Death And Taxes
You know that saying “nothing is certain except death and taxes”? I think I might change it to “nothing is certain except Hispanic and religious radio stations.” Did you ever notice that? That you can be driving in a wasteland of sorts with no cell coverage from any carrier yet you can find one or seventeen Hispanic and/or religious radio stations coming in loud and clear?
I have a feeling if I were stranded on Antarctica with two radios, I would be able to listen about the Wrath of God with mariachi music in the background.
I have always had a long commute (save for two short stints in 2001 and 2008). The craziest of commutes was about 45 minutes through a mountain road that wore down the tread in nearly new tires in just 25,000 miles. Alternate routes home were an additional 30-45 minutes, so, it was the best option if I wanted to not live my life in my car.
We were living in the First Place Gold Medal Winner of Real Estate Implosion (i.e. Inland Empire). I still remember that when we were in escrow for that house in 2004; I had to go to the inspection on my lunch break and had yet to drive the mountain route (we had taken the freeway from points north during the house hunt).
Holy White-Knuckled Ride, Batman. What the hell did I get myself into? I voluntarily signed up (or rather, took out 400K of mortgage debt) to do a twice-a-day Dance with Death involving driving 55 mph (to keep up with traffic that rides your ass if you don’t and turn offs are sporadic), around hairpin turns, some places without guardrails, some points with 1000+ foot cliffs. And in the dark from November through March. I was freaking out some (I ended up getting use to it well enough since I am here writing this, alive).
Anyway, this two-lane road is in the middle of nowhere (well, in the middle of the Cleveland National Forest). It goes up to 2600 feet and curly-cues back down to about 1300 feet. When there is an accident that blocks the road, you are stuck. Like turn off your engine and get the blanket out of the back to keep warm while you wait. There is no cell service for sizeable stretches. Not even Verizon could hear me now. Hit the scan button for radio stations there was only Hispanic and Christian radio stations coming in clearly. Therefore, I declare a new phrase “Nothing is certain except Hispanic and Christian radio stations.”
I ran 10 miles yesterday and at mile 6 I had a Seth Myers moment asking myself “Really?” as I stopped to take a 30 second walk break. I don’t know, maybe that full bottle of prosecco the day before had something to do with it. But it hit me out of nowhere, the need to just walk. I preemptively ate another clif blok, drank more diluted Gatorade, and had a full on debate with myself about how it was really not a good idea to cut the run down (again) to 8 (after I had planned 12 and reasoned 10 was good enough before I started). I somehow managed to salvage the run and finished up two damn hills with an average pace of 8:56. Splits were all over the place, but, hey, I got ‘er done.