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Tuesday, April 29: I awoke at 6 a.m. to skies that stayed on the dark side even after the sun rose. The recent string of sunny skies and 70-degree temperatures regressed into conditions more suited for the Loch Ness Monster. As I drove up Ohio State Route 7 the cold drizzle turned into snow and a thick fog hung over the surface of the Ohio River. The trees on the hills looked as if someone had sprinkled sugar on them and the roads were wet but thankfully not slippery. It would be one thing if this scene had unfolded in early October because it would have been part of nature’s normal order. But because it took place two days before the start May, I considered it a meteorological abomination.

A funny thing happened on my way to Pittsburgh: The weather got better. As I proceeded north, then east, the precipitation stopped, the sun broke out and the thermometer stretched toward a more comfortable plateau. Better yet, I found a parking slot located a little less than 200 yards from the terminal entrance; in fact I had my choice of two spots.

Will wonders ever cease?

This trip to Vancouver will take a familiar path: Pittsburgh to O’Hare in Chicago and Chicago to Vancouver. If all went well, I would arrive at the River Rock Casino Resort shortly before 7 p.m. local time. The only question was whether all would go well, and considering my propensity to attract weirdness I couldn't guarantee that.

A sampling of that weirdness struck me at my gate in Chicago. Because I had a two-hour layover I decided it was a good time to grab a quick lunch. My restaurant of choice didn't have a dining area, so I had to walk quite a distance with my bagged food cradled in my left arm while carrying both my laptop case and my carry-on in the other hand. After a while my right arm began to tire but I didn't want to stop because of the constant stream of people behind me on the moving walk.

When I finally reached my gate I plopped in my seat, rubbed my aching forearm and prepared to eat. My first step toward doing that was to set my large soda on the floor.

Big mistake.

Instead of placing it out of harm’s way, I put it too close to my right foot. When I turned to my left to set down my suitcase I lifted my foot just enough to spill my drink all over the dark blue carpeting. The soda’s plastic cover flew off and within seconds virtually all the contents, including ice chunks, had emptied themselves.

I tried to minimize the damage by using the plastic cover as a makeshift dustpan. I placed as many ice cubes as possible on the underside of the cover and dumped them in the trash. Even though the cover was designed for a large drink, it still took me four trips to finish the job. Of course, someone saw me in the midst of my embarrassing predicament, but instead of being angry or acting flustered I smiled and fired off a self-deprecating joke that instantly eased whatever tension might have been there. It would have been a funny scene had it not been happening to me, and one of the many things I've learned in life is that a quick wit can make others laugh with you instead of at you.

My four-and-a-half hour flight to Vancouver went smoothly and I arrived by cab at the River Rock. I came just in time to catch the tail end of the weigh-in that was conducted in front of the arena’s entrance. While there, I ran into "jab man" and former ring foe Dale Stewart along with Matt Mills, who is in charge of replays in the truck. When that ceremonial rite ended, I walked to the registration desk to check in and as I was doing so I saw two faces of my Mount Rushmore punch counting team – Saul Avelar (now a stage manager) and Joe Carnicelli – walk into the lobby and said hello to them. As I signed the proper forms, Joe mentioned he had a surprise that a boxing historian like myself would appreciate.

Did he ever. After I settled into my hotel room I met Joe, who carried a full white plastic bag under his arm, and we found a table. During a previous professional life Joe was the executive sports editor at United Press International and as such he was privileged to cover every type of major sporting event – Super Bowls, World Series and, of course, championship fights. The contents inside the bag were an irreplaceable treasure trove of the sport’s greatest moments:

* A photo of Joe with Marvelous Marvin Hagler and his team during the lead-up of Hagler-Hearns which was signed and personalized by Hagler. By then Joe was no longer affiliated with UPI; he was assigned by Top Rank to coordinate national media activity at Hagler’s training camp in Palm Springs, Calif.

* An action photograph from the Muhammad Ali-Earnie Shavers fight that included Joe at ringside dictating the blow-by-blow account over the phone. The photo holds special significance because it was taken just hours after his daughter was born.

* A photo by UPI’s Ronnie Kuntz of Larry Holmes' right cross distorting Renaldo Snipes' face. "And this was before motorized cameras where you can take a bunch of pictures and pick out your shot," he said.

* An original printout of a profile on then-unknown 29-year-old lawyer Dan Duva, who vaulted into world prominence by becoming the promoter of the first Sugar Ray Leonard-Thomas Hearns fight. "Kathy Duva still has a copy of the story framed in her office," Joe said.

* A story printed May 13, 1980 in The Ottawa Journal that revealed the fight between Larry Holmes and Muhammad Ali scheduled for July 11 for Rio de Janeiro's 165,000-seat Maracana Stadium had been canceled.

* An original printout of his account of Holmes-Ali, as well as UPI sports columnist’s Milton Richman's post-fight feature.

* Several copies (and an original printout) of a profile depicting Tony Ayala's troubles with alcohol written shortly before the rape that sent him to prison.

* Complete press kits assembled for Leonard-Hearns I, Hagler-Hearns and Hagler-Mugabi. Joe said he assembled approximately 60 percent of the Hagler-Hearns kit and 75 percent of Hagler-Mugabi while he covered Leonard-Hearns I.

* A story about Mark Breland, then a 19-year-old amateur sensation aiming to win his fourth (and eventually fifth) New York Golden Gloves titles and an Olympic gold medal, all of which he achieved.

* Dozens of feature stories covering Larry Holmes-Gerry Cooney, Leonard-Hearns I, Leonard-Bruce Finch, Roberto Duran-Leonard I, Duran-Moore, Aaron Pryor-Alexis Arguello I and II and Hagler-Wilford Scypion.

It was a collection that made my eyes (all four of them) pop out, and Joe graciously allowed me to take the items to my room for further perusal. Although it was just after 8 p.m., my body was telling me that I had already been up 17 hours and that it was time to get something to eat and retire to my room. The treasures would have to wait until the following morning.

Wednesday, April 30: Still functioning on Eastern Time I woke up with a start at 7:30 a.m. and as I sat at the keyboard I gazed at the view outside my window. Dozens of small sailboats were anchored nearby and majestic mountains towered above the skyline. The temperature was a chilly 43 degrees and a slight breeze caused the trees to sway gently. Winter just doesn’t want to release its iron grip anywhere.

I spent the morning indulging in an orgy of words, first on the laptop then with Joe's memorabilia. For the next several hours I read every word on every scrap, my mind traveling back to those simpler days when I couldn't see most of those fights live because I didn't have access to HBO or closed-circuit fights. Instead, I had to rely on radio for round-by-round updates or wait until the following morning’s sports reports. These were the days before satellite dishes were widely available and I dealt with it because it was just a part of life at that time. You couldn't miss what you never had.

I remember listening to the round-by-round summaries of Holmes-Ali on the radio. I had a giant map of the United States on the wall across from my bed and I couldn't help but stare at the spot occupied by Las Vegas, the site of the fight. A few days earlier, a friend of mine who had a CB radio and I asked anyone who was listening who they thought would win the fight. We cheered those who said Ali and groaned at the realists who picked Holmes.

Even though I was a teen-ager, I knew enough about boxing to realize that the younger, primed Holmes had the tools to dismantle the aged Ali, but my heart wouldn't allow me to fully embrace the concept. Though I liked Holmes, I couldn't help but pull for the 38-year-old underdog who was the first long-term heavyweight champion I ever knew. Even then, I wanted the old times to become new again. But it wasn't to be as the razor-sharp "Easton Assassin" picked clean the decayed carcass that was Ali before trainer Angelo Dundee mercifully stopped the carnage between the 10th and 11th rounds.

The first time I saw the fight was when ABC's "Wide World of Sports" replayed it a few weeks later and the sight of Ali caving in from a ninth round body shot was absolutely heartbreaking. It also applied a tiny, irrevocable layer of realism to my psyche. "Nothing is forever," it said. "Even the greatest of champions will fall victim to the ravages of time, punishment and ego if he chooses to stay in the ring too long." It is a truism that has been repeated many times in the 27 years since, and the only guaranteed way to avoid it is to take the route adopted by Rocky Marciano, Gene Tunney, Lennox Lewis and Ricardo Lopez among others – retire while still on top.

Most don’t do it because it requires a level of humility that is directly opposed to the pride that made them great champions. To admit one’s athletic decay is to confess weakness and because showing weakness means extinction in the ring it is an exceedingly difficult thing for boxers to do. It takes a special person to willingly walk away from millions of potential dollars, but it is much easier to do if he is one of the fortunate few who invested what he already earned wisely. Because most haven’t they don’t, and because they link boxing ability with self-worth, most won’t.

I went down to the casino in search of sustenance and ran into Joe. I was hoping to find a good opportunity to return his archives – and considering the rarity of the items I didn't want to do it at ringside – and here was that opportunity. We went back to my room to complete that transaction, then I returned downstairs and had lunch at one of the casino's food courts. Several of my ESPN colleagues were there – and one of them, Dale the "jab man," was walking through the line with Roger Mayweather, who was to be in the corner with card topper Ishe Smith against Jorge Julio. When Dale saw me, he pointed to me and told Roger, "that's the guy I fought on the tape."

"That's the guy?" Mayweather said, sizing me up with a mixture of surprise and skepticism.

"That was me," I volunteered with a chuckle. "Guilty as charged."

After our bout last year in Glastonbury, Conn., the guys in the truck made DVDs for the participants and Dale, who won a majority decision that should have been unanimous, understandably wanted to show off his ring skills to the former two-division champ. Dale told me later that Mayweather was impressed with Dale's level of skill, the quality of our jabs and my willingness to fight on despite taking a good deal of punishment.

"Most guys would have quit long before," Dale quoted Mayweather as saying. Call it stubbornness – or perhaps stupidity – but aside from a brief flash I never seriously considered giving up and I'm glad that my valor, such as it was, was recognized by someone of Mayweather's experience and accomplishment.

I arrived at the arena shortly after 4:30 p.m., and Dale followed suit a few minutes later. Despite not being the "lead dog" I couldn't help but do my usual routine of double-checking the list of judges and referees on the bout sheets with the commission, testing out the equipment and meeting with the ring announcer. I can't stand sitting around and doing nothing because it goes against my "go, go, go" mindset. When I told Dale this he told me, "I could tell you were getting a little antsy."

Televising fight cards live on the West Coast is a different animal because of the three- hour time difference. No pre-TV bouts were held because most people were fresh off their workdays by the 6 p.m. start time, so the eight-rounder between Albert Onolunose and Eddie Sanchez that kicked off the ESPN telecast was also the first bout contested at the venue. Sanchez was best known for springing a huge upset over top-10 junior middleweight J.C. Candelo on absurdly short notice, while Onolunose was the undefeated brother of junior middleweight contender Eromosele Albert.

Onolunose did an excellent job of getting inside the taller Sanchez's long arms and once he got there he was extremely productive as he landed an astounding 80 percent of his body shots. Though Sanchez was much stronger in the second half of the bout, the 78-73 (twice), 77-74 scores in favor of the Calgary-based Onolunose were reflective of what took place inside the ropes.

Next up was a six-round cruiserweight bout between local attraction Kevin Reynolds and Victor Barragan from Oxnard, Calif. On paper it was a match favoring the 6-1 (4 KO) Reynolds, who was introduced as the number one cruiserweight contender in Canada. Barragan had only two knockout wins in his eight victories and was coming off the only two losses of his career – the most recent of which was a one-round TKO. Inside the ring, however, it was an action fight throughout as Barragan barreled forward and launched plenty of strong punches at the southpaw Reynolds, who eagerly fired back at his charging foe.

Unlike most southpaws Reynolds complimented his powerful lefts with effective right jabs and crosses, and his blows quickly exacted a toll as they bloodied Barragan's nose and opened a cut over the left eye. At times, Barragan was a sickening sight as Reynolds' punches forced blood to fly from his face, but to the Californian's credit he kept storming in. He connected often enough and flush enough for one to think that he could have inflicted real damage had he possessed real power. It was an entertaining scrap and once again judges Duane Ford, Barry Druxman and Joel Scobie turned in reasonable scorecards as they agreed Reynolds was a 58-56 winner.

The main event between Julio and Smith was ultimately a "coming of age" fight for the Miami-based Colombian bomber, who raised his record to 33-1 (30 KO) by earning a 96-94 (twice), 97-93 nod over the onetime "Contender" star. When Julio first burst on the scene he was the typical straight-ahead slugger with a one-track mind. While his spectacular knockouts wowed the sport's power brokers, they also left him woefully ill-prepared to deal with the southpaw trickery of future WBO welterweight champion Carlos Quintana, who scored a comprehensive decision victory on HBO's airwaves.

Since then Julio has grown as a fighter and against Smith he showed improved defense, excellent upper body movement and – most importantly – patience. The mobile Smith presented a difficult target and his tight fence-like guard efficiently kept many of Julio's blows from breaking through. But like Aaron Pryor against Alexis Arguello in their first fight, Julio transformed himself from a wade-in slugger to a stylish boxer content to pile up points and win a close but ultimately correct decision. Smith also enjoyed success, especially in the middle rounds, as he fired swift blows through Julio's guard, but his bursts weren't frequent enough to offset the Colombian’s work. Though he lost, it was a credible enough performance to earn him more opportunities to advance his career.

After the telecast ended, the portion of the card devoted to the local audience began. First up was the 252-pound Mark Freidman against Nova Scotia's Jaime Walton, a heavily tattooed 209-pounder introduced as "The Beast of the East." The fight lasted just 2:42 as Walton repeatedly blasted wide-swinging rights that landed with impressive volume. The stoppage proved a comical scene: A moment after Freidman wobbled from a right to the temple, referee Dale Walters moved in to stop the contest. Instead of wrapping his arms around Freidman he pushed the soon-to-be-victor away and both of them fell with a thud onto the canvas.

The combatants talked amiably afterward, so much so that it wouldn't have been a surprise if they were arranging a post-fight get-together. A few moments later, Sugar Ray Leonard (who was there as a guest of the casino) climbed into the ring, not only to congratulate Walton but also to pose for a picture with him. It isn't every day that a Hall of Famer would do that for a 1-0-1 fighter, and I'm sure that photo will be a memento Walton will treasure for the rest of his life.

Next up was a six-round super middleweight contest between James Dearman and Junior Moar, the latter of whom had the night's most entertaining entrance. A member of the Ojibwe tribe, Moar was preceded into the ring by two groups. The first entered the ring several minutes before him carrying a giant drum. They kneeled in his corner, banged the drum rhythmically and chanted with a solemn yet intense cadence. The latter group consisted of two men dressed in full traditional regalia, presumably to bolster his chances of good fortune. All this for a former Canadian national champion who sported a modest 3-2 (2 KO) record.

At first, the pre-fight festivities didn't seem to help much as the taller Dearman easily won the first round with his superior mobility and accurate punching. Moar's troubles deepened early in the second when an accidental butt opened a nasty inch-long gash directly above the left eye. Though two late body shots had Dearman holding on, he still did enough to capture the second by a hair.

The third stanza was close as Dearman landed more but Moar's had more power. The fight turned in the fourth when Moar turned up the pressure and did a much better job cutting off the ring. Moar was winning the territorial war as Dearman was always on or near the ropes, and at times Dearman's face involuntarily winced under the weight of Moar's relentless body attack. Late in the round Dearman appeared to lead with his head, a move that brought an immediate point penalty for an intentional butt.

In spite of his mangled visage, Moar was confident and energized as he swept the fifth and sixth rounds en route to a 59-54 (twice), 59-53 victory. My card had Moar a 57-56 winner.

"He only took this fight on five days' notice," said Dearman's coach Rob Dellapenna, a onetime super middleweight whose last fight was an eight-round decision loss to Joe Gatti in March 2001. "He did well in the early rounds, but then he just gassed out."

The final bout of the evening was a five-round junior featherweight match between Jessica Mohs and Noriko Kariya, the sister of NHL superstar Paul Kariya. The fight was billed as the second main event because although Kariya is based in Jersey City, N.J., she was Vancouver born and bred. The 36-year-old Mohs (along with Belinda Laracuente) was a novelty in the female boxing world – the grizzled gatekeeper. Despite her modest 7-16-3 (2 KO) record, Mohs was the most experienced fighter Kariya had met in that she fought – and lost to – Maureen Shea, Mary Ortega, Cindy Serrano, Jessica Rakoczy, Anita Christensen and Mia St. John (thrice). Her experience combined with below average power was the recipe for a challenging, but not too dangerous, step in Kariya's boxing education. In the end, it proved to be just that.

Kariya easily won the first three rounds by throwing crisp compact punches and nicely dipping under Mohs' counters. She owned the far quicker hands and her technique proved that she had put many hours of work at the gym. While she looked good aesthetically, she couldn't establish the perfect punching range to maximize her power. Because she couldn't hurt Mohs, Kariya allowed her opponent the chance to get back into the fight.

Mohs had her best round in the fourth as she consistently pushed Kariya toward the ropes, and a good right cross-left jab combo managed to drive the hometown favorite back. The trend continued in the fifth as Mohs seemed hell bent on countering Kariya's technical superiority with brute force, but Kariya fought back hard enough to make choosing a winner a tough exercise. The scorecards reflected that difficulty as Kariya won a 50-45, 49-46, 48-47 decision, and my card matched that of the latter judge.

Knowing an early-morning flight was on the horizon, I didn't hang around. After getting a snack at the gift shop, I retired to my room and let the TV lull me to sleep.

Thursday, May 1: Despite my aversion to loud sudden noises, I arranged for a 4:15 a.m., wake-up call but once again my mental alarm stirred me at 3:45 after a little more than four hours' sleep. I had also arranged for a taxi to arrive at 5, which it did with refreshing punctuality.

"Thank you for being here on time," the cabbie said. "My right ankle has been broken for the past three months after a fall at home and I haven't had it fixed because I don't have any health care. Many people would have made me wait." He said he was using several home remedies to deal with the pain, which he said would have been exacerbated had I been late. Given the relative scarcity of cabs at that early hour, I also appreciated his attention to detail.

The customs process was completed swiftly and by 5:30 a.m. I was the first to arrive at the gate by a good 35 minutes. While the Vancouver to Denver flight went well, the Denver to Pittsburgh leg began 90 minutes late because snow in Salt Lake City delayed the plane's arrival at "The Mile High City." The snow was coming down hard by the time we departed, but three hours later I landed in sunny 74-degree Pittsburgh.

When I pulled into the driveway, it marked the end of a 13-hour travel process and a month that featured a personal record-tying six trips. Next week will feature a "double" in Boston and Atlantic City, the first of two consecutive five-day weeks on the road.

The traveling never seems to stop, and with that comes the possibility of more adventures. With any luck, there will be.