Not Beating the Bridge

B and I ran the 32nd annual Nordstrom Beat the Bridge road race last Sunday.  It started at 8:30 am Sunday morning, and sometime before dusk we powered through the finish line.

Truth:  we didn't "beat the bridge."  First two miles of the 5.2 total you have to maintain under a ten minute mile pace to arrive at the University Bridge before it draws up.  We missed it by a hair.  B was mildly dissapointed but we had some impromptu chat with her compatriates at Nordstrom similarly tardy on that fine Sunday morning all sweaty and huffing in the U-District.  Great fun!

Official times:
Me: 1:14:15
B:    1:14:15


Here's where me and B got stuck:

When they lowered the drawbridge we tore off over the bridge, on the left side, ... into oncoming traffic. Good times.

I must say, though, I'm still a little peeved that we had to pay extra for a cheesy look-at-me-I-did-it T-shirt; we didn't cough up the extra cash, but we did get these nifty tote bags:

All in all, it was a grand Sunday morning, with thousands of happy Seattle-ites getting their fitness on in the Emerald.

Lake Union Selfie

Me and the B in full selfie mode, down by the venerable yet somewhat perplexing Center for Wooden Boats on Lake Union.  B is smiling because she loves Seattle so much.

Onward! To MOHAI!

The Museum of History and Industry (MOHAI) is located in the former Naval Reserve Training Center, a massive white structure on the shores of South Lake Union, designed in the 1930s by architect B. Marcus Priteca, who also designed the Paramount, and a bunch of other noteworthy buildings in Seattle.

The MOHAI experience is an interactive museum, where you end up hammering on something in a coal mine exhibit, then sawing through something else in a sawmill exhibit.  You begin with a lecture about how the original settlers were NOT-- read NOT! -- Europeans on their fancy boats, but rather Chief Seattle and the Pacific Northwest Native Americans.  Then you're on the Oregon Trail, and when you push a button, an old pioneer sounding voice explains how the way was hard, but the Lord saw them through.  This kind of thing.  Later you're in a brothel -- wait that wasn't in the museum -- and after a spell you're watching old cars honk at each other in the 1930s, as the Aurora Bridge was going up.  It's quite a ride.

This is all upstairs.  Downstairs?  I dunno.  Me and the B showed up later and made it to about the 1950s.  (We plan to return, so stay tuned.)

Here's me and the B striking an expeditionary pose in front of Mount Rainier.  B looks like I've kidnapped her and am using her as a prop for some cheesy documentary.  Behind me is a large print of Mt. Rainier. (This is in MOHAI, so it's not the actual volcano, in case there's any confusion.)

Oregon trail, at a distance that prevents actually reading it.  Score.

Full frontal of MOHAI:

Here's a shot of the MOHAI on South Lake Union:

So there you have it.  Enjoy!

Pike Place Market

Pike Place Market is a fantastic idea for me and the B, on an overcast Saturday afternoon in the Emerald.  It's a cornucopia of sites, sounds, and smells.  Cuisine from around the world.  Street vendors.  Seafood everywhere.  French bakeries and old-school butchers and homemade sauerkraut.  Seafood, everywhere.

Here's looking at you, Pike Place:

And here's the view as you walk in.  The folks under the sign are the blokes that catch the fish, in all those iconic movie shots:

Here's our man at Pike Place, on ice:

Our man at Pike.

Something weird happened with B here, and she took a shine to the Elephant Garlic.  They're big, B, yes. This is a classic photo of B, in her native environment, among the culinary exotica in the Market.  B later went on a full-scale hunt for some tangerines, then zeroed in on a smoothie at Pike Place Market Creamery. This Elephant Garlic photo here came on the tail end of our expedition, but you can see the passion with the B; the flame burning strong.

The fresh fish at the Market are large, and inviting.  Soooo Pacific Northwest.

Okay, enough joking around here.  Pike Place Market:  thumbs up or down?  Up, my dear reader, up, up, and up.  It's a Persian Bizarre type of feel with wonderful assortments of international cuisine, tourists, fresh Pacific Northwest seafood, fruits, and produce.  Throw in unexpected discoveries like Old Seattle Paperworks, with 1940s copies of Life magazine, news clippings, pinups, and other print collectibles, and you've got yourself an afternoon in the Emerald.

Beth's Cafe

Beth's Cafe is a fantastic idea for Me and the B, on a rainy Saturday afternoon in the Emerald.  Key thing about Beth's, located next to a dive bar on an eminently un-aesthetic stretch of Aurora (so, in other words, on Aurora), is its local fame for making 12 egg omelettes, served on a pizza dish, over a bed of all-you-can-eat hashbrowns.  Here's me and B on the twelver, roughly around the time we realized it was a bad idea:

(That's bacon in the omelette, incidentally.)

Truth is, Beth's makes a mean omelette, but it's a brutish dish best served to cure a specific ailment, like a hangover, or the onset of anorexia, say.  The wait staff is wonderful -- tattoos abound -- and the wait is moderate (we waited about ten or fifteen minutes).  During the day it's subdued with the usual assortment of college-looking kids and couples.  It might be a little edgy for families with small kids, but hey, they have crayons and paper to write on while you're waiting, and if you manage to make some decent art (or not), you can pin it on the wall.  At night the place is full of drunkards and party goers looking for some carbs to cure the blood sugar blues.  Survey says:  check it out.  Sure, me and B were moaning and belly aching around for the rest of the day, but that's a different story.