Saturday, December 18, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Success
The photo posted. Sure, it isn't rotated correctly, and it is apparently a picture I posted already. But, the point is, we can now share visual images of the upcoming adventure.
Speaking of, we're still figuring out how to pack. Rio looks to be in the upper 80s, chance of storms, and heat indexes north of 110 degrees. Patagonia looks to be in the 50s, lows in the 30s, with hard winds, rain, and snow. So looks like I'll pack a swimsuit and a parka and be good to go.
Less than 20 hours until departure . . .
Remote photo posting test
Sunday, November 21, 2010
In Which We Return After A Lengthy Hiatus
The Knapp Adventure Blog has experienced an unprecedented hiatus. It isn't a result of a shortage of adventures. On the contrary, we've been in and out of the mountains with amazing regularity. We've gone two-stepping in Luckenbach, we've avoided aggressive mountain goats near New Mexico's highest peak, and we white water rafted in perhaps the lowest trickle of water I've seen. It's been a good year.
But a big adventure awaits. In December, we once again bid farewell to our families for the holiday season and set our sights on distant shores. The schedule includes Rio de Janeiro, Patagonia, and Buenos Aires. We'll welcome Christmas from a remote estancia (ranch), and we'll greet the New Year with malbecs, steak, and tango. Likely to be an epic time.
Since our travels to Africa, the availability of internet service has expanded at a remarkable pace, so I have a hunch I'll be able to post tidbits from our journey at various spots along the way. Will Megan match her Hawaiian surfing prowess on the beaches of Ipanema? Will views of Fitz Roy leave me speechless forever? Will our diminutive rental car handle the roughly 600 km of Patagonian roads we plan to traverse?
Check back to find out. For now, donate money to prostate cancer research and enjoy this photo from yet another wonderful Movember:
But a big adventure awaits. In December, we once again bid farewell to our families for the holiday season and set our sights on distant shores. The schedule includes Rio de Janeiro, Patagonia, and Buenos Aires. We'll welcome Christmas from a remote estancia (ranch), and we'll greet the New Year with malbecs, steak, and tango. Likely to be an epic time.
Since our travels to Africa, the availability of internet service has expanded at a remarkable pace, so I have a hunch I'll be able to post tidbits from our journey at various spots along the way. Will Megan match her Hawaiian surfing prowess on the beaches of Ipanema? Will views of Fitz Roy leave me speechless forever? Will our diminutive rental car handle the roughly 600 km of Patagonian roads we plan to traverse?
Check back to find out. For now, donate money to prostate cancer research and enjoy this photo from yet another wonderful Movember:
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Homer's Backyard Ball: Amarillo Mudfest
When I go home to Amarillo I look forward to a number of things. Visits to grandparents and other family. Long conversations on the porch. Hugs from siblings. Just catching up. I have never gone home to Amarillo anxious to catch some great live music, but that all changed this weekend with Homer's Backyard Ball.
Homer's is a barbecue cook-off and fundraiser for the Make-a-Wish Foundation set on a large patch of pasture near Amarillo's waterpark. The lineup this year caught my eye. Matt Martindale (of Cooder Graw fame), Tommy Alverson, Tejas Brothers, Band of Heathens, and Eleven Hundred Springs were all huge draws. That, as well as promise of potentially delicious barbecue, made this visit home something extra special to look forward to.
I wasn't quite sure what to expect. The FAQ section of the website elaborated on the BYOB policy, emphasizing that it is limited to the amount of alcohol one can move into the festival under human power . . . dollies, wagons, and carts would be okay. This impression--that some folks would be going hog wild--was reinforced as we stopped to get a couple beers to take out to the pasture. Upon hearing I was headed to Homer's, the manager of the liquor store looked at my paltry stash of brew and informed me I would need substantially more. Earlier that day he sent a series of kegs out the door toward Homer's on dollies. He finally agreed to let me leave with my minimal quantity but advised I make friends with some of his better-prepared customers.
As we approached the concert site, it occurred to me that the previous days' torrential downpour would potentially turn the pasture into puddles, the green grass into goo and gunk. We slid the vehicle into a disturbingly soft field, and set off through light mud toward the tunes. As we approached, people were walking the opposite direction drenched in the brown stuff--coated in a sticky dark mud. While some would see this as a warning, we took it as a challenge. These people were obviously fools who made a conscious decision to swim in mud, living some sort of Texas Panhandle meets Woodstock fantasy. We would escape unscathed.
Minutes later, sunk up to my calves, I began to reassess. We found a patch of grass struggling to stay on the surface against the rising tide of mud and set up some chairs, dropping the cooler with a very soft thud. Mom and Matt set off in search of food as Gary and I began to appreciate the chaos unfolding around us. We realized most of the crowd had been drinking . . . for hours. For many hours. And drinking a lot. This, naturally, provoked random mud tackles, giddy mud-wrestling, angry mud-wrestling, and two-stepping which turned into mud-wrestling.
Mom and Matt returned to inform us that the competition barbecue had been long consumed. They found the only food available: calf fries or Rocky Mountain oysters. Whatever the euphemism, we'd be eating the nether regions of bulls.
Fortunately, this dinner complemented the accordion-spiced country coming from the Tejas Brothers. It also worked well with outlandish straw cowboy hats matching random facial hair on stumbling cowboys. And, when I entered a porta-potty after a man with a massive grey handlebar mustache, furry calf-skin blazer, and massive sombrero, it all just made sense.
While the mud reduced the crowd size, it left behind a group either too dedicated to the tunes or too immobilized by various forces to give up. Tejas Brothers had a fun and exciting show. Band of Heathens were remarkable with multi-instrumental talent and a barrage of great, great guitar action. But then the fist fighting started, and we thought we'd escape--unfortunately leaving before a personal favorite, the Dallas-based Eleven Hundred Springs, took the stage.
The trek back to the car was fraught with peril. We were blinded by the highbeams of F350s while struggling to keep our feet on fairly solid ground. Our boots had accumulated an improbable quantity of muck, turning each step into a workout. Finally at the car, we removed the muddy weights and delicately slid into seats--happy to be headed to warm showers, a healthy meal, and blissful sanity.
Homer's is a barbecue cook-off and fundraiser for the Make-a-Wish Foundation set on a large patch of pasture near Amarillo's waterpark. The lineup this year caught my eye. Matt Martindale (of Cooder Graw fame), Tommy Alverson, Tejas Brothers, Band of Heathens, and Eleven Hundred Springs were all huge draws. That, as well as promise of potentially delicious barbecue, made this visit home something extra special to look forward to.
I wasn't quite sure what to expect. The FAQ section of the website elaborated on the BYOB policy, emphasizing that it is limited to the amount of alcohol one can move into the festival under human power . . . dollies, wagons, and carts would be okay. This impression--that some folks would be going hog wild--was reinforced as we stopped to get a couple beers to take out to the pasture. Upon hearing I was headed to Homer's, the manager of the liquor store looked at my paltry stash of brew and informed me I would need substantially more. Earlier that day he sent a series of kegs out the door toward Homer's on dollies. He finally agreed to let me leave with my minimal quantity but advised I make friends with some of his better-prepared customers.
As we approached the concert site, it occurred to me that the previous days' torrential downpour would potentially turn the pasture into puddles, the green grass into goo and gunk. We slid the vehicle into a disturbingly soft field, and set off through light mud toward the tunes. As we approached, people were walking the opposite direction drenched in the brown stuff--coated in a sticky dark mud. While some would see this as a warning, we took it as a challenge. These people were obviously fools who made a conscious decision to swim in mud, living some sort of Texas Panhandle meets Woodstock fantasy. We would escape unscathed.
Minutes later, sunk up to my calves, I began to reassess. We found a patch of grass struggling to stay on the surface against the rising tide of mud and set up some chairs, dropping the cooler with a very soft thud. Mom and Matt set off in search of food as Gary and I began to appreciate the chaos unfolding around us. We realized most of the crowd had been drinking . . . for hours. For many hours. And drinking a lot. This, naturally, provoked random mud tackles, giddy mud-wrestling, angry mud-wrestling, and two-stepping which turned into mud-wrestling.
Mom and Matt returned to inform us that the competition barbecue had been long consumed. They found the only food available: calf fries or Rocky Mountain oysters. Whatever the euphemism, we'd be eating the nether regions of bulls.
Fortunately, this dinner complemented the accordion-spiced country coming from the Tejas Brothers. It also worked well with outlandish straw cowboy hats matching random facial hair on stumbling cowboys. And, when I entered a porta-potty after a man with a massive grey handlebar mustache, furry calf-skin blazer, and massive sombrero, it all just made sense.
While the mud reduced the crowd size, it left behind a group either too dedicated to the tunes or too immobilized by various forces to give up. Tejas Brothers had a fun and exciting show. Band of Heathens were remarkable with multi-instrumental talent and a barrage of great, great guitar action. But then the fist fighting started, and we thought we'd escape--unfortunately leaving before a personal favorite, the Dallas-based Eleven Hundred Springs, took the stage.
The trek back to the car was fraught with peril. We were blinded by the highbeams of F350s while struggling to keep our feet on fairly solid ground. Our boots had accumulated an improbable quantity of muck, turning each step into a workout. Finally at the car, we removed the muddy weights and delicately slid into seats--happy to be headed to warm showers, a healthy meal, and blissful sanity.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Movember: The Manliest Month of the Year
This month, I participated in an international fundraiser known as "Movember." The basic idea is that I spend the month growing a mustache, and then I solicit sponsorship for my mustache from friends, family, and basically anyone who asks why I have a mustache (which was pretty much everyone). The month of Movember has reached its conclusion, but there is still time to donate to the cause. Donations benefit the Prostate Cancer Foundation and Livestrong.
Last night, I said goodbye to the mustache with a relaxing evening with my dog, my guitar, and a Mo-retti. Below are some photos to share the greatness that was my 'stache.
Last night, I said goodbye to the mustache with a relaxing evening with my dog, my guitar, and a Mo-retti. Below are some photos to share the greatness that was my 'stache.
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