I got in what will likely be my last bike ride of the season today. I did 16 miles in 25 degree weather. Luckily wind was negligible today. I rode on the recently completed Fishtrap Trail from the bottom of Sunset Hill all the way past Marshall and back late in the afternoon. The only thing that was cold on me were my big toes.
I rode on my classic black Schwinn 10 speed (without toe clips) wearing my handmade cap, my amber colored shop glasses from Lowes and some funky gloves that worked well. I also had on some trad cotton underwear beneath some work out pants. I had on my windbreaker bike jacket over a t-shirt and two sweatshirts. In retrospect, I think I need a pair of those booties that go over your shoes designed for cold weather biking. I also had on my National Geographic Polar Bear Buff Thermal Headwear worn as a mask in order to warm the air as I breathed it into my lungs. All elder outdoor enthusiasts with any kind of respiratory or cardiac issues should wear something over their mouths and noses when exercising in temperatures below freezing. I used to teach that when I did Cardiac Rehabilitation at Deaconess Medical Center years ago. I really didn't need it today but it feels better to have slightly warmer air coming into your lungs when you are exerting yourself.
I saw 3 turkeys, some Canadian Geese and a Magpie on my journey. I was even friendly to the one other person that I passed going the opposite direction (twice). I didn't even notice what kind of bike he was riding.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Gear Snobs I Have Met
They say that writing helps a person to understand themselves... so bear with me here. Okay, I am just gonna say it...I am sick of meeting people on the trail who glance down at your bike/skis/ snowshoes/whatever and you can see in their eyes that they are making a snap judgement on whether you are 'worthy'. On the other hand, a person who doesn't care about that stuff will look you in the eye and say 'hello' and talk with you. I had both experiences, again, on Mt. Spokane while cross-country skiing.
I met an older man a couple of years ago that was training with his ancient external pack on and, instead of trekking poles, he was using old pink cross-country ski poles. As we passed each other we said 'hello' then we turned back and started chatting. He was a very interesting fellow who was training for a solo trip into the Norht Cascades and happened to be thrifty. He was also a pilot and former competitive body builder.
In Spokane there is a retro bike group that gets together monthly and rides together to Brown's Addition for refreshments. I passed them one evening and there were 40 or so in the group and it just made me smile : )
I am of two minds about all this. Sure, I have a few nice things but the last time I went backpacking with some friends I chose my old external frame pack (bought in college) because it is so cool and funky. I could have taken my newer one but it was a fun trip composed of us goofy letterboxers. We are all just kids at heart anyway.
I guess I just pine for the days when your old pair of running shoes, tattered sweats and the T-shirt that you bought at the Champion outlet with the logo misprinted backwards for 39 cents was 'in'. At least I thought it was 'in'. Maybe I just feel this way because I grew up with little money and still don't like to spend much. I know that good gear, especially in the clothing realm, can save your life. However, when I am just dinking around I think I will just stay with my tattered cotton sweats with the paint stains and let people judge me for my behavior... like 'hey, at least that old guy is out exercising!'
This is not meant to be offensive to anyone and I am guilty of this myself. Like the ubiquitous 'Northface' logo that I see everywhere that makes me cringe...
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Zombies Among Us
I was walking on the abondoned rail trail below where we live last week. I was crossing what I call 'The Scar', an open gash that the developer made in the trail when I noticed someone coming in the other direction with a small white dog on a leash. As we got closer I saw that it was a young woman and she was texting on her iphone or some such device, looking down at it the whole time. She must have noticed me because as we were about to pass I looked her way to wave and say hello but she was looking away and had put her phone in her pocket. She still had her ipod earplugs in. I can understand not wanting to say hello but we were in the open in full view of the houses just above where we were walking. I am sure that after passing me she got her iphone back out and texted something like "passed scary old man" in cyptic language. I wonder if she even noticed the smells of the decaying leaves in the woods, the play of light through the evergreen braches or the clouds overhead? I know she never heard the sound of a bird that day. Good thing she didn't walk into our neighborhood moose.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Consistency of Mud
The weather man predicted an 80% chance of snow for today. I needed some exercise so climbing Tower Mountain again sounded attractive. It is my new favorite local hike and can be a loop if one so desires. As I climbed out of the valley I quickly came to were the ground was superficially frozen. I also discovered a small recently dug grave for a dog. Someone had come upon the poor, unnamed pooch and thoughtfully buried him then erected a small monument with his collar draped over it. What a thoughtful thing to do.
The trail became much more steep and rutted as I neared the towers and the summit. The wind was blowing a little on top but still no hint of snow. In fact it looked like it was clearing a bit to the west. The only 'snow-flakes' were frost particles blown off the pine needles. As I left the fences and towers and descended into a more natural area at Krell Hill I was greeted by my Corvid friends. They were just playfully soaring and circling in the wind. They always make me feel connected to the web of live and like I've just come home.
I explored around Big Rock for awhile, found an abandoned climbing rope, took some more photos and scrambled onto a few rocky outcropping to check out the views. I could see Steptoe Butte in the distance. A few whitetails were in the area moving like graceful dancers in the underbrush.
Descending now, I found out that today was definitely not a good day to be a trail runner. The trail was all frozen beneath but covered with about an inch of gooey, slippery mud. I slipped a couple of times on nearly flat ground. On the steeper sections I had to skirt the edges or just plant my feet in the center of the eroded middle which was not muddy. As I made my way down the snow finally moved in, which in itself was fun to watch against the backdrop of the dark hillsides. Very nice hike, all in all. I was all alone except for my animal companions, taking everything in.
The trail became much more steep and rutted as I neared the towers and the summit. The wind was blowing a little on top but still no hint of snow. In fact it looked like it was clearing a bit to the west. The only 'snow-flakes' were frost particles blown off the pine needles. As I left the fences and towers and descended into a more natural area at Krell Hill I was greeted by my Corvid friends. They were just playfully soaring and circling in the wind. They always make me feel connected to the web of live and like I've just come home.
I explored around Big Rock for awhile, found an abandoned climbing rope, took some more photos and scrambled onto a few rocky outcropping to check out the views. I could see Steptoe Butte in the distance. A few whitetails were in the area moving like graceful dancers in the underbrush.
Descending now, I found out that today was definitely not a good day to be a trail runner. The trail was all frozen beneath but covered with about an inch of gooey, slippery mud. I slipped a couple of times on nearly flat ground. On the steeper sections I had to skirt the edges or just plant my feet in the center of the eroded middle which was not muddy. As I made my way down the snow finally moved in, which in itself was fun to watch against the backdrop of the dark hillsides. Very nice hike, all in all. I was all alone except for my animal companions, taking everything in.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Veterans Day 2009
My hero while growing up and more so now, was my uncle, Norman Wills. Despite teasing me about 'girlfriends' when I was little and harassing me about my bowling form when I was at the alley with my teen friends, he was always a positive male role model for me. He never smoked and drank very little unlike every other adult in my family.
From the earliest age I was instructed to never ask him about 'The War' that played such a huge role in my parents generation. He had terrible nightmares and was trying to live his life by forgetting the horrors he had experienced.
When he entered the service he was asked if it mattered which Theater he wanted to serve in since his mother had immigrated from Germany at the age of three. He essentially said that it didn't matter to him. So he went off to England after training. He fought from the day after D-Day (his boat was at the back of the landing force) until he was wounded and captured in Aachen on September 21st, 1944. At that time he was Staff Sergeant Squad Leader in the 36th Armed Infantry Regiment of the Third Armored Division, a "Spearhead Doughboy". As squad leader he was 'in charge of the operation of a light machine squad of 9 men, including gunners, crewman and half-track drivers and led men in battle'. During close house to house combat a German grenade was thrown at him and he was badly wounded in the leg and then captured. "They only asked me if I was American or British" he told me. Several hours later the Allies advanced, the Germans retreated and left him there. When he was recovered in the field of battle his long journey of healing was just beginning.
He spent 23 months in military hospitals in England and in the U.S. healing his badly broken and infected leg. During all of this time he was married to my mother's sister, Alice, who was raising their young son Dennis.
Uncle Norman was awarded a Purple Heart, two different Bronze Battle Stars and served in the Normandy, Rhineland and Northern France campaigns including the liberation of Belgium and the Battle of the Bulge. The only time I heard him talk about his experiences was on the 50th Anniversary of the D-Day Invasion. I was at home visiting them in their living room on peaceful Cherry Street in Lockport, NY. He said the local VFW had contacted him to be part of the celebration. "Why would I want to celebrate something that I have been trying to forget for the last 50 years?" was what he said to us.
Once, later, on the phone I encouraged him to write down some remembrances for future generations of our family but he gently re-buffed my request.
This man who always gave a warm greeting, a big smile and who had a gentle way of encouraging you had a hidden secret that he bore with dignity, never complaining. He continued to hunt, fish, bowl and garden into his later years. I still recall him in the back yard on Cherry Street pitching wiffle balls to my two young daughters. The limp as he walked, reminded me of his secret, safely tucked away...
Norman Wills
February 10, 1917
October 28, 2003
From the earliest age I was instructed to never ask him about 'The War' that played such a huge role in my parents generation. He had terrible nightmares and was trying to live his life by forgetting the horrors he had experienced.
When he entered the service he was asked if it mattered which Theater he wanted to serve in since his mother had immigrated from Germany at the age of three. He essentially said that it didn't matter to him. So he went off to England after training. He fought from the day after D-Day (his boat was at the back of the landing force) until he was wounded and captured in Aachen on September 21st, 1944. At that time he was Staff Sergeant Squad Leader in the 36th Armed Infantry Regiment of the Third Armored Division, a "Spearhead Doughboy". As squad leader he was 'in charge of the operation of a light machine squad of 9 men, including gunners, crewman and half-track drivers and led men in battle'. During close house to house combat a German grenade was thrown at him and he was badly wounded in the leg and then captured. "They only asked me if I was American or British" he told me. Several hours later the Allies advanced, the Germans retreated and left him there. When he was recovered in the field of battle his long journey of healing was just beginning.
He spent 23 months in military hospitals in England and in the U.S. healing his badly broken and infected leg. During all of this time he was married to my mother's sister, Alice, who was raising their young son Dennis.
Uncle Norman was awarded a Purple Heart, two different Bronze Battle Stars and served in the Normandy, Rhineland and Northern France campaigns including the liberation of Belgium and the Battle of the Bulge. The only time I heard him talk about his experiences was on the 50th Anniversary of the D-Day Invasion. I was at home visiting them in their living room on peaceful Cherry Street in Lockport, NY. He said the local VFW had contacted him to be part of the celebration. "Why would I want to celebrate something that I have been trying to forget for the last 50 years?" was what he said to us.
Once, later, on the phone I encouraged him to write down some remembrances for future generations of our family but he gently re-buffed my request.
This man who always gave a warm greeting, a big smile and who had a gentle way of encouraging you had a hidden secret that he bore with dignity, never complaining. He continued to hunt, fish, bowl and garden into his later years. I still recall him in the back yard on Cherry Street pitching wiffle balls to my two young daughters. The limp as he walked, reminded me of his secret, safely tucked away...
Norman Wills
February 10, 1917
October 28, 2003
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Another Quote That Speaks Truth
"There are those of us who are always about to live. We are waiting until things change, until there is more time, until we are less tired, until we get a promotion, until we settle down / until, until, until. It always seems as if there is some major event that must occur in our lives before we begin living." George Sheehan, physician, author, runner, 1918-1993
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Creatures of the Night and Virgin Rail Trails
I finally got off my duff around 6:45 and went for a rail trail ride from Marshall for a bit of exercise and because I am nosey. I wanted to see how they were coming on the paving of the section from the bottom of Sunset Hill towards Marshall. This is the Fish Lake Trail which, someday, will connect Spokane's Centennial Trail to Cheney and then all the way to the Tri-Cities area.
The pavement ended 3.5 miles into the ride back towards Spokane. I was met with a very smooth and wide gravel trail. I kept going and eventually came to the first little bridges where they are in the process of putting up railings. I next came to the begining of brand new paving! There was one other biker and then 5 people out walking and exploring the new wonderful trail. It was hard to tell if they were locals who live along the trail and just checking it out or were trail rats like me. Twi-light and then night fell as I biked back to my car. I was escorted by bats, night hawks and freight trains the rest of the way along with a nearly full moon.
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