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Volume 5, Issue #10 - November 2012

An Adrenalin Junkie’s Southern Oregon Smackdown Part II: Sandboarding versus Helicopter Rides versus Dune Buggy Riding

By Roy Stevenson
ITWPA Member
Photographs by Linda Popovich

This, the second of my two-part series on an adrenalin junkie’s tour of Southern Oregon, offers up three exciting adventures: sandboarding on towering coastal sand dunes, a thrilling helicopter ride, and yet another terrifying dune buggy ride. Which one of these rides do you think released the most adrenalin into my system in the shortest time?

Sandboarding on the Oregon Dunes

Lon Beale (a.k.a. Dr. Dune) has parlayed his love of surfing down sand dunes into a business and is gaining dozens of converts every day. He practically invented the sport, starting in 1972 when he rode a converted water ski down the hills of the Mohave Desert. And he’s never looked back.

Before we leave the storefront office to try sandboarding, Lon gives us the executive summary of the sport and shows us bottles of sand from deserts around the world where he’s plied his trade. I’m not kidding: he shows us sand collected in Gatorade bottles from Mersa Matruh and Siwah in Egypt, and a large shelf holding sand bottles from dozens of other exotic deserts around the world.

Lon shows us the sand boards he designed, similar to skateboards in size, but like a wide-hipped hourglass in shape, with two Velcro ankle grips spaced along the board.

Next, one of Lon’s young acolytes takes us to a tall dune a few minutes’ drive from Lon’s Sand Master Park Headquarters in Florence to show us the ropes of this extreme sport. Our young coach, a sous chef at a local restaurant during the daytime, shows us how to wax the sand boards for maximum smoothness and to facilitate an exciting ride.

“Sandboarding is like a cross between surfing and snowboarding,” he tells us, adding that good riders can reach 55 mph on a dune with the right (well-worn) sand and a steep slope. Hmm... it’s all starting to sound very athletic to me.

Even on today’s damp sand he careens down the 20-meter dune, but soon grinds to a halt and wipes out when the board refuses to go any further. “Keep most of your weight on your back foot, and center your feet on the board. Flex your knees and hips,” he tells us.

Pathetically, our small group chickens out, using our ages, our lack of surfing ability, our arthritic hips, and the damp sand as excuses. Clearly this is a skill that will take some practice to master, and we figure we’ll be worn down to nubs from falling on the sand before we become proficient. But don’t let our pitiful attempts stop you from trying this invigorating sport -- just make sure you surf the dunes on a mild, dry day when the sand is warm!

My sandboarding adrenalin score = 0.5

Helicopter Ride with ApexHeli

Whether you want to go Sasquatch hunting or see the rugged and scenic Oregon Coast from up on high, ApexHeli is happy to take you there. After a brief intro about the company and the helicopter, our pilot (with 3,000 hours of experience -- I thought it was important to ask him this) pushes the remarkably light chopper out of the hangar.

He does a preflight walk around, presumably to ensure that no important bits have dropped off, and then shows us how to squeeze inside the small cockpit. We’re hooked up to the intercom with headphones, and then we’re off.

I haven’t been up in a chopper before, and don’t know what to expect, so I’m feeling apprehensive and trying to remember if my life insurance is paid up. I thought it might be bumpy and that we’d be thrown around like a feather in the wind. But I was so wrong!

We ascend quickly, gently, and remarkably smoothly. And it’s quiet inside the cockpit. Soon we’re over a wide expanse of white dunes, interspersed with clumps of scraggly scrub, swampland, and weathered, gray, sandblasted trees. It’s a Tolkien landscape, and I expect to see dwarfs and hobbits cavorting around. Miles of green Douglas Firs recede into the distance. Our pilot tells us that some customers once asked if they could look for Sasquatch in the forest, and he was happy to oblige. No sightings, though!

We cruise up the coastline, watching the gray sky in the distance and the foamy waves churning into the shore from the gray-green sea. We fly over Florence’s houses and coastal holiday homes and head back over the town at 85 mph. This chopper can move! All too soon we touch down at the same airport we left from (much to my relief).

My helicopter adrenalin score = 2.5

Another Dune Buggy Ride! (But even more terrifying!)

We tour the Oregon Dunes National Recreation area with another dune buggy ride company, Sand Dunes Frontier. This ride was even more terrifying than the previous year. Perhaps the dunes were larger, or our guide/driver pushed the buggy faster, or I’d developed a phobia about dune buggy riding, but this ride rocked my world.

I had a white-knuckle grip for the whole ride... except for the first few minutes when we puttered gently along a forest track to come to the top of a dune with miles of sand, trees, and small lakes spreading out in front of us. Lulled into a false sense of security, I’m thinking, “How beautiful.” Our guide pauses the buggy to a gentle idle. With a dramatic sweep of his arm he says, “Welcome to my office” and then kicks the accelerator, blasting us off into the sandy netherworld.

Wikipedia says that we can only handle a g-force of 5 before losing consciousness, so we must have been just shy of that figure because I remember every second of the ensuing ride. We went along the sheer sides of sand dunes in wide arcs and even stopped, almost vertically on our side, watching the sand give way beneath our wheels, to accelerate away just when I thought all was lost.

We performed bone-jarring downhill figure eights, skirting the edge of a small lake that I was absolutely convinced we would end up submerged in. We screamed (literally and figuratively) up sand dunes not knowing whether we would have a sheer drop or a long sand plateau ahead of us. (Our driver obviously knew or he wouldn’t have done this -- I think.)

I felt great fear on those Oregon dunes -- far more than on my wedding day or when I encountered a bear while out on a training run 20 years ago. My blood was drenched in fight-or-flight hormones. Upon our return we talked hysterically and it took hours for us to calm down. That photo of us all smiling in the buggy with thumbs up is all for show.

My adrenalin score = 9.5 (on a 10.0 scale)

Sandboarding at Sand Master Park
www.sandmasterpark.com
info@sandboard.com
5351 Hwy. 101
Florence, OR 97439
(541) 997-6006

ApexHeli
www.apexheli.com 
bdevries@apexheli.com
2001 Airport Way
Florence, OR 97439
(541) 997-3270

Sand Dunes Frontier
www.sanddunesfrontier.com
83960 Highway 101 S.
Florence, OR 97439
(541) 997-3544 – Office
(503) 545-6026


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360: Heavenly Dining in a Romantic Location

By Des Townshend


The best time to arrive at the CN Tower’s revolving restaurant in the heart of Toronto is an hour before the sun goes down, as it takes 72 minutes to make one complete revolution. That way, you will catch a daytime view of the cityscape, and by the time you reach your dessert course you will experience the sun disappearing below the horizon as city lights wake up the vibrant cafes, nightclubs, and theaters far below.   

Dining in the CN Tower restaurant -- simply called 360 -- with its 12 awards of excellence is one of the “must do’s” in Canada’s largest city, especially if there is someone special in your life whom you truly want to impress. I promise she (or he) will not be disappointed!

The glass-enclosed elevator on the outside of the tower will give you a view of what is in store. Once you are seated at your pre-booked table, relax and take in the breathtaking view. On the south side you are looking down at Toronto Island in Lake Ontario, while on the other three sides is the bustling city with its colorful mosaic of ethnicities. Over 145 languages are spoken in the school system, as immigrants settle from every corner of the world.

Ranked as one of the best restaurants in the city and having received the Distinguished Restaurants of North America (DiRoNA) award every year since 1997, 360 has a cleverly thought out menu to meet the appetites of all diners. For dinner you have a choice of two fixed prices offering great value (three courses for $55 or four courses for $68), or you can choose from the extensive a la carte menu. The menu is updated twice a year, and certain prices will vary depending on the season. 

My friend and I settled into our window table anticipating a pleasant evening. It was her first visit to Toronto, and I was anxious to impress her. Perhaps I was influenced by a reader’s poll in Where magazine giving it the rating “most romantic restaurant.”

I started with butternut squash soup seasoned with maple glazed walnuts and rosemary that was poured at the table into a warm bowl, while my friend selected the baby leaf Caesar salad. Bon appetite!

We both requested the delicately orange dusted smoked Atlantic salmon for our entrée. The menu also featured three different ways of preparing pork. As with many quality North American restaurants the menu includes a choice of beef, seafood, and lamb or pork, along with appropriate vegetables and sauces. All are presented with flair by the friendly servers who are genuinely interested in making your evening an experience to remember.

Hoping to impress my out-of-town guest with a Canadian wine, I ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir from the Niagara wine district of Ontario. Joel Fleischman of Vanity Fair describes Pinot Noir as “the most romantic of wines, with so voluptuous a perfume, so sweet an edge, and so powerful a punch that, like falling in love, they make the blood run hot and the soul wax embarrassingly poetic.” For the less poetic among us try calling it “sex in a glass”!

Guests are invited to make their wine selections using an iPad containing the restaurant’s wine list of over 550 labels from the “World’s Highest Wine Cellar.” Easy to use by wine lovers, the iPad allows you to select your wine by region, by type, by vintage, by name, or by price. Every year since 1999, Wine Spectator magazine has given 360 an Award of Excellence.

We relaxed back in our chairs after our entrée course, quite satisfied until we saw what was delivered to our neighbors’ table. Neither of us could resist the decadent Dark Chocolate Tower dessert, created to meet the wildest dreams of chocolate lovers.

Peter George, who leads the culinary team at 360, grew up on a farm in Ontario where he learned the value of fresh, locally grown produce, and he continues this tradition at his restaurant. George oversees a garden on CN Tower grounds that produces over two dozen varieties of herbs, edible flowers, and an assortment of vegetables, which he harvests to supplement his kitchen.

After coffee it was time for us to turn our attention to the panoramic view of the sun setting as we had just about completed a single revolution of the Tower. We walked outside, high above the city on the protected deck, to a howling but fresh summer wind in our faces, and decided not to take in the exposed EdgeWalk that requires a harness for more daring folk who make their way over the yawning gap to the ground below.

For your best experience of this high restaurant I suggest you check the weather before arriving, to avoid viewing disappointment from low cloud coverage.

Although I have eaten at this Canadian icon on several occasions, I am convinced that every time it is better than the last -- and more importantly, my friend commented: “It was a truly wonderful experience, never to be forgotten!” It is the most interesting site in the city of Toronto and well worth the dining experience.

Booking in advance is highly recommended, as this allows you to take the restaurant elevator (thereby avoiding a long lineup of sightseers who are not going to the restaurant) and ensures you have a table.

Caution: Do not place valuables on the ledge beside the table, as your table is part of the revolving restaurant, and you may never see them again.

www.cntower.com
For reservations call (416) 362-5411

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The Path to the Matterhorn

By S. Nadja Zajdman
 
We are heading into the Alps. A sea of whitecaps above a thousand dark valleys sets the theme for our ride through the Valais. A swift, silent train on electrified tracks leaves Geneva in the early afternoon, whisking us away into the stunning landscape. FLASH! Velvet meadows in pastoral valleys. FLASH! Rustic villages of clustered chalets. FLASH! Church spires rise in a rural idyll. FLASH! Hamlets cling to rocky crags. The contrasts continue, and the earth tones turn to blue: blue skies, blue lakes, blue glaciers, blue Alps. Blue on blue. A rhapsody in blue. On and on through the kaleidoscopic landscape.

The names change from French to German now. The Valais becomes the canton of Wallis, and we are rapidly approaching the junction at Visp. We transfer to the line that climbs to Zermatt. It is a railway marvel braving the rushing torrents and deep, surging gorges, chugging up and up through the perilous mountain passes. Higher and higher our red train climbs, until off in the distance we see -- is it? can it be? -- the famous, infamous Matterhorn. Magnetic, magnificent, its legends and dramas are etched ominously into its sides. Hundreds have perished scaling its ridges; hundreds have faltered in the zigzags of its paths.

There is a Canadian couple behind me. The man shields his eyes, which moves his wife to torment him.  

“Look down, Adam! Look down!”

“I can’t! I can’t!”

“But you’re missing everything, sweetheart.”

“I’m warning you, Rena, leave me alone!”

Our party arrives at the bahnhoff and we walk to our hotel. Cars are banned in Heidi-Land. We have dinner in the hotel restaurant. Outside the large picture windows, a sinking apricot-colored sun turns the mountains deep purple.
 
Mimicking the locals, we order raclette. Raclette is a Valaisan specialty, a half-cake of hard cheese slowly exposed to an open fire. It heats, bubbles, and softens, and is scraped directly onto a dish and presented with potatoes in their jackets, onions in their skins, and gherkins, which is British for pickles.

After dinner, a band strikes up a tune in the area cleared for dancing. The musicians yodel in time to the music -- they really do yodel. Construction workers are drinking at the bar; they have been toiling all spring, preparing for winter’s influx of skiers. It is Sunday, and they’re here to unwind. A few will venture across the room, asking women guests to join them in spirited polkas.

At noon the next day we take a cogwheel rail to the belvedere at Gornergrat. We step out onto the Alpine ledge, scanning the view. It is breathtaking. A polar panorama spreads out before us, a vast vista of eternal snow. Not only has there been a change in scenery, but we have transcended seasons, too! Our party enters an aerial cable cabin, which is going to take us higher still. In ski season we would have to wait hours to get aboard, but on this glittering June day we have it all to ourselves.

One of our party jokes with the German-speaking guide. I stick my head out an opening and a blast of thin mountain air whips me in the face. We are suspended in the heavens, hovering over glacial ice fields. Our cabin inches its way along the cable. We are tantalizingly close to the Matterhorn -- close enough to see its jagged cone ringed by a frozen cloud. We stop and exit. We take in, breathe in, and re-enter for the descent to Gornergrat. Our party lingers on the belvedere as long as we dare and takes the last, late afternoon train back.

The train’s passengers are natives now, children and mothers and mountaineers in lederhosen. One of them sits with me, excitedly pointing out a mountain goat. The mountaineer is expressive and expansive. His crimson cheeks glow and his blueberry-hued eyes twinkle. He wishes he could communicate with me; the feeling is mutual. We arrive at Zermatt and are about to part forever. He is thinking hard and finally, with great effort and supreme courage he slowly, meticulously iterates, “I vish a goot day to you!” And I vish a very, very goot day to you, too, lovely mountain man!

Zermatt is a fairytale town nestled in a deep valley. Horses tethered to sleighs wait patiently on its cobblestoned streets. Goats graze in emerald pastures. The pastures are studded with dandelions. The chalets and barns are sunburnt. Yet within this fairytale town come-to-life there is a comprehensive emergency service, five doctors, one dentist, and four pharmacies. There are three supermarkets, specialty food stores, shoe shops, souvenir shops, clothing boutiques, and jewellers. Besides the hotels, there are over thirteen thousand guest rooms. Most prominently, there are sports shops stocked with ski, snowboard, mountain bike, and climbing equipment available for sale or for rental.
 
This enchanted town runs like a Swiss clock. Why wouldn’t it? This is Switzerland.

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Getting Around Kathmandu Cheaply

By Barbara Law

Taxi from airport: 700 rupees (approximately US$13). Taxi to Boudhanath: 350 rupees. It all adds up and starts to eat into your travel budget. Why not take the local transportation? If you’re adventurous enough to try tuk-tuks and micros, they’re easy, fun, and cheap. Once you get the hang of it your wallet will thank you.

Here’s how:

Learn numbers. Devanagari is more straightforward than it looks. The number 14 (Patan Durbar, Monkey Temple, Jawalakhel Zoo) looks like a 98, 5 (U.S. Embassy, Lazimpat) like a Y with a curl. A 2 (Boudhanath) is a 2.

Orient yourself. Kathmandu is laid out in a reasonably uncomplicated way. Ratna Park, in the center of the city, is the hub from which most tuk-tuks and micros depart. Sundhara, on the park’s west perimeter, has signs posted with numbers and destinations. Work out on your map where you want to go.
 
Ask. Nepalis are nice. They’ll steer you in the right direction.

Flag the vehicle down anywhere along the road. It’ll stop. Tell the driver or conductor where you want to go.
 
Settle in for the duration. If you’re in a hurry, tuk-tuks are not your preferred choice. They whine up and down the street at the speed of an average trot.
 
Watch for your stop. Bang on the ceiling when you want to get out.

Pay. Reach in the front window and hand the driver your money. If you’re not sure, give a larger bill. Drivers don’t cheat.
 
Repeat.

Even if you get on the wrong bus and end up somewhere you didn’t plan on, you’ve gotten a more intimate view of this fascinating city than you would from the back of a speeding cab.

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As the Largest Victorian Neighborhood in the Nation, the South’s Old Louisville Reveals a Medley of Architectural Wonders

By Nicole D. Troxell

For a split second you may wonder if you've stepped back in time when ambling through the heart of historic Old Louisville in Louisville, Kentucky. Massive Victorian mansions flood the 48 city blocks, obscuring your view of anything but grand estates. Majestic leafy arches frame tree-lined streets, eclipsing the sky and sheltering passersby. The splendor of this neighborhood lures tourists from far ends of the country to see the exciting potpourri of architectural styles and greenery.

You’ll find Kentucky recognized in many travel magazines for its homegrown bourbon and Kentucky Derby. But the lesser known Old Louisville is worth seeing for its awe-inspiring appeal. Italianate, Romanesque, and American Craftsman buildings wed a mélange of Renaissance and Queen Anne designs. But the prevailing style is Victorian Gothic. In fact, Old Louisville boasts the largest district of Victorian houses in the nation. A tour of the neighborhood reveals magnolia, dogwood, and oak trees against facades of stained glass windows, turrets, gables, and red sandstone.

Listed on the National Register of Historic Places is the St. James-Belgravia District, the neighborhood’s zenith of Victorian elegance. Architecture aficionados will discover Venetian and Colonial beauty intermingling with Chateauesque and Beaux-Arts charm. Take a stroll to the middle of St. James to catch sight of the court’s fountain, the pride and joy of the entire neighborhood. Or book a tour inside the gargoyle-adorned Conrad-Caldwell house to view the Richardsonian-style cherry, maple, and oak woodwork.

At the opposite end of the Conrad-Caldwell house is the stunning Pink Palace. A former gambling and gentleman's club, today it attracts visitors for the that give it its lordly spires castle-like ambiance. Gazing up the cerise mansion, you can almost picture Rapunzel letting down her hair.

After reaching the Pink Palace, you stumble upon the nearly hidden Belgravia Court, named for its London, England ancestor. What’s truly unique about the court is its flower-dotted walkway. The pedestrian-only street gives Belgravia a private, tranquil feel. Tourists will be surprised by the stillness of this urban paradise where neighborhood cats laze sleepily about, occasionally approaching strangers for companionship. This architectural marvel is the stuff of storybooks with its arched stairways, heavily ornamented doors, and balconies reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet.

Whether you’re a garden lover or a history buff or you just welcome places off the beaten path, Old Louisville is sure to delight your senses. You can stop by Central Park during summer evenings to sip wine and watch Shakespeare in the Park plays (502-637-4933) or make a trip to the Filson Historical Society (502-635-5083) to learn more about the neighborhood. Be sure to check out the Old Louisville website (http://www.oldlouisville.org/) for information on events, tours, and festivals like the Annual Garvin Gate Blues Festival, the Victorian Ghost Walk, and the Hidden Treasures Garden Tour.

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