Bike, paddle, hike - reverse

Last monday was a perfect Summer II kind of day - 70 and sunny. Perfect for hiking, biking or kayaking. It was hard to pick one, so we decided to do them all. A sort of make-your-own-triathlon!

 First we biked 15 miles. Stashed our bikes, switched shorts and shoes and launched the kayak. We chose the tandem and now I know why people have such a hard time paddling those. At the very least they do mot give you the light and free feeling of a single kayak. Rather than paddling a little slipper its like paddling a bathtub. One of those old porcelain claw foot tubs. Anyway I digress.

We paddled over to Choate Island, hauled the tub up on the beach and set off down the trail. Choate Island lies just inside Crane Beach. And while I've paddled around it about 27 times I'd yet to hike it.

 The trail runs south along the shore and then begins to ascend to peak first passing the 1790's barn, the cottage and then the Choate house. The Choate house was built in the 1700's and peering through the windows you can easily see that not much about the house has changed.

Continuing up the path, its no longer the house that catches your attention, it's the view. To the south, Cape Ann stretches out to the bluff that is Halibut Point and to the East lies the Atlantic Ocean. It being a windy day, we could also see a large line of breakers just off the beach. Inside the Basin, on the clam flats were a number of clammers. Just a little further up the hill we came to the peak, the burial ground of Cornelius and Mine Crane, the folks who owned then donated the island and hundreds of the surrounding acres to The Trustees of the Reservations keeping them free of development and open to the public forever. The view from the yard was to the North and spectacular. New Hampshire 's Isle of Shoals lay just off to the Northeast. Further North was the outline of Maine 's coastal mountains and you could see all the coast from there back to the beach where our kayak lay.

Reversing the day was no less beautiful although the kayak leg against the tide and a 14 knot wind was a bit more challenging and wet as I discovered yet another unlikable aspect of the double. It can take in a fair amount of waves coming over the bow. On the ride home we stopped and blazed through a turkey wrap from the Essex Village market. The bike, kayak, hike, reverse Triathlon took 5.5 hours. 5.5 hours of fun.

Year of the Tomato - Day 48

Last night I dreamed that all the tomato gardeners on the North Shore gathered together with all their varieties of tomatoes for a giant tomato tasting. Thousands of tomatoes were lined up on wood plank tables. The knuckled heirlooms in one area followed by the perfect curves of big boys, better boys and romas and then multi-colored jumbles of cherry tomatoes. Around them walked hundreds of tomato gardeners, eating, tasting and talking tomatoes. I tried to stop tasting those tomatoes but there was always one more I had to try.

 I woke up from the dream in a cold sweat and went to get a drink of water...only to find a new bowl of tomatoes on the kitchen table. SD had picked them after I'd gone to sleep. The garden has done very well, too well in fact and we've been working hard to over share our extras. We've basically become tomato pushers, arriving early at work with a bag of tomatoes, trying to entice others to try our tomatoes, trying to get they to them before another tomato garden beats us to the mark. Sometimes however it's been a case of tomato pusher to tomato pusher - and quite honestly, in the midst of all this I've also become a tomato taster. Who knew there were so many kinds, and in a year where we've already been eating a tomato a day* since July 23rd, who knew that we could still enjoy so many more!

 *Hands down favorite tomato 'recipes' - tomato sandwich, seconded by grilled cheese and tomato, followed by homemade pizza marinara, tomato and mozzarella salad, and gazpacho.

Shucked

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

 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 Bloks refuel, 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.

Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?

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.

Kayaking the Ipswich River

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.

The Good Part of the Commute

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.

Orient Express

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.

(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

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

Left Hand Milk Stout and 180 Degrees of Atlantic

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.

Fond Reminisce on the "Semester of Death"

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!

Round trip to Newburyport via Plum Island

Amidst all this pontificating I have been riding. Honestly, I swear. On Saturday we did the following 56 mile ride out to Plum Island and then to Newburyport for lunch.



The ride was good except through Ipswich, a town where apparently, they have decided never to pave their roads ever again. Cool stuff along the way included a "No Evacuation Possible" sign on the way out to Plum Island, a 18th century cemetery, and a statue of a man completely covered in muscles, muscle shells that is.

Seven Sisters Hookie

Today, May 5th, was such a nice day that I took it off work and headed North to hike the Seven Sisters trail near Mount Holyoke. The trail is described as "Extremely hilly with 3,700 feet of climb consisting of many steep hills with hazardous footing in places due to the many sharp basalt rocks that comprise the elevated ridge of Mt. Holyoke." There were a few spots that I had to lift Isaiah down. Also, bike riding does really prepare one for hill climbs.


This is a view to the South off Bear Mountain.


Trillium WakerobinTrillium erectum. There were many clumps and single trilliums on the mountains. They are amazing and delicate.


Wild Columbine Aquilegia canadensis


This appears to be another variety. Don't know how well it shows in the photo, but the leaves are greyish. (Speaking of which, has anyone seen my wildflower book?)


When I wasn't looking down (at flowers and rocks) there were some great views. This one is to the Northwest. That's the Connecticut River.

All in all, it was a good hike.