godparent: (n) a person who stands sponsor to another at baptism.
The original itinerary for this east coast tour called for a trip to Raleigh, North Carolina, after my visit with Diana. Unfortunately there was a snafu of sorts which arose a few weeks ago and I was no longer able to travel south. So instead I headed west a few days early to Abingdon, Virginia, where my Godparents and cousin, Shannon, live. It was another LONG drive, clear across the state of Virginia, but with fall rolling in, the colorful foliage that blanketed the mountains made the drive simply gorgeous. Though it had been years since I last visited their Virginia home, the extremely narrow roads and the near vertical pitch of the driveway were unforgettable. I arrived with enough time for Aunt Mary Kay to fix me some lunch before she left for work. Shannon was due home from her job an hour later, so I took advantage of the down time to play with her new kitten. Apart from the run that Shannon and I went on together in town later that afternoon, my brief trip to Abingdon was primarily spent catching up with my extended family at the house. Shannon and I had our girl talk before Uncle Larry returned home with cousin Preston who was visiting from college. We all had dinner, and Uncle Larry attempted to bake cookies, before Aunt Mary Kay returned home from work.
Though the visit to Abingdon was brief, my time with Pionk family was not over yet. Preston's fiancé's parents, the Stepps, are season football ticket holders at Virginia Tech. where Preston, and his fiancé Jessica attend, where Diana and her boyfriend Jay graduated from, and where my friend Stacey and her husband Chad work. The Stepps offered 3 of their 6 tickets to Aunt Mary Kay, Uncle Larry and me. So Saturday morning the whole house was up bright and early for game day.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
cous-in
cousin: (n) the son or daughter of an uncle or aunt.
Unfortunately my timing leaving Washington D.C. lined up perfectly with Monday evening rush hour. So the drive to Quinton, Virginia got off to a slower start than hoped for. Regardless, I made it to Diana's house in the woods relatively smoothly. Diana is my first cousin on my mother's side of the family and is also my God-Sister. My parents are Diana's God-Parents and Diana's parents are my God-Parents, so we call ourselves God-Sisters. Jay, Diana's boyfriend, treated the three of us to burgers and beer in downtown Richmond shortly after my arrival. Both were absolutely delicious and just what I needed to end the day.
Diana is a full time Pharmacy student in Richmond, Virginia. Between her classes on Tuesday we spent the mid-day exploring Carrytown, a historic shopping district outside of the city. It was a cutesy sort of place with quirky shops that lined the main street. Without any actual shopping agendas of our own we set off to explore anything that caught our eyes. An antique clothing store was the first to draw us in. This store may very well have been the most incredible store I had ever stepped foot in. Filled with hundreds of original and replica pieces of clothing, jewelry, and accessories from the 1920s through the 1970s, the two of us could have spent every penny we own in that place. Reluctantly we resisted, but did spend a majority of our afternoon there trying on hats and rings and shoes and dresses from decades we were never fortunate enough to live in. When hunger set in we left our antique and vintage fantasy store in search of food. But of course we were distracted once and again by other quirky boutiques. Out of time, we elected for lunch at home before Diana had to return to campus. When she left, I had the rest of the day at the house to read, relax, nap... At that point in my travels I had hit a wall of fatigue. Up until then I had been go-go-go, get up and run in the morning, go on adventures all day, stay out late all night, and do it again tomorrow, then drive a hundred miles or so the next day. After Carrytown browsing, I slept until 8 at night and only woke because had Diana returned home from school. We made dinner together before she retired for the night. I, on the other hand, had doomed myself to be awake for at least another 6 hours.
This of course offset my sleeping pattern for the next few days. Luckily my cousin's class schedule had her away from the house until late afternoon anyway. It was nearly noon before I opened my eyes on Wednesday but not a single bone in my body was at all motivated to leave the comfort of bed. Fortunately my conscious reminded me that it had been a week and a half since my last run, which was completely unacceptable. Diana's house sits on a lake in a densely wooded neighborhood with dirt roads and cottage-like houses, which made for a wonderfully scenic afternoon run. Aside from the run, I moved at a snail-like pace the rest of the day accomplishing very little outside of relaxation. In the evening my cousin returned and we headed out for pizza and girl talk. Our chatter continued at home over cookies and re-runs of Grey's Anatomy before bed.
Thursday was much like Wednesday for me; a slow start to the morning before my run, followed by an afternoon of rest and relaxation. Around 4 Diana had returned home to pick me up for our evening winery tour. Just up the road from her house is a winery, only a few years old, which offers tours and wine tasting. The building itself, more than the actual winery, was of particular interest to me. The builder, based in Richmond, specializes in using recycled materials from dismantled older buildings in his construction. The bricks, the wooden beams, floors, and ceilings, the doors, were all salvaged and used in the winery. Of course, the wine was good too. Diana and I each purchased a bottle at the end of our tour then watched the sun go down over the vineyard from the porch. Jay, who had been gone since Tuesday morning for work, was expecting us to pick him up in the evening, so we left the porch for the city. Not that it was entirely our fault, but finding the rendezvous point was nearly impossible for the two of us. We drove around for ages before we finally found the place which we must have passed a half a dozen times. Jay tired from work, and we girls tired from the drive, we all agreed on take-out and Tigers at home for dinner. All three of us had an early morning ahead, but I could not rest until the game was over.
Unfortunately my timing leaving Washington D.C. lined up perfectly with Monday evening rush hour. So the drive to Quinton, Virginia got off to a slower start than hoped for. Regardless, I made it to Diana's house in the woods relatively smoothly. Diana is my first cousin on my mother's side of the family and is also my God-Sister. My parents are Diana's God-Parents and Diana's parents are my God-Parents, so we call ourselves God-Sisters. Jay, Diana's boyfriend, treated the three of us to burgers and beer in downtown Richmond shortly after my arrival. Both were absolutely delicious and just what I needed to end the day.
Diana is a full time Pharmacy student in Richmond, Virginia. Between her classes on Tuesday we spent the mid-day exploring Carrytown, a historic shopping district outside of the city. It was a cutesy sort of place with quirky shops that lined the main street. Without any actual shopping agendas of our own we set off to explore anything that caught our eyes. An antique clothing store was the first to draw us in. This store may very well have been the most incredible store I had ever stepped foot in. Filled with hundreds of original and replica pieces of clothing, jewelry, and accessories from the 1920s through the 1970s, the two of us could have spent every penny we own in that place. Reluctantly we resisted, but did spend a majority of our afternoon there trying on hats and rings and shoes and dresses from decades we were never fortunate enough to live in. When hunger set in we left our antique and vintage fantasy store in search of food. But of course we were distracted once and again by other quirky boutiques. Out of time, we elected for lunch at home before Diana had to return to campus. When she left, I had the rest of the day at the house to read, relax, nap... At that point in my travels I had hit a wall of fatigue. Up until then I had been go-go-go, get up and run in the morning, go on adventures all day, stay out late all night, and do it again tomorrow, then drive a hundred miles or so the next day. After Carrytown browsing, I slept until 8 at night and only woke because had Diana returned home from school. We made dinner together before she retired for the night. I, on the other hand, had doomed myself to be awake for at least another 6 hours.
This of course offset my sleeping pattern for the next few days. Luckily my cousin's class schedule had her away from the house until late afternoon anyway. It was nearly noon before I opened my eyes on Wednesday but not a single bone in my body was at all motivated to leave the comfort of bed. Fortunately my conscious reminded me that it had been a week and a half since my last run, which was completely unacceptable. Diana's house sits on a lake in a densely wooded neighborhood with dirt roads and cottage-like houses, which made for a wonderfully scenic afternoon run. Aside from the run, I moved at a snail-like pace the rest of the day accomplishing very little outside of relaxation. In the evening my cousin returned and we headed out for pizza and girl talk. Our chatter continued at home over cookies and re-runs of Grey's Anatomy before bed.
Thursday was much like Wednesday for me; a slow start to the morning before my run, followed by an afternoon of rest and relaxation. Around 4 Diana had returned home to pick me up for our evening winery tour. Just up the road from her house is a winery, only a few years old, which offers tours and wine tasting. The building itself, more than the actual winery, was of particular interest to me. The builder, based in Richmond, specializes in using recycled materials from dismantled older buildings in his construction. The bricks, the wooden beams, floors, and ceilings, the doors, were all salvaged and used in the winery. Of course, the wine was good too. Diana and I each purchased a bottle at the end of our tour then watched the sun go down over the vineyard from the porch. Jay, who had been gone since Tuesday morning for work, was expecting us to pick him up in the evening, so we left the porch for the city. Not that it was entirely our fault, but finding the rendezvous point was nearly impossible for the two of us. We drove around for ages before we finally found the place which we must have passed a half a dozen times. Jay tired from work, and we girls tired from the drive, we all agreed on take-out and Tigers at home for dinner. All three of us had an early morning ahead, but I could not rest until the game was over.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Wash-ing-ton
Washington: (n) Also called Washington, D.C. the capital of the United States, on the Potomac between Maryland and Virginia; coextensive with the District of Columbia.
Riding the train out of the city was a bit depressing as I came down from the high of Manhattan and the victory of the "Little Brown Jug" game, not to mention that I was also dreading the drive ahead. However, 6 and 1/2 hour drive turned out to be the most interesting so far, for as interesting as driving can be. Long after dark I came upon a new section of highway near a major interstate interchange. The 5 year old Garmin GPS my father was so kind to lend me had no knowledge of this new construction, and led me to drive in circles on and off the highway shouting, "when possible, make a U-turn!" in an automated female voice. Note to all GPS users: Update your Garmin BEFORE taking a long road trip. Did you know that in New Jersey people are paid to pump your gas for you? This was news to me and threw me for a loop when I pulled into a station a few hours later. It was the first and only time anyone had ever pumped my gas. Not 10 minutes after that I stopped for the toll booth where the attendant asked me, "Are you running away from home?" "Road trip," I answered, confused by the question. Much later it occurred to me that his inquiry was likely spurred by the sight my car filled with nearly half of all that I own piled in laundry baskets and duffle bags which I had packed for the trip. That was the last bit of "interesting" on the drive before I arrived in D.C. well after midnight. Melissa Maynard, older sister of my dear college friend Kelley Maynard and as of this past July my friend as well, was my Washington host. Over some milk and cookies we shared for a bit about life, long enough for me to decompress and allow fatigue to set in.
Sunday morning, over a delicious breakfast at a local hot spot, Melissa and I continued our previous evening's conversation. In the midst of exchanging stories of love, life, and loss, a feeling of homesickness swallowed me whole, or perhaps girl-friend-sickness would be a better term. Pouring out the silly internal thoughts from all depths of my female brain to another woman who is just as complex, and who had shared just as much with me, was just what I needed. It was a very real reminder of how valuable girl friends are, and how lonely I have been without them during my year abroad and weeks of solo traveling. The girly chatter was a continuous soundtrack to my D.C. experience. After breakfast we took Baxter, Melissa's golden-doodle, to the nearby dog park for some exercise before driving to the Mall for some monument touring. The new Martin Luther King Jr. memorial was the latest addition to the Washington Mall and was our priority number one. Despite the rain, the monument was quite beautiful and rather moving. From there we braved the weather and walked around the water all the way to the Jefferson monument, the only one I had not seen during my previous visit to D.C. while in college. Still un-phased by the rain and cold, we continued further onto the Mall and into the city. A few more monuments and Smithsonians later, our stomachs alerted us that it was nearly dinner time. While sharing a bottle of wine, Melissa prepared a delicious home cooked meal for the two of us which we both filled ourselves on to a comatose state.
While Melissa worked on Monday, I spent the day exploring more of Washington D.C. on my own. It began with a rendezvous at a classy lunch joint across the street from her office for our last girly gab before I left town later that afternoon. She gave me a tour of her office, which was renovated in an Apple store-like fashion, and then said goodbye. The Holocaust museum, which I had been eager to see, caught my eye the day before and was my first destination. In the future I hope to return when I have an entire day and evening available to devote to this one exhibit. Mentally and emotionally I came ill prepared. The depression became far too strong for me to finish the walk through, so I left. Outside, even the cold and rainy day seemed uplifting. With time to spare due to my early departure from the previous museum, I went on a search for the Hope Diamond. Nothing like a large sparkling gem to brighten a girl's day. The geological exhibit of precious stone which leads viewers to the Hope Diamond was actually more interesting than the diamond itself. Though anti-climatic, my depression had subsided enough and I was ready to move on.
Riding the train out of the city was a bit depressing as I came down from the high of Manhattan and the victory of the "Little Brown Jug" game, not to mention that I was also dreading the drive ahead. However, 6 and 1/2 hour drive turned out to be the most interesting so far, for as interesting as driving can be. Long after dark I came upon a new section of highway near a major interstate interchange. The 5 year old Garmin GPS my father was so kind to lend me had no knowledge of this new construction, and led me to drive in circles on and off the highway shouting, "when possible, make a U-turn!" in an automated female voice. Note to all GPS users: Update your Garmin BEFORE taking a long road trip. Did you know that in New Jersey people are paid to pump your gas for you? This was news to me and threw me for a loop when I pulled into a station a few hours later. It was the first and only time anyone had ever pumped my gas. Not 10 minutes after that I stopped for the toll booth where the attendant asked me, "Are you running away from home?" "Road trip," I answered, confused by the question. Much later it occurred to me that his inquiry was likely spurred by the sight my car filled with nearly half of all that I own piled in laundry baskets and duffle bags which I had packed for the trip. That was the last bit of "interesting" on the drive before I arrived in D.C. well after midnight. Melissa Maynard, older sister of my dear college friend Kelley Maynard and as of this past July my friend as well, was my Washington host. Over some milk and cookies we shared for a bit about life, long enough for me to decompress and allow fatigue to set in.
Sunday morning, over a delicious breakfast at a local hot spot, Melissa and I continued our previous evening's conversation. In the midst of exchanging stories of love, life, and loss, a feeling of homesickness swallowed me whole, or perhaps girl-friend-sickness would be a better term. Pouring out the silly internal thoughts from all depths of my female brain to another woman who is just as complex, and who had shared just as much with me, was just what I needed. It was a very real reminder of how valuable girl friends are, and how lonely I have been without them during my year abroad and weeks of solo traveling. The girly chatter was a continuous soundtrack to my D.C. experience. After breakfast we took Baxter, Melissa's golden-doodle, to the nearby dog park for some exercise before driving to the Mall for some monument touring. The new Martin Luther King Jr. memorial was the latest addition to the Washington Mall and was our priority number one. Despite the rain, the monument was quite beautiful and rather moving. From there we braved the weather and walked around the water all the way to the Jefferson monument, the only one I had not seen during my previous visit to D.C. while in college. Still un-phased by the rain and cold, we continued further onto the Mall and into the city. A few more monuments and Smithsonians later, our stomachs alerted us that it was nearly dinner time. While sharing a bottle of wine, Melissa prepared a delicious home cooked meal for the two of us which we both filled ourselves on to a comatose state.
While Melissa worked on Monday, I spent the day exploring more of Washington D.C. on my own. It began with a rendezvous at a classy lunch joint across the street from her office for our last girly gab before I left town later that afternoon. She gave me a tour of her office, which was renovated in an Apple store-like fashion, and then said goodbye. The Holocaust museum, which I had been eager to see, caught my eye the day before and was my first destination. In the future I hope to return when I have an entire day and evening available to devote to this one exhibit. Mentally and emotionally I came ill prepared. The depression became far too strong for me to finish the walk through, so I left. Outside, even the cold and rainy day seemed uplifting. With time to spare due to my early departure from the previous museum, I went on a search for the Hope Diamond. Nothing like a large sparkling gem to brighten a girl's day. The geological exhibit of precious stone which leads viewers to the Hope Diamond was actually more interesting than the diamond itself. Though anti-climatic, my depression had subsided enough and I was ready to move on.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Man-hat-tan
Manhattan: (n) an island in New York City surrounded by the Hudson, East, and Harlem rivers. 13 1/2 miles long; 2 1/2 miles greatest width; 22 1/4 sq. mi.
The rain continued strong into Thursday at which point I packed my bags, stopped by the campground to say goodbye to Brandon, and drove to the Poughkeepsie Amtrak station to catch the afternoon train into New York City. The drive may as well have been through a hurricane. Wind and rain blew fast and hard enough to eliminate visibility completely, which of course resulted in all vehicles moving at a crawling pace on the highway. Strategic planning and the delay of my train left me a comfortable time window to check in and board without a problem. Penn station could not have been busier when I arrived in the city. Overwhelmed by the crowd of rush hour commuters, I frantically pushed my way to the edge of the chaos to phone Mike. Aside from our college graduation at the Big House, the last time I had seen Mike, also known as Schemo, was partying at a bar in downtown Ann Arbor. So I was quite surprised to recognize that the man in the business suit and tie, carrying a shoulder bag, and walking toward me was indeed my friend. After a quick embrace, he took my duffel bag and navigated the two of us out of the unusually chaotic train station. He explained to me once we were above ground that a lightning strike only a few hours prior to my arrival had caused some of the rails to shut down, delaying thousands of travelers who had since accumulated into the mess of people which we had just emerged from. Our breath of air in the open of the city did not last long before we were descending again into the subway. Mike attempted to explain to me the intricacies of the New York subway system during our short underground ride. Unfortunately I was already on sensory overload and absorbed very little of the information he was sharing. Wall Street was our exit; that was the only thing I retained. Due to the "Occupy Wall Street" protests, the street itself was barricaded off and guarded by police and only the sidewalks were passable. We turned into the lobby of Mike's apartment building, an old bank skyscraper converted to residential tower, where my name was already on the list to allow me to enter and exit the building at my leisure during my stay. After a few minutes of decompression time, we were back out in the city for an evening tour and dinner. The only other time I had been to New York City was when I was 15. My high school choir traveled to the Big Apple to perform in Carnegie Hall. During that visit I was able to do most of the New York touristy activities like the Empire State Building, Central Park, Times Square, Ground Zero, etc. and appreciated none of it. Funny thing about 15-year-olds, they tend to be angry about everything for no reason at all. Fortunately this time around I was far beyond my rebellious teenage years and able to view the city with fresh eyes and by way of a "local."
As I suppose a day in the life of a New York City business man goes, Mike had a golf outing with colleagues all day Friday, which left me with a morning to sleep in and an entire day to explore. Originally my goal had been to visit Ellis Island, a very important place of history to me which I have never been to before, however my evening orientation of the city was not enough for me to be able to navigate New York successfully on my own. Getting lost and found and lost again was a good way to explore though. Unfortunately by the time I actually made it to the ferry dock, the day's tickets to the island were already sold out. Not to worry, I was having plenty of fun wandering about. From the very end of lower Manhattan, I decided to try to make my way to Central Park. This I knew would require a trip on the subway, which I successfully rode and never missed a stop. The day was nearly over when I finally heard from Mike, and I was somewhere in the middle of Central Park. Not knowing how exactly I had gotten to where I was or how to get back, I sent him a picture message of a nearby land mark and stayed put. We spent a few more hours in the park once Mike found me, before another city tour during which we took a moment to "sit on the steps of St. Patrick's" to "watch the world go by;" a song lyric by Jason Lavasseur and my entire reasoning for visiting the church. Dark had long set in on the city and both of us were utterly exhausted. Exhausted enough to skip the bar and go for pizza and beer at home during the Tigers vs. Yankees game. Well, the game never made it past the second inning on account of rain, and neither did we.
The early night served us well the next day though. College Football Saturday! Mike and I often spent these days together, along with several of our friends, back in Ann Arbor. Though this was most certainly NOT Ann Arbor, the University of Michigan Alumni Association of New York City provided an excellent venue for game watching. They had reserved an entire bar for the alumni that day, so when we walked in off the street we found ourselves in a sea of maize. It was a small feeling of home. Mike and I joined up with Marissa and another group of her friends at the bar for the game. Michigan shut out Minnesota the entire game bringing victory and the "Little Brown Jug" to the Maize and Blue. Unfortunately I was not able to stay and celebrate after the game; it was time for me to continue on my way.
The rain continued strong into Thursday at which point I packed my bags, stopped by the campground to say goodbye to Brandon, and drove to the Poughkeepsie Amtrak station to catch the afternoon train into New York City. The drive may as well have been through a hurricane. Wind and rain blew fast and hard enough to eliminate visibility completely, which of course resulted in all vehicles moving at a crawling pace on the highway. Strategic planning and the delay of my train left me a comfortable time window to check in and board without a problem. Penn station could not have been busier when I arrived in the city. Overwhelmed by the crowd of rush hour commuters, I frantically pushed my way to the edge of the chaos to phone Mike. Aside from our college graduation at the Big House, the last time I had seen Mike, also known as Schemo, was partying at a bar in downtown Ann Arbor. So I was quite surprised to recognize that the man in the business suit and tie, carrying a shoulder bag, and walking toward me was indeed my friend. After a quick embrace, he took my duffel bag and navigated the two of us out of the unusually chaotic train station. He explained to me once we were above ground that a lightning strike only a few hours prior to my arrival had caused some of the rails to shut down, delaying thousands of travelers who had since accumulated into the mess of people which we had just emerged from. Our breath of air in the open of the city did not last long before we were descending again into the subway. Mike attempted to explain to me the intricacies of the New York subway system during our short underground ride. Unfortunately I was already on sensory overload and absorbed very little of the information he was sharing. Wall Street was our exit; that was the only thing I retained. Due to the "Occupy Wall Street" protests, the street itself was barricaded off and guarded by police and only the sidewalks were passable. We turned into the lobby of Mike's apartment building, an old bank skyscraper converted to residential tower, where my name was already on the list to allow me to enter and exit the building at my leisure during my stay. After a few minutes of decompression time, we were back out in the city for an evening tour and dinner. The only other time I had been to New York City was when I was 15. My high school choir traveled to the Big Apple to perform in Carnegie Hall. During that visit I was able to do most of the New York touristy activities like the Empire State Building, Central Park, Times Square, Ground Zero, etc. and appreciated none of it. Funny thing about 15-year-olds, they tend to be angry about everything for no reason at all. Fortunately this time around I was far beyond my rebellious teenage years and able to view the city with fresh eyes and by way of a "local."
As I suppose a day in the life of a New York City business man goes, Mike had a golf outing with colleagues all day Friday, which left me with a morning to sleep in and an entire day to explore. Originally my goal had been to visit Ellis Island, a very important place of history to me which I have never been to before, however my evening orientation of the city was not enough for me to be able to navigate New York successfully on my own. Getting lost and found and lost again was a good way to explore though. Unfortunately by the time I actually made it to the ferry dock, the day's tickets to the island were already sold out. Not to worry, I was having plenty of fun wandering about. From the very end of lower Manhattan, I decided to try to make my way to Central Park. This I knew would require a trip on the subway, which I successfully rode and never missed a stop. The day was nearly over when I finally heard from Mike, and I was somewhere in the middle of Central Park. Not knowing how exactly I had gotten to where I was or how to get back, I sent him a picture message of a nearby land mark and stayed put. We spent a few more hours in the park once Mike found me, before another city tour during which we took a moment to "sit on the steps of St. Patrick's" to "watch the world go by;" a song lyric by Jason Lavasseur and my entire reasoning for visiting the church. Dark had long set in on the city and both of us were utterly exhausted. Exhausted enough to skip the bar and go for pizza and beer at home during the Tigers vs. Yankees game. Well, the game never made it past the second inning on account of rain, and neither did we.
The early night served us well the next day though. College Football Saturday! Mike and I often spent these days together, along with several of our friends, back in Ann Arbor. Though this was most certainly NOT Ann Arbor, the University of Michigan Alumni Association of New York City provided an excellent venue for game watching. They had reserved an entire bar for the alumni that day, so when we walked in off the street we found ourselves in a sea of maize. It was a small feeling of home. Mike and I joined up with Marissa and another group of her friends at the bar for the game. Michigan shut out Minnesota the entire game bringing victory and the "Little Brown Jug" to the Maize and Blue. Unfortunately I was not able to stay and celebrate after the game; it was time for me to continue on my way.
Friday, September 30, 2011
por-cu-pine
porcupine: (n) any of several rodents covered with stiff, sharp, erectile spines or quills.
Though only a few hours north of New York City, Woodbourne, New York, is about as rural as it gets. Brandon, a friend from Camp Henry, works at a campground nearby. So I suppose the rural setting was appropriate, just a huge contrast from the urban scene I was living in the previous week. Almost immediately upon my arrival the two of us set off to hike Mohonk, a nature preserve in the mountains of New York. Part way up the mountain, at 1,245 feet above sea level, sits Lake Mohonk, a small, natural body of water. We rounded the lake past the Mohonk Mountain House, which is really more of a large castle of a hotel, and continued on toward the trails. My host, who claimed to have such an excellent sense of direction, made a turn which led to just about everywhere BUT the peak of the mountain we were attempting to summit. It did make for a pretty excellent adventure though. The path was quite narrow, windy, jagged, and often times involved actual climbing under, over and between large rocks. Often times it was not clear where we were meant to go. Soon I realized that our path was marked with red arrows painted on the rocks. Brandon had no idea, so I took the lead. At one point the arrows led us down a narrow corridor cut between the trees, it was here that our trail was blocked. A porcupine, adorable, large, and full of sharp quills, stood directly in front of us in the middle our path. The last thing I wanted was for this creature to "bite me with its butt," so we stood there... watching. That was the first and only time I had ever seen a porcupine in person. Once the shock of what was standing in front of me wore off, I took out my camera to document the moment. Slowly our new friend made its way out of our path and we continued. Our red-arrowed rocks led us back to the main trail from which we found the correct trail to the top of the mountain. From the summit there is an excellent vista of the entire nature preserve, including the lake and the Mountain House. There is also a castle-like tower which stands alone. From the top there was a much better view, but we could see the rain coming in across the horizon as the sun began dipping low into the sky. That was our cue to leave. Our evening ended at microbrewery for dinner, a perfect conclusion to the day.
Wednesday was a rain out. Not just a light shower, I'm talking flood warnings for all of the surrounding rivers in the area. For the 5th day in a row my morning run was canceled, and so were our hiking plans. Regrettably, Brandon and I spent the day on the couch watching movies until one of us was hungry enough for a meal. A friend of his met us at Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner, trivia, and karaoke. Karaoke night in Woodbourne, or whatever town we had driven to that was large enough to have a Buffalo Wild Wings, was painful in comparison to Boston. It mostly consisted of kids, who still had a curfew, singing songs not at all meant for Karaoke. There was nothing to do but laugh at it.
Though only a few hours north of New York City, Woodbourne, New York, is about as rural as it gets. Brandon, a friend from Camp Henry, works at a campground nearby. So I suppose the rural setting was appropriate, just a huge contrast from the urban scene I was living in the previous week. Almost immediately upon my arrival the two of us set off to hike Mohonk, a nature preserve in the mountains of New York. Part way up the mountain, at 1,245 feet above sea level, sits Lake Mohonk, a small, natural body of water. We rounded the lake past the Mohonk Mountain House, which is really more of a large castle of a hotel, and continued on toward the trails. My host, who claimed to have such an excellent sense of direction, made a turn which led to just about everywhere BUT the peak of the mountain we were attempting to summit. It did make for a pretty excellent adventure though. The path was quite narrow, windy, jagged, and often times involved actual climbing under, over and between large rocks. Often times it was not clear where we were meant to go. Soon I realized that our path was marked with red arrows painted on the rocks. Brandon had no idea, so I took the lead. At one point the arrows led us down a narrow corridor cut between the trees, it was here that our trail was blocked. A porcupine, adorable, large, and full of sharp quills, stood directly in front of us in the middle our path. The last thing I wanted was for this creature to "bite me with its butt," so we stood there... watching. That was the first and only time I had ever seen a porcupine in person. Once the shock of what was standing in front of me wore off, I took out my camera to document the moment. Slowly our new friend made its way out of our path and we continued. Our red-arrowed rocks led us back to the main trail from which we found the correct trail to the top of the mountain. From the summit there is an excellent vista of the entire nature preserve, including the lake and the Mountain House. There is also a castle-like tower which stands alone. From the top there was a much better view, but we could see the rain coming in across the horizon as the sun began dipping low into the sky. That was our cue to leave. Our evening ended at microbrewery for dinner, a perfect conclusion to the day.
Wednesday was a rain out. Not just a light shower, I'm talking flood warnings for all of the surrounding rivers in the area. For the 5th day in a row my morning run was canceled, and so were our hiking plans. Regrettably, Brandon and I spent the day on the couch watching movies until one of us was hungry enough for a meal. A friend of his met us at Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner, trivia, and karaoke. Karaoke night in Woodbourne, or whatever town we had driven to that was large enough to have a Buffalo Wild Wings, was painful in comparison to Boston. It mostly consisted of kids, who still had a curfew, singing songs not at all meant for Karaoke. There was nothing to do but laugh at it.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Yale
Yale: (n) Elihu, 1648-1721, English colonial official, born in America: governor of Madras 1687-92; principal benefactor of the Collegiate School at Saybrook, Connecticut (now Yale University)
Ana had morning classes until 11:30, which meant my departure from Boston could be no later than 8 a.m. I could not have gotten any less sleep the night before, which of course meant day 3 of skipping my morning run. This was beginning to become a dangerous pattern. Reluctantly, I said my last goodbye to Paul and began the drive to Connecticut. For as tired as I was, I remained exceptionally awake for the drive which was shorter than expected. My early arrival gave me plenty of time to find street parking and sort through the mess of my belongings in the Mustang before Ana returned from class. Mondays being her busy days, I tagged along to experience a day in the life of a Yale graduate student. We took what may have been the cleanest public bus I have ever ridden to campus for lunch. Of course, Yale University has a gorgeous campus and nearly every building resembled those of the law quad at the University of Michigan. It was much more quaint and peaceful here than at Harvard University. This city was fortunately organized on the grid system which I believe contributed to its lack of chaos and commotion. We used the time between various scheduled appointments and classes to catch up on life since Honduras. Ana worked at the Gracias campus of Vida Abundante Schools in Honduras while I worked in La Union from 2010-2011. My frequent visits to the city of Gracias afforded us the opportunity to build a friendship over the course of the school year. Both of us having moved from Honduras to the U.S. recently, her starting grad school, and me traveling the coast, afforded plenty to talk about as we walked from doctor appointment to toxicology class. The subject of toxicology I find particularly interesting, unfortunately the lecturer, rumored to be a bit dull, was unable to hold my attention for long before the drowsiness set in. It was then I elected to return to Ana's apartment to freshen up and rest before the evenings activities, which included a global health seminar. Again, the subject highly interesting but the execution of the lecture was somewhat of a let-down. For a graduate seminar at Yale University, I expected more from the speaker. The meat of his lecture was very fluffy and filled with redundant information presented on less than quality lecture slides. Ana was satisfied, I was critical. Attendees of the seminar were provided with a pasta dinner which we followed up with a birthday cake celebration for one of Ana's friends to conclude the evening.
Tuesday morning I was alarmed by my own reflection in the mirror, at least what I could see of it. My eyes had nearly swollen shut and my cheeks were puffy and dotted with an itchy rash of sorts. I was having an allergic reaction to something, ON MY FACE! But what? The number of times I have had any sort of allergic reaction to anything in the course of my existence I can probably count on one hand. A shower helped to the point where I could see again. I was not in the clear yet, but it would do for now because Ana and I had a campus to tour. She had the morning off which gave us time for a proper walk around Yale which was a bit like walking through castles and old cathedrals. The beauty could have distracted me all day, but Ana had class and I had a trip to New York to make.
Ana had morning classes until 11:30, which meant my departure from Boston could be no later than 8 a.m. I could not have gotten any less sleep the night before, which of course meant day 3 of skipping my morning run. This was beginning to become a dangerous pattern. Reluctantly, I said my last goodbye to Paul and began the drive to Connecticut. For as tired as I was, I remained exceptionally awake for the drive which was shorter than expected. My early arrival gave me plenty of time to find street parking and sort through the mess of my belongings in the Mustang before Ana returned from class. Mondays being her busy days, I tagged along to experience a day in the life of a Yale graduate student. We took what may have been the cleanest public bus I have ever ridden to campus for lunch. Of course, Yale University has a gorgeous campus and nearly every building resembled those of the law quad at the University of Michigan. It was much more quaint and peaceful here than at Harvard University. This city was fortunately organized on the grid system which I believe contributed to its lack of chaos and commotion. We used the time between various scheduled appointments and classes to catch up on life since Honduras. Ana worked at the Gracias campus of Vida Abundante Schools in Honduras while I worked in La Union from 2010-2011. My frequent visits to the city of Gracias afforded us the opportunity to build a friendship over the course of the school year. Both of us having moved from Honduras to the U.S. recently, her starting grad school, and me traveling the coast, afforded plenty to talk about as we walked from doctor appointment to toxicology class. The subject of toxicology I find particularly interesting, unfortunately the lecturer, rumored to be a bit dull, was unable to hold my attention for long before the drowsiness set in. It was then I elected to return to Ana's apartment to freshen up and rest before the evenings activities, which included a global health seminar. Again, the subject highly interesting but the execution of the lecture was somewhat of a let-down. For a graduate seminar at Yale University, I expected more from the speaker. The meat of his lecture was very fluffy and filled with redundant information presented on less than quality lecture slides. Ana was satisfied, I was critical. Attendees of the seminar were provided with a pasta dinner which we followed up with a birthday cake celebration for one of Ana's friends to conclude the evening.
Tuesday morning I was alarmed by my own reflection in the mirror, at least what I could see of it. My eyes had nearly swollen shut and my cheeks were puffy and dotted with an itchy rash of sorts. I was having an allergic reaction to something, ON MY FACE! But what? The number of times I have had any sort of allergic reaction to anything in the course of my existence I can probably count on one hand. A shower helped to the point where I could see again. I was not in the clear yet, but it would do for now because Ana and I had a campus to tour. She had the morning off which gave us time for a proper walk around Yale which was a bit like walking through castles and old cathedrals. The beauty could have distracted me all day, but Ana had class and I had a trip to New York to make.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Bos-ton
Boston: (n) a seaport in and the capital of Massachusetts.
The drive to Boston was short and stress free and thanks to my coffee date with Peter, and the excitement of visiting Boston for the first time, I arrived with plenty of energy, ready to hit the town. Paul, my English friend from Camp Henry, greeted me on the street of his Massachusetts home. Inside his host family was preparing dinner while what seemed like an endless blur of unfamiliar faces passed in and out of the room. Welcome to Boston. Actually, we were technically in Arlington, a suburb of Boston, but it was close enough for me. It wasn't until we all sat down to eat before I was finally able to sort out who was who. Michelle and Emily and their two daughters were the permanent residents of this house and were hosts to Paul and David, who are both from England. The remaining faces, unaccounted for at the dinner table, showed up shortly thereafter for our night out. Nate, also from England but living just down the street, Nicola, Nate's English friend who had also just arrived in Boston for a visit, other Paul, who I know very little about, David, Paul and I all squeezed into one car which was destined for T's karaoke bar. According to the boys it was the place to be in Boston on a Tuesday night and according to the crowd they were correct. The 6 of us huddled around a small table near the dance floor while the bar filled to capacity. Only a few drinks into the night the karaoke list made its way to our table and the British boys put in their request for "Wonderwall" a song in which their accents worked to their advantage. From there it was PBR, table talk, dancing, photos...
My internal alarm clock had me wide awake by 9:30, my head kept me lying in bed until noon when Nate arrived and insisted on beginning the day. When I returned from my morning, or should I say afternoon, run there was yet another new face. Kay, from England of course, would be joining Paul, Nate, Nicola and I on our tour of Harvard. Already half the day gone, we climbed into the car and drove straight to campus. Our first stop was the football stadium. Much smaller than I had expected, but then again how many people really watch ivy-league football anyway? From there we walked into town to explore the rest of campus. Similar to Ann Arbor, the city and the university campus are very integrated with an extra bit of hustle and bustle from the brilliant minds which make up Harvard and the absolute chaos of the Boston roadway system. This old town was well established before the grid system found its place in the United States urban landscape, which has resulted in instances such as star-shaped, 7-way intersections and very confused drivers. Regardless, campus was magnificent and would have been excellent for people-watching had I not gone nearly 20 hours without food. Nate shared my hunger pains and nominated Chipotle as our cure. Paul, not hungry, brought the car around while Nate and I feasted on our oversized burritos before the return to Arlington in time for practice. For a few hours every weekday evening Paul, and the rest of the crew from England, coach youth soccer. During this time I was able to visit with Emily. It wasn't long before the house was full again with the rest of Emily's family and the soccer coaches, who all dined with us before Paul and I left for Cape Cod. Michelle and Emily own a condo in Provincetown, located at the very end of the cape, and offered it to us for a few days. Paul was able to take a day off from coaching which gave us until Friday afternoon to return. Full from yet another delicious home cooked meal, we began our mini road trip to P-town. Though the drive was only a few hours, it was nice to have a co-pilot in the Mustang. By the time we arrived at the cape we had just minutes to pick up some food at the mini-market and choose a movie before everything closed. At this point neither of us were tired, seeing as we had only been awake for about 12 hours. So after settling in and receiving a tour of the condo, we took a night tour of the town and the beach. While the walk was enjoyable, it was not a successful way to gain my bearings. Everything looks so different in the dark.
Thursday morning I was wide awake again by 9 and without the after affects of a night out. My morning run doubled as a re-orientation to the layout of Provincetown and was a true success. As it turns out, the town was much simpler than it seemed the night before and literally was located at the VERY end of Cape Cod. During my run I caught a glimpse of blue skies through the morning's gray which surprised me as the forecast had called for rain the entire duration of our cape trip. Excited, I hurried back to the condo for a shower and breakfast to complete my morning and to start what was looking to be a promising day. Of course, Paul was still asleep. It was well after noon by the time we left the condo and the sun was shining bright. A rock jetty at the end of the street stretched out into the sand dunes, we started there. Two light houses stood on either side toward the end of the jetty; that was our destination. Just over the dunes, waves from the open sea crashed onto the beach where we walked to the lighthouse. The doors were locked on what was not an entirely impressive structure, but we passed some time there anyway. On the return to the condo, Paul insisted on counting the number of rocks that made up the distance of the walk from the beach to the road. After walking across 1060 rocks in the sun I was ready for a swim. For as late in the season as it was, the water was not bad. The crab that crawled across my foot was more startling than the temperature of the ocean. Swimming cooled me down and most certainly tired me out. Back in town we browsed around the quirky P-town shops and toured the main street in daylight. That was the last of my energy, so I had a nap before dinner in town which was the last of our night.
Friday morning's run took place in a dense fog, literally. With not much to see, we packed up the condo and started back to Arlington. Fog turned to rain the minute we left the driveway and fell steadily all the way "home." Despite the rain, everyone still had soccer practice which gave me a few evening hours to decompress from the drive and spend some more time chatting with Emily and a new face, Lauren, also from England. Splashed in mud, coaches and players returned to the house. Almost immediately a long anticipated quarrel concerning a vehicle erupted between David and Paul. Pretending to be occupied with incoming text messages, Lauren and I migrated into another room until the storm passed. Michelle, Emily and the kids had plans elsewhere which meant the rest of us were on our own for dinner. We progressively became more indecisive as more people showed up. Eventually we had given up on going out for a meal and elected to order in curry. Shortly after the food and the rest of our party arrived the topic of the car resurfaced and round two of the quarrel began. Lauren and I left immediately along with another guest, and occupied ourselves until nearly 11:30. At the end of it all, Paul and I were the only two left for a night on the town which was short lived anyhow.
Saturday morning came far too early. Rhea, my friend from the University of Michigan who now lives and works in Boston, was expecting me for breakfast. Shamefully, I skipped my morning run and rushed to Brighton, where she lives. Rhea put on pot of coffee while her roommate Andrew fried us some eggs. We gabbed over breakfast then finished getting ready for our day at the Life is Good music festival. Our tickets were for the first day of the two day festival. Saturday headliners included Tristan Prettyman, Martin Sexton, Michael Franti, Ingrid Michaelson, and The Avett Brothers, all of my favorites, among others. Again rain had been forecasted all day and not a single drop fell. Though humid, the weather was fantastic. After listening to a few of the opening bands, we wandered by the tents and activities on the festival grounds. For whatever reason we opted to enter the Reebok tent and not 2 minutes after being inside I heard my name being called. Mark Russel, an acquaintance from high school who I had not seen or spoken to since, was sitting on the display in his Reebok representative uniform. We chatted for a bit before Rhea and I left to go catch the next act. SMALL WORLD! Just wait. Later that afternoon we walked by the Martin guitars tent where an open-mic event was set up. Whoever performed a song at the open-mic was automatically entered into a drawing for a Martin guitar. My lust for a new Martin and a big push from Rhea got me onto the small stage. From across the lawn Amy VanHaren, a former Camp Henry staff member, recognized me singing and made her way over to say hello. SHE was at the festival for work as well. Our next must see act was about to begin, so after a short game of catch-up and a photo, Rhea and I rushed off to the stage. Michael Franti, Ingrid Michaelson and Avett Brothers all played back to back. We could barely stand by the end of it all, but that would not stop us from going out later that night. Back at Rhea's apartment we found Andrew in the same position on the couch as we had left him earlier that day. Exhausted, yet determined, we showered again and took a cab into town. Rhea was anxious to meet my British friends after hearing a few stories, so we met up with Paul, Nate and Nicola at a bar in Faneuil Hall. A few drinks and a very long "it'll be great!" conversation with Nate later, it was last call and time to go home. My friends had told me that getting a cab in Boston was difficult, and that night I learned why. Rhea was nearly road kill after charging into the middle of the street multiple times screaming at every cab that drove by. Eventually somebody stopped and we forced our way into the car. Once on our way, Rhea took the opportunity to interrogate our cab driver as to why empty cabs will not stop for people looking for a ride. The answers she received were less than acceptable, which only amplified the conversation, but soon turned into, "Sir, if you do not hurry and get us home I am going to URINATE on this seat!" I too had a bladder on the verge of bursting and the comedy of what was going on in the front of the cab was not helping. Finally he pulled over into a Walgreens, which was closed, so Rhea and I had no other choice than the bushes near the edge of the parking lot.
We slept in far too long the next morning. Late for our day in Boston, I once again skipped my morning run. Rhea and I took the rail into town to explore the city in the light of day. With a couple of her friends, we strolled up and down the strip window shopping and people watching. The humidity was high again and our discomfort could only be cured with one thing: ice cream. Refreshed, yet bored of our current location, we moved on to Faneuil Hall for the day scene. A large and beautiful market was buzzing with shoppers and tourists. We joined the bustle for a couple of hours and before long, it was time to leave. Rhea had to pick her boyfriend up from the airport, and I had a stop in Arlington to make before the evening's drive to Connecticut. It was approximately at that moment when we decided to leave the city center that the world began working against me, or so it felt. Sparing the frustrating details, by the time I arrived in Arlington over two hours later tension had completely overtaken my body and emotions which was partially released in a bit of vent to Paul the moment I walked in the door. A hug and a deep breath later we joined the rest of the family in the next room for dinner. Still wound up, I retired to the living room for some relaxation before I hit the road again. When I opened my eyes to see that it was 9:30 p.m. I had a slight panic attack. I phoned Ana, my friend in New Haven, immediately. We both agreed a 3 and 1/2 hour drive that late was not practical, I would stay in Arlington and leave in the morning. Upon hearing this news, Paul invited the whole British crew over for a movie which gave me a perfect opportunity to say a proper goodbye to my new friends.
The drive to Boston was short and stress free and thanks to my coffee date with Peter, and the excitement of visiting Boston for the first time, I arrived with plenty of energy, ready to hit the town. Paul, my English friend from Camp Henry, greeted me on the street of his Massachusetts home. Inside his host family was preparing dinner while what seemed like an endless blur of unfamiliar faces passed in and out of the room. Welcome to Boston. Actually, we were technically in Arlington, a suburb of Boston, but it was close enough for me. It wasn't until we all sat down to eat before I was finally able to sort out who was who. Michelle and Emily and their two daughters were the permanent residents of this house and were hosts to Paul and David, who are both from England. The remaining faces, unaccounted for at the dinner table, showed up shortly thereafter for our night out. Nate, also from England but living just down the street, Nicola, Nate's English friend who had also just arrived in Boston for a visit, other Paul, who I know very little about, David, Paul and I all squeezed into one car which was destined for T's karaoke bar. According to the boys it was the place to be in Boston on a Tuesday night and according to the crowd they were correct. The 6 of us huddled around a small table near the dance floor while the bar filled to capacity. Only a few drinks into the night the karaoke list made its way to our table and the British boys put in their request for "Wonderwall" a song in which their accents worked to their advantage. From there it was PBR, table talk, dancing, photos...
My internal alarm clock had me wide awake by 9:30, my head kept me lying in bed until noon when Nate arrived and insisted on beginning the day. When I returned from my morning, or should I say afternoon, run there was yet another new face. Kay, from England of course, would be joining Paul, Nate, Nicola and I on our tour of Harvard. Already half the day gone, we climbed into the car and drove straight to campus. Our first stop was the football stadium. Much smaller than I had expected, but then again how many people really watch ivy-league football anyway? From there we walked into town to explore the rest of campus. Similar to Ann Arbor, the city and the university campus are very integrated with an extra bit of hustle and bustle from the brilliant minds which make up Harvard and the absolute chaos of the Boston roadway system. This old town was well established before the grid system found its place in the United States urban landscape, which has resulted in instances such as star-shaped, 7-way intersections and very confused drivers. Regardless, campus was magnificent and would have been excellent for people-watching had I not gone nearly 20 hours without food. Nate shared my hunger pains and nominated Chipotle as our cure. Paul, not hungry, brought the car around while Nate and I feasted on our oversized burritos before the return to Arlington in time for practice. For a few hours every weekday evening Paul, and the rest of the crew from England, coach youth soccer. During this time I was able to visit with Emily. It wasn't long before the house was full again with the rest of Emily's family and the soccer coaches, who all dined with us before Paul and I left for Cape Cod. Michelle and Emily own a condo in Provincetown, located at the very end of the cape, and offered it to us for a few days. Paul was able to take a day off from coaching which gave us until Friday afternoon to return. Full from yet another delicious home cooked meal, we began our mini road trip to P-town. Though the drive was only a few hours, it was nice to have a co-pilot in the Mustang. By the time we arrived at the cape we had just minutes to pick up some food at the mini-market and choose a movie before everything closed. At this point neither of us were tired, seeing as we had only been awake for about 12 hours. So after settling in and receiving a tour of the condo, we took a night tour of the town and the beach. While the walk was enjoyable, it was not a successful way to gain my bearings. Everything looks so different in the dark.
Thursday morning I was wide awake again by 9 and without the after affects of a night out. My morning run doubled as a re-orientation to the layout of Provincetown and was a true success. As it turns out, the town was much simpler than it seemed the night before and literally was located at the VERY end of Cape Cod. During my run I caught a glimpse of blue skies through the morning's gray which surprised me as the forecast had called for rain the entire duration of our cape trip. Excited, I hurried back to the condo for a shower and breakfast to complete my morning and to start what was looking to be a promising day. Of course, Paul was still asleep. It was well after noon by the time we left the condo and the sun was shining bright. A rock jetty at the end of the street stretched out into the sand dunes, we started there. Two light houses stood on either side toward the end of the jetty; that was our destination. Just over the dunes, waves from the open sea crashed onto the beach where we walked to the lighthouse. The doors were locked on what was not an entirely impressive structure, but we passed some time there anyway. On the return to the condo, Paul insisted on counting the number of rocks that made up the distance of the walk from the beach to the road. After walking across 1060 rocks in the sun I was ready for a swim. For as late in the season as it was, the water was not bad. The crab that crawled across my foot was more startling than the temperature of the ocean. Swimming cooled me down and most certainly tired me out. Back in town we browsed around the quirky P-town shops and toured the main street in daylight. That was the last of my energy, so I had a nap before dinner in town which was the last of our night.
Friday morning's run took place in a dense fog, literally. With not much to see, we packed up the condo and started back to Arlington. Fog turned to rain the minute we left the driveway and fell steadily all the way "home." Despite the rain, everyone still had soccer practice which gave me a few evening hours to decompress from the drive and spend some more time chatting with Emily and a new face, Lauren, also from England. Splashed in mud, coaches and players returned to the house. Almost immediately a long anticipated quarrel concerning a vehicle erupted between David and Paul. Pretending to be occupied with incoming text messages, Lauren and I migrated into another room until the storm passed. Michelle, Emily and the kids had plans elsewhere which meant the rest of us were on our own for dinner. We progressively became more indecisive as more people showed up. Eventually we had given up on going out for a meal and elected to order in curry. Shortly after the food and the rest of our party arrived the topic of the car resurfaced and round two of the quarrel began. Lauren and I left immediately along with another guest, and occupied ourselves until nearly 11:30. At the end of it all, Paul and I were the only two left for a night on the town which was short lived anyhow.
Saturday morning came far too early. Rhea, my friend from the University of Michigan who now lives and works in Boston, was expecting me for breakfast. Shamefully, I skipped my morning run and rushed to Brighton, where she lives. Rhea put on pot of coffee while her roommate Andrew fried us some eggs. We gabbed over breakfast then finished getting ready for our day at the Life is Good music festival. Our tickets were for the first day of the two day festival. Saturday headliners included Tristan Prettyman, Martin Sexton, Michael Franti, Ingrid Michaelson, and The Avett Brothers, all of my favorites, among others. Again rain had been forecasted all day and not a single drop fell. Though humid, the weather was fantastic. After listening to a few of the opening bands, we wandered by the tents and activities on the festival grounds. For whatever reason we opted to enter the Reebok tent and not 2 minutes after being inside I heard my name being called. Mark Russel, an acquaintance from high school who I had not seen or spoken to since, was sitting on the display in his Reebok representative uniform. We chatted for a bit before Rhea and I left to go catch the next act. SMALL WORLD! Just wait. Later that afternoon we walked by the Martin guitars tent where an open-mic event was set up. Whoever performed a song at the open-mic was automatically entered into a drawing for a Martin guitar. My lust for a new Martin and a big push from Rhea got me onto the small stage. From across the lawn Amy VanHaren, a former Camp Henry staff member, recognized me singing and made her way over to say hello. SHE was at the festival for work as well. Our next must see act was about to begin, so after a short game of catch-up and a photo, Rhea and I rushed off to the stage. Michael Franti, Ingrid Michaelson and Avett Brothers all played back to back. We could barely stand by the end of it all, but that would not stop us from going out later that night. Back at Rhea's apartment we found Andrew in the same position on the couch as we had left him earlier that day. Exhausted, yet determined, we showered again and took a cab into town. Rhea was anxious to meet my British friends after hearing a few stories, so we met up with Paul, Nate and Nicola at a bar in Faneuil Hall. A few drinks and a very long "it'll be great!" conversation with Nate later, it was last call and time to go home. My friends had told me that getting a cab in Boston was difficult, and that night I learned why. Rhea was nearly road kill after charging into the middle of the street multiple times screaming at every cab that drove by. Eventually somebody stopped and we forced our way into the car. Once on our way, Rhea took the opportunity to interrogate our cab driver as to why empty cabs will not stop for people looking for a ride. The answers she received were less than acceptable, which only amplified the conversation, but soon turned into, "Sir, if you do not hurry and get us home I am going to URINATE on this seat!" I too had a bladder on the verge of bursting and the comedy of what was going on in the front of the cab was not helping. Finally he pulled over into a Walgreens, which was closed, so Rhea and I had no other choice than the bushes near the edge of the parking lot.
We slept in far too long the next morning. Late for our day in Boston, I once again skipped my morning run. Rhea and I took the rail into town to explore the city in the light of day. With a couple of her friends, we strolled up and down the strip window shopping and people watching. The humidity was high again and our discomfort could only be cured with one thing: ice cream. Refreshed, yet bored of our current location, we moved on to Faneuil Hall for the day scene. A large and beautiful market was buzzing with shoppers and tourists. We joined the bustle for a couple of hours and before long, it was time to leave. Rhea had to pick her boyfriend up from the airport, and I had a stop in Arlington to make before the evening's drive to Connecticut. It was approximately at that moment when we decided to leave the city center that the world began working against me, or so it felt. Sparing the frustrating details, by the time I arrived in Arlington over two hours later tension had completely overtaken my body and emotions which was partially released in a bit of vent to Paul the moment I walked in the door. A hug and a deep breath later we joined the rest of the family in the next room for dinner. Still wound up, I retired to the living room for some relaxation before I hit the road again. When I opened my eyes to see that it was 9:30 p.m. I had a slight panic attack. I phoned Ana, my friend in New Haven, immediately. We both agreed a 3 and 1/2 hour drive that late was not practical, I would stay in Arlington and leave in the morning. Upon hearing this news, Paul invited the whole British crew over for a movie which gave me a perfect opportunity to say a proper goodbye to my new friends.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Mo-hi-can
Mohican: (n) a member of a North American Indian people formerly living along the Hudson river and east of it.
Only days ago, when I had first arrived in Vermont, many major highways and bridges were still closed and under repair from the hurricane weeks before. The long list of closures included the one road that lead directly from where I was in Vermont and where I needed to go next in New Hampshire. A short 2 hour drive would be turned into a 6 hour drive if these closures remained as I would have to drive south and loop around the hurricane zone. THANKFULLY the very day I set off for my next destination, one lane on the road I needed had opened up and my path was now clear... ish. Exhausted from a weekend of climbing my first real rocks, but SO excited to continue my adventure I threw my pack into the Mustang and hit the road again. On the way I phoned Brooke to inform her of my E.T.A. "Drive carefully!" she insisted. "There are moose on these roads, it's dark and they are SO hard to see, and they will wreck your car. Drive under the speed limit and keep your brights on!" Her cautionary words troubled me a bit, so I took them to heart which was a wise decision. Daylight faded quickly in the beginning of my journey and once again I found myself driving down rural mountain roads in the dark. It wasn't a moose, but it did startle me. A hitch-hiker, male, was walking down the right side of the road in what must have been 40 degree weather. That got my heart pumping, then later I saw it; big and dark, almost demonic looking. Its eyes are what caught my attention. Brooke was right; they are huge, dark, and very difficult to spot. With no more moose or hitch-hiker spotting I finally made it to New Hampshire. Tense from the drive, achy from climbing, and smelling of both I went straight for the shower before we all sat down for some late night scrabble and good-old girly gossip.
Monday morning, late morning I should add, Brooke and I set off for our morning run after which we dressed and headed for town. Plymouth is a small New Hampshire town that happens to be home to a university, though I wouldn't describe it as a college town. It was cute, quaint, with a few of the quirks that come along with small places. We had lunch with a co-worker of Brooke's before exploring the boutiques and local to-dos. Late afternoon until late night Brooke had work which left me the entire evening to rest, recover, and catch up on the blog. An afternoon nap did just the trick but when it came time to get online I was greeted everyone's favorite phrase "internet explorer cannot display the webpage." Frustrated, and determined to make use of my free evening, I bounced around town in search of other internet connections. Finally I diagnosed that it was not the internet connection, it was my browser. The rest of the night I worked to restore internet function to my computer and was rather unsuccessful. By the time Brooke got home from work we were both in serious need of a drink. We rendezvoused with a few more of her co-workers at a local sports bar for beer and Monday Night Football.
Tuesday morning we had a bit of a crowd over for breakfast and some early morning gabbing before our run, which this day was to take place in the rain. It wasn't until that afternoon that Brooke actually realized that she was moving... on THURSDAY! Yes, only days before my arrival Brooke had made the decision to move back to Michigan temporarily. When I arrived on Sunday, her room was in absolute shambles and not at all ready for packing. The reality finally set in that afternoon, so we kicked it into high gear and spent the remainder of the day running errands, doing laundry and of course packing and cleaning. When she left for work again that afternoon I elected to leave as well, not that I don't LOVE packing and cleaning for my friends, but I had an engagement elsewhere.
An old friend from high school, who when we're both at our respective homes, are less than a few hours from each other, was scheduled to be in New Hampshire visiting family the same time I was passing through. Sometimes life just works that way. I picked Peter up for a short afternoon coffee date where we reminisced about our days at Rockford High School and filled each other in on life since 2005. Every day I am amazed and inspired by how different all of our lives have turned out to be and how small of a world we live in that while we are both nearly a thousand miles away from home, we could have coffee in who-knows-where, New Hampshire together after years of separation. Satisfied and caffeinated, I returned Peter to his hosts and drove south to BOSTON!
Only days ago, when I had first arrived in Vermont, many major highways and bridges were still closed and under repair from the hurricane weeks before. The long list of closures included the one road that lead directly from where I was in Vermont and where I needed to go next in New Hampshire. A short 2 hour drive would be turned into a 6 hour drive if these closures remained as I would have to drive south and loop around the hurricane zone. THANKFULLY the very day I set off for my next destination, one lane on the road I needed had opened up and my path was now clear... ish. Exhausted from a weekend of climbing my first real rocks, but SO excited to continue my adventure I threw my pack into the Mustang and hit the road again. On the way I phoned Brooke to inform her of my E.T.A. "Drive carefully!" she insisted. "There are moose on these roads, it's dark and they are SO hard to see, and they will wreck your car. Drive under the speed limit and keep your brights on!" Her cautionary words troubled me a bit, so I took them to heart which was a wise decision. Daylight faded quickly in the beginning of my journey and once again I found myself driving down rural mountain roads in the dark. It wasn't a moose, but it did startle me. A hitch-hiker, male, was walking down the right side of the road in what must have been 40 degree weather. That got my heart pumping, then later I saw it; big and dark, almost demonic looking. Its eyes are what caught my attention. Brooke was right; they are huge, dark, and very difficult to spot. With no more moose or hitch-hiker spotting I finally made it to New Hampshire. Tense from the drive, achy from climbing, and smelling of both I went straight for the shower before we all sat down for some late night scrabble and good-old girly gossip.
Monday morning, late morning I should add, Brooke and I set off for our morning run after which we dressed and headed for town. Plymouth is a small New Hampshire town that happens to be home to a university, though I wouldn't describe it as a college town. It was cute, quaint, with a few of the quirks that come along with small places. We had lunch with a co-worker of Brooke's before exploring the boutiques and local to-dos. Late afternoon until late night Brooke had work which left me the entire evening to rest, recover, and catch up on the blog. An afternoon nap did just the trick but when it came time to get online I was greeted everyone's favorite phrase "internet explorer cannot display the webpage." Frustrated, and determined to make use of my free evening, I bounced around town in search of other internet connections. Finally I diagnosed that it was not the internet connection, it was my browser. The rest of the night I worked to restore internet function to my computer and was rather unsuccessful. By the time Brooke got home from work we were both in serious need of a drink. We rendezvoused with a few more of her co-workers at a local sports bar for beer and Monday Night Football.
Tuesday morning we had a bit of a crowd over for breakfast and some early morning gabbing before our run, which this day was to take place in the rain. It wasn't until that afternoon that Brooke actually realized that she was moving... on THURSDAY! Yes, only days before my arrival Brooke had made the decision to move back to Michigan temporarily. When I arrived on Sunday, her room was in absolute shambles and not at all ready for packing. The reality finally set in that afternoon, so we kicked it into high gear and spent the remainder of the day running errands, doing laundry and of course packing and cleaning. When she left for work again that afternoon I elected to leave as well, not that I don't LOVE packing and cleaning for my friends, but I had an engagement elsewhere.
An old friend from high school, who when we're both at our respective homes, are less than a few hours from each other, was scheduled to be in New Hampshire visiting family the same time I was passing through. Sometimes life just works that way. I picked Peter up for a short afternoon coffee date where we reminisced about our days at Rockford High School and filled each other in on life since 2005. Every day I am amazed and inspired by how different all of our lives have turned out to be and how small of a world we live in that while we are both nearly a thousand miles away from home, we could have coffee in who-knows-where, New Hampshire together after years of separation. Satisfied and caffeinated, I returned Peter to his hosts and drove south to BOSTON!
Monday, September 19, 2011
Ver-mont
Vermont: (n) a state in the New England region of the northeastern United States of America.
Tuesday afternoon Mustang Sally and I drove the entire width of New York State into Vermont. Besides the boredom of driving in a straight line for 5 hours alone, the drive went smoothly, that is until I left the interstate. The sun was setting when I exited onto the back country roads of up-state New York. Only a few weeks ago did hurricane Irene sweep across New England washing out entire roads and bridges, apparently that also included the one I was driving on. Suddenly my path was cut off by an array of orange cones and the words "ROAD CLOSED." While I thank the department of transportation for keeping me from driving down a potentially dangerous road, they had failed to indicate an alternative route of any sort. So the question was, right or left? Left. Perhaps I should have chosen right, not that it would not have mattered. It was a dark, windy, and confusing drive for roughly 30 minutes before I found my way back to a main highway. Hours later than hoped for, but all in one piece, I finally arrived in the one-traffic-light town of Poultney, Vermont, home of Green Mountain College where my younger brother, Jon, now attends undergrad.
A great majority of the students at Green Mountain College do not have class on Wednesdays, which makes Tuesdays their Thursdays. After settling into my brother's dorm room he suggested we check out the "bonfire", which was apparently the place to be this Tuesday. Just next to campus, the river which forms the boundary between New York and Vermont runs narrowly. On the Vermont bank, students had tied up a rope swing to an overhanging tree and arranged a circle of logs and stones around a small pit. Every stereotype and preconceived notion I had about this small environmental school in Vermont was exactly what I witnessed, right down to "the tent." I found it quite comical and could not stop the giggling the rest of the night.
Wednesday afternoon Jon and I rented a couple of sea kayaks from the Green Mountain Adventure Program, a department within the college that rents outdoor recreational gear to students for a minimal price and also leads expeditions to various adventure destinations in the northeast. Before leaving with our kayaks we noticed a rock climbing trip scheduled for that weekend. Though it was already overbooked, we signed ourselves up anyway. With two oversized kayaks on top of an undersized VW Jetta, we drove to Lake Saint Catherine to launch our boats. Unfortunately upon our arrival we found that the park entrance, our boat launch, was closed after Labor Day. Unaware of how far the walk would be from the main road, we set off carrying our kayaks on foot. A park ranger in a pick-up truck eventually rescued us from the pain of the heavy boats and the swarm of mosquitoes by offering us a lift to the water. The lake was gorgeous. We kayaked the shoreline all the way around critiquing the houses on the shore and admiring the mountainous backdrop. Near sundown we left the lake by way of a different launch and made it back to campus in time for the rock-climbing trip meeting. Just enough people missed the meeting to make it possible for Jon and I to jump up on the list and attend the trip. We scheduled to leave Saturday morning.
Thursday was a rain out. Aside from a sustainable farming class I was able to attend with Jon and his roommate, I spent the day resting. The sun shone brightly on Friday so I hit the road after my morning run for a day trip to Burlington. At times I wondered if I would ever make it there, the scenery along the drive was so distracting it was hard not to pull over and marvel. Willpower ultimately took the wheel and I arrived in Burlington early afternoon. Immediately I felt at home. Downtown reminded me very much of downtown Ann Arbor, where I lived during undergrad. The city of Burlington sits on a steep slope which dives into Lake Champlain. At the lakefront there is a boardwalk of sorts which faces west over the water with the Adirondack Mountains climbing high in the background. Up the hill from downtown is the University of Vermont, a bustling college campus overlooking both the city and the lake. I spent the entire day wandering about town and needless to say I was sold.
8:30 a.m. on Saturday came much too early, and Jon and I carried our backpacks to the GMC van loaded with climbing gear and set off to northern New York with our group of 7 other students. Most of which were college juniors who had been climbing real rocks for years, where as my climbing experience was limited to the rock wall at Camp Henry years ago. I was the oldest person on the trip, but clearly the underdog. After a couple hours of dozing off in the back seat, the van parked. Everyone loaded their packs with climbing gear before we set off to hike to our first climb, Owl's Head. Again the scenery was breathtaking and then I saw the rock. Upon first glance it seemed nearly impossible that a human, not infected by a radioactive spider bite, could actually climb this rock. Oh how little I knew. While two of the trip leaders set up the top ropes the remaining one gave us a belay orientation and before long we were on the wall. Multiple ropes had been set up for different climbs along the Owl's Head wall, each a different difficulty. My only goal was to make it to the top of at least one climb, and I did. The feeling of climbing cannot be written in words, only experienced, which I hope leaves a bit of inspiration for anyone reading this to try climbing. From the top of the mountain we could see the sun sinking low so we posed for a few pictures before hiking back down to the van. Our group camped out in a New York State Park somewhere nearby. After erecting our tents a fire was built and dinner preparations were in the works, but soon encountered a road block. It took nearly an hour, perhaps more, to repair our camping stove to a cooking quality. How many college students does it take... Eventually, and much later than expected, burritos were served. Quickly my stomach went from imploding in starvation to exploding in satisfaction and with that I was off to bed.
Overnight the temperature dropped into the 30s, the lowest temperature in Vermont this fall, which meant the first rock we climbed in the morning would be freezing. Indeed it was. Sunday morning we traveled to the Beer Walls for our second day of climbing. The wall was sheltered from the sunlight by a thick curtain of trees and the temperature still lingered in the 40s. Fingers froze after seconds of contact with the rock which made for a painful climb. My first attempt was unsuccessful due to the numbing sensation in my hands, a feeling shared by everyone. Belaying as much as possible helped restore the blood flow to my extremities and soon I was ready for a second go. Once again I fulfilled my goal for the day by reaching the top. After a lunch break we moved to another location along the Beer Walls with a vertical height of nearly 90 feet. Though I never made it to the top, I did climb much higher than I expected to on this wall and deemed it a success. Mid-afternoon marked the end of our climbing endeavor and we began the journey back to Poultney, exhausted yet satisfied.
Tuesday afternoon Mustang Sally and I drove the entire width of New York State into Vermont. Besides the boredom of driving in a straight line for 5 hours alone, the drive went smoothly, that is until I left the interstate. The sun was setting when I exited onto the back country roads of up-state New York. Only a few weeks ago did hurricane Irene sweep across New England washing out entire roads and bridges, apparently that also included the one I was driving on. Suddenly my path was cut off by an array of orange cones and the words "ROAD CLOSED." While I thank the department of transportation for keeping me from driving down a potentially dangerous road, they had failed to indicate an alternative route of any sort. So the question was, right or left? Left. Perhaps I should have chosen right, not that it would not have mattered. It was a dark, windy, and confusing drive for roughly 30 minutes before I found my way back to a main highway. Hours later than hoped for, but all in one piece, I finally arrived in the one-traffic-light town of Poultney, Vermont, home of Green Mountain College where my younger brother, Jon, now attends undergrad.
A great majority of the students at Green Mountain College do not have class on Wednesdays, which makes Tuesdays their Thursdays. After settling into my brother's dorm room he suggested we check out the "bonfire", which was apparently the place to be this Tuesday. Just next to campus, the river which forms the boundary between New York and Vermont runs narrowly. On the Vermont bank, students had tied up a rope swing to an overhanging tree and arranged a circle of logs and stones around a small pit. Every stereotype and preconceived notion I had about this small environmental school in Vermont was exactly what I witnessed, right down to "the tent." I found it quite comical and could not stop the giggling the rest of the night.
Wednesday afternoon Jon and I rented a couple of sea kayaks from the Green Mountain Adventure Program, a department within the college that rents outdoor recreational gear to students for a minimal price and also leads expeditions to various adventure destinations in the northeast. Before leaving with our kayaks we noticed a rock climbing trip scheduled for that weekend. Though it was already overbooked, we signed ourselves up anyway. With two oversized kayaks on top of an undersized VW Jetta, we drove to Lake Saint Catherine to launch our boats. Unfortunately upon our arrival we found that the park entrance, our boat launch, was closed after Labor Day. Unaware of how far the walk would be from the main road, we set off carrying our kayaks on foot. A park ranger in a pick-up truck eventually rescued us from the pain of the heavy boats and the swarm of mosquitoes by offering us a lift to the water. The lake was gorgeous. We kayaked the shoreline all the way around critiquing the houses on the shore and admiring the mountainous backdrop. Near sundown we left the lake by way of a different launch and made it back to campus in time for the rock-climbing trip meeting. Just enough people missed the meeting to make it possible for Jon and I to jump up on the list and attend the trip. We scheduled to leave Saturday morning.
Thursday was a rain out. Aside from a sustainable farming class I was able to attend with Jon and his roommate, I spent the day resting. The sun shone brightly on Friday so I hit the road after my morning run for a day trip to Burlington. At times I wondered if I would ever make it there, the scenery along the drive was so distracting it was hard not to pull over and marvel. Willpower ultimately took the wheel and I arrived in Burlington early afternoon. Immediately I felt at home. Downtown reminded me very much of downtown Ann Arbor, where I lived during undergrad. The city of Burlington sits on a steep slope which dives into Lake Champlain. At the lakefront there is a boardwalk of sorts which faces west over the water with the Adirondack Mountains climbing high in the background. Up the hill from downtown is the University of Vermont, a bustling college campus overlooking both the city and the lake. I spent the entire day wandering about town and needless to say I was sold.
8:30 a.m. on Saturday came much too early, and Jon and I carried our backpacks to the GMC van loaded with climbing gear and set off to northern New York with our group of 7 other students. Most of which were college juniors who had been climbing real rocks for years, where as my climbing experience was limited to the rock wall at Camp Henry years ago. I was the oldest person on the trip, but clearly the underdog. After a couple hours of dozing off in the back seat, the van parked. Everyone loaded their packs with climbing gear before we set off to hike to our first climb, Owl's Head. Again the scenery was breathtaking and then I saw the rock. Upon first glance it seemed nearly impossible that a human, not infected by a radioactive spider bite, could actually climb this rock. Oh how little I knew. While two of the trip leaders set up the top ropes the remaining one gave us a belay orientation and before long we were on the wall. Multiple ropes had been set up for different climbs along the Owl's Head wall, each a different difficulty. My only goal was to make it to the top of at least one climb, and I did. The feeling of climbing cannot be written in words, only experienced, which I hope leaves a bit of inspiration for anyone reading this to try climbing. From the top of the mountain we could see the sun sinking low so we posed for a few pictures before hiking back down to the van. Our group camped out in a New York State Park somewhere nearby. After erecting our tents a fire was built and dinner preparations were in the works, but soon encountered a road block. It took nearly an hour, perhaps more, to repair our camping stove to a cooking quality. How many college students does it take... Eventually, and much later than expected, burritos were served. Quickly my stomach went from imploding in starvation to exploding in satisfaction and with that I was off to bed.
Overnight the temperature dropped into the 30s, the lowest temperature in Vermont this fall, which meant the first rock we climbed in the morning would be freezing. Indeed it was. Sunday morning we traveled to the Beer Walls for our second day of climbing. The wall was sheltered from the sunlight by a thick curtain of trees and the temperature still lingered in the 40s. Fingers froze after seconds of contact with the rock which made for a painful climb. My first attempt was unsuccessful due to the numbing sensation in my hands, a feeling shared by everyone. Belaying as much as possible helped restore the blood flow to my extremities and soon I was ready for a second go. Once again I fulfilled my goal for the day by reaching the top. After a lunch break we moved to another location along the Beer Walls with a vertical height of nearly 90 feet. Though I never made it to the top, I did climb much higher than I expected to on this wall and deemed it a success. Mid-afternoon marked the end of our climbing endeavor and we began the journey back to Poultney, exhausted yet satisfied.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
wa-ter-fall
waterfall: (n) a steep fall or flow of water in a watercourse from a height, as over a precipice.
Monday morning began later than I hoped it would. Therefore I elected to surpass Buffalo and drive straight to Niagara Falls which was indeed a great decision.
Car parked in the visitor lot, I slung my camera over my shoulder, stuffed my water canteen into my bag next to a granola bar, and set off to explore. As with many destinations along this journey, this was my very first visit to Niagara Falls. How I have lived 24 years without experiencing it before, I cannot comprehend. The entire day I was dumbfounded by the beauty that surrounded me and the awesome power of the water that raged over the edge, just meters from my feet. Often times a moment or vista would be so overwhelming I would become paralyzed, frozen in a stare exactly where I stood. After returning from my trans, but before moving on, I was sure to photograph EVERYTHING and with the help of a few friendly strangers was able to capture my own presence at the falls. Occurrences such as these consumed a significant amount of my already shortened afternoon. Fortunately I made it to every landmark on the New York side of the falls. This does not include all of the tourist gimmicks. Though I do imagine them to be a great way to experience the falls, they are most definitely not necessary, especially on a first visit. I suppose I could say the same about crossing over to Canada. The U.S. side of the falls has plenty to offer. That, and I fell short on time, which is perhaps the reasoning behind this argument. Truth be told, I have also never been to Canada. Again, how I have lived 24 years of life, in Michigan for that matter, and never crossed the northern border is beyond me. But worry not, Vancouver is on the itinerary for the west coast trip.
The bright colors in the sky indicated a setting sun, which was my cue leave to falls. There was one more journey into unfamiliar territory to be made today and I was not intending to make that journey in the dark. Regrettably, I continued north to 4 Mile Creek State Park in northern New York on the shores of Lake Ontario. Without reservations, I pulled into the park office lot and was greeted with locked doors but a poster of sorts indicating open campsite for the night. The sun was low on the horizon but still shed enough light for me to find a prime location and set up camp. My stomach reminded me that a bagel for breakfast and a granola bar for lunch was hardly satisfactory. Quickly, I weighted down the tent with my sleeping bag and duffle before driving off, yet again, in search of food.
In the one-blinking-red-light town of Youngstown, New York, I walked into the first, and possibly only, local diner. There was an open table next to the window overlooking the river to the west where I sat myself. Exhausted and starving, I quickly ordered the Greek Burger. Sitting alone at a restaurant, and an unfamiliar one at that, was another new experience for me and surprisingly enjoyable. Without the distraction of a companion sitting across the table from me, I was able to understand the presence of the company I was in. A feeling of home swept over me, even though I was literally hundreds of miles away from my actual home, and with that my dinner had arrived. It was quite possibly the greasiest burger I have ever eaten in my life, but I hoped the amount of acid gurgling in my stomach before the meal would counteract that.
By the time I returned to my tent the sun had set and left behind streaks of pinks and purples which I was too drowsy to enjoy. And by 8:30 I was sound asleep. It really is a shame I did not turn off my cell phone before collapsing onto my pillow, because when it went off 2 hours later I may as well have downed a pot of coffee. Though the night was beautiful and camping so peaceful, it was nearly 3 in the morning before my eyes closed again. At some point during the night the wind picked up to speeds that would have blown my tent into Lake Ontario had I not been sleeping in it. My tent was on the verge of imploding on me around 8 a.m., by then sleep was hopeless. Hope the chocolate covered espresso beans from Philip last me the next 7 hours to Poultney, Vermont!
Monday morning began later than I hoped it would. Therefore I elected to surpass Buffalo and drive straight to Niagara Falls which was indeed a great decision.
Car parked in the visitor lot, I slung my camera over my shoulder, stuffed my water canteen into my bag next to a granola bar, and set off to explore. As with many destinations along this journey, this was my very first visit to Niagara Falls. How I have lived 24 years without experiencing it before, I cannot comprehend. The entire day I was dumbfounded by the beauty that surrounded me and the awesome power of the water that raged over the edge, just meters from my feet. Often times a moment or vista would be so overwhelming I would become paralyzed, frozen in a stare exactly where I stood. After returning from my trans, but before moving on, I was sure to photograph EVERYTHING and with the help of a few friendly strangers was able to capture my own presence at the falls. Occurrences such as these consumed a significant amount of my already shortened afternoon. Fortunately I made it to every landmark on the New York side of the falls. This does not include all of the tourist gimmicks. Though I do imagine them to be a great way to experience the falls, they are most definitely not necessary, especially on a first visit. I suppose I could say the same about crossing over to Canada. The U.S. side of the falls has plenty to offer. That, and I fell short on time, which is perhaps the reasoning behind this argument. Truth be told, I have also never been to Canada. Again, how I have lived 24 years of life, in Michigan for that matter, and never crossed the northern border is beyond me. But worry not, Vancouver is on the itinerary for the west coast trip.
The bright colors in the sky indicated a setting sun, which was my cue leave to falls. There was one more journey into unfamiliar territory to be made today and I was not intending to make that journey in the dark. Regrettably, I continued north to 4 Mile Creek State Park in northern New York on the shores of Lake Ontario. Without reservations, I pulled into the park office lot and was greeted with locked doors but a poster of sorts indicating open campsite for the night. The sun was low on the horizon but still shed enough light for me to find a prime location and set up camp. My stomach reminded me that a bagel for breakfast and a granola bar for lunch was hardly satisfactory. Quickly, I weighted down the tent with my sleeping bag and duffle before driving off, yet again, in search of food.
In the one-blinking-red-light town of Youngstown, New York, I walked into the first, and possibly only, local diner. There was an open table next to the window overlooking the river to the west where I sat myself. Exhausted and starving, I quickly ordered the Greek Burger. Sitting alone at a restaurant, and an unfamiliar one at that, was another new experience for me and surprisingly enjoyable. Without the distraction of a companion sitting across the table from me, I was able to understand the presence of the company I was in. A feeling of home swept over me, even though I was literally hundreds of miles away from my actual home, and with that my dinner had arrived. It was quite possibly the greasiest burger I have ever eaten in my life, but I hoped the amount of acid gurgling in my stomach before the meal would counteract that.
By the time I returned to my tent the sun had set and left behind streaks of pinks and purples which I was too drowsy to enjoy. And by 8:30 I was sound asleep. It really is a shame I did not turn off my cell phone before collapsing onto my pillow, because when it went off 2 hours later I may as well have downed a pot of coffee. Though the night was beautiful and camping so peaceful, it was nearly 3 in the morning before my eyes closed again. At some point during the night the wind picked up to speeds that would have blown my tent into Lake Ontario had I not been sleeping in it. My tent was on the verge of imploding on me around 8 a.m., by then sleep was hopeless. Hope the chocolate covered espresso beans from Philip last me the next 7 hours to Poultney, Vermont!
Monday, September 12, 2011
Cleve-land
Cleveland: (n) a port in NE Ohio, on Lake Erie
By noon on Friday I was clocking the first of what is sure to be thousands of miles in the eastern United States. To avoid Grand Rapids traffic, I elected to take the back roads to the highway. As the car idled in a line of vehicles behind a man in a hard hat holding a STOP sign, I came to regret my decision. With a flick of his wrist STOP became SLOW and the line of traffic moved through the construction zone like a centipede. 100 miles later another parade of orange cones slowed this first leg of my very long journey. After adding nearly an hour to my driving time Ann Arbor was finally in sight. The pains of street parking and the cocktail of aromas on State Street brought me back to senior year. Diane and I rendezvoused on the upper floor of Bivoac while I practiced my decision making skills on the abundant selection of sleeping pads. Purchase in hand we walked together toward Kerry Town to visit the Tea Haus. The hours passed far too quickly as we gabbed over tea and once again I hit the road.
My preconceived notions of Cleveland were not the greatest. For one, it is in Ohio. Need I say more? After hours of driving under bright sunny skies, the moment the Cleveland skyline came into view drops of rain began falling onto my windshield. Of course. My host shared just as much enthusiasm for this city as I did but was determined to make the visit worth my time. Scott, his girlfriend Dede, their neighbors Jack and Kim, friend "Climber" and I spent our evening at the Great Lakes Brewing Company in downtown Cleveland. Already my opinions of the city were changing. The Brewing Co. is housed in a beautiful 19th century brick building, carefully restored. We enjoyed a few pitchers of Oktoberfest in the "speakeasy" style basement before taking a brewery tour on which I sampled the Eliot Ness Amber Lager and the Edmund Fitzgerald Porter.
Which leads me to this question: According to the lyrics by Gordon Lightfoot, how much weight was the Edmund Fitzgerald carrying when it sank in 1975?
Saturday morning the fun from the night before had caught up to a few people in our group. While they relaxed away the hangover, I met up with Philip to explore some more of Cleveland. We began with breakfast at house converted to restaurant/bakery for what may have been the largest omelet I've ever attempted to eat. Philip, an architect, was sure to point out every significant building and house along the way to Cleveland's famous West Side Market. The bustling indoor food market was a beautiful contrast to the slum-like markets in Central America I had grown accustom to. If only I had a grocery list. We picked up some delicious chocolate covered espresso beans and moved outdoors. The rest of the sunny afternoon was spent along the shore of Lake Erie climbing up and down the jagged concrete seawall at Edgewater Park. Saturday night was the first night game in The Big House. The University of Michigan Wolverines kicked off against the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame in Ann Arbor while Scott and I, dressed in our maize and blue, cheered them on from the suburbs of Cleveland. If you missed the game, shame on you. Truth be told, Michigan played terrible football for the entire first half, but the entire game really came down to the last, very exciting, 2 minutes. In the end, Michigan took away the victory 35-31. The overabundance of adrenaline surging through our veins fueled us into a marathon of house games until 3:30 a.m.
Sunday morning Scott was in a similar state as the day before, so Dede and I spent the morning together running through the park. Kayaking was on the agenda for the afternoon and the skies were clear when we returned. So we packed for a day on the water and stopped for breakfast along the way, during which the skies turned a mean shade of dark and erupted with thunder and lightning. Alternative suggestions were made, but never decided upon, as we cruised around town. Borders' going out of business sale was the first thing we agreed upon. Finally Dede insisted on black-light mini-golf which was a surprisingly legitimate putting course. We concluded the weekend with burgers at the B-Spot and cheers to new friends.
I had an amazing time in the most unexpected of cities and am looking forward to a short reunion on my return trip home.
By noon on Friday I was clocking the first of what is sure to be thousands of miles in the eastern United States. To avoid Grand Rapids traffic, I elected to take the back roads to the highway. As the car idled in a line of vehicles behind a man in a hard hat holding a STOP sign, I came to regret my decision. With a flick of his wrist STOP became SLOW and the line of traffic moved through the construction zone like a centipede. 100 miles later another parade of orange cones slowed this first leg of my very long journey. After adding nearly an hour to my driving time Ann Arbor was finally in sight. The pains of street parking and the cocktail of aromas on State Street brought me back to senior year. Diane and I rendezvoused on the upper floor of Bivoac while I practiced my decision making skills on the abundant selection of sleeping pads. Purchase in hand we walked together toward Kerry Town to visit the Tea Haus. The hours passed far too quickly as we gabbed over tea and once again I hit the road.
My preconceived notions of Cleveland were not the greatest. For one, it is in Ohio. Need I say more? After hours of driving under bright sunny skies, the moment the Cleveland skyline came into view drops of rain began falling onto my windshield. Of course. My host shared just as much enthusiasm for this city as I did but was determined to make the visit worth my time. Scott, his girlfriend Dede, their neighbors Jack and Kim, friend "Climber" and I spent our evening at the Great Lakes Brewing Company in downtown Cleveland. Already my opinions of the city were changing. The Brewing Co. is housed in a beautiful 19th century brick building, carefully restored. We enjoyed a few pitchers of Oktoberfest in the "speakeasy" style basement before taking a brewery tour on which I sampled the Eliot Ness Amber Lager and the Edmund Fitzgerald Porter.
Which leads me to this question: According to the lyrics by Gordon Lightfoot, how much weight was the Edmund Fitzgerald carrying when it sank in 1975?
Saturday morning the fun from the night before had caught up to a few people in our group. While they relaxed away the hangover, I met up with Philip to explore some more of Cleveland. We began with breakfast at house converted to restaurant/bakery for what may have been the largest omelet I've ever attempted to eat. Philip, an architect, was sure to point out every significant building and house along the way to Cleveland's famous West Side Market. The bustling indoor food market was a beautiful contrast to the slum-like markets in Central America I had grown accustom to. If only I had a grocery list. We picked up some delicious chocolate covered espresso beans and moved outdoors. The rest of the sunny afternoon was spent along the shore of Lake Erie climbing up and down the jagged concrete seawall at Edgewater Park. Saturday night was the first night game in The Big House. The University of Michigan Wolverines kicked off against the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame in Ann Arbor while Scott and I, dressed in our maize and blue, cheered them on from the suburbs of Cleveland. If you missed the game, shame on you. Truth be told, Michigan played terrible football for the entire first half, but the entire game really came down to the last, very exciting, 2 minutes. In the end, Michigan took away the victory 35-31. The overabundance of adrenaline surging through our veins fueled us into a marathon of house games until 3:30 a.m.
Sunday morning Scott was in a similar state as the day before, so Dede and I spent the morning together running through the park. Kayaking was on the agenda for the afternoon and the skies were clear when we returned. So we packed for a day on the water and stopped for breakfast along the way, during which the skies turned a mean shade of dark and erupted with thunder and lightning. Alternative suggestions were made, but never decided upon, as we cruised around town. Borders' going out of business sale was the first thing we agreed upon. Finally Dede insisted on black-light mini-golf which was a surprisingly legitimate putting course. We concluded the weekend with burgers at the B-Spot and cheers to new friends.
I had an amazing time in the most unexpected of cities and am looking forward to a short reunion on my return trip home.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
road trip
road trip: (n) a journey via automobile, sometimes unplanned or impromptu
This July I returned to the United States after living and working in Honduras for a year, and traveling throughout northern Central America. Those who had been in touch with me for the duration of my time abroad know that much has changed in my life. The state of being I found myself in upon reentering the U.S. was nowhere near anything I could have ever pictured for myself at the prime age of 24. Though surprising and unexpected, it was also a very exhilarating feeling. With a bachelor's degree from the University of Michigan and a year of teaching experience in a foreign country, I also had no job awaiting me, grad school to attend, or boyfriend to base decisions around. I was uncommitted in every sense of the word and ready for a brand new chapter in my life.
Among the thousands of life lessons I have learned in the last 12 months, one of them is how important it is to be happy with where you live. This, in combination with my recent life status and incurable desire for adventure, is what put the "wheels in motion" for my next journey.
This fall I am traveling the country in pursuit of a new place to call home. Other objectives include visiting prospective graduate schools, searching for jobs in architecture, reuniting with physically distant friends and family, exploring cities for the first time, and seeing national parks and monuments. After living in the tropical mountains of Honduras for 12 months, HOURS away from a swimmable water source, I've narrowed my search down from the entire country to the east and west coasts where I can be near to the water again. Part one of my journey is an east coast road trip.
My uncle Eric has so graciously loaned me his 1992 Ford Mustang for the next month as I set off to visit 12 cities on the eastern seaboard in 36 days. On the itinerary: Cleveland, Ohio; Niagara Falls, New York; Poultney, Vermont; Boston, Massachusetts; New Haven, Connecticut; Woodbourne, New York; Washington, D.C.; Quinton, Virginia; Raleigh, North Carolina; Charleston, South Carolina; Blacksburg, Virginia.
East coast, here I come!
This July I returned to the United States after living and working in Honduras for a year, and traveling throughout northern Central America. Those who had been in touch with me for the duration of my time abroad know that much has changed in my life. The state of being I found myself in upon reentering the U.S. was nowhere near anything I could have ever pictured for myself at the prime age of 24. Though surprising and unexpected, it was also a very exhilarating feeling. With a bachelor's degree from the University of Michigan and a year of teaching experience in a foreign country, I also had no job awaiting me, grad school to attend, or boyfriend to base decisions around. I was uncommitted in every sense of the word and ready for a brand new chapter in my life.
Among the thousands of life lessons I have learned in the last 12 months, one of them is how important it is to be happy with where you live. This, in combination with my recent life status and incurable desire for adventure, is what put the "wheels in motion" for my next journey.
This fall I am traveling the country in pursuit of a new place to call home. Other objectives include visiting prospective graduate schools, searching for jobs in architecture, reuniting with physically distant friends and family, exploring cities for the first time, and seeing national parks and monuments. After living in the tropical mountains of Honduras for 12 months, HOURS away from a swimmable water source, I've narrowed my search down from the entire country to the east and west coasts where I can be near to the water again. Part one of my journey is an east coast road trip.
My uncle Eric has so graciously loaned me his 1992 Ford Mustang for the next month as I set off to visit 12 cities on the eastern seaboard in 36 days. On the itinerary: Cleveland, Ohio; Niagara Falls, New York; Poultney, Vermont; Boston, Massachusetts; New Haven, Connecticut; Woodbourne, New York; Washington, D.C.; Quinton, Virginia; Raleigh, North Carolina; Charleston, South Carolina; Blacksburg, Virginia.
East coast, here I come!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
mouse
mouse: (n) any of numerous small Old World rodents of the family Muridae, especially of the genus Mus, introduced widely in other parts of the world.
Actually, "mice" would a more appropriate title for this post. For it is not a singular mouse that has frustrated me into taking up my blog again after 9 months of absence but rather, a colony of mice. However, the dictionary defines the word "mice" as "the plural form of mouse." And so here we are. No matter the word, this story is of the physical creature and its incredibly destructive tendencies.
For this up and coming Labor Day weekend, my cousin Jimmy is flying to Michigan all the way from California to visit our extended family. It has been at least 4 years, my last trip to California, since we've seen each other. To celebrate his reunion with the rest of our family, as well as the national holiday, the Klos family is camping out at Granny's. Though it hardly qualifies as camping. Grandma's 3 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house is on small inland lake with a large, lightly wooded with great big pine trees, lot. "Camping" in the lawn is just a better way to enjoy the lake and prevent cramming everybody into one house.
In preparation for "camping" my father asked me to clean our pop-up camper and take inventory of the camping gear. This morning he popped-up the camper in the driveway and upon entering...
The only thing more appalling than the sight of our camper, was the smell. An entire neighborhood's worth of mice had made themselves very much at home in our Coleman Fleetwood camper. Within each storage cabinet were nests of sorts, constructed with bits of our chewed through game boxes, pillow cases, and dish rags. Mouse droppings dotted the entire interior like sprinkles on a cupcake. Stains and fur remained plastered to the canvas where deceased members of the mouse colony had been decaying for an untold amount of time. Of course today had to be the hottest September day on record in Grand Rapids since the 1980s. Need I say more?
It took several trips in and out of the camper while holding my breath to remove the accumulation of our family camping accessories from inside. In some places the Shop-Vac was the only tool able to reveal what was salvageable beneath all of the shredding and shit. There was not much left. Literally EVERYTHING had been contaminated with mouse feces. Anything that was worth keeping needed an extra long swim in a pool of bleach. What was left of the camper was not much better. The mattresses were stained and chewed, droppings were stuck in every crevice and fold of fabric, and the exterior canvas was chewed completely through leaving jagged and unwanted skylights above the beds. The smell alone was cause enough to call it quits on the camper all together. Unfortunately the company who manufactured this particular camper is no longer in business due to bankruptcy in 2008. There is no saving this camper. Amazing how a 3 inch mouse, and its friends, can completely destroy a 21 foot camper.
I'll be in the tent at Granny's this year.
If anyone is interested in camper parts for a Fleetwood Coleman pop up camper, please contact me.
Actually, "mice" would a more appropriate title for this post. For it is not a singular mouse that has frustrated me into taking up my blog again after 9 months of absence but rather, a colony of mice. However, the dictionary defines the word "mice" as "the plural form of mouse." And so here we are. No matter the word, this story is of the physical creature and its incredibly destructive tendencies.
For this up and coming Labor Day weekend, my cousin Jimmy is flying to Michigan all the way from California to visit our extended family. It has been at least 4 years, my last trip to California, since we've seen each other. To celebrate his reunion with the rest of our family, as well as the national holiday, the Klos family is camping out at Granny's. Though it hardly qualifies as camping. Grandma's 3 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house is on small inland lake with a large, lightly wooded with great big pine trees, lot. "Camping" in the lawn is just a better way to enjoy the lake and prevent cramming everybody into one house.
In preparation for "camping" my father asked me to clean our pop-up camper and take inventory of the camping gear. This morning he popped-up the camper in the driveway and upon entering...
The only thing more appalling than the sight of our camper, was the smell. An entire neighborhood's worth of mice had made themselves very much at home in our Coleman Fleetwood camper. Within each storage cabinet were nests of sorts, constructed with bits of our chewed through game boxes, pillow cases, and dish rags. Mouse droppings dotted the entire interior like sprinkles on a cupcake. Stains and fur remained plastered to the canvas where deceased members of the mouse colony had been decaying for an untold amount of time. Of course today had to be the hottest September day on record in Grand Rapids since the 1980s. Need I say more?
It took several trips in and out of the camper while holding my breath to remove the accumulation of our family camping accessories from inside. In some places the Shop-Vac was the only tool able to reveal what was salvageable beneath all of the shredding and shit. There was not much left. Literally EVERYTHING had been contaminated with mouse feces. Anything that was worth keeping needed an extra long swim in a pool of bleach. What was left of the camper was not much better. The mattresses were stained and chewed, droppings were stuck in every crevice and fold of fabric, and the exterior canvas was chewed completely through leaving jagged and unwanted skylights above the beds. The smell alone was cause enough to call it quits on the camper all together. Unfortunately the company who manufactured this particular camper is no longer in business due to bankruptcy in 2008. There is no saving this camper. Amazing how a 3 inch mouse, and its friends, can completely destroy a 21 foot camper.
I'll be in the tent at Granny's this year.
If anyone is interested in camper parts for a Fleetwood Coleman pop up camper, please contact me.
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