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.
Friday, September 30, 2011
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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