clever and catchy acronym for Zone of Endless Motion. I, being primarily a bicyclist, had never really looked into the minimalist "barefoot" footwear industry in which Zem is a frontrunner but I'm always happy to meet new people, make new connections, and support the allies and clients of my family's business so naturally I accepted the mission. My week in the Zempire was by no means one of menial errands and indentured servitude but instead a fascinating and priceless opportunity.

Am I a Grandmaster Yet?

     
       For those who haven't noticed on the right-hand panel of this page, my Elo rating on chess.com has gone up by around 200 in the last month or so. This is all good and well except it's still only in the mid 1200's. Allow me to offer some background on this: Last year, around the end of September, I encountered a bit of a transitional phase that left me to reevaluate my life a little but which is a shameless euphemism for, "I had way too much time on my hands" so I was brainstorming with a close friend of mine and fellow blogger as to how I should fill this time. We decided the best possible option would be for me to become really good at chess. Of course my friend and I are no virgin's when it comes to setting goals so we knew we needed to be a little more specific so it became the following: Achieve and Elo Rating of at Least 1700 in One Year. 
       Why 1700? 1700 is a completely arbitrary number that we thought was the highest attainable score for anyone in a year. It is considered class B in the chess world. It's an honorable rating but it's not legendary. The problem is that I, like most people, dabbled in chess with my father as a young lad but by the time I made this goal it had been a couple years since I had played. I got a chess.com account and immediately proceeded to lose game after game after game until my rating was solidly in the 800s. Bad, bad news for someone on deadline. The good news is that I've gotten better! I can somewhat consistently beat players in the 1300's and my rating is steadily climbing. Unfortunately, the deadline that we set was October 1st, 2013 which is fast approaching so I really need to up the ante and play a whole lot more-- and, more importantly, win a whole lot more-- if I want to get there which I very much do because I really do not like losing challenges.
    In other news, I have begun rehearsing the aforementioned Sonata for Eb Saxophone and Piano by Heiden with a friend of mine who just so happens to be an exceptional pianist for a competition this fall so that will take some serious work as well. Wish me luck!

~Nobilis Saeva

Unsung Heroes: Bernhard Heiden

Look at this cutie...

       Another little-known master of his trade is a German musician and composer by the name of Bernhard Heiden. Heiden was born in Frankfurt, Germany to a family of amateur musicians who introduced him to music at a very young age. He studied music in both Germany and the US most notably under a renowned neoclassical composer named Paul Hindemith. He wrote hundreds of blasphemously under-appreciated compositions and was the first man ever to successfully write sonatas for the saxophone, a feat that earned him my utmost love because poor Noble is so often neglected and overlooked when I play in classical settings because saxophones simply don't get no respect.
       From an early age, Heiden's musical fluency had become blatantly obvious. At age five, he began to study piano, violin, clarinet, harmony, and music theory. Then, just one year later, he wrote his first composition. For those who struggle with math, that would make him six years old which is astounding because most of us can hardly write words at age six much less compose a musical masterpiece. I, to this day, do not think I have adequate musical powers to write a song of merit and I am quite a bit older than six. He later began to study at the Hochschule fur Musik in Berlin where he met his life-long mentor, Paul Hindemith. Heiden Moved to Detroit in 1935 to distance himself from the rapidly growing Nazi party where he took countless simultaneous jobs in the music industry. It was also at this point that he wrote his most famous and influential piece, his Sonata for Eb Saxophone and Piano.
       Heiden's style is very distinct and unorthodox for his time. Music critic Nicholas Slonimsky aptly described it as "neoclassical in its formal structure, and strongly polyphonic in texture; it is distinguished by its impeccable formal balance and effective instrumentation." To be honest, I was startled when I found this quote because most reputable music critics abhorred Heiden's style because he was weird and I couldn't believe a critic from that era would describe anyone with the audacity to impose saxophones on classical spheres as having "effective instrumentation"but good for you, Slonimsky! Though it is certainly true that despite his unorthodox tendencies, his style was certainly influenced by the neoclassical movement and played a major role in its revival. The mood of his music is definitely old-fashioned--almost baroque-- it's just that the techniques he implements make it unorthodox with his quirky polyphony, sporadic syncopation, and tense counterpoint between lead and accompaniment but it is those very stylistic devices that make me see him as one of the most creative and under-appreciated composers of all time.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

       You may have noticed that this blog is very... diverse, which may or may not be a euphemism for scatter-brained. One reason for this is because I'm new to this and another is simply because I too am scatter-brained and have too many interests for my own good. Furthermore, I think one will get more out of my writing if one knows a little about me so here are the top ten facts about the Noble Savage:

1. My name really is Noble. I'm kind of self conscious about this fact because I think it makes me sound pretentious. Of course, we can decide for ourselves whether or not I, in fact, am pretentious but I definitely don't want anyone deciding that as soon as they hear my name. Also, with a name like this I almost felt obligated to created a blog titled using silly wordplay. 
2. I like to ride bicycles. I don't care for cars and try to only use them when going on a date or giving a friend a ride as a favor so I try to commute on a bicycle as much as I can. I also race with a team called Saltcycle-Intelitechs, a spectacular group of smelly, bearded champions. I own an Iro fixed gear that I built myself from the ground up for commuting and a carbon fiber Bianchi for racing. 
3. I play the saxophone. I am primarily a jazz artist and mostly perform with jazz combos. I have never really been able to wrap my head around classical saxophone playing because I just don't really think the saxophone was designed for classical music but I have fiddled with some classical solos from time to time. Interestingly enough, though, I actually leave for a tour through Europe two days from now with a large wind ensemble. This is very strange because it is the first time I have ever played in a large group and I really have no idea how to do it; I am totally shooting from the hip. 
4. I love chess. I love to play chess and many of my friendships have been forged using the game's righteous flames. As you can see by my chess.com Elo score, I am a mediocre chess player at best but I think I can hold my own and I love to play even when I lose so long as it is a valiant and honorable defeat. Chess is cool! If you disagree you don't know anything. Also, feel free to challenge me if you have a chess.com profile and tell me you read this because it will make me feel really good if anyone actually sees this post. My username is Nobilis_Saeva. Huzzah!

Savage Style: The Tie/Lapel/Shoulder Ratio

     

In my opinion, the man on the left is wearing a lapel too wide for his body. 

       Today I will once again venture into uncharted waters and initiate a style column. For those who are concerned about my credentials I assure you my tips are sound and worthy of your consideration. I have grown up in an entrepreneurial family working in the fashion industry and therefore have been exposed to the ever-changing world that is fashion and have developed an affinity for its study. I dream of a world where no one gives up on themselves and throws on a pair of Ugg boots and sweatpants because it's "comfortable." I dream of a world where everyone strives to look their best always and draws comfort from their suave wardrobe and not their elastic waistbands therefore I feel, despite my heterosexuality, plenty qualified to offer fashion advice. To begin, I will explain a simple rule for men: the Tie/Lapel/Shoulder ratio:

Noble Novels: House of Leaves Op. 1

      I feel irresistibly inclined to mention this book but I'm afraid that my thoughts on Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves are much too jumbled and chaotic to coherently record at this time. This book has affected my so strongly and left such an impact, however, that I cannot help but mention it. What I may do and the reason why I entitled this post as "Op. 1" is, over time, to repeatedly revisit this novel and write about it as a gradually study it further and come to grasp it slightly better so here goes my first exploration.

Noble Novels: The Great Gatsby

     

       At last, I am going to do something I have longed to do for a very long time. I am going to, first of all, begin a series of literary critiques on interesting, sometimes obscure, novels that I feel are worth mentioning. This is the first post I have written of its kind and I find myself indecisize as to how I should proceed. Honestly, I have no idea how to review a novel but I do love to read them and subsequently think about them so I would like to give it a shot-- please bear with me. Second of all I am going to begin with an incredibly not obscure novel, F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby and am going to do so from the point of view of a much more cynical, blunt fellow than he or she who often writes on this subject. In my opinion, this unorthodox analysis is long overdue in the world of the internet.

Unsung Heroes: Sy Devore

       I am going to begin a new column in this blog: Noley-Boy's unsung heros. This column will address somewhat obscure men and women from throughout history and throughout all walks of life. Men and women who have made significant contributions to society while modestly hidden behind the curtains. The roadies, the tech crew, the people at the bottom of a movie's credits whose name no one sticks around to see. To kick of this column I will be addressing the incredible New York designer and tailor, Sy Devore.

       I am ashamed to say that I have lived my entire life in a very fashion oriented family and have always had  a fascination for nice clothing and yet I had, until recently, never heard of Sy Devore. It was incredibly hard to find much information on him and he doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. Who doesn't have a Wikipedia page? After some digging I was able to uncover a modest amount of obscure information; this is what I found: Devore opened his first shop in the theater district of New York City in 1930. He never really had any marketable skills in entertaining but had always adored the glitz and glamor of the entertainment industry and happened to have a talent with a needle and thread so he went into fashion. His meticulous, detail oriented style quickly attracted the attention of the then popular Andrews Sisters, a close-harmony swing group consisting of three sisters. Before long, word of Devore's skill spread like wildfire throughout the industry until it finally reached the suave, crooning Rat Pack. 

       The Rat Pack quickly became Devore's premier customers. His obsessive attention to detail allowed the boys to give him astoundingly specific preferences as to fit and style and he would execute it flawlessly from Sammy Davis Jr.'s super slim trousers to Frank Sinatra's precisely 2-1/4 inch lapels. The Rat Pack quickly became good friends with Devore and urged him to open a shop in Los Angeles which he did not long after on Sunset Boulevard. The boys would frequently stop by the new shop to look for clothes and to simply check in with Devore.

       I've always been a big fan of the Rat Pack look, that slim, debonaire style that made women around the world swoon but until now I never knew who, behind the scenes, was responsible for making those strapping men look perfect at all times and Devore's accomplishments didn't end there. He dressed people from Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, and even president John F. Kennedy, all of whom were legendary for their suave appearance, all thanks to this one, modest designer from New York City, Sy Devore.
       If you wan't some more information on Mr. Devore you can read on at: http://www.sydevore.com/#!HISTORY/cwzy

~Nobilis Saeva 

       

The Ray-Ban Ranger

     In the summer of 2009 my buddy Dylan and I went on a road trip with my father. We brought our bicycles and every morning we would wake up, hop on the bicycles, and ride 30 or so miles into a nearby town for breakfast. Our destination was my family's beach house in Emerald Isle, NC and the day before we arrived we wanted to go on one final bicycle expedition so we mapped out a nice luscious one through the Smoky Mountains. We got out a map and plotted our assault: We would start by riding about five miles from an area by a creek where we had camped that night, succeeded by a ten mile stretch on a bike path called Cade's Cove, followed by a righteous charge up a road called Rich Mountain that would theoretically take us up and over the mountain range and into a nearby town, Townsend, for breakfast.

Creek-side camp site the previous night

The last shot my father got of us before we were swallowed

     We arrived at Cade's Cove and bid my father farewell with the expectation of seeing him in Townsend relatively soon. We agreed that, considering we didn't have cell phones on us, my father would go back and forth between the Park and Ride of Cade's Cove and Townsend in case we were to wimp out. Cade's cove was one of the most gorgeous rides of my life. The sun was just peeking over the mountains casting a glowing, golden hue to the landscape which looked irresistibly rustic and beautiful and it was a nice, rolling terrain that made for a pleasant, relaxing little cruise. Before long we arrived at the end of the path which was bad because we knew that we must have missed our turn to Rich Mountain so we turned around and started heading backwards. Before long we were stopped by a park ranger. He rolled down the tinted window of his white pickup truck to reveal the fancy pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses stylishly protecting his eyes (how he afforded them on a ranger's salary is a mystery to me to this day) and told us that Cade's Cove is a one way road and that we couldn't go backwards but we explained to him that we needed to get to Rich Mountain so he directed us there and left us alone. 

     We finally found the opening to Rich Mountain and just stood there, gazing on in horror. We were, keep in mind, on road bikes that were not at all equipped for off-roading and as we looked upon the fiery demon on a trail known as Rich Mountain we were deeply disturbed by the fact that it was loose gravel. It wasn't even small pebble gravel but large, jagged, savage gravel. Dylan and I exchanged a quick glance and decided that it was probably under construction and that after a bit the road would return to pavement so, with a shrug, we removed our shoes (we were wearing cycling shoes and would much rather have destroyed our feet than our shoes), we shouldered our bicycles, and we trekked on. 

     Four hours had passed. The pavement never came. With bleeding feet we trudged on, distracting ourself with story-telling. We were famished, fatigued, and beginning to hallucinate but we continued to walk until finally we heard the roar of a motor getting louder from behind us. We looked back and saw a middle aged man on a dirt bike fast approaching. We beckoned to the man and he stopped. He was a nice, southern hick type of man with his "southern hospitality" skills down to a science. We told him our situation and so he offered to ride up ahead, try to find my father, and tell him we were okay and what the situation was. We thanked him profusely and then, with a cloud of dust, we were once again alone.  

     After perhaps another half hour we finally reached the climax of the mountain. This was a bitter-sweet sensation considering we were done climbing and we had made some clear progress now but that also meant we were only approximately half way done with the trek. We exchanged another quick glance and thrust our fists into the air, bellowed a righteous war cry, put our shoes back on, mounted our bike and just decided to suck it up. We began to descent but immediately found this option to be only slightly superior to the one previously practiced because the entire trail consisted of tight switchbacks which, when on loose gravel, makes for very difficult and dangerous corners as we would inadvertently whip our tails out with each one. Also, riding on the gravel was not much more comfortable due to the harsh vibrations destroying our wrists, shoulders, bottoms, and lower backs so the only real advantage was that riding down was considerably faster. The speed, mind you, made the whole thing worth it because before long we slipped onto pavement. Keep in mind, this pavement was probably in terrible condition considering it was just a sketchy Appalachian back road but it felt incredible, pleasurable even. 

     We soon found our way to Townsend but could find neither my father nor Dirt Bike Dan and we didn't have our cell phones with us but we found an innkeeper who let us borrow his phone so we attempted to call my father. No signal. At this point we just wanted to sit down so we deicided to cross the freeway to an Econo Lodge with some benches outside. We stood, still mounted on our bicycles, waiting for a clearing in the freeway so we could cross. Meanwhile a blue Volkswagen Beetle with rafting tubes tied to the top drove past, the ropes broke and the tubes fell to the ground so the Beetle pulled over and a bafflingly large number of bikini-clad, bouncy beach girls skipped out to retrieve them at which point Dylan toppled to the ground. I laughed at him. 

     Eventually we made it to the Econo Lodge, sat down, and gratefully welcomed out immanent death but before we could even reach the light a white pickup drove up. Down rolled the windows as the hot afternoon sun gleamed off of the drivers shiny, black Ray-Ban sunglasses. 

     "Are you Noble and Dylan?" He asked us.

     With hesitation we replied, "... As far as we know." 

     The Ray-Ban Ranger radioed back to base and said he had found us and then he told us that our father had been informed of our location and would be here in about an hour. We sat back down, no longer feeling the cold grip of death closing around our throats. We felt absolutely nothing but sheer triumph. When my father arrived he told us the story from his side. Apparently, while he was still in the Park and Ride for Cade's Cove, he got to talking with a ranger who told him that Rich Mountain is a gravel trail so, knowing that we were on road bikes, he stayed at Cade's Cove under the assumption that we would turn back as soon as we saw that (psh). When we didn't return he got worried so he went to the ranger base and told them he had lost two young boys. 

     Afterwards we went to lunch at a small diner in Townsend. Dylan and I had been craving french toast all morning so we were really excited to go at a diner that would undoubtedly be serving french toast, right? However, it was three PM at this point and they stopped serving breakfast at three. We got our food and a man walked up to us. It took us a second but we soon recognized the man to be Dirt Bike Dan who we had assumed to have abandoned us. He told us that he had spent the last couple hours driving up and down the town searching for my father's truck to no avail so he had stopped to take a break in this diner, hoping to catch the two of us as we passed through. We thanked him again and asked him to sit with us. I don't remember his name other than Dirt Bike Dan but I do know that I will remember he and the Ray-Ban Ranger for the rest of my life. Moral of the story: sometimes, some people really don't suck. 

~Noley-Boy