Fueled by the briny Gulf breeze

Turtles and porpoises swim around each other on the leeward side of the jetty in the channel.

Dull murmurs and finger-pointing from the bipeds gathered along the jetty follow the porpoises as they seem to glide partly through the air and partly though the water riding on the wake of the sea-going vessels. After the vessels pass and after their wake reverberates along the rocks, the bipeds’ attention turns back to their plastic boxes of worms, steel hooks and shiny things.

The gathered anglers deploy different methods of not catching fish. Some have more than one rod and reel, with the extras secured in the rocks or attached to chairs. Some use just one reel while others have rods, nets, plastic boxes, folding chairs, coolers full of cheap beer. Some people talk, some don’t. Some struggle while others just take it easy.

A woman in a red work out suit and a wind-battered hat struggles with her fishing tackle, turning away from the wind and the occasional splash of a wave breaking on the rocks below her. She’s with two or three others fishing on the concrete edge of the jetty used to keep Aransas Pass clear and the beach of Mustang Island from being battered by currents. One guy next to her is permanently attached to a folding, camp chair.

Pelicans float about lazily over the waves and in the valleys, poking their large beaks into the churning water to catch fish. In their clumsy way they slam their heads into the water while seagulls swoop down deftly retrieving a meal.

A peculiar heron with one gimpy foot waits for a fish from the people fishing the shallow water on the western edge of the channel. A man who doesn’t really fit into any of the categories feeds the goofy bird a fish.

As I walked around with my cameras watching all of this and other activity on the beach, the breeze blew sand on my cameras and on me. But, while on the jetty, sea water spray washed the sand from my cameras, but left a briny film instead. I had two linty towels in the car that seemed to work in a marginally effective way to get the hazy film from the glass. A corner of my shirt seemed to work also.

Somehow, it really didn’t matter here. The light reflected off of the nearly-white sand and the water while the ocean humidity did a wonderful job of diffusing it. Everything is sort of washed out and bright grey, which is in stark contrast to the desert where everything is sharp and crisp.

Kristen and the chaos

DANBURY, Conn. – She burst into the office in a haze, a familiar face with a different personality from what I remember. She had a friend with her I never saw before who seemed to be slightly less crazy. They were both beautiful.

This was a long time ago, so the details may be hazy. I think the girl who burst into the newspaper office had the name of Kristen. Her friend is a mystery. I remember her before this appearance as not being very fun, being worried or maybe burdened. I think she had a sad story. I didn’t know her well, so this was just a distant observation since faded by time.

I shot photos of them running up and down the halls of the building late one evening. There was no real reason for any of us to be there – no deadlines, no assignments. No editorial meetings or interviews or photos to shoot. I was probably there developing film or finishing up something in the serenity of no one to bother me. They were there maybe to see if anyone was around who needed to be bothered.

They ran down the halls, maybe someone else was there. Their footsteps and laughter echoed for no one to hear.

It was so long ago, maybe 1998, but it’s still registered as one of the fun little moments life throws at you. Hopefully you’re paying attention because these sort of things make life worth living. It’s not your new car, not your bank account, not your address.

I have no idea what happened to either of these girls. I hope they’re OK. I hope life treated them well and they still remember this day fondly.

Occupy Austin: paradigm shift but still strong

AUSTIN — The Occupy Austin camp on the steps of city hall seems to be smaller than last time I was here, and like other parts of the greater movement, is in a period of change.

Last time I was in a larger group of people while the energy was still all around, before the police brutality elsewhere. I was there when the camp was larger, the air was warmer and it was daylight.

Above the encampment on the steps of city hall high-rise apartment buildings loom tall and true, untouchable by the plight below. An apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows glows with the faint light of a television program.

The windows of the buildings look out past the people below. It’s as if they’re diverting their eyes, pretending to ignore the plight of the people — the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. At the least the people below simply want to be heard and recognized.

The mood is different here. It’s as if the tension and police brutality elsewhere found its way to replace the calm, community and celebrating with paranoia. In some ways it’s a text-book example of deterioration of a movement, of a society.

Todd Purdum does an excellent job writing in the January 2012 issue of Vanity Fair about the warnings of George Kennan about the chain of events that lead to the conditions that forced the Occupy Wall Street movement to begin in the first place. He also warms of societal decay, as what seems to have happened in Austin.

I’m not entirely convinced it’s as bad as it seemed that evening.

Kitt O’Connell, a member of Occupy Austin, said there was a general assembly that evening. The group has some growing pains and issues but overall the movement is strong.

“There have been some tensions recently,” he said. “It’s important to remind people how important transparency is to Occupy Austin.”

A man named Caleb and another named Mike were voices of reason after an abusive member of the group attempted to enforce non-existent privacy laws. They reassured me that I still had rights I knew I had — to photograph people in public making a spectacle of themselves. I told them both I was a professional and covered a lot in my years and was aware the law (but law enforcement?) was on my side.

The rights of the press are being severely ignored and abused by police and law enforcement agencies in this country. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, they just assault photographers and arrest reporters. Members of the greater Occupy movement must realize the press is part of the 99%, they are the ones getting their story out, showing their plight, fighting along with them.

As a journalist, I should not have to fight against the police, the government, the paranoid rednecks and white trash of the GOP and Tea Party and now the Occupy movement.

My first visit I spoke with a guy named Thunder about civics, copyright law, media and communications and some observations about the growing camp and the Occupy movement in general.

This time, it was a guy in a suit and dark overcoat named Jesus. We talked about the differences in the encampment now versus other places, different times.

Up close the Occupy movement is an ebb and flow of small changes for good or ill, but the big picture is still there and still strong.

I paraphrased a part of a famous sonnet by Emma Lazurus, The New Colossus, a paragraph of which is emblazoned on the base of the State of Liberty. Here is the full text of it:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Bicycles of Black Rock City

BLACK ROCK CITY, Nev. — For the most part cars are not allowed in Black Rock City and there is no subway.

One can travel the dusty expanse of the city on foot or maybe an art car, but the fastest and easiest way to get around is by bicycle. Of course the 5 mile per hour limit for art cars applies to bicycles, but it’s still fast to get around.

Once burners arrive in the city, their cars or trucks are parked in their camps and left until it’s time for the exodus. There are exceptions for emergency and law enforcement, of course.

Early in the week, I took advantage of the open space of the deep playa to ride the fastest sprint I could. I brought my brakeless track bike, complete with narrow tires and 78-inch (6.3 meter) gearing. I pun to the top of the gearing over the playa surface, which is like concrete with small bumps covered in baby powder.

If you go fast enough, it smooths from bumps to vibration. One needs to keep in mind the unicycles, chariots and other creations and the occasional soft spots in the playa surface. Or maybe being distracted by people shouting Shakespearian quotes in the manner of the Macho Man Randy Savage. I had to do some explaining to my Irish counterparts.

Most people — the smart burners — have fat tire cruisers or mountain bikes and don’t have high-speed runs across the desert. They slowly cruise from camp to camp, or maybe to some art installation or the porta-potties. Maybe to center camp or BMIR.

Bikes are the de facto way to get around and not only a vehicle for transportation but a vehicle for self-expression.

The kid was shooting people with the water gun whilst being pulled around.

Want to shoot fire with a propane puffer? No problem, fuck yea.

These trucks are a welcome exception to the no driving rule.

Embrace the dust. There is no escape from it.

A regatta on a prehistoric, dry lake bed

BLACK ROCK CITY, Nev. – Members of the city’s nautical community gathered around the main (and only) pier for a regatta of sorts. The setting sun began to cast long, cool shadows across the playa and the breeze (no more than a few knots) kicked up the occasional dust cloud, but nothing like the fierce dust storms of 2008.  The tide was low — very, very low — which seemed oddly perfect. Captains of glorious vessels gathered with those who piloted smaller watercraft and curious crafts. Other burners continued their own pursuits — such as the ongoing battles between BMIR and Monticello — elsewhere and at different times, or maybe not at all.

Sharks and whales soared through the mostly-calm sky above the playa, making their way through the eddy currents of dust, cheers and dubstep from one end of the playa to the other, from the safe swim area to the Deathguild Thunder Dome.  In this manner the regatta is the same as one can see anywhere like the Volvo Ocean Race or the America’s Cup. Exactly like it.

The humble and ramshackle building where the crab guy hocked his crab with soy sauce was also a bar during the week and probably sold the bait to catch the various kinds of burners form the end of the pier, where the popular fishing was perilously close to the safe swim area. For a small price the guy behind the counter has crab parts available (health codes be damned!) as well as many a tale of nautical woe.

The lucky or skilled angler can nab an unsuspecting hippie from the playa.

Visitors to the dock had the chance to stop for bait to take advantage of the bounty to be found at the end of a rod and reel. Bait for hippies, sparkle ponies, ravers and maybe even shape-shifting vampires was easy to find. The rumor around the pier was that Larry Harvey, also a shape-shifting vampire, became tangled in the rigging meant for a crusty old burner.

An unseen crew displayed a curious sailboat named Junk, made from garbage floating in the world’s oceans and an aircraft fuselage. They had charts and diagrams next to the vessel describing the origins of the garbage and building materials.

Charon poled a sad wooden vessel across the dusty River Styx in the deep playa, it’s silence broken by the occasional toll of a somber bell and the creak from rope rigging. The raucous noise from the Gypsy Queen more than made up for Charon.

Given the simultaneously lackadaisical and chaotic environment of Black Rock City, many people chose to just hang out under the dock in hammocks while others donned gold skin suits and cruised around on modified Jet-Skis.

OK, so the photos are all from the regatta, some aren’t near the dock. They’re close enough for BRC work.

North American Cycle Courier World Championships

AUSTIN, Texas — Bike messengers from all over the country gathered in the south-west corner of Austin for the 2011 North American Cycle Courier World Championships.

The race was the end of a week-long series of events and races starting with track races at the velodrome Houston the weekend before and finishing with the weekend of chaos in Austin — including a ride between the two cities. During the week the racers were invited to race weekly cyclocross and a criterium races in Austin. The Friday before the race, after registration, there was an alley cat race and gold sprints at Cheer Up Charlie in east Austin.

Qualifying for the main race on Sunday happened Saturday. The top 30 percent qualified for the three-manifest race Sunday. For the qualifier, racers were organized by their race numbers and started 10 seconds apart. The course is actually a road course car race track and the riders could only ride clockwise around the track and had to pick up packages in a very specific order, but could drop off in any order. If a rider missed a pick up, they had to ride a lap to go back.

The rain forecast for the weekend made the race organizers change their plans a little. The main race had virtual or “understood” packages, which still had to be picked up in the same order as they appear on the manifest and could still drop in any order. The main race had three manifests and half of the riders were given one and half another. They each had to complete one manifest, then get another. All of the racers had the same final manifest.

The main race had the typical alley cat start, where the bikes are laid down in order facing the same direction. At a signal, the rider run up to their bikes and the race is on.

The racers had some time to figure out basic routing so they didn’t have to do it as they raced. Although they have to pick up in order, they can drop in any order, usually on the way to pick ups. Keep in mind the race was done in laps and the check points were numbered one through 10, with 10 following 1.

The first checkpoint was sponsored by . During qualifying, the racers had to stop to have a portrait shot before running under the tent to step through race car tires before getting to the table. During the race, there wasn’t any photography but the racers had to sign or tag or scribble on one of two Chrome messenger bags.

The ninth checkpoint was a bit of chaos. I think it was sponsored by a shoe company, but all I remember is the cloud of marijuana smoke (no, it was annoying) and the guy with meth teeth. They were trying to jam Pringles into the riders’ mouths. It was hilarious. They were so enthusiastic, compared to the more subtle second and third check points.

The eighth checkpoint, on the inside of uphill esses, got pretty muddy and resembled a cyclocross course near the end of the race.

I can’t help but think if I didn’t talk to the people so much at check points, if I wasn’t so careful packing the packages (I did it for riding through Manhattan in traffic in bad weather, not for a wide race track in a race) and if maybe I got rolling faster from the check points I would have qualified. I don’t know. I’m not the slowest guy in town and I can still rip through traffic like when I was a NYC messenger, but it’s been a couple of years and many of the people with whom I competed do it every day. Many are at least 10 years younger, some are on TV. I don’t care, I had a good time.

Besides, if I were racing I wouldn’t be able to take photos of the racers whilst riding on the track with them.

Maybe I’ll get to go to the Cycle Messenger World Championships in Chicago.

Nocturnal emission in the city that likes to go to sleep

SAN ANTONIO — Few things are as good as blasting through the darkened quiet of empty nocturnal city streets.

Having no people, no cars or no bikes around — even if just for a few blocks — lets one’s mind wander a bit. It lets one’s eye focus on the shades of orange and green of the artificial light. The red and blue neon lights of the disposable and anonymous sports bars flicker past, their patrons standing on the sidewalk or shooting pool visible through hand-printed windows. They smoke, flick cigarettes, talk on cellphones or stare down to bright, little screens navigating the short-term future, which they may or may not remember in the morning.

Buses sway clumsily through the narrow streets as their daily service nears it’s end. The last few runs are modified downtown and have the buses parked for something called lineup.

A block later, green light spills into the darkened orange of the street, but farther in under strings of lights, laughter and conversation echo out into the empty street.

A block north, through a few cycling traffic lights and after pausing for stop signs people gather. A couple make their way slowly in a horse-drawn carriage illuminated with festive lights and a paid for smile from the driver. The clock, clump, clock, clump of the hooves fades into the night behind me and again, all I hear is the sound of tires rolling on asphalt, concrete and the odd stretch of cobbles.

Around a corner, left, right, stop, go. Families and friends looking for parked cars or where to meet other people walk quietly on the sidewalk. A jowled head above a stretched t-shirt watches a bike rider with a film camera around his neck roll past on a bike with no brakes, red and white lights blink interrupting the shadows.

A silver Volkswagen rolls past with a blonde girl int he back seat. She waves to me and smiles. I wave back and take a photo before slowing behind them, passing on the left and hurtling toward the darkness on a street with a name I can’t remember.

Over an orange overpass, under an orange underpass, through an orange intersection to a darkened orange sweeping right turn with a shadow from trees on the left, I wasn’t sure if I could turn off the street before it became an onramp for an expressway. Around the corner, a darkened right hard appeared, which took me right back toward South Alamo Street. Back to the pedestrians, the planners, walkers, seekers and those who are lost but wearing the clothes of those who are not.

Around and around again, straight, left, right, stopping, going, rolling quietly and full-bore sprints, few things are as good as solitude and otherworldly energy of night time.

Cardboard, duct tape: pirates revisit Archimedes

RANDOLPH AIR FORCE BASE, Texas – Under a bright blue sky, juniors and seniors from Randolph High School met in teams of two for a race from one end of the Parr O’Club pool to the other in boats made only of cardboard and duct tape for this year’s Randolph Physics and Pre-cal Cardboard Boat Regatta.

The members of the teams wore costumes and had decorated boats in themes to match. They laughed and taunted each other in good-spirited competition, but underneath the fun was a serious lesson in applied physics and pre-calculus.

The race was the culmination of a joint project between Karin Dentino’s physics classes and Mike Haug’s pre calculus classes at RHS, where the students learned about the behavior of fluids, buoyancy, pressure and Archimedes’ Principle.

Archimedes’ Principle says any object floating in liquid displaces its own weight of that liquid.

The students designed scaled-down versions of their boats in class to figure out the volumes of their boats, the water displacement and maximum weight the vessel will hold, Ms. Dentino said.

“They then use these designs to come up with the larger models made from only duct tape and cardboard,” she said.  “They had to put at least two people in the boat and transport those two people two lengths of the pool.”

She said the students tested how effective their calculations were for their particular hull design, including calculating where the water line should be.

“The pre-calculus students also use many of their calculations from the year to help illustrate how math can be used in real life,” Ms. Dentino said.

The students had some help along the way with their hull designs and they were given one roll of duct tape for each team; however, they were on their own for cardboard and additional tape. The boats were designed in a four-day period before and after school and during class.

The boats had varied hull designs including flat bottoms like a barge or swamp boat and v-shaped like a schooner. Some boats had pontoons made from concrete forms. One had a table with table settings for afternoon tea while another boat was made from the slick cardboard from store packaging.

“Fortune favors the bold,” said Nick Nowland, RHS senior and a member of the Glamorous Glennis team, the first to successfully traverse the pool. “Ours is more of a barge and not a speed boat. We tried to keep the seams above the water.”

He said they used cardboard they found and tried to have as few seams as they could, keeping the bottom flat. The floor of the boat had several layers of cardboard which made it stiff and buoyant.

Some teams had better boats while others had better costumes.

“Who lives along the shore?” a member of the Pirate Team, junior Joe Probus, shouted to a competitor after their boat fell apart at the edge of the pool. “You have to sink with pride, man.”

The Pirates’ boat also sank, but in the center of the pool while they continued paddling, without listing or floundering.

If a boat didn’t make it all the way, the most the students lost was 10 points, as long as it floated for at least three seconds with passengers. In addition to class credit for successfully traversing the pool, three teams earned awards for being the fastest, sinking the best or having the best theme.

The Pirates, dressed in pirate costumes, earned the Titanic Award for the best sinking. Seal Team 6 earned the overall award for the fastest time. The Tea Party team and the Yacht Club team tied for the supreme theme award.

“We got full credit for making it there and back,” Nick said.

Grit in my pocket and gale-force brine

MUSTANG ISLAND STATE PARK, Texas — I needed to test some of my camping gear in a windy and sandy environment before Burning Man at the end of summer in Nevada on a dry lake bed. The only thing I could think of that was even close was the Texas coast of the Gulf of Mexico. Every previous time I was there, the sand was compact and very fine — almost like baby powder and not terribly gritty — with the constant wind one expects from the ocean.

This time the conditions on the beach were different, the sand was very soft and uneven, briny and gritty air howled with the fury of a gale and sand settled everywhere. It could be the consistency of the sand was different here than elsewhere on the island, maybe the drought or recent storms had something to do with it. I wasn’t sure.

I found a good spot and set up camp. Razor-sharp hindsight suggests a slightly different alignment and arrangement, but that’s in the past. I pitched my Coleman Sundome tent and Kelty 10×10 Canopy House in a constant 30 knot wind. EVERYTHING was damp and gritty from blowing sand and the humid, salty air blowing from the Gulf.

To stake the shade and tent, I had to dig down a bit to the harder, compacted sand below the soft stuff blowing and forming small dunes on the surface. The tent barely moved except for the more gnarly wind gusts after it was staked. Setting it up was rather easy, much more so than the shade.

The Kelty shade did OK as well, flexing a little in the wind as the poles twisted in the fabric. I later noticed I had one or two of the legs waaaay out of square, which exaggerated the effect of flexing from the wind. The footprint of the shade is 10 feet by 10 feet, but who knows what I had it set up as. The thing is more than big enough to fit over a picnic table, but the sides are lower. It’s like a combination of a tent and the cheap, square sun shades. It’s supported by crossed, aluminum poles and stakes in the corners and by guy lines about half way up. It doesn’t have a floor or walls, but the corners have provisions to hang or attach stuff like lights and there is a large D-ring in the middle of the top for a lantern. I think Kelty sells walls for the thing, which attach to the loops inside the corners.

I set up the camp in haste, but I soon figured out I should have swapped the tent and the shade. If I set up the tent first, which now makes a lot of sense, I would have had a better set up and the shade may have bowed less.

I lighted the stakes with 4 solar LED walkway lights so I didn’t trip over the cord and to give some ambient light. The worked very well to keep me from tripping given how much line was all over. Inside the tent, they weren’t so bright I couldn’t sleep. I found out I could use the lights to illuminate the cut rebar I plan to use in Black Rock City, the temporary city around which Burning Man takes place. The plastic stakes that slip into the stainless steel shaft onto which the solar light guts attach comes out and is large than the rebar.

I camped a million times, but this was the first on the beach. The constant wind and grit gave me a good idea of what to expect in BRC, sort of. I know it will be drier and hotter and dusty, as opposed to gritty — the blowing dust from the dried lake bed has a consistency of baby powder and is alkaline. I imagine BRC will be more windy also.

I used a hand-crank lantern and the solar lights to see what I was doing, which worked stellar. This was a test run for that in addition to the tent and shade. I used a 2AA Maglite with a three-LED upgrade in addition to the four solar walkway lights.

My one issue with the camp and something I could have done much better was my cooking arrangement. I had a small charcoal grill (with cherrywood charcoal) and some fancy burger patties and related stuff. I decided no to even attempt the grill because of the wind and sand and had a Powerbar and Buttersnaps pretzels for dinner. If I had a small camp stove or an MRE, that would have been a better choice. I think if I had a lower camp stove with folding side walls I could have cooked some dinner and had coffee in the morning.

It was a learning experience since most of my camping was in the woods of New England and most of my beach visits were only a few hours 9or all day) but not camping.

One funny note, aside from how much sand and brine film covered EVERYTHING (including the car, inside and out) was how fast bare ferrous metal started to rust. The hardware on the grill, posts of the car’s windshield wipers and other bits started to rust overnight. My shades were covered with brine in minutes, taking them off has sand blow into my eye. The brass hardware on my Tilley T-3 hat oxidized.

It was one of the most difficult camps to set up so far, but it was a blast. Hopefully I can go again before my trip to the high desert of Nevada. If not, at least I figured out some things to not do.

Birdies, bogeys, eagles: NCAA golf on Randolph

RANDOLPH AIR FORCE BASE, Texas – College students from around Texas teed off as T-38 Talons roared into the humid sky during round three of the 2011 Lone Star Conference Men’s Golf Championship, held at Randolph Oaks Golf Course April 18 – 20.

“The Lone Star Conference has held a championship tournament annually since 1941,” said Bill Powers, assistant athletic director from Midwestern State University, Wichita Falls, Texas. “For many years, it would rotate among the institutions of the conference, but since the late 1990s, it has been at a neutral site.”

He said the games are often played around the Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas, areas, but “the golf coaches wanted to have a site further south to take advantage of the better growing conditions for the course.”

This year it was up to the University of the Incarnate Word, in San Antonio, to host the tournament.

Doug Quire, the former golf coach at UIW and current Air Force Services Agency golf specialist, approached Troy Gann, Randolph Oaks Golf Course manager, about the tournament being played on Randolph instead.

“I took the idea to my bosses, it had to go up the chain of command – up the ladder,” Mr. Gann said. “Everyone signed off.”

He said the tournament was good for community relations and it raised some revenue.

“The staff at Randolph Oaks were great to work with and we are so grateful for their hard work and assistance,” Mr. Powers said. “The biggest challenge the conference faced was getting the competitors and the spectators on and off base.”

The game had no real problems, which allowed the players, their families and support staff to focus on the game.

“Coordination between the schools, the conference office and the staff at Randolph AFB was the key and there were very few problems,” he said.

Mr. Gann said the tournament wouldn’t have been possible without the help of the gate guards, who had everyone using only the South Gate but with extended hours.

“The people at the gate supported us and did a good job,” he said.  “They opened it extra and stayed late.”

In addition to Randolph Oaks staff, volunteers from the universities helped with scoring and updating posted information. Some volunteers called in scored from the course as the game was played while others posted numbers or did other jobs.

“It’s an old-time tournament. It’s been many places, this is the first time in San Antonio I think,” said Skip Wagoner, retired former golf coach from Central Oklahoma, while writing numbers with a large felt-tip marker on a large board hanging on the wall.

Mr. Powers, sitting across the room operating a cellular phone, two-way radio and a laptop computer, called out numbers to Mr. Wagoner.  Mr. Powers was the link from volunteers at each hole on the course who called in scores as they happened. He was also updating the scores live on a website for fans and players’ parents.

“It was an awesome event,” Mr. Gann said. “We were proud to host it.”

Central Oklahoma, starting the tournament in fourth place, won the annual tournament, shooting 5 under par, which placed them in the top position in division II.