The Hawaiian lava flow & what if it hits Latrobe

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The Pahoans seem to be standing up in good order as one of the world’s most unusual natural disasters is about to befall their Hawaiian village.

They're about to be wiped out by a volcano!

One that could be outrun by a turtle with sore feet.

Have you been following this one? I’m fascinated.

The 1,500-degree lava in June emerged from a vent on the Kilauea volcano and has been moving at about 10 yards a day and headed straight for the town of about 1,000. If it goes along it’s projected path at that rate, it could cut the town in half sometime in June.

Run for your lives!

Or maybe form a Conga Line.

It’s like a condemned man being forced to walk what Stephen King once called “The Green Mile.” Only in this case it would be like the condemned man being forced to walk 350 Green Miles.

From news reports I’ve seen, many residents are mostly concerned about the inconvenience. The lava is likely to scissor a main road, which would add a three hours to get to and from the nearest Olive Garden.

This from Hawaiian News Now: “The lava flow crossed Appa Street, also known locally as Rubbish Dump Road, south of the Pahoa Transfer Station, which was not impacted at all.”

If I read that correctly, it sounds like if it shifts even a little bit, the only casualty would be the town dump, which would add glorious mythological wrinkles to the story of the pagan volcano gods charged with protecting paradise. And residents could instead of driving along Rubbish Dump Road could just pitch their garbage right onto Rubbish Dump Road, which could be renamed Nature’s Incinerator Road.

Of all the people I’ve seen interviewed by drama-craving reporters, my favorite was a guy who said, well, there’s nothing they can do so he was going to go grab a beer and burger and talk with his buddies about the football scores.

He’s right. This isn’t exactly the Brits during The Blitz.

I tried to think how my town would react if faced with a similar threat. Would there be panic? Would neighbor turn against neighbor?

Then I realized my hypothetical was ridiculous.

Arnold Palmer would never let anything bad happen to Latrobe.

Did you see Latrobe is now brewing the new Blonde Guinness? 

Forget Milwaukee. Guinness, Red Stripe, Iron City — all these iconic beers are brewed right here in Latrobe.

I can only suspect the famed Irish brewery thought they only way they could improve their product is if they began making beer with the same water Palmer uses to shower.

But let’s say Palmer was busy, that he was in Orlando once again cuddling with supermodel Kate Upton and understandably couldn’t be disturbed.

How would we react if a slow-moving lava flow threatened to cut us off from, say, Derry Borough? 

First of all, it would be a greater tragedy for Derry than it’d be for me. Derry has nothing I couldn’t do without. It would have been different 20 years ago when I used to frequent the Lakeside Inn, Derry’s charming Ma 'n' Pa strip club.

But let’s say Derry was Pittsburgh, a place I enjoy visiting on a weekly basis.

What would I do if a 20-yard wide 1,500-degree river of lava got between me and Primanti Bros.?

First of all, I’d take my ’07 Saturn to my mechanic and ask him to add a turbo charger and some industrial strength shock absorbers. Then I’d petition the town to build a ramp.

Then it’d be time for Leap the Lava!

It’d be an even bigger Latrobe tourism draw than the historical marker indicating the now-vacant lot where the very first banana split was constructed.

I was interested to read that one power company entombed the base of its utility poles with a cinder and cement mix that resists lava.

That’s incredible, although I doubt the man assigned to tend the pole next time a bird’s nest needs removed feels as cheerful about the advance.

I told a friend about it and he suggested they use the miracle material to construct a dam to save Pahoa.

His heart’s in the right place, but his logic is marred.

Because the earth is unlikely to ever run low on lava and even a grand structure the size of Hoover Dam would eventually fail and the result would be like the historically catastrophic Johnstown Flood, only with molten lava.

So I applaud the Hawaiians for the relaxed way they’re responding to the inevitable. 

You save what can be saved, help the survivors, and press on.

And, remember, you’re persevering in paradise.

I’ve never been, but we’re all aware of The Aloha State's many splendors.

Volcano’s are just part of the landscape.

It’s Hawaii.

Lava or leave it.

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Kate Upton in Latrobe! When a supermodel comes to town

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It was early morning last Thursday and I’d already said “Hey!” to three familiars at the local convenience mart before I’d even peeled my breakfast banana.

It promised to be a real heyday.

And so it was. Everywhere I went I saw someone I knew. I saw plumbers, postal workers, realtors, bankers, librarians, radio announcers, bread truck delivery drivers and four or five local bartenders.

They were uniformly smiling and friendly. 

That’s why I feel ashamed to admit I’d have chucked them all for a little face time with Kate Upton.

I found out later that day she was in Latrobe for a golf lesson with Arnold Palmer.

I guess she must already know how to blog.

Upton, 21, is the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue cover model for two consecutive years. She is a consensus choice as one of the world’s most beautiful women. 

So I’m chagrined I didn’t get a good long gawk at the babe.

The strange thing is I really don’t know why.

I guess I just wanted to see the elephant.

That’s an expression you don’t hear too much anymore. At one time in rural 19th century America the term “see the elephant” meant packing up the family and driving the wagon great distances to attend a traveling circus that featured an authentic pachyderm.

Anyone who’d seen the elephant would have a certain worldliness bestowed upon them.

I guess that’s what I’d have done if I’d have known Upton was drinking in the Marriott SpringHill Suites Thursday night, as she was indeed. One of my friends at the bar accused me of knowing and selfishly keeping the news to myself.

“Now, you know I’d never do a thing like that,” I lied.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m sorry,” he lied right back.

But would I have kept the news to myself? Probably.

Let’s examine for a moment what might have happened had I been tipped off that one of the world’s most desirable women was just down the street.

First of all, I would have flossed and brushed my teeth. You can’t make a good impression with a chunk of chicken lodged between the upper right lateral and cuspid teeth.

I’d have stripped off my “Denny’s Beer Barrel Pub” t-shirt promoting the world’s biggest hamburger, opting instead for a snazzy Tommy Bahama. I love Denny’s, but she doesn’t have the figure of a woman who looks like she’d be interested in hearing about the time I attempted to eat a 96-ounce meat monster.

Let’s assume, too, it’s later at night and she’s still at the bar. She’s alone.

Me, too!

Maybe I would have sat one discreet stool away from her. It’s likely I’d know the bartender there so I’d receive a warm greeting that would signal to her I’m cool.

We’d make brief eye contact and she might say, “Hi! I’m Kate.”

I’d say, “Hello, I’m Chris. And I know who you are. You’re one of the world’s most beautiful women. You’re in Latrobe to get a golf lesson from Arnold Palmer. He’s a friend of mine. In fact, he provided the gushy cover endorsement for my book, ‘Use All The Crayons! The Colorful Guide to Simple Human Happiness.’”

Maybe she’d ask if I had a copy in my car. 

Maybe I’d tell her I just happened to have one right here in this gift-wrapped package with “To Kate” written on the tag.

Maybe she’d excitedly open it, read the inscription, blush, and wonder just how on earth I knew her favorite color was orange.

Just a lucky guess, maybe I’d say.

Maybe we’d have a few drinks and maybe she’d invite me to come up to her room to read her some of my book aloud.

Who knows? Maybe that’s exactly what would have happened.

More likely this would have:

I’d have walked into the lobby and seen her sitting there looking lovely and said to myself, “Yep, that’s Kate Upton, all right.”

I wouldn’t have said anything to her. I wouldn’t have taken her picture or asked for her autograph.

For me, just seeing the elephant would have been enough.

It’d be unrealistic to think I’d ever be one of those guys who gets to climb on up and take a ride on the thing.

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