Indecision

Indecision is an awkward problem. It must be tough to choose which modes of transport to bring for a trip around metro-west Boston. You never quite know when you'll find a river, a wave, a rapid or a triathlon - be prepared. Sadly, this roof-rack tops out at four accessories. I'm just dying to know what he had to leave behind.

Canoe Camping on the Connecticutt River

We spent the weekend canoe camping with friends. It was plenty wet from all directions with a bit of scary thunderstorming for kicks. We comforted ourselves with ample servings of good food and drinks. This is perhaps one of the best aspects of having a canoe - you can bring everything. Here are a few more pictures.

Sheltering from the storm at the Hartland portage.


The sculpture garden near the Harpoon Brewery in Windsor Vermont.


Packing up camp on a misty morning.

Carter Dome Hike

We spent the last few days backpacking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It was the 4th of July holiday week, so we chose to go a little farther off the beaten track so as to avoid the crowds that typically show up in more accessible areas of the mountains. The route approached Carter Dome from the Wild River Valley side closer to Maine. The unfamiliar trails were not too intimidating on paper, but there were many stretches of tough terrain. There were many beautiful spots, and we had a ton of fun.

Wednesday's hike was a short hike up to the Spruce Brook Shelter from the Wild River Campground. Leaving the campground, the Wild River Trail follows the aptly named river for an inviting 3.5 miles mostly up an old logging railway bed. Crossing the Wild River was fairly tricky and somewhat wet, but we were nicely rewarded with a terrific (and empty) campsite at the rushing confluence of Spruce Brook and the Wild River. It was a real treat to have the cold mountain river nearby. A thunderstorm rolled in and rumbled around for a bit, so we hopped into the tent for some cards and sleep.

Getting up early is the best part of camping. It's chilly when you pop out of your sleeping bag into the damp morning air. The birds are in full swing, and the river is constantly rushing. It's a great time for a cold dip in a river followed by a hot cup of tea before breakfast. The Biscuit gets out his morning crazies while we quietly begin the day.


The day's hike follows the Black Angel Trail. Maybe I should have read more into the name, maybe adding an "of Death" is warranted. It started gently with a hike through open woods at a moderate grade. It quickly transitioned into a smorgasbord of difficult trail. On this day, we experienced the full fury of black fly and mosquito season. Adding to that were many unexpected sections of boggy mess on the overgrown trail that probably hasn't seen 5 hikers this season. We slogged through and encountered the "steep, ledgy section." While there were many fine views, we focused mostly on scrambling up rocks over some sketchy ledges, passing the packs and boosting the dog in parts. Our cooperative efforts persevered and we reached Carter Dome under foreboding skies. A couple of through-hikers validated our opinion of the "Maine" trails saying that most of the of 300 miles going northeast through Maine is boggy and difficult. We hurried down off the summit. What we though would be a short hike over to the Perkins Notch Shelter turned out to be pretty difficult as well. We rolled into camp quite battered and worn.


Food cures quickly. We set up camp in a soft flat clearing and prepared some of the best Trader Joe's pre-made Indian fare ever. A little chocolate wrapped up the meal. Again it started raining, but it was blessing. We were running low on water and the No-Ketchum Pond nearby was not accessible. Our tarp caught several liters of water for us. I guess it was karma paying us back for a tough day.

The next morning we slogged through several more harsh swampy sections but reached the oasis of Spruce Brook quickly enough. By then the sun came out and our packs were empty and light. We stopped for a leisurely lunch by the river and the hurried out to were we started two days before.

Boston Brevet Series 400K

The day started the day before. I planned poorly for the 300K several weeks ago; the result was that I overslept the 4AM start by several hours. I missed the 300K completely and was pretty disappointed. For the 400K, I made sure to plan ahead. The day before I checked things off my list, packed my bike and supplies, filled my bottles, and set TWO alarms. I got a few hours of restless sleep and arrived in time. I even ate some breakfast (coffee, left-over pasta with chicken and a banana).

Twenty-three riders, I'm told, showed up in Bedford for the start of the 400k. Tracy Ingle (RBA) quickly checked that we were well-equipped, wished us luck and sent us on our way. The start of the 400k is a terrific riding experience. Nothing hurts yet. It's dark, but the herd of bikes is together and lit up with every variety of bike light. Twinkling red to the front and blinding white lights behind you. People are introducing themselves or buzzing to each other about some ride or other. Everyone moves quickly with eager anticipation... something like 1 mile down, 249 to go. The first 40 or so miles is a common BBS route, but it's fun to ride it in the dark. We have the road to ourselves for a little while until the sun comes up. It's a rolling party.

The first check point was in New Boston, NH at the local historical society. PB&J and banana at 7AM, yum. It's worth noting that I had a porta-john incident. While adjusting my shirt in the john, something fell out of my back pocket, hit the seat and plopped into the abyss. Momentary panic. I checked off a mental list of important or expensive things I would hate to loose: sunglasses, cell phone, wallet, tool kit, car keys - all there. What was it? People asked my about my panicked puzzled look. As long as it isn't your brevet card in there, then you are fine they say. Good point. It's time to get rolling again. If it was wasn't important enough for me to remember then it isn't worth taking time to worry about it. Onwards. About 10 miles down the road I figured out that I dropped the safety goggles that I had put over my regular glasses for wind protection at night. They didn't work well anyway, so good riddance.

The initial herd had split up by this point in the ride, so I set out on my own. I soon paired up with the cycling Scotsman, Tom. Tom's cynical wit busied the next 150 miles or so. We talked about ride nutrition for a bit and ironically stopped at Dunkin Donuts in Laconia for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. This is nutrition cycling style. Later Tom would have beer at mile 170ish and explained the merits of that beverage for randonneuring (see Tom's blog), but I stuck to my usual and had a coffee instead.

We continued along at a quick pace and moved ahead of my intended schedule for this brevet. The middle two sections of the 400K are the hilliest. I don't remember too much of this section (you can in fact ride 100 miles and not really remember it). I do, however, remember looking forward to a mysterious direction on the cue sheet: mile 36.3 of leg 3 (mile 153) Cow One Mile. I was thinking maybe it was a giant dairy cattle statue. It was not, but I was not disappointed. The landmark is a simple cow crossing sign similar to the one below (I didn't get a photo), but with One Mile in stead of XING. Yes, it is quite remarkable. Seeing that sign was very exciting for me, though I unsure if was from figuring out the meaning of the cue or reaching another distant milestone.

Peter White's bike shop was the third checkpoint. I didn't linger all that long, but I did stay long enough to get a tour of Peter's shop, or barn I guess. It's like santa's workshop, only filled with wheel parts, headlights and shelves of miscellaneous bike parts. Peter showed me the snazzy new Edelux headlight which is supposedly bright enough to fry an egg right on the cue sheet. Maybe not, but I really enjoyed hearing about why this light is so special from Peter himself. He is a walking bike encyclopedia. Thank you Peter.

Tom and I rolled out for the final 70 miles home toward Boston filled with ravioli and recharged for the task ahead. I soon started feeling pretty worn and the rain began. I settled into a somewhat pathetic pace, and Tom went on ahead. The next several miles were downright miserable. It rained, turned dark and a got chilly. My right knee was singing with pain. What the $!@ was I doing out here? I eventually pulled over to collect myself. I had forty miles left and felt terrible. However, I was still far ahead of where I thought I would be at this time. So I put on my O2 rain jacket and hopped on. A little while down the road, my wicked bike light started shifting to reserve mode, so I got out my spare. Another rider came down the road and he welcomed me to ride in with him. Bob, the rider, is a chemistry professor from the Hudson Valley and usually rides with the randonneurs in that area. We had much to talk about and the conversation was a nice distraction, so much so that I started feeling pretty good. After a while the roads started looking familiar again. Bob and I road in together just past 11PM, a little over 19 hours. Tom was still there, and we chatted about the rest of the ride. I said goodbye to Bob, wishing him luck in the upcoming Rocky Mt 1200 in British Columbia. I thanked to Tracy. Then I went home and slept.

In sum, the 400k was really really hard. I'm still feelling sore, but I'm glad I finished. I learned quite a bit about riding ultra distance, mostly about the value of pacing and good gear. These are lessons that will be valuable for the upcoming 600K...if I can motivate to do it. The 600K is a 400k followed by another 200K. It would be be great to complete it, but I'm unsure if my body is up to the task or if it will be 200 miles of fun followed by 175 miles of misery. There are some issues that needed resolving too: lighting, soreness, nutrition. Alternately, I could do something relatively sane like joining the Adirondack 540 Preview for a single spectacular 136 mile lap. ....but finishing a 600K would be quite an achievement. We shall see.

Thanks to Mrs. Wheelie, Bob, Tom, Tracy and the gang, Dunkin Donuts breakfast sandwiches and my O2 rain jacket.

Quinobequin Road

The best way home is not always the shortest. In fact, it rarely is. Many of my commute routes take me to Quinobequin Road in Newton. The road runs from just past the bridge on Ellis St for not quite 2 miles on the east shore of the Charles River. It's usually pretty quiet. The rolling turns make for some fast cruising.


The late day sun provides dramatic lighting.


I usually end up somewhere way out of the way, considering it's a ride that technically should be transportation from work to home. This spot overlooks the Pine Brook Country Club in Weston.

Tandemania!

Tandems are all around us! Everywhere I go there are over-subscribed bicycles traveling down the road. I cannot remember the last time I've seen a tandem bicycle prior to my recent tandem epiphany, but they are popping up all over the place now. During a ride this weekend with Mrs. Wheelie we spotted the mother of all tandems - a triple tandem. It first looked like a cluster of bicycles in a tight pace-line coming down the road toward us. On closer inspection the reality of the thing was clear. It was like a rolling centipede with several sets of arms and legs working in unified forward motion. What I wouldn't give for a photo of it to post. Not a moment after I processed the reality of this bicycle did it pass and disappear down the road with all of the momentum and efficiency of an eight-man rowing shell. My envy was whetted. On a side note, there are even more ambitious inhabitants in the land of the bicycle built for two (or more) - if three's company, four's a crowd, and more is just stupid.


The insanity. My interest in this cycling phenomenon was soon purged by the sighting of another tandem a little later in the same ride. This more typical tandem carried a man and a woman. We stopped diagonally across from it at a traffic intersection. This allowed several minutes for inspection. I realized that this pair had taken the tandem concept to the next level with completely identical uniforms. Same yellow shirt, same black shorts, same blue helmet with black visor, same gloves, same shoes, same socks. The Double-Mint twins of cycling, but more awkward. It was ghastly. I'm only happy that it wasn't the other extreme. Could this be a sign? If it is, then I'm confused. Maybe the tandem gods are as tortuous as tandems are eccentric. I'm not sure what to make of it.

Elm Bank Reservation

The Biscuit and I explored in Elm Bank Reservation the other day. The park has a large horticultural garden, but the greater portion of the park is a woodland area having trails throughout with access to the Charles River. A local paper recently reported it as one of the better places around for dogs, and it is. We explored a good portion of the trails and found some ideal dog swimming spots. The Biscuit swam himself silly.


It turns out that the Elm Bank was hosting a vintage car show that day too. Even without having any established appreciation for old cars, I was very impressed. Cars of almost every type were on display. Everyone was having a good time, though some of the car owners looked a little stressed when people were getting too close to the lovingly restored treasures. The highlight of the show was 1937 Pierce Arrow; a very rare luxury car. I heard someone remark that it was the first of only six ever made. It was stunning with its the long arching lines and fancy chrome details. I put more pictures online. The Pierce owners were great, dog people of course.


I also enjoyed checking out an old Jeep convertible. The jeep was the perfect shade of yellow. It's interesting to see that not a whole lot has changed in concept over the years for Jeeps. I guess some things are right from the start.