Rage Against the Umbrella

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 adage) 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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:

1. the day before 
2. at the 54 mile mark
3. at the 75 mile mark
4. 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

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.