Adventure Traveler

Taxes and Your Ideal Competition Weight

2010-02-09T10:36:00.000-08:00

What?!? Is there going to be a new tax on weight? Possibly, but that is not what I am thinking. In reading an article in the New York Times, “Slimmer Doesn’t Always Mean Fitter”, which can be found here, I couldn’t help but notice the similarity between a persons ideal athletic competition weight and tax revenue.

It may not seem like a logical connection, but I made the corollary in thinking about the Laffer Curve. The Laffer Curve (named after and popularized by, though not created by economist Arthur Laffer) is a theoretical representation of tax revenue generated in relation to the tax rate. The idea is that at a particular tax rate revenue will be maximized. The connection I made between the two topics was in looking at the Laffer Curve graphically.

Graphically the Laffer curve is generally represented similarly:

Looking first at the lower and upper boundaries of possible tax rates, a tax rate of zero would quite obviously yield zero tax revenue. Conversely, if the tax rate is 100%, revenue too would be zero as there would be no personal financial incentive to work. The government would be taking all of your earnings. It is somewhere between the tax rates of 0% and 100% where tax revenue would be maximized. Don’t let the nice round shape of the graph fool you as it is a simple graphical representation; don’t think that a 50% tax rate would necessarily yield the highest revenue. This is just a theoretical tool.

Further, if the tax rate is low, the revenue that will be collected will be on a sizable chunk of money, but the tax authority is collecting a small percentage at the low tax rate. As the tax rate is raised there is disincentive for individuals to work as a larger portion of their earnings will go to the tax authority coffers. Fewer people will work so that while the government is taxing at a higher rate, it is taxing a lesser total amount of money. Making the model more complex would invole other factors such as the elasticity of employment, but that is beyond the scope of what I am talking about here. In brief, it asks the question "At what tax rate would you cease working?" 50%? 75%? 90%?

The connection I made is that a competitor, whether a runner, cyclist or other active athlete, has an optimal performance weight, much like there is an optimal tax rate. I put together a graph similar to the Laffer Curve here:

The bounds of this graph are a competitor weighing zero pounds (equally absurd as a zero percent tax rate in a tax collecting environment) and n pounds, n being any large number where the competitor would be considered morbidly obese (akin to a 100% tax rate). If a competitor is over their optimal performance weight, they will carry around that additional weight, slowing them down or requiring a higher level of exertion to maintain the same pace. If however the competitor were underweight, there wouldn’t be sufficient body reserves and the exertion would burn muscle protein to keep going; also sub-optimal.

There are many factors that play in to finding an optimal tax rate or competition weight, though I have to admit I never really thought about the implications of supply-side economics in relation to athletic competition.

Happy New Year

2010-01-01T20:48:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! While I know that this year will be a happy one, it will be a very different year for me in comparison to the last few. I will be returning to my life working on Wall Street. While I have no regrets as to how I spent the last several years in what I have accomplished, experienced and have seen, going back to Wall Street has always been the plan and one that I am 100% committed to.

I have been snowboarding up in Vermont, but this will now only be a weekend pursuit. I also have a short jaunt planned to Central America in the Spring (and yes, I will be there visiting some folks at a couple of stock exchanges), but that about wraps up my travel. There are a few things that I need to take care of in the coming weeks before putting on the suit and tie again, but this is a change I welcome. There is no substitute for the mental challenge that working in finance offers, at least not for me. I am refreshed and ready with the same level of persistence and motivation that I have used to tackle every other part of my life.

I will keep posting on my blog periodically when content of interest arises, perhaps reflections of my travel and of course from the trip to Central America.

If I were to thank everyone that I felt I should, I would be typing through the night. I have been incredibly fortunate to meet so many kind, interesting and hospitable people in my travels and have learned so much from you all. So to all of you, I say "Thank You".

Reflection on the Ride

2009-11-18T13:22:00.000-08:00

I was quite fortunate on my most recent bike ride as the weather was about as perfect as I could imagine. Each morning was brisk, but the day would soon warm to a temperature that was quite comfortable and even at times bordering on hot. It was perfect riding weather. Weather is usually the number one factor in deciding whether the day will be pleasant or miserable. Even with Hurricane Ida I was just far enough west to avoid it and the worst that happened was that I rode on wet roads. Wind was light the entire trip so there were no days where I had to really force the pedals. There were the mountains, but I knew they would stand in my way and I also had the enjoyment of speeding down the back side of them.

There were some roads in poor shape as well as those that had heavy traffic and no shoulder, but the overwhelming majority were in great condition. There too were far more dog chases than I would have cared to have, but again I made it out unscathed.

All in all, the conditions for this ride were as close to ideal that I could possibly hope for in a long distance ride.

Lastly, with respect to photos, I wasn’t about to post any photos of me riding in a city or heavy traffic. First off, I don’t want to stop in traffic to take photos, never mind that they are generally uninteresting. The pictures I displayed were essentially those that I enjoyed.

As for what is next there is the possibility of a hike in Virginia over Thanksgiving week. Beyond that, I will have to figure out what is going on for the holidays. Winter is just around the corner…

End of Another Ride

2009-11-16T13:09:00.000-08:00

77.9 Miles – Florence, SC to Myrtle Beach, SC

The city of Florence, SC is the tenth largest in South Carolina by population. It is also one of the cities that Amtrak passes through. After finishing the kayak trip the only option of getting a couple of 17 foot kayaks from New Orleans to New York was by train. On that lengthy train ride Kobie and I had some time to decompress, sort through photos and other data from our trip as well as reminisce over the happenings that had transpired the months prior as we paddled our way south. It was a pleasant, even civilized way to get to New York. It didn’t hurt that we had a sleeper car. Following that experience I decided it was how I would make my way from South Carolina to New York following this ride. It would be a reasonable way to transport a bike (without a massive surcharge as the airlines would levy), so I picked up a ticket while I was nearby.

As the city of Florence is quite busy and it was Monday morning it was an event to get away from the place. I followed a busy highway, two lanes in each direction, with no shoulder and heavy truck traffic. While there was a constant stream of traffic flowing past, at one point I looked back and saw two big rigs side by side in each lane behind me. For those of you that have seen the movie “Planes, Trains and Automobiles”, yeah, it looked just like that. I have found though that truckers are professionals and generally courteous. There are exceptions. As much as I don’t want them to hit me, it would ruin their day as well though not quite to the same degree.

The area around Myrtle Beach, SC, ever catering to tourists, had three visitor centers within an eight mile stretch. They were all legitimate visitor centers, not just someone that put up a visitor center sign in an effort to get you in the door and then sell you some poor quality tee shirts or other tourist kitsch. I have seen that all too often the world over.

I popped in one of the visitor centers in an hoping to find a better route to my destination. It was going to be the final day of the trip and I was hoping to enjoy at least some of it instead of having the constant concern of being run down by a vehicle. While they tried their best at the visitor center, I understand that most people don’t really pay attention as to whether a road has a shoulder and if the road surface is in good shape. I had little choice at least for the next several miles, so I pedaled on. My situation would improve significantly following the main turn off to get to Myrtle Beach proper.

I was able to get on a 25 miles length of little used road with only one small town interrupting the stretch. It was in the town that I was able to garner accurate intel as to the remainder of my route. When I stopped for a bite to eat a couple of the locals mentioned that had passed me on the road and wondered where I was going. Several of the people concocted a route that they claimed would be best for a bicycle to get me to my destination. I thanked them and was on my way. There is only so much I can tell about roads by looking at a map. When I started out this trip from Baton Rouge, LA I was on a road called “Scenic Drive”. It was a heavily traveled thoroughfare. I also pedaled along roads that were called highways and were entirely devoid of traffic. And clearly, a map will not let me know if the road has a shoulder, whether the surface is smooth or the level of traffic. It is what makes a long distance bike ride challenging. Anytime I would pass through or near a major city, as I did with Nashville, I would generally call a bike shop in the area and ask for advice. Bike shops can be a big help.

As I rode along my back road I came to a small intersection. At the intersection were no fewer than five signs pointing to various churches down the street. I wouldn’t think that area held the population to support five churches.

Further on, in the unincorporated village of Finklea of all places, I had a kid ask me for a cigarette. I wasn’t stopped on the side of the road or anything, I was biking along but was shouted at in request of said cigarette. To me that is funny several levels, but I will let you judge for yourself.

The last oddity of the day was as I stopped behind a school bus while is was discharging a child. I was behind a few cars so couldn’t see quite so well, but I noticed something by the mailbox of the home where the child was disembarking. As traffic began moving and I rode past, sure enough, it was a dead dog, right at the bus stop, right on the front lawn of this home. It was a big dog too; a pit-bull. It was fully rigor mortised, legs pointing straight out. Were someone to tip it upwards, it would have stood there until it rotted away, which it seemed to be in the beginning stages of doing.

The last 15 miles of the journey were elementary. Road conditions improved and despite a bit of a headwind I knew I would soon be done with my slated trip and didn’t have to ride the following day. It almost felt as if I were out for a series of day rides, rather than having covered 1,240 miles in six states. I wound through a neighborhood and when I arrived at my dad’s, he was sitting out front waiting for me. My 2009 ride was complete.

Another Sunny Day

2009-11-15T14:38:00.001-08:00

85.1 Miles – Winnsboro, SC to Florence, SC

I again opted to start a little later than I normally might, but I had some things to take care of the kept me up. Shortly after leaving town I saw a sign for the South Carolina Railroad Museum. I thought it might be interesting, I only hoped it was open on Sundays. Not only was it not open on Sunday, it is only open two Saturdays a month between June and October for a grand total of ten times a year.

At least it was another beautiful morning. The morning just cruised on past. It wasn’t necessarily my intention, but the morning was all business. I was 35 miles deep before I even bothered to check my distance. I had stopped once, but that was to take a photo.

One thing I have been seeing on a regular basis on my ride is the Dollar General store. KKR, their parent just had an IPO for Dollar General this past Thursday. While Dollar General has 8,362 stores (at 2008 year end), plans to add another 450 and had 13% sales growth, they are also saddled with 4 billion in debt as well as lease obligations on its existing stores. What is unique about the IPO is that KKR was also one of the lead underwriters of the deal. It seems that Dollar General could be one of the early efforts of private equity firms to cash in on investments made during their heyday of acquisition…but enough about Main Street to Wall Street.

By midday any and all hills ceased. I was near enough the coast that there was nary a bump in the road. There were however numerous dogs that wanted to come out and play, no fewer than a half dozen incidences. I am growing as tired of these chases as you probably are reading about them. I am down south; people don’t have lap dogs here. Having a pet run off property at large is a misdemeanor in most counties in South Carolina and comes with a fine. Mind your pets people! I have already seen one dog get hit that chased me out in the road.

As long as I am focusing on the negative of the ride, I was nearly run down head-on by a clueless driver. As I was sitting at a stop sign waiting for traffic so that I could cross the road, a woman making a left turn on my road was trying to beat the cross traffic and cut the corner very short, not even noticing that there was a guy on a bike waiting patiently to cross the road. Thankfully, she took notice of me (though a bit too late for my liking), swerved, and nearly ran herself into a field. Put down the phone and pay attention.

As I rode along I pedaled past a rather large tract of farm land. The plot seemed out of place as I hadn’t seen that much farmland since being in Iowa. On my left was the remnants of corn stalks that had already been harvested and on my right, soy beans. It made me think about the times I had ridden days on end through nothing but farms. There was one instance on my 2005 ride where I couldn’t see anything manmade other than the road and what I had with me. Other than that it was corn as far as the eye could see.

While passing through small towns, many of the gas stations had signs proclaiming that there was no ethanol in the gas they were selling. Up to 10% of the fuel mix at the pump at any given gas station around the United States can be ethanol (fuel made mostly from corn). The addition of ethanol to gas was touted as a clean/renewable way to reduce dependence on foreign oil. The logic is that if 10% of the gas you pump is ethanol, it is 10% less foreign oil we require. Ethanol isn’t without its problems though, most notably a reduction of gas mileage. In addition, there have been complaints that ethanol destroys engines. One of the characteristics of ethanol is that it forms deposits should it sit around for several months. There is also the consideration countering the environmental benefits claiming that processing ethanol pollutes far more than production of normal gasoline. Lastly, I would be remiss were I not to mention the havoc ethanol production has wreaked on agricultural prices. As you might imagine, the larger demand for corn due to ethanol production raised demand for corn and hence price. To participate in the increase in the price of corn, some farmers choose to grow corn as opposed to soy beans or other cash crops that they have traditionally raised. With fewer farmers growing these other crops there is a lesser supply and hence higher prices for these crops. This, obviously, is an oversimplified generalization, but it is intended for those people who do not necessarily have an economics background. It is all supply and demand.

In again trying to stay on back roads for the day I had my share of problems, mostly in the form of dirt roads. After having taken my detour around the rockslide 11 miles along a dirt road several days earlier, I wasn’t about to ride another 11-miles on dirt, or even 11-inches. As there were many roads in various states of repair, or rather disrepair in the area, I hunted and pecked my way along the roads to make my way east.

To end my day I needed to ride along a major highway, however, as it was Sunday traffic was light. I was pleased to arrive at my destination which was going to be my last night before completing my ride.

The Back Roads...

2009-11-14T18:06:00.001-08:00

117.0 Miles - Anderson, SC to Winnsboro, SC

When I awoke in the morning my legs felt like cinderblocks. I really didn’t know how I was going to pedal the entire day and even ever so briefly thought about taking a rest day. Rather than that though, I figured I would get out there.

I was still on the fringe of the mountains as I left in the morning. The hills weren’t kind in the morning. Also, given the traffic kerfluffle I went through yesterday evening I decided to stay on back roads as much as possible during the day. With that I had to pull out my laptop to check my map at least a dozen times throughout the day. In the route I had chosen I also rode along Sumter National Forest for the better part of 30 miles.

On the back roads I would periodically pass a local bar. I was somewhat concerned that the people were sitting in the bar drinking beers, watching college football and were driving home. I did make me feel a bit better that I saw at least several police cars throughout the day. And you would think that the state of South Carolina could spare a few extra bucks to put shoulders on the roads.

One phenomenon that is rampant is the yard sale. In the last week I have noticed dozens of yard sales. They aren’t necessarily in peoples yards mind you, but anywhere on the side of the road; perhaps in a parking lot of a failed business or anyplace else that has road frontage. While I didn’t stop at any of the sales, as I rode by I didn’t notice anything of merit.

As the day wore on I was putting some distance between myself and the mountains. The longer, steeper hills became shorter and flatter. At one point I was riding along the train tracks. That is always a good sign as I knew there wouldn’t be any steep hills.

I hit my potential bail out point for the day by 2:30, but by that time was feeling good. I don’t know if it was that the terrain was flatter or if there was a bit of help from the wind, but given my start to the day I felt great.

I lucked out in the town of Winnsboro, SC as I found a motel right across the street from an all you can eat Chinese Buffet (they didn’t ask me to leave, but I got a few looks), a drug store (to load up on energy bars) and a supermarket (for a little ice cream).

Welcome to South Carolina

2009-11-13T19:10:00.001-08:00

107.9 Miles - Blairsville, GA to Anderson, SC

I needed a little time getting going given yesterdays debacle, but I was back at the mountains. My longest and most memorable climb of the day was up to Neel Gap. Why was that significant you ask? It is where the Appalachian Trail crosses the road, 30 miles after the start of the trail. I had hiked across the very road that I was now riding and actually stayed at Neel Gap my second night on the Appalachian Trail.

As I was enjoying the view (when I said I was biking in the mountains, I wasn’t kidding) I chatted with a hiker who began hiking south from Maine in June. I had passed him on the trail when I was hiking up to Mt Katahdin. He was now 2,145 further on, 30 miles from his goal. Well done.

It was a busy day at Neel Gap as while I was getting ready to continue riding, two other cyclists came by. They were out for a joy ride climbing mountain passes for fun. I had a bit of a chin-wag about biking with the pair, but I was really looking forward to the next six miles of my ride.

The payoff for the climb to Neel Gap was getting to bomb down the back side of the mountain. I thought about taking some video, but I was having far too much fun on the chicane, riding down the mountain road. It is not often that I can double up on the speed limit while riding a bike, but the curves signed at 20 MPH were a blast rolling along at 40 MPH on my bike.

Further on I stopped in a small town for lunch. It wasn’t so much a diner, but rather a convenience store that served food. The place was packed with the local crowd; decidedly blue collar. Playing the game of “Which one of these does not belong?” would have been quite easy. I got the usual odd looks, but the food was rather tasty.

While it was a tiring day, I enjoyed the ride through the mountains. I did have a little bike issue as when I was changing gears my chain jammed into a place that it has no place being. While I sat on the side fo the road, I had to take my chain completely off my bike to get it fixed. If that is the worst thing that is going to happen to my bike, I am OK with it. The front tire is still hanging in there given the beating it took yesterday.

I was riding into dusk and found another use for my light. I was able to fasten it to the back of my bike an put it in flash mode to alert traffic behind me to my presence. I didn't necessarily need the light to see as it was still dusk, but I felt better having it flash behind me.

Traffic the last 10 miles to the town of Clemson was unbelievably heavy, as one might expect for 5 o’clock on a Friday. I wanted no part of it, but had little in the way of choice to get to where I needed to be. Not too surprisingly, there was no shoulder on the road, though it was two lanes in each direction, so at least cars had some room to shuffle over. Some of the drivers shuffled more than others.

I found a few miles relief by touring the Clemson University campus. I would have to get back out in the thick of things before my day would come to an end though. Traffic got a little crazy, even for me. I had planned on staying on the far end of town in Anderson, SC, but I bowed out on the north side. The extra few miles just wasn’t worth it.

Detour...No, Seriously!

2009-11-12T16:30:00.000-08:00

82.1 Miles - Cleveland, TN to Blairsville, GA

When I woke this morning I never would have thought I would hear the words, “the only way to get around the landslide is a 60-mile detour”, but sure enough, I would. Ten miles before the road was closed I saw a sign mentioning the closure, but I just thought, “nah, it won’t affect me”. At the turnoff for the main detour was where I heard the unpleasant phrase uttered. There were two guys standing around, the first seemingly taking pleasure in speaking that sentence. The second gentleman said he felt bad enough making cars take a 60-mile detour, worse still that I was on a bike.

I was able to find some video of the actual landslide here. There is a short commercial first.

After pulling out my map and posing potential routes to the pair of highway workers, I was able to cobble together a route that would only add 30 miles to my day. The first 10 miles of the ride were the nicest since leaving the Natchez Trace Parkway. I was pedaling through Cherokee National Forest. I checked the map at least several times to ensure I was going the right direction. In one instance a woman came out of her house and asked if I was OK. Following a brief conversation she offered me a ride to wherever it was I was going. Obviously, I declined. If only she knew.

It was when I was riding on tertiary and quaternary roads that things got interesting. Out of nowhere in the backwoods there was another detour. A detour on a detour if you will. There was a paving crew out paving an obscure road and the only route I could take to avoid the full 60-mile detour. The paving crew had differing opinions as to whether I could continue on that road. There were two issues really, the first if I could cross the river and the second if I could ride on the new asphalt. I had been told by several sources that I could cross the river on a cable bridge. My map showed a road across the river, but that wasn’t the case. I was also told that I could ride on the asphalt, but first I would have to ride a half mile on fresh tar.

I rode along, my tires sticking to the road the entire way. When I reached the work crew laying the asphalt I wisely opted to walk on the grass for a couple hundred feet before trying to ride on the road. I could feel the heat coming from the newly laid asphalt. I periodically stuck my finger in the asphalt and when my finger no longer penetrated the surface I moved off the grass and began pedaling.

The last three miles of that road were the newest road upon which I had ever ridden. It didn’t hurt that it was right along the Hiawassee River. While I still can’t figure out why they would pave that little stretch of road, I had no complaints…at least not for those three miles.

The new road came to an abrupt stop at a barbed wire fence. There was an open gate and a sign mentioning the fact that beyond the fence was US Government property and that there should be no trespassing. Inasmuch as the gate was open, I took that as an invitation to enter. Aren’t we at, like, terror alert orange? Shouldn’t that gate be locked so as to prevent giving people access to the hydroelectric dam?

I hurried over the cable bridge so as to not draw attention to myself. Once I made it over the bridge I got out of dodge as fast as possible. I already had one run in with the law on this trip, I didn’t need a second. The first four miles of road was a fairly soft dirt, though it did get better after that but it was still less than ideal. I rode where the ground was hard enough or not covered in rocks and walked otherwise. Fortunately there was more riding than walking, but my bike was taking a beating. It really wasn’t meant to be taken off-road.

I was winding through the Cherokee National Forest on a forest service road that had probably never seen a bicycle. My map was of limited use, heck, it said the road connected over the bridge. I was doing my best to make sure I didn’t turn off the main road or I could have traveled deeper into the woods.

As I bumped along I saw a truck coming my way which made me feel better about the trail I was on. You would think that I would stop the driver and ask my whereabouts, but no, I didn’t. Shortly thereafter another truck came past and I did ask if I was heading the right direction. I was.

In the 11 miles I had to off-road I destroyed my front tire. I was going to have to replace the tire after this trip, but it is now on borrowed time. The vibrations also loosened both my front and rear brakes. I was never so glad to see pavement

The remainder of the day went fairly smoothly, but the detour took a lot out of me. I eagerly counted down the last few miles to town. I had hoped to be about 40 miles further on, but things like this happen. My biggest disappointment of the day was that I could spend the night in Cleveland, Georgia following the night prior in Cleveland, Tennessee.

I will leave you with some video of me pedaling on the new road with the Hiawassee River to the right:

Seven Counties in a Day

2009-11-11T17:34:00.000-08:00

84.5 Miles - McMinnville, TN to Cleveland, TN

While the day was significantly better than yesterday, it was still overcast and chilly. And while it was Veterans Day, there wasn’t much in the way of normal workday traffic on my way out of town.

It wasn’t long until I hit the mountains; not the hills that I had been riding, but legitimate mountains. I used my full compliment of gears during the day. Up until this point I didn’t have to use my lowest gear but it got a workout today. That being said I also spent a fair bit of time in my highest gear when I got to bomb down the back side of mountains. There was one particular mountain that I flew the four miles down in under seven minutes. That was good as it took me 24 minutes to climb the four miles up. I knew it was going to be a long climb when I looked up and saw the road switching back above me. It took me some time to get in to a rhythm climbing again, but I did.

I had my first dog race of the trip just after coming down a mountain to a valley. I was thinking that it would be a great photo of the cows in the green pasture and the mountains in the background. Just them I heard a couple of dogs charging behind me. I had to expend more energy than I particularly cared to, but I didn’t get bitten.

It seems that the road conditions change on a county by county basis and the tax receipts collected by them. For the most part, the roads in Tennessee have been relatively smooth; the only variation is what if any shoulder is available. I did pedal through seven of Tennessee’s 95 counties today. It seems that on average each county is about 350 square miles. When I snuck into the final county of the day I also passed into the Eastern Time Zone. It could have been worse. When I rode from Los Angeles to New York and crossed over to the Eastern Time Zone I nearly simultaneously lost an hour for daylight savings time. You can read about it here.

I also crossed the Tennessee River for the second time of the trip, this time at Blythe Ferry. Historically the ferry was an important link between Chattanooga, TN and Knoxville, TN. I consciously made the decision to ride north of Chattanooga and south of Knoxville so that I didn’t have to deal with the city traffic surrounding them.

The last 20 miles of the day I had the welcome change of some help from the wind. It is also all coming back to me that most towns are in a valley, meaning that I get to coast into town, but start the following morning with a climb.

I also realized that it is also sometimes easier when there is only one hotel in town. I tend to take more time than I really should to find a hotel for the night. All that I am looking for is a clean room, a hot shower and a bed. Wi-Fi, breakfast, a hot-tub and close proximity to some good food are also considerations, but I have to stop over thinking it. So here I am in Cleveland, Tennessee.

Rural Tennessee

2009-11-10T16:42:00.000-08:00

84.2 Miles - Nashville, TN to McMinnville, TN

The rest of the rain from Ida was coming through the area in the morning, so I opted to get a late start in an effort to stay behind it. A detour (due to the Country Music Awards) before even leaving downtown Nashville aided in holding me back. It did involve me having to consult my map. Having all of my possessions wrapped in plastic bags adds a level of complexity to everything, like checking my electronic map, but at least I could keep my things dry.

Getting out of Nashville wasn’t the worst ride I ever had though not quite as easy as leaving Baton Rouge. I managed to avoid rush hour traffic and stayed off the main thoroughfares. Before long the road I was riding on was wet. I didn’t get rained on at the time, but the ground wouldn’t be dry for the remainder of the day.

It wasn’t long before I was in rural Tennessee. There was the odd dwelling (that formerly had wheels) with numerous appliances and/or vehicles in various states of disrepair ornamenting the front lawn. There were also some nice farm houses, so there was a good mix.

I was getting into steeper territory. I had my first serious climb of the trip this afternoon. The route I had chosen will take me through some more mountainous terrain that I had seen in quite some time.

The last 20 miles came with increased traffic. There was the usual mix of drivers, some granting me some courtesy and others buzzing a foot off my left elbow. Idaho recently passed a law that prohibits cars from passing within three feet of a bicycle. Wouldn’t that be a pleasant change? They also made it official that bicycles are only required to yield at stop signs and red lights. While I haven’t been ticketed for blowing a red light, I suppose I could be.

I survived the last 20 miles of the ride and then spent nearly two hours having to clean my bike after the soaking it received all day. Having to scour my bike is one of the last things I want to do after a long day riding, but if I want it to last I have to suck it up and get polishing.

Nashville, Tennessee

2009-11-09T20:26:00.000-08:00

I was taking a day off to see Nashville, TN. While I am generally not fan of taking organized tours I couldn’t argue with how efficient it would be for my single day off in Nashville. They can cram a lot in half a day.

The tour started in Music Row, the area where country artists have a number of recording studios. It used to be the case that the artists would have to go to New York to record until a studio was built in Nashville that allowed recording to happen locally in 1944. One of the studios, Studio B was reputed to have turned out over 1,000 number one songs.

Ryman Theater was next on the list, previous home to the Grand Old Opry. While the Opry has been moved to a newer building, they do still hold concerts at the theater. Had I any interest in country music, I could have seen Vince Gill that evening.

We took a spin past the State Capitol Building, the second oldest capitol building having been continuously in use. It is second only to Maryland. On the north side of the Capitol was Bicentennial State Park had a wall about a half mile long with historical facts of Tennessee carved into it. One of the problems with tours is that I wanted to walk the length of the wall and read about the history. It’s a trade off.

While I like to think I have a broad spectrum of knowledge, when I went in the Country Music Hall of fame I was at a loss. I recognized Elvis, Dolly Parton, Hank Williams, Patsy Clime and a few others, but that still put me around 3% of the inductees.

Last stop was in the downtown area at one of the local bars that had live music in the early afternoon. It wasn’t quite the same scene as the night before as I think all of the occupants were part of a tour.

Following the tour I had a list of some things I wanted to visit. My list was truncated as the art gallery in the Pantheon as well as the Tennessee State Museum were closed on Monday. I made my way back to the Capitol building and was able to set up with a little tour of the building. Afterwards I walked down to Bicentennial State Park where I was able to talk that walk along the history wall. Here are some random facts about Tennessee:
- 1795 Tennessee achieved one of the requirements for Statehood, which was a population of 60,000 ( became a state on June 1, 1796)
- David Crockett was elected to Congress in 1827, killed at the Alamo in 1836
- In 1838 over 4,000 of the 17,000 Cherokee Indians that were forced from their land died on the Trail of Tears (Here is a write up from the kayak trip)
- 1844 James Polk was elected President (He was born in North Carolina, but lived most of his life in Tennessee)
- In 1848, the term “Volunteer” achieved popular usage in referring to Tennesseans following a call for 2,800 troops in the Mexican War. 30,000 Tennesseans responded.
- (I like this one) In1929 the Memphis Merchants Clearing Association began flashing commodities quotations on cottonseed and cottonseed meal around the world

I spent the evening planning around Hurricane Ida. It seemed that while the storm had been downgraded, it was still going to bring rain to the area. I have spent my fair share of time riding in rain, but I don’t really want to do it if I don’t have to. I thought about taking another day off renting a car and driving to Memphis to visit my friend Jim, or even heading to Lynchburg, TN to visit the Jack Daniels distillery, but I have to keep pedaling as a new commitment came up. I pedal on.

While keeping my eye on the weather it also came to my attention that it was the 20 year anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. I can hardly believe that it has been that long. I was living in Germany at the time and it was something extraordinary being there at that time. It’s not everyday that such a significant change in government takes place.

End of the Natchez Trace

2009-11-08T19:32:00.000-08:00

82.3 Miles - Hohenwald, TN to Nashville, TN

From the town of Hohenwald I had two options as to how I could get back on the Natchez Trace Parkway. I could cut diagonally back to the Parkway or go back the way I came. Were I to cut north I would miss about 8 miles of the parkway and I didn’t want to do that, so I went back the way I came. I also knew that the road was in good shape going that way.

I wouldn’t have really missed much on the Parkway had I taken the shortcut other than one long descent, a long climb and a large area of lawn that a couple of hillbillies tore up doing donuts in their truck.

One notable crossing in the morning was that of the Tennessee Valley Divide. All the water that falls to the south flows to the Duck or Tennessee Rivers and all that on the north into the Cumberland River.

The last 60 miles of the Parkway went past quickly. As it was a beautiful Sunday it seemed as if half of Nashville was out on the Parkway. There were bicycles, motorcycles, people driving convertibles, antique cars and all manner of other conveyances.

The northern section of the road wound around quite a bit more than it had further south. Between the number of people using the parkway and the road winding as much as it did made things more difficult for everyone involved. I found myself directing traffic more than I would have liked. I would periodically ride in the middle of the lane so that cars wouldn’t pass from behind when not safe to do so. I don’t like doing it, but it is for my safety.

From the end of the Natchez Trace Parkway it was another 20 miles to downtown Nashville. The road was in great shape and while the shoulder wasn’t very wide, the route is heavily traveled by cyclists leaving drivers aware of bike traffic.

When I approached Nashville from the southwest I took a detour through Centennial Park. In the park there is a full size replica of the Parthenon in Greece. My biggest decision was deciding in which part of Nashville I wanted to stay. In the end I figured out that the downtown area was the best bet.

Once I set up with a hotel I went for my own bike tour of downtown Nashville and I’m glad I did. Even on a Sunday evening downtown was vibrant. Not only were there several places that had live music, but every other street corner seemed to have someone playing the guitar, banjo, the spoons or at the very least panhandling. Memphis has Beale Street, Nashville has Broadway.

I dropped my bike off at the hotel, got cleaned up and made my way back downtown for some Tennessee Barbeque and live music. While I am by no stretch of the imagination a fan of country music, I found a happy medium ground: bluegrass. Much like Pioneer Days yesterday, I ended up staying far longer than intended but the music was toe tapping good.

Three States

2009-11-07T17:37:00.000-08:00

134.5 Miles – Tupelo, MS to Hohenwald, TN

In leaving Tupelo I finally realized it was Saturday. I knew it was Saturday, but for some reason I didn’t connect it to the fact that there would be no morning rush hour to contend with. I had some miles to put in on the day, so I didn’t mind getting an early start. While there wasn’t the normal weekday rush hour, I saw at least a dozen trucks pulling bass boats behind them.

It seemed that north of Tupelo, MS there was very little flat ground. I was either pedaling uphill or coasting downhill. On one of the rare bits of level ground I happened across a coyote standing on the side of the road. I got to within 30 feet as it was concentrating on something in the opposite direction. I didn’t manage to snap a photo, but getting to see the coyote from close range was rather remarkable. In all the hiking I have done I have never seen a coyote and now on this bike ride I have seen two, and this one from 30 feet away.

Another bit of morning entertainment was a car driving past that were two bike riders I met on my first day pedaling on the Parkway. They were driving a bit, biking a bit as they worked north. As they passed they yelled, “It’s a long way to New York”. It kept me entertained.

By mid-morning I was leaving the state of Mississippi for Alabama. I would only spend three hours in Alabama as I was cutting across the northwest corner, but my time in the state was noteworthy.

I spent the first hour pedaling to the Tennessee River. As I neared the river I came upon “Pioneer Days”, which is where I spent my second hour. What is “pioneer days” you ask? It is a meeting of like minded individuals that recreate some part of the pioneer life, such as basket weaving, playing the Appalachian Dulcimer, or showing off old tools. I had no intention of spending as much time there as I did, but whenever I speak to people a couple of generations my senior I find that I keep asking questions about how things used to be. One of the older gentlemen I spoke with (I think his social security number was 12) talked about his father having a horse drawn cotton gin. Another guy worked for the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad; B&O Railroad is more than just a square on a monopoly board. He even said that he still has his conductors lantern. I also sat and listened to a gentleman named Pat that had a number of musical instruments from the 1800’s. I have a little audio of him playing “My Home is in the Appalachian Mountains” on the Banjo Dulcimer. While listening I challenge you to not think about Huck Finn lazily drifting downriver.

Once I crossed the bridge over the Tennessee River I pedaled another hour to Tennessee. While all I had to do was ride over a bridge to get across the river, Andrew Jackson was rumored to have paid $80,000 to be ferried across the river by the person running the cross-river ferry at that time.

In Tennessee the hills grew taller and longer. The grade wasn’t particularly steep, though I did huff and puff up one or two of them. The mileposts seem awfully far apart when the entire mile is up hill. In having the mileposts, what I also was able to confirm is that my bike computer comes up short in calculating mileage. When I left Tupelo in the morning I started four miles shy of the official mileage to Tupelo. By the end of the day I was dead even with the mileage and I took a couple of detours stopping at overlooks and in one case went off the Parkway into town. At some point I will figure out exactly how far off my computer is, but for continuity all my stats will be as stated by my computer.

To find a hotel for the night, I would have to head seven miles off the Parkway. Before doing so though I stopped at Meriwether Lewis National Monument. Lewis is best known as the leader of the Lewis & Clark expedition which was sent out to find a water route to the Pacific Ocean as well as explore the western territory. Following the expedition he was made the Governor of the Louisiana Territory. The monument in his namesake was erected where Lewis died. There is some dispute as to the circumstances of his death whether he committed suicide or was murdered. Regardless of what transpired, it happened on the Natchez Trace.

I pedaled to the town of Hohenwald, TN to find a place to stay. The name Hohenwald loosely translates to “high forest” in German. It put thoughts in my head of me having to climb some serious hills just to get to town, but the elevation gain didn’t materialize. My hotel left quite a bit to the imagination, but it was a roof over my head.

What Detour??

2009-11-06T18:20:00.000-08:00

112.2 Miles - Kosciusko, MS to Tupelo, MS

Given how many people have been hit by cars on the Natchez Trace Parkway near Tupelo, I wanted to be sure I was safely in town before rush hour. That being the case, I get my start at 4:15. I just flipped on my light and was away. The few cars that did pass at that hour probably thought I have lost it, but I enjoyed the ride. The temperature was in the upper 30’s, but between my clothing and generating some internal heat, I was good to go. The light performed like a champ. While the picture is a bit blurry, you can get the idea. I could see at least five or six lines (the yellow dashed lines dividing the lanes) ahead. Cars coming my direction would turn down their brights when they saw my light. You go Light & Motion!

While pedaling along a saw a few fox loitering on the side of the road and as dawn was settling on the day the last of the bats returning home. Riding at night provides a much different view of the surroundings.

Once there was enough light to see I noticed that the leaves were more colorful than they had been the day previous. I also caught sight of a bunch of deer, numbering on the south side of the double digit range.

It was on the chilly side, but mostly from the wind-chill. My face became a bit numb and my gloves didn’t keep my fingers as warm as I would have hoped, but I was fine. When the first ray of sunshine hit me though it was like getting a shot of morphine; my shoulders slumped and my body totally relaxed.

As I rode along I noticed another biker coming my direction. The guy had panniers as well as a trailer. He was an older guy with everything packed in his trailer. I didn’t ask, but I can be pretty sure that the kitchen sink was buried in there somewhere. He was wearing jeans and his protective headgear was a baseball hat. He left from North Carolina a couple of months ago and claims that once he makes it west of the Mississippi River, he will never come back east.

Later in the morning I rode into Chickasaw Indian territory. While historically, Indians didn’t have hard defined boundaries, the Chickasaw and Choctaw used what was called Line Creek as a delineating boundary between the two tribes. Baton Rouge was another notable exception.

I knew that there would be a detour off the Parkway as there was some roadwork being done. My biker friend mentioned it as well. As it isn’t this cowboys first time to the rodeo I decided to try an stay on the Parkway through the detour. I found that about 75% of the time where there was roadwork and a road was closed, I with my bike could skirt my way around somehow. The distance between the road closure was ten miles, the detour total was 22. It was a gamble. Were it that I rode five miles in and I couldn’t get through, I would have to go the five miles back and then ride the 22 mile detour.

I pedaled along. The road was in great shape. I pedaled, pedaled and pedaled some more; no roadwork. It was only at mile nine that I saw the evidence of a bulldozer. As I approached, a police car intercepted me. I was politely informed that that road was closed. I acknowledged that fact, but added the rebuttal that I have done this enough to know that a bike can usually get past some road work. I was told to wait while he went to his car to get the official release about the roadwork. It didn’t say anything in there about bikes, so he said he wouldn’t give me a ticket. We were in a national park after all and I could carefully skirt the 100 yards of construction that closed 10 miles of road. I was on my way; success once again!

I made it to Tupelo, just after lunch time, which was my goal. I stopped at the main Natchez Trace Visitor center to talk to the folks there. I had five hours of daylight and was hoping to put in another 40 or 50 miles, but the next accommodation I could find were 140 miles up the road. I will have to save that for tomorrow night.

I had some time in Tupelo, but it is a decentralized city, leaving me in limbo. I wasn’t about to ride my bike all over the city, so I opted to strip down my bike and clean it. It was time well spent. I grew tired early after my early hour departure that morning, so I made it an early Friday night in Tupelo. I am going to have another early morning tomorrow.

Short Day

2009-11-05T18:43:00.000-08:00

62.4 Miles - Jackson, MS to Kosciusko, MS

I knew I would have a short day riding, so I opted to wait until after rush hour to start my day. I also made a stop in town to pick up a new voice recorder. I have the worst luck with those things. I had one that went for a swim in New Zealand, another which was left in a hospital in Shanghai, still another that I dropped while riding my bike, but this one just stopped working.

The morning was a little different than any part of yesterday as the Parkway ran along the Ross Barnett Reservoir for a stretch of eight miles. While it was nice to have a change of scenery, it did leave me exposed to the wind.

Following the reservoir I was riding alongside a cypress swamp. I stopped and took a stroll along a short walking path. I spied a couple of frogs, a salamander and a turtle. While alligators are a periodic visitor to the swamp I didn’t evidence any.

The biggest disappointment of the day came at mile marker 135. In an instant the surface of the road changed from smooth pavement to chip-seal; which is an under layer embedded with pebbles. It makes for a bone jarring, screw-loosening ride. I generally feel it in my elbows, knees and especially my lower back. I was told by a few southbound riders that the road won’t get any better for quite some time. At least I know it will get better.

Later in the day I was delighted to see that the leaves are changing color. This is my fourth autumn this year. I caught my first in Vermont, then Arizona/Utah, followed by New York and now in Mississippi. The color is not yet at its peak, but I will be pedaling north to speed up the process.

I was planning on ending the day in the town of Kosciusko, MS, birthplace of Oprah Winfrey. Given my general readership I assume that you could probably care less. In any event, Kosciusko was the last town before Tupelo, 100 miles to the north, that has a hotel. Someone in town had mentioned that there was a bed and breakfast another 20 miles up the road, but I was unable to reach anyone there. I would have hated to ride the 20 miles and find that the people were on vacation. Kosciusko it was.

As I checked in I was talking to the person at the desk about my story. As there is nothing in the area surrounding the hotel I was offered a ride into the real part of town so I could pick up a few things, including dinner. How nice was that? Yesterday it was lunch and today this.

I will have an early start in the AM as I would like to reach Tupelo, MS before rush hour. Apparently city traffic keeps the Parkway packed around Tupelo. And with a narrow road and no shoulder, it isn’t an ideal situation. In addition, a cyclist was killed by car last month as well as another back in April. All the more incentive to ride the 100 miles to Tupelo by early afternoon.

The Natchez Trace...

2009-11-04T19:59:00.000-08:00

111.5 Miles – Natchez, MS to Jackson, MS

My morning started with the ugly side of Natchez. I rode past a historic site known as “Forks of the Road”. It was the location of the second largest slave market in the United States between 1830 and 1863. Another aspect of the antebellum south that isn’t mentioned in the average tour is that slaves were frequently beaten and raped.

I had a bit of a struggle finding the Natchez Trace Parkway, but once I did I was a happy man. The Parkway takes away the drama of cycling as there is smooth pavement, little traffic and is surrounded by trees that block the wind. Not only that, but there are a smattering of picnic tables on the side of the road, complete with garbage cans and numerous places to obtain water. What more could I possibly ask for?

There was no shortage of wildlife as I rode along. While the first two animals I saw were an armadillo and a snake with tire tracks across their back, there was plenty in the way of actually living animals. Early on there was the constant chirping of birds and a trio of whitetail deer. I also spotted some blue heron and the usual squirrels, but the most exciting sighting was a coyote. I saw it on the side of the road in the distance and got my camera out, but then thought “what if it is hungry”. I had a feeling, which proved correct; the coyote would run off as I neared. I never did get that photo.

One of the historic stops I made was at Mount Locust, the only remaining “Inn” that was open to travelers of the Natchez Trace. Mount Locust is one of the oldest buildings in Mississippi having been built in 1780. The success of the Inn was due in large part to its location as it sat one days walk from Natchez, the start of the Trace.

In my travels I have met some pretty great people and today was no different. I noticed a half a dozen bikes riding the opposite direction with VBT emblazoned on their bikes. Who knew that Vermont Bike Tours does tours in Mississippi? A little further up the road I pulled in a turnout to take a breather and throw out some trash I had accumulated. Also, there was the SAG wagon for the bike tour. Before I even came to a stop on my bike I was offered all sorts of snacks and Gatorade. The timing was perfect as I was getting a tad hungry. It also saved me a trip off the Parkway to the town of Port Gibson for lunch.

There are certain parts of the Parkway that criss-cross what was the actual Natchez Trace. You can see from the photo how worn the Trace was; to the point of it being sunken below the level of the rest of the area. There were several occasions when I parked the bike and took a bit of a walk on parts of the old Natchez Trace. People always talk about the Appalachian Trail being the first long distance hiking trail but the Natchez Trace has it beat

Traffic picked up the closer I got to Jackson, MS but it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination heavy. Drivers were extremely courteous. The road was just barely wide enough to pass if there was a bicycle on the side of the road, but just barely; meaning that it would not be safe. There were zero drivers that tried to squeeze through when there was oncoming traffic. Some even used their blinkers to pass and others used the entire other lane when passing.

As I got to the north side of Jackson, MS traffic was quite dense. I only had to ride a couple of miles to make my way off the Parkway and find a hotel. On my way into town I realized how hungry I was. I made a pit stop to chug a Gatorade and down some ice cream.

In summary, I don’t ever recall riding over 100 miles in a single day without so much as seeing a traffic light. I have over 15,000 miles on this present bike alone and I think I would struggle to come up with a better contiguous 100 miles to ride. I didn’t have to worry about directions, traffic and could just focus on turning the cranks. It got me back to the pure enjoyment of cycling. I will leave you with a video of my view as I rode the Natchez Trace Parkway and no, I didn't add the bird noises:

Natchez, Mississippi

2009-11-03T18:23:00.000-08:00

I had planned on taking the day off and exploring the town of Natchez. The town was founded by the French in the early 1700’s and had since come under the control of the British, Spanish, back to the French and then, obviously, the United States. Times weren’t easy in the area. In 1729 the French had a scuffle with the Natchez Indians, losing the battle. Several years later the French decimated the Natchez, effectively wiping out their tribe. The town was built on cotton farming and trade, taking advantage of its position on the Mississippi river. In 1807 there was a cotton blight, significantly reducing the harvest. Natchez was revived by many Jewish merchants who opened for business in the town. Also, once rail transportation came to prominence following the Civil War it once again sent the town in a downward spiral. Tourism to the rescue.

My first stop was the antebellum mansion Stanton Hall, built by Frederick Stanton. You know you have done something right when you have a 72 foot entrance hall. Unfortunately for Frederick though, he had only lived in the house for nine months before he ended up on the wrong side of the lawn.

While visiting the Stanton house I spoke with an elderly woman there who grew up in Natchez. She mentioned to me how her parents would take her to play in Memorial Park. I deem the one square block park worth a visit. While the park was small in size it was rich in history. Among other things, there was a fountain, several war memorials and a cannon taken from the defenses of Santiago de Cuba in 1898.

I was feeling in a southern mood for lunch and lucked out with some Crawfish Etoufee before heading to a photo exhibit of the Natchez area. The exhibit featured photos from 1860 to 1900 which provided an unbelievable vision of the town in its Cotton growing heyday. It was insane the amount of cotton that was loaded on steamboats being sent down to New Orleans. Some of the boats were nearly underwater they were so heavily and awkwardly laden.

Another afternoon stop was at the William Johnson House. William Johnson was a former slave who became a successful businessman, running several barbershops in Natchez. While slavery was still thriving in the south in the 1840’s, it was possible to be free if granted that right by the slave owner. Rights for ex-slaves were limited, but in my estimation freedom is a big win. Later in his life Johnson was a slave owner himself, which I had come to learn was not uncommon for free African-Americans at that time. Slaves were a stats symbol in certain circles, regardless of race. When talking about slavery, rarely does the area of free African-Americans arise, or at least in my experience.

My last educational stop for the day was Trinity Episcopal Church. The church features some fine stained glass work, including two windows from Louis Comfort Tiffany.

It was such a pleasant evening that evening I decided to spend the remainder of it sitting outside watching the sun glint off the Mississippi River. The sun slowly sank below the horizon as I thought back to kayaking down the Mississippi on a much colder windier day almost a year ago.

In the evening I broke one of my biking rules and that is taking the bike out on a day off. While downtown Natchez does have character, it lacks a place to get a quick bite to eat. It forced me to put in a couple of miles, but not only was I able to have a quick dinner I was also able to pick up a few things for breakfast in the morning. Winner!

On the Road Again

2009-11-02T20:27:00.000-08:00

94.1 Miles - Baton Rouge, LA to Natchez, MA

In doing a long distance trip of any kind, it seems to be that getting to the starting line or home from the finish line are the toughest parts. That is only the case though if you don’t have a friend like Ken. Ken has already spent north of 15 hours driving me around on various trips in Louisiana (not to mention being my ride to high school as well as my preferred shuttle back and forth the eight hours each way to college) and he was going to add another three hours to the total this morning giving me a lift to Baton Rouge, LA. Louisiana is not the most bike friendly place as far as bridge crossings are concerned, so riding to Baton Rouge was out. For more on my take of Louisiana bridge crossings you can visit my past blog here. For more on the history of Baton Rouge, you can look here.

My starting point for this ride was the Baton Rouge Capitol Building. It is the tallest capital building out of any of the 50 states at 450 feet, so I thought that would be as good a place to start this ride as any. There was a bit of a hubbub going on in the morning, but it was not for me. A former governor of Louisiana, David Treen had passed away and was to lie in state.

I said goodbye to Ken and began turning my pedals, taking me north out of the city. Of all the cities I had ridden in or out of, Baton Rouge was one of the easiest to negotiate. Perhaps it was the early hour or the fact that I was fairly north of the city as it was, but getting out of the main action was a breeze. I did have the normal city potholes to deal with, but was a non-event really.

I was scarcely out of Baton Rouge before the roadwork began. It wouldn’t be until 20 miles later until the road would again return to normal. The road was being repaved and had me on an obstacle course, winding through a narrow lane of traffic cones. It wasn’t the safest place for me to ride in a narrow lane with traffic, so I jumped up on the new pavement away from traffic. That only lasted so long though as the pavement was getting fresher and softer the further north I rode.

To get away from it all, though it wasn’t for mare than half an hour, I stopped at Port Hudson State Historic Area. The fort there was the last Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi River. While all of the building in the park seemed to be closed, I perused several plaques and in any event enjoyed the ride along the twisting, sylvan road.

I don’t think I can be out on a bike without my nemesis, the wind, rearing its ugly head. Sure enough the wind was blowing out of the north at 10 to 15 MPH, just enough to force me to exert myself more than I really would have liked to. I was hoping my first day on the bike would be a leisurely 90 miles on a flat country road.

The weather, absent the wind of course, was just perfect. I can never complain about it being sunny and 60 when I am out for a ride. If I had the same exact weather for the next couple of weeks, I would be thrilled.

By lunchtime I was crossing the border to the state of Mississippi. The wide shoulder I had been riding ended abruptly. While there was a shoulder of a foot or so it was covered in rumble strips, forcing me in one of the two lanes of traffic. Traffic was relatively light and a majority of the traffic was courteous. The one notable exception was a big rig that wanted to share a lane with me. The draft of the truck blew me off the road and onto the gravelly shoulder.

The terrain was somewhat more rolling than I had expected. It wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination hilly, but I did slow down on some of the upward undulations. One thing I noticed was how many billboards that had some sort of religious slogan or proclamation. My favorite has to be “God is God”. If I remember anything from philosophy class, by definition that is true; X =X. It’s hard to argue with that logic.

As I approached the town of Natchez I wasn’t sure where I was going to stay but I did know I wanted to bike down to Natchez Under the Hill and the very same boat ramp that I pulled up on during the kayak trip in an effort to refill my water supply. I followed signs to downtown Natchez and Under the Hill, leaving me at the exact place I had been. I always enjoy when my trips intersect, especially if they are on different modes of transport as it is possible to get a much different feeling from a place based upon it.

I knew I wanted to stay in the downtown area and with that set up at the historic Eola Natchez Hotel. The hotel is on the National Register of Historic Places, but then again so are 61 other buildings in Natchez. I rounded out my evening by watching the sun set over the Natchez/Vidalia Bridge.

I See the Light!

2009-10-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

I learned a hard lesson on my Los Angeles to New York bike ride: it gets dark at night! While it doesn’t take Einstein to figure that one out, I just didn’t think I would be riding in the dark. In 2005 when I rode cross-country in the opposite direction it was the end of summer which gave me plenty of daylight until 8 o’clock or later depending on the time-zone. While it seems quite obvious, I didn’t really think that I would begin losing daylight at 4 PM.

On one evening ride in Arizona, with a light snow falling nonetheless, a police officer pulled me over and told me to get off the road. I didn’t have any lights on my bike and I was a hazard to both myself and drivers as well. It wasn’t until two states further on, in Houston to be exact, that I finally broke down and bought a rear light so I could at least be seen from behind.

I am still here to tell the tale so I got lucky, really lucky in fact. I am now older, wiser and have since learned about a company by the name of “Light and Motion”. Light and Motion makes bike lights. Not just any bike lights mind you, but cars flashing their headlights at you, planes mistaking you for the landing strip, you’d think its daytime kind of bike lights.

A saying regarding bike lights is that “you don’t want to outride your light”. “Outride your light?!?!?” Well no, I don’t have the requisite number of gears on my bike to travel 670,616,629 miles per hour, the speed of light, but the problem is that most lights just don’t shine far enough ahead to give sufficient reaction time.

I am using the Seca 400, tested at 425 lumens. The first time I turned it on I just giggled at how bright it was. And that isn’t even the top model; the Seca 900 , as its name suggests, a full 900 lumens. Life on other plants could probably see that thing. Look how bright my light is compared to the street light!

Riding in the suburbs with a smattering of street lights, even on the low setting, the 400 does a fantastic job of nullifying shadows. The light really shines though (pun intended) in total darkness. The light opens up a swath of illumination reaching far enough ahead to give me plenty of reaction time even at speeds approaching 30 MPH. Now I just need an illuminated computer.

As you can probably tell, I am pretty excited about my new light. I’ll post more after I have had a chance to really put the light though its paces…

Training

2009-10-24T20:11:00.000-07:00

While for my 2005 cross-country ride I did zero training before setting out, I took a different tack in 2008 and in preparation for this ride as well. I have been out on numerous rides, several over 100 miles in length to prepare myself for having to pedal with an extra 12 pounds of gear.

From New York City I have been out on the hugely popular Route 9W ride. On summer weekends there are literally hundreds of people that do this ride. The actual bike route ends shy of Bear Mountain State Park and is about 70 miles round trip from the George Washington Bridge. If one is a masochist, or just really likes hills, the ride can be stretched to Bear Mountain State Park.

I have also been spending some time riding out on Long Island. The North Fork out on the east end is rather quiet this time of year as there is not nearly the seasonal traffic that the area sees in the summer. It is harvest season at the vineyards though. The ride to Orient Point is one of my favorites as there are so few traffic lights, decent shoulders and smooth pavement. Add to that the scenery of the vines from the many wineries in the area and it is just a pleasant ride.

At this time though, my bike has been boxed up and turned over to FedEx. The airline regulations for bicycles, or anything else for that matter have become so stringent and/or costly, shipping a bike is a no brainer. The only downside is that it takes three days to arrive, which keeps me off the bike.

Back on the Bike

2009-10-20T20:13:00.000-07:00

It has been more than a year since I have done a bike ride of over 1,000 miles so I figure I am due. It will not be another coast to coaster, but rather a ride that will take me along a Parkway that is in and of itself a 444 mile long National Park.

The National Park known as the Natchez Trace Parkway follows a historic trail that was used as major south/north thoroughfare before the time the land belonged to the burgeoning United States of America.

While the Natchez Trace began as a series of animal and later Indian paths, it gained in popularity as the lands in Tennessee and Ohio area were being settled. Farmers in the region could grew far more crop than they could consume or sell locally, so they built flatboats and floated their goods down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to Natchez, Mississippi and New Orleans. As this preceded the advent of the steam engine, once the goods were offloaded from the boats they were broken down and sold as timber or kindling. Now without transportation, the farmer would walk with his pocketful of cash back home using the Natchez Trace. (Yes, many people were robbed or worse)

Famous figures such as Andrew Jackson, Aaron Burr and Meriwether Lewis trod upon this very trail. While things ended poorly for Lewis, Andrew Jackson marched troops along the Trace in the War of 1812 as well as followed it southward at a later time chasing after the woman who would become his wife. The Natchez Trace was even used for a time as a postal road. Use of the Trace declined significantly once steamships were plying the river systems. It wasn’t until 1937 that construction began modernizing the parkway and in 1938 was made a National Park.

My ride though will start in Baton Rouge, Louisiana before heading north through Mississippi, Alabama and Tennessee. From Nashville, TN, the end of the Natchez Trace Parkway, I am going to make a right turn and head to Myrtle Beach, SC to visit with my Dad. I haven’t thought about the route once I leave Nashville, but I will have to cross of the same Appalachian Mountain chain that I spent several months hiking through.

I was vaguely familiar with the Natchez Trace but initially concocted the idea of pedaling it on the Winnipeg to the Gulf kayak trip last year. The town of Natchez, MS ended up being a water stop on the kayak trip and kindled my interest in the Trace.

And it seems to be becoming the norm that my support staff, in the form of my old buddy Ken, will get me going again in Louisiana. Ken was part of my 2008 cross-country ride as well as the main transportation provider for the Canada to the Gulf of Mexico kayak trip once that trip was complete. I never really thought I would be spending this much time in Louisiana, but there we have it. Thanks, Ken!

I plan to starting pedaling on or around November 2nd , so check back for my pre-ride updates as well as my daily post each night from the road.

Bryce Canyon

2009-10-16T15:54:00.000-07:00

We awoke well before sun up in an effort to catch the sunrise in Bryce Canyon. While there are numerous locations to watch the sun poke over the horizon, some are naturally more pleasing than others. We opted for Bryce Point, which we shared with a number of bundled up, serious photographers as well as a bus of Japanese tourists. The morning was crisp.

Watching the show of light play out as the sun crept higher in the sky, casting shadows on the tall spires of rock, known as hoodoos, was an exercise in patience. Various people decided they had enough before the sun even cracked the horizon. Perhaps it was the cold, but it only made it quieter for the people that stuck it out.

Laura and I hung around until well after sunrise, only then opting to walk down the canyon among the giants. Laura put together a six-mile loop for us to walk and take in some of the more scenic sections of the northern part of the park. Not having to carry a big backpack made the walk seem almost unfair as we bobbed along the trail.

There was a fair crowd in the same section of the park, though it didn’t seem it. We did occasionally happen upon some other people and stop for a chat. It seems that this was the most walking that most people were doing on their vacation.

We stayed in the Canyon long enough to have a bit of lunch, but shortly thereafter made our way back up and out. We stopped at the visitors center on our drive out of the park to learn more about the area. The vicinity saw its firs people, the Anasazi, over 2,000 years ago, presumably brought to the area to hunt rabbits and collect pine nuts. As far as modern settlers, there was Ebenezer Bryce, a Mormon, after which the Canyon was named, who homesteaded in the area.

While our time in the park seemed short, I guess it is about as much time as people generally spend there. Our afternoon involved nothing more than a drive to Salt Lake City, UT and the end of our vacation.

Early Exit

2009-10-15T14:09:00.000-07:00

So as not to have a repeat of the day prior we got up and out at an early hour, leaving camp just at the point where headlamps were no longer necessary. It was a cold night, but as has been the case when the sun made an appearance it grew warmer. Given the hiking trail and its winding nature we would catch some sun until the trail lead us back away from it, only to once again deliver us to the warming rays.

While the scenery in the valley was spectacular, once we climbed out onto a plateau, it became more so. It seems as if we were walking alongside an endless painting. The predominant color was rust from the changing leaves of the various trees in the distance, periodically interspersed with gray trunks that lost their cover. There was green from the stands of pine trees, some even blackened from a fire that had come through in 2007. Also in the center was beige and white from striated rock. There was a liberal use of blue in the sky with only enough white to break the solid color on the uppermost portion of the paining. The wind was still, leaving only the periodic chipmunk or bird to give movement.

Given the sun, the fact that we were on a well worn trail, spirits were much higher than 24 hours earlier. And despite having taken nearly 100 photos by the time we stopped for lunch, our pace was brisk.

We arrived at what was to be our campsite at 2 PM and the site was marvelous. It offered a fantastic view of that same painting that we were looking at the entire day. As it was still quite early and we had only six miles to hike out, we opted to do so. Our plan would be to drive the two hours to Bryce Canyon this evening and catch sunrise at the park there.

The final five miles of the trail was the highway of the park. It seems that the people that do get out and walk in the park take the vey route we would be exiting. The worst part of the situation was the last five miles of trail was concrete. I can only guess that the trail gets such heavy use that the Park Commission had to pour concrete on the trail to keep it from eroding. Much like not getting down into the Grand Canyon, it would be disappointing if that was the only five miles of Zion that people would see, as it is quite a diverse park with respect to composition.

Shortly before reaching the trailhead there was a turnoff for Angels Landing. While I hadn’t heard of the trail, some folks passing by mentioned that it was ranked one of the top ten hiking trails in the United States, despite being only a half mile long. The trail is fairly steep, to the point that chains have been installed for people to clutch on their way up or down. While we had plans to make it to Bryce Canyon in the evening, we didn’t want it to be at the expense of Zion.

We started up the trail and after a few minutes Laura decided that the climb wasn’t for her. Fair enough, she would defend our pack from a raiding party of chipmunks. Climbing up to Angels Landing was a fun little scamper, but as far as ranking it anywhere near the top ten hikes in Utah would be a stretch, much less the whole United States. The view offered at the top was that of Zion Canyon. Nice, but no better than the view we had the rest of the day. On the way down from Angels Landing I decided to run. It was a bit like Parkour and I did get many a strange or frightened look, but something pressed me to go for it.

Once reunited with our car we stopped in the town of Springdale, UT just outside the park. We figured we earned ourselves a sit-down dinner. We didn’t linger though as it was getting dark. We had to drive through the park again to take the east exit and we hoped to catch a bit of the sunset in doing so.

On the drive to Bryce Canyon National Park I concentrated on the road and Laura did some research as to what our game plan should be for the morning. There were numerous hotels just outside the park, much like in Zion, but we opted to pitch our tent in the park, leaving us closer to the action in the morning.

Into the Valley

2009-10-14T13:50:00.000-07:00

We had descended into Hop Valley and had to follow it along until we caught a connecting trail taking us back up and out to a plateau. While in theory it sounds simple, it didn’t work exactly as planned, as least not right away.

Following my efforts to stay hydrated in the morning I told Laura I was going to step off the trail to answer the call of nature and she should go ahead. I soon walked on, trailing Laura or so I thought. I thought it a bit odd after not seeing her for a half an hour, but figured she was just making good time and would wait for me as she saw fit. While I had thoughts the she may have taken a wrong turn, it wasn’t until 15 minutes later that I was suspect. There was a set of footprints on the trail that looked as if they came from her, but I couldn’t be certain. I called her name and heard no response…repeatedly. I continued on, thinking that perhaps she couldn’t hear me over the wind. I had no reason to think she was anywhere other than on the trail ahead of me.

It wasn’t until I reached a cow fence that I had serious doubts that she was in front of me. I figured at the very least she would probably wait for me there. While it was what I thought, I was not 100% certain. There was a road crossing another one and half miles further up the trail and I knew she wouldn’t go beyond that. I needed that 100% certainty so I knew where to focus my search for her, namely behind me. I hung my pack visibly on the fence hoping no chipmunks or a cow would tuck into it and I ran. I ran to the road without any sign of her and quickly ran back. On my way back I was really hoping she would be standing at the fence right next to my backpack; no such luck.

As I was loaded up with water, I dropped a few water bottles so that I could pick up my pace and keep what was in my pack in the event I would need it. I began backtracking from whence I came and was going to keep going until I got to the point I last saw her. Fortunately, I didn’t have to go quite that far as Laura materialized on the trail a mile back. She ended up following a cow path off the main trail and then forked out from there, which is when I had passed her. The ending to this could have been much worse, but we took it as a learning experience, providing us with the opportunity to set backcountry rules and discuss what to do in the event we become separated. Also not the worst thing in the world was that we hadn’t yet covered three trail miles and it was noon.

We continued together along the valley floor, having on at least a half dozen occasions to cross La Verkin creek. The creek wasn’t terribly deep, so it was a non event really. The worst part was getting the stink eye from the cows as we walked past.

When again reaching the cow fence I collected the water I left behind. I had noticed earlier that a cow had been out, but at the time I had other things on my mind than getting her back in her valley-wide pen. Laura and I tried in vain to sheppard the cow back through the small gate, but the cow was having none of it. The cow was on its own.

By the time we reached the road crossing we paused for a bit of lunch to collect ourselves. It was still overcast though the outlook was more promising than the day.

The afternoon took us up and down through varying terrain. At one point when we stopped and looked up, a Condor was circling high above on the thermals. At the North Rim of the Grand Canyon we caught a talk about the recovery of the Condor. Numbers were as low as 22 in the 1980’s. At present there are around 325, with just more of half of those in the wild.

Later in the day we inadvertently followed another animal path off the main trail. At least we were together. There were numerous animal trails that intersected in the area and finding the actual trail involved climbing to a perch and evaluating the terrain as compared to that of our topographic map. I could tell generally where the trail should be, so we headed off in that direction. It turned out that the trail was not as well worn as several of the animal trails in the area.

The trail climbed to 7,000 feet in elevation, leaving us with an expansive view of Wildcat Canyon, where we would hike the following day. Despite our mishaps we made our initial destination of Wildcat Spring before dark. There was little in the way of level ground as we were walking the edge of a canyon, but there was a spot that had obviously been cleared to camp. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be home for the night. In the time we sat, prepared and ate dinner, a collection of stars began poking their way out from behind the clouds. The disappearance of the clouds would leave us with a cold, calm night.

On to Zion

2009-10-13T12:15:00.000-07:00

It was another early morning for us as we were hoping to be in the front of the line for backcountry permits in Zion National Park. We had assembled our gear and loaded our packs the night prior, assuming that we might obtain a three night permit for the park. Our preparation paid off as we were able to secure a permit allowing us to hike from the Northwest corner of the park to the Southeast over four days.

The only wrinkle in our plan was getting to the trailhead where we would begin our hike. It would have been out of our way getting a ride back there after our hike, so we were hoping to find a ride to the northern part of the park and hike back to the car. With several phone calls, an incredible bit of luck and a friendly outfitter, we were on our way in under an hour.

The drive north was only an hour and a half in comparison to the five hours of driving around the Grand Canyon. The weather was in stark contrast to what it was in the Canyon as well. The sky was overcast with a chill wind blowing liberally and there was the expectation of rain. The mercury was forecast to dip below the freezing point overnight.

The landscape varied too in comparison to that Canyon I keep referencing. Quaking Aspens were putting on a foliage show in yellow. While there was little wildlife (or people) to speak of, we were kept entranced by the colors that rustled in response to the effects of the wind. The background rocks were a color in the shade of salmon.

As we knew our hiking time would be limited on our first day due to the time involved obtaining the permit and getting to the trail, we left ourselves with an easy day. We did however have enough time to duck down a side trail to Kolob Arch, claimed to be the longest free-standing arch in the world. It was not as visually spectacular as some you might see in Arches National Park, but it was impressive nonetheless.

We had passed many splendid looking campsites throughout the afternoon, but where we had registered to camp left much to be desired, not least of which it was exposed to the wind and the elements. I checked two campsites that I knew to be nearby. Though unoccupied, they were no better. We took it upon ourselves to find a slight better campsite, giving us at least some shelter on the leeward side of several large shrubs.

There would be no stars for us to see on this evening, but the rain did hold off, so I wasn’t about to complain. There are few things worse than hiking in a cold rain.

Day in Transit

2009-10-12T10:23:00.000-07:00

Laura and I had little planned for the day other than to get back to our car at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We were able to take our time in the morning as the shuttle north wouldn’t depart until early afternoon. We opted to take a park bus to the east side of the South Rim and wander the several miles back to where we would be meeting our ride.

Previously, my definition for “so close, yet so far” was from my 2008 bike ride from Los Angeles to New York. I had ridden clear across the country finding myself in Hoboken, NJ, immediately across the river from Battery Park in Manhattan, what would be my official end point. Battery Park was but a scant mile away across the river. I however had to pedal to the northern end of Manhattan, cross the Hudson River via the George Washington Bridge, only to ride back downtown, adding a total of 25 miles to the ride from Hoboken. One verses 25. By road the North and South rims of the Grand Canyon were approximately 215 miles, as the crow flies: eight. Eight miles to the north rim from where we stood. The ratio is nearly the same, but the Canyon is the winner by a nose. I could even see the North Rim Lodge for crying out loud! And no, there was no helicopter service that connects the two. We were resigned to our fate of sitting in a van for five hours, effectively robbing us of the day. On the upside though, there was some interesting landscape along the way and we met some nice folks on the ride.

Upon arriving at the car we immediately drove north to a town just outside of Zion National Park and had the pleasure of spending the night in a warm hotel bed.

Up and Out

2009-10-11T10:03:00.000-07:00

As we were uncertain to what we would face on the climb back out of the Grand Canyon, our last morning was an early one, setting out under the beam of a headlamp. Much to our surprise it took no longer to get up to Monument Creek as it did to get down, so it was a good start. We would again have to load up on water to get us to two miles shy of the south rim.

The morning was a pleasant walk through desert terrain. We stumbled upon one other couple hiking their way out, but absent them, we saw no other people.

As one might expect, the day was taking us mostly uphill. This included a stretch called the "Cathedral Stairs". The climb was an elevation gain of 1,200 feet, but we didn’t find it particularly difficult. At the top we paused to say Hello to the first group of hikers we saw heading down into the canyon. Laura was a rock star climbing the Cathedral Stairs and even managed to spot the lone rattlesnake we would see on the hike.

As the day wore on we passed several other groups hiking into the canyon. We knew we were nearing the exit once we began seeing the odd day hiker making their way down. There was also a steady drone of aircraft engines, flying tourists high above the gaping Canyon.

The final push up the last section of the Hermit Trail was not an easy one. The climb was relentless in the ever warming sun and after having been hiking all day nonetheless. To add to the mix there was a series of landslides that decimated the trail, leaving us to scramble over boulder piles. Click on the photo below to check out the trail.

My biggest thought later in the day was the possibility of catching a ride from the South Rim 215 miles back to our car at the North Rim trailhead. There was a company that once a day, for a tidy sum, would shuttle people between the two points. We made a reservation for the following day, but if we were able to hike out and catch the shuttle that day, it would be like winning a free day of vacation. It wasn’t meant to be though and in retrospect, was just fine. It gave us an opportunity to take in the crowded South Rim of the Canyon and its superior vistas. Not only that, but we were able to do laundry, preparing us for our next hiking adventure in Zion National Park, two days hence.

The Grand Canyon is well deserving of its name. It is in fact “Grand” in every sense of the word. I was just glad to have had the opportunity to see it. It has been one of those places that people would comment, “you, of all people haven’t been to the Grand Canyon”. I can’t go everywhere, but at least now I have been to the Grand Canyon. The thought I was left with as we departed the south rim was that it is a shame only a fraction of people that visit the Canyon ever get down inside and see it from the bottom up.

Camping on the Colorado

2009-10-10T08:58:00.000-07:00

Right off the bat in the morning Laura and I were greeted by a Mule Deer nearly immediately after setting out for our hike. Not long thereafter we also found a pair of deer antlers that had been shed and were bleached white by the beating sun. While the deer were the only large animals we had encountered, there are numerous coyotes and mountain lion that reside in the park. Also, constantly scurrying underfoot were small lizards. The lizards would dart out and then under shelter as we walked past.

As soon as we were out of the shade of the canyon walls the day warmed quickly. There was no respite from the sun whatsoever. I couldn’t imagine hiking down in the Canyon in July or August. It must be brutally hot.

As we hiked, the landscape took on a yellowish hue. It was mostly due to the area of Tapeats Sandstone that we were hiking through. One of the remarkable things about the Grand Canyon is that the striations in the rock are so plainly visible. There are about a dozen distinct layers visible in the canyon, all added throughout time. While now a plateau, there was a point where the entire area was a shallow sea.

It is not only the color of the rock that is an indicator of layering, but also the way the rock erodes. Softer layers of rock crumble in smaller pieces and as such leave rubble piles that are angular. The harder layers of rock, which generally had the softer rock underneath erode, will sheer off leaving an almost vertical section. Having these numerous layers is what to me gives the Grand Canyon much of its visual appeal.

While we did pass a small group of hikers, the area was secluded. It was the Grand Canyon we hoped to experience. And for a good part of the day we would be able to catch the periodic glance of the Colorado River down below. It would be our destination for the evening.

When we initially made the effort to secure our camping permit we hoped to stay at Monument Creek. It was mostly for logistical reasons, so that when we were to hike back out and up the Canyon, our day would be several miles shorter than if we camped down on the Colorado River. Once we saw the Monument Creek area we were elated that there were no further permits being issued, pushing us down to Granite Rapids on the Colorado River itself. While Monument Creek was geologically interesting, the area was little more than a few low trees in a dust bowl. It had none of the charm of our campsite the night before.

Leading down to the river from Monument Creek was a primitive trail at best. The trail itself was a presently dry riverbed between two canyon walls. The trail was basically anyplace in the 100 yard span between the canyon walls. There would be no getting lost as there were only two directions on this trail: up or down.

There was no actual camping area down by the river, but rather anyplace we could find a level section of sand to pitch our tent. The area was interspersed with tall rock spires and low growing cactus. We got the tent set up and had plenty of time to goof off near the river. As Granite Rapids was rumored to be one of the worst rapids on this stretch of the Colorado, I didn’t have any need to step into the river past my knees. Not only that, but the water was far colder than I would have imagined.

Once the chores around camp were complete I went about climbing on the myriad of rock spires (from which I was able to take this aerial photos of our camp) while Laura practiced Yoga on a white blanket of sand. While we hoped to have this campsite to ourselves, it wasn’t long before a white water rafting group pulled up and set up camp not far from us. The guide came over and apologized for interrupting our peaceful afternoon and offered to "buy" us a beer after his group had dinner. Rafters can carry far more weight than hikers.

Though we didn’t have the place to ourselves, it was an enjoyable location to spend the night. This was in spite of Laura’s cursed backpack falling into cactus patch (and me spending an hour picking out cactus needles) and having to take the food bag in the tent with us. We never did take up our friend on his post dinner offer; rather we gazed up at the stars and fell asleep to the sound of the Colorado rushing between the canyon walls, as it had been doing since it cut a swath beginning six million years ago.

Away From the Masses

2009-10-09T06:49:00.000-07:00

The morning leaving camp once again put Laura and I on a main trail, but only for the a few hours. While we got a late start, we didn’t have nearly the mileage to cover as the day previous. Our first order of business was crossing over to the south side of the Colorado River via a cable bridge. We wouldn’t get to feel the water of the Colorado until later in the day as after crossing the cable bridge the trail ascended away from the rushing waters. Once the trail slowly wound its way down, we paused for our first real experience with the Colorado River, creator of the canyon through which we hiked. We left our backpacks near the trail and made our way down to feel the cold water of the river. We took our time enjoying the view and had a chat with someone that was on a white water rafting trip. It was an all too pleasant interlude in our morning. The only down side was that when we turned back to our packs, a squirrel had chewed a hole through Laura’s new pack and claimed a snack of dried fruit for its effort.

We paused at and an area called Indian Garden for lunch, the last of the major stops on the trail which we would be hiking. It was a shady oasis complete with picnic table and clean water. As we left Indian Garden we had the option of taking a side trail to a lookout. As we were making good time we opted to take a scenic detour before heading down the Tonto Trail and away from the majority of people in the Canyon. The detour took us to Plateau Point, a vista with an abrupt drop to the Colorado River several thousand feet below. The side trip added a couple of miles to our day, but the lookout was entirely worth it. We lingered for nearly an hour before backtracking and turning off on the Tonto Trail. This area of the canyon receives significantly less use than where we had been and we also knew that where we would be camping for the night would leave us entirely by ourselves, having scooped up the single permit issued for the camp area. This made up for the fact that there was no water in the vicinity, leaving us to carry all we would need until the following evening from Indian Garden.

We had just enough time to set up camp, do a little exploring in the area and eat dinner before the sun ducked behind the canyon wall. Shortly after the sun made an exit, Jupiter as well as thousands of stars filled the sky in place of the sun. With so little light pollution in the area the display was one of the best I had seen since Waitomo, New Zealand. Laura and I laid down on a rock and stared upwards, pointing out the odd satellite to one another as it pushed across the sky, or yelling "Shooting Star!" as one of us would spot such an occurrence as it too blazed a path in the night. Shooting stars incidentally, are not stars at all, rather meteoroids that enter and burn up in the earth’s atmosphere. It made our night no less enjoyable spotting one though.

I am predominantly an East Coast hiker and with that, am used to hanging my food in a tree at night in an effort to thwart bears and mice. I had spoken to a ranger who claimed that he always sleeps with his food in his tent. The concept felt odd to me, so I made a mouse baffle out of my cooking windscreen and hung our food bag in the lone tree tall enough to keep the food bag far enough off the ground. After getting in the tent and settling down for the night the rodent activity began. I noted a couple of mice and even a desert rat clambering (and clamoring for that matter) around in the tree. They would soon make their way further into the night, leaving us in peace.

Descent

2009-10-08T06:28:00.000-07:00

The morning entering the Grand Canyon was worthy of all my warm gear, including a hat and gloves. I knew it would quickly warm as Laura and I descended, but there was no sense in being chilly for the first half hour. We would descend from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon on the North Kaibab Trail, which is a major hiking and mule highway. While we did beat the mule traffic out of the gate, there were dozens of other hikers on their way down.

The descent was fairly straightforward as it was a well maintained path and used by mules nonetheless. There was a good bit of camaraderie in speaking to other hikers in passing, but the numbers thinned out past the six mile mark, Cottonwood Camp. Cottonwood Camp is where a majority of people stay on their first night down in to the Canyon. Laura and I opted to open with a 14 mile day, which would leave us near the very bottom of the canyon as our time was limited due to the permit process. We were just happy to be able to obtain a last minute permit allowing us to spend four days in the canyon.

As we hiked further down through the layers of Coconino Sandstone, Hermit Shale, Redwall Limestone and Bright Angel Shale, the marvel of the Grand Canyon really took hold. Thinking about how the layer upon layer formed over billions of years and was then eroded away by the Colorado River was nearly unthinkable.

Upon reaching the bottom of the Canyon, Laura and I passed through Phantom Ranch enroute to our campsite. Little did we know there was a lodge at Phantom Ranch that had a fully stocked canteen. After what became a hot and sweaty hike we were delighted to be able to have cold drink at the canteen.

We stuck around for a ranger led talk on the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC), a group formed by Franklin Roosevelt as part of the New Deal during the Great Depression. Given the similarity of that time in history to the present, I couldn’t help but think about how different the approach has been in providing for people during the times. The CCC was "for the relief of unemployment through performance of useful public works and other purposes”. As part of the CCC workers training, they were able to learn skills in their free time whether it was playing the guitar, speaking French, or Accounting. It provided potentially marketable skills. It sounds more palatable to me than the free handouts that have been happening as of recent. I consider myself a mostly Free-Market Economist and believe that things should unfold as they will without interference and yes, this includes Wall Street. But this isn’t about Government.

Our camping area was a half mile further down the trail and shared with up to 30 other groups. Camping in a congested area was not exactly what we were looking for in the Grand Canyon experience, though I must say, the park does a fantastic job of cordoning off the campsites. It was quiet and while having dinner near the tent, I would never have guessed there were so many other campers nearby.

Packing in that many campers to a particular area does have an effect on wildlife, notably that it will come looking for food. As I was looking up at the night sky, a Ringtail Cat came poking through camp and made a move for the empty pots that were cleaned and drying on a rock nearby.

Laura and I spent an hour looking up at the night sky, talking, before turning in.

Permit Secured

2009-10-07T20:40:00.000-07:00

So, I woke this morning to two inches of snow on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. While I knew it would be a tad chilly, I really wasn't expecting to be greeted by a blanket of white this morning. More importantly though my visit to the backcountry permit office was successful. I managed to secure permits to hike down the north side of the canyon, head to the backcountry down below and hike back up the south side (never mind the 215 mile drive back to the car parked at the north rim).

As the rest of the day was free, Laura and I did a 10-mile warm up hike along the Widforss Trail. By mid afternoon we had four seasons of weather; snow, hail, rain, clouds and sun. The trail hugged the canyon for about half its length, wound inland and ended at a lookout. My advice to anyone who will be visiting the Grand Canyon for the first time at the north rim is to skip the visitor center and let Widforss Point at the end of the trail be your first Grand Canyon view. It is rather remarkable.

The hike was also rich in wildlife, mostly in the form of Mule Deer, turkey, numerous species of chipmunk and the Kaibab Squirrel, which is indigenous to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. All in all it was a nice warm up to the hike in the Canyon itself.

Arrival in Salt Lake City

2009-10-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Flying in to Salt Lake City I was offered a splendid view of the snow capped Wasatch Mountains that hem in the east side of the city. The plan over the next couple weeks is to do a little hiking down into the Grand Canyon and then hit up Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks. Why not fly to Las Vegas as it is closer, you ask? Well, numerous reasons really, but I hadn't been to Salt Lake City before and I must say that I enjoy the fact that from nearly anywhere in the city there is a view of mountains.

Appalachian Trail - Wall Street Journal Article

2009-09-21T19:53:00.000-07:00

Being a finance guy I always enjoy tying together my travels with the economic aspects of a location, circumstance or oddity. With that, I took note of an article that appeared in the Wall Street Journal citing a near 50% increase in the number of people attempting to hike the entire Appalachian Trail in 2009. You can check out the article, “Trailing Indicators: Out of a Job, Some Decide to Take a Hike” here.

The play on words in the title calling the increased hiker numbers a “Trailing Indicator” is just that. A trailing, or lagging indicator is simply an economic term for a result that follows an economic event. In this case the indicator is high unemployment; unemployment probably being the most common lagging indicator. In economics there are also leading and coincident indicators, which I don’t think you would have much difficulty determining their placement in an economic cycle.

One area touched upon in the article that prompted further thought was the concept of bartering. While a centuries old tradition it is perhaps receiving resurgence in popularity given the economic climate and certainly made easier in recent years with the proliferation of the internet. In my experience it seemed that about half of the hikers I met on the trail fell in to the authors “athletic hippie” category. These were the folks that would try to hike the trail on $2,000, earning a few bucks along the way or bartering for food and a place to stay.

One thing I tend to think that is overlooked and certainly was in the article, is that bartering is a taxable exchange. According to the IRS, “The fair market value of goods and services received in exchange for goods or services you provide must be included in income in the year received.”

That might put a damper on some people’s efforts to collect unemployment benefits that too were referenced in the article, not least of which that “the claimant shall be able to work, available for work and actively seeking work”, which probably isn’t the case as they are ambling through the forest.

The problem for the IRS is that the enforcement of reporting barter transactions is a logistical impossibility. Other than the folks the may have outed themselves in the article, how would the government know that a barter transaction had ever taken place? Any resources expended in the enforcement of taxing barter transactions would have little return. Just some food for thought.

As a side note, while out for a weekend hike along the Appalachian Trail in New York I happened to meet “Archaeoptrix” and “Big Camera” who were mentioned in the article. South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford however was nowhere to be found. Oh, and yes, Big Camera was in fact carrying a big camera.

Back From Vacation

2009-09-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

I have been flying under the radar as of late. I have been traveling as well as out on a few hikes, bike rides and paddle trips, but all of it low key. The highlight has been a weekend hike on the Appalachian Trail in New York. I ran into a guy hiking that was hiking south who I met on my second to last day on the trail up in Maine in June. Small world.

As for the future there is more to come. Confirmed so far is a two week hike out west in October as well as another four figure mileage bike ride. I will be posting some photos from the past trips as well as covering all the future transpirings, so stay tuned...

Finally...Morocco!

2009-06-25T09:41:00.000-07:00

I finally have all the posts from Morocco up. I linked to the posts, so all you have to do is click on each link below and they will open up in a new window. The first two posts are not new, but for continuity, I figured I would include them as well.

March 22 - Casablanca, Morocco
March 23 - Rabat, Morocco
March 24 - Rabat II
March 25 - Fez, Morocco
March 26 - Marrakech, Morocco
March 27 - To the Mountains
March 28 - Atlas Mountains
March 29 - Jebel Toubkal
March 30 - More Marrakech
March 31 - City of Lights
April 01 - Au Revior

I have a little kayaking and hiking in the works, so stay tuned...

Leaving the Mountain

2009-06-10T13:14:00.000-07:00

The beginning and end of each trip provides its own challenges and in this instance I would need to hitch a ride out of Baxter State Park to the town of Millinocket, ME so that I could take a taxi to the town of Medway, ME only to catch a bus to Bangor, ME where I could either catch another bus to Portland, ME and then hop a train to New York City, or catch a flight from Bangor.

I was standing on top of Mount Katahdin, reflecting on the 2,176 miles past when two guys made their way up the mountain via a different trail. I met Todd and Jason, who were on vacation doing some hiking in New England. Todd had hiked the entire trail in 2005 an offered up a ride to Millinocket, ME. A small wrinkle unfolded when it dawned on me that I had left a couple of things down at the ranger station. Unfazed, the two said “No problem! We’ll take you to go and get it on our way out”, which happened to be a 16 mile detour on a gravel road.

Catching a ride from Todd and Jason allowed me to hike the “Knife’s Edge” trail, which is a ridge line that at times is only several feet wide with steep drop-offs to either side. The photo here shows shows the trail, which runs along the top ridge. There was far more scrambling involved in getting down the Knife’s Edge than getting up the Appalachian Trail.

I enjoyed the trail and even more so as I reflected on the completion of my trip and the prospect of not having to eat another energy bar for the foreseeable future. The vistas were substantially similar to that from Mount Katahdin; plenty of green in the distance dotted with lakes.

Eventually we and after a few sprinkles of rain we made our way to the parking lot, 4.5 miles from Mount Katahdin. While I passed up a refreshment from the four guys fishing in the 100-Mile Wilderness, I wasn’t about to pass up a celebratory beer after hiking 2,176 miles. As we sat in the parking lot chatting, the question was posed as to where I would be going from Millinocket, ME. After mentioning that I had a flight out of Bangor, ME the following day, they said “We can give you a lift there; we are going to be passing by.” Again, I gladly accepted.

The fellows dropped me off at a collection of hotels near Bangor airport (thanks guys). I found myself a hotel room, ordered a pizza and watched some playoff hockey to celebrate my accomplishment. I didn’t take the roof over my head, the running water or electricity for granted. There is something about getting back to nature that can give a new found appreciation for what we consider the most basic of things.

Hike Complete

2009-06-09T11:53:00.000-07:00

I got a late start out of White House Landing as it included an all you can eat breakfast and really, how could I pass that up. From the Landing I was planning on standing on top of Mount Katahdin in a day and a half, meaning I would have to cover 45 miles in that time.

While for the past few days the miles seemed to be coming slowly, they were now just flying past. I was 15 miles in my day before I even took notice of how far I had hiked. The only interruption in the morning was a moose fording a stream. I heard something splashing around and couldn’t figure out what it was until I saw the mangy moose crossing the river. I was later told that many moose look unkempt after a long winter as they aren’t able to take in the proper nutrients. It is also why they can be found near roads in spring, as they are licking the remnants of the salt runoff that had been spread on the roads in the winter snow.

I have been seeing the steady stream of Northern Ribbon Snakes, other Garter Snakes, a Red Bellied Snake, American Toads, Salamanders and all manner of other reptilian creatures on my hike. Bears were non-existent, which was just fine with me. The purveyor of information on moose also explained that the bears are not used to people in Maine and are therefore quite leery.

I had good information as to what lay ahead on the trail from all the hikers that I passed hiking the opposite direction. Some of the trail became quite muddy in the areas of the boreal bogs, but it was nothing new having to play hopscotch on rocks and tree roots to keep my feet from being covered in mud. My boots were certainly worse for the wear as not only were they entirely lacking in providing cushion to my feet and knees at this point, but my feet were exploding out of the sides of the shoes and the sole on the right shoe completely delaminated, leaving it flapping with each step. I would normally replace my shoes every 500 miles regardless, but this pair hadn’t even made it to 450 by this point. The only salvation for my shoes was copious amounts of duct tape. Anything I do I always try to do it with a certain sense of style, but the tape wound around my shoe robbed me of that. I just hoped it would last the remainder of the trip.

There was some uncertainty in my mind as to what I should do for my last night on the trail. I had initially planned on staying in a shelter that would leave me about 18 miles from the end of my journey, but rethought the idea. I had plenty of daylight left as it didn’t really get dark until just after nine, so I kept going and figured I would find myself a nice tree under which I could perhaps find some slumber for the night.

I continued through the woods, out of the 100-Mile Wilderness and across Abol Bridge, from where I was able to see the top of Mount Katahdin. It wasn’t an imposing peak like some, but more of a tabletop with the steepest sections on its flanks. It was however the goal that has been hanging over my head since beginning the Appalachian Trail over 2,100 miles and a year ago.

Just prior to entering Baxter State Park I happened upon a small campground. While I didn’t have a tent, across from the campground right on the Penobscot River I was able to find a shelter, similar to the three-sided shelters found on other parts of the trail. It would be my home for my final night in the woods. And similar to most other nights, I would have it all to myself.

I wasn’t planning on sleeping much as I wanted to get started well before dawn. I was hoping to complete and have made my exit from the trail by early afternoon. This was for two reasons: I wanted to beat the afternoon rain that was in the forecast and I was trying to give myself the best opportunity to find a ride out of the park and to the town of Millinocket, ME, some 25 miles distant. As there is no public transportation to or from the park, I would again have to rely on luck.

I woke at three to clear skies, a full moon and temperatures in the low 40’s. It was chilly, but otherwise a perfect night hiking scenario. I quite enjoyed night hiking on the southern sections of the trail and up north was no different. The trail looks different, sounds different and feels different. The focus is on what can be seen in the beam of light emanating from my headlamp. As there was a full moon though, there was sufficient ambient light to illuminate much of the trail. When there was no tree cover overhead I was able to shut off my light and guide myself solely by moonlight, far more than what my headlamp could accomplish.

Nighttime quickly yielded to the sun and I no longer needed my own light source by 4:30. The perfect nighttime conditions turned to perfect early morning conditions leaving me to thoroughly enjoy my last morning on the trail, remembering the smell of the forest, the sound of the birds and the look of the ponds as the surface was disturbed by a light breeze. It was starting to hit me that by the following day I would be in a major metropolis, a far cry from where I spent the last month of my life. I just didn’t want to forget any piece of it.

I stopped by the ranger station in Baxter State Park to try and hit up a ranger for some information as to what I could expect for the last 5.3 miles of the trail on my way up Mount Katahdin. The ranger however was awfully late for work as there wasn’t a soul around during a time that was allegedly included in what the ranger’s office hours should have been. Hikers are generally encouraged to leave their packs behind to climb Mount Katahdin, taking only a loaner daypack from the ranger station. While I didn’t want to forego my pack entirely I did decide to leave my cook set and sleepmat behind before setting off.

The first mile of the trail was nothing more than a slow and steady incline. Soon after though, the trail became far rockier and was a series of boulders that required lifting my feet up 12 to 18 inches on average each successive step. I plodded along in a slow and steady fashion until the rocks turned larger and essentially the climb up was a scramble over boulders. There was also some snow still hanging around, but none directly on the trail.

Once the trail took me above the tree-line, the view opened up dramatically showing thousands of square miles of forest, riddled with lakes. While it was somewhat hazy and clouds began billowing in, the view was still remarkable.

The trail became steep amidst the boulders to the point where metal handles and footholds were fastened to the rock. On one particularly difficult section I thought to myself, “Wow, that has to be really difficult for some people”. It was only then that I realized I had gone off the trail and when I reconnected with it, the trail was leading me back down the mountain. When reconnecting with the trail I should have zigged when I zagged. With a shake of my head I corrected myself and again began putting more distance between myself and sea level. As I was climbing up I thought about the fact that I hadn’t seen anyone, which would make life difficult trying to find a ride to town, much less take my photo when I reached the top.

As I climbed I could see the top, or at least what could have been the top of the mountain. As the summit of Mount Katahdin was on a tabletop though the “top” was a false summit. From there the trail lead over a steadily rising trail for the last mile with basketball sized rocks strewn about. The hike wasn’t taxing, but I had to think about where I was going to step as there was little space between the rocks.

As I walked along the tableland I could see the actual summit of 5,267 foot Mount Katahdin and the sign that sits on top. I had the hardest part of the trail behind me but wasn’t going to consider any part of it a foregone conclusion. Even with the last little climb I was ever so careful. When I finally did reach the summit there were several people there as I reached out and clutched the sign atop of Mount Katahdin, signaling that I had officially hiked the entire 2,176.2 miles of the Appalachian Trail from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin, Maine.

Final Outpost

2009-06-06T06:44:00.000-07:00

The town of Monson, ME was the last I would encounter until after Mount Katahdin, which meant it would be the last before completing my hiking journey. My uncanny luck of finding a way to where I need to go paid off again as when I was on the edge of town a gentleman offered me a ride three miles down a dirt road back to the trailhead where I came into civilization two days prior. As it turned out, “Buddy” was a local chap that ran a business driving shuttles into the 100-Mile Wilderness for hikers using logging roads. Any reservations I had of having to hike through an area named the 100-Mile Wilderness were quelled when Buddy mentioned that in the past he has made pizza and beer deliveries to hikers. He gave me his number and while I hoped I wouldn’t need it, it was good to have an out should I encounter any problems.

When leaving town I had far too much food, or at least that was what the weight of my backpack was telling me. My backpack felt legitimately heavy, or at least the heaviest I ever remember it being. It didn’t take long though for me to get used to the heft on my back. I was also taking it easy so as to really drink in my remaining days on the trail. At one point I found myself sitting next to a pond, nibbling on some of my excess food.

The terrain had initially become more rolling than it had been to the south of Monson, ME, but it helped that the weather was absolutely perfect; in the mid-60’s and only enough in the way of clouds to make photos that included the sky look interesting. In addition to the hills there was also a series of four or five mountains I would have to cross on my way north, but by and large the terrain was much simpler than in New Hampshire. While Maine claims to have a wilder section of the trail than other states, it seemed that there were steps up and down the mountainous sections. As I wandered along I met a trail crew working to build yet more in the way of steps. I stopped to have a bit of a chinwag with the half-dozen trail workers and as I was speaking, one member of the group recognized me from a barbecue at Hog Pen Gap, GA when I was on the trail the year prior. Of all the places to be recognized, I didn’t think it would happen while on the Appalachian Trail.

I saw far more in the way of people than I thought I would in the 100-Mile Wilderness. I began to regularly see hikers on the trail, all of them heading south. I crossed paths with upwards of 20 people on one particular day, more than I had seen on the trial combined since leaving from Great Barrington, MA a month ago. When I crossed one of the logging roads there was a group of four guys that had driven in and were fishing and drinking beer…or drinking beer and fishing. I’m uncertain as to what their primary activity was, but in any event I had a pleasant conversation about the area and declined the offer of a refreshing beverage. Further on I met another pair at a different logging road that was doing a governmental study of the ponds in the area, comparing those with fish populations to those without. Tax dollars at work.

Since my snowy interlude in the mountains the weather had warmed nicely, especially in the evenings. There was one particular evening though where it was just too warm. The mosquitos were out en masse and the only way to keep them at bay while trying to sleep was to wear my head net and cinch up my sleeping bag around my head. While it was an effective deterrent for mosquitos it had the secondary effect of functioning as a sauna. I simply sweat to the point where my sleeping bag was soaked and opted to unzip and feed the mosquitos. The following day saw me hiking in 65 degree temperatures wearing my wind pants, fleece shirt, head net and gloves so as to avoid adding to the mosquito bite collection that grew markedly overnight. Much like the night previous I just had to cool off, so I removed all ancillary clothing and again made a meal of myself.

I was elated on the afternoon I reached Whitehouse Landing, or rather the lake shore across from it. Whitehouse Landing was the lodge where I had planned on spending a night and dining on “people” food. The only way for a hiker to get to the lodge is by boat, so the owners leave an air horn attached to a tree for hikers to use as a signal. I gave a honk and got a pick up. I was excited for several things at Whitehouse Landing: food, kayaking and a place to sleep absent of biting insects; precisely in that order on a time basis. I started with a pint of ice cream and then couldn’t decide between the one pound hamburger and a 16” pizza, so I just went ahead and ordered both. To burn off dinner, as if I wouldn’t the following day hiking, I took a kayak out for a paddle at dusk. I was told that there was a marsh area around a bend in the lake where moose liked to feed in the evenings, but nary a moose did I see. I was however attacked by black flies. I was just pleased that I didn’t have to contend with them as I dozed peacefully throughout the night.

Two Long Days

2009-06-01T13:55:00.001-07:00

In the past two days I worked a little overtime and managed 70 miles of hiking. I had a few goals set out for myself and in knocking off those miles in two days I accomplished one, having a day off in Monson, ME and set myself up to hit the mark on two others.

The weather has made a 180 and has just been fantastic the past two days. The next few days are looking pretty good as well with no complaints on my end. As I mentioned once before, the upside of the rain is that it tempers the black flies and mosquitos, but I will take bugs over rain any day. Someone had asked me how the bugs have been the last couple of days and I could only say "numerous and persistant". It doesn't help that I am walking through boreal bogs for a good part of the day.

I was hoping to pick up a replacement section for my broken hiking pole in Caratunk, ME, but my support staff dropped the ball on shipping. My support staff has been fantastic throughout my travels with so many things that I couldn't possibly criticize one oversight. I also sent a small food parcel to be picked up at the same post office, but wasn't going to need it until I hit the next town, 35 miles away. Instead of taking delivery of the package I had it forwarded to Monson, ME where I was going to meet my package and take that hard earned day off. The woman at the Post Office joked with me that if I was going to walk the 35 miles to Monson in one day, I would beat the US Postal Service Priority shipping and be in town before my package. I did and I was.

One thing that has become prevalent in Maine is having to ford rivers. Most of the rivers aren't raging, though I have heard people say that they are impassible at times after a heavy rain. To this point none have been more than waist deep and have been relatively gentle. It is somewhat time consuming preparing for the ford, having to put away electronics and the like. I have also generally been fording in bare feet which is a no-no. The rocks are awfully slick and one slip can mean a broken ankle. As an avid fly fisherman I like to think I have the proper experience for judging when I can cross a river sans shoes. That being said, once while fishing in New Zealand I was swept down river after my foot lost its purchase on a rock underwater. It is a rather helpless feeling being washed away and one that I would not like to repeat.

There is one river that has to be crossed in Maine, the Kennebec, where it really isn't ever safe to ford. At least one hiker has died trying and several other have had close calls. That being the case the Appalachian Trail Club mans a canoe to ferry hikers from one side of the river to the other. It's the official crossing of the Appalachian Trail.

So I find myself in the town of Monson, ME with a day off. I certainly needed to resupply as I am approaching the 100-mile wilderness, but I wanted the day off for another reason. Shortly after starting to hike the trail in Georgia I took a day off to do a bit of kayaking. Shortly before ending my hike I wanted to do the same. So I paddled around Lake Hebron for a few hours to scratch the kayaking itch.

Much as Spanish Moss is neither Spanish nor Moss, the 100-Mile Wilderness is not 100 miles nor is it wild; at least not as wild as it used to be. For those of you that have read Bill Bryson's book "A Walk In the Woods", relating to his hike of parts of the Appalachian Trail, technology has changed things somewhat since the time of the books writing. There are now also logging roads that cross the trail and cell phone service is available from the tops of certain mountains. Add the two together and you can have someone drive supplies in should you need them. I'm pretty sure that Dominos wouldn't bounce down 25 miles of rutted dirt road to deliver a large with pepperoni, but the area isn't as remote as it once was. There is also a hunting camp a few miles off the trail where I hope to spend one night.

After my run to the town of Dexter, ME, home to the shoe company of the same name, I am fully supplied with food for what I hope will be the last five days of the trail. I once again found myself behind the steering wheel of another persons car to make the run and probably bought more than I should have. This will be the most food I have carried at any point on the trail.

And while the replacement hiking pole section mailed to me is still somewhere in limbo, there was an outdoor store in the town of Greenville, ME that had exactly what I needed. For a well spent 20 bucks I am all set with my hiking poles and no longer have to use a stick as a poor mans substitute to an aircraft-grade aluminum hiking pole.

118 miles to go...

The Rain Has Ended...

2009-06-01T13:34:00.000-07:00

…and the snow has begun. Perhaps I should have been more specific when I was hoping that the rain would cease; no precipitation whatsoever. Following the rain the evening prior the wind picked up significantly and it had become decidedly colder. I didn’t realize just how chilly it was until one of the several times I was woken by the wind blowing down a tree or large branch, as I would evidence on the trail the following morning. As I sat up to evaluate what was happening given the noise I heard I looked out of the lean-to and noticed the ground was white. I really didn’t expect to have snow to ring in the month of June.

While I made the switch to my summer sleeping bag back in Gorham, NH, my bag hung tough. I can’t claim to have had a warm nights sleep, but for the temperature range the bag was designed I was as warm as I could possibly expect with the mercury hovering around 25 Fahrenheit. One word of advice to all you future hikers out there: spend as much as you can afford on a good sleeping bag. If you are buying it from someplace that ends in “mart”, reevaluate your decision.

Getting out of the sleeping bag in the morning was an effort. Before doing so, I made a mental checklist of the things I had to do and in what order, until I would be on the trail, hiking along generating body heat. My boots were frozen, my rain jacket was frozen, the knot holding my bear-bag in a tree was frozen, my water bottles were frozen and I was, well, rather chilly. From the time I unzipped my sleeping bag to the time I was hiking was less than five minutes. It was one of those rare times I was glad my day began with a 1,000-foot climb.

My biggest concern was my feet, not least of which that I was starting the day with my boots frozen solid, laces and all. It would be very important for me to keep my feet dry. The snow made reading the trail quite difficult, not only in staying on the trail following the white marks emblazoned on trees, but if the trail was solid ground or a sheet of ice with six inches of water hiding underneath waiting for me to plant my foot in the wrong spot. For the most part though, the freeze firmed up the trail.

What I was looking least forward to was having to ford a river early in the day. It would have been an unpleasant task, but fortunately I was able to make my way across the river using a board someone left chained to a tree. While in Nepal I once had to swim across a river of glacial runoff from Mount Everest and it was an experience I hope to never have to duplicate. It gave me a new basis for the word “cold”.

While I didn’t have to ford any rivers along the southern part of the trail, Maine likes to think it is more rugged, so there are no bridges over certain rivers. In truth that is only partly the case. It is also because of the extreme weather that bridges get destroyed over winter. In one of the shelters there was a notebook left by a gentleman who takes care of the trail and was involved in setting out the Appalachian Trail in the area back in the day. In the book were answers to many questions that people have asked over the years, lack of bridges being one of them. There have been bridges built, in some cases ten feet over flood stage that have still been destroyed after winter storms. I got a kick out of the picture of a shelter being dug out of a January snow where the caretaker had to dig down three feet…to find the roof!!! He mentions that 15 feet of snow isn’t uncommon in the winter and that several years ago in mid-June there was still four feet of snow on many parts of the trail in Maine.

If the weather hasn’t been enough I have also had a mishap with my hiking poles, i.e., breaking one of them in half. When it happened it was a good thing I had my elbow and that slab of granite to break my fall. While I resisted hiking poles for years, I finally learned how they make things much easier on my knees. With the absence of one of my poles not only did it feel awkward, but my knees were taking a larger portion of the strain. Having already had one knee surgery, I would really like to avoid another. In that the hiking poles are in three sections all I needed was one replacement section. It was fortunate that 1) I had a spare section in storage, 2) I knew exactly where it was, 3) I had cell phone service, 4) my support staff is awesome, and 5) the post office was open. Within an hour of breaking my pole, the replacement section was in the mail on its way to meet me a few days up the trail in Caratunk, ME.

The last few days haven’t been all adversity. I did have a close encounter with a porcupine climbing a tree as well as playing peek-a-boo with a moose. I was above the tree line when I spotted the moose on the ridge below me, took a few grainy photos and figured that would be it as moose are skittish. I tried to stalk the animal and when I got to where it had been foraging figured she was gone. I thought that with the little rinky-dink camera I use the only way to get better pictures of a moose would be to climb up a tree and wait for a couple of days. Just then the moose poked his head out from behind a tree. I didn’t get a clean picture, but rather several of the moose looking like Wilson, from the TV show Home Improvement.

There have also been times in the last two days where the blue sky hiding behind the clouds made a rare appearance and it was an unbelievable pleasure to stand in an environment of absolute silence only to be interrupted by the chirping of a bird or the rustling of treetops in the breeze.

Maine Rain

2009-05-29T15:03:00.000-07:00

Ugh! In the last three days since leaving Gorham, NH I have been faced with solid rain and temperatures in the mid-40's. Hiking lightweight as I do, that is pretty much the limit of what I can safely tolerate. Good thing that what held me up on a sunny day in Gorham was that I picked up my summer sleeping bag. Actually, the sleeping bag has been fine at night, it is being soaked all day that is the real issue. I hike, I shiver, I stick my hands under my clothes to warm them up. I have resorted to the trusty plastic bags on the hands trick, but that only works for so long.

On the first day leaving Gorham, I didn't make it 10 miles before having to head into a shelter, lay out my gear and dive into my sleeping bag. It took a good chunk of will power to get me to leave the warm comfort of my sleeping bag only to crawl out, put my wet clothes back on and trudge along for another 12 miles in the rain.

There is still plenty of wildlife to be seen on the trail. While ambling along the trail I caught sight of the ass end of a moose as it ran off (I saw another moose, but more on that later). I generally make a fair bit of noise as I hike and while I would like to see moose, what I would like more is to not see any bear. In certain sections the trail is so narrow that I have branches brushing my shoulders to the point where I have to put both hands in front of me to push through. I would really hate to come through a thick section of brush and surprise a bear. Snakes have been plentiful, though mostly the Eastern Ribbon Snake. Oddly enough I witnessed a mouse hopping along in the woods. I prefer to see them there than in a shelter when I am trying to sleep. Other than the odd disturbance by a deer or porcupine in the night, my sleep has been generally uninterrupted by wildlife.

The "other" moose I saw was in an area called Mahoosuc Notch. Mahoosuc Notch has the dubious distinction of being the most difficult mile on the Appalachian Trail. The section of trail is a large boulder field that requires the hiker to scramble over, under and around massive boulders. There were several sections that nearly required me to remove my backpack in order to squeeze through. Mahoosuc Notch was also the last place I had seen snow/ice on the trail and in the rain I tread carefully. The ice was actually beneficial as I could step across the hardened ice rather than having to bottom out in the ravine. Yes, the moose. The picture says it all. I guess that's why people choose to ride a donkey down the Grand Canyon and not a moose.

I have about 250 miles remaining and tomorrow looks as if the weather will be much improved (60 with showers), so I will take solace in that as I plod along.

Mount Washington and the White Mountains

2009-05-26T09:56:00.001-07:00

My not so evil plan of hurrying to cross Mt. Washington ahead of a storm that was several days out paid dividends in views and kind temperatures. Snow can fall any time of the year on Mt Washington at its 6,288 foot elevation, but worse still is that hurricane force winds are recorded at the summit of the mountain on average 110 days per year. Those aren’t very good odds if you are looking for a pleasant, still day.

I was on the summit of the mountain by late morning after the temperature had a chance to warm up from the low 30’s. There was only the slightest wind was making itself known. Before even starting the climb up to the summit, which involves little more than vigorous walking, there is a warning sign stating that numerous people have perished from exposure while climbing up the mountain, even in the summer months. I took note and continued on. On my climb up, it seemed that the temperature decrease as I gained in elevation (usually between 3 and 4.5 degrees F per 1,000 feet) were being offset by the increasing amount of warmth the sun was providing, creating a nice equilibrium in temperature. Add the warmth of the body heat I was generating and it let me stay in shorts and a short sleeved shirt until I took pause on the summit to observe the surroundings.

While on the clearest days on Mt. Washington it is possible to see Quebec to the north and even the ocean 100 miles to the east, I was able to see neither. I had no complaints though as visibility was still in the 70 mile range and the temperature was comparatively mild. Quite clearly visible and of interest to me was the Mt. Washington Hotel, down in Bretton Woods, NH. It was the location of the United Nations Monetary and Financial Conference that was held after World War II to agree on a new series of regulations in the global financial marketplace following the war.

In the visitors center on the summit there are numerous displays relating to all manner of things, though mostly the weather. There is however one morbid plaque on the summit chronicling the circumstances surrounding the demise of dozens of people whose life came to an end on or near the slopes of Mt. Washington. The plaque was most recently updated in 2008.

In my mind, crossing Mt. Washington and the 20 miles of the Appalachian Trail that are above the tree line and in the Krummholz zone were the crux of the northern part of the journey due solely to the uncertainty of the weather that is found on Mt. Washington in the Presidential Range.

Hiking through the Presidential mountain range is like a history lesson in the woods, trying to recall the accomplishments of the Presidents for which certain peaks are named. I had to think long and hard about Mt. Pierce, named of course after Franklin Pierce, but why him? It is like Teddy Roosevelt on Mt. Rushmore, probably the least of the contributors that are represented on the monument. Despite Franklin Pierce having the reputation as being one of the worst presidents in U.S. history, the mountain was named after him regardless, my supposition relating to the fact that he is the only president to hail from New Hampshire, home to the Presidential Mountain Range. Then again some of the mountains in the range are named after politicians who never held the office of President.

The Appalachian Trail is very poorly marked through the White Mountains as compared to other places, prompting me to be vigilant that I am on the proper trail, which oftentimes involves very deliberate reasoning in making decisions where trails meet and at times double and triple checking I am heading in the right direction. When the terrain is as steep as it is in the White Mountains, I would hate to have to go even a few miles out of my way. Miles are hard to come by in the White’s. Most people estimate that they cover a third less distance through the mountain range and were I not hiking longer days, my distance would be shortened to some degree as well.

I survived the initial salvo of spring insects and as I have been at higher, cooler elevations, haven’t been bothered. I generally don’t care to use bug spray as if it can melt plastic, I really don’t want it on my skin. Also, I can’t wash it off at the end of the day and if I do, it will run into a stream. That being said, as I dropped down to under 1,000 feet in elevation above sea level the mosquitos picked up where they had left off. If I stopped for more than three seconds they were all over me. Even while hiking at a brisk pace I had a fair number to contend with. I was told that it will only get worse. Awesome!

In rereading what I had just written, it doesn’t sound as if I have been having the most pleasant hike, but actually quite the opposite is true. There are vistas offered in the White Mountains that are like no other on the Appalachian Trail. Wildlife is abundant and while the wildflowers have shifted to bunchberry, mountain sandwort and cloudberry they are plentiful in patches between the snow.

I leave off just 18 miles shy of the Maine border. While I am not one to count fowl prior to emerging from an egg, I am forced to have to start planning for the remaining 298 miles of the trail, including the 100 Mile Wilderness. I’m off…

Welcome to New Hampshire

2009-05-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

After my relaxing weekend I returned to the trail Sunday evening, putting in only a few miles which turned out to be my shortest day on the trail to date. Since then, the weather has been chilly, but cooperating in a lack of precipitation. The terrain has also gotten steeper…much steeper.

After leaving Woodstock, VT the trail took me to New Hampshire and the town of Hanover, home to Dartmouth College. The trail is routed directly through the downtown area and with school still in full swing, I might have seemed a bit of an oddity. While in town I did the wise thing and checked the temperature for Mount Washington; the highest mountain in the northeast and where I would be several days down the trail. The temperature for Mt. Washington was a balmy 24 Fahrenheit and with the wind-chill felt like 10. While I would be ill prepared for those conditions, I noticed a window of good weather coming up and would have to hurry to make it to Mt. Washington by then. I also bought a pair of gardening gloves to wear that would be covered by plastic bags should my hands get chilled.

One of the interesting things about New Hampshire has nothing to do with hiking at all. It is that New Hampshire does not have any general sales tax or income tax on an individuals reported W-2 wages. The state needs to generate revenue in some fashion, so it is not a tax free environment, but most individuals aren’t necessarily subject to some of the taxes such as the Timber Tax, levied at 10% of stumpage value (with exceptions) or Gravel Tax that is levied anytime more than 1,000 cubic yards of earth is removed. The island nation of Bermuda is similar in that there is no income tax, but in opposition much of their income is from duty paid on items being brought onto the island. Bermuda is said to have the highest cost of living in the world and when a gallon of milk runs you around eight bucks and a magazine 12, I may not disagree.

It seems that other hiking groups have been my meal ticket in the past few days. While I have had enough food to survive, there is no way I can carry enough in the way of caloric intake to match what I expend on any given day, not least of which that on same days I am hiking for 15 hours. People have been kind enough to share their vittles, keeping this hungry hiker well fed. I will however begin carrying more food than I have been as the area will become more remote and I will no longer have any food fairies.

In New Hampshire there are a series of manned furnished huts (with full kitchen) that people can use for a fee. For people hiking more than a few hundred miles of the trail the huts are free if you help the keeper at the hut. The huts have been a nice place for me to meet people that are out hiking for several days. It is also one of the places where hikers that are only out for a few days have far too much food and don’t really want to carry it with them. In one instance, for dinner I had a one pound box of pasta, complete with an entire jar of sauce. One of the folks that baked some dessert asked if I would have room for some, which I of course did. He then sheepishly asked me exactly how many servings of pasta were in that bowl I just ate. It turned out to be seven. Between the pasta and sauce, I had ingested 2,200 calories in one sitting, most people’s daily recommended intake.

It was also in one of the huts where I was asked, “You do have snow shoes, don’t you?” I don’t but fortunately for me, warmer temperatures have melted much of the snow remaining in the mountains. In the picture here, that is the top of my hiking pole sticking out of the top of the snow, nearly four feet high. While most of the snow hasn’t been quite that deep it has been a slog at times. Most of the remaining snow is also frozen on the surface, allowing me to walk across the top. It does however provide a unique set of problems when descending a mountain. Things can go very wrong with one misstep. Worse still is when the ice on the surface of the snow isn’t enough to bear my weight and I sink through the icy crust to the softer snow underneath. While sinking in the ice on the surface cuts my shins to the point where blood covers the front of my lower leg and runs down into my socks. I was asked at least once if I required medical attention, but I tend to think it looks worse than it is.

I am still seeing quite a bit of wildlife. On the steep mountain cliffs, peregrine falcons circle nearby to see if I stir up and rodents in the underbrush. On Moose Mountain I saw, yup, you guessed it…a bear. Perhaps “bear” wouldn’t have been your first guess. I saw the bear sitting at the base of a tree before it saw me, so I was able to give it a good scare in making noise. The bear ran for about 100 yards, but unfortunately for me the trail looped around to the point where the bear was now standing in the middle of the trail. A bear may startle easily, but after that initial jolt, they don’t seem to want to move as readily as they just had. I was persistent in making noise and eventually the bear wandered off, but there was a period of time where I was a bit uncomfortable. I am sure it won’t be the last time.

Making Progress

2009-05-17T10:20:00.000-07:00

I have hiked about 200 miles since setting off again and am quite pleased that I have nary a blister on my feet to show for it. In the last week the weather turned for the better, providing significant amounts of sunshine, though I wasn’t entirely without rain.

The warmer temperatures brought hikers out on the trail, but not in droves. I have seen more in the way of other people out on the trail, though there was an entire day that I hadn’t seen another person.

For the last few days I have been in familiar territory as I have hiked a portion of the Vermont section of the Appalachian Trail in 2007 with a couple of friends. I haven’t decided as to whether knowing the section of trail makes it feel longer, as I know exactly where the trail leads, or shorter, being that I see so many things that are familiar. Either way it was fun to reminisce about the past trip as I hiked along.

In the last week there wasn’t a day climbing over a mountain where I didn’t walk across snow. In some places it was just an inch or two, but on Killington mountain there are some places where the snow is still over two feet deep. It made for slow going. That being the case it is too early in this area for berries or mushrooms to grow on the mountain to supplement my food stock. There are however fiddlehead ferns for the taking, which are a New England delicacy. The only problem for me is that the ferns need to be boiled twice for 10 minutes each time, which is more than I am willing to subject my fuel supply to.

One of the more exciting things that transpired on that familiar section of trail is that I spotted a moose. In all the time I spent in Vermont and driving past all the moose crossing signs along the road I had yet to see an actual moose in the state. The moose was right on the trail and at first, looking through the trees, thought it was a person with a big backpack, so I continued ambling on. After a few more steps though I thought it might be a bear but wasn’t sure. It was only when the moose turned sideways and began walking that I recognized it for what it really was. I was about 80 feet away and watched the moose for a solid five minutes as we both stood still. It was impressive to see something that large in the forest. I hope it isn’t my last moose encounter.

In trying to schedule my arrival in Killington, VT I had to put in a 30+ mile day. On the trail last year 30 miles was about an average day, but as I am still getting my hiking legs under me I have been cautious in how much distance I will cover in a day. The thought did ever so briefly cross my mind that if I hiked an additional 20 miles through the night I could take the following day off in a nice warm bed in Killington.

When I arrived at a shelter after 30 miles, it was crowded with kids from a high school in the area. I decided to stay for the night and have a chat with the kids. At this point it is not often that I can have an ongoing conversation. When I see someone on the trail it is usually limited to “Where are you coming from?”, “Where are you going?” and “Have a good hike!”, so the conversation was welcome. In addition, they had far too much food and were all too eager to share so they wouldn’t have to carry it the following day.

I was out in the morning before anyone was up and it turned into a cold, windy day. The day also included some rain, but were there a finite amount of rain to fall on me for the remainder of the trip, I would have chosen that very day to get much of it out of the way. I knew that by the end of the day I would again have a roof over my head and a hot shower at my usual pad in Killington. Bring on the rain!

Laura was going to be meeting me along the trail and we decided that Woodstock, VT would be a good location. With her driving up from New York City, I even had time to get a full day hiking in. Now unless I am going to put in some massive miles there really is no need to hike in the dark as there is usable daylight from about 4:45 AM to 8:45 PM; 16 hours of it. The problem I ran into though was that I couldn’t find a taxi to take me back to the trailhead at a reasonable hour in the morning. Killington is a ski town and as the mountain closed two weeks ago, everyone is on vacation. The lone available taxi driver in town would be able to bring me the five miles to the trail, but it would have to be at 3:45 AM as he had to pick someone up in Albany, NY.

I have always enjoyed night hiking as the trail looks, feels and sounds different. I was only going to get in an hour in the dark, but it was a nice reminder of what night hiking was about.

With my early departure I arrived in Woodstock, VT well ahead of Laura, but it gave me time to hit up a small shop near the trail road crossing for some ice cream and a chat with the proprietor. Following my snack I was invited by Dan to sit on his porch and relax. Dan resides right on the trail where it meets the road and like Jim from last week is a friend to all who pass. Jim had to head to town proper later in the day where he dropped me off and Laura picked me up.

While I only took off one day from hiking, finishing at noon on Friday and starting at four on Sunday made me feel as if I had far more time off than I really did. Laura and I had a quiet weekend and other than getting myself resupplied for the trail and eating a few fantastic meals, little was on the agenda.

Laura also brought me a pair of replacement hiking shoes as those I was wearing have had better days. I generally try not to use a pair of shoes for more than 500 miles as they become compressed and offer little cushion for the feet, putting more stress on the joints and muscles. It was only in the last few years that I ever contemplated having to replace a pair of shoes every 500 miles or a bike chain every 1,000.

I am getting back on the trail late for a short day, but should be in New Hampshire the day tomorrow. From there I will still have about 440 miles to my destination at Mt.Katahdin in Maine. In between I will still have Mount Washington, NH, where it was 17 degrees Fahrenheit this morning, and the 100-mile wilderness in Maine, which offers pretty much anything you might want providing it is, well, wilderness.

Hiking Along

2009-05-10T12:55:00.000-07:00

I am no longer used to falling asleep to the sound of owls & coyotes and waking to chirping birds and the odd woodpecker prospecting for a meal, though I am sure it won’t take me long.

I am back on the Appalachian Trail, having started hiking again on a cool, rainy day. Actually, of the five days I have hiked on this northern portion of the trail so far, four of them provided me with some rain. The rain though wasn’t my real concern. I focused more on how changeable the temperature can be as I will be at varying levels of elevation and the temperature can be a crap shoot this time of year in any case. I had agonized over the decision as to whether I should take my sleeping bag rated down to 32 degrees or add some further heft to my pack and take the sleeping bag I had on the kayak trip, rated to 20 degrees. On hikes in the past if I woke up in the middle of the night shivering I would pack up my gear and start hiking. Perhaps I am getting soft, but I wasn’t interested in doing that for the remainder of the Appalachian Trail. Not only that, but on top of Mount Washington in New Hampshire, it can snow any month of the year. The 20 degree bag has found its way into my pack.

Most nights have been cool to the point where I am wearing all of my clothes (short sleeve shirt, long sleeve shirt, rain jacket, shorts and wind pants). While it isn’t nearly as chilly as it was on many of the nights of the kayak trip I did decide to have a fire one night. I didn’t necessarily need the fire as on the kayak trip, but I wanted to see if I still had what it takes to start a fire when everything is wet. I guess it’s like riding a bike as I was warm by my fire.

Along with the creatures that either lull me to sleep or wake me in the morning there is an abundance of wildlife. There are numerous birds, chipmunks, squirrels, ducks, herons, beaver, deer, porcupine, turkey and bear. It took less than 24 hours being back out on the trail for my first bear sighting and in my opinion was the perfect meeting. There bear and I noticed one another at about the same time from 50 yards away. I began slowly walking backwards and made some noise that the bear seemed to be disgruntled by, so he turned tail and ran off into the brush. It was a great reminder that there is an active bear population in the area and I need to be especially mindful of hanging my food each night.

On the animal front, there is one that I haven’t seen and would like it to remain so, but also one I haven’t seen and hope to spot. I have been pleasantly surprised that there has been no evidence of mice; no droppings, no nests and no pitter-patter of tiny feet in the shelter when I am trying to sleep at night. What I do hope to see though is a moose. I have yet to see a moose while out hiking and hope that changes on this trip. I have already seen plenty in the way of moose droppings on the trail even as far south as central Massachusetts, but other than a plastic moose gracing the front of a business in town, no moose as of yet. I will have to keep my eyes open.

As I hike along there is certainly no shortage of wildflowers either. With every step I notice violets, forget me nots, trout lilies, trillium, the odd dual blooms of the hobble bush and all manner of other colorful flowers that were I a botanist would be glad to name for you.

I may romanticize the journey somewhat in its sylvan solace, but there is always the down side. If the mosquitos have been persistent, the black flies have been absolutely ravenous. Whenever I stop on the trail for more than a few seconds a swarm of black flies zero in on me and begin biting away. They are relentless and just in hiking along I inadvertently eat about a half dozen a day simply due to their overabundance and my heavy breathing as I ascend a mountain. One of the upsides of the rain is that is does mitigate the black fly activity to some degree. Another insect incident involved a spider that decided to set up camp under my shirt while I was sleeping in it. In the morning I evicted the spider, but only after my chest looked as if I had a case of chickenpox. It has been those brief moments of sun and the quiet of the forest that reminds me of why I am spending this time walking in the woods.

While I am on par with the number of biting insects and amount of mud I expected, I have seen far more people on the trial than I had anticipated. I estimated that there would be nary a soul on the trail this time of year other than perhaps the occasional weekend hiker, but I have seen at least one person each day. I have still had the few shelters that I have slept in to myself, but I have seen people.

A major issue along the trail has been with downed trees. Early in the year a massive ice storm caused a record number of trees and/or branches to fall to the ground. I have met a couple of volunteer trail crews with their chainsaws clearing the path, but they have a lot of work ahead of them. The forest was just destroyed. There was a two mile stretch where I couldn’t walk on the actual Appalachian Trail for more than 50 feet at a time as it was completely blocked by downed trees. I spent more time looking for which direction the trail went than the time I spent on the trail. Having to navigate or clamber over the downed trees slows me down quite a bit, but in the grand scheme of things my goal remains the same. It may just take me a little longer to reach it. I am just thankful that those volunteer trail crews are our there to restore the trail.

The section of trail I am currently hiking runs in the vicinity of civilization. I wouldn’t say they are urban areas, but I have walked through the middle of three small towns in a span of two days. One of those towns was Dalton, MA, which happens to be home to Crane Paper Company. Why would Kevin care about a paper company you ask? Crane Paper fabricates the paper for those U.S. Dollars that you have in your wallet and has done so since 1879. For my international visitors, fear not, Crane Paper also produces the paper for several other world currencies. I have seen some rather poor as well as really good counterfeit banknotes and with the low cost, high quality printing technology readily available, it is all about the paper. Not too surprisingly, the plant is off limits to visitors.

The kindness of people extended on the kayak trip continues on my hike. First up was a gentleman by the name of Tom. Tom has been associated with the Appalachian Trail for the last 25 years when he first offered a lone camper permission to set up a tent in his back yard. The following day, word of mouth brought three other campers seeking permission to stay for the night. Since then Tom has been part and parcel with the trail in the northern Massachusetts area, taking in and shuttling hikers to and from various parts of the trail. Tom picked me up and dropped me off in the town of Cheshire, MA, a ten mile hike for me, a ten minute drive for Tom. I was even afforded the comfort of the guest room. Thanks Tom!

I pushed across the border to Vermont and in the town of Bennington stopped to pick up some food. While looking for a motel for the night I stopped at the info center where John, the gent working there, offered to drive me around to have a look at several motels in the area. I quickly settled on the Knotty Pine Motel in a more developed part of town where I could run my errands, but the laundromat was a distance away. The woman running the motel offered me her car so that I could drive down to do my laundry and then go have dinner. When I had mentioned this later to someone I was asked if I thought it was odd being offered a car by a complete stranger. It's nearing double digits the number of times it has happened, but with the level of helpfulness, kindness and selflessness that I had the pleasure of experiencing in my travels I honestly had to say "no".

I made the right call on staying in a motel for the night as when I turned on the TV there was an emergency broadcast coming across the screen that mentioned something along the lines that “hail, damaging wind, frequent lightning and torrential rain” will be moving in to the area and that people should “move to a sturdy shelter until it passes”. If you are watching a TV wouldn’t you think that people are already in a sturdy shelter? Then again they do put warning labels on collapsible baby strollers to not fold the stroller with the infant in it.

As I head further north in the Green Mountains of Vermont and into the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the mountains themselves, (some still snow covered) will get taller and steeper. I have been taking it fairly easy so far, but will slowly start ramping up my efforts.

Also, the computer I am using at the motel is unable to read the memory card from my camera, so I will have to add the pictures from the first section of the trip next weekend when I know I will have some solid computing power. Until then…

Getting Underway...Again

2009-05-05T12:28:00.000-07:00

For the Appalachian Trail I have 667 miles left and must be in Los Angeles by June 19th, so I have my work cut out for me. I will be taking it a bit slower than I had before being driven off the trail with an injury last July, so I won't be hiking any 61 mile days. I am not planning to anyway.

I am looking at the remainder of the hike in two parts: from Great Barrington, MA to Killington, VT and from Killington, VT to Katahdin, ME. The mileage division is about one quarter to three quarters, but having spent so much time in Killington, VT it is like a second home. Not only that but Laura, the girl I have been dating since pretty much the conclusion of the kayak trip will be meeting me in Killington the weekend of May 15th, so I am in no particularly hurry to arrive in Killington before then. From there on though, I will on the dash to Maine.

Here I go again...

T Minus 7 to the Hike

2009-04-29T13:38:00.000-07:00

I am a week away from getting back on the Appalachian Trail and have been preparing. While I am getting out in the woods on a regular basis, my hikes are usually not over the ten mile mark, about half the distance I am looking to cover each day. On the Appalachian Trail hike to date I had averaged just over 26 miles per day, but I am not going to push it immediately.

As usual, I have been cross training on my bike. This past weekend was also the third annual bike ride to Montauk Point. It is a little ride my friend Art and I put together several years ago. The weather was absolutely perfect, in stark contrast to the ride last year, where a good portion of the riding was in a cold rain. We collected our group of friends from various points on Long Island as we rode past. We had one guy wipe out, another stop riding in Montauk town and a few sore muscles, but it was all good fun. It is a rarity that I get to do any group riding, so for me it was something different, logging 90 miles among friends.

I will have to be focused for the last week as I have a number of things to finish before heading into the mountains for the last 660 miles of the Appalachian Trail. I also have to be back in Los Angeles by June 19th, so I really can't take it too easy in the mountains. At this point I am just looking forward to the solace of the wilderness and what could be a last hurrah for Kevin Knieling, Adventure Traveler.

Red River

2009-04-08T12:54:00.001-07:00

I just wanted to let all my friends along the Red River know that I have been thinking about them and hope they stay high and dry. For those of you not familiar with what is happening, there are a couple of news stories on the flood here and here.

For a little perspective, to the right is a photo I had taken when passing though Grand Forks, ND back on September 16, 2008 on a bright sunny day. The photo below is from March 26, 2009 when the Red River reached a flood stage of 46.6 feet, not even the higest point of the flood which was at 49.5 feet. The picture is in the same area. The red arrow in the second photo points to the same flood marker in the original photo above. And the bridge in both photos is the same. Yeah, the one that's nearly under water.

When Kobie and I paddled south on the Red River it was against a current of about three miles per hour. The river is now flowing nearly four times that! While that portion of the kayak trip would have been exactly zero fun, or actually would never have happened at all as I couldn't possibly paddle that fast; I am sure there is plenty of water in the Bois de Sioux River where Kobie and I were forced on to land and had to walk with our kayaks for 30 miles having run out of water.

I will be back-posting from the Europe and Morocco trip in the next few days. I am off to New Orleans tomorrow so I should have some time to write on the plane.

Again, I am thinking about you my friends.

Au Revoir

2009-04-01T20:06:00.000-07:00

I had nothing to do in the morning but go to the airport in Paris and catch my flight to New York. There was just one little wrinkle to that plan: my watch was set to the wrong time. When I flew from France to Morocco I had to set my watch back one hour. So when I returned to France from Morocco I set my watch ahead that same hour. The one thing I hadn’t considered was that Europe observes daylight savings time whereas Morocco does not. I should have set my watch two hours ahead in this instance as France sprung ahead an additional hour in my absence.

Despite being and hour behind schedule I thought I might make the flight, but the train to the airport was delayed. We made up some time, so I again thought perhaps I would make the flight, but it would be close. It was going to be a dash and really, in the grand scheme of things, it certainly wasn’t going to be the last plane from Paris to New York ever. Surely there would be one later in the day. It may have cost some money, but I had no doubt that by the end of the day, one way or another, I would be in New York.

The train arrived at the airport in Paris and I dashed through the terminal like OJ Simpson jumping over suitcases in the 1970’s Hertz commercial. The only difference was that I didn't have some woman yelling "Go Kevin, go!".

When I arrived at the counter the check-in was closed. With a little sweet talking and a lot of panting, I convinced the woman at the counter to check me in for the flight regardless. I hurried through security (if that is even possible), was the last person on the plane and nearly had the plane door hit me in the rear as they were closing it. My little vacation had come to a hurried end.

City of Lights

2009-03-31T19:53:00.000-07:00

I had a morning flight back to Paris, so had little time to do much other than have breakfast and one last freshly squeezed orange juice before making my way to the airport. By the time I arrived in Paris, made my way to town and checked into my hotel, it was mid-afternoon, leaving me precious little time to do much.

After checking into my hotel I did however wander over to Sacré Coeur, the Roman Catholic Basilica, to take in the view of Paris that it offers from its elevated location. As usual it was full of people sitting on the steps gaping at street performers with the city of Paris as a backdrop.

For dinner I was planning a much different meal than the night prior in Morocco. I wanted to visit an old haunt of mine from when I had first moved to Paris. It was a small Italian Restaurant across from my first apartment where the owner spoke only Italian and French. At the time I only spoke English and German, but somehow we always understood one another. The restaurant had since closed, but was taken over by another Italian gentleman that kept the high standard of food. It wasn’t quite the same, but I would gladly return.
I decided to spend my remaining evening with a bottle of wine on Pont des Arts, usually a popular hangout with artists and students. While little was going on, there was a group of students playing the guitar and enjoying some wine. The group invited me over to chat, an invitation I accepted.

I generally find it interesting to speak to people in generations other than my own as there is always so much to be gleaned from conversation. This group of late teen/early 20-somethings firmly believed in the French Socialist ideals. While the political climate of France is changing, they believed that they too could live as their parents did including having a secure job, a 35 hour work week and six weeks of vacation a year. While on the surface this all sounds rosy, it does have its drawbacks...at least to a guy working on Wall Street. Here is some of the guitar work of one of the guys as we looked at the view of the picture just above:

I left my new friends with a half a bottle of wine and bid them farewell.

More Marrekech

2009-03-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

I had a little sightseeing on the agenda for the morning, but couldn’t begin without stopping for a honey crepe. The culinary traditions of France made their way across the Mediterranean along with other aspects of the culture and I wasn’t disappointed.

On my stroll through Marrakech I passed by La Place, but it is a very different place during the day. During daylight hours, the square is frequented by snake charmers, henna artists and other people trying to cobble together some semblance of a living.

I didn’t have a very aggressive schedule for the day, but it did involve a significant amount of walking, my favored mode of transport when discovering a city. While walking isn’t always the best way to get around all cities, Marrakech was certainly walkable if I was willing to put up with a little heat and many touts.

I started my day by visiting the Marrakech Museum, though it did take some effort to find. I had learned my lesson with unofficial guides, so I found a child to show me the way. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. The museum is a restored palace that boasts both traditional and contemporary Moroccan art among its treasures. The real draw though is the palace itself.

I also stopped at the Medersa, or Koranic School to get a sense of what it was like to be one of the hundreds of students that came from around the world between the 14th and 16th centuries to study Islam at the school. While the school is no longer in use I was able to get a good sense of what it would have been like to live in the cramped concrete rooms with only one small window. I'll pass, thanks.

Since arriving in Morocco I had been looking for an authentic hammam and I finally found one near my hotel in Marrakech. Many houses in Morocco don’t come equipped with running water, or at least not hot water, so the hammam is where people come to bathe, shave, brush teeth and socialize. How do I know the hammam was authentic? They overcharged me. Significantly. Actually, it was quite obvious that it was a local affair, first of which being that there were no signs for the hammam whatsoever. All the locals know exactly where to find them. The hammam was a series of three successive 20’ by 20’ tile rooms akin to a wet, albeit very wet, sauna without the seats. Upon entering each person is given a bucket to fill with hot water but to also use in cordoning off some floor space. The corners of the room were the high rent district as everything sloped to the drain in the center of the room, meaning that if you weren’t in a corner you got another persons dirty water runoff flowing past.

In the hammam there is also a common treatment called Gommage in French, where people slough their skin with a rough glove thereby removing dead skin. Make no mistake though that a hammam is not a spa, but rather a place to get clean. I opted for the treatment to get the true experience and for all of $7 and it worked like a charm. The treatment was by no means gentle, but I am quite certain that I had nary a dead skin cell left on my body when the guy got through with me. Not only that, but my entire body was bright red from the abrasion.

But wait, there’s more. Following the scouring is the stretching of body parts reminiscent of visiting the chiropractor from Hades. As I sat on the wet tile floor I was grabbed by various limbs, stretched and contorted until nearly every one of my joints made a loud popping noise. I like to term it “good pain”, but my back made a noise as if someone was stepping on a roll of packing bubbles. When I was done though, clean of all the grime, I felt quite good actually.

My only goal for the evening was to sample as much Moroccan fare as I could possibly cram into my gullet. I wanted to sample as many of the Moroccan delights as I could before leaving the country. I walked out to La Place and began peeking at what was on offer at the various food stalls. I started with grilled lamb sausages that were served with fresh salsa. I had them the night prior with Ben, but they were just that good. I moved on to grilled shrimp and then had my main meal: snail soup followed by goat’s head. It might not be on everyone’s list of foods to try, but I had to give it a go. The snail soup tasted substantially similar to escargot that might be served in a restaurant in Paris. The goats head, well, was interesting. The jowls were probably the tastiest bit, but the brain was a bit mushy and I couldn’t really get used to the texture of the eye sockets. For some reason the eyeballs themselves aren’t consumed. I finished off with some honey cake for dessert and called it a night, waddling back to my hotel. I was stuffed beyond belief.

Jebel Toubkal

2009-03-29T19:19:00.000-07:00

Nearly a foot of snow fell overnight, so the plan Ben and I had concocted of following everyone else was going to be the winner. Another key aspect of the plan was in following the others tracks we might be able to keep our feet dry. Like so many other times in my travels, I employed plastic bags as clothing, this time around the outside of my boots, so as to keep the powdery snow out. I knew plastic bags would be of limited use as I was wearing crampons, spikes on the bottom of my boots to keep me from slipping on the ice. Even if my feet only stayed dry for an additional ten minutes, it was ten fewer minutes of misery I would have to endure.

In theory our plan of following the others was brilliant. The one thing we didn’t count on though was that the wind would be howling, even at lower elevations. It took all of three minutes for the tracks of people ahead of us to be completely covered.

Ben and I slogged on, each taking turns breaking trail through the snow. As we slogged on we eventually caught the group in front of us and paused with them for a little snack break. As we continued on and gained elevation the wind pushed harder. Ben and I were completely under-clothed for the climb, but at least he had a waterproof jacket. I on the other hand was wearing a short sleeved shirt, covered by a long sleeved shirt, a fleece jacket and as a balaclava/hat I was wearing a shirt and baseball cap. The last trick up my sleeve though was a plastic rain poncho in the event I would need some wind/waterproof protection.

It was a tough slog and with no real trails, we only had a vague idea as to the where we needed to go and the best route to use. As we weren’t able to see the top of Jebel Toubkal, we did all we could in reading the mountains and determining the best route. We followed some valleys between smaller mountains and ascended the open flanks of others. At the steepest section I was front pointing on my crampons, but no ropes were required. There were however a few spots where things would have ended quite badly should one of us have lost our footing.

The day grew colder and windier as we ascended. I had to put on my plastic rain poncho and in the winds that were blowing up to 60 MPH, proved to be a challenge. It was only with Ben’s assistance that I was able to don the poncho. It didn’t take long though for the wind to begin tearing it off my body.

Near the summit I saw a few tracks which I though would lead us straight to the top. I was getting awfully cold in the wind so I was looking forward to reaching the top of the mountain and heading back down to lower elevation. The tracks led to a false summit dashing my hopes, but I was able to see the real summit and the route leading to it.

Within minutes Ben and I walked across a ridge to the top of Jebel Toubkal. The view from the top of the tallest mountain in Northern Africa was awe inspiring. There were snow capped peaks in every direction. Ben and I took a few obligatory photos and enjoyed the view for a minute. As we were getting ready to head back down one other person came up and asked if he could follow us down. He seemed a bit shaky, but well enough to walk.

The wind was relentless, tearing at my plastic jacket and pulling it off my body. While the wind on the way up was at our backs, it was now hitting us square in the face on our descent. I donned a pair of extra socks as gloves and tried the best I could to shield my face. When I looked at our new partner I could see that the wind had blown his hood entirely off and he was standing prostate with his eyes wide open. Ben grabbed him by the arm as I tried to cover his head and face. He was making incoherent noises as we tried to usher him further down the mountain. By this point, my plastic rain poncho had been completely torn off my body in the wind. We just tried to keep our friend walking and at one point had to get one of his gloves back on his hand as it was sliding off. It felt like chaperoning the walking dead. Within 15 minutes he seemed to be recovering in that we were descending out of the wind. Shortly thereafter we came upon the rest of his group, where we left him and continued down.

The trip down was far easier than up, but could have been made much simpler still had I a snowboard. Some sections might have been a bit gnarly, but it would have taken us a fraction of the time.

As we descended, Ben and I figured out our plans after leaving the area. Ben wanted to go skiing at a nearby mountain and I was hoping to be back in Marrakech by the end of the day. We walked throughout the day and made our way back to the town of Imlil.

As it turned out, Ben was going to head back to Marrakech before going skiing, so we met up with some folks at the taxi stand and tried to get a ride back to Marrakech. Our initial plan was to hop a public grand taxi back to the city. We thought about privately hiring a taxi to take the two of us, but as it would have quadrupled the price, we figured we would wait for the one remaining person to fill a seat as there were already three other people waiting for a ride to Marrakech. In my capitalist ways I understand that people want just compensation, so I offered to pay for the additional seat and leave it vacant. No dice. Despite everyone, including the locals lobbying on our behalf, it didn’t work. It wasn’t long though before a sixth passenger crammed in the taxi: four in the back, three in the front. At one point on the drive I thought that I should have just ponied up for the taxi and hired it for ourselves, but it was an experience.

Back in Marrakech Ben and I checked into a hotel and immediately went out to La Place, where hundreds of street vendors were setting up food stalls. On offer are various sea foods, all manner of mammals as well as the odd bits that don’t fall into either category. The food stalls have bench tables ringing their stalls and are vocal about drawing in business. Ben was looking for a stall doling out sausages at which he had eaten the night prior. The two of us did an admirable job of sampling various foods, but after a few hours we were full and I wouldn’t be able to eat another thing…until breakfast of course.

Atlas Mountains

2009-03-28T19:11:00.000-07:00

Ben and I weren’t in any particular hurry to get moving as the standard time to make it to the first nights hut was five or six hours. Generally when being quoted time for hiking or climbing, there is a large buffer built in so the time we started out didn’t really concern us. When we finally did begin making our way out of town around ten there was a light rain. Of all the things I was interested in, rain was not on the list. Also, it would be very important for Ben and me to stay dry as we didn’t have all the proper winter gear. There was a limit as to what we could rent in Imlil.

As we were leaving in the morning, Mohammed’s son walked with us out of the village to initially show us the way. We had no trouble navigating our way out of town, but when we arrived at a large scree field where we really could have used some guidance, he pointed vaguely and said, “Go that way” with a most general wave of his hand.

While we weren’t on anything that even remotely looked like a trail as we set off we did eventually find the path. There was another town further up the mountain so there were a few local folks heading in that direction giving us an inkling as to where we needed to go. We were even able to trail a local fellow who showed us a few shortcuts that knocked off some of the switchbacks on the trail. While the weather was less than ideal the rain turned into snow, which was preferable.

As we passed the last village we lost our friend showing us the shortcuts and were summoned by two locals who tried to sell us everything under the sun, or snow for that matter. They claimed it would be at least another four hours to the hut and we should buy all sorts of provisions. We didn’t fall for it.

As snow continued to fall our path disappeared. Ben and I discussed the situation and talked about various scenarios. While we didn’t necessarily have all the gear that we might have wanted we did have experience on our side. In the big picture we knew that for the final run up to the hut we had to follow a valley upwards. We were initially told that we would be able to see the hut up the valley at least 45 minutes before we reach it. With the blowing snow we could barely see 40 feet ahead, much less up a mountain. We were able to piece together the trail using visual clues in the snow and how the mountains were laid out. We were able to see the hut exactly four minutes before we reached it.

As Ben and I walked in the hut I laughed as it was a scene straight out of a movie where the wind was whistling, swirling snow followed us in and I had to use my shoulder to close the door behind us. The hut was far more than I had expected. It was a building big enough to sleep 70 people in six communal dorm rooms. The only drawback was the dire lack of heat. I understand that wood is a scarce commodity above the tree line, but had I known I might have brought a few logs along for a bit of warmth.

Ben and I were the only ones in the hut with the exception of the two caretakers, so we again had ample free time from our arrival at 2:00 onward. We had some tea and did our best to keep warm. I was almost certain that it was warmer outside than in, other than for the lack of wind blowing inside.

Ben and I wouldn’t be the sole guests for the evening as a French Canadian couple made an appearance as did a mixed group of a dozen or so Moroccans & French.

In the late afternoon, the caretakers did start a small fire, but the amount of heat it produced was lost in the large room. Nearly all of the occupants of the hut were jockeying for position around the meager fire, with the remaining few wrapped in blankets.

As meals were included for our nights stay we were given the dinner option of spaghetti or spaghetti. I was hoping for something more Moroccan, but I estimate that it was difficult to beat the cost effectiveness of pasta. As everything has to be carried up to the hut, it is also rather compact and doesn’t readily spoil. Dinner was however a social affair where I had the opportunity to speak with everyone else. It was a rather diverse group, which I found to be quite common in meeting people when I travel. I found the French expats living in Morocco the most interesting as they were able to give me insight to the business environment of the various cities in Morocco, which, for the most part are limited Casablanca and Rabat.

It had been snowing since Ben and I were underway earlier in the day and it appeared that the snow had no intention of relenting. With that, Ben and I formulated our plan for the morning. While initially we wanted to get an absurdly early start so that we could make it back to Marrakech by nightfall, the snow forced us to change our plan. We were the least equipped out of the lot, so we figured we would follow one of the other teams going up so that we could follow their tracks and not have to cut new trail through a foot of snow. It grows rather tiring trudging through powdery snow, especially while wearing crampons.

As the evening grew long, people began to filter into their rooms and off to sleep.

To the Mountains

2009-03-27T18:52:00.000-07:00

My plan for the day was to take care of a few things at an internet café and head out of the city to the Atlas Mountains. I had spent more time cities than I needed to, so I was looking forward to the snowy mountains of Morocco.

As I was checking my e-mail, Ben, who I had met in Rabat, mentioned that he too would be heading to the mountains from Marrakech later in the day. It only made sense for us to head out that way and hit the mountains together.

I met Ben in the Medina and instantly realized that it was the Marrakech everyone talks about. Ben and I chatted about hopping a bus out to the town of Imlil, the starting off point for climbing Jebel Toubkal, the tallest mountain in North Africa, but opted to hire a "grand" taxi instead.

In Morocco each city has two different types of taxis. The “mini” taxi is one that looks like any severely rundown late model car and for a dollar or two will take you around town. The cars are always painted a single, uniform color, but that color varies from city to city. The “grand” taxi is always an ancient beige Mercedes sedan that has seen better days; much better days. The grand taxis only travel between cities, have a fixed price per person and do not leave until they are full. Full means four passengers in the back and two in the front in addition to the driver. That is seven people in a car designed to hold five.

It is possible to negotiate with the grand taxi drivers to hire the vehicle for oneself and $35 for a one and a half hour taxi ride seemed like a bargain to us. Ben and I also wanted to get out to the town of Imlil and set everything up to begin our climb up Jebel Toubkal the following morning.

Much like the Rockies, the Atlas Mountains jutted out of the earth with little lead up. It was like driving west from Denver. We began to see small villages dotting the landscape and thousands of wildflowers. It was spring and everything was in bloom. Our driver mentioned though that in two months everything would be brown from the summer heat.

As we neared the town of Imlil, Ben and I discussed how long it might take us to set up with what we would need for our climb: ice axes, crampons, sleeping bag, etc. While it was warm in town, the mountains were white and another foot of snow was expected in the next day or two. Our question of timing was answered as soon as the taxi stopped in Imlil and I opened the door of the taxi. We were set upon before even having both feet out of the car. Mohammed (of course that was his name) greeted us and explained that he had everything we might need for the trip, including a place to stay for the night which included dinner and breakfast. While it seemed a good value, Ben and I wanted to discuss it over some Tagine, a slow cooked stew of chicken, potato and vegetable, braised at a low temperature in a ceramic dish.

In the end, Ben and I decided to go with the package deal as the time and money spent cobbling everything together wouldn’t have been worth it. It also gave us more leverage getting everything in one place. The only other thing we needed was two days worth of provisions which Ben took care of while I was sorting out our gear needs.

Once geared up we took a half hour walk from Imlil to the village of Armoud. The house in which we were staying was in the process of being built and the bathroom was outside, but Ben and I had all we needed each with a mattress on the floor. It was far more posh than accommodations I have had before starting other climbs.

We met Mohammed's family though they only spoke Berber. As you might imagine communications were limited. For dinner they served us up a magnificent tagine and with little else to do thereafter, I read until I nodded off.

Marrakech, Morocco

2009-03-26T16:03:00.000-07:00

What can I say about spending eight hours of the day on a train from Fez to Marrakech? I slept the first three hours, so it did seem to go by quite quickly. In contemplating my transit between the cities there was the option of taking a flight, but in the grand scheme of things I had a seat with a view and brought plenty of food with me to share. Sharing food is what people in Morocco do, harking back to their nomadic Berber ancestry as desert travelers. Most of the train passengers weren’t heading the entire distance to Marrakech, so there were tons of local folks on and off the train to speak with, which is another factor I used to determine as to whether I would fly or not; face time with locals.

Upon arrival in Marrakech I found myself in the most cosmopolitan, or rather developed city in Morocco yet. There were more faces of tourists than any of the three previous cities that I had visited combined. There was also a hop on, hop off tour bus akin to that in western cities. This was most certainly not the Marrakech of the 60’s era.

I found a hotel room for the night in the new part of town and set out on my own version of a walking tour. My walk confirmed what I had initially seen; many tourists in a developed area. I figured I would try to beat the tourist happenings by asking the hotel proprietor where I could find a hammam (Moroccan bathhouse). Hammams are such an integral part of life for many Moroccans as they don’t have running water in their home. The hammam offers a place for them to get clean and socialize. I located the hammam that the hotel proprietor recommended, but it was more like a western spa than any hammam I have ever seen.

I was somewhat disappointed in my evening in Marrakech, but I was in the new city and not the Medina. I was going to save that for another day.

In speaking with so many people using my somewhat limited French I cursed myself for not speaking the language better, but when I was living in Paris I had other things to do. I would usually be in the office from the opening of the French Stock Exchange to the close of the New York Stock Exchange, leaving me with a 13 hour workday when things ran smoothly. I learned French by immersion. Even in a country where I don’t speak a lick of the local language, I always make an effort to learn a handful of words and phrases. It makes such a difference in connecting with the people. My few phrases of Arabic were useful in the cities of Morocco, but the main language in rural areas is Berber and oftentimes they speak no other language. Part of the fun of travel is trying to communicate.

Fez, Morocco

2009-03-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

First thing in the morning I said goodbye to Ben and hopped the train from Rabat to the city of Fez (yes, of the hats with the same name). On the train I met a girl from Arizona who was going to be teaching in Morocco for two years. She seemed and it would later be confirmed that she wasn't exactly the savviest of travelers. I generally don’t cast judgment but I really wondered how she got out of the United Stated, much less navigated Morocco.

Upon arrival in Fez I didn’t find the hotel I was looking for immediately, but in my missteps stumbled upon another branch of the Moroccan Central Bank. I was able to pop in and have a little talk with someone there. My visits to the Central Banks across the globe always seems to differ widely in the content and level of the person who is designated to speak with me. I always try to make an appointment, but in places like Singapore it isn’t at all possible due simply to their culture of pushing responsibility to someone else. While my meeting in Fez was not the most informative, I did collect some insight into the banking and economic environment of Morocco.

Following a short walk I found the hotel I had been searching for and who should be checking in, but the same girl from the train. Now I am not sure I have ever seen this happen in all my travels, but she actually talked “up” the price of the hotel from the original quote. There was a bigger problem though as she had an unofficial tour guide latch on to her. It is prevalent in Morocco for individuals to offer services as a guide in an effort to earn a few extra dirham and they can be persistent. When the girl mentioned that she no longer wanted the guides services he became enraged and demanded money. To the girls credit she remained calm when the guy began shouting “F--- You, I kill you!”. I grabbed the girl and told her to go to her room until the guide leaves.

I went for a walk around the downtown area of Fez to see what the city was all about. The downtown area was far more decentralized than Rabat, but it just gave me more of an opportunity to walk around. There were hundreds of Moroccan flags flying throughout the city as the King was in town.

During my walk I was set upon by the same unofficial guide that was harassing the girl in the hotel. He tried his same threat tactics, but I wasn’t buying it. Most locals go for sympathy to try and separate tourists and their money, but this guy’s game was to be threatening and in your face. It is always disconcerting to be in a foreign country and have a local threatening you, but my read on the guy was that he was all bark and no bite. Eventually the guy wandered off, though I did keep an eye out over my shoulder. This guy was the exception to what I have found in my travels, not the rule so I didn’t think much of it.

In the afternoon I went over to the Medina (yes, every city has a Medina). The Medina in Fez is much larger than that in Rabat (several square miles in fact) and more intense. Vendors are more aggressive in making sales and unofficial guides are rampant.

My goal for the afternoon was to get completely lost in the Medina and try to find my way out. The old medieval streets are a maze and rarely run in any pattern. In my travels I have stumbled upon some of the best things, or met the nicest people when totally away from what are considered areas in which a traveler should be.

I started out by visiting the Mellah, or Jewish quarter, near the Medina. While Morocco is approximately 99.7% Sunni Muslim, there are a handful of Christians, some Baha'i and about 5,000 people of the Jewish faith living in the country and have been since the early 1400's.

With a cryptic map showing the main thoroughfares of the Medina I was able to navigate myself to an area where numerous leather tanneries were located. I did however have a little help from the pungent odor emanating from the tanning area. Tanning leather is a somewhat lucrative if not unhealthy profession for Moroccans. There are large vats filled with chemicals in which the workers die the hides and from what I hear, being exposed to the chemicals all day every day will cut down on the average person’s lifespan rather substantially.

When I was looking for a particular museum I was at a loss, so I figured I would engage the services of one of the unofficial guides to help me out. I didn’t get the greatest vibe from the guy so when he made numerous turns and moved quickly down deserted alleys, I made it a point to remember every turn. My memory rewarded me as when the guide thought I was sufficiently lost he demanded 20 times the money that we agreed. I didn’t have trouble finding my way out, but it was not all that pleasant with him walking behind me hurling every insult he could think of in his broken English.

Having been in the hustle and bustle of the city all day I decided to walk up to a hilltop on the outskirts of town to have a look down over Fez. To me it was like looking at New York City from a plane. From well above the city appeared quiet and peaceful. While up on the bluff I decided that I had enough of cities for the time being and wanted to head south to the Atlas Mountains. I had planned on staying two nights in Fez, but the draw of the mountains knocked it down to one. I would take a train to Marrakech in the morning, the jumping off point for the mountains.

I dove back into the Medina in Fez and was unable to get myself lost as the tourist bureau recently put up signs for several walking tours through the medina. There were a few times where I did end up in a place I wouldn’t have expected, but invariably I would come across a sign pointing me towards some recognizable landmark.

I continued on my own through the Medina and at one point there were several large men with communication radios and weapons. All the people cleared to the side and stood watching so I did the same. It took several minutes of conversation to learn that not only was the King of Morocco in town but the Prince was as well. The Prince happened to be in the Medina saying hello to the people of the city. When the Prince walked by, much to my surprise the Prince didn’t look any older than six. I saw the Moroccan Prince and in the distant future when he is King I can say that I saw him in Fez.

I enjoyed my day of exploration, but left the medina to check the train schedule. I had the option of an overnight train, but as you may well imagine, there was little appeal in having to try and get a nights sleep while click-clacking along.

Rabat II

2009-03-24T15:18:00.000-07:00

In the morning Ben and I were both headed to the same place, the Chellah. Built over 2,000 years ago, the Chellah is an abandoned fort that while in ruins, still gives a glimpse into its former glory. The isolated location of the fort was a wonderful respite from the cities of the past two days. The area was largely overgrown, not to the point of needing machetes to hack or way through, but enough to give it a ruinous, deserted quality. In the midst of the greenery were trees of fig, olive, orange and grapefruit as well as thousands of wildflowers in all colors. And while the fort was deserted by people, it is currently home to several hundred storks. As storks are viewed as a symbol of good luck, they are left to multiply at the Chellah.

In the afternoon Ben had to go to collect his passport from the Mauritanian Embassy in an effort to get a visa for the country, so I took a walk over to the mausoleum of Mohammed V and a half built minaret. Construction on the minaret began in 1195, but upon the death of the King who championed it, construction was halted. While the minaret was to be the tallest in the world, the Kings untimely demise saw an end to that, leaving the structure only 144 feet tall, just over half its intended height. The mausoleum was however complete and while not quite the Taj Mahal, it was exquisite and supposedly one of the finest examples of Almoravid architecture. I can’t claim any expertise on Almoravid architecture, but I was impressed with the craftsmanship of the mausoleum.

I planned my visit to the Central Bank in Rabat, but as it turned out that the bank was closed to the public. As a saving grace the Central Bank did have a currency museum. The majority of the museum related to coins, some 2,000 years old, but there was a small collection of banknotes. Most everyone seems to collect something in their lives and I happen to collect banknotes from foreign countries. The way I think about it, there are worse things to collect than money.

After my visit to the bank I decided to further immerse myself in the culture of Morocco by heading back to the Medina (market). There were all manner of things for sale in the Medina: dates, figs, lentils, corn (crushed and otherwise), any manner of spices, reptiles (turtles & chameleons), oranges, knock off purses, shoes, clothing & cell phones. I laughed at the juxtaposition of someone selling cell phones sandwiched in between a stall peddling figs and another selling organ meat. While the market was really a feast for the senses, stranger still was when I wandered through the market listening to the local sounds and heard the band Coldplay coming from inside one of the shops. The audio clip below doesn't include Coldplay, but it might give you of an idea what it sounds like inside a crowded medina with hawkers peddling their wares.

As it was a warm day I decided to head to the oceanfront and the cool breeze it was offering. I considered getting a little surfing in, but the waves were virtually non-existent and in any case unsurfable.

For dinner I was still looking for that elusive dish of couscous. It seems though that in Morocco, Friday night is couscous night. As I was wandering around I randomly ran into Ben and Laurie, a girl he met in town. The three of us decided to find someplace to settle in for the night, which turned out to be a completely smoke filled cafe. We all shared travel stories over a few drinks, my favorite being that Ben was once denied boarding on a plane in Paraguay as he had spent the several weeks prior in the jungle and was deemed too dirty. Paraguay of all places. Perhaps I found the story entertaining as I had a similar experience at a Sheraton hotel after having been in jungles of Borneo for a month.

Rabat, Morocco

2009-03-23T14:37:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful sunny morning with the temperature hovering in the 70’s; exactly what I was looking forward to after spending the majority of the time in Europe contending with the mercury in the upper 40 degree range.

Whenever I visit a new country I always try to visit their Stock Exchange (should the country have one) and their Central Bank. International equity markets have always been an interest of mine and even though I am not “working”, the interest has not subsided in the slightest. In my travels I have visited over 25 Stock Exchanges and Central Banks, each idiosyncratic. Some, like the Mongolia Stock Exchange trade only several days a week and even then only for several hours. When I arrived at the exchange in Mongolia the trading floor was devoid of people and there was nothing stopping me from just walking right in. There is always something to be learned form the biggest powerhouse of an exchange to the smallest and most illiquid.

In my search for the Casablanca Stock Exchange I learned that it wasn’t just my taxi driver the night before that wasn’t familiar with the streets, but pretty much everyone. Part of the problem is that many of the street names are being officially changed from their historical French name to Arabic. Another issue is that most streets have the name “Mohammed” in them. The only saving grace is that there are almost always two main thoroughfares, one running east/west and the other north/south, named Mohammed V and Hassan II. The roads are named after the two Kings of Morocco holding the throne prior to the current Mohammed VI.

I found the exchange in time for my meeting, though I am sure that describing what transpired would not be nearly as much of interest to my readership as it is to me so I’ll keep it short. In some ways the exchange was fairly typical for its size, but it is still a developing marketplace. The exchange trades 77 stocks, of which Morocco Telecom accounts for about 25% of the market capitalization. That ratio for the telecom issue isn’t uncommon for developing countries. The Iraq Stock Exchange, where about 90 equities are traded is a somewhat different story as the biggest issues are actually banks. There have however been some rather unusual circumstances which the Iraq exchange has been working under for some time. But I digress…

For most visitors, there is really only one thing to see in Casablanca as the city, for the most part, is the main city of commerce in Morocco. The Hassan II Mosque though, is well worth the visit. While most mosques are closed to non-Muslims, the Hassan II Mosque is open to visitors for a fee when it is not prayer time.

Hassan II Mosque is a massive affair, which is the third largest mosque in the world. I liken it to a sports stadium in as it can hold 25,000 people inside (another 80,000 outside), has an admission fee of $15 (a bit light for a sporting event) has escalators and elevators (pretty atypical for a mosque), heated floors (OK, not the same but a hockey rink has cooled floors) a retracting roof (Cowboy Stadium anyone?) and cost more than a few hundred million to build. The official estimate is 500 million, but with a wink and a nod from my guide I was told it was well over one billion. It took 6,000 craftsmen six years to build working around the clock.

For those of you holding dreams that Casablanca is anything like the film of the same name, I will have to dispel that myth. While there is a Rick’s café, it is solely a tourist trap. Having run out of things to see in Casablanca I hopped a train to the capital city of Rabat. If Casablanca is the New York of Morocco, Rabat is the Washington D.C..

The train to Rabat was just over an hour and as soon as I walked out of the train station in Rabat I noticed far more tourists than in Casablanca. One person later mentioned to me that it is the case as there is far more to see in Rabat than Casablanca.

In looking for a hotel in Rabat I was shot down on my first choice as they were full. As I was walking out of the hotel there was someone walking in that was soon subject to the same fate of looking elsewhere for accommodations. I met Ben as we were both walking down the street towards another hotel. He had a place in mind so we both headed over there and were able to find a place to hang our hats for the night. I generally haven’t had problems finding hotels in my travels; though Calcutta, India is a notable exception and really…you don’t want to be without a place to stay there.

Ben is a freelance writer that is planning to head south through Western Africa for the next several months. We decided to take a walk around the city and as he had been in Rabat before, he led the way. We ambled through the Medina (market) and Kasbah (yes, a song by The Clash but also a fortress where a ruler would govern from in times of war). We received very little in the way of hassle from touts or salesman peddling their wares, which I was told would be the exception, not the rule in the cities of Fez and Marrakech. The city of Rabat was far easier to navigate than Casablanca in both the way it was laid out and that there was far more in the way of street signs.

We made our way down to the ocean and noticed some surfers catching a few meager waves. From down at the oceanfront it was easy to imagine the importance of the city in the days of the seafarers. The walls surrounded much of the city, protecting it from the sea and the invaders that plied the waters. The city itself, founded in the third century BC, was ruled at times by: Phoenicians, Romans, Barbary Pirates, Berbers, Almoravids, Almohads and the French. The city of Rabat was even once attacked by the Austrians. The Austrians!?!?

Ben and I went for a bite to eat at a local restaurant and more than the food, what I noticed was that several cats were swirling around our feet. Animals in a restaurant aren’t considered a health hazard as in the western world. There is no shortage of cats in Morocco. Where some countries have an excess of dogs milling about, Morocco is overrun with cats

Casablanca, Morocco

2009-03-22T19:12:00.000-07:00

After my time in Europe I was off to Morocco and I had far too much gear, especially when the temperature was going to be mostly in the 80’s in Morocco. With a little convincing, OK, a lot of convincing, I was able to store some things at my hotel in Paris for 10 days until I returned from Morocco.

As I had some time before my afternoon flight I made one last attempt at my favorite sandwich shop, but my efforts of heading across town to the other location went unrewarded as they were not open on Sunday. With some time still on my hands, I decided I would head to the Left Bank of Paris and check out the neighborhood to which I moved after the water main incident in my second apartment.

The Left Bank is a far different neighborhood from the family district near the Eiffel Tower where I had lived prevoiusly. While technically the Left Bank is all of Paris that sits on the south side of the River Seine, Left Bank refers to an area around Boulevard St. Michel that is frequented by the artistic and/or Bohemian set. The area is awash in cafes, which at some point in history you may have seen the faces of Picasso, Camus, Hemmingway or Sartre sipping a coffee inside. I walked by what was my third apartment in Paris and while I couldn’t see anything inside, the door was still there as were several of the shops in the area. It made me again think back to my time living in Paris, but I had to get to the airport.

My flight to Casablanca, Morocco was just as I like; uneventful. The flight took me over the Mediterranean Sea and then the northern snowcapped mountains of Morocco, hiding the Sahara Desert behind them.

I arrived in Casablanca well after 9 PM, which is less than ideal as I like to see new cities for the first time in daylight. While it was less than ideal, it certainly isn’t the latest that I had arrived in a new city. One of my favorites was arriving in Rangoon, Myanmar around midnight. After catching a ride to town I was shown to a hotel by street children. The kids would wait for me to leave my hotel each morning.

It was nearly an hour long train ride to get from the airport to the Casablanca train station and I still had to take a cab to the center of town from there. I knew exactly where in town I wanted to go, but the driver had not heard of any of the four streets that I rattled off. I ended up telling him just to take me to the center of the city. The driver was using multiple choice lanes as most of us do, either lane A, B, C etc., but he had a new choice, D) All of the above. Lanes didn’t seem to mean anything as he drove where he deemed fit. It is actually quite common in third world countries where “rules” of the road are taken as suggestions and not very serious ones at that.

Once I finally made it downtown I was able to orient myself on the map I was using and found a crash pad for the night. It wasn’t much of a hotel and didn’t have a shower, but I only needed a room in which to sleep. I also didn’t have to worry about storing a bag as I only had my book bag, which was largely empty as I had left most of my things in Paris.

I decided to amble around and see what I could find in Casablanca on my first night in Morocco. I’m not sure what I found, but it didn’t take long for touts to find me. I had several offers for guide services, companionship and drugs. I passed on the lot and found a place to grab a late night bite for dinner. It seemed that pizza was on offer in just about every dining venue. As it was so prevalent I figured I would pass on the couscous and see what the pizza was all about. In my travels I generally sample what other countries offer as their version of pizza, as most countries have their own version. Oddly enough, one of the best pizzas I have ever eaten on the planet was in Nepal.

I found Morocco intriguing in all the outside influence. The country has several Spanish enclaves, yet French is the main language outside of Arabic. Almost no English is spoken and it wasn’t easy to tell who might be a local, though at the late hour it was pretty much everyone. I had an early morning planned and was trying to break from my European sleep schedule, so I turned in after my late night snack.

And the Winner...

2009-03-21T12:03:00.000-07:00

of the inagural Competitours is:

Well, unfortunately, not either one of my teams. David and I thought we had a good beat on things, but we weren’t in the running for the top spot for the first game. Elizabeth and I fared somewhat better as we finished second out of the lot of eleven teams in the second game.

Elizabeth and I had a perfect score going into the second day, got full marks for our Champagne video, but must have faltered on Île de la Cité. Regardless, I still love that area of Paris and when it comes right down to it, it was a free trip to Europe. I got to reconnect with some of my old haunts and visit a few new places while having the opportunity to catch up with a couple of my friends. In a way, I did win.

Game Over

2009-03-21T10:37:00.000-07:00

The competition was over and I had the opportunity to catch some well needed rest after the last week of activities. The group had a free day in Paris before flying out the following day.

My game plan for the day was to visit some old haunts from when I lived in the city. I met with Elizabeth at the Garnier Opera, which is just a splendid building. In the year and half I lived in the city it was completely covered up for restoration. I had seen it since, but am still impressed with the intricacy of the structure.

It was an amazingly beautiful spring day and it seemed that all of Paris was making use of the outdoors on this Saturday. I was hoping to have lunch at my favorite sandwich shop, but the plan was thwarted as the shop was no longer there. As plan B, and a good one I might add, we stopped at a grocery store and bought a few things to have somewhat of a picnic in the Tuileries, the Parisian equivalent of New York’s Central Park. The park is just behind the Louvre and my first apartment in Paris (I moved when my apartment was burglarized). The Tuileries used to be my backyard.

So much of Paris has changed in my absence, but they do still sell Eiffel Tower keychains, though they are just priced in Euro instead of Francs. There is also a new scam in town, perpetrated by people with varying levels of commitment and conviction. It goes something like this: the person pretends to spot a gold ring on the ground a second before you do. As they are allegedly not legally residing in France, they can’t turn the ring into the police or sell it. They try to give you the “gold” ring, which is in fact worthless so that you can sell it, asking for a few Euro so they can get something to eat. Elizabeth and I got that scam three times in a matter of 10 minutes. By the third time I told Elizabeth to pull out the video camera, which she did, much to the chagrin of the scam artist who made at least several obscene gestures in our direction as they stormed off.

We wandered past the Eiffel Tower, down Rue Kléber and past the second of my old apartments in Paris. It was a great place and I had a wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower, but when I returned home from a business trip in New York, the water main in the building burst, flooding the entire building and leaving it without running water. It was time to move…again.

After a long, sunny day walking around the city, Elizabeth and I wanted to take pause and embrace all that is Parisian by sitting at an outdoor café and having a glass of wine. As the sun was growing low in the sky and a chill permeated the air, we opted to stop in the Buddha Bar instead. The Buddha Bar was one of the first places I was taken by colleagues when I had first come to Paris on business. So while I didn’t get to revisit my sandwich shop or an outdoor café for that matter, I was able to further reminisce about my time in Paris.

To close out the Competitours experience after our free day, the majority of the gang went out for a group dinner. It was fun to speak with people about their take on the game as well as getting to know a little more about some of the contestants. The experiences of the group are disparate, so I always appreciate another take on the world.

Paris

2009-03-20T09:22:00.000-07:00

As the format for the game had changed removing the time deadlines each day, our team opted to get a bit of a later start. Having not gone to sleep prior to 2 AM since arriving in Europe, I needed an extra hour. I started my day by checking the train schedule to Epernay, one of the main towns in the heart of the Champagne region of France and where we would tackle our second challenge of the day. The research being done, I met up with Elizabeth and headed to Île de la Cité; an area of Paris steeped in history. Île de la Cité is home to Notre Dame Cathedral, Pont Neuf, Sainte Chapelle and oh, so much more. Not only that but Île de la Cité is the very center of Paris as all distances to/from Paris are measured to the square just in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral.

Elizabeth and I got about halfway through our series of tasks on Île de la Cité when we realized that we would have to catch the very next train to Epernay if we were going to make it before the Champagne houses closed. We cut it awfully close to the point where we didn’t have time to buy train tickets, so we just jumped on the train. I wasn’t really sure what the ramifications of not having a ticket would be but assumed we could purchase tickets on the train, perhaps with some sort of surcharge. As I used to do some Disaster Recovery work among other things in my days on Wall Street, it was my job to figure out what the worst case scenario would be. In this instance it would have been being fined and thrown off the train, but I highly doubted that would be the case. I figured we could always play the part of the dumb tourist. Hey, we wound up in the train yard in Brussels.

In another “traveler’s moment” the ticket collector came through, was more than happy to sell us tickets and lived in Epernay! Two days in a row. While she wasn’t going to give us a ride, she did have some valuable information for us. I had been to Epernay back when I lived in France but that was in 2000, so my memory was a bit hazy, especially after all that Champagne tasting.

Upon arrival we immediately hit the information center in town and began our walk to one of the Champagne houses we were to visit. As there were no taxis around at the time Elizabeth stuck out her thumb. My first thought was that there was no way it would work. Within two minutes Elizabeth had us a ride with a gentleman who was in the throes of starting his own guide service in the area. Another win.

We completed our first task and left without so much as having a single glass of Champagne. While we had another part of the challenge to complete, I had my own mission: to visit a very small Champagne producer that still seals the corks of his bottles as used to be required by French law, with wax and hemp string. I remembered exactly where to find Achille Princier and while the Champagne house was somewhat different, there are still two vintages sealed the old fashioned way. It takes approximately 100 times longer to seal the bottle by tying it with hemp string that with the metal cages that are used today. I can always appreciate old world craftsmanship.

With my personal task complete, we made our way to another Champagne house and went on the tour. We didn’t film anything, but did enjoy the tour. Given the nature of the task we had yet to complete concerning Champagne, we figured we could do the filming back in Paris.

Upon arrival in Paris we returned immediately to Île de la Cité so that we could complete the remainder of our first task there. It was dark, but no matter, we were still able to get our filming in. It did however involve entering a park that was technically closed. Also, we still had to film our last task from Epernay and it was getting late. Most of the teams were going to meet up at 11 PM to go out as a group, so Elizabeth and I didn’t want to be late. I also just wanted to get our last challenge done beforehand; which we did. It was a relief to have finished up the game and go out for a bite to eat with the gang. Not too surprisingly, it turned into a late night.

Brussels

2009-03-19T09:04:00.000-07:00

All the teams awoke to the surprise that our competition would be truncated in two parts. Monday through Wednesday was a wrap and Thursday would begin a new game for a new prize (two plane tickets). As we were all the guinea pigs on this inaugural trip, there were numerous rule changes in the past few days so the owner/operator/president/janitor running Competitours, Steve, decided it would be best to see how things would shake out under the new rules.

As the morning would bring a new game, my teammate David and I agreed to swap teammates with the team in discourse, so now I would be on the move with Elizabeth.

One of the most positive rule changes to the game was that there was no more time limit, but rather a maximum number of points a team could attempt on any given day. The changes slowed the pace of game and allowed teams to start or finish at whatever time they so chose as they could only attempt tasks totaling a maximum of 75 points. Scores awarded for the tasks were a binomial, meaning that if two teams completed the same tasks, one team would receive the high score for the task and the other would receive the low score. There is no in between. The number of tasks to achieve a maximum of 75 points, should the team receive full marks, was between two and seven based on complexity and geography.

There is strategy in the scoring that I liken to those Stock Market games, where people are given a fictitious $100,000 or so and after a week the person that has the most money wins. While in real life most people would want to build a balanced portfolio, in a stock market game it is generally the one that takes the most risk that will win, i.e., go for all or nothing. One might assume that the winner of a Stock Market game will finish in positive territory, i.e., with more than they started with. That being the case, it doesn’t matter if you finish with zero, $100,000 or anywhere in between, you still wouldn’t win the game. Leverage up, go for broke. Put it all on 16 red on the roulette wheel. As the scores in our little travel game were binomials, it was similar logic in attempting fewer, higher scoring tasks. The team that wins will choose the higher point value, higher risk challenges and that’s what Elizabeth and I decided to do. Before I get angry e-mails telling me that’s what got our country in trouble in this latest financial fiasco, this is all in theory as it is a game! But I digress…

The first order of business in the morning was to hit the train station and make our way to Brussels, Belgium home to moule frites and Manneken Pis. Upon arrival we were told to store our bags in the train station lockers and be back at 7:30 PM. In evaluating out options for the day we decided to hit the first task at a nearby brewery. Four other teams had a similar idea, so we had to up our game. Our task was to film a commercial for this Belgian brewers Framboise (raspberry) beer that might appeal to the US audience. Rather than tell you about it, I will let you have a look for yourself, here.

Our plan of attack was to do a high point value challenge outside of Brussels, but I wanted to see the Atomium, an attraction built for the Worlds Fair in 1958. The shape of the silver aluminum clad structure is based on an iron crystal…magnified 165 billion times. Elizabeth and I had a LASER-like focus as we were planning our day while riding the subway on our way to the Atomium. At one point when we looked up there were no other people, which only made sense when we realized that we had missed the last stop and were in the train yard. Yup, we were the savvy travelers sent to test out this game that ended up in a train yard. We didn’t know if the train was going to move again before the end of the day or if perhaps someone might notice us. We did have a good laugh though. It was only several minutes before train personnel walked past and we were able to get their attention to secure our release.

While the Atomium was an interesting structure, it was a little light on content in the exhibits inside. There was a north pole/south people exhibit which was rather weak in comparison to the Antarctica exhibit I had seen in Christchurch, New Zealand. The Atomium took a bigger bite out of our day time-wise than we estimated so we had to get moving to catch a train to Antwerp for our next challenge.

When getting back on the subway Elizabeth chatted with a guy, Hugos, for some information on getting to Antwerp. The information was infinitely helpful until we realized that we didn’t need to go to Antwerp at all, but rather to a town called Namur. Elizabeth again asked Hugos about our destination to which he replied, “Namur, I live there. I am going there right now”. We immediately hitched our wagon to his star. Hugos was beyond kind in getting us to the proper train station in Brussels, showing us where to get tickets and loading us on the train. Better than that though, he called his wife to do some research for us on the citadel that we had to visit AND was going to give us a ride there once the train arrived in Namur.

People always ask me what the best part of traveling is. This was it; the kindness of strangers. There have been dozens of times in my travels that complete strangers have helped me out from something as simple as pointing me in the right direction to taking me in their home, feeding me and having me stay for the night…or three.

Again, I don’t want to reveal all the tasks we had done as they may well be repeated by future Competitourists, but we did have to hurry so as to catch a train back to Brussels and then with the whole group head to our next destination. I will say though that Elizabeth was a champ; running when needed, having no regard for personal embarrassment and even descending a steep, sheer bank for the sake of a video.

Just as we were finishing our video the grace and kindness of another stranger happened upon us. Clare was a student from France doing an internship in Namur and was out for a walk. Clare did a little filming for us and then walked us down through town and to the train station. As we had a few minutes before our train, we bought Clare and ourselves waffles of the countries namesake.

Namur was a delightful city; big enough to have everything you might need, but small enough to keep its charm and not be overwhelming. I was sad to leave without having the opportunity to really check it out, but that was the nature of the trip.

We made it back to the Brussels train station with just enough time to meet the rest of the group and collect our train tickets to the next destination, Paris. While in Belgium I didn’t get to eat moule frites or even see the Manneken Pis statue for that matter, I was going home in a way; to a city that I lived for a year and a half. Paris.

Our arrival in Paris was prior to midnight, but not by much. As a small group of us walked out of the train station there was some uncertainty as to where our hotel was. I simply said, while pointing, “It’s this way” and began walking. The group didn’t seem convinced I was right and opted not to follow. I walked to the hotel, checked in, got cleaned up and headed over towards Elizabeth’s hotel to grab her for dinner and a planning session. It was the first time on the trip that the whole group was not in the same hotel. For some reason the Parisians don’t particularly care to have large groups of people in their hotels at one time, so we had to split the group in two. As I was leaving I saw another gathering of our crew standing on a street corner unable to locate the hotel. I pointed them in the right direction and met up with Elizabeth for a late dinner of Entrecôte, which is a Parisian staple, a glass of wine and a strategy session for the following day. None of this lent itself to getting back to my hotel prior to 2:30.

Amsterdam

2009-03-18T20:05:00.000-07:00

The team was interested in heading out of Amsterdam proper to visit a recreation of an old Dutch town. There were windmills, tulips and wooden clogs. I was highly impressed with one of the working windmills that is being used as a present day lumber mill. While the mill was built in 2007, it was an exact replica of a windmill that was deconstructed in 1942, for which detailed drawings were made when it was disassembled. Through donations mostly (about two million bucks worth of them) they were able to rebuild the windmill using traditional methods and materials from the architectural plans. I was highly impressed. There was an astounding level of complexity in the gearing and inner workings of the windmill so that it was able to saw massive logs.

There was also a visit to a local clog maker. I tried on some yellow clogs myself, but they didn’t fit. I also got a kick out of the repair job one guy did on his clogs with metal banding screwed to them, so yes, some people still wear clogs.

The day also involved an interactive science museum for which I had a childlike affinity. I enjoy museums in general, when they are interactive even more so. The interactive nature of the exhibits tends to prompt various thoughts and a level of inquiry that may not be evoked in a “hands off” museum.

There was again an issue trying to upload our videos for judging, but as I missed meeting up with my friend Amanda in Cologne I wasn’t going to miss catching up with my friends Bart and Laura in Amsterdam. Bart and Laura swung by the hotel to pick me up and we headed to a local place they knew about. While Bart & Laura have moved outside of the city, they leave bicycles at the train station in Amsterdam for the times they do come in. They mentioned that most people that live outside of Amsterdam do just the same, hence the thousands of bicycles parked just outside the train station. Yes, I said thousands. Bart also knows someone that has five bikes parked around the city that he uses when he is in the vicinity of any one of them.

I hopped on the back of Bart’s bike rack riding side-saddle. It is a standard method employed by many of the Dutch when there is one more person than bicycles. The trick is to let the rider get a little speed as you jog along and then just hop on, legs hanging off one side. At each stoplight I had to hop off and repeat the process. There is no question that the Dutch have it figured out when it comes to bicycles.

Welling, as the pub was called that we visited was as local as it gets. When we walked in there was a man trying to convince people to sign a petition attempting to stop some sort of construction in the area. I declined to add my signature as I hadn’t the slightest idea what I would be signing inasmuch as I can’t read Dutch.

I originally met Bart and Laura in Eastern Indonesia in a town called Labuan Bajo, a jumping off point for the island of Komodo and the dragons that bear the same name. As there is no public transport to Komodo Island we hired a boat for three days to get us around and give us a place to sleep. It was on one of those days, my birthday nonetheless, that I saw the largest lizard species (Komodo Dragon) and largest ray species (Manta Ray) on the same day.

It was great to catch up with the Bart and Laura, but as they were going to have an early morning they had to head back out to the suburbs. As I returned to the hotel, there had apparently been somewhat of a meltdown with one of the other teams to the point where the two teammates weren’t going to speak to each other for the remainder of the trip.

I always tend to get involved in diplomacy and in this instance it was no different. One of the warring factions and I went out for a drink to talk things over. The conversation is beyond the scope of this forum, but needless to say it was another night out past 2 AM trying to work things out. In short though, success.

Köln - Part II

2009-03-17T17:21:00.000-07:00

The competition would again find us in and around Köln for the day, though we had to store our luggage at the train station so as to catch a train later that evening to our next city.

The city of Köln is best known for its Cathedral, or Dom, as it is locally known. The Cathedral is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is described by UNESCO as an “exceptional work of creative human genius”. While the cathedral wasn’t related to any of the challenges set forth for the day, my teammate Dave and I stopped in to have a look. I have been there several times, but it is no less magnificent. Pictures cannot do it justice.

One of the tasks for the day had us find a particular building in the city and talk about the architect. We unraveled several clues to reveal the location where I am standing…and had to "roll" with whatever happened.

We again did the dash about town, but later in the afternoon were able to find solace at a small restaurant overlooking a quaint cobblestone street and the Rhine River. It was beyond pleasant to relax for a few minutes and take in the hundreds of years of history surrounding us.

In the evening all the participants of the competition converged at the Köln train station to catch a train to…Amsterdam. I had been to Amsterdam several times and have a couple of friends there, so it was a welcome destination. It was a late night arrival which involved little more than dinner.

Arrival in Germany

2009-03-16T18:21:00.000-07:00

I managed some sleep on the plane but for the most part it was social hour, meeting the other teams. Our group flew to Frankfurt, Germany, but immediately boarded a train for Köln, or Cologne as it is written in the English world. Upon arrival in Köln our entire group made their way, collectively mind you, to the hotel. It was quite a sight. From a guy who thinks tour groups should be illegal, here I was smack in the middle of 22 other people heading to the hotel, all with various sizes of luggage. I went light as I have come accustomed to doing by bringing only a kids school backpack with everything I would need for the next two and half weeks.

We had received the challenges that we were to carry out the day prior so I had the opportunity to do some research on the tasks before even heading to the airport in NY. Some of the clues were rather cryptic and as someone who speaks German and used a network of friends and family in Germany, it took some doing to figure things out.

Around lunch time we were set free and given eight hours to go about our tasks and shoot a short video documenting each one. The tasks are not physical, though I wouldn’t mind if they were, but are rather meant to have some basis in history, culture or involve some other way to meet some local folks. The videos we were required to shoot could be clever, funny, quirky, etc., but compelling to the judging panel, who would review the videos after we upload them at the end of the day.

I can’t give away all the tasks we chose (each day we were given a series and we could choose based on geography, interest or otherwise), but I will however show you one video that my teammate David and I shot in Dusseldorf. The video quality isn’t stellar as we were limited to the cameras we were permitted to use, but you will get the idea. In the video clip I had to make up a reason why the bell tower of St. Lamberts Cathedral was warped (the real reason is that the wood was wet when the bell tower was built). I posted a photo above of what the bell tower looks like as it is hard to see how twisted it really is in the video. Without further ado...

Again, I can’t give away the whole day as some future groups will be doing the same tasks, but the day took us around Köln, to Dusseldorf and finally to Duisburg. Unfortunately though, by the time we arrived in Duisburg the “game session” had ended without us being able to complete so much as one task. It was a bit of a rush through the cities, but I had been to all three before, so it was nice to have a quick look around if nothing else.

We had to dash back to Köln from Duisburg so that we could upload our videos for judging. The upload process was painfully slow, so much so, that I missed meeting up with my friend Amanda who is living in Köln. I have met Amanda in six different countries and this would have been number seven (breaking the tie with my other friend Victoria), but unfortunately Amanda had to work in the morning and couldn’t make it a late night.

Having finished uploading our videos for judging well after midnight, we finally had a chance to have dinner. A few teams made it out for a bite and to sample the local nightlife of the city. It would have probably been wiser to have loaded up on sleep, but after a day running around as we did, I needed to eat and decompress. I always felt that sleep was overrated; Four hours of shut-eye would be plenty.

Meet and Greet

2009-03-15T15:37:00.000-07:00

So I rocked up to the Presidents Club Lounge and met my teammate face to face for the first time. It was an easy meeting and I knew right off the bat our partnership for the Competitours "game" would be alright.

We met up with a majority of the other contestants in the lounge and began with the meet and greet. There was a HIGHLY diverse crew for the inaugural venture. The lot ranged from those with minimal experience to those who are professional travel writers. On the flight from Newark the focus became clear. There were several folks spouting off travel stories as if they had been to every city on the planet, but yet there was one woman who apparently forgot her carry on bag in the lounge! I thought I travelled lightest, but I was now beat.

I was able to get a few hours of sleep on the plane, as I was quickly into my routine from back in the day when I used to shuttle back and forth from Paris to New York. We went wheels down in Frankfurt and it was game on...

Off Again...

2009-03-14T08:20:00.000-07:00

I guess I can’t really claim to be “off again” as I haven’t been anyplace long enough to be heading “off” from. With the exception of the past several, I haven’t spent more than two nights in a row in the same bed for well over a month.

Los Angeles was warm in weather and hospitality. It felt so good to be out on the left coast again visiting some old haunts and seeing friends. South Carolina was unseasonably cold (think 20 overnight), though I did get to see my dad and avoid the dump of snow in New York City. In Vermont the weather did the flip-flop and remained above freezing long enough for two days of solid rain. Six inches of snow fell thereafter, allowing for some cross-country skiing, but the conditions weren’t optimal.

While the “Off Again” can be debated, what I do know for certain is that I will be on a plane to Germany tomorrow. The Competitours travel competition begins on Sunday and having been issued my plane ticket, I have learned that we will be flying into Frankfurt and after the competition ends flying out of Paris.

There will be 22 people consisting of 11 teams converging on Newark airport to fly together to our first destination and the beginning of the travel competition. Having lived in both Frankfurt and Paris, I don’t think I should have much difficulty in navigating the two cities and hopefully any of those in between.

I have also planned some time in Morocco after the Competitours portion of the trip. It has long since been that I have been in the mix of an Arabic country, so I am looking forward to it immensely. I fly into Casablanca and out of Marrakech. What will happen in between is yet a mystery to me, Allah and the rest of the world.

So check in for info on the travel competition as well as my stint in Morocco following. I should be posting near-daily. I should probably throw a few things (quite literally, a few) in my bookbag and blow the dust off my passport …

Scheduling

2009-02-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

I have foregone the winter activities of Vermont for the sun and fun of Los Angeles. It was time to mix it up as I was in one place for nearly two weeks straight. We can’t have that.

It seems that my schedule is coming together for the next several months. Following my stint in LA, I have a friend visiting New York from Bermuda. I also managed to find a round trip plane ticket to Myrtle Beach for $22 (no, that is not a typo and I don’t have to stick my arms out of the windows and flap either), so I am going for a short trip to visit my dad.

I would be remiss if I didn’t catch the end of ski season (at least the end of my ski season) in Vermont , so prior to leaving for Europe, I will again be in the Green Mountain State.

The logistics for Competitours Europe are coming together. As it is the first time the trip is being run, there are some moving parts. Notice I didn’t say planning though, as the only planning I can do is show up at the airport on March 15th. All the rest will be a surprise, unfolding day by day, unbeknownst to me where in Europe it will take me.

Following the Competitours trip I will be sticking around in Europe a bit to visit with some friends and family, both in Germany and Switzerland. I am also planning on heading north to Estonia/Lithuania/Latvia or south to Slovenia/Croatia. Given that it will be warmer down south I would prefer that, but if the competition leaves off further north, I will continue in that direction. It’s going to have to be a game time decision. What else is new?

I have a bit of a gap from mid-April to mid-May, so if anyone has any suggestions, fire away. Mid-May though will find me back on the northern portion of the Appalachian Trail. I can’t wait to get back out in the woods and hike the remaining several hundred miles.

For now, that is about as far ahead as I can plan, but things are finally starting to fall into place. I have to go…surf’s up.

This is What's Next

2009-02-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

Since the close of the kayak trip I haven’t been back out on the water in my kayak, but that is just a function of the weather and not my lack of interest. In the interim I have been on the bike and playing hockey to keep active. For the most part though I have been spending the lion’s share of my time in Vermont: snowboarding, cross-country skiing, hitting the climbing gym and trying to get in some ice climbing, though unseasonably warm temperature in VT have precluded it (where were those temperatures on the kayak trip).

The question I have been bombarded with in the past month is, of course, “what’s next?” As to that, well, I will be out in Los Angeles next week, but that’s not what is really next. Next up in March will be a travel competition in Europe. Travel competition? What’s that you ask? I would too.

A new company, Competitours, is starting up an “Amazing Race for regular people”. I don’t need to reinvent the wheel, so this is an excerpt from the Hampton Roads Daily Press Sunday, of February 8:

The company is giving 17 teams and opportunity to turn an ordinary European vacation into a travel game experience. Teams can feature any pairing of people with a serious travel itch. At their own expense, the teams will compete to earn points by accomplishing a series of challenges, documented via video cam for a panel of judges. At stake is a worldwide travel spree grand prize, featuring up to 40 nights at over 115 Starwood Hotels and Resort facilities in 51 countries, plus four international airline tickets and $6500 in spending money. Unlike " The Amazing Race" reality TV show, Competitours is open to anyone willing to pay their own way.

Here is the beauty of it: the folks over at www.flyertalk.com , a web-based community of frequent fliers that I have been active with, is picking up the tab for the entry fee and throwing in some spending cash. It almost feels like a MasterCard commercial. When travel finally starts to pay you back: priceless.

As for the competition, the only information I have is that I need to show up at the airport in New York on March 15th. Other than that, it will all be a mystery until it all unfolds.

The challenges are not physical, but rather based on creativity and involve recording a number of short videos, which need to be uploaded on a daily basis for judging. I have been teamed up with a former air-traffic controller / trial attorney from Chicago to undertake the task.

I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t stick around in Europe afterwards to visits some family & friends as well as do some exploring. It will preclude my finishing the last few hundred miles of the Appalachian Trial by April 25, but sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. It will get done though.

I will be posting more information as the trip draws near, so keep checking back and in the mean time visit the website of Competitours at http://www.competitours.com/.

The End...For Now

2009-01-10T13:04:00.000-08:00

What is next for me? That’s a good question. Honestly I don’t have any plans for the immediate future, but I will have to sort through five months of mail among other things. I will take the next month to get my life sorted out. I have been on the road for nearly four years straight, so I could use some time to take care of all the little things that I had to put off for the last four years. There is still the matter of finishing the final section of the Appalachian Trail, so that is certainly on the docket, but all I can say at this point is to check back in the near future as you can be sure that I will be documenting my next trip right here.

A big thanks to everyone we met and helped us along. I have always said that, yes, the trip is about getting to the Gulf of Mexico, but it is also about the history of the places and the people we meet along the way. Thank You!

Almost There

2009-01-09T13:03:00.000-08:00

The nights sleep was better than many on the river, but at least on the river there was no lurching of my bed as it was stationary. By the time we hit Philadelphia it was snowing. We traded the 70 degree weather for snow.

Arriving in New York was a treat. I watched the bags as Kobie went to check on the kayaks. Kobie mentioned that when he went back down to the train platform, he saw one confused porter with two 17 foot kayaks sitting there. We were very fortunate as someone from Amtrak, helped us out big time by letting us leave our bags in his office while we took the kayaks through Penn Station, dodging pedestrian traffic, up the stairs, outside and to a loading area. We weren’t able to get the kayaks there through the freight elevator so we had to take the long way around.

Kobie watched our gear while I went to pick up the SUV with a roof rack that I had rented. I was given the run around at the place on 40th street and sent up to 77th street. While I missed New York and being back made me think about living there again, I didn’t really need to be delayed right then. Kobie was waiting outside in the cold watching all our bags and two kayaks in the middle of New York City.

It took over an hour to come up with an SUV with a roof rack, but finally the incompetent staff at the car rental place finally figured things out. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in awhile. I zipped back to grab Kobie and he was wearing every article of clothing he could fit on. We threw the kayaks on the roof, tied them down and then defrosted in the car.

The kayaks (and us for that matter) were heading out to Long Island. I really don’t miss rush hour traffic. I just thought about how nice it would be to wear cotton clothing and have a choice of footwear after four months in the same pair of hiking boots.

Once we were on the road I felt much better about the kayaks. Kobie and I even joked that we might pitch a tent in the back yard, if only there were some biting insects.

All Aboard

2009-01-08T13:03:00.000-08:00

We boarded the train without incident and I was actually looking forward to the 29 hour ride to New York. I cashed in some frequent flyer points to set us up with a nice sleeper room on the train, so we had some space and would be able to have a proper sleep.

Kobie and I watched some movies, did a bit of writing and what ever else struck our fancy. Best of all, the meals were included. It gave us a chance to hit the dining car next door and stretch the legs.

Off to New Orleans...Again

2009-01-07T12:59:00.000-08:00

Well, we decided that Amtrak would be the way to go in getting the kayaks back to New York. It took more than a few phone calls and research on the internet, but we learned that at least in theory we could take our kayaks on the train.

Ken drove us to New Orleans, we packaged our kayaks and we got them checked in without an issue. The guy there said that they usually get a few kayaks a year. Had we only known it would have saved us a major headache. They did however charge us each a $5 handling fee and $12.50 for $2,500 worth of insurance. Truly a bargain at twice the price.

The three of us made our way to Central Grocery, the place where the Muffulletta sandwich was created. We had to have one last meal. We also bid Ken farewell as he had to get home, having already missed a day of work. Not only that but he drove about 20 hours in picking us up for Christmas, picking us up from Venice and dropping us off in New Orleans. Seriously Ken, Thanks buddy. I don’t know what we would have done without you.

The miserable weather that had been forecast was upon us, but as Kobie hadn’t been to New Orleans before we had to head down to Bourbon Street. It was awfully quiet on a rainy Wednesday, but we strolled around and had a few drinks. As our train was early in the morning, we made it an quiet one.

Relax

2009-01-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

Kobie and I spent several days in Lafayette with Ken and his family, stuffing our faces with Cajun food. Ken’s wife Michelle is a great cook and on top of that, we had to hit a few local establishments to sample the grub: Crawfish etouffee, Alligator Boudin, Shrimp Po’ Boys, Catfish, I could go on. I put on at least several pounds.

Finished Paddling

2009-01-03T12:54:00.000-08:00

I wasn’t surprised that fog covered the river in the morning. The sky seemed as if it would cut us a break in the way of thunderstorms, at least for the time being, but our visibility was quite limited. We jumped in our kayaks and paddled the short distance to the confluence of the Mississippi river and waited for the fog to clear. Then we waited some more, paddling nearly continuously as if on some aqua tread mill, maintaining a stationary position relative to the land.

The density of fog varied, but it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination clear. We waited and waited some more, but I had no real hope of the fog clearing to the point of allowing enough visibility to see any great distance. We listened for other boats and could hear several. The bigger problem was that those large ocean going ships are silent as they leave little wake and engine noise is minimal. What surprised me was that there were pleasure fisherman out, as one cut close to the buoy where we were waiting. While I was surprised I hoped that a fishing boat with radar would escort us across the southwest pass. It didn’t pan out.

We could have potentially waited all day for the fog to clear. As a last ditch effort we waited until we didn’t hear boat traffic and I put out a general broadcast on the emergency marine radio channel: “Attention all mariners in the immediate vicinity of the southwest pass and the confluence of the Mississippi River. For the next several minutes there will be two non-motorized watercraft crossing the southwest pass from the south pass to the west bank of the Mississippi River; all mariners are urged to proceed with extreme caution.”

Then we paddled like mad across the southwest pass. Arms pumping, hearts racing we followed the GPS route to the far side of the river. By the time we were half way across we could hear a boat nearby. We paddled harder if that was even possible. I felt better when I could see the far side of the river, but by no means did I slow my paddle stroke.

We managed to cross the to the west bank of the Mississippi river unscathed. As we took a rest on the far side we heard a ship passing in each direction behind us. We hoped the hardest part of the day was over.

There were varying levels of fog throughout the morning, though make no mistake it was constant. We saw very little in the way of boat traffic late morning, until all at once we saw probably a dozen at one time. I could only guess that the fog warning had been lifted and the boats left Venice Marina in an exodus.

We approached Venice where fog hung heavy in the hectic harbor. The harbor was rife with activity and at no other point in the trip did I feel this “in the way”. Kobie and I found a small beach that we paddled over to, taking our last paddle strokes for this trip. We exited our kayaks and with a hand shake officially called an end to our kayak trip.

Venice is a commercial town and only the basics seemed to have been rebuilt after Hurricane Katrina. We walked through a parking lot and down the road where we knew a marina to be. It would have been easier to paddle there but we had enough fog over the past week. We walked through a business parking lot and out to the road to look for a celebratory drink. While the marina was further than we thought, there was a little seafood stand where I asked a patron for directions. As the road to the marina was being redone and narrow, we were offered a lift, being able to put our kayaks in the back of his pickup.

The pickup truck was fairly new, but especially beat up. When the fellow tore out of the parking lot with two guys and two kayaks precariously perched in the truck I had a feeling I knew why his truck appeared as it did. Kobie and I did our best to hang on and keep the kayaks from sliding off the side of the truck. We thought the guy might take it easy, but perhaps this was easy for him. Either way, we were once again grateful for the ride.

At the marina we were able to set out our kayaks and begin cleaning them out, after stopping at the marina store to pick up our celebratory beers of course. We met a rather colorful fellow as we were cleaning out the kayaks. Following our explanation as to what we had just done he responded that “there isn’t enough room in those kayaks to fit enough dope for me to paddle that far”. If he says so.

We spoke to another local who mentioned that he had a hunting/fishing camp south of Venice; actually he and his friends have had five since 2001, all having been destroyed in various storms. They keep replacing the camps and will continue to do so we were told.

The last of our encounters was with a couple of fisherman who have a friend that put together outdoor stories for a local print publication. They took a few photos of Kobie and I with our kayaks and as we have always done on the trip, asked for them to e-mail us the pictures. In the eight or ten times people have taken photos of Kobie and I on the trip, exactly zero, yes zero, have e-mailed us photos.

Ken turned up before we finished our first celebratory cocktail. As Ken arrived he commented about the area by saying, Wow, this is the ass end of nowhere”. When a guy from Louisiana says it, it means something. I have no idea what we would have done were it not for Ken driving the four hours to come collect Kobie and I. In trips such as this the beginning and the end are the most difficult; the end more so than the beginning in this instance. The three of us sat looking at the water enjoying our beverages as Kobie and I regaled Ken with the minutiae of the final days of our trip. We got the kayaks on the roof of Ken’s car and we were off to Lafayette, LA for a few days.

While Lafayette was northwest of where we were, we first had to drive north, then west as there were no roads through the swamp. It gave Kobie and me a chance to see our route from the land up to New Orleans then further to Baton Rouge, before heading away from the river. We got a kick out of driving over all the bridges under which we had paddled. Things looked much smaller from atop a bridge then from on the river itself.

But Wait...There's More

2009-01-02T20:51:00.000-08:00

We had achieved our overriding goal but there was still the matter of retracing our route 25 miles back to the town of Venice, where my buddy Ken would be picking us up. South of Venice there was little more than wetlands and reeds, so unless Ken had a boat, we would have to meet him in Venice.

It was strange to flip my maps around the opposite direction and look at them the other way as we paddled north, albeit much slower. The current of the river wasn’t as bad as we have seen and we managed a speed similar to that of the Red River at the start of our tip, in the vicinity of 2.5 miles per hour. We had gone slower in the other direction at times.

We made a stop at the lighthouse on the way back north and it seemed as if the door was open. I decided to paddle through a bit of marsh and shallow mud to get to the base of the lighthouse and check things out. I went inside and found the lighthouse in sorry state. Years of neglect led to decay. Wood was completely rotted in sections of the wall, but the stairs were iron and though rusted in spots seemed sturdy. I figured it would be safe enough to climb up to have a look at the area through which we were paddling. I have said once before that sitting in a kayak I sometimes feel like a dog wondering what is on the kitchen table. I know there is something there, but what? Sitting in the kayak I can’t see more than a few feet off the ground if the object is close by and hidden in the underbrush. The view from the lighthouse confirmed what we had seen from the river; there was pretty much nothing there.

It was nice to paddle back, at least at first as we recanted tales from earlier parts of the trip. We also talked about what we would be doing when we returned back to civilization and how nice it would be to have a steak.

Just past the lighthouse is an area known as Camp Eads. The camp is rudimentary housing for hunters or fisherman that stay in the area. Kobie and I paddled in to see if anyone was heading to Venice, but as it was Friday they all had just arrived at the camp.

We grew weary as we paddled north. The current wasn’t running particularly hard and we knew it was only 25 miles, not the 500 we had to paddle against the current up north, so we pushed on. I was thinking how nice it would be to have the father & son fishing team come back for us. We would be back in Venice by late afternoon and sitting at a bar shortly thereafter, celebrating our four month journey. As the day wore on we were losing hope. Late in the afternoon another boat come by and said they had spoken with the father and son, who told these folks about us. These folks mentioned that the father and son were planning to come get us once they were done fishing, though they might stay out until dark. At least we knew they were still out on the water.

As with the rest of our day, during the critical moments, the fog laid low on the water, significantly truncating visibility. There would be no part of the end of this trip that would be easy. In the foggy dusk both Kobie and I used our headlamps as strobe lights alerting any boat traffic of our whereabouts. The range of visibility for the strobes wasn’t great, but was still better than nothing. We hoped that even if the father and son didn’t find us, no one would run into us. Visibility was absolutely minimal, possibly no more than 15 feet at times. We heard one or two bots pass, so we made noise and shined our lights in the direction we heard the boat motors. Whether the father & son fishing team came looking for us or not I don’t know, but I do know they sure didn’t find us.

By the time dark rolled around we had several problems. One of my more pressing concerns was that the foul weather, described on the weather radio as including everything shy of locusts would be rolling in the following morning. For that reason, we wanted to make as much northbound progress as possible. Another issue was that even if we wanted to camp, there was no earth upon which we could set our tents. We were paddling through marsh and with nary a bit of solid ground. We were surrounded by reeds. The fog is obviously a problem as it prevents us from seeing where we are going, but it also prevents boats from seeing us. While boats could smash into us, it was the commercial boats that passed nearby that didn’t know we were there and should reduce their speed so as not to swamp us with their wake.

We heard an oil rig transport boat approaching and as we were listening a wall off water climbed up in front of me. I had just enough time for one or two paddle strokes to get me up and over the wave. I looked back and couldn’t even see Kobie until the front of his kayak punched over the wave at an awkward angle. I yelled for him to paddle as the outcome would not have been pleasant should he not make it over the wave. There were several other waves behind the first, but none as bad. My heart was racing after the encounter. We were in a bad situation. So much so that I thought about lobbing a call to the Coast Guard to see if there was perhaps a patrol boat in the area. We had no safe haven, not even the banks of the river. We could do nothing but paddle on, navigating by GPS.

An emergency broadcast came over the marine radio that the emergency beacon sounded for a 90 foot ship. It didn’t bode well for us if 90 foot boats were having problems.

At one point the fog cleared and we could see the marker lights on the river. Visibility shot up to half a mile. There was also a hint of moon light, giving us enough in the way of assistance. It was almost pleasant at that point. If the conditions remained as they were, we could even paddle back to Venice that night, although we would arrive in the wee hours of the morning. I just wanted to beat the incoming weather. I am not a fan of lightning while out on the open water.

The break in the fog wouldn’t last very long forcing us to navigate by GPS once again. We managed to cross to the other side of the river before we approached Head of Passes and the confluence of the Mississippi River.

Just before entering the Mississippi we came across a small bit of solid land that would allow us to get our tents on solid ground. We were just shy of Head of Passes and were even able to see across the southwest pass, something I hoped would remain constant until the morning when we would need to paddle across it.

I also hoped that the thunderstorms that were forecast for tomorrow would hold out long enough for us to paddle the remaining 12 miles back to Venice.

I had a couple of granola bars for dinner while Kobie cooked up some noodles using the river water. I was just looking forward to wrap us the last little stretch of the trip. I called Ken several times to try and coordinate our completion of the trip with him and very fortunately for us, he has an understanding wife and boss (those are two different people…I think).

Gulf of Mexico!!!

2009-01-02T12:29:00.000-08:00

Someone doesn’t want us finishing this trip as we woke to heavy fog, rain and lightning. The lightening was to the point where Kobie, while still in his tent asked if the flashes were a strobe light. Heavy storms were forecast for all of tomorrow and continuing throughout the week. In checking the marine radio for the weather they also said that the possibility of tornados cannot be ruled out. Tornados? This is most certainly not what I signed up for. We were so close. Weather hung heavy in my mind, but if we didn’t go for it now we would have to wait for several days or longer to try and complete the last 25 miles of the trip.

We sat in our tents for a bit and as we did the rain ceased. By the time we got packed up some of the fog even lifted. I was hoping that we could make the dash to the Gulf and perhaps hitch a ride back up to Venice. Did I forget to mention that? Once we paddled to the Gulf, we would have to turn around and paddle 25 miles against the outgoing river to get back to Venice, where my buddy Ken was going to pick us up. I have hitchhiked before, but never while in a kayak.

I was heartened by the lifting of the fog as it even revealed a piece of clear sky. Within a half hour of setting off paddling the clouds opened up and a large blue swath ranged across the sky, allowing the sun to shine on in.

As we paddled along there was heavy boat traffic on the river. It made me feel better about the possibility of catching a ride back to town. I still had my concerns about the weather, but if we could catch a ride back we would be set.

We paddled the ten miles to the end of the Mississippi River and as soon as we did the fog once again rolled in. It wouldn’t have been so much a problem if we didn’t have to cross the main shipping channel to get to the middle of the three outlets of the Mississippi River Delta. If you look at this satellite map, you can see the area. The "A" on the map is Head of Passes and the end of the Mississippi River. The main shipping channel is on the far left and the south pass, that we needed to take, is the next one over. So we had to cross from the west bank of the Mississippi River to the south pass.

We sat and waited to see if the fog would lift before crossing the channel. We could navigate by GPS but couldn’t see what else was on the river. Listening for boat engines is of some assistance in that we know another boat is out there, but it doesn’t tell us exactly where the boat is, or more importantly, tell the boat where we are. It was frustrating trying to wait out the fog. After 20 minutes we were able to see a buoy across the way. We figured that if we could get to that buoy we could hang out there waiting for a further break in the fog as no boats would, in theory, run over the buoy. It turned out that the buoy was actually the entrance to the South Pass and our 15 mile paddle remaining to the Gulf. The buoy was at the end of a break wall that was built at the front of the pass.

As we got into the south pass it was about a quarter mile wide, down from three quarters at the mouth of the Mississippi River Delta.

For a short time paddling in the south pass it was a beautiful warm sunny day. The cat and mouse game continued with the fog as at one point the GPS seemed to show that we had navigated out of the south pass and into marsh area. We couldn’t see so we backtracked and tried again. In a break of fog we saw that we had in fact gone off course, but we were able to correct ourselves.

I could hear a fog horn in the distance for many miles, but it was of little use to us. I also noticed many seagulls, reaffirming that we were getting very close.

Late in the morning the fog had cleared and the sun made its presence known. About a half dozen people stopped to ask what we were doing. A few comments were: “Did you jump ship”? and “Are you guys lost”? One of the boats was a dad and son fishing. I asked if we could possibly get a tow back once we wrap things up. He said he might be able to give us a lift as they would be out fishing for awhile. I was somewhat relieved that we had a potential ride the 25 miles back to Venice.

All at once the boat traffic stopped. I hoped everyone was out for the day and would come in later; not that there was some weather warning that only the locals knew about, forcing them back home. I was somewhat relieved though as I flipped the map southbound for the last time, showing a large open expanse of water.

The lighthouse that we were able to see in the distance for a number of miles was deceptively inland. I was hoping that the lighthouse would be the end of our southbound journey, but it was still several miles further to the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

We again ran into the father and son on their fishing boat. Since we had last seen them they landed a sizable redfish. They said that they would be out fishing for awhile yet, but when they were going back they would look for us. Again, I felt so much better about the prospect of getting a ride back to town.

As we neared the ocean, the breeze picked up as did the chop on the water; but after what we had been through the last four months it was of little concern. We could handle some simple wind and waves. We could tell we were approaching the end of the line when I could see oil platforms in the distance. Sight of the platforms would be short lived as the fog would again come in at a critical time. If it didn’t happen to me I would think it was made up, but I kid you not, the fog covered our view.

Again we stood pat waiting for the fog to lift. In about ten minutes it did and we paddled out passed the jetty in to the open water of the Gulf of Mexico. It was a somewhat anticlimactic ending to the trip and we only had a vague idea where it ended. There was no real finite ending. We timidly paddled out into the chop of the open water and sat for a few minutes bobbing in the waves, paddling every minute or so. At one point I looked at Kobie and said some thing along the lines of, “I think we could be done here”. There was no land to our left or to our right, so we must have been in the Gulf of Mexico after four arduous months and 2,734 miles paddling. I will leave you with a small clip of video: