Go ahead, bite the Big Apple

We bit it a month ago when my family and I decided that the big city was going to be this year's destination for our annual getaway.  And I'm pleased to say we liked it!  Some more than others, but all in all it was definitely something to see.

Up until this year I was the only one in the family who had ever been there.  About thirty years ago to be exact, but some of that trip was still in my mind and I knew we'd find something for each of us to enjoy.  Heck, with the ethnic diversity alone it would make for some great people watching wouldn't you think?



Racing has taken up a lot of our time over the past five years and a family trip of this sort has always taken a back seat to our weekend endeavours.  We were determined to not let this year go by in the same fashion so about four months ago we began looking at our options.  Everything up to this point included a giant mouse in Florida so with our already grown family, and the fact that we wanted to keep it a bit more *affordable, New York was what we landed on.

*Regarding affordable, outside of a screamin' deal on airfare (which we upgraded anyway to better seats) there was not much that was "affordable" about this trip.  But hey, when you're in a city with non-stop entertainment and rents for apartments going two to three times more than my mortgage, You can live with it.

Like any trip into uncharted lands there was some apprehension.  Oh we've contemplated the complexity of their mass transit system, the looming threat of a crime waiting to happen around every corner, and the fact that when you've seen one large building you've probably seen them all.  We were told that New York City in August would be unbearable.  Warm temperatures forecasted for our week would make an already irritable town even more jumpy, but I have to say that this nor any of these fallacies were true.  The people were generally hospitable, the weather not bad, and we rode the subway system like pros after only a couple of trips.  And with the amount of uniformed police officers around at all hours we never once felt unsafe.











After all of the typical stops were made- Times Square, the Empire State Building, and Ellis Island, I had one of the best times just strolling through Central Park and the surrounding neighborhood.  We had to swing by the Dakota to see John Lennon's digs and I have to say that the architecture on that building and many others around it were absolutely stunning.  This day trip did rival our time at Yankee Stadium watching the Bronx Bombers humiliate Seattle.  My son and I took the train straight uptown on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and got the best seats I feel I will ever find in a stadium.  And by accident I might add!  It's a bit of a long story to go into but let me just say that if you find yourself at the ticket booth empty handed at game time, ask for the Cafe Bleacher seats.  These seats are normally a minimum of $150 a seat but at game time they shrink to just $50 and have all the amenities of much more expensive tickets.

So there you have it.  In my mind there's no need to worry about navigating this town, everything is laid out quite easily I had thought.  At least Manhattan is.  The boroughs weren't bad either but nothing beats a strip of land 7 miles long and three miles wide.  And with destinations at 42nd and Third, how can you go wrong?

Bring on the Big Guns

My heart has always been in road racing but my soul belongs to the NHRA.  Long before I ever strapped myself into a race car I was at the local dragstrip watching the grudge matches, or a few blocks off of highway 100 doing some runs of my own.  This past weekend my family and I got to take in the circus otherwise known as the Full Throttle NHRA Nationals in Joliet Illinois.  Three days of tire smoke, Nitromethane fumes, and enough percussion to crack your sternum.

I attended my first pro event just a few years ago with my son at this very same track.  Until then I had only witnessed this caliber of competition on the TV screen and boy let me tell you it does no justice to the sport at all.  I explained this to my wife and daughter on the drive down and still had the impression that they had no idea of what to expect once we got there.

Armed with all of the hearing protection one could ask for, we made our way to the stands just as the Top Fuel Funny Cars were taking the grid.  And as I expected, the first pair off the line made the two of them jump nearly out of their skin.  Ok, I did a bit too.  After all its been five years since I had last been there.

You can't really explain the feeling other than what one must feel like when a bomb goes off in front of them.  The atmosphere around you literally explodes to the point that your insides feel every shockwave.  The stands literally sway when one of these behemoths take off.  Even with good hearing protection you find yourself a bit weak from the sound after one full day at the track.  And if you're not used to it, the smell of burning rubber and nitro can be a bit much for some.  I myself feel that if they could bottle it, I'd wear it after every shower.




The Dragsters and Funny Cars always steal the show but it was Pro Stock Motorcycle that was the highlight for us this time around.  In the past my daughter would sit at home and watch the races on tv with me and always say that she was interested in doing this some day.  Bringing her to the track to see first hand what it takes to pilot one of these things, and the speeds involved in which they do it, would not prove to deter her one bit.  It wasn't until I explained what it cost to be competitive at this level did she say she didn't want to do it.  That's my girl, always worried about the check book balance.


We were particularily drawn to a new rider from California by the name of Katie Sullivan.  A relative newbie to the scene, she wanted to ride PS motorcycles since she was twelve years old as well.  After talking with her for a while she had told us that her climb to the pro ranks was a slow one, but considered herself quite lucky on the contrary.  Had she and her father not met the Gann family in Las Vegas she never would of got her break into the pros.  Now, at the tender age of 18 she is going toe to toe with the best.  She actually beat one of the top seeded riders to move on to round two but unfortunately for her that was where her charge came to an end.  She was eventually beaten by another rider and sent home early.  Something tells me she'll be back.


And Money.  We all know it takes a lot of it to get anywhere in this sport, and after this weekend we know where a lot of the checks are being written to.  It still amazes me that in our current economic climate we still see teams with three and four semi trucks loaded to the gills with everything one would need to perform their job out on the road.  Several of the bigger name teams would even have one truck dedicated to hospitality alone.  Vast areas dedicated to nothing but feeding and entertaining the folks who pay their bills.

So with that I have to say goodbye to my beloved straightliners and return to the sanctity of my left, right, go, stop world.  These tickets that I recieved for this event were courtesy of Goodridge USA which is one of the largest suppliers of high performance hose and plumbing products in the world.  I thank you again for this opportunity to take in one of the greatest shows on earth.

The world according to Gus, Part II

Ah the old double standard.  Do as I say, not as I do.  I've heard adults say this all of my life and it never really sank in until recently. Now that I'm an adult and a parent, I realize that we don't exactly know everything either.

I'm beginning to see that I'm a bit of a hypocrite myself when I talk to my kids lately.  They're at the age now when questions like "did you ever smoke", "did you ever try that", or "when did you start doing this" are arising.  What in the world is a person to say!  I can't just spill my guts now can I?  And I can't make matters worse and lie to them either.  This wasn't covered in the how-to manual of raising a happy and healthy teen.  Oh wait there isn't one.  That's what makes this job so damn hard!

I've preached about the need for total honesty with one another from birth and I still do it today.  I've always told them that we have nothing without honesty.  And I've assured them that no matter what the infraction, there will be a far lesser penalty enforced if they come clean with me.  During any situation and regardless of the circumstance, I sure hope they remember this when they find themselves somewhere doing the same things I did when I was let off my leash over thirty years ago.  Or when a ride home is needed at 1am because your friends aren't in any shape to drive.

But to help guide them in their ways I wanted to paint a picture of their father being the straight laced kid who listened well and stayed out of trouble.  A person they can look up to as someone who knew right from wrong and chose the high road whenever possible.  Someone who was not so easily swayed by the decisions and actions of his peers and didn't succumb to the pressure to "just try it, you won't get hooked".  A guy who knew what the legal drinking age was and waited to take that first sip.

So much for honesty.

I grew up in a middle class family of two working parents.  Comparing my life with my children to the life I had with my parents when growing up is a stark contrast to one another.  I do more with them, and have done more with them to this age than my folks did with me in my entire life.

I'm fine with this.  I'm not in therapy, and I don't feel like I was short changed in my upbringing.  My wife and I have been blessed for the most part with decent jobs that allow us plenty of time to be with our own kids and in my parents defense they had to make due with what they had.

My father worked about every shift a man could get to bring home a paycheck and disposable hours spent doing anything else were few and far between.  And it wasn't like I contributed much to help with the weekly chore list and eliminate other responsibilities that he had on his time off.  My mother briefly took time away from the workforce to raise my sister and I but quickly returned when we could wipe our own rear ends. And she still continues to work full time today.

There was also the fact that their era was more concerned with raising their kids right rather than trying to be their best friends.  They were, and their parents were, the iron fist of reason who provided food and shelter first and fun and games later.  I honestly believe that my generation is having some of the problems with our children today because we are failing to recognize this one fundamental fact.  Our jobs are to first help them become intelligent, honorable individuals before we give them everything that their heart desires.  We have grown so used to saying that we want our kids to have everything we didn't that we are setting them up for failure on a much larger scale.

When it came to sports, When I was a kid you had to try out for the team.  If you failed, you tried even harder next season.  Now, there are three volleyball teams in my daughter's middle school to accommodate all of the students who've signed up for it.  Notice I said signed up.  Anyone with a pen and a pair of shorts and gym shoes are welcomed.  And let me say that after many painful matches watching kids who had absolutely no skill at all I found it hard to understand what it is that these schools are trying to do (or not do).  God forbid we should damage them for life and cut them from the team for not performing.  This is preparing them for life?  Maybe life on another planet but surely not mine.  I mean in the real world we all get the jobs we want at the salaries we need, right?  We all can now qualify for home loans above and beyond what we can actually afford and we're never turned down for anything anymore.  Instead of taking a proactive look at things and educating our kids on how the system works and what to expect in life, we have become a society of yes-men who give virtually everything to anyone and let them worry about the repercussions later when they fail.

It's like these goof ball liberal parents who feel that their children are going to drink anyway so as long as they do it at home they're fine with that.  This frame of mind has to be the most asinine thing I've ever heard.  Instead of teaching them what's right from wrong, convincing them that you can still be the life of the party without drugs, and letting them know that you can be very cool by just being yourself, they are giving them permission to begin their downward spiral in the safe confines of their own living room.  Remember folks, we were all that age at one time.  Half the fun of doing it was when it was wrong and there was an element of risk.  At home or not at home, It's all wrong.

So what am I going to do when the questions become more specific and I can't tap dance around the subject?  I'm going to have to practice what I preach and tell my kids the truth.  I made my mistakes and I paid for them.  And in some instances my friends, who were not as lucky as me, paid for it with their lives.  I was the lucky one.  Nevertheless I was stupid, and put my parents through undue stress, but I survived.  And that's no guarantee that they will be as lucky.

I'll tell them of the countless kids we pulled from cars injured in accidents.  Some drunk, and some taking a ride from a drunk. I'll explain to them what a family looks like when they watch EMT's work on their teenage child who nearly died from a heroin overdose.  And I'll tell them how bad I felt after my first binge and what liberties were taken away from me by my father in doing so.

And all the while I say this I know that I'll be the hypocrite who did these things himself and forbid them from doing the same.  But with a watchful eye, an open line of communication, and trust in them with a mutual respect of each other, I can only hope that they do the right thing.  And with a little luck I too will have two kids who survived their younger years.

After me, anything is possible.

Anyone can do it

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Reaching new heights

This past weekend a band of twelve brothers gathered to do battle in downtown Milwaukee and even though the outcome wasn't what I had hoped for, I couldn't be prouder to have been amongst them.

Unlike other occasions when our objectives would be to fight fires, help rescue someone from a frozen pond, or assist one another with whatever mother nature threw our way, we would face a formidable foe that would prove to eventually kick our tail in ways we never imagined.  I can't speak for anyone else but to be totally honest with you I had an idea it was going to be tough.  I was just too naive to think it would really affect me that much.

The adversary I speak of was called Climb Wisconsin and it was put on by the American Lung Association to raise money and awareness for their cause.  And appropriately enough this Valentines Day it was held at the US Bank building on Milwaukee's lakefront.  All 47 floors, 94 flights, and 1,034 stairs were laid out before us to prove myself wrong and many others like me who think we're in about the best shape of our lives.

The objective was quite simple in theory, just not in a practical sense.  Get your carcass, and those of four others in your team, up to the top of a tall building as quickly as you can.  The fastest cumulative time wins.


We all arrived there about an hour before our two teams were set to go up, congregating in the atrium with nine other departments who each staked out their own staging areas.  When it was announced that our teams were to report to the start, we gathered all of our equipment (turn-out gear and SCBA) and began the trek down to the sub street levels.  Unlike the others who had gone before us, the firefighter challenge was to be performed while wearing fifty pounds of gear on your back.  We've all worn this stuff a million times before but today it felt oddly heavier than I could remember.  At this time a few of the guys were asking me how I talked them into this and honestly I was asking myself the same thing.  No problems though, we were all going to run up this thing and laugh about it in about fifteen minutes.  Yeah right!


Once downstairs we would eventually stand in line to wait for our turn to begin.  Although the line wasn't very long, the minute or so that it took to get to the staring mat felt like an eternity to some of us.  Each person is released in ten second intervals and as you get closer you can just feel the amount of adrenalin rising in you.  When you finally reach the mat, a five second countdown begins and off you go.

I went last for my team, so I could hear the tempo of which everyone was clanging away on each stair as they would climb.  After a couple of flights I felt this was a bit slow for my liking so I began to gradually pass everyone.  This proved to be the kiss of death and quickly took me from the front of our pack to the guy laying on the landing that people would have to step over.  I heard that little voice in my head telling me to tone it down but my ego was shouting much louder.  My ego lost.



When I finally peeled myself off the floor it took every ounce of my energy and even more perseverance than I had to continue.  By the twentieth floor I was thinking of excuses to throw the towel in but I just couldn't.  I didn't eat bird food for five weeks and train like I did to quit.  By about the thirty-sixth floor I went down again and this time I didn't think I was getting up.  This was also the time when I noticed that I had a couple of Paramedics following closely behind me and it was a bit annoying and creepy all at the same time.  On one hand I'm angry because my ever so proud self is convinced that there's no reason anyone should have to follow ME, and on the other hand I felt like an injured wildebeest being tracked by vultures.




I assured them that I was fine and they eventually backed off and left me to climb on my own but it wasn't long before I had to take a knee and rest again.  If it wasn't for a guy from Waukegan Fire who stopped to help me up I wouldn't have done it.  At that moment I was about ten floors from the finish with only one floor left in me and I was sure at this time that I had nothing left to go on.  He told me to stay on my feet and keep moving, no matter how slowly.  I did exactly what he said and several flights later the end finally came.  I never got his name but whoever you are brother you were a huge help and I can't thank you enough.


Sweating more than I have ever done, and feeling like my legs were two hundred pounds a piece, I stepped across the finish line and proceeded to find myself a corner to go and die in.  I was happy that it was over and a great feeling of accomplishment was in me but you had to look hard to see it.  I felt bad for my daughter who was waiting there for me and wanted a nice big smile for the camera but I just couldn't muster one up.  I was just happy to be alive at this point.

Although some of us may not have quite met our expectations, to just finish this thing is a monumental task that we can all be proud of.  A few of the guys I'm certain are probably extremely satisfied with their accomplishments and in my opinion require the most honorable of mentions.




From Tichigan, the big winner was one Mr. Kyle Kierstead.  With a 13:59, he was by far the fastest individual in our group.  The little snot didn't have a bead of sweat on him when I finished.  But then again he had plenty of time to take a shower and change clothes before most of us reached the top.  You definitely earned braggin' rights my friend, congratulations to you!



Second place deservedly enough went to Burt Peterson with a 16:26.  That weight vest paid out huge dividends now didn't it?  You provided inspiration to all of us more mature gents so you'll have to do this again next year, and maybe we can take the title away from West Allis.



And rounding out our top three is Tommy Nehring with a 19:17.  I guess I have to take your smack talk now don't I?  By the way, not to belittle any of our boy's accomplishments but those animals at WAFD won the event with an average time of 11:30 per team member.  Man do we have our work cut out for us!

Recognition must also be given to The boys at Rochester Fire.  Mark and his crew did a fantastic job and finished sixth overall in the competition, beating even the guys from Milwaukee.  And this wouldn't be much of a story without Jimmy Nickel.  He belongs to the "mature gent" group that I mentioned before and he finished with a time of 19:32.  What makes his story unique is that he found himself not able to go on at around the twentieth floor just like many of us but it wasn't from exhaustion, he needed a bathroom and he needed one fast!  So he ducked out onto one of the floors and in the dark he found a head, probably choked the thing, (have you seen the size of this guy?) and returned to the competition a couple of pounds lighter and as fresh as a daisy.

Some people!

You would think I was dying

Three weeks ago I visited my family doctor for a routine physical.  For most of my adult life I stuck to a strict schedule of making sure I would get myself checked out every year, but this time I realized that it had been over two years since my last visit.  No worries though, as I felt about as good as I can remember myself ever feeling and I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Everything went great, and the Doc was surprised at how well I was eating and the level of activity that I kept myself in.  I even managed to get out of there with my dignity intact as well.  You see I just turned 45 and have been told for some time now when I could count on the old five fingered kiester drill.  I was convinced that the day had finally come but to my relief I was assured it could wait.  I jumped back into my street clothes, went to the lab to tap some blood, and I was back on the road in twenty minutes.

Two days later the phone rings and it's the Doctor's assistant calling with the results of my lab work.  I'm told that my cholesterol is too high and given the fact that I eat right, I don't smoke, I'm not overweight, and I'm basically in the best shape a man of my age can be in, they suggest prescription medication for me.  But that's not my style.  That's for the greying guy on the TV commercials who runs opposite the male enhancement offers.  Not someone who cycles 120 miles a week and visits the gym regularly.  Again I ask, "why me God?"

I have to think a generally large portion of the population in this world lives with high cholesterol.  And most people know this of themselves and just shrug it off as a minor bump in the road.  But not me!  No my friend, I'm finding myself spending the next three hours of my day Googling everything about what I can do to battle this evil disease that I'm afflicted with.  I put work, family, and friends on hold until I research the medication, find the right diet, and figure out an end to yet another reminder that I'm not 20 years old anymore.

A day later I rise from the ashes with what I affectionately call the "Pansie Boy Grocery List" and it's off to the store to stock up on more wheat, fruit, and green boring things than a man deserves.  My cart is missing crackers, red meat, soups, and all the sustenance that I once thrived on.  The times were gonna change and I was damn well gonna change with it.  And three weeks later I'm proud to say I'm still doing my part to stick with it and actually feeling better for it.

I know I've made a mountain out of a mole hill here.  Although the risk of heart disease is nothing to take lightly, I know that in my case I shouldn't be as alarmed as I was/am.  My case is minor at best, and with the proper diet and medication I should be able to live with this.  Maybe even someday without the meds.

It just stinks when you find yourself getting up in the years and you start to realize all the indicators of it.  That eagle eye you once had is getting a bit fuzzy now.  The flight of stairs once taken with no effort now brings a few extra breaths.  The food you once ate and the alcohol you consumed right with it is now living comfortably forever around your waist.  And that extra skip in your step is more of a trip.

High cholesterol is just another foe to deal with when you've become accustomed to a certain lifestyle that brought you much happiness and gratification.  Most of which was dependent on the size of your plate.  It's not a death sentence.  It's livable, doable.  It's all up to you.  Live for the day or plan for the future.  It's your choice and I for one choose the latter.  I just hope this is as hairy as it gets.  Could you see me with anything serious?

Poor food shouldn't be an apology, but a boast.

I wish I could say that it was me who coined that phrase but I'd be lying.  It was found in the words of John Baxter who writes for Food and Wine magazine and I have to say I totally agree with him.

The article outlines his younger years growing up in Australia and the foods that were prepared not only by his family but those in which he found on his travels to Europe.  My history isn't nearly as grandiose as his but there are similarities in the points that were made.  One particular point being that some of the best meals a person has had may have come from tougher times with the simplest ingredients.

Just look at some of the dishes of our grand-parent's time.  On the Polish side of my family there have been many meals where I can recall Czarnina being served.  As repulsive as I thought it was, my relatives and many others like them truly enjoyed it.  There were casseroles and stews that contained absolutely every piece of the animal that you either shot or brought back from the butcher.  Nothing made it to the floor, it was all in the pot.  Anyone who has relatives who lived through that era and are still alive today will tell you that things were tough for a lot of people back then.  Jobs were scarce, money was tight, and families were large.  If you were going to survive you made sure that nothing went to waste.

By no stretch of the imagination was I raised in hard times.  Both my father and mother worked to provide my sister and I with everything that we could need.  Albeit my sister still believes that I was their favorite and that she should have gotten the braces on her teeth, that in itself is a whole other story.  But even though we were a comfortable middle class family who could afford a nice meal or two here and there we had our share of poor meals growing up.  These were contributed more to time constraints than to any financial hardship.

Meals that consisted of rice and sauce, wieners and potatoes, and ground beef buttered on bread and cooked in a toaster oven.  These were some of the staples of my diet when I was growing up.  We occasionally mixed it up with take-out from several different establishments but when it came time to cook this rotation was a common one in our home.

After all, this wasn't the Cleaver residence.  June didn't stay at home and cook while Ward brought home the paycheck.  With both parents as bread winners there were very few times, if any, where a meal was on the table when we would get home.  Dinner was usually discussed moments before the stove was turned on, and the finished product was determined by what left overs were in the fridge and just how ambitious you were to cook after a hard days work.  Aside from the reluctance to waste anything, I'm thinking situations like these are what must have introduced the world to Shepherd's Pie.

So here I am 30 years later and I'm the appointed chef of the household.  My wife cooks, just not a lot.  And in her defense I'd say that if roles were reversed and she showed as much enthusiasm to spend way too much time cooking as fancy of a feast every night for me, then I certainly wouldn't cook either.  I don't know if it's because of my childhood deprivations that I do this or that I bore too easily and want to try different things.  Either way, I feel I have to go over the top every time I cook.  It doesn't matter if I get home from work at seven-o-clock, an eight course meal is always on my mind.

Honestly though, who has the time to do it?  In our dual income little world we would be sitting down to eat at nine-thirty if leg of lamb and creme brulee were on the menu.  You just can't carve out enough hours in the day to prepare meals like that.  When time is at a premium, we just try not to make dinner from a box.  This I can live with.

So there is something to be said for poor food, comfort food, or whatever it is that you may call it.  No, I'm not talking about a gallon of Haagen-Dazs chocolate peanut butter ice cream.  I'm talking about stuffed green peppers, tater-tot casserole, and yes grilled ground beef slathered on sandwich bread.  If not just for the simplicity in preparing them; it's good stuff that hits the spot, made from things that most people already have in the pantry.  Cooking shouldn't always be a marathon.  Sometimes the best meals are only a few minutes away.

Man I can smell mom's kitchen already.