Analyzing Brian's driving habits

I've had four pretty distinct periods in my life, all based upon where I was living at the time: the Delaware years, the Texas years, the Juneau years, and, now, the Rez year. Each of these four places contributed in its own way to who I am today. I'll spare you the self-psychoanalysis; however, I am able to graphically present the last nine and a half years of my life as a function of my driving habits:

Delaware and Texas meld together in the graph (I moved in May 2001), but I was in the car for different reasons. My first job out of college had me driving to Jersey 53 miles each way, everyday, for close to a year. It wasn't so bad at the time. Howard Stern accompanied me northbound on 295 every morning. When I go back east to see family and subsequently visit friends across the river, I'm amazed I commuted that distance as long as I did. It's really far.

The next two years saw me living in the Metroplex. My intracity commute was a mere three miles one way, but my road trips took me... well... all over the Lower 48: California to Florida, Texas to North Dakota.

And then I moved to Juneau. Outside of one drive from Haines to Fairbanks, Anchorage, and Seward (2,168 miles, five days), my car was confined to the state capital's limited road system. I did rent a car during trips to southern California, Sacramento, and New Orleans; those trips would have barely registered on the graph though. Overall, I put about the same number of miles on my car in less than a year commuting to and from Jersey as I did in five and a half years in Juneau combined.

And now I live in South Dakota. I still like my road trips, but my tolerance for the all-day drive has dropped dramatically. My only long drives thus far have taken me to relatively nearby Denver, Lincoln, and Sioux City. But it was those now-familiar trips to Rapid and Sioux Falls (and Valentine!) that bumped my mileage up to around 20,000 in my first year back in the Lower 48.

A couple quick notes about the data... I didn't exactly re-create almost a decade's worth of driving just for a simple blog post (although I would have). Just for kicks, I started a spreadsheet toward the end of my time in Juneau using the mileage noted each time I had the oil changed or had some other service performed on my car.

The miles driven during specific trips, on the other hand, are kept in a notebook I update each time I return home from an extended drive. My around-the-country jaunt during Spring Break 2000 isn't reflected in the graph since my records only go back to the following 2000 (damn it!). But I can tell you I drove 6,721 miles in 10 days.

Just under the wire

Before midnight strikes, I wanted to note today is my one-year anniversary as a Mission resident. It was this day last year I arrived back in town after PSO, and then promptly headed to Winner to obtain my new driver's license and plates for the car.

It's been a good day of reflection. I'll have more to say later; however, I need to try to get some sleep after watching "Paranormal Activity" down in Valentine this evening.

moccasin telegraph

definition: the swift transmittal of vital information over vast distances via word of mouth in Indian Country, in particular the Rosebud Reservation

usage:

"Did you see all those cop cars headed east on 18 last night? I wonder what happened..."

"Patience, kola. The moccasin telegraph will bring us word before the lunch hour."

Uncle Ben is past his prime

I've eaten more expired food here in Mission over the past year than in my 30 years of living elsewhere combined. And that's okay. It hasn't killed me. But I just returned from the grocery store. I strolled down the rice aisle, looking to diversify my dinners, only to find every package of the brand I wanted had expired in 2008. I guess it will be spaghetti again tonight after all.

This isn't the first time I've encountered this issue at this particular grocery store. This summer, I thought it was odd the Halloween M&Ms were already out. That didn't seem so strange though when I saw the Christmas M&Ms a bit further down the shelf.

The one thing I most definitely won't touch is expired milk, but I've already mentioned that.

Running with a Kenyan

This morning's New York Marathon got me to thinking about one of my favorite running memories.

Two Aprils ago, I spent a couple weeks in Biloxi and New Orleans volunteering for Habitat for Humanity to celebrate my 30th birthday. Besides the good times I had on that trip - the Habitat work, meeting a lot of cool people, flying down to Florida to see my sister, meeting up with friends from Texas in Shreveport - it's what initially got my mind thinking about applying for a VISTA assignment. And now, long story short, I'm on the Rosebud.

Like many trips I took while living in Juneau, I searched for races in the area while down in the Lower 48. For me, running, whether in a race or just for the sake of running itself, is a good way to explore new territory. I found the Gulf Coast Classic, a 10K at the Naval Construction Battalion Center in Gulfport.

The race was supposed to start at 8:00 a.m.; however, it was delayed because the elite runners had yet to arrive. At the time, I didn't know what "elite" meant exactly. After about 10 minutes, the director decided not to wait any longer, and the race began.

A slew of runners started really fast, but since I usually take awhile to get into my rhythm, I just let them go. Gradually though, I picked off runners one by one, which is always a good feeling.

Even with the humidity, I felt great throughout the race, although I was sweating like a pig. If you've ever seen me after a race, you know I'm quite the sweater as it is. It's not uncommon to find salty, dried sweat from above my eyebrows down to my temples. Throw in my god-awful stench, and I'm a hot mess. Add some humidity, and my ripeness increases exponentially.

About halfway through, two of the elite runners passed me - Kenyans! Evidently, they train in Mobile and decided to stop over for the race. They had issues getting to the starting line because they weren't allowed past security at the base's front gate.

I always keep a little extra energy in reserve for the final push to the finish line. As I was about to kick my pace up a notch over the last quarter mile, the third Kenyan passed me. He had a similar plan and was flying. Well, I decided to try to keep up with him. And although I wasn't able to get back in front of him, I did my best to keep up. The fact that his time was already far superior to mine because he started about nine minutes late didn't matter one bit.

Even though the sprint lasted no more than a minute, it turned out to be one of my greatest running highlights. How often can one say they sprinted with a Kenyan?

After crossing the finish line just behind Kenyan #3, I headed over to the board with the finishers' times. I ended up with a time of 45:16 - not my best, for sure. But I blame the soupy air. I looked for runners in my age group to see if I had placed. I saw at least three folks with better times, which meant no trophy for me. I stuck around for the award ceremony anyway.

Not surprisingly, the three Kenyans picked up the top three spots, and then the age group winners were announced. When it came time for the third place male in the 30-34 category (my new age group as of a week and a half prior), the director announced, "Brian Largent from Alabama." I thought to myself, "Hmmm... I think that might be me." I headed over to check out the name on his piece of paper and it was indeed me. Don't ask me how he got Alabama from Alaska. But I got a trophy after all. And a pretty good story.