March of Boredom and Pub Mustard

Sunday was yet another walk day. No heroic 16 miler. We walked 12. What the walk lacked in distance it made up for in mind-numbing boredom. The husband of one of our walking team suggested we deal with the monotony of the worst of the course, as well the biggest hill of the course to psycologically prepare us. I'm of mixed opinion on this. Actually, I was happy to experience the largest hill of the marathon, which of course helpfully comes at mile frickin' 17!! I'm still mixed as to whether experiencing the crappy part of the course that it will be helpful when I'm actually doing the marathon, or just cause a bout of swearing. My first take on it was "Wow, this will really suck."

We started out at Montgomery Park in NW Portland, and wound down to the St. Helens Hwy. headed for the St. John's bridge. The St. Helen's Hwy. is a busy highway where big trucks blow by you. It is a down-at-the-heels industrial district on one side of the road and a train yard with industrial silos on the other side. There are no nice trees, no shade, no pretty buildings, and lots of trash on the roadside. The buildings are old and junky. Some are out of business and have boarded up windows. And stickerbushes have pretty much taken over. There was a little less trash on the road thanks to one industrious scruffy looking homeless guy we encountered, the numerous beer cans he collected looked like he would net about 20 or 25 bucks. He was riding past us on a bike and had his bags of cans precariously balanced on his head (!) and strapped to his backpack. His system was truly a feat of engineering. Industrious homeless guy was sadly the most interesting sight of the day.

We couldn't even talk really since the trucks and trains made so much noise, and we had to walk single file for much of the time. For the first half of the walk the St. John's Bridge taunts you from a distance. You can see the green spires of the bridge rise in the distance, but no matter how long you walked on the exhaust choked, crappy highway the bridge never seemed to get closer. Eventually, for your mental sanity, you must stop looking at the bridge in the distance and trying in vain to calculate the distance. I had to turn my attention once more toward the road. I set up my own rewards system. I set my sights on the delapidated scrap metal business several yards ahead, once I reached it I would take a few swigs of my nice cold water. In reaching the boarded up greasy spoon restaurant I treated myself to a few slices of apple I had in my pack. I was just enjoying more nice cold water that I rewarded myself with by reaching the grossly leatherized pile of road kill, when I looked up and we had reached the base of the bridge. Thus started the hill, which really wasn't so bad. I reserved the ultimate reward of two Fig Newtons once I reached the top. We headed back down on to the highway and then cut over to an almost equally mundane part of the marathon on Front Avenue. I was told by my walk mates that have done the marathon is that this is where you get Gummy Bears. Its funny how food on these walks become a point of obsession. I'm sure during the marathon I will treasure every gooey bite of the hapless bears.

Saturday was much more leisurely. My husband is rowing for a dragon boat team and had a race. I just went and cheered him on and ate a hot dog and some chicken, hung out at the little fair on the waterfront. Allison and I had a nice time and she even got to row out on the boat. Each member of the team picks a nickname. My husband picked "Wotan"- Why? Well, Wotan is the drummer of a rockin' band called "Pub Mustard." Before you wrack your brain trying to figure out if Pub Mustard is one of those one-hit-wonders of the '80s or something, or look for them in the CD bin at your music store, let me tell you about Pub Mustard.

Back when, my husband and his room-mate went out to clubs and were really into the local music scene. However, they apparently got tired of the jaded, know-it-all experts when they would talk to about local bands. Thus, the concept of Pub Mustard was born. They would toss in a reference to the awesome band Pub Mustard and their rockin' drummer, Wotan. I don't recall how many people took the bait and heartily agreed with how awesome Pub Mustard was...or if he and his room-mate ever followed through with the idea stapling up Pub Mustard posters around to add credence to the hype. Sadly, Pub Mustard and their exceptional drummer, Wotan, existed only in the imaginations (possibly aided in creation by alcohol?) of my husband and his former room-mate.

I say, don't let Pub Mustard die. The next time some jerk is holding forth on all they know about music and bands, feel free to interject-- "Yeah, they sound like Pub Mustard in the glory days (Portland in the mid-90s) You know, their drummer, Wotan, had mad skills like John Bonham."