Kelly Time

Zero Degrees in The Sun

2012-01-22T10:16:00.001-05:00

The trick to hiking in 0 degree weather is to keep moving. From the trailhead where you open the car door and get that first frigid blast to three miles up the trail when it's time to break apart the frozen banana, or on the summit, crunching through a peanut butter, jelly, and ice crystal sandwich, you have to keep moving. You really can't even stop long to gaze North at the magnificent view of Mt. Washington rising out of the Presidential range, or East to Mts Passaconaway and Whiteface, and especially South towards Lake Winnipesaukee where the North wind smacks into the mountain.

But boy is it worth it! Our hike last Monday up to Sandwich Dome, via the Sandwich Mountain trail to Jennings Peak and then returning via the Drakes Brook Trail, was Cold and stunningly beautiful. It had snowed two days before, and the snow still hung on every tree branch. There was no wind in the valley and everywhere was a still silence. Except when we walked, and then the sound of our boots crunching on the snow filled the empty space. SD had been hoping to see a deer, or even a Moose but soon realized "We aren't going to sneak up on anything today." Of course we had to stop moving in order to hear each other talk so conversations were limited.

There were lots of great views along the Sandwich Mountain Trail, and even more from the summit of Jennings Peak. We had intended to continue on to Sandwich Dome but had reached our turn around time. What with having to flounder up some icy stretches we hadn't set a very good pace. And with those same icy stretches in mind we decide to hike back on the longer, but less steep Drake's Brook trail. That too was especially lovely in the cold. In areas where the water was fast, the brook still ran while in other, flatter sections it was frozen, with ice crystals freezing above it.

By the time we arrived at the car I was ready to sit directly in front of the blasting heater, but looking back to the mountains as we drove away also wished I was still crunching along through the winter woods.

Carter Doom?

2011-12-11T08:01:00.001-05:00

Considering that for this, our third attempt on Carter Dome, we hadn't hiked a peak in over 6 months and the weather forecast was borderline blizzard/ice storm, there was a good chance we might not be reaching the summit of our 44th 4000fter. But we were prepared with microspikes, snowshoes, down and synthetic jackets, I had a new pair of Garmont Momentum Mid GTX Winter Boots, and a free weekend.

We were at the 19 Mile Brook Trailhead at 7am Saturday morning. There was a light snow, the temps were in the mid 30s, and all the mountains were covered in thick clouds. But at least they weren't predicting a blizzard like the were April 1, 2011when we made our last attempt on Carter Dome. Nor was it 2 pm and 85 degrees, as it was when we attempted it in May 2010, after SD's pack broke. We had to make an emergency pack purchase and change the itinerary.

I was a bit apprehensive. Not so much about the hike, I realized, as about the possibility of not making it on the 3rd attempt. How do you keep trying to do the same thing over and over again without succeeding?

We broke trail through the snow until about half a mile from Zeta Pass when we passed by a guy doing both North Carter and Carter Dome. It was about this time that the snow became heavier and started to build up so it was good to have someone in front. At Zeta Pass however, he went North, and we went South plowing through 6 inches of powder. Just not deep enough for the snowshoes. The wind picked up and the temperature was dropping, but that was offset by occasional glimpses of blue sky. Maybe it would clear up by the time we reached Carter Dome? Because at this point, one thing was clear, we were less that 1/2 mile from the summit, and this time we were going to make it!

And we did! Guess you can just keep trying until you get it right. You could tell the view would have been nice if we weren't in the low clouds. You could also tell that within half an hour it would be. But the wind was blowing, and with the temperature dropping it was too cold to hang around. We decided to head back via Mt. Height which by the time we were there had some awesome views along Carter Ridge to the North. Mt. Washington was still in the clouds Pinkham Notch spread out below.

Homeowning. A Smoking Adventure?

2011-11-23T19:36:00.000-05:00

What constitutes an adventure? SD and I disagree. He insists that renovating this new house qualifies (he also insisted in adding a few comments - they are in green). I insists life is an adventure, lets enjoy it and take advantage of it. (although most time he says it's "something to get through". I contend that having done more than 8 houses between the two of us, it doesn't. What a stick in the mud.

That no matter what the house looked like when we saw it that rainy day in August, we both knew what it could be and that getting it from there to here and forward was something we would do, it might even be fun, but its something that really didn't qualify as an adventure. I insist it qualifies, (it is if you believe life is an adventure, loosen up!), because it's the first one we've done together, and because we're both a good 15 years older than the last time we did it.

C. K Chesterton says "An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered."(That a recipe for considering all life's trials and tribulations an adventure, it's all in your attitude!!)

So what then is inconvenient? SD's continuous whining, his non-stop ideas for the location of the half-bath? Making plans is inconvenient?

He feels that his adventure lies in doing the renovation with someone like Me. You are so lucky, as am I, how much better than that can it get? Life sucks, making an adventure out of it makes it better!!!!!

This morning I walked out to the compost bin we built two weeks ago and filled up last weekend. And it was smoking!! Actually smoking. That baby was burning! And not just in the middle. As i turned the outside leaves into the center more smoke rose. An upturned clump of grapes was almost shooting flames. I have built many a compost pile in my time. Most molded into usability. Only one, and that one was half horse manure, ever burned. But now, with the help of the lovely SD, things are smoking (so life isn't an adventure but the compost pile gets you excited?).

This house thing with SD just may turn into an Adventure after all.

Shucked

2011-11-21T07:27:00.000-05:00

Oyster farming combines two of my favorite things, farming and being on the water. Oh, and Oysters! Shucked: Life on a New England Oyster Farmis an ode to all three. Written by Erin Murray, a woman who spent one and half years farming oysters at the Island Creek Oyster Farm in Duxbury, Mass does a great job of describing the the highs and lows of the life. The mud, the cold, the phyiscal demands, the crew comraderie, the taste of freshly picked oyster, and the pride of growing good, sustainable food.

I'm a big fan of aquaculture, for a number of reasons
, and it really bugs me that most people equate aquaculture with agribusiness and all it's pollutants, and cheep labor practices, when aquaculture (at least in the US) is really about sustainable, local farming. I love the role oysters play in the food chain, in the filter chain, and in the local economy - and Shucked does a good job of explaining those relationships.

Murphy also briefly talks about aquaculture as a means of sustaining the New England Fisherman tradition as most of the Oyster farmers that sell to Island Creek are either ex or part-time fishermen/lobstermen. Which is key in my mind. Why let the big fishing fleets of Stonington, New Bedford, and Gloucester die off as the wild fish stock is fished out, why not set those seafaring, ocean-wise folks to growing? (aside from their major aversion to transition from hunters to farmers, that is)

The only really big disappointment I had in the book was that she failed to mention the entire, vibrant, tasty, New England oyster farming culture. Island Creek is in no way the only Oyster farm in New England. In fact, I've toured a number of New England oyster farms, and tasted a hell of a lot oysters and not a single Island Creek. Nor does she mention (or know?) that there are lots of other ways to grow them.

Oh, and that brings up another point. The book includes a number of great oyster recipes, but really, seriously folks, isn't the best way to have oysters raw, slurped right out of the half-shell?

Reading the River - North East Style

2011-11-11T15:19:00.001-05:00

It's amazing how fast you can kayak down river, with the outgoing tide,and a west wind at your back. But the real question is how long it takes to get back to the launch site? And will you still be having fun when you get there?

We put in at the East Street boat launch in Ipswich for a paddle east to the sea. It was a beautiful fall day. High tide had just passed, so both the river and the tide were with us. And have I mentioned that the wind was too? From the boat launch to the sea, the river runs approx 2 miles through an estuary/bay, but the channel is well defined. It also meanders with several bends and reaches. By the time we came to Plum Island Sound the flow rate was amazingly strong and we pulled onto the beach watching as a lone kayaker fought their way through the rip and into the river, and contemplated the trip back.

After a quick Shot Bloksrefuel, we headed up river, up tide, and up wind. It was more frustrating than hard. Paddling and not moving, is such a bummer. But as we started tucking into the inside bank of the meander then paddling hard across the reaches to tuck in, once again on the inside bank of the next up river meander we started making good progress.

Although I wasn't walking the experience reminded me of walking up the Virgin River in Zion National Park. "As the water rushes down you have to figure out where the water is running deepest and fastest." and get to the other side. Figuring out where and when to cross is almost as challenging (in a fun way) as the paddling.

Turns out it takes approx 3x the times and effort to go back but the effort in no way lessens the fun. The paddle out was just as fun as the back, with the added challenge. The day just as beautiful. the company just as good.

A Tale of Two Kayaks

2011-11-09T19:46:00.000-05:00

They were the best of kayaks, they were, well, both the best of kayaks, but for different reasons. Just as Eliza was settling into her new home, a old new comer showed up. Build by SD back in 1992, stored and loved by good friends, and known by those who've kayaked her as the Grey Ghost, she weighs in at 25 lbs with a length of 14ft, and is of stitch and glue construction. Eliza is 14. 5 ft., weighs 49 lbs and is of rotomolded plastic.

We took the both of them down to Lynch Park, along with two sets of paddles, a 210 cm Bending Branches Breeze and the Grey Ghost's pine, Inuit-inspired 9ft paddle. I then proceeded to paddle four laps around the buoy a half-mile off shore. First the Grey Ghost with my Bending Branches paddle, then the Inuit paddle, then I switched boats and took Eliza around with the Inuit paddle, then the last lap with the Bending Branches paddle.

SD's pine/Inuit paddle is noticeably both heavier and longer that any paddle I've ever used. It also has a much narrower blade. Aside from the weight, I really liked it.. Just very little effort had either boat moving out, and building momentum with ease. Turning was a bit more complicated with the longer, thinner paddle but some of that may have been from lack of experience.

When I switched to the Bending Branches paddle, the lightness was welcome, but the shortness of the stroke suddenly felt unnatural and stunted. After using both paddles I decided the ideal one would be light but long. At least 20 cm longer than what i had, and with a narrower blade. (Hint: Werner Athena )

Kayak comparison was not so easy, not so conclusive. While both are roughly the same length, and width, their weight, construction materials and hull shapes are very different, and it comes through in the paddling. SD's kayak was known as the Grey Ghost because of her off white color, but I felt she paddled more like a glass slipper. So light, seemingly delicate, and super responsive. There was no give in her, she moved out, no energy was lost between paddle and boat. She was also very low in the water, and. I'd guess in a heavier swell, she'd skim right through, rather than over, the waves. As it was she easily held a steady course, even downwind. In the hands of an expert paddler, and with a not-so expert on a very calm sea, I suspect she'd be a dream.

But, I'm no expert paddler and Eliza was more forgiving. Not so responsive, and not so balanced, but more comfortable. She took a little more effort to get under weigh, but she went just fine.

So for now, I guess I stick with Eliza. I guess, but boy is that little slipper seductive.

What a Difference a Month Makes

2011-11-02T06:30:00.000-04:00

Only one month ago we purchased our lovely little clashingly decorated home. After only 30 days of wall-paper stripping, hole puttying, painting, floor sanding, tile cleaning, cabinet scrubbing and a heavy dose of decorating awesomeness we now have the beginnings of a lovely little home. And here's the proof:

Dinning Room - Before

Sitting Room - After

Living Room - Before

Living Room - After

Kitchen - Before

Kitchen - After

Entry Way - Before

Entry Way - After

Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?

2011-11-01T06:55:00.000-04:00

While renovating and moving into a house no longer qualifies as an adventure (been there, done that about 8 times!) people ringing your doorbell (2 tones for the front, 1 for the side) and dropping off welcome-to-the-neighborhood cards, soup, and cupcakes certainly is. As is having the mailman introduce himself as the neighbor who lives in that house "over there, the one with the red garage door." All this is very new, at least for me as an adult. I do believe Noank, the town where I grew up, was much like this but being a kid, I was oblivious to all the adult-doings. Since then I've lived in a number of places and can recall only one time a neighbor offered a welcome gift. Sure, we'd eventually meet and talk, during a snow storm, or on the stairs, while doing yard work, or after our kids starting running together but generally neighbors pretty much stayed inside their physical and social boundaries

This neighborhood is proving very different. I had only just recovered from a real live paper boy sighting (complete with white canvas sack and orange shoulder strap) when a posse of 10-12 year olds rode by on scooters and the neighbor across the street walked up the driveway and introduced himself.

Now the Sesame Street song that is now on continual loop. This is indeed an adventure into a strange, perhaps wonderful, perhaps a bit-too-friendly-for-a-Nutmegger, world. But as SD always says, we'll see. As the years go by in this latest adventure I suspect I'll be able to resist the urge to put on a dress and apron while cooking,and leaning over the fenced to gossip with a neighbor, on the other hand I could ace the lawn and garden competition.

Do America

2011-10-31T08:21:00.000-04:00

By day 6 of the Seattle/Oregon trip I had Mark Knoftler's “Do America” on continuous play. It seemed like we were going from place to place, hitting the high/tourist spots and with the newly invented BBB scale I felt like I had a good feel for three new areas.

Ashland, Oregon is a full-on BBB triple threat! With the Standing Stone and Caldera micro brew pubs less than three blocks from each other, the Bloomsbury independent bookstore and bikes, from sleek racing to around-town cruisers, almost as prevalent as pedestrians it's a beautiful thing. Added to all that is a great used book store, fantastic hiking, fruit - luscious pears, plums, blackberries, etc, growing everywhere like weeds, and friendly people,and its a town I could really spend some time in.

Jacksonville, 7 miles East of Ashland, looks good at first sight. Neat, tidy 19th century houses, large sidewalks, and a decent coffee shop. There are a number of bikes in town but you soon notice they are only riding through town. There's neither a bike shop, nor brew pub. Out of 15 different shops, not a single bookstore, used or otherwise, and while the restaurants offer locally grown food, their selection of Oregon beers was limited. A very sad, missed opportunity for a town.

And then there is Seattle, a town once noted for its impressive coffee shop penetration, but now has even more sushi restaurants. Tourist traffic has also increased in the last decade and the big independent bookstore recently moved from Pioneer Square, North and up to the Capital Hill district. It is a well-stocked, vibrant, if singular store.

Bikes, and bike lanes are everywhere in Seattle - as is a bike-friendly transit system. But somehow you get the sense that the idea is to get bikes in and out of, not around town. Seattle boasts a great outdoor recreation ethic, but all that recreation happens outside of Seattle. It's like a commuter city, a city where everyone lives and the commuting it to the mountains, rivers, and ocean around them.

And the beer? Hmmm. I really can't recall anything remarkable about the beer selection in the restaurants, and didn't see a brewery although google maps does show one, it too is in the Capital Hill district, not Seattle proper.

All in all, I guess I too view Seattle as a commuter town. A decent place to go to Do America and find other BBB towns like Ashland.

We Walked Among Them

2011-10-28T01:00:00.000-04:00

You knew photographs never did them justice but you never know how much, or rather, how little, until you are actually there with them. In the redwoods, the forest is the trees. Huge, massive trunks that you just can't love enough, you hug them, but can't even manage to encircle them 1/3 of the way. You try to photograph them, but can't get far enough away from one to get it in the camera window. At first they are overwhelming, and bring you (me) to tears. Once you've spent a little time with them, it begins to feel just right

We asked the Ranger for a good 5-6 mile hike to see a really big tree (as if we weren't already surrounded!). He pulled the park map out and began highlighting the various hikes and trees in great detail. We decided to hike the 5.4 mile Boy Scout Tree Trail. After a quick trip to the foggy shore of the Pacific Ocean, the mists which make the existence of giant trees possible, we drove west up into the redwood forest. Off a dirt road that often narrowed to one car width between massive tree trunks, we found the trail head and began hiking. The Ranger had shown us a picture of The Boy Scout Tree, a black and white, circa 1920 image of ten boy scouts gathered at the base and climbing up to through the crotch of a massive 'double' trunk tree and seeing it in person seemed as good a destination/excuse as any to walk amongst these trees. Because really, that is what I wanted to do – just be there in this new forest with them.

It takes 3000 years for a redwood to reach maturity. The forest we were walking through was much older. The top of Mt Mazama blew off 12000 years ago,forming Crater Lake, the Cascades had been growing for millions of years, and the White Mountains, my backyard stomping ground, had formed 124 to 100 million years ago. Walking among the redwoods, the youngest of them all, I felt not only small, but also quick. A blip. And it both pissed me off that for the most part, people had felt they had the right to decimate the trees, and the earth, and it also felt like a big joke. Man's existence is a blip on this massive time scale where 3000 year old trees are but a second, where one volcano can bury an entire ugly city in one good blow, and no matter how much we try and mess it up, nature, the planet, the universe, gets the last laugh. If we're smart, if we can be comfortable with the meaningless of our part in all this, we can walk amongst it, and know, that that, in and of itself is enough.

Who Wants to Go to Crater Lake?

2011-10-27T07:01:00.002-04:00

[Catch up post from last month]

Around 5700 BC Mt. Mazama blew its top and left behind a big hole, a really big, big hole and this now the bluest lake I've ever seen.

We began this trip with breakfast and pie at Beckie's, a diner on the side of Route 62 described by most tourists guides as a Must, and reviewed, with varying degrees of compliments on Yelp, and TripAdvisor. The most notable thing about Beckie's on the day we were there was the continuous stream of bicyclists stopping there for pie and sandwiches. After watching a dozen filter through the place we discovered they were on a 10 day organized tour around and up the coast of Oregon . Their destination, like ours, was Crater Lake. A 37 mile ride seemed a bit tame to us but hey, it was their vacation.

SD and I pulled out of the parking lot in our rental Hundi and soon turned right and up rt 62 to the park. And up. For 30 miles we drove up to the rim of a volcanic lake often passing the bike riders, spinning, later struggling in low gear, we had seen at Beckie's. Once we entered the park, the road became much steeper as it wondered up switchbacks with views off to other mountains. Mt Theisen to the North, Mt Shasta to the South.

We parked at the rim and took the trail to Mt. Garfield. Hiking up alongside the lake, the view more amazing at every turn. Views that would even be worth a day long bike ride straight up a mountain!

Who wants to go to Crater Lake? I do! I could spend hours and hours there and never not be impressed by each new view...and come to think of it, it would make for some amazing kayaking!

The BBB Scale: a proposal for town assessment

2011-10-26T18:55:00.000-04:00

When bicycling through Holland Amy and I quickly learned that the first stop in any town should be at the VVV (tourist information stop). The VVV is the place to get info on the town. Not only can you get info on campings, bathrooms, bike routes, but you can also get a feel for the town. In the States, it's not so easy but while in Seattle last month, I decided that the tenor of a town can be determined by looking into three factors; Bikes, Books, Beer. These three valuable indicators are indicative not only for their literal value but also for what information they tell about the town.

The ideal town would have a ratio of people to independent bookstores of 1:200,000. These bookstores would carry titles by local authors, have a large section of high-quality local history books, sponsor author talks and book groups, and be generally supportive of book culture.

Not a Bike Lane - notice cars

The high scoring town would also have a thriving bike-commuter population as evidenced by real bike lanes, not the suicide lanes such as in Boston, and plentiful and secure bike storage. Support of bike commuters is not just in and of itself important but also indicates a culture that supports outdoor recreation and is trying to make a dent in the U.S. car culture.

And finally good beer, or more to the point, micro-breweries, would be a celebrated by the perfect town. This important aspect of the BBB scale measures not only the actual presence and support of microbreweries, but also the prevalence of micro-brews on tap at the local bars - both high and low dollars. High support of micro brew culture is an indicator of local support for alternative, small businessmen, and locavors, all desirable qualities in a town. A symptom of a town that is proud of its accomplishments and people and can have fun doing it.

In the end, that is what it's all about, trying to find the town that is the most fun (Even if it's my definition of fun!) and that town has bikes, books, and beer!

Biking, Bainbridge Island and Blackberries

2011-09-22T08:35:00.000-04:00

After the second brilliant sunny day of this trip and the 8th consecutive sunny Seattle day, I'm beginning to suspect that all those continuous rain stories about the Pacific Northwest are told in order to keep Californians and Easterners away. Another thing that would be attractive, if you knew, and they've never mentioned, are the blackberries. You know those rather largish black berry bundles that grocery stores sell in tiny pints for $3.99? Those same berries, or rather, a more luscious, ripe, version of those berries grown EVERYWHERE in the Pacific Northwest.

I first noticed them, with the total disbelief of a blackberry deprived Northeasterners, as we were riding our bikes just outside of Bainbridge. We'd taken the 9:20 ferry, arrived just a little before 10:00, rented some horrendous rental bikes (I now get why some people don't like to ride bikes, I wouldn't either if this way my experience) and immediately pedalled out to circumnavigate the island. After grinding through 6 gears and 2 chain rings up a hill, we were speeding down when I noticed that all those bushes crowding the side of the road were overflowing with blackberries. I braked. SD swore, almost ran into me, and narrowly avoided another broken collarbone which may be the reason he was not as impressed as I was. There were blackberries everywhere.

At least they sure looked like blackberries, but what were blackberries doing on the side of the road? Unpicked by humans, untouched by birds, unnibbled by rodents? I glanced up the road to see if anyone was watching, any cars approaching. The coast was clear so I picked and ate one. At this point I was expecting that perhaps they just looked like blackberries but were infact some insidiously disguised poison fruit. But oooh, they tasted like black juicy sweetness itself. I picked another and handed it to SD, hoping it would justify his close encounter with 3 months of intense shoulder pain. I'm not sure it did, but he did smile. We ate some more, me still glancing furtively around wondering when some angry farmer would appear waving a shot gun, and then we rode off.

BLACKBERRIES!!!!

Up over the next hill there were more roadside berries, and up the next hill, and down the other. (In addition to berries there were an unexpected number of hills on this island!) Sometimes the bushes looked so ripe and full I tried, but just could not pedal by. SD was now riding a good 100 ft behind me so when I cried “Berry Break!” he would have enough braking distance. At one patch I was literally surrounded by blackberries, so many berries, so little hunger.

Talking about this later with Pacific Northwesterners, transplants, and other visitors, I learned this first encounter with blackberries was typical. That they are in fact so plentiful as to be considered an invasive weed. The bushes are everywhere, in highway medians, on the side of the LinkRail tracks, in vacant warehouse lots, in parks, everywhere.

Strangely enough, they still sell in Seattle grocery stores for $3.99 pint.

Swimming with the Salmon, Hanging with the Harbor Seals

2011-09-19T19:19:00.000-04:00

Most people go to Anacortes to see the Orcas. And I admit, that would be cool, but on Friday I went to Anacortes to see the Salmon and the Mussels, or really, the Salmon and Mussel farmers.

Riding to the Salmon Farm

Ever since I was a kid I wanted to be a farmer. But being raised in a coastal fishing village, farming seemed remote, exotic and impossible. Little did I know, I could have been a fish or seafood farmer (there presently is a oyster farm in Noank) . Aquaculture in the United States is amazing. While its image suffers from the bad rap it gets from foreign raised salmon, US grown fish thrive in open, healthy, sustainable 'farms.' Farms that I'd be happy to live on. While America romances the Family Farm of the midwest, with its rolling fields of amber waves, I've seen the beauty of the Peuget Sound waves rolling beneath Mt. Baker and douglas fir lined shores.

Mussel Farmers Hard at Work

And then there are shell fish farms. From Anacortes we drove about 20 miles south to the Penn Cove Shellfish Farm and toured the mussel farm. The mussel are grown on 30 ft lines hanging from a series of rafts. Apparently, the harbor seals consider this their personal day spa. Even as we rode by them close enough to almost touch the raft, they merely glanced our way and went on sun bathing. There's an amazing amount of work that goes into profitably growing and harvesting mussels. The day we were there wasn't a harvest day but there were still two crews hard at work. One 'socking' the young mussels onto their lines and the other gathering spat.

The only proper way to end a day of watching people grow food, is, of course, to consume that food. Coincidentally, just down the road from Penn Cove, in the town on Coupeville, is Toby's Tavern, the perfect place for mussels and beer.

Kayaking the Ipswich River

2011-09-05T16:52:00.000-04:00

Cardinal Flower

There just might be something to this river paddling. While the boats need to be a bit shorter, and you have to contend with more bugs, incessant turning, and submerged logs, you never have to wonder if the tide is going to turn on you and leave with all your water. In fact, if you start up river and paddle down, you're guaranteed to have more water the longer you paddle. And, the big bonus - you really don't even have to paddle, the current just floats you along. The run between Thunder Bridge in Topsfield, Ma and the take out in Ipswich is probably 9 miles, and it only took an extremely leisurely 4 hours.

The river, roughly splits into three different areas, although throughout the entire length it meanders continuously bringing you, after half a mile of paddling, just a few feet east of where you used to be.

Through the Audubon

The first section of the run however, from the put in to the Audubon Society land, reminded me of paddling in Ocala National Forest. It was about as much like the Everglades as you can get in New England. Lots of vines, cardinal flowers, clear water over sandy bottoms, submerged logs and people, in the middle of no-where, bathing. (Not swimming, but lathered up with soap and bathing).There was a blue heron who proceeded me for about an hour, flying down river, or across to the next oxbow until I paddle up, when he would take off, and move on down.

The second section was through the Audubon Society land. More meanders, but through a very open marsh. Very few trees, and very little dry land. It was a sunny day, one of those sunny days where you pray for a cloud, any cloud and paddling through an open marsh provided no relief. The turtles however, were not complaining and they were everywhere basking on the logs they were pretending to be.

Grape Break!

The third section, was the shortest. From Bradley Palmer State Park to the take out, the Ipswich River runs through a more forested section with willows and other trees over hanging the banks, and lilies in the water. In some places there were also grape vines, and some of those vines had juicy bunches of Concord Grapes! It's been a long, long time since I've picked a ripe bunch of Concord Grapes off a vine and eaten them. And oh, they were good!! The kayaking was great too. The river was just woshing along, and while the grapes were good, I was getting hungry. It was that time of the paddle when you starting thinking about food and beer. And that's just when the take-out appeared around the bend.

Midsummer's Night Bike Maintenance

2011-08-06T17:42:00.003-04:00

After a long first half of the riding season and with the cool fall rides to come, my Puck has come to put the bikes back to rights.

Regular maintenance requires some regular tools and this time, rather than hang the bikes off the back-of-the-car bike rack we thought it time to get a Home Mechanic Repair Stand. For reference, Puck uses the Park Tool BBB-2 The Big Blue Book of Bicycle Repair - 2nd Edition. He's not sure if he needs the Park Tool Advanced Mechanic Tool Kit, seems like it'd be better just to buy the tools we need, when we need them. Of course I already have the Park Pedal Wrench (which has been to Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg), a Chain Tool , a spoke wrench and the ubiquitous, ever-useful Muli-tool. What more could you need? (oh, Puck says you also need Tire Levers)

And while Puck is busy fixing, I'm just going to buy things. Like a new set of Time Iclic Cleats. I love the Time i-Clic Pedal. They are really easy to get in and out of and give just the right amount of play. The cleats however, wear down really fast. I try not to walk in them too much but after a little over a year, it is well past time to replace them.

If we the bike professional have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you may ride your bike so dear
But until thou does repair it, it is clear
That all between you and machine
May appear no more than a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as he is an honest Puck,
The bike will run years more with luck.

The Good Part of the Commute

2011-08-04T19:44:00.000-04:00

This video captures the best part of the commute from Boston to Manchester. The last 5 minutes (cut down to 2) Shot today. I haven't figured out how to edit out the sound so you might want to mute it.

My New Place of Employment - Alt Resume

2011-07-31T19:49:00.000-04:00

I can now add 'Kayak Guide' at Essex River Basin Adventures to my alternative resume, right after 'Gear Guide' at Eastern Mountain Sports, which follows 'Boatyard Worker' at Noank Shipyard. Not bad for a computer geek/librarian!

Kayak guiding is a good gig. While you don't get to talk with customers about all kinds of cool gear like an EMS guide, you do get to take them out on the water in one of the most beautiful estuaries on the East Coast and show them how to paddle a sweet little boat through brilliant marsh land, and share with them the egrets, ospreys, plovers, crabs, fishes, and clams, along with talking with them about the history of Choate/Hog Island and the Crane Wildlife Refuge.

And, as at EMS, one of the best part of the job is the other guides!

If you're ever on the North Shore (the shoreline area North and East of Boston) look me up and we'll get out on the water.

New Tour de France Scenario

2011-07-15T07:00:00.002-04:00

Only one week down and this year's Tour has already inspired a new wannabe-rider scenario. Now in addition to practising my stage winning finishes (hands raised straight up,to the side, or mid-way, or the self-congratulatory chest bump), and the effortless spin through fields of sunflowers/corn/hay, or raising my hand when flatting so the team car can zoom up and replace my tire, stage 9 has given me a whole new scenario.

Now, when being passed by a car on a twisting, narrow road I can pretend that the car is being driven by a thoughtless French newspaper driver who may side-swipe me and throw me into the bordering barbed wire fence ala Johnny Hoogerland.

Really, it is time for every car and motorcycle driver to realize that bicyclist are people. They're flesh, blood, and muscle, and when you hit them with a heavy hunk of moving metal bad things, very bad things are going to happen.

Ode to the Camp Counselor and Kayak Guide

2011-07-12T06:37:00.003-04:00

One of the notable things about the other week's hikes was the number of camp groups on the trails. Groups of kids, aged 11-17, originating from some camp somewhere in New Hampshire, out on a day or overnight hike accompanied by one or two young adults,

For many of these counselors, you could tell that running these trips was both a privilege and a challenge. For many of the kids, you could tell this was their first trip into the woods and while they chatted on about Nintendos and facebooks statuses they'd also stop to admire the views, and play in the waterfalls. And even though the camps attempted to match up the skill level and fitness of the kids there were still ones that would go bouncing off the front, and others lagging behind. The Counselors, did a good job of keeping everyone together and keeping the mood up.

On a related note - yesterday a large group of kids went out with the Essex River Basin Guides. It was a beautiful day and while, I can only image what its like to go kayaking with 60 kids, I'm sure the guides made sure they had a great time and were safe, as well.

For many of these kids, this was probably their first experience in the Whites, or on the water, and it was good to know that these important first introductions are handled so well.

Mt. Isolation, Moose and Iliotibial Band Syndrome

2011-07-05T06:52:00.000-04:00

12 or 14 miles (depending on which trail you prefer) deep into the White Mountains lies the appropriately named Mt Isolation. One of the shortest, but furthermost from any trail head, of the 4000fters. (Owls Head is 16 - but that's a hike for another day).

We decided to walk in via the Rocky Branch trail this time, having attempted the Glen Boulder trail earlier. Certainly not as scenic, but promising 1000ft less in elevation and the chance to take a dip in the Rocky Branch river if the temps rose to the predicted 80 degrees. The trail rises up immediately off the trail head and continues a steady, but not stair-like climb for the first 1.8 miles before almost leveling off for a 0.9 mile stretch down to the river. Around 1.6 miles we paused to have a staring contest with a moose. Despite numerous and voluminous evidence that they are everywhere, we've only seen two moose in our hikes. Both times they were just off the trail, behind some brush. Both times they just stood and stared at us. This time we stared back, S.D. took some pictures, we all stared some more, the moose won and we continued on our hike.

Moose do not photograph well

Around 2.1 miles the right side of my right knee seized up. Iliotibial Band Syndrome usually happens to runners but it can happen to anyone, especially folks who "are notoriously weak in their hip and core muscles, particularly if strength training or participation in sports that involve side-to-side movement are lacking." - umm like cycling. And it's happened to me before. Usually on the final mile of a long downhill stretch - not less than a 1/4 of the way up on a 14 mile hike. S.D. whipped out his first aid kit and expertly wrapped my knee. Hoping that a walk on the upcoming flat and the bandage would keep things under control, we continued along. But things didn't improve and as the trail became a stream and hiking became an act of jumping from one rock to another the knee really started tightening up. At the Rocky Branch River the knee and me just snapped. Frustrated by having hiked the hardest part of the trail, even now being able to see Mt. Isolation, but knowing I couldn't reasonably continue on, I gracefully hurdled my hiking poles into the dirt, and let loose with a string of expletives that S.D. will forever tease with me but that at that moment were pretty shocking.

After I finished my little tantrum we turned around, hiked a little, had another peanut butter and jelly sandwich that couldn't be beat, and limped on back to the car. We'd hiked 7 miles, it was a beautiful day, the last day of a great vacation and we still had 5 more 4000fters to go, 5 more easy reasons to return to the White Mountains.

Liberty and Flume : And then there were five

2011-07-04T07:01:00.000-04:00

Friday morning was foggy and the forecast called for rain, but since it just can't be a hiking vacation unless you climb in the rain we went ahead with our plan to take the Liberty Spring trail up to Mts. Liberty and Flume. And it's a nice trail, provided you don't mind walking up stairs for 1.6 miles and 3000 ft.

Along the way we stopped and talked with two AMC guys who were putting in some erosion ditches. Brian was a lead maintenace guy and went around to the various crews providing technical knowledge and oversight. Jim was the caretaker at the Liberty Springs tent site who like other caretakers also cared for the trails nearby. Being a high traffic trail (Liberty Springs is also the AT), and very steep, the trail is constantly eroding and while the majority is passed over the granite/dirt combination so common below treeline in The Whites, there are also some sections of crumbly brown sedimentary rock that easily washes out. As S.D. pointed out - most people think all the trail work, those finely crafted log and stone steps are for the hikers but really they're for the trail. To keep as much dirt and rock on the mountains for as long as possible.

A few hundred yards after chatting with the guys (and catching our breath) we reached the peak of Mt. Flume and soon after were back on Liberty. Our last peaks in Franconia Notch. There were nice views off both and the rain held off until we were half way down. Making a nice hike for us, and the promise of more work for the trail crews.

Mt. Lincoln – Being there (7 to go)

2011-07-03T20:07:00.000-04:00

So far in this quest to hike the 48 New Hampshire Mountains above 4000ft I’d managed not to get obsessed, to view the hikes more as a relaxed itinerary than as a means to accomplish a goal. To take each one on its own, and enjoy it.

Standing on the peak of Mt. Lincoln at 5087 ft, and in the middle of the Franconia Ridge trail, one of the most beautiful trails, I caught myself calculating whether or not it would be ‘worth it’ to reverse direction, add a few miles to today’s hike and bag Mts. Flume and Liberty instead of continuing North along the ridge to Mt. Layfette, one of the most amazing hikes in all of New Hampshire. With only 7 peaks to go – my obsessive nature was kicking in – Big Time.

Here I was, on a trail I’d dreamed of hiking since I first saw it four years ago, on a beautiful day, and all I was thinking of was getting off it, and on to the next peak(s). If I could get those other 2 today, that would bring the total remaining to 5. An easily doable number by August and my 50th birthday.

But then a vulture drifted by on the updraft, a small tuft of flowers growing in the small protection offered by a granite boulder, and the look on the face of a passing hiker all brought me back. To where I was.

Caps Ridge Trail – Climbing Mt Jefferson

2011-06-29T09:32:00.001-04:00

We were lucking out. Our first day in the mountains and all was going in our favor. The road to the trail head had been opened that morning, the sun was shining for the first day in a week and we only had a 2.4 mile, 2000ft hike to the summit.

The first mile of the Caps Ridge Trail climbs straight up through dense forest then opens out just below the first Cap. From there you could see

everything. From Vermont to the west flank of the southern Presidentials, to the summits of Mt. Washington and Mr. Jefferson. We could also clearly pick up the trail, and all the Caps between us and that summit.

The trail descriptions mention the glacial bowls occurring in a the large boulders just inside the tree line, but geologically what really stands out, for me, is the massive jumble of volcanic rock that make up the summit cone. Lots of lots of sharp, bumpie igneous rocks, three conglomerates of which have been named “Caps” and then just lots, and lots, literally a boulder field of others. Jefferson’s summit being the tallest pile.

We made it there in good shape and took a scenic route down to the Gulfside trail and around through the alpine meadows. A perfect start to the week, and only 8 more 4000fters to go.

The Reluctant House Hunter

2011-06-20T08:55:00.001-04:00

The Hubba Hubba

We've been stalking 'the perfect home' for the last six months. An amazing fact in and of itself because since selling out of my last one, I've been a very happy, care-free renter. The prospect of being tied to or owned by a solid architectual structure on an improved piece of land doesn't appeal to me half so much as the ability to throw what little I have on a bike, kayak or car and go, sans worry, into those wonderful un-improved places that still exist, leaving as little trace of my passing as possible.

But in the interest of being able to maintain the carefree, low-impact life long into the future, it appears that the best plan at present is to a get a house.

not the actual house

So we've been hunting. Hunting with very specific criteria. Stalking not just any house, but intending to bag the Big One. Domesticus Dralvius. 2 or 3 bedrooms, 1 or 2 baths, 1000-1500 sq ft, in a quiet location within walking distance to the commuter rail and a short drive to Gloucester, with a 1 or 2 car garage/toy box, that doesn't need a lot of work.

Elusive prey, to be sure. But given this market, this time of year, and a recent expansion of the hunt zone, this weekend we cornered two. Haven't bagged either yet but it feels unexpectedly comforting to be close.

New England Flatlander Microclimates

2011-06-09T08:25:00.000-04:00

Tuesday afternoon I went from 85 to 55 in 1.6 hours and a drysuit. Boston was hazy, hot and humid when I boarded the Rockport Express to Manchester (By-the-Sea). 50 minutes later I stepped onto the platform and into a sunny, summer afternoon. Not too hot, not too cool, with just the slightest of on shore breeze. From there to Conomo Point took less than 15 minutes. A simple flip of the kayak later and I was enjoying the refreshing 55 degree water of the Atlantic Ocean.

Tuesday morning I had been speaking enviously of the microclimates of the Southwest. Of how wonderful and unique it was to escape the desert heat by hiking down into a slot canyon or climbing up a butte or mountain a few thousand feet to experience a cooler weather zone.

Heck, I've even bemoaned being away from the zones of the White Mountains.

Today I realized that I live in the middle of the New England Flatlander Microclimate with weather variations all around, and down.

ERBA Guide Shoals

2011-06-02T08:26:00.000-04:00

photo by Carrie

The US Hydrographic Office in association with NOAA, announce the amendment of chart 13279, to include ERBA Guide Shoals. Located .4 miles East of the South end of Crane Beach, the Shoals present a significant hazard to kayakers and operators of other inshore small craft.

Breaking waves form over these shoals without a moments notice, taking paddlers unawares and indiscriminately knocking them, and their rescuers over. Once over, kayakers are advised to "get in your boat". While others are to continue paddling, even as such activity will not move them forward, and to keep an eye for the formation of breakers where they sit.

ERBA Guide Shoals

The ERBA Guide Shoals are named after the group of intrepid ERBA Kayak Guides-in-Training who first encountered these dangerous hazards to navigation on a beautiful May Sunday, and spent considerable time perfecting their rescue and maneuvering skills in the ever-changing
waters over the shoals.

I have been to the cold North Atlantic and fear no man.

2011-05-27T11:32:00.000-04:00

Last night's kayak guide training took us around Kettle Island, off Magnolia. i.e., the Atlantic Ocean. We're an eager, enthusiastic pod of kayakers, and the Guide-guides, an expert pair, skilled in paddling, guiding paddlers, and sharing their love of the experience.

But the Atlantic Ocean is big, and a kayak, even in a sheltered bay, feels small. Out there bobbing like a cork, or one of those bottles shipwrecked sailor stick a message in, the kayak felt really, really small. With a good five foot swell, rolling in across open water from Portugal we'd drop into the trough and loose sight of our fellow kayakers, only to find them paddling along right beside us as we climbed to the crest.

Reaching the shelter of the lee side of Kettle Island we regrouped and shared out thoughts. “What I kept thinking of” said one of my fellow guides-in-training, “was Paul Revere.”

“Pardon?” I replied. Thinking perhaps she was relating riding the swell to spreading the alarm, and also that she was a bigger history geek than previously suspected.

“No” she said, “before The Ride. The British were marching to Marblehead to seize their ammunition. Paul Revere (who apparently really liked to ride that horse) rode out to warn them, and the British were met by a militia of Marblehead Cod Fishermen refusing to let them pass and informing them that “We have been to the cold North Atlantic and we fear no man”

Yeah, hand-lining in a dory off the Grand Banks does put the fears of a suburban kayaker in perspective.

Milwaukee

2011-05-11T08:09:00.000-04:00

I've never met a cheese I didn't like, and apparently, liverwurst, when made well can be very tasty. But bratwurst? Bratwurst as some explaining to do. Milwaukee is the reputed German homeland in the US, so their bratwurst is the best, I just don't get how it could have so much stuff in it and taste so bland.

But lets go back to the Cheese. I walked into the Wisconsin Cheese Mart yesterday and thought I was in heaven. They have lots and lots of great cheese, all local, all so very good it will be hard to decide what to bring home. They also have a full bar - with 20 local brews on tap (@$3.50 a glass). But wait, it gets better. They also have a lunch and dinner menu, and on that menu is grilled cheese.

So it came to pass that after a long day of flying and walking I found myself drinking a lovely beer and eating the best grilled cheese ever.

At night I attended the opening reception for the conference - where they also served local cheese, and local beer (in fact they served only local beer, and local wine and local soda - which is very cool). They also served all the local meat products, and that where I had the bratwurst, some other unidentifiable meat product, and the tasty liverwurst.

Kayaks and Bikes

2011-05-09T06:08:00.000-04:00

Kayaks are the bicycles of the water-going world. A manufactured, technological wonder that leverages man's natural mobility so was to allow him to go further and faster, under his own power, while still blending with the environment.

Unlike bicycles however kayaks have along history. The iqyak and baidarkas having been in use for thousands of years, the bicycle was invented in 1817. But like the bicycle, where originally there were only a few 'models', there are now several specialized styles, each with its own specialized purpose.

There are short little kayaks for whitewater , fat round kayaks for splashing about in ponds, two seater kayaks for taking the kids out, open kayaks with special fittings just for fishing. The kayaks we'll be working with in the class are Ocean-going / Sea Touring kayaks. Long and narrow but still stable, plastic, and relatively easy to manoeuvre in a heavy chop.

We spent the second day of class working with the different types of kayaks, learning how to fit people for them and some general handling techniques. I kept thinking of Eliza, back in the barn in Connecticut, patiently waiting even as I cozied in an out of tsnumias and optmas and a few other models. It is amazing how well, and how poorly a kayak can fit. For in this, they are again like bicycles. Seemingly easy to fit anyone, each one has a number of small adjustments that sync your body and the 'machine' to easy the transition of power, long-haul comfort.

...and there is nothing like the feeling, when you hit your stride on a long haul, be it by bike or by kayak.

Kayaking Guide Training - Back in the Gear

2011-05-05T08:11:00.000-04:00

Last Thursday I started a 6 week kayak guide training course. As rain poured outside the barn / kayak center the instructor, describing the pros and cons of necessary gear, wove a magic tale of neophrene, gore-tex and carbon fiber (and pro-deals!). The gleam in his eye as he talked of his spray skirt and werner carbon fiber paddles was easy to see, and I felt the old, all too familiar gear lust rise in my soul.

But I digress, the kayak guide training class lasts 6 weeks and will cover, not only kayak skills, but also give us the run down on all the local spots and conditions preparing us for taking tours out over the summer. We'll mostly be kayaking in the Essex River (Massachusetts) but they have some trips planned around Gloucester and Manchester too. I'm not too sure I'll be doing that much guiding but the chance to go paddling with knowledgeable locals and add some skills was one I didn't want to pass up.

There are 9 of us in the class, covering a range of backgrounds and ages, but everyone appears to be an avid kayaker, eager to get out on that 40 degree water. Which brings us back to the Gear.

(After years of waffling I ordered the Kokatat Whirlpool Bib and Rogue Dry Top)

Breaking trail

2011-04-07T18:56:00.001-04:00

Funny what with all the winter hiking we did this year the first time we had to break trail was on April 1, on one of herdiest of herd paths in the White Mountains. We had taken Friday off from work and weren't about to change our plans to hike Carter Dome and the Wildcats over the long weekend. No mere freak of an April storm could stop us.

Of course 10 to 12 inches of snow did slow us down. And apparently a lot of other folks rethought their plans. The only people we met on the 19 Mile Brook Trail were the hut caretakers – coming down. So the going was a little slow, extremely beautiful, but slow.

We made the hut however in good time, had lunch, selected our bunks (thinking we'd have company) and then started up to Carter Dome. Walking up a 60 degree, ice slope, with 12 inches of snow covering, is really challenging. Even with the snowshoe elevators fully extended, small steps, and taking care that the prongs really dug into the ice we'd advance only a few steps before falling back one, and setting off tiny avalanches.

Meanwhile, as we passed Pulpit Rock – the snow was getting heavier, and as is usual, the higher we got, the windier it got. What with the trail blazes being at snow level, the already alpine-stunted trees barely tipping out over the snow, and the snow whirling around us, I lost the trail. I think we were really close to the summit, but considering we couldn't see the trail, or 1 foot in front of us, we can't be sure.

Playing it safe, we turned around, avalanched down the trail, returned to the bunkhouse, stripped out of our cold, now wet clothing and climbed into our sleeping bags to await the appearance of the caretaker, and the promised 4:00 fire.

Luckily, the temperature was only 28 degrees. The Huts aren't heated, but they are tight which was good as the wind was really starting to pick up now, even in the relatively protected notch.

When Good Books Get Bad Names

2011-03-19T20:12:00.000-04:00

There are two books that have changed my life but which I have to hide because their titles are awful. Embarrassing, counter-Kelly, verging on sexist. So bad that while I've been meaning to write this blog for years, ultimately I just haven't been able to spell them out. Even as I type this, I wonder if I'll ever push the "Publish Post" button. Even as I continue to read, and reread these books - hidden inside the covers of "The Economist."

Title One - This pivotal relationship book should have been titled, "Don't knock yourself out being nice, it's counter-productive and will only end badly for the both of you." but instead the author titled it Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl - A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship

Title Two - While I knew my relationship with food bordered on obsessive, Women Food and God: An Unexpected Path to Almost Everything explains why. Very simply and without really talking about God at all, Geneen Roth lays clear a very Buddhist path to understanding compulsive behavior and how learning to be present in those compulsions is the way to awareness.

So - if you need a self-help book about women, men and/or food - I recommend them.

Mattress Shopping

2011-03-13T14:52:00.000-04:00

"And" she said, "we offer free, no-interest financing for up to two years!"

"Wow," I thought that would be a deal if I were buying a bike, a kayak, a house or a car, but no, we were looking at mattresses. You know, the kind that go on beds, the kind you sleep on. And yes 3 months of every year are spent sleeping. (At least that's what the posters on the walls said) but I'd been sleeping just fine for month/years on $300 IKEA special and was now in the midst of major culture/sticker shock. Do people really pay $3999.00 for a mattress?

Apparently they do. And reading mattress reviews online, they also apparently often come to regret it. And hey, how well can you sleep after realizing you've been taken to the cleaners?

And so it was, as it often is, that we turned to Amazon.com. That meca in the cloud for folks who don't like shopping, who been burned a few times by ebay and aren't in craigslist kinda mood. There we found the Queen 12" Thick Therapeutic Memory Foam Mattress with 5" 5LB Viscoelastic Memory Foam, which had lots of great reviews. We also found a SLEEP TITE by Malouf Mattress Protector - 100% Waterproof-Eliminates Dust Mites -15 Year Warranty for $15.00 as opposed to the mattress store must-have cover for $150.00.

Does amazon also sell cars?

Pagan Paul, the Promise-Keepers and Me

2011-02-19T08:54:00.001-05:00

Recent events in North Carolina have had me thinking back to an earlier, pre-blog hike, one in which prejudice was met with a shocking blow, and one which definitely deserves a place in internet history.

Paul and I were section hiking the AT North-bound through Connecticut in 2001. On our third day, just as the funk was starting to settle into our clothes, (I had yet to learn the wonders of Tech-wick), and we were looking a bit wild, we came to a junction with a feeder trail where a man stood, clearly looking puzzled. He was in his mid 50's, buzz cut hair and dressed in crisp khaki shorts and a denim short sleeve shirt. Paul and I, said "hi' and the man replied - was it my imagination or did he just reply to Paul? He then distinctly asked Paul, the guy with long black hair tied back with a bright red bandana, a sweaty black shirt with a hemp-leaf design, and in my opinion - the wilder looking one of us, if he had seen a group of "younger folks"? and if he knew which trail led to the top of Bear Mountain.

Paul replied that we hadn't seen anyone else so far that day, and that this trail, the one we were on with the white blazes would take you to the summit. The man still seemed unsure so I dug the my map out of my backpack and showed him. The man, never making eye contact or responding to me, asked Paul if this was correct.

As Paul and I set off down the trail, I couldn't help but ask if he thought that was weird, it was like I didn't exist and Paul agreed. "Did you notice the patch on his shirt?" he asked. "It said - Promise-Keepers".

"Seriously?" Incredulously, I replied."That explains a lot." The Promise-Keepers, are a "Christian evangelical ministry dedicated to uniting men to become godly influences" who believe among other things that women as the vehicle for evil on earth, are second class citizens, and as I had just experienced - aren't the least bit shy about acting like it.

Paul and I then spent the next hour while hiking up to the summit discussing various religious practices, ending with him telling me about the pagan ceremony (Paul being a practicing Pagan) in which a man becomes a warlock. We were pretty close to the summit, the day had become very hot and Paul had taken off his shirt, and I'd stripped down to tank-top and shorts and the trail was a single-track through bushy trees forcing us to walk single-file and for Paul to have to talk very loudly so I could hear him, even from behind.

He had just finished describing the Warlock Imitation Ceremony, how under a full-moon, the coven dances naked and the warlock submits to the witches when we came out into the summit clearing - a clearing entirely full of young male, spit-polished Promise-Keepers, staring at us - the almost naked -Pagan Warlock and Woman. We smiled, said hi, and walked on. They remained frozen, impotent, in the presence of pure evil.

The Deerstalker

2011-02-04T18:02:00.000-05:00

Now that I know they are up there on the hill behind the house, I can feel them looking down. Watching, waiting, patiently. Someday, someone will walk back up the hill and this time they won't stare at them, watch them from behind the rhododendrons, and then follow in their snowshoe tracks. No, next time those carnivorous deer will stalk that walker and take them down.

I first learned of the stalker deer innocently enough. After waiting 30 minutes on a snowy morning for a train that never came I decided to call it a day and go snowshoeing. The roads being impassable, the only place to go was up the trail onto the town land behind the house. I've walked up to the Powder House, and written about it before. It's a nice little walk up to a point of land over looking Manchester. But on this morning as I was fluffing through the 12 inches of fresh powder on the trail I suddenly felt eyes on me and looking up saw a herd of deer gathered around the Powder House. Awww. How beautiful, and how lucky I was to see them before they ran off. I slowly walked forward hoping to get closer but knowing that at any moment they'd bolt. But they didn't. In fact the biggest one actually stepped toward me. He was big. I stopped. He took another step. I took a step. He took a step. This was weird. I waved my arms and the herd ran off, He waited a minute, and then left.

Thinking that was that, I kept on down the trail, taking the loop North. And there they were again – on the trail, the whole herd staring at me. The big guy out front challenging me. I kept on walking and they slowly faded into the woods as I continued on the trail.

A little ways down the trail I heard a noise behind me, and there they were again. This time they were single file, big guy in the lead, following me, in the snowshoe track path. Well, I guess if you have to have stalkers, a whole herd of them, they might as well be deer. But the big guy was Big, and it was all just a bit too much for me.

I understand they were probably hungry, probably had been fed by people before, and undoubtedly, walking in the track was easier on their spindly little legs than taking on the 12 powder, still, whenever I look up at that hill, I know they are there, and I know they are watching.

Quelle Suprise, Mt. Moriah! [ 9 to go]

2011-01-30T19:53:00.000-05:00

After a two month peakbagging layover S.D. and I were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves on the summit of Mt. Moriah. It was our first true winter summit (sure there was snow and blowing ice on Moosalauki but that was November) and the Carter-Moriah trail took us up over the ledges of Mt. Surprise which must have lovely views on a clear day. But I was happy enough that the wind wasn't blowing, it wasn't snowing and the temperature was above 0. Still, I was cold, then hot, then freezing, and all the time feeling the effects of hike-less months. After 3 hours of hiking, and feeling like I was crawling up the hill, I turned a corner and there below my feet was the sign pointing out the side trail to the summit.

Winter summitting is a bit different. Looking for trail signs below your feet instead of above you. Walking up on the packed path, occasionally falling off the side into the 3 foot deep powder. Seeing the alpine zone trees bending under all the snow weight, feeling the constant pressure to keep moving or freeze. Freezing your fingers only seconds after taking your gloves off to get the peanut butter sandwiches. And best of all - glisading down, which takes the Jane's Addiction song "Coming Down the Mountain" to a whole new level.

Chateau Shakedown

2011-01-17T09:54:00.001-05:00

We took The Chateau up to Hancock Campground in the White Mountain National Forest for her first trip. We wanted to do some snowshoeing, check out the bushwhack trail to Owl's Head, and see how the Chateau would function as our Advanced Base Camp. Would she make the 3 hour highway drive (would we?) How would she handle in the snow? Could the furnace keep us warm even when the temps fell to 19 degrees? Could we spend the night comfortably enough - keeping in mind that headroom was only 4'.?

The weather was perfect for the shakedown. Cold at night, sunny during the day. The Wilderness trail was a bit too well traveled. We really didn't need to break out the snowshoes until we took the side trail to Black Pond, but it was beautiful and the bushwhack will definitely be the way to go. After that we headed over to Franconia Falls and that too was lovely. Hiking in the snow is much more than - well, hiking in snow. The whole world is different. Quiet. Wilder. Bluer, Whiter.

Speaking of blue. The Chateau, while not beautiful, did work out well with the exception of the furnace cutting out around midnight. So long as SD started the engine up every hour to fire it up again, and my Big Agnes Lulu sleeping bad stayed snug around me it was okay. He says its fixable so that shouldn't be a problem long term. We also need some insulating curtains - that's my job. Cooking and doing dishes, while a bit much on either the knees or the back, works fine. The upshot - being able to camp at the trailhead, with no fuss, in the winter, or anytime of year is so very sweet, and the Chateau is perfect!

The Chateau

2010-12-16T07:10:00.001-05:00

What with New England winter upon us, the weather getting colder, the days shorter and the opportunities for peak bagging limited, we decided it was time to make some changes to our weekend routine. What we needed was somewhere warm to go. Somewhere the old folks that we are becoming could luxuriate in comfort. Somewhere with a big fluffy bed to spend the night and a pot of tea and a croissant would great us in the morning. And so we bought a Chateau.

A 1981 Ford Chateau Van that is. V6, manual transmission with only 117,000 miles, but most importantly - a dining table/bed, sink with running water, a real stove (from which you can lay in bed and boil water), a heater for those really cold New Hampshire mornings, .a port-a-potty in it's own tiny room, and storage for backpacks, snowshoes, skis et al. Ah – the luxury! Our own little ABC (Advanced Base Camp) on wheels.

ps - If anyone is interested in purchasing a 2004 Pontiac Vibe with only 87,000 miles - Let me know.

And then there were 10!

2010-12-03T07:06:00.000-05:00

Only ten more of the New Hampshire 4000fter's to climb!

Carter Dome, Wildcat, Wildcat D, Moriah, Jefferson, Isolation, Owl's Head, Lincoln, Liberty and Flume.

Unfortunately each one is a little problematic - especially as winter approaches. Carter, the Wildcats, Jefferson, Lincoln, Liberty and Flume are notoriously icy. Owl's Head and Isolation are, well, isolated. A long walk under clear skies and long days, a trek in snow shoes and headlamps. And then, way up North in Gorham, is Moriah.

The big plan is to finish by my 50th birthday, and that is certainly doable, but we're on a roll, we're in shape now! I don't want to stop but going on may require some type of change in strategy-just not sure what/how.

The Tripyramids: When is a trail not a trail?

2010-11-30T06:55:00.000-05:00

...when it's a rock slide. (seriously - that red line on the photo is the 'trail')

It was Thanksgiving Day morning and I was plastered to the side of North Tripyramid. Sure I'd read the guide book carefully noting that the trail climbed up a rock slide, covered 1200ft in .5 miles and was "difficult and dangerous in wet or icy conditions" where "ice may form early in fall" . And yes I certainly knew I had problems with heights. But still, there I was half way up a trail that was really a vertical rock slab and very close to freaking out. S.D was urging me to admire the view, all I could look at was the ice-covered granite 6 inches from my nose.

It took a while, some careful guiding by S.D. and many small steps but eventually we reached the cairn at the top and gratefully plunged back into the safety of the pines.
The rest of the hike was nice. We enjoyed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich Thanksgiving feast on the North summit, then hiked along the ridge to the Middle and South summits. Descending via the loosely graveled South slide was anti-climatic, and I thoroughly enjoyed the view to the South, over the lakes region.We completed the 11 mile loop in good time and went home to cross two more of the 4000fters off the list.

Mt. Moosilauke: The 4000fters and the gearheads who climb them in snow

2010-11-28T08:38:00.000-05:00

It was a sunny, warm, 50 degree day back in Manchester, MA. At least that what my friends tell me. It's a little hard to believe considering that we less than 140 miles North, 4800ft. higher and in a blizzard.We were on the summit of Mt. Moosilauke, wearing every piece of clothing we had (and still cold), leaning into the 40 knot wind (and still getting knocked down).

There were no views, except of rhyme ice-covered, unreadable signs and the stone wall remnants from the Prospect/Tip-Top House, a popular Victorian-era summit motel but we were very happy to be there. As were the two other guys who summitted at the same time and the 8 other people we met on the way down.

It takes a special kind of hiker to be out in bad weather, climbing bald mountains on view-less days. I imagine we all shared the love of the outdoors, the challenge of the climb and a bit of obsessiveness. However, we didn't (and often don't), share an idea of what type of gear was required, and winter climbing seems to bring out a breed of gear-obsessive hikers that we'd not experienced before. With our down sweaters, techwick underwear, fleece gloves, wool hats, hiking boots we felt plenty warm. For gear we had our hiking poles, and if the trail had proved icy enough, (which it didn't) we also had microspikes. If we'd been delayed until dark we had headlamps. The idea being to carry a little more than you need but not so much that you weigh/slow yourself down.

The guys we summitted with shared our philosophy. They traveled fast (actually overtaking us 200 ft below the peak), dressed warmly and carried moderate-sized packs that presumably held the few items necessary for more extreme conditions.

The hikers we met while descending (they still heading for the exposed summit) all seemed of a different breed. The first couple, whom we met on the old Carriage Road trail between South peak and the summit, were struggling upwards with large backpacks and wearing their microspikes. Microspikes are great for walking on ice, but there were only scattered patches of ice on the trail, and less than an inch of snow. We assumed that they assumed the summit was icer but when we told them the summit was icy but the trail was snow, they gave us a dismissive hand wave and trudged on.

Further down the Carriage Road (and trails named Carriage Road are wide, relatively flat, and once were traveled by horse and carriage) we came around a bend to find a lone woman standing in the middle of the trail. From a distance her enormous backpack was obvious, from closer it was clear that she was dressed for a full alpine assault. Snow parka and pants, over gloves, full gaiters and microspikes. Just as I came close enough to say hi, her hiking partner came around the bend. The guy was seriously out of breath and just as seriously outfitted. Assuming from the size of their packs that they had overnight gear I asked where they were headed. They looked at me like I had two heads. They were only going to the summit! The guy looked at our gear, obviously noting the daypacks, the lack of gaiters and the bare, microspikeless boots and commented that "at least we weren't wearing cotton pants" caught his breath and laboriously headed up the Road. Later S.D. told me the he saw an ice axe strapped to the guy's pack.

For the rest of the descent I couldn't help but notice their tracks, the distinct double-diamond impressions made by microspikes, as they wore them for 3 miles over ice-less, slightly snowy trail and wonder why? Why gaiters when there was no snow? Why micospikes when there was no ice? Why an ice axe when there was, and never would be, a reason for an ice axe on this trail? And what could have possibly been in those enormous packs?

Mt Osceola, and East Osceola: The Perfect Yoga Spot

2010-11-21T10:46:00.005-05:00

Back in North Stonington, on the Connecticut/Rhode Island border, there is a trail to a high, large flat rock. Often I'd hike out that way and stop to practice yoga. While hiking all over New England I come across other inspirational spots. Open expansive areas that seem just perfect for sun salutations, tree poses, or a flow through the warrior posses. Often, while doing yoga videos I wonder why they choose to shoot in a stale empty room when they could have filmed out here, in the woods, grounding to the earth through a giant granite outcropping ribbed with quartz as opposed to cold, dull concrete.

But last Friday, I was thinking of none of that. It was sunny, warm and the sky was a deep blue. We started off from the Tripoli Rd. trailhead at 7:30 (just the time I'd usually be arriving at North Station) and quickly began climbing the 3.2 mile, 2300' elevation gain to the summit of Mt. Osceola. It's a great hike. There are plenty of views off to the East and while I did slide once crossing the ice on the rock faces above 3000ft the trail was pretty easy going. We arrived at the summit in a little over 2 hours.

And there on the summit, actually just a little below and to the North of the summit is a big, flat granite expanse open to splendid views to the East. A 180 degree panorama of forested peaks, deep green valleys, bald, glittering lakes and snow covered mountains. All beneath the clearest of blue skies - is The Perfect Yoga Spot. It's a setting that Rodney Yee's Hawaiian landscapes will never come close to matching.

We marveled for a few minutes then continued on the trail to East Osceola, another peak, a mile away over a much different, more challenging trail that included the infamous 'chimney' (a vertical 300 ft. climb/drop). East Osceola's summit was marked by a small cairn in the woods at which point we turned around and headed back to Osceola where we ate lunch and did a little yoga. Namaste.

Now that's an erratic

2010-11-01T21:03:00.001-04:00

It wasn't so much the snow blowing by at 30 mph as it was the ice hanging off the rock face that was intimidating. That, and the fact that if you were inclined to follow the yellow blazes that marked the trail, the realization that the icy rock face was the trail.

For the first 1.5 miles the trail climbed the 2000 ft to Glenn Boulder through forests of tall broad Beech and Hemlock. The snow falling gently, sticking only to the fallen leaves and dark green needles. But that all changed abruptly when we popped out above the treeline. And by abruptly I mean one step. A step up onto the rocks and the wind almost knocked you over as the snow bit into your face. A step back and it was once again a calm, gentle flurry. A step up and the snow fell on the rocks and melted to an icy sheen, a step down and it melted away.

The plan for the day was to hike the Glen Boulder trail to the Davis Trail, then go south, summit Mt. Isolation and head back. A 12 mile round trip that promised good hiking with over two miles of splendid views above treeline. The weather however, changed all that. With blowing snow, there would be no splendid views, and the time above treeline would be more than we'd planned for when setting out on a late fall hike.

So we hiked up to Glen Boulder, marveled at the snow building over the ridge from the direction of Mount Washington, took a few photos, debated the need for the microspikes, and headed down. I might be game for winter hiking, but I'm not quite ready for icy blizzard hiking.

Three-fer: North and South Kinsman and Cannon

2010-10-14T20:18:00.000-04:00

There are times when a slideshow is better than 1,000,000,000 words. This slideshow follows us up to Lonesome Lake, Kinsman Pond, North then South Kinsman. After that we camped at Kinsman Pond, leaving early in the morning to pop over the infamous Cannonballs, summit Cannon Mountain, and return via Lonesome Lake.

Passaconaway, Carrigain and thoughts on Winter Hiking

2010-10-04T19:52:00.002-04:00

This last weekend we hiked Carrigain and the weekend before we did Passaconaway – that makes two weekends in a row that were just phenomenally perfect! The weather on both days was clear, the views spectacular. The leaves are at peak color and every view you have is better than the rest. Every corner you turn, the trail just looks more fantastic. This being New England however, the temperatures between the two weekends were radically different. Two weeks ago it was 75 degrees this week, 45. While we ate lunch in our t-shirts and shorts on Passaconaway we retreated from the rime-ice covered Carrigain summit to have lunch huddled behind some stunted firs on Signal Ridge. Wearing our fleeces and soft shells it was still way too cold. But we enjoyed watching the high clouds flying over the Presidential range and occasionally glimpsed Mt. Washington.

This weekend was the first time I've ever seen rime ice. It coated everything on the North side of Carrigain's summit and really made me think twice about winter summiting. We'd started our climb in shorts and long sleeve t-shirts but here at only 4700 ft it was cold enough to make ice. Imagine how cold it would be on top if is was snowing below. Image how cold it was at the top of Mt Washington only 50 miles North and 2000 feet higher. Image how much you'd have to carry in your pack to cover the possibilities! There are dead bodies all over Mt. Everest. I'd been reading about some of them in The Lost Explorer and other mountaineering books and the reason for it is often because they were not prepared for the mountain. While you probably won't stumble upon any dead bodies in the Whites, you will stumble across lots of unprepared hikers, and unless you carry a lot of extra gear – you could easily be one of those very hikers/bodies. Alarmist, but true – read Not Without Peril.

But – its so good to be hiking, and now that the Whites are in my backyard, I can't imagine not going for an entire season. It's time to gear up for winter hiking!

The Screen Room and Mosquito Batting

2010-09-16T07:22:00.006-04:00

Thursday morning, the rain continued. We took a hike in the morning hoping things would clear, we even checked out the "oldest covered bridge in the United States", but by afternoon it was still raining. And it was cold.

When car camping we take what is referred to as "The Palace" - a six person LL Bean dome tent that fits a blow up full sized mattress with room to spare, and the LL Bean Woodland Screen Room. Up until camping at Glimmerglass I'd not been an enthusiastic supporter of the Screen Room but sitting inside on Thursday afternoon as the mosquitoes buzzed around outside I was appreciating the finer points of micromesh netting. As the evening came on, more mosquitoes came out, boredom set in. It was at this point, while holding my hand within 1/2 inch of the screen just to watch the frantic mosquitoes try to get through to all that luscious blood I wondered what tomorrow's forecast was. Another day like this and who knows what I'd be doing.

Lake Otsego and Ommegang Brewery

2010-09-15T08:12:00.000-04:00

Wednesday morning we headed south from the campground to Cooperstown and Stagecoach coffee. There wasn't a shoulder on Rt 31, but there weren't many cars so the ride was good. The coffee was excellent! After our little caffeine kick we cranked up the West shore enjoying the scenery and the addition of shoulders to the road. There was one giant hill at the end of the loop which I had to shift into granny gear to climb - but I did climb it! and flew down the other side into Glimmerglass State Park just as the rain started.

In the afternoon we sort of solved the mystery of why the Ommegang Brewery, The Best Brewer of Belgian Beer in America was located in Cooperstown, or at least after the beer tasting we really didn't care. Apparently the area was, in the 1800's, the biggest producer of hops in America. They don't grow it there now, they just make the beer and give tours of the brewery. It was a good tour, our tour guide was very informative and although I could not convince them to start making Triple Perfection again, I did like the Witte, Rarevos. Driving back to the tent, in the rain, I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

Cooperstown

2010-09-14T06:57:00.003-04:00

Cooperstown, the town named for one family and run by another. Aside from the Main Street tourist trade, baseball really has very little to do with it. Founded by, or rather owned by James Fenimore Cooper's father, William Cooper's Town: Power and Persuasion on the Frontier of the Early American Republic is a good book that goes into the details both about the father and the son's involvement with the town. Then along about the 1880s came the Clarks. Not content with running the Singer Sewing Machine Company, and the Dakota as well as founding the Met and a number of other significant museums the The Clarks of Cooperstown have run their little vacation town for four successive generations.

It is a sweet little town, close to perfect, nestled on the South Shore of Otsego Lake. We set up camp at Glimmerglass State Park and made plans for a ride around the Lake on Wednesday. Our guide this time was Cranks from Cooperstown: 50 Bike Rides in Upstate New York, a very thorough guidebook to the area, and my daughter.

We had dinner at a dockside restaurant, admiring the Lake and what Amy felt was truly unusual, a lovely, cloud free evening.

Bon Bon Alternative*

2010-09-13T06:53:00.002-04:00

Riding into a 30 knot headwind on the shoulder of road with giant RVs speeding by at 55 mph I again, had to wonder – why? I could be siting in a safe, air conditioned little cocoon, in front of a TV, eating Bon Bons. I do know people who love that, who live for that. Who work all week just so they can do that very thing. It is the antithesis of my idea of life and thinking about it, I pedal faster, drafting a bit off the next passing RV.

We ended up riding a 36 mile circumnavigation of Grand Isle, VT, After braving the traffic of RT 2 we swung North on side roads stopping along the way to check out the volunteer-run bike-ferry between Grand Isle and Burlington, sampling homemade donuts, watching a para-sailer, touring the fish hatchery and enjoying the phenomenal scenery. From the west shore of Grand Isle you look into New York and Adirondack Mountains, on the east side, the ridge from Mt. Mansfield to Camel's Hump stretches North to South.

It was a great ride for the end of this first half of the vacation. Tomorrow we head to Cooperstown for Part II. The Bon Bons will have to wait.

*Not to be confused with the Bon Ton Roulet.

French Canadians and State Parks

2010-09-12T07:34:00.001-04:00

The following day, the Saturday of Labor Day weekend we headed out for a 50 miler. Luckily we had done the 20 before or I don't think we'd have made it. Most of the route we'd ridden last year. North to Hero's Welcome where we stopped for coffee (and a chocolate croissant). Out at the picnic area we met a Quebec couple who were just finishing a 14 day bike circumnavigation of Lake Champlain. One of them rode a Rocky Mountain Sherpa, the bike I'd had for the Holland trip. Twelve miles North of there we stopped at North Hero State Park and talked to a cyclist from Montreal.

Heading west, with an eye on the building storm clouds, we crossed over a bridge were some kids were jumping off into the water. They'd even strung up a rope swing underneath, and were having a great time. Our next stop was Sand Dunes State Park. Ummm. Well, all I can say is coming from the Atlantic Coast, and having seen Pink Sand Dunes National Park in Utah, I guess I expect a bit more sand in my Sand Dunes. But Vermont seemed very proud of their sand. After all it had been deposited by the glacier thousands of years ago, and while the rest of the entire shore of Lake Champlain consists of tiny shale stones, here on the south tip of Alberg, there is indeed, Sand. Here again were two guys from Canada. The Ranger was American but he was the only other soul on the beach.

Heading home, and pretty hungry by now, we stopped again at Hero's Welcome (they have great sandwiches!), and watched a whole peloton of French Canadian touring cyclists gather. A few Americans stopped by too, but the crowd was predominately French speaking.

So many Canadians touring, so few Americans. Even if we were only 20 miles from Canada – it still seemed a bit out of balance. It also, perhaps goes a bit further to explain why, when Amy and I rode our bikes around Belgium 5 years ago, the Belgians insisted we were Canadian. “Canada?” “Non, Etats Unis”. “Noooo, Canada!”

End of the Hiatus – Return to Grand Isle

2010-09-11T09:35:00.001-04:00

After 3 week out of the saddle being back “in” felt good. Especially going downhill and downwind along the East Shore of Grand Isle, Vermont. Turning West into the wind, nine miles later things began to slow down and when we headed uphill – I probably could have walked faster.

But is was good to be back on the bike, and back in Grand Isle where we spent 3 days biking last year, and planned to spend another 4 this time. The main roads have nice shoulders and while the back roads don't, the drivers pull over, and there are honor system fruit stands with “Welcome Cyclists” signs.

As with last year we relied upon the Charles Hansen book - which is great at directions and also at pointing out the sights. According to him the ride around North Hero/Grand Isle is the best one in all the Lake Champlain region, and after our ride on Monday, I have to believe him.

Everest and K2 (books about)

2010-08-18T20:13:00.000-04:00

Ed Viesters has a saying, *Getting up the mountain is optional, getting down is mandatory'. My Himalaya's quote is not so dramatic, “It's not just about having a great book to read on the train, its also about making sure not to cry every time someone summits or dies" (both of which happen with great regularity).

During my own peak bagging lull, while we're bike riding on weekends in preparation for a week's cycling vacation in Vermont and Northern New York, I've been climbing The Big Ones (mountains over 8000 meters) vicariously. It all started innocently enough when a friend recommended Last of His Kind, the biography of Bradford Washburn, the past director of the Boston Museum of Science, and lifelong climber of Alaskan Mountains.

Next someone lent me Edmund Hillary's account of his 1953 ascent of Mount Everett, View from the Summit: The Remarkable Memoir by the First Person to Conquer Everest. That then inspired me to reread Touching my fathers soul, a book by Tenzing's son who was part of the 1996 IMAX team. I'd read this book a few years ago as it talks a great deal about the Sherpa's, their climbing and culture. Then came Tom Hornbein's Everest: The West Ridge. Which tells not only how Tom Hornbein and Willi Unsoeld climbed Everest via the West Ridge route but also contains great quotes about mountaineering by the great mountaineers.

Then somehow I start 'climbing' K2. The second highest, and some say deadliest mountain. First there was K2: the savage mountain which is about the 1953 expedition. While one of the team members did die, it really is, as all the other mountaineers in the other books say, a book about the 'brotherhood' of climbers. The culture that makes for a great climb, instead of just a summit. K2: Life and Death on the Worlds Most Dangerous Mountain, details all the climbing attempts on the mountain.

And then came Ed Viesturs. The name had come up repeatedly in the other books. Apparently he was this guy who had decided to climb all 14 peaks above 8000 meters, without oxygen. He was with Jamling Norgay during the 1996 climb of Everest (his first summit of Everest without oxygen), he climbed K2 in 1993, and finished his quest in 2008 with Annapurna. I'd read somewhere that he had, with the assistance of David Roberts, written a book/autobiography. No shortcuts to the top is great! It is an honest look at an honest and really competent guy. Sometimes you wonder if he doesn't think a little too highly of himself, but then you realize, he's just relating the facts. It's the facts that speak highly of him. And he has a sense of humor. (Here's a clip of him on The Colbert Report)

It is said that books open up new worlds. Reading these mountaineering books I've not only seen worlds I'd never see in person, I've become slightly conversant in them, the people who have lived and died in them, the culture that is there, that congregates around the mountain,

And now, not only can I pretend to be in the Tour de France when I ride my bike, I can also pretend to be summitting K2, without oxygen, in 50 mph winds while hiking in the White Mountains.

Tecumseh: The Western Approach

2010-07-28T20:13:00.000-04:00

Just because it's the shortest 4000fter doesn't mean you have to take the shortest path to the top. At 4003ft, the peak of Mt. Tecumseh is accessible via two routes. One up the ski slopes of Waterville Valley is the shortest but the Western Approach (which sounds much more impressively technical) is the nicer.

Starting form Tripoli Road, a unique combination of fire road/campground, the trail crosses two brooks then begins a gentle ascent along an old road. One guide book called it a logging road, but another book, Logging railroads of the Saco River Valley, suggested it might have originally been a farm road. Now days, it is a nice wide path through a mature forest of maples, oaks, and gray and white birches. While the area was last farmed/logged in the 1910's it apparently never suffered through the devastating fires that set back forest reclamation in other areas of the White Mountains. Still the trees are so big, it's hard to believe that some of these large trees are only a hundred years old.

After about .5 miles the trail takes a right hand turn off the old road and begins ascending at a steeper pitch just as a few conifers begin to appear in the forest. Occasionally clearings offer views North to Mt. Osceola or turns in the trail bring you face to face with a fox. We saw this guy twice, once on the way up, and again on the way down. Tom, the only other person we met on the trail had seen the fox too, said it even walked in front of him for a little while. When we first 'met' Mr. Fox, he just sat in the middle of the trail and looked at us. Very calmly. The second time he had a chipmunk and only a few seconds for us. It was obvious from his demeanor and the many little paw prints in the muddy sections of the trail, that this was his hunting ground and that he was very comfortable with people. Not sure exactly, however, we fit into his plans.

The rest of the walk was very nice, the trail wide, and the view from the top was off to the North and the Tripyramids. On the way down we hiked through a great thunderstorm. They really are so much more enjoyable when you've got a warm car and a dry change of cloths at the end of the trail!

Miles from Nowhere - Bicycle Touring

2010-07-14T07:05:00.001-04:00

Miles From Nowhere is one of the best bicycling touring books ever! Joe Kurmaskie's Metal Cowboy: Tales from the Road Less Pedaled and Riding Outside The Lines: International Incidents and Other Misadventures with the Metal Cowboy are great fun, but they don't come close to describing the day – to – day hunting and gathering- all-the-while-dealing-with-new-cultures aspect that Barbara Savage manages to brings out during her and her husband Larry's two year ride around the world.

Today's world is remarkably different than the late 1970's when the Savages took their ride and you can't help wondering how it would play out today. Certainly they wouldn't need to go months without hearing from home, or pedal furiously over dirt roads to be in town for a wire-transfer, scheduled 6 months previous and we know that the wind still blows furiously in South Dakota and Austria, the Himilayans still have very high passes, India is hot and dry, and New Zealand is still populated predominantly by sheep but the bigger questions remain. Do drivers in the Florida Keys still run bicycles off the road? Can bicyclists still camp at Stonehedge? Do Egyptians continue to stare at foreigners, or just foreigners on bikes? Will New Zealanders loan you their car to tour the island? Can you still camp on the beaches in Tahti?

Hmmm, maybe I'll have to take a ride and find out.

Mt. Cabot

2010-07-07T21:24:00.000-04:00

If a 200 year-old trail goes through private lands, does a new landowner have the right to close it? Sunday we hiked to the summit of Mt. Cabot, the northern-most of the NH 4000fters via the Bunnell Notch Trail as the person who owned the first mile of the traditional Mt. Cabot trail has closed it to hikers. Don't get me wrong, the Bunnell Notch trail is a fine trail, and since the closure of the other some wonderful folks have added a number of stone steps, bog bridges and reroutes to drier land, but when you join up with the remainder of the old Cabot trail on the West side of the mountain, you realize that not only was it the most direct route to the summit, it was also an historic trail. From the careful placement of the stones, and the carefully chosen switchbacks, it becomes obvious that this, like yesterday's Starr King trail, was also one of the historic bridal paths constructed in the 1850's when the Grand Trunk Railroad came through Gorham, NH making it the center of the Victorian hiking experience.

According to the AMC White Mountain Guide and the various forums on the internet, the property owner closed the trail sometime in the early 2000's. Although there was optimism that it would reopen (following negotiation with various clubs?/lawsuits?) it is still closed and that section has been removed from all official maps. Some hikers feel justified in trespassing, either through disregard, or as a political statement, maintaining that the trail is protected by a deeded, legal right of way. Others believe the owner closed the trail to avoid possible liability lawsuits.

Trails crossing private lands is not a new, or even unusual thing. Many times while hiking in the Whites, and other places, a sign on the trail will notify hikers that they are entering/leaving private land. The signs also usually ask that the hiker stay on the rail. Most hikers honor the request, most landowners allow the trails to continue. But as with all things, there are the exceptions.

I can understand some of the landowners concerns. Not all hikers adhere to Leave No Trace, not all assume personal responsibility for their well being on the trail. Some have even been known to sue the folks who rescue them. But there are laws to protect the homeowner and I do believe that if you purchased a piece of land with an existing trail, and in this case, an historic trail, you have an obligation to keep that trail open. If you can not fulfill that obligation then don't buy the property, or deed the land over to a land trust that can open the trail.

As it stands now there are three trails to the summit of Mt. Cabot. One that 'starts' in the middle of the woods on the border of the White Mountain National Forest land, one, the Kilkenney Ridge trail – which is an overnight backpacking trek a long a scenic ridge, and the Bunnell Notch Trail. I chose the path of least resistance, and am a bit disturbed by the situation.

Mt. Waumbek

2010-07-06T19:35:00.000-04:00

Saturday we walked up Mt. Waumbek taking the more popular route from the parking lot off RT 2 and crossing over the summit of Starr King Mountain. The honor of naming (and renaming) of the White Mountains seems to follow the rules of war – whoever possesses them gets to name them. For instance, the Presidentials were named by a bunch of hikers from nearby Lancaster, NH who happened to be the first group to climb Washington with necessary supplies for toasting the newly named peaks.*

Whoever (re)named Starr King Mountain must have done so sometime after 1850. Considering Starr King's cache at the time, I'm surprised at at the selection. Don't get me wrong, it is a nice mountain, with a good view South to the Presidentials but Waumbek, less than .5 miles to the East is higher, and has better views, and Starr King was, at the time, the guy who wrote the book on The White Hills: Their Legends, Landscape, and Poetry (Classic Reprint) as he titled it. Part guidebook, part romantic rhapsody the book combines a call for all to visit the Hills as well as preserve it and is credited with being a major cause for the White Mountain tourist pre-Civil War tourist boom.

At one point Starr King Mountain had a summit cabin and a bridal path leading to it, as many of the White Mountains did at the time. The stone hearth now stands in a small meadow. Hikers gather there in the sun to enjoy the views and a snack, often before moving on to Mt. Waumbec. Most do not know about Starr King (full name Thomas Starr King, who was also a famous Unitarian Universalist Minister in Boston, and later San Fransisco where he has another mt named after him.) but everyone who makes the climb has a chance to enjoy what he most enjoyed.

If hiking Mt. Waumbek from the West be sure and walk about 40 yards passed the3 summit. The peak is forested but there is a clearing to the East with views to the South of Adams, Monroe, and Jefferson.

*Forest and Crag, A History of Hiking, Trail Blazing, and

Whiteface (I will not wear cotton while hiking)

2010-06-26T20:13:00.001-04:00

I will not wear cotton while hiking, I will not wear cotton while hiking, I will not wear cotton while hiking. And seriously, after all those years at EMS, I should have known but today I hiked Whiteface with a cotton t-shirt. It was hot, it was cold, it was windy, it rained. It was a great hike. Scrambling up the cliffs on the Blueberry Ledge Trail, lunching on the bald peak while looking South over the Sandwich Range, hiking the ridge to the Dicey Brook Trail and down. But I should not have worn cotton. If it had gotten any hotter, any windier, any wetter, it would not have been be good. But the luck of the dumb but eager hiker was with me!

Oh, and a shout out to the Wonalancet Hiking Club. They do an amazing job of signing and maintaining their trails, and their map is fantastic. Printed on tyvek (as all good trail maps should be) it covers the entire Sandwich range on a 1:40,000 scale. The reverse of the map side contains great trail descriptions too.

No Wildcats, but a Beaver, a Bear, and an Osprey

2010-06-07T21:03:00.000-04:00

In Walking with Spring Earl Schaffer, the first person to continuously thru hike the AT, notes that the climb out of Pinkham Notch via the Wildcat Ridge Trail is one of the more challenging sections. So it was with some trepidation that we headed to that very trail on the most beautiful morning of the entire week. I wasn't all that confident that two middle-aged city workers could scale the rocky 3000 elevation, especially now that we had our packs loaded for a three day trip.

We left the Joe Dodge Center at Pinkham Notch following The Lost Pond Trail, a level .09 mile spur going to the Ridge Trail and bypassing, what was referred to as the 'dangerous Ellis River Crossing'. Have I mentioned that it was a beautiful morning? It was. So clear you could make out every detail of Mount Washington, and so still that you could see the ridges of Tuckerman's Ravine reflected in Lost Pond, broken only by the determined swimming of a Beaver. There are times, especially in the age of digital cameras, when you realize your photos probably look just like thousands of others, and then there are times, very unique occasions when you realize you are being presented with a rare photo opportunity – and you wish you had the skill to take that phenomenal photo. This morning was one of those moments. I'll let the pictures I did get do the 'talking' but just imagine...

It was while admiring the beaver dam that SD felt his pack give. The left stay ripped right out of its pocket and barring a sailors palm and needle (which we did not have) was irreparable. Duct tape might have done the trick temporarily but it was not responsible to head out into the wilderness for 4 days, up the roughest ridge in the Presidentials, with a broken pack. And so we headed back to the trailhead, back to the car, and back to North Conway.

And that's when we first saw the bear. And I was just where I wanted to be when I say my first bear – in the car. He was cute, and he did look like Pookie, especially as he stood up and looked over at us. He also looked like he could swot your head of with flick of his adorable paw.

We took a few (bad) photos and headed on our way to Eastern Mountain Sports where SD picked out an Osprey Atmos 65 Pack . By the time we repacked the bag and returned to Pinkham Notch it was noon. Too soon to call it a day, too late to reattempt the Ridge, we choose instead to take the 19 Mile Brook Trail with the idea that while we'd miss the Wildcats, we could stick with our original plan.

Mount Hale and North Twin Mountain

2010-06-06T16:25:00.000-04:00

For two mountains standing right next to each other Mount Hale and North Twin Mountain make for very different hiking experiences. For while the 4054 ft summit of Mt. Hale is reachable after only 2 miles, and North Twin is 4761 ft and a 4 mile hike, North Twin is by far the better trip.

We hiked Mount Hale first. Leaving from the trailhead on Zealand Road the Hale Brook Trail immediately begins its ascent,crossing a nice stream after roughly .5 miles the grade increases until the second stream crossing where a series of switchbacks begin as you enter the higher elevations of the conifer zone. Many of the firs here are dead or dying, probably as a result of ice storm damage a few years ago, but the good news is that this opens up occasional views North to Mount Washington. The firs on the summit, however are doing well and surround the clearing where the fire tower once stood, blocking all views except from the top of the man made cairn, and creating a nice wind-free haven for black flies. For those continuing on to Zealand hunt the Lend-a-Hand trail leaves the summit to the east but we headed back down the Hale Brook Trail. It was a nice hike, but probably the best part was checking Mt. Hale off the list once we returned to camp.

North Twin is another story. This was my third attempt although the first from this direction. Previously I'd planned to summit North Twin as a 'quick side trip' from South Twin. Not a great idea unless you're in good enough shape to make a quick 4 mile side trip after hiking at least 8 miles just to get to South Twin.

Barring that, the North Twin trail is a great day hike that starts as a walk on an old railroad bed along a perfect NH stream and ends with an invigorating climb to two great outlooks. Along the way we did waded in the stream, passed through the zones, post-holed through snow, ran into a tree, and battled hungry black flies. The first, the false summit, offers views to the North from the Bonds to Mt. Washington. From the true summit, while bracing oneself against the 30 knot winds, the view looks out over the Southern Pemigawansett, particularly from Garfield to Flume. On the day we arrived the view was a bit hazy as a result of the Canadian forest fires, which cast a literal pall over the day. Enjoying one forest so thoroughly, its sad to know another is burning out of control. Still in all, it was a great day and another 4000fter was under our belts.

Climbing the 4000fters Zone by Zone

2010-06-04T16:37:00.000-04:00

Last week we ascended from 2000ft above sea level to 4000+ feet, 4 times in our successful attempt to bag 7 more 4000fters. Each time passing through distinct climate zones, zones so distinct that by the last descent I could tell how much further we had left to go just by the plants. (As opposed to how much my legs hurt going up or my toes going down.)

2000ft - The Trillium Zone
As wildflowers go, the Trillium is pretty special. Classified as one of the spring ephemeral perennials, they bloom only briefly, and only in the woods. This week at 2000ft they were blooming everywhere and on the trail up signaled the start of another adventure. On the trail down, especially on the last day, coming down from North Carter, in the pouring rain and thunder, they were absolutely beautiful.

3000ft - The Lady Slipper Zone
The hunt for the rare Lady Slippers, or wild pink orchids, has become an annual ritual with my girls and me and so I was very sad that this year, what with being in Boston and all, I had missed my chance to see one of my favorite spring blooming wildflowers. However, I soon found that what blooms in early May on the seacoast is in full bloom in late May at 3000 ft. And they were everywhere! Considering that this plant is on the "At Risk" list and was almost extinct 100 years ago it was great to walk through large patches of them - even just as the terrain was starting to get a bit steep, my calves were starting to ache, and I questioned whether or not we really needed that extra pound of trail mix.

4000ft - The Conifer Zone
Somewhere between 3000 and 4000 ft the hardwood canopy of maples, birches and beech is replaced by pines and firs. Almost every trail we hiked had recently been effected by blow downs. There were trees down all over, especially in areas that had been hit by the ice storm a few winters ago had suffered significant tree damage. So aside from scrambling up and down rock faces, we also enjoyed the challenge of navigating over, under and around some significant tree piles, and on occasion, making full body contact with a limb or two, as I did with the branch of one tree only 1/2 inch short of my eye. (An impact that soon resulted in a lovely purple eye). On the plus side, all those downed trees opened up some amazing views, and as always, the feeling of being "Up There" just makes the day.

4000 fters

2010-06-04T15:06:00.010-04:00

The following list is of the 4000+ ft mountains in New Hampshire, listed in order of height, from greatest to smallest. Following the name, and the elevation will be the date I climbed said mountain. (This originally was in columns but the formatting has somehow been erased.)

1. Washington 6288 1976
2. Adams 5774 9/08
3. Jefferson 5712
4. Monroe 5384 9/08
5. Madison 5367 9/08
6. Lafayette 5260 7/07
7. Lincoln 5089 9/08
8. South Twin 4902 7/07
9. Carter Dome 4832
10. Moosilauke 4802
11. Eisenhower 4780 9/08
12. North Twin 4761 5/10
13. Carrigain 4700
14. Bond 4698 5/09
15. Middle Carter 4610 6/10
16. West Bond 4540 5/09
17. Garfield 4500 7/07
18. Liberty 4459
19. South Carter 4430 6/10
20. Wildcat 4422
21. Hancock 4420 7/08
22. South Kinsman 4358
23. Field 4340 5/10
24. Osceola 4340
25. Flume 4328
26. South Hancock 4319 7/08
27. Pierce 4310 9/08
28. North Kinsman 4293
29. Willey 4285 5/10
30. Bondcliff 4265 5/09
31. Zealand 4260 7/07
32. North Tripyramid 4180
33. Cabot 4170 7/10
34. East Osceola 4156
35. Middle Tripyramid 4140
36. Cannon 4100
37. Wildcat D 4070
38. Hale 4054 5/10
39. Jackson 4052 9/08
40. Tom 4051 5/10
41. Moriah 4049
42. Passaconaway 4043
43. Owl's Head 4025
44. Galehead 4024 7/07
45. Whiteface 4020 6/10
46. Waumbek 4006 7/10
47. Isolation 4004
48. Tecumseh 4003

I have been to Mecca and I have seen God

2010-05-21T07:04:00.000-04:00

...or would you believe the Stockyards and a rat on a cat on a dog? It was a sight so unbelievable as to pull the tourists who came for the cattle drive, the civil war buffs talking to Wild Bill Hiscock, and country western fans gathered around the yodeling elderly couple. Seriously, how often do you get to see a rat on a cat on a dog?

The Forth Worth Stockyards are pretty cool, a combination of old west town, rodeo honky tonk, kitcky shops and a great bar full of stuffed armadillos, bears, buffaloes, skunks and wildcats. Every day at 11:00 and 4:00 there is also a long horn cattle drive down the main street. Which is probably the height of slow motion fun. But all this action aside, it is probably the rat, cat, dog combination that will stay with me the most.

I tried to upload the video to YouTube but for some reason it won't go. So I figured, hey, something like that, chances are someone else has uplaoded it. And that's when I discovered this guy and his act are National heroes! They've been all over the country and have pulled from more than cattle drives and the video has had 5,981,583 views.

Fort Worth Water Garden - The next thing to being there

2010-05-13T21:53:00.003-04:00

Being in the Desert Canyons of Arizona and Utah with the wide open sky above, the warm, skin-melting air all around, and a miraculous waterfall before you is one of the most wonderful experiences. But, if you can't be there, and you happen to be in Forth Worth the Water Garden is a great place to be; almost like being there.

Constructed of brown pebbly concrete, water everywhere, and selective plantings the Water Garden is a man-designed desert oasis. The conference I'm attending has sessions split between two hotels, each located on opposite sides of the Water Garden. Some times, I suspect, I selected a session just to have the excuse to walk through the Garden. Yesterday I took a little longer and shot a video by the "Active Pool" which, hopefully goes some little way to sharing the experience.

This morning I woke up early and spent some time by the quiet pool, which honestly is my favorite of the three pools. Composed of a large, shallow pool surrounded by Cyprus trees and contained within the peddled concrete walls, it reminds me of Calf Creek Falls in Utah. It's rare when a man-made place invokes in me, a feeling of restfulness and connection like this one. The photos just don't do it justice.

The designer of the park, Phillip Johnson, also designed the Glass House in New Caanan, CT as well as many other master works of architecture.

You Know You're in Texas - the full, illustrated edition

2010-05-12T22:36:00.003-04:00

The SUV is the economy car
A fellow librarian is referred to as "the sweetest piece of sunshine"
Storefront signs inform you that the unlicensed possession of a gun is against the law. (But guns in general are just fine.)
There is Tequila in the Sangria
No one knows that the bus actually does run from your hotel to the stockyard and they insist you must take a cab
There is a stockyard
The local bar (excuse me - honky tonk) has an indoor rodeo
The TV doesn't have PBS (and you can't watch the show on Whaling)
You just watched an Armadillo race - and the winner won a can of Armadillo milk
You're encouraged to "ride a horse, save a cowboy"
Fried okra is served at least once a day
The enchiladas taste like heaven!

The Neon Lights of Fort Worth

2010-05-09T21:19:00.001-04:00

Fort Worth isn't what I expected. In a number of ways - but for now I just want to talk about neon signs. In 1923, the French company Claude Neon,introduced neon gas signs to the United States, by selling two to a Packard car dealership in Los Angeles. From that time the use of neon signs grew until reaching its peak in the 1960s, at which time popular taste turned against it and most were destroyed. . What was once "liquid fire" was soon considered harsh and trashy and were trashed.

But for some reason, there are quiet a few in Fort Worth, and while I too was in the trashy camp, the ones here in Fort Worth are actually pretty cool.

Inn Hiking in Vermont and New Hampshire

2010-05-09T20:26:00.000-04:00

A friend asked me to recommend some Inns that would be great places from which to hike. Knowing that the minute I sent the list, I'd remember another one, I thought it best to make a webpage (i.e. blog post), and if you know of some that should be added, please do!

Coming in at #1 is The Inn at Long Trail, Killington, Vermont. Aside from the fact that the inn is a great place to stay, the inn-keepers are really helpful, and the location is easy to get to, it is right in the cross-roads of some great trails. Just North of the Inn the Long Trail and the AT meet up (or diverge - depending on your direction). Hiking to the South on the AT takes you up to Killington Mountain for some really spectacular views.

The Inn at Long Trail also offers services for Thru-Hikers. During the season there are lots around - just in case you want a little inspiration for making that trip yourself, or if you just want to hear some good stories.

Cardigan Lodge - located in New Hampshire at the base of Cardigan Mountain, is another good hiking base. Run by the Appalachian Mountain Club has two private rooms, in addition to two bunk house. It may be a little rustic, but the food is good (they'll even pack your lunch for the trail) and the hiking is great!

Along the same lines, but on a bigger scale is the AMC's Highland Center. There are some really great trails nearby. To the North is a great hike up Mount Pierce and Mount Jackson.

Back to Vermont - A friend recommended the Blueberry Hill Inn. I've never been but the location is good. There are lots of trails in the area and...Robert Frost lived for a time in nearby Ripton, VT.

Sea change: Time for Acquaculture

2010-04-24T08:31:00.000-04:00

NOAA is currently seeking public input to help shape the scope and objectives of a draft policy for marine aquaculture.You can comment online at: http://www.nmfs.noaa.gov/aquaculture/policy1/#comment

My comment? - Culturally, Americans have always favored the hunter/gathers in our society. The cowboy is much more exciting than the farmer, pirate tales win over that of the merchant seaman, and the fisherman's life is preferable to that of the fish hatchery worker. Historically, economically and environmentally however, it is always the farmers who endure, the farmers who end up providing the most food while (hopefully) depleting the natural resources the least.

In this evolutionary progression of man from hunter/gatherer to farmer it is now time for the fisheries to realize that they have reached the end of an era. The buffalo no longer roam the plains in herds large enough to blacken the plains to the horizons, and fish no longer swim in vast schools. They have been fished out. And - as was done for the oyster over 200 years ago, it is now time to turn to responsible farming - if we are going to continue to harvest them.

Economically speaking the adoption of widespread aquaculture is a no-brainer - it's already making lots of money in other countries. Environmentally speaking the pieces all fit also. Why drive wild species to the point of extinction when we can, with sound regulation, raise the species without harming the environment? Presently over 70 percent of all fish sold in the US comes from foreign fish farms - farms that are not regulated and that do harm the environment. Bring the farms to the US where they can be regulated and it will not only improve the environment but also the safety of the product. And while it is always difficult for the hunter to become a farmer, in the cases where the transition has already been made in the US, it is the fishermen who are now making the best aquaculture farmers.

Temple Mountain (aka Bunny Mountain Temple)

2010-04-21T20:03:00.000-04:00

A few weekends ago, on one of those summer days in spring, we hiked the Wapack trail from the base of Pack Monadnock South to Burton Peak over Temple Mountain. It is a nice ridge hike and with the leaves just beginning to bud we had great views North to Pack Monadnock, West to Mount Monadnock and East to Boston. While a little cloudy it was clear and we could clearly see Monadnock's summit and maybe even some of the hikers braving the wind up there!

Located as the Wapack trail is, within an hours drive of Boston, there were lots of other hikers even on the lesser-known mountain. There was also lots of evidence (in a good way) of other hikers. While almost always I swear by the leave no trace credo there are times when I appreciate a little human input into the landscape. The giant rock cairn on top of Mt Eisenhower is one example. We summited in the dense fog and without the cairn there really would have been nothing to see, maybe even no real way to know we'd reached the summit. On the AT in Vermont, at a place called White Rocks, there is forest of white quartz cairns of all shapes and sizes. Coming upon them after slogging through a muddy swamp was truly delightful and one felt a kinship with the thousands of creators. Each one may be only placing one rock but together building an art installation in the wilderness, for only the lovers of the wilderness to share.

Temple Mountain also has it's collection(s) of cairns. Why folks choose a spot for cairn building often seems a bit random, there certainly are appropriately sized rocks all over New England, but once one is built, it seems everyone wants to get in the act. The Temple Mountain cairns are spread over a mile of the trail, smaller communities of rocks every other rock outcropping or so. One group was extremely abstractly sculptural, another modestly handcrafted. But my favorite held The Bunny. On one of the larger balds, someone had built a 5 foot high cairn with a hollow shelf in the middle. There, in the middle of the hollow shelf, peering out of the shadows was a stuffed brown bunny. Happy spring hiking everyone!

I'm going to Texas!

2010-04-17T19:35:00.002-04:00

The second week of May I'll be in Forth Worth, Texas at a conference. While my first inclination was to try and use this opportunity to add three states to my list (Texas, Oklahoma and Arkansas), the voice of nagging reason (aka S.D.) has convinced me that a better option would be to explore the area where I'll be.

So what, you may rightly ask, does Fort Worth, Texas have to explore? (Any and all suggestions are greatly appreciated!)

Apparently - in the days of the Chisolm trail, it used to have one of the most notorious red light districts. Known as Hell's Half Acre, this area hosted a number of saloons, and brothels, along with their famous and infamous visitors. The Earps, Bat Masterson, and my childhood favorites, Butch Cassidy's Wild Bunch. I'll actually be staying in this area. Of course the actually buildings were all plowed under years ago and it is now the site of Fort Worth's convention center and tourist district but hey...Northfield, MN is now a midwestern yuppie haven.

But wait, no need to be discouraged, Forth Worth does has an historic stockyard! Yup. You can't visit the brothels of yesteryear but you can see where all the cows were rounded up. Right next to the Armour and Swift meat processing plants. The historic stockyard features a twice daily cattle drive and gunfight.

I've also just begun exploring the beer situation, and it does look promising. Aside from Forth Worth being "the first brewery to produce Miller Lite, Fort Worth can make a Texas-sized claim as the birthplace of the low-calorie beer revolution" apparently there is a bar, The Flying Saucer that serves over 100 types of beer. The week I'm there, Wednesday night is "Drink the Beer, get the Glass" night. Starts at 7pm, for a limited time only...so we're looking at 2 glasses at the most. But it's really about the thrill of the hunt, isn't it?

Just like going to a new place is about the thrill of the new adventure.

Orient Express

2010-03-26T13:54:00.001-04:00

This morning the train was dark, as in no lights, no electricity. Had it been a sunny morning the only inconvenience would have been the loss of wifi. But on this gray, rainy morning it was downright eerie. We all spoke in hushed voices and wrote sentences that contained phrases like “hushed voices.” Had someone screamed 'murder' no one would have been surprised, especially when we went through the tunnel at Salem (you know the one with all the witches).

The diversity of things that can wrong on the train seems endless, and if you're not in a hurry to get to work, rather entertaining. Last week the 5:25 train was an hour late getting to Manchester. The train, two trains previous had, according to the conductor, “caught on fire.” After getting that one off the tracks the next train had to make extra, and longer stops to pick up all the discharged passengers. Two days previous we had been delayed leaving North Station because “someone forgot to change the switch.” We then were treated to a play by play account of how that someone was 'coming out of the house”, “approaching'” and then “throwing the switch'” I certainly appreciate the communication' I'm not so sure that the other passengers were as amused.

Two weeks before all this the hour delay was remarkable not because it was a whole hour but because we arrived at North Station at all. This was the day of the big storm. A number of commuters didn't make it to the train that morning because their power was out (and alarms didn't go off) a number couldn't make it because there were giant trees in their driveways, or getting by that, their cars were not able to ford the rivers that now crossed the lower parts of road. When those of us who did get to the station saw a train approaching we were amazed. The amazement only increased when we boarded and were informed that this train was actually the 6:05. The train that was supposed to be here 40 minutes ago. Not only did the MBTA have a large number of really large trees to clear off the tracks but several of the road crossing gates had been broken and the conductors had to get out and manually stop cars at each and every crossing. We (and by we I mean 3 train loads all packed into 1) arrived at North Station at 9:03. It had taken the train 3 hours to do its normal 1 hour run. But the really surprising thing was that it had done the run at all. I number of folks in the greater Boston area couldn't get anywhere near Boston that day.

The MBTA and for that matter, all mass transit is a great thing. Who knows what traffic nightmares I've avoided by the taking the train. I do know I've saved some money and used less of the limited precious resources on this planet. I've also joined a select community, one I would not have known had I been in a car cocoon. It's also interesting to note that the conductors do no collect tickets on these days, and if you've prepaid for the ride you get a credit for another. And just think of all the new stories I can tell.

Born to Run

2010-03-10T19:10:00.000-05:00

Back in the day at Eastern Mountain Sports we had a life size cut out of ultra-marathoner Dean Karnazes. We had received it as part of a promotion for his autobiography, Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner. For a few weeks it stood at the front of the store and then Brian moved it to the back. To the bathroom actually, where every time you turned on the light the thing would scare the crap out of you. Because that thing was scary! Karnas was in full tilt, half naked, full wild-man running mode – and aimed right at you. But it not only scared the crap out of me, it also pissed the crap out of me. I've always really admired the long distance athletes. Marathoners, ultrmarathons, rides across the country, all that is just really cool . And here was this weird parody of a man representing all that in a way that was even scarier than most people already viewed it. Well actually, most people think distance events aren't so much scary as they are crazy.

And thats what brings us to today's topic - the Book Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen – the bestest book ever on running, long distance running, and the human body's true function and potential. Revolving around the story of one man's running injury and a tribe of life-long runners in Mexico, the author relates the history of running, ultra-marathons and marathoners, (in which he also mentions the exception that is Karnasses), human evolution, the evil that is the sneaker industry, the beauty that is the human foot, the misguided advise of the medical profession, and the potential in all of us.

The upshot - “baby we were born to run!”

Rage Against the Umbrella

2010-02-25T17:57:00.000-05:00

Coming in at number 7 in the Marquis De Sade's list of favorite torture instruments, the umbrella was invented by the ancient Egyptians and has continued to impale countless, already wet and miserable, pedestrians to this day. Just yesterday morning, while standing in a 35 degree, 15 knot downpour I was assaulted by an umbrella-wielding sadists. They speared me in the shoulder and practically poked my eye out! These criminals continue to roam the streets, even as the Marquis was imprisoned several times for his cruelties.

And for what purpose? Really? Does anyone really believe a flimsy fabric covering of a metal frame keeps them drier than a half decent rain coat can? Even in these wonderful days of Goretex? The coverage an umbrella provides is extremely limited. Even if, as rarely happens, the rain is falling straight down, only a small area can remain dry. In the wind, the protected zone becomes tiny. (Even as the risky of drawing blood increases)

And what about the long term ramifications of the Umbrella? According to the Association of Parasol Reclamation, broken umbrella's account for 3% of all landfill waste. And how many even make it there? Broken umbrellas line the streets, and hide in the closets of America.

Now, however, is the time for all good people to stop the madness. Save your fellow man from injury, give up the illusion, help clear out the landfills - Get a raincoat.

Annual Celebration of the Vicarious Life

2010-02-24T21:42:00.002-05:00

Real life has been so full this winter that I almost passed through the Season of Vicarious living without - living vicariously. Riding the T every morning I've glared jealousy at the other commuters tucked into fluffy little paperbacks. Life may be good, but still, there is something about late winter that makes me want to live someone else's life for a little while. I guess that impulse is what drives some to reality tv, but for me it's what drives me to the Library.

And so it was during the gray snowy day that was last Wednesday I finally picked up some good winter-reading books and started making up for lost time. First off was Jack Keroucs' Satori in Paris, a 'vacation' as driven and chaotic as the best of them. On the historical side there was Remaking Boston: An Environmental History of the City and Its Surroundings (Pittsburgh Hist Urban Environ). A great collection of articles on the interaction of man, technology and geography. Did you know Boston used to have hills? and was practically an island? But the hills were leveled, the bays filled and Boston has grown.

Now I'm reading The Bad Book Affair: A Mobile Library Mystery (Mobile Library Mysteries), the semi-mystery about a mobile librarian in Northern Ireland who would rather be reading but finds himself accused of lending a 'bad book', American Pastoral, to a minor who subsequently disappears. Perhaps that will make up the lost time - living vicariously through a book about a librarian who wishes he was living vicariously.

(Don't) Well Blow Me Away - the Powder House in American History

2010-02-07T18:07:00.000-05:00

It took two weeks but today we finally climbed up the hill behind the new digs to see our street's namesake - the Powder House of Powder House Hill Road. Local history (and the large plaque on the House's side) has it that the square brick structure was built in 1810 in light of growing hostilities with the British. The town militia needed a place to store their gunpowder "far enough from habitation to avoid injury and excessive damage in case of explosion" and so they chose the hill behind town.

Apparently there were a lot of Powder Houses all over the northeast coast, some of which still remain. Marblehead's round Powder House was built in 1755. Wiscasset's is of 1813 vintage. Fairfield, CT's was built after the War of 1812, in preperation for the next war that never came. Local lore holds that Exter, NH's house held powder that was used at the battle of Bunker Hill.

But Manchester appears to be the only one with what I imagine to be a sense of defiance - while the House is indeed away from town it is also located so at to be extremely viewable from the water, as the plaque its self notes "this hilltop site was long a landmark for mariners" and is also the prefect place to taunt the British who might happen to be sailing by.

It's gratifying also to see the many historic minded people who have worked to preserve these great little structures.

Boston Globe Article

Secrets of the Massachusetts Commuter Rail

2010-01-29T07:27:00.000-05:00

I may be snuffed out for divulging the following but I will have died in the service of providing information, and I will have died in a way that would make all librarians proud.

These are, as far as I have been able to ascertain in my first 4 days, the secrets of riding the commuter rail:

Each car has an assigned conductor, actually, for every two cars there is generally one conductor. The conductor/car assignments are the same every weekday. Every morning I've ridden on Michael's coach. He's an older gentleman, wears the mbta uniform, a skull cap, and reprimanded me on my first morning for not saying I wanted a round trip ticket fast enough.

You can buy tickets on the train, and unless there is a land based (my terminology) vendor near the stop, it will not cost anything extra.

Not all coach doors open at all stops. Usually either the front door, or the back door of your car will open, it depends upon where your conductor's coaches are. They open the doors in between or near the handicapped unloading platforms.

When loading on the Inbound run, the trains will stop lined up with the spot on the platform that reads “stand back”. That is where everyone queues, politely, but a bit randomly.

Generally the people don't talk, unless there is extreme weather. Then North Shorians become very friendly.

You do not open doors yourself, especially the one at the front of the train.

Generally people ask, “is this seat available?” before taking the empty seat.

Free wi-fi is provided but it can disconnect at any time. Save often.

Unloading in North Station, takes awhile until everyone gets off calmly but there is a long narrow platform to walk down. Unlike walking in large crowds in NY, I have not felt the urge to moo. Personal space, even in large crowds is respected.

The trains usually arrive and leave from the same tracks in North Station, but you do have to pay attention because it is not guaranteed. Most of the regulars know this, so like yesterday, when they hadn't posted the track our train would depart on by 5:20, the regulars assessed the situation and drifted over to track 2, our usual track where an empty train was sitting. When we recognized one of our conductor's we knew we were 'on the right track.'

I'm sure there are many more secrets, but for now, they must remain so.

CCCChanges

2010-01-26T17:51:00.000-05:00

Our move this past weekend went very smoothly, aside from the funeral. While everyone in Manchester, MA was talking about the moving of a 4 bedroom house, we quietly drove the Penske truck to our new apartment, unloaded and began nesting. And seriously, the apartment is on the third floor and has a good sized deck that is surrounded by trees. Sometimes it feels like we are nesting in a tree house. Anyway, things went very smoothly with S and I having only a few "issues" over furniture and painting placement, many of which S solved by dragging me out to take a walk..oh and getting a cappuccino at the bike store, but more about that later. The only, umm, road block, was when we went to return the truck.

Have you ever driven rt 127 between Manchester and Salem? Or, say, the average New England road minus two feet and double the traffic? That was the road S. had to drive in a 22' moving truck. I did the navigating in the lead car. Things were going well until we came to Beverly Crossing, a small, town where main street is the street, and the parking lot. We'd driven through a few times before, and it hadn't seemed particularly busy but today seemed very crowded, both with cars and with pedestrians...strangely...all dressed in black. As we turned the corner at the top of the hill a crowd of black clad pedestrians had overflowed into the street and traffic came to a standstill. Looking over at the church to our left, the reason for all the activity was clear. We had driven into the biggest funeral ever held on the North Shore.

After about 12 minutes the crowd began to thin out and traffic began to creep. S. skillfully navigating among the people, Mercedes, suvs and Volvos. I began to think we'd make it through okay. And that's when we saw the other truck. A very big truck. In the other lane. I looked in the rear view mirror to see if somehow our moving truck had magically shrunk. It hadn't. Slowly the two trucks approached each other, passing each other only after one of the cars parked on the side had driven off, and they had pulled in their mirrors. It was a skillful piece of driving. As the driver of the other truck pulled along side S. he leaned out the window, casually asking, “Did the Pope die.”

Mystic Seaport's Book Club

2010-01-15T06:57:00.000-05:00

Having erudite discussions of the latest novel is some folks idea of a Book Club, Mystic Seaport's unofficial Book Club is another. Sure, we read and discuss books. We've read everything from Henry James' The Portrait of a Lady to Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation. The time we read a series of books on concubines was very illuminating as well as our attempt at Patrick O'Brian novels.

But the books are but a small part of this Book Club. And while I'll be able to read books where ever I go, I doubt I will ever again find such an interesting group of people to discuss them with. Far from being a compote* of individuals, these folks are of the highest, most valued kind of our society. The honesty of the group is amazing. Just yesterday the person who recommend this month's reading started the discussion by apologizing. The book had started out good (at which point she had recommended it) but finished very poorly. We all laughed and went of to the discussion. We've all recommended a bad once before. The
depth and breadth of life experience is also amazing. From 20 to 100 year old, North Americans and Europeans, and from actuary to roustabout, they've been everywhere, and done some surprising things. They also have an extrodinary appreciation of fine wine and food. Book Club is a pot luck, byob affair. We don't coordinate who is bringing what but you can always tell when things at work are pretty rough. Everyone shows up with wine.

Last night, after roughly ten years of being a member of this wonderful group I said goodbye. The second Thursday's of the month will never be the same.

Curb Alert

2010-01-10T17:17:00.000-05:00

There is a wise saying that goes: "If it's free, you paid too much." It is a saying that has, in my experience proven true time and time again. It is also a saying that apparently, not many other people believe in.

We recently posted a number of items in the free section on craigslist. The emails started pouring in. Folks love the free stuff! And really, a lot of it is stuff that's just on the cusp between good stuff and garbage. One guy is driving for 45 minutes to get a day pack worth maybe $5.00 (less than the gas, and proving the 'if it's free you paid too much addage) Meanwhile no one has been interested in the one good thing. My golite pack. But the emails keep pouring in and 5 hours, and over 35 emails later, not one item has been picked up.

So, here is my latest suggestion, based upon the posting of an obviously seasoned craigslister, on how to use craigslist to give away stuff. Use the "Curb Alert." I.e. gather together all the stuff you want to give away. Take pictures. Put the stuff out on curb. Post the items to craigslist with a "Curb Alert" including the statement "First come, first serve. Email me and I will give you the address. Items removed from this list as they disappear." and keep your hands on the keyboard.

Slap Chop at the Yankee Swap

2010-01-09T20:14:00.001-05:00

It's not every Christmas you find yourself the 'winner' of the Yankee Swap. I've gone home with plastic seagull planters, bad bottles of wine, and lots of other stuff I don't remember. This year I passed up the snuggy and hit the jackpot by picking up the "Slap Chop".

Or so I thought until I tried it. The slapping is great. Lots of fun. Smacking that black handle and hearing it hit the cup is great. Sadly however, it really doesn't chop very well. And what it does chop, sticks in the blades. Reading the reviews at Amazon I see I'm not the only one to be so disappointed.

Ah, the pain of being mislead by TV commercial.

PS We have tried the Sham WOW and thought it was a little better.

Video suggest by Dan:

Cookbooks and Coffee-Offs

2009-12-30T18:34:00.000-05:00

This year's Christmas had a definite scientific bent. Amy received The New Best Recipe: All-New Edition which is a great cookbook in that it not only gives recipes but it also includes explanations of the experiments they undertook to come up with the Best Recipe.We tried the Northern Corn Bread, the spiral ham, mashed sweet potatoes and pancakes. All things we've baked before but that came out much better with the new book's recommendations.

Inspired perhaps by the cookbook, or just because someone here likes to conduct his own scientific experiments we also had a Christmas morning coffee-off. Using the same brand of coffee, freshly ground, in the same amount and with the same amount of water we brewed coffee using:

1. Chemex

2. Mr. Coffee®

3. French Press

The coffee was then poured into secretly coded mugs and served (black) to 4 testers.

The results were surprising, but unanimous. Mr. Coffee made the best brew, followed by the Chemex. The French Press came in at last place.

Adventures in apartment hunting

2009-12-14T07:39:00.001-05:00

This weekend we looked at a lot of apartments. Cute apartments, buggy apartments, sterile apartments and non-descript apartments. Some were in small cities, some in little towns, and one - was as close to nowhere as you can get on the North Shore.

Our specs are pretty narrow. Has to be sunny,quiet, 2 bedroom (room for guests and toys), and walking distance to the commuter rail line, and an easy drive to Gloucester. And I think we found one in Manchester-by-the-Sea. A really, really cute town. The .2 mile walk to the T, takes me by a coffee shop and a bookstore. Also, it is next to a bike shop and behind it, there is a nature conservancy with hiking trails.

Which makes the move all that much more real. Hard to believe I'll be working in the big city. Ah...so many adventures, so little time to blog.

Making a list

2009-12-07T07:27:00.000-05:00

Yeah, it's trite but I figure Santa is pretty busy this year and this will help him out.

Good beer

Those little ear bud / headphone things

Nice wine glasses

Least you prefer to eat Bon Bons

2009-12-01T19:05:00.000-05:00

Books can be dangerous. Very very dangerous. I finished a century in September and decided that I'd had enough of that. I just finished reading Step by Step: A Pedestrian Memoir, by a guy who obsessively walked/ran multiple marathons, double marathons and 24 hour races, (including trying to run a marathon in every state, and in every month of the year) and half way through reading the book I took a break to find out if that was possible with Centuries (there is one for every month, and all states except Rhode Island have official Centuries), and of course for the really obsessive there are Double Centuries.

Spoiler alert! All in all a good book, one comforting fact however, is that, this guy, Lawrence Block, doesn't realize until he's in his sixties that "it's the walking that's important, not the time, not the distance. Not the medals, not the trophies, not the T-shirts." Hey, at least I got that in my 40s!

Grand Staircase Escalante

2009-11-29T17:47:00.001-05:00

It's December and you know what that means. Time to plan a spring hiking trip out West! This year we're thinking it'd be nice to do more exploring of Grand Staircase Escalante in Utah. I've poked around the perimeter a few years back and loved it. Hiking the Buckskin Gulch slot canyon and Calf Creek Falls made for two days of my life I'll never forget. Now it's time to backpack into the heart of it and have some more.

But before any trip comes the second best part - the planning. I'm thinking a good map is essential for this remote area, something like Escalante Canyons - Trails Illustrated Map # 710 should do. And then there is the book. The Book has to not only recommend good backpacking possibilities but also give a bit of history to the area.
Hiking from Here to WOW: WOW Guides Utah Canyon Country : 90 Trails to the Wonder of Wilderness seems to fit the bill.

Let the planning begin!

Adventures in Mass Transit: The Road Warrior Takes the Train

2009-11-28T16:56:00.003-05:00

Despite my reputation for loving a long drive, if it were anywhere near cost effective to take the train to and from Gloucester I'd be happy to do so. At present though, the most I can justify is when I only need a ride one way. I suppose the thrill will wear off over time but perhaps the thrill of being a road warrior wasn't so much the driving, as the going places. Getting on the train in one town, and getting off in a totally different one without making any further effort seems magical. Almost as magical as say, Magic Thursday back in Mystic ( trash placed on the curb Thursday before work, disappeared by nightfall).

The one, or maybe it's two, hiccups in the Gloucester to Mystic route is the cost. The commuter rail from Gloucester to North Station costs $9.25. Then there is a $2.00 ticket to get from North Station to Back Bay on the Orange line. The cost for Amtrak (which incidentally is only a little more than half the total milage) costs
$28.00. Total cost $39.25. To drive it, takes about half a tank of gas and one cup of coffee - doesn't even have to be a good one. The second drawback is the whole North Station - to the Orange Line - to Bay Back part. It's not really so much that it's inconvenient. Really it only adds about 20 minutes to the whole thing, the real issue on this is just that it's dumb. Even after doing it a few times I haven't been able to stop myself from getting worked up about how stupid it is to not have trains go to the same station. Amtrak trains coming from the North end at North Station, while Amtrak trains coming from the South, end at South Station. And those two are approx. 1.1 miles apart. To get from one to the other you either have to take a cab (which is a total mass transit cop out), walk (being sure to take a good map Streetwise Boston Map, or take the Orange Line subway. This really takes you to the Back Bay Station, one stop down the line from South Station. There is no subway going between the two major train stations. Who planned, or didn't plan this? And why wasn't it fixed as part of the big dig?

But aside from that, it's really pretty cool that you can get around without a car. That you can read a book, sleep, sight-see or people watch and get through one of the most congested places in the US without having to drive. Tuesday I will board the train in Gloucester, get off at North Station, take the Orange line to Back Bay, and take Amtrak to Mystic, where I'll just walk on down RT 27 to work. Just like magic (with a little bit of grumbling somewhere in the middle).

From Sheep to Fish: What Scientists can learn from ethnohistory

2009-11-18T21:13:00.000-05:00

Recently I picked up a book about sheep ranching in Navajo Country and began thinking about the recent protest by fisherman in Gloucester, Mass, and Orange Beach, Alabama against National Marine Fisheries Service's (NMFS) new policies intended to prevent overfishing and help stocks recover.

The book, Dreaming of Sheep in Navajo Country (Weyerhaeuser Environmental Books) focuses on the 1930s government instituted plan of livestock reduction in response to devastating overgrazing. The government plan was, according to the author, Marsha Weisiger, based upon scientific reality and was well-intended but when implemented without the input and cooperation of the people most effected was doomed to failure. Animosities created then between government representatives and tribal members stand in the way of the creating a continuing cooperative policy to work with the land.

Reading the newspaper articles and especially the comments relating to the Gloucester, Mass protest the parallels are obvious.NMFS maintains that their policy is based upon scientific reality and is intended to preserve stock. The fisherman insist the science is flawed but really focus on how the new policies will kill the smaller fisherman, i,e. the culture of the local fisherman. Carrying banners reading "National Marine Fisheries Service: Destroying Fisherman and their Communities Since 19??" they protest the end of their way of life.

Weisiger concludes her book stating that "conserving the range was not simply an ecological problem; it was a cultural one, too...[government officials] lost sight of the fact that a truly sustainable relationship with the natural world requires an ethical relationship with the land, with those who people it, and with the cultures that give it meaning." Isn't it past time the fisheries problem was looked at as more than a ecological problem?

There are obvious strong, vibrant cultural, and associated cultural meanings that must be taken into consideration if a true solution to the fishery problem is to be reached.

Trustom Pond, Rhode Island

2009-11-03T06:41:00.001-05:00

Hiking during hunting season always poses a dilemma. Do you want to risk your life, especially as you'll be wearing a hideous orange vest (don't even bother worrying about your underwear)or do you want to play it safe and 'hike' through town? Trustom Pond offers another alternative. It's a short walk, roughly 3 flat miles along nice wide paths. The main path takes you to two separate overlooks on Trustom Pond, the only pond remaining in Rhode Island without shoreside development. There are lots of birds to look at and it is pretty. At the southern most point the pond is separated from the ocean only by the narrowest of land spits that must be breached even during really high tides. In summer, I'd be tempted to swim out. Something about the place just called for a small bit of wildness.

Matunuck Oyster Bar, Aquaculture, and Rhode Island Oysters

2009-10-18T10:16:00.004-04:00

It's always kinda nice when after a great dinner out you can gather around google maps in satellite mode and say "my dinner were farmed from there, and there, and there." And last Saturday after a great day of kayaking we did just that. We'd tried to go Matunuck Oyster Bar during the summer, but the place was packed. On a beautiful autumn evening it was merely busy.

The entrees were good but really, the coolest thing about the Oyster Bar are, well, the oysters. We ordered a plate of assorted Rhode Island Oysters. All named after their locations. The Potters Pond oysters were the sweetest (and incidentally grown by the owner of the restaurant). On google maps you can actually see the cages. In the summer they run tours out to the farm. Next we had them from farms in Winnapaug Pond, Narragansett Bay, Point Judith Pond, and Ninigret Pond. All good. Actually all very good!!! Can't wait to go again. mmmmm...maybe in November?

A(nother) Grounding on Gaspee Penisula

2009-10-14T20:44:00.003-04:00

HMS Gaspée, a British revenue schooner that had been enforcing unpopular trade regulations, ran aground in shallow water on June 9, 1772, near what is now known as Gaspee Point in the city of Warwick, Rhode Island, while chasing the packet boat Hannah. In a notorious act of defiance, American patriots led by Abraham Whipple and John Brown, attacked, boarded, looted, and torched the ship. By many accounts, this is actually the first act of the American Revolution.

If you live in Warwick, RI, this is the raison d'ete for Gaspee Days, a three day craft fair, party and parade.

For me, it lead to a moment of living history. Saturday some friends and I went kayaking in Narragansett Bay. First we headed North up the Pawtuxet River, then South around a very long sand spit. As we rounded the point Steve pointed out that this was Gaspee Point.

I work in a museum but I'm not really the kind of person who gets excited by the whole 'true cross' thing. Looking at Washington's wooden teeth is gross, staring at the hat Lincoln wore the night he was shot is just morbid, even a splinter for The Cross really wouldn't faze me. But doing something, or being somewhere, where something historical happened - just gives me the shivers. So there I was, paddling over the very spot where the Gaspee grounded and burned more than 300 years ago. The wind was blowing, the temperature was dropping and I was loving it. I paddled as close to the land as I could, half hoping I too would run aground.

The Flatest Century in the East, 2009

2009-10-14T08:42:00.001-04:00

Even though I rode a Century, a hundred mile ride in one day, apparently, I'm a slacker because I haven't written about it. Which alters the question of whether life imitates art - or informs it.

Doing the Century this year was touch and go on four separate occasions:

the day before
at the 54 mile mark
at the 75 mile mark
when SD was yacking while my right leg was cramping

Knowing we were getting a bit older we had been training all summer for this ride. Along with regular rides we'd also done the Erie Ride for a warm up, and the Vermont week for the final big training week. But we hadn't ridden the week between Vermont and the Century and then some friends invited us to spend the weekend on their island. We knew we could ride the 100 miles. We'd ridden 80 hilly miles just the weekend before so we wondered, do we really need to do the actual ride? and if so for whose sake? Why do we set these goals and who cares if we achieve them - technically?

Philosophical musings aside, the morning of the Century found our friends enjoying a nice cup of coffee and watching the sunrise over Narragansett Bay as we pulled into the Dartmouth parking lot with 3000 other bike riders whom we soon followed North to begin circumnavigating the Southeast Mass coastline. The riding, while not flat, was nice, traffic low, and the Narragansett Bay Wheelman had hired a number of traffic police to see the massive groups across major intersections.

At the first rest stop, the peanut butter sandwiches tasted pretty good. We'd ridden 37 miles and we were feeling okay. Between there and the next rest stop SD started lagging a bit behind. He probably doesn't remember and will, most likely, make a comment on this post as an anonymous person completely denying this but I know I wasn't peddling very hard and he was. But pedal he did. The next rest stop delievered even more sandwiches and promised a change of scenery. Up until that point we'd been riding North of Dartmouth, mostly through wooded areas. Now we headed South, riding up and down pennisula's with great views of rivers, bays and the ocean. And that was a very good thing. As much as I love riding, sitting in the saddle for over 7 hours, can be a bit boring sometimes so it's always good when there is something interesting to look at.

By mile 75, I was in desperate need of something nice to look at. My bum was a bit sore, my right leg was occasionally cramping and I didn't want to eat, or even see, another peanut butter sandwich. SD, at this point, was raring to go. We'd arrived at a short cut to the finish line which, if we took it, would result in an 82 mile ride. Now the question wasn't why do we (I) need to ride the 100 miles, if I knew I could do it, the question had become, geez, can I ride another 25 miles? SD waited patiently.

I turned right - opting for the whole monty. Ooooowww. By mile 95 my right leg was permanently cramped. I now suspect it was some sort of mineral depletion but then I just knew that every time I turned the crank it hurt like heck. SD pulled in front and slowed enough for me to draft and that helped greatly. On the last 2 miles he thought it might be better if he rode beside me and offered comforting words, and perhaps some distraction. Lets just say that's not a good tactic with me, but the effort is much appreciated.

At 102 miles, SD pedaling along like a little kid, and me cursing every stroke and whomever threw in the extra 2 miles we returned to the Dartmouth parking lot and picked up our t-shirts.

Yeah - I can still ride a 100 miles but I do hope I never make that a goal. Goals like "riding the coast of California" or "circling the Grand Canyon" or such, would probably be funner. Oooh wait, maybe that's a good goal. Riding for fun!

But I did have fun doing the century, not just the ride but the training. AAARRGGG

Bad Bike Rider Corollary Effect

2009-10-12T17:48:00.003-04:00

The book Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What It Says About Us) aside from just being generally fascinating in what it reveals about our driving habits has some good insights into driver/cyclist dynamics as well. Citing a study by English psychologist Ian Walker, the book points out that car drivers tend to give more slack and be more cautious around cyclist whom they can not predict and whom do not appear to know what they are doing, i.e.

The further a cyclist rides from edge of the rode, the more space drivers give them
Drivers will pass closer to cyclist wearing helmets than those not.
Drivers pass further around a woman than a man (in other, non-cycling traffic studies, the majority of drivers, women included, treat women drivers as less predictable)
At an intersection, cyclist who fail to signal a turn are treated more cautiously than those who do.

Apparently, the best way to avoid being hit by a car is to not wear a helmet, wear a dress and ride erratically. It's truly a great study that will give readers a whole new perspective on driver/cyclist dynamics.

Will I, however, follow this line of reasoning? Heck no! For what I term the the Bad Bike Rider Corollary Effect.

Corollary is defined as a "proposition that follows from another that has been proved." As such the above law has been proven. What remains to be seen/studied is how the driver will then treat the next bike rider they come upon, and the next, and the next. Having now ridden in several group rides and followed both good and bad riders, both Lycra-clad and non, I can tell you that the more badly behaving, non-signaling, non-riding to the right bike riders a car has to pass, the less leeway they give and the less cautious they become. Heck, even I do it.

Long live Shakespeare

2009-10-05T18:37:00.003-04:00

We are returning to a mob ruled, pre-industrial revolution society! If, as Lawrence W. Levine states in William Shakespeare in America, the first chapter of , Highbrow/Lowbrow: The Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in America (The William E. Massey Sr. Lectures in the History of American Civilization) Shakespeare was the most popular playwright in America until the late eighteenth century because his plays reflected the American moral sense and worldview. A popularity that faded as individualism and moral virtue became less and less a rewarded characteristic of industrial man. Then, with the current replacement of the industrial revolution by the technological revolution, we are already beginning to see the resurgence of mass movement, crowd sourcing, twitter-organized protests, etc. balance by a respect for rugged individualism. In a nutshell, we are witnessing the return of the power of the individual to effect change through mass movements. Can the mass market popularity of Shakespeare be far behind?

Adventures of the Bad Tourist

2009-09-27T20:36:00.004-04:00

If you ever get the chance to go site seeing or museuming with me, don't. Hiking, biking, backpacking, kayaking, or anything like that – I'm a great companion, but touristing, even if you're lying, say you're busy. My present trip to Washington, DC confirms my long ignored suspicions that I have no talent for looking at things.

In the 2.5 days I was in DC I went to The Capitol, the Library of Congress, “The Castle”, the Museum of American History(more on the maritime exhibit in another post), the White House Visitor Center, the National Archives, The National Book Fair, Washington Monument, WWII Monument, Lincoln Monument, Vietnam War Memorial, and the Hershorn Art Museum, and I'm not sure what I got out of it.

Museum curators, when designing an exhibit, are trying to answer the question "So what?" Looking over their exhibits, the one question that keeps popping up in my head is "Why?" Why do I or anyone need to be here to see this stuff? What are we hoping/expecting/expected to get out of it?"

The Reading Room at the Library of Congress, the Lincoln Monument, the Vietnam Memorial and the Veterans and volunteers at the World War II Monument were truly awe inspiring. Climbing the steps to the Lincoln statue I recalled Sarah Vowell's description of her visit there in Assassination Vacation. (A book that looks at history by visiting sites associated with presidential assassinations) Not only does she tell of the creation of the Memorial, the citing and lighting issues, but also of her relation and how she stayed a long while watching other peoples. I cried. There is a feeling there, under this great man's gaze, inside this giant marble greek temple, on the top of hill, with the Washington Monument behind you, and behind that the Capitol. There is a sense of time too, both eternal, but also you sense his time, that "great battlefield" on which he was engaged, and that we too are on that battlefield, not in war sense, but in the sense of doing, and being what is right.

Exhibit wise, I was not so impressed, having more of a "been there, done that" or "I could have read this (and a lot more) just about anywhere" experience. I guess I lack that reverence for the "true cross" that museum folks always talk about. Seeing the original Star Spangled Banner left me more annoyed with the idolaters who cut out one of the stars than well, whatever we were supposed to feel/learn/? And don't even mention the "ruby' (aka plastic sequin) slippers to me. Then there was the White House Visitor Center. Since, for understandable reasons, visitors can't just tour the White House they have shunted them over to a building on Pennsylvania Avenue where there are a few aged panel exhibits and a 30 minute video tour of the White House. Excuse me? I came all the way to DC and you want me to sit and watch a mediocre video I could see anywhere? The more of these video tours I saw, the more annoyed I got with them. With one exception. The Castle runs a 10 minute introduction to all the Smithsonian Museums and is hosted by Ben Stiller. It's well produced and genuinely informative as opposed to the media sales talk type.

Well, could go on, but I won't. I will do a later post on the National Book Fair , another on the "On the Water" exhibit, but later.

Left Hand Milk Stout and 180 Degrees of Atlantic

2009-09-20T10:36:00.007-04:00

Even though, after in-depth consultation with a co-worker who also works at a package store, I decided not to drink anymore dark/especially chocolate beer until the inventory freshened in late fall, I did have another chocolate beer yesterday. It was the beer list, how could I pass?

Brewed in Longmount, Co., Milk Stout was the 2006 and 2008 World Beer Cup Gold Medal Winner in the Sweet Stout Category. The company describes it as "strong roasted malt and coffee flavors build the foundation of this classic cream stout. The addition of milk suger mellows the intense roastiness and gives this beer the most incredible creamy mouth feel." Hey - I just thought it was a darn good chocolate beer. The lightest, smoothest one I've tasted yet. Not as chocolaty as Youngs, but not so thick either and the perfect beer to follow a nice fall walk through Ravenswood Park in Gloucester, Ma. Possibly the best place to view the harbor.

Sir Edmund Hillary Lied

2009-09-14T19:16:00.005-04:00

...or at the very least he did a great disservice to adventurers everywhere. He didn't climb Everest because "it was there". He climbed it because something in him resonants with that adventure. Not with arctic exploration, or marathons, or the idotaroid but with the experience, the thrill of the climb, the planning of the route, the conditioning of the body specific to mountain climbing. That is what feeds his soul.

Some people have been asking me why I would ride a Century. Admittedly not everyone can, or wants to ride 100 miles in one day...but some people do...and not just cause its' there. They (me) ride it because in doing it we feel 'right' doing it. Even getting ready for it, planning and training, all feel right. Not necessarily easy, but right. And in doing what feels intrinsically right, all else fades away and one dissolves into that moment, and the moment after.

The Camera Case

2009-09-09T15:33:00.004-04:00

I know this may be hard to believe but sometimes I get so focused on riding 50 miles in 4 hours, bagging the peak by sunset, or kayaking the length of the pond before the tide changes that i have trouble stopping long enough to enjoy where I am or even take a picture. I just don't want to break the momentum long enough to get out the camera.

Or, knowing that was an issue, I'd, dangle the camera from my handlebars, stuff it in a side pocket or lash it to the deck, basically keeping it handy but not all that safe.

Not anymore! S. went on a search for the perfect camera case and found the Pedco Wrap-Up - Camera Wrap . A case which quickly took its place in the small world of well-designed gear. The camera doesn't go into the case - the case attaches to, and wraps around the camera. After only a few practice runs I was able to unsnap the cover and take a picture - all while riding along on schedule. And while I haven't dropped the camera yet (there is cord that goes around the wrist) the case is also padded enough to protect the camera from a fall.

I'd take a picture of it, if I could only figure out how!

Lake Champlain Bikeways

2009-09-05T06:51:00.011-04:00

Riding North on the Lake Champlain Bikeway with the inland sea and Green Mountains to the right and Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks to left I have to disagree somewhat with Pico Iyer. I don't travel to get outside my normal comfort zone. I travel to get in touch with it. Nothing feels quite as right as pedaling through the islands of Vermont.

Some places are better for pedaling than others and the Northern Lake Champlain region is certainly one of the best. While I scoffed (actually snorted) when the guidebook (which I highly recommend - 25 Bicycle Tours in the Lake Champlain Region: Scenic Tours in Vermont, New York, and Quebec
) said that “although few roads have shoulders, the traffic is low enough, and what drivers there are, are kind enough, the Lake Champlain region is perfect for bike riding." But it's true! Along with that the views are fantastic! Lakes and mountains, mountains and lakes. From our campsite alone we can see east to Mount Mansfield and south to Camels Hump.

Our first ride was a 60 miler to Isle de la Motte. The ride reminded me a lot of riding in Holland. The road goes along a flat coastline for while then up ahead you see a bridge and in a few miles you cross that bridge. There are 3 islands between Grand Isle and Isle de la Motte, Oh, and good coffee too. On North Hero Island there is Hero's Welcome. A general store, post office, restaurant, outdoor sporting goods shop and cafe all in one – with picnic tables on the lake. For a small island, Isle de la Motte boasts a number of firsts. The first place Champlain landed, the first Catholic shrine in the United States, the first black granite quarry, the first ferry from Vermont to New York, and the first inland coral reef. It is a pretty nice island, it was also the first place I tasted a Zesta apple. I hope there are many more of those to come.

The second day S. and I took the riding down a notch, circumnavigating Grand Isle. More beautiful riding along quiet roads with the addition of a side trip down to the causeway, an abandoned railroad bed that originally linked the south end of Grand Isle with Burlington, Vt. Once the railroad was abandoned the drawbridge was dismantled so the only way to presently ride the whole 15 miles to Burlington is on summer weekends when volunteers run a bike ferry. Still it was a good ride just going out to the cut and waving to the folks on the other side. We also got to see a salmon carving someone had done of one of the many amazing chunks of granite that made up the causeway.

Wednesday we looped North then west and into New York. Stopping at Lakes End Cheese for a sample then at the Welcome Center in Alberg. The guide there was a serious bike tourer riding every summer from Vermont to Wisconsin and putting on lots of miles on the roads we were just discovering.

Crossing into New York we stopped in Rousse's Point for lunch then road 28 miles due south along smoothly paved farm roads. Along the way we stopped to read all the historic markers. Not so much because they were all that informative but because it was amusing to see how far someone would stretch facts to justify a historical marker. My favorite had to be the one that recounted how General Burgoyne, in his march to Ticonderoga built a number of corduroy log bridges across “inland swamps like this.” Of course a close second was entitled “Benjamin Franklin” and related the story how two brothers who had met Franklin lived “somewhere close to this spot.” If this is what classifies as deserving an historical marker, the mind reals. We spent the next 15 miles cursing the headwind and inventing our own.

We left NY for Vermont via the ferry and finished the ride with a 3 mile spin across Grand Isle.

Chocolate and Beer!

2009-08-23T12:02:00.004-04:00

A while ago I lamented (via facebook) that chocolate and beer didn't go together. Several of my friends were quick to correct me. It appears that not only do many folks think they do but that also there is chocolate beer. Which left one more question unanswered. Which chocolate beer is best.

Three beers were assembled for the tasting.
1. Brooklyn Brewery's Black Chocolate Stout
2. Youngs Double Chocolate Stout
3. Ommegang Chocolate Indulgence

And the answer is - chocolate and beer go very well together, most especially in Youngs Double Chocolate Stout!

Are there any other contenders I should try?

Fond Reminisce on the "Semester of Death"

2009-08-10T20:24:00.009-04:00

Sunday we rode our bikes through Essex, Gloucester and Magnolia to Manchester-by-the-Sea stopping briefly at the bestest cemetery ever and bringing back all the wonders of a college semester spent studying Emily Dickinson, James Joyce, and "The Puritan Way of Death". Can anyone possibly image a happier way to spend a gloomy New England spring? Since then, I've never been able to think of those two authors as anything but dreadfully mournful but I have come to embrace all that is good, happy and wonderful about Puritan death practices. Most especially their gravestones! And while Connecticut, the second official colony, does have some good stones, it's nothing like the wonders found in Eastern Massachusetts, right alongside our Sunday bike route.

Manchester's "Old Cemetery 1661" sits on a hill just to the east of town, surrounded by a iron fence, overshadowed by tall pines and populated by stones (and people's remains). In it too are beautiful examples of the classic gravestone engraving progression from Death's Head, to Cherub, to Willow and Urn. Some styles so distinct they were obviously the work of a particular carver. Also among the stones were some with a design I'd not heard of, a rising sun. If, as Ludwig states in his work, Graven Images: New England Stonecarving and its Symbols, 1650-1815 the Puritans choose designs that communicated to the living, their idea of death and the afterlife than what were the folks with the rising sun stones trying to say? The message of the Death's Heads is obvious, things are pretty bleak over on this side. Likewise, the appearance of wings alongside the head, and a happy face, reflects the Puritan's happily evolving view of afterlife. The willow and urn complete the cycle. Things are now in a restful state, quiet, contained.

But how does the rising sun fit within this? Were these 'rebel' Puritans who believed in, dare I say, the resurrection? Were these people even Puritans? Were they, with their beliefs etched into immortal stone alongside the other downers, trying to show their differences of opinion?

Riding along the rocky Cape Ann coast and through the salt marshes that surround them it is something to wonder about. Most of the houses, as well as the farms these folks built are long gone, but they left their gravestones behind to tell us something. Cycling along winding roads I've got to wonder what it is.

BTW, there is an actual book entitled The Puritan Way of Death: A Study in Religion, Culture, and Social Change (Galaxy Books) and I highly recommend it!