tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60662987563999528642024-02-19T09:13:54.119-08:00Dispatches from the CoronaverseTwo overweight, slightly confused retirees/veteran adventurers shelter in place in Detroit, Michigan, one of the 2020 pandemic's hotspots. Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-39023304362506913112020-05-01T18:27:00.001-07:002020-05-01T18:30:31.525-07:00The Moment of Truth<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Day 40 April 29, 2020<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> -</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">12:40 am</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jSvIYjCjToLe7bRNfr6ddpkxA26zFqoLyNqCcTWfkWqBIiwiwfZdXHeKZfG6QHCW8oTh8SqOu8-XeblDudYgvBEM5tuo6uPNLTSsrXSoLZ541_d1pg36IJP_kaKOQNij_ZGxDfbQ5Q/s1600/20200501_205018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="670" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jSvIYjCjToLe7bRNfr6ddpkxA26zFqoLyNqCcTWfkWqBIiwiwfZdXHeKZfG6QHCW8oTh8SqOu8-XeblDudYgvBEM5tuo6uPNLTSsrXSoLZ541_d1pg36IJP_kaKOQNij_ZGxDfbQ5Q/s320/20200501_205018.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wes fills the day</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have not turned on the radio all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only media I watch are reruns of long
dead series.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can bear Twitter for about 5
minutes this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Facebook even less.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I slog through work but feel demoralized by the effort of
making plans when the future is all but obscured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Even my fallback fill-up-the-day and occupy-my-mind-and-hands
activities like cooking complicated dishes, organizing my drawers, or scraping
paint off the basement wall have lost their savor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have gone for walks. I have gone for drives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have donned my protective gear to go
recreation shop at the grocery store, where I buy something I have never tried just to stimulate a conversation and make the day pass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have pulled out my first level piano books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I clump through these pieces, then force myself
to play the same easy piece in another key.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is ugly but necessary work as I try to make up for gaps in my
musical education.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I screech away on my
penny whistle, where I specialize in loud, a-rhythmic playing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m reading— man, am I reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have at least five or six books going
right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And boatloads of
<u>New Yorkers,</u> and <u>Atlantics</u>—and daily dives into the <u>New</u> <u>York Times,</u> <u>Washington
Post</u>, <u>The Guardian</u>, and <u>Free Press.</u><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And yet…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The days are long and silent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m sick of reading about coronavirus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sick to death of hearing about the drug-addled conman and his crew of corrupt sycophants masquerading as our government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had it with all the preaching, yelling,
chastising, shaming blather which passes for discourse on social media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Virtual church is a simulacrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We note the excellence of the
music, nod to the sermon, and scroll the sidebar to see who else is watching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It is not</span> a spiritual practice. There's</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> no transubstantiation from afar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My husband retreats to his office and I to mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We're tired of talking. </span>When he starts, again, about how we
used to joke about getting ready for the “The Big One” and here we are, right
in one,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cut him off at “used to joke.”
I’ve heard it all before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I can’t keep some thoughts at bay…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We can’t keep doing what we have been doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t keep doing what I have been doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The virus, if nothing else, strips away our illusions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I face some ugly truths:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Our culture is</span></span> willing to let people die—especially the
old, poor, brown/black ones—as long as the money keeps flowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Our addiction to petroleum will kill us and the
earth because we love sloth and convenience even more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->My husband is facing neurological challenges and
it ain’t gonna get better<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->I am a chicken and a great runner-away—to books, busyness, claptrap and distractions<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We, collectively and individually, are about 70% of the way
to overwhelmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What happens when we have even less capacity and even more
need?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Questions loom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How can we know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
is there to know?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The virus makes clear: there are no promises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not for this day, not for this minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">But...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I don’t want pour the water of consciousness
into one glass, then pour it into another, then back again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Surely, surely, there is a better choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">May 1, 2020 </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">7:04pm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cases<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Deaths<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 3,303,296<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 235,290<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 1,128,118<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 65,416<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 42,356<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 3,866<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Detroit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 9,192<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 1,045<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 2.5pt;">*US deaths are up 90% since April 18.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">MayDay</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Maybe it’s the buds on the trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Maybe it's my worries-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Whether to play: <i>vita brevis<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Or to make more art: <i>ars longa<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Or prepare for the winter that is surely coming--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So within<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So without<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The tsunami has struck</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And the
truth is <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFETG53qQ2L-5KvD5Zh8R1T-CE7kwHCrbntmvx1-9MWDaqJOZsJNtPMoirTIJiua1L5hMtPh1rDxnDQZ9_y_cTtz2MdgSbdOhvxg1njneHuYuUJY9SC6lxAEf4JZK7ESCfozcQPh_TA/s1600/Heat+map+%25282%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="1600" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFETG53qQ2L-5KvD5Zh8R1T-CE7kwHCrbntmvx1-9MWDaqJOZsJNtPMoirTIJiua1L5hMtPh1rDxnDQZ9_y_cTtz2MdgSbdOhvxg1njneHuYuUJY9SC6lxAEf4JZK7ESCfozcQPh_TA/s400/Heat+map+%25282%2529.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The tsunami is going to roll right on<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To the next neighborhood<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And they are going to hate it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hate it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Get ready for the tide that’s coming. To y</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">our town.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For those of us left in the wake</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There’s
been a lot of damage<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s going to take a while</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To get it working again--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>For
the first time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To get us working again</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You know-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> Look</span> good<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Feel
good<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> Be</span> good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s gon’ take a while to have faith<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In our systems<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In our
government</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It'll take some time 'til we trust</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Each other</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Ourselves</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Like I said—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s gonna be a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I guess we best get started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 2.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-18799500902424116272020-04-23T22:01:00.000-07:002020-04-24T10:11:25.299-07:00Day 36: The Horror Comes Home<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="left" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; margin-left: 6.75pt; margin-right: 6.75pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-table-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-table-anchor-vertical: margin; mso-table-left: left; mso-table-lspace: 9.0pt; mso-table-rspace: 9.0pt; mso-table-top: 52.5pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<br /></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cases<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Deaths<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">2,658, 387<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">186,434<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>855,869<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>48,061<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>33,966<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 52.5pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2,813<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As of April 23, <b>12:26 pm<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="left" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; margin-left: 6.75pt; margin-right: 6.75pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-table-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-table-anchor-vertical: page; mso-table-left: left; mso-table-lspace: 9.0pt; mso-table-rspace: 9.0pt; mso-table-top: 253.55pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<br /></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cases<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Deaths<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">2,707,356<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">190,743<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>889,568<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>50,177<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>35,291<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 81.0pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-element-anchor-horizontal: margin; mso-element-anchor-vertical: page; mso-element-frame-hspace: 9.0pt; mso-element-top: 253.55pt; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: frame; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2,917<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>April 23, <b>11:07pm….<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In Detroit, there are now 8332 cases and 786
deaths<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Last night, my husband lay crying and shuddering
in bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spent too many hours reading pandemic
stories.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today, our award winning and trusted journalist broke down crying while he was broadcasting, as he remembered the Covid-19 death on a longtime
listener.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Two days ago, I ranted in my journal:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I cried today reading the
New York Times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all too much. I
had been reading stories about people who keep working because they can’t
stop-even if endangers their life and the lives of their children.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I cry because the list of the
dead and hospitalized read during on online Mass is long, but even so, incomplete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Name after name is typed into the chat scroll
at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I cry because the Free
Press has page after page of obituaries, and these are almost exclusively
European-American and I know that 75% of the people dying in Detroit are African-American.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I cry when I read about a
son grieving the loss of his step-father and grandfather, and his worries about
his hospitalized mother and sick baby brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He tried and failed three times-to get his stepfather hospitalized, but
in the end, he died in his recliner at home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">I am furious that my bank
(Comerica) never even got their Payroll Protection Program started before the
funds ran out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big corporate hogs like
Ruth’s Chris Steak House got $20 million, but the little Coney Island diner
down the street got nothing (Facing a backlash and a Change.org petition with
250,000 signatures, the chain decided to return their loans. (</span><a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/business/business-news/facing-furor-ruth-s-chris-high-end-steak-chain-returns-n1190606">https://www.nbcnews.com/business/business-news/facing-furor-ruth-s-chris-high-end-steak-chain-returns-n1190606</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am angry and upset and
fearful because only some people get protected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And if you don’t, too bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now
we watch beautiful, loving, giving, smart, ethical, courageous, generous people being sacrificed to the gods of money and self-interest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am angry and sad and grieving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what to do with these emotions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">We dream of running away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would only have to travel 1.5 miles to be someplace
more humane, more fair, more just.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
Canada, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6 million people have already
begun receiving their $2000 month stimulus check,</span> <a href="https://www.canada.ca/en/department-finance/economic-response-plan.html#individuals">https://www.canada.ca/en/department-finance/economic-response-plan.html#individuals</a><span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">In the US, millions struggle to apply for
their much smaller unemployment check. </span><a href="https://www.brookings.edu/research/unemployment-insurance-is-failing-workers-during-covid-19-heres-how-to-strengthen-it/">https://www.brookings.edu/research/unemployment-insurance-is-failing-workers-during-covid-19-heres-how-to-strengthen-it/</a><span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We are stuck with incompetence
and corruption making an already unfair system even worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">As David Frum puts it: “I</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">n pandemic as in prosperity,
the Trump way is to punish opponents, reward friends; accuse victims, protect
culprits; demand credit, refuse accountability; protect preferred classes and
groups of Americans—and sacrifice the rest.”</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/04/trump-trading-lives-poor-economic-growth/610264/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/04/trump-trading-lives-poor-economic-growth/610264/</a></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #3c3736; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">George Packer offers an even harsher
analysis in “We are Living in a Failed State.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Every morning in
the endless month of March, Americans woke up to find themselves citizens of a
failed state. With no national plan—no coherent instructions at all—</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a data-omni-click="r'article',r'',d,r'intext',r'2',r'None'" href="https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2020/03/america-isnt-failing-its-pandemic-testwashington-is/608026/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; transition: all 0.15s ease 0s; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black;">families, schools, and offices were
left to decide on their own whether to shut down and take shelter</span></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">. When test kits, masks, gowns, and ventilators were found to
be in desperately short supply, governors pleaded for them from the White
House, which stalled, then called on private enterprise, which couldn’t
deliver. States and cities were forced into bidding wars that left them prey to
price gouging and corporate profiteering. </span></span><a data-omni-click="r'article',r'',d,r'intext',r'3',r'None'" href="https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2020/04/crafts-coronavirus-quarantine-stress-relief/609187/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; transition: all 0.15s ease 0s; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black;">Civilians took out their sewing
machines</span></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> to try to keep ill-equipped hospital workers healthy
and their patients alive. Russia, Taiwan, and the United Nations sent
humanitarian aid to the world’s richest power—a beggar nation in utter chaos.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/06/underlying-conditions/610261/">https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/06/underlying-conditions/610261/</a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So here we are, hoping that the upturn at the far right of
the following chart is an upward blip on a downward trend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7lgh-GBmHErgXHdhXWNHZz3snJZPgcBtoD-4LPQbQiev69tivsTw68EylNcbVC_IMeBdXIFSF59dc8Izs4jmXv2rpAiBUJ8dq51tOmrtWk-GgH7trhwiQQSN68rmBoIxSxY-QSb-AQ/s1600/CasesGraph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="1596" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7lgh-GBmHErgXHdhXWNHZz3snJZPgcBtoD-4LPQbQiev69tivsTw68EylNcbVC_IMeBdXIFSF59dc8Izs4jmXv2rpAiBUJ8dq51tOmrtWk-GgH7trhwiQQSN68rmBoIxSxY-QSb-AQ/s640/CasesGraph.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.clickondetroit.com/news/local/2020/04/16/detroit-covid-19-data-tracking-cases-deaths/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">https://www.clickondetroit.com/news/local/2020/04/16/detroit-covid-19-data-tracking-cases-deaths/</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That’s all we have: a shred of hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Is that enough to keep our friends A, B, C, and D healthy and whole?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (see my previous post) </span>A now
has the virus, but is not very ill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B is
very ill, but received a negative result from his COVID-19 test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>C has been released from the hospital and moved
to an unknown location.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>D is holding on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it enough to keep safe the sister of friend
who is in a nursing home where 75% of the residents have the virus?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s not enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hope
is not enough when the horror is all too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="Wayne County COVID-19 daily new deaths through April 21, 2020."
style='width:468.5pt;height:269.5pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/nethe/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image003.jpg"
o:title="Wayne County COVID-19 daily new deaths through April 21, 2020"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-26064369456463811082020-04-19T11:17:00.001-07:002020-04-23T21:38:31.224-07:00Day 32: Whose Liberty?<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Two of our
best friends (I’ll call them A and B) are now living in fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ten days ago, in an act of charity, they
brought to live in their home a man just released from prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This man, (let’s name him C) had been a
member of our circle, but had been imprisoned with an extra-harsh sentence for
misuse of donated church funds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A and B are
older members of a small religious community dedicated to acts of service and
mercy at the most domestic level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Through the years of C’s incarceration, A and B faithfully visited C in
prison, garnered support for his parole, and retained and shared a belief in
C’s core goodness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all counting
the days to C’s release in May.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then
coronavirus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because of
the virulence of the pathogen and the close quarters, Michigan prisons began
releasing those who were fragile or who were close to their release dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our circle celebrated when we learned that C
would be one of those.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One member
suggested a drive-by with balloons and horn-honking to welcome home the
prodigal son.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But when A
and B, along with D, another member of our circle (and C’s closest associate in
our group), picked up C from prison, it was clear that C was already ill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A and B took
C into their home, where he became more and more ill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After years in a small cell, C would not be
confined in his guest bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is
understandable, but he moved through the house leaving piles of detritus —discarded
clothes, used tissues, dirty dishes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When A and B asked that he stop and that he wear a mask, C refused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But C became
increasingly ill until last Wednesday, when B took him to a suburban urgent care
facility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After depositing him at the
door, B waited for hours in the parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unbeknownst to him, C had been transported to and hospitalized at a
major medical center in Detroit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
no-one’s surprise, but everyone’s consternation, C tested positive for
coronavirus. He is on oxygen and receiving an experimental drug treatment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now these
two elderly religious are left in quarantine and fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both are in their late 70’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A is nearly blind; B has had heart
problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They scrub their house and
worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we worry about them---and
about D, who has significant health problems and who should not have spent
hours in a car with someone carrying the virus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So now we
wait and pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You should, too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aiGBYfSCoAd92-Ehc9jvc3Up_oq4q_k98bgAxphqrOrirtfDVLbMlam1RUgLMVEZfKPrEvL19DlKBhCAdS-Fc9A6hUjYFIeAk2iNybIEao8E5INVFYLkJeUB08nlQJlXWtbd4lzNNw/s1600/Let+Wyowork.4.8.20+.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="319" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5aiGBYfSCoAd92-Ehc9jvc3Up_oq4q_k98bgAxphqrOrirtfDVLbMlam1RUgLMVEZfKPrEvL19DlKBhCAdS-Fc9A6hUjYFIeAk2iNybIEao8E5INVFYLkJeUB08nlQJlXWtbd4lzNNw/s200/Let+Wyowork.4.8.20+.crop.jpg" width="91" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 8, 2020</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My brother
in Wyoming sent me another troubling story. A young man whose roommate worked
in medical facility with one of the state’s worst outbreaks was tested for the
virus and told to self-isolate until he received his results. That did not stop
him from going to two parties—shared on Facebook Live where partiers mocked
fears of the virus-- between the time he was tested and when he received his
positive results.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wyoming has
relatively unscathed by the pandemic, with only 383 cases and 2 deaths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been the site of the 1<sup>st</sup>
protest again lock-down orders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Protesters perched on street corners demanding an end to the social
distancing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5SjkNOCK-CTYKggdpVjP05oJKeAFXQmXP5ZFZvfLNrbq8eeQYeiLIFa7riCYAi5qJ_OxOzyhKuL-ewFHZSgk3H_BD8_KUIr45LpCKO1pF7aiyJBXJkYzonGuBAbCnMomv-XMZxJqRA/s1600/arms+and+confederate+flags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5SjkNOCK-CTYKggdpVjP05oJKeAFXQmXP5ZFZvfLNrbq8eeQYeiLIFa7riCYAi5qJ_OxOzyhKuL-ewFHZSgk3H_BD8_KUIr45LpCKO1pF7aiyJBXJkYzonGuBAbCnMomv-XMZxJqRA/s320/arms+and+confederate+flags.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Operation Gridlock in Michigan, April 15,2020</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The same show
appeared in Michigan this week, as hundreds<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>drove from outstate Michigan to participation in Operation
Gridlock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, the cars blocked
traffic at the Capital—and kept ambulances from reaching Sparrow Hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abandoning their cars, protesters spilled
onto the lawn of the Capital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most were
not wearing masks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some carried
confederate flags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large number
carried automatic weapons, misdrawn swastikas and racists signs about
Detroit bumped up against <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>signs calling
for “Liberty” and “Freedom.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What is the
freedom to do exactly as one pleases without any regard for anyone else’s
health or safety?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is the liberation
that prioritizes personal desires over all other considerations?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What kind of
culture and what kind of future can we have when “love your neighbor” and “be
your brother’s keeper” are overwhelmed by <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>self-centered, self-seeking, and
self-rewarding behaviors?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So now we
wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But we wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will the toxicity
of America’s brand of rugged individualism feed the pathogen at our door?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The numbers as of April 18, 2020 11:28am</span></span></div>
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border: 1pt solid windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: 1pt solid windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cases<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: 1pt solid windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Deaths<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">2,256,844<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">154,350<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 712,184<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 34,386<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 30,023<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 2,227<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As of April 19, 10:20 am</span></span></div>
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border: 1pt solid windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: 1pt solid windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cases<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: 1pt solid windowtext; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Deaths<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">2,329,539<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">160,717<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 740,557<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 38,979<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-image: initial; border-left: 1pt solid windowtext; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 98.75pt;" valign="top" width="132"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 30,791<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: 1pt solid windowtext; border-left: none; border-right: 1pt solid windowtext; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 81pt;" valign="top" width="108"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> 2,308<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The US had its first fatality from the coronavirus on February 29, 2020.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan had its first fatality from the coronavirus (in Detroit, of course) on March 19, 2020.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 17.12px;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-91187108375950610942020-04-14T18:38:00.001-07:002020-04-14T18:38:17.863-07:00Day 27: Dear Adults of the United States<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">April 14, 2020</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><br /></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">As of April 14</span></u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Cases<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Deaths<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Global<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>1,973,715<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>125,910<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">National<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>612,380<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>29,867<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Michigan<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>27,001<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1,768<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">As of April 10</span></u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Cases<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Deaths<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Global<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>1,677,256<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>101,372<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">National<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>492,995<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>18,248<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Michigan<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>22,783<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1,281<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">As of April 8</span></u><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Cases<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Deaths<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Global<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>1,475,978<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span> 86,979<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">National<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>417,206<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>
14,183<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Michigan<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>16,970<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>845<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">The deaths in Michigan have doubled in six
days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the United States, as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">The deaths are very close to us now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Sunday, we received word that a friend and
neighbor, a vibrant, gifted organizer and activist, who just returned to work as
a surgical tech, has died of the coronavirus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her beloved husband is ill too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These are people from my block, from my life, from my community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can read about her here: <a href="https://www.detroitnews.com/story/news/local/wayne-county/2020/04/13/coronavirus-cuts-down-metro-detroit-activist-monica-echeverri-casarez/2983592001/">https://www.detroitnews.com/story/news/local/wayne-county/2020/04/13/coronavirus-cuts-down-metro-detroit-activist-monica-echeverri-casarez/2983592001/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAy2O_wbqjfrnYcBFHT7QqRptdd-82tlUXSnnoTjIkGG7lw6OAg6qQDiabghtInk_nYFSSWggC-XwR9iV3odmQ7PLgBdwr34u-F4lif6LqwUxfk6T37eKa-ZoSZEguGucx9hoK7obpwA/s1600/BodyBags..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="680" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAy2O_wbqjfrnYcBFHT7QqRptdd-82tlUXSnnoTjIkGG7lw6OAg6qQDiabghtInk_nYFSSWggC-XwR9iV3odmQ7PLgBdwr34u-F4lif6LqwUxfk6T37eKa-ZoSZEguGucx9hoK7obpwA/s320/BodyBags..jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">All around us, the bodies are piling up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not a metaphor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look at the horrifying pictures given to CNN reporter
Marshall Cohen by staff inside Sinai Grace Hospital.</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <a href="https://t.co/zqzkv1sZAB">https://t.co/zqzkv1sZAB</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To make
matters worse some for profit hospitals are not even reporting
their cases and hospitalizations:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Detroit
Medical Center, Trinity Health Michigan and Ascension Michigan do not publicly
report coronavirus cases or hospitalizations in Southeast Michigan, citing
patient confidentiality.</span>”<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://www.crainsdetroit.com/coronavirus/michigan-covid-19-deaths-cases-spike-after-recent-declines">https://www.crainsdetroit.com/coronavirus/michigan-covid-19-deaths-cases-spike-after-recent-declines</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But we don’t need the newspapers and
twitter feeds to feel the grief all around us. One of the men in Wes’ singing
group is going to <u>fly to Florida</u> to go to his cousin’s funeral. His partners—which
included one choir member whose brother just died from the virus-- begged him
not to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he will go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One of my former co-workers at Congress
of Communities has been keeping her ghastly numbers: she now has 37 people in
her life who have died from the coronavirus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of the artists in my Kresge Arts Fellowship cohort has been posting stories
of the deceased every day. There are now 10 stories on her feed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">During prayers of the faithful, shared
during our Facebook live Easter Services, the names of people </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">in our parish </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">who are sick,
hospitalized, and dead took five minutes to read.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yet some people want to open the economy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do they want this menace in their midst?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do they somehow believe that they are immune
from dying?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That the dying will stay in
Detroit? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It makes me want to holler.</span></div>
<span id="OutlookSignature"></span>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Dear Adults of the United States,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Enough is enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are at the crossroads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
much longer are we going to allow this genocide?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">We must choose <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">the culture we want--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">More exploiting, more destruction, more death<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">OR<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Cooperation with natural systems<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clear
skies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Good
clean water<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Homegrown
and sustainable<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Food,
shelter, and clothing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Public control of public goods and utilities<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You know…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Water (for a re-start) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Decent Medical Care<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Public Education</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>The
basics of a civilized society<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">OR<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Endlessly fueling consumption<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Which
endlessly hurts us<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But provides more power and <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>Control
to those<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Who
already have too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-49769770201190632612020-04-10T14:52:00.000-07:002020-04-10T14:52:36.359-07:00Day 23: Lonely for Chatter<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>As of April 10</u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Cases<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Deaths<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>1,677,256<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>101,372<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>492,995<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>18,248<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>22,783<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1,281<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>As of April 8</u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><u>Cases<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><u>Deaths<o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>1,475,978<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span> 86,979<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>417,206<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>14,183<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>16,970<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>845<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have
been constantly watching the numbers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t think it is good for my mental or emotional health.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxadVBonz3U_vQptLoaRq8dSPkr0yClBuSwNU6Tnl5ykdQZkM3ZaBZlCrwpjl6TTaGsMvE4ivr34I4mZKEvg4-VNnIgJP9axOIVS-yF6BaqlvcKewoBPsaeCe7IKmv_2KY3U5tQCnEg/s1600/CoronaVirus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="858" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxadVBonz3U_vQptLoaRq8dSPkr0yClBuSwNU6Tnl5ykdQZkM3ZaBZlCrwpjl6TTaGsMvE4ivr34I4mZKEvg4-VNnIgJP9axOIVS-yF6BaqlvcKewoBPsaeCe7IKmv_2KY3U5tQCnEg/s320/CoronaVirus.jpg" width="171" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yesterday was
the first day with 70°
temperatures. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This occurred after a
night of strong thunderstorm and lashing rains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The air, so much clearer because of reduced traffic, sparkled. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The grass, overnight, stretched out and reached
skyward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It called us out of doors, first
for a walk, then for lunch outside which transisted into cleaning and pruning
our raspberry patch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Work was more
than difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could barely string together
two thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave up around 4:30 and
we prepared our bikes for the 1<sup>st</sup> ride of the season.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The bike felt
good and it was a pleasure to cruise down the empty streets on our way to the
riverfront.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the riverfront at the
foot of Rosa Parks Blvd., there were plenty of fishers, as there often is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were spaced about every twenty feet, usually
alone, but occasionally in small family groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But here is the difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nobody was talking
and laughing and joking about casts and catches, clothes or music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few fishers stared morosely at the
river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered if they are fishing
for food instead of pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Further down,
after passing the surreal disappearing structure of the Joe Louis Arena, we
again saw quite a few people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As is
usual, they reflected the beautiful diversity of our community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “sagging hard” set pass hijab and chador
wearing moms pushing strollers, who pass a pair running in lycra and
headphones, who zoomed past the family in jeans and sneakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here’s the difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No one was
talking. About 50% of walkers, runners or bikers are wearing masks, so
conversation is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But most people
are not even nodding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The chatty
crowds who populate the riverfront, drinking fancy drinks or greasy fries were
absent because every café, bar, and food stand was closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even at Millender State Park, where the birds
were engaged in full-on mating song and dances and we were pleased to see the
first grackles of the spring, we saw small groups in quiet conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One couple dressed in bright red sweats and
hoodies, was laughing and joking, sharing selfies and kisses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are the only people sending energy out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The rest of
us, though we were outside, were still surrounded by walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No talking, no looking, no fooling around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By the time
we biked home, we were sore, sad, and blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I made a meal and we ate in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we did the dishes, we were nasty to each other about dishtowels,
proper washing techniques and god-knows-what.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Afterwards, I
watched a twelve-minute video missive from a family we know from church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole family is sick with Covid-19.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daddy, a postal carrier, got it first, then
Momma, then the three daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without
porch deliveries from family and friends, they wouldn’t have made it because
they were too sick to move, too sick to shop, too sick to cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daddy is still quite sick, wracked in pain
and coughing, coughing, coughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hurts
to watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There was a
question on Facebook responding to the Detroit mayor’s statement that everyone
knows someone who is sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
questioner wondered how that could be when Detroit has a population of 700k and
at that point there had been 400 deaths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But what
Duggan said is true—at least for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
virus spreads easily in crowds, and Detroit is a social place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We go to church; hundreds participate in a ballroom
dancing club, community groups sponsor events like Pancakes and Police.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each have been a source for multiple
infections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three people in our parish have
died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parish members have lost family
members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">While we hear
that our priest, who has been sick with the virus, is doing much better and
that Father Norm Thomas, age 90, is no longer on a ventilator (which is
something of a miracle), it is not enough to boost our moods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We’re lonely
for noise, for jokes, for the casual chit-chat with strangers as we move about
the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We want to check in with all
our coffee shop pals even though we barely know their names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We miss the chatter when we play Bar Bango at
our local watering hole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We long for our
twice weekly sharing of prayers, blessings, and food with our faith family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Years ago, as
we were waiting to start our bike trip across the country and were stuck in
Portland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noted that Portlanders were
courteous, but not very friendly while Detroiters were friendly, but not very
courteous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(<a href="https://cyclesoulsearch.blogspot.com/2013/07/t9-not-so-blue-portland-blues.html">https://cyclesoulsearch.blogspot.com/2013/07/t9-not-so-blue-portland-blues.html</a>).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today, on another
bike trip, I felt grief and pain circling our community even as the earth is rebirthing.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope and pray that the chitty-chatty, “hey
baby, what’s cookin’” blather of my beloved city is not another casualty of
this wretched virus curse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-4406382196780092982020-04-07T14:18:00.000-07:002020-05-15T13:30:01.154-07:00Dispatch from the Coronaverse: Day 20<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As of April 7, 2020</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global Cases: 1,412,103 Deaths: 81,103</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">US Cases: 390,012 Deaths: 12,370</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan Cases: 18,970 Deaths: 845</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is 25 days since the first case was reported in Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We have been sheltering in place for 20 days. </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The first case occurred in China perhaps as early as November 14, but the virus was certainly spreading by December 21, when the US president was briefed.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">T</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">he first case in the United States was reported January 21.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>As of Friday, April 3.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Global: 1,026,974 cases and 53,975
deaths <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">National: 245,813 cases and 6059 deaths </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michigan: </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">10,791 cases and 417 deaths </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My goal here is not to recount the number of deaths and
cases, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>which are readily available with
the easiest search.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is rather to
provide a travelogue, if you will, of our journey to a land yet
undiscovered--a </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">land I call PVC—post
coronavirus. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So here we go. Welcome to the next
installment of my travel-blog: <b>Cycle Soul Search: Dispatches from the Coronaverse</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The other day, after too many hours of doomscrolling, I wrote the following:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today is March 31.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The time is 1:13am<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here is where we are:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We discuss soberly, in the planning
mode, what to do if one of us dies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We plan carefully to go to the
grocery store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only one of is goes in,
wearing a face mask and gloves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> After I </span>wipe
down the cart, I enter the store and move rapidly through this dangerous territory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3PsGdmePkKfpan9ZHr5KGC36tAyiOagDNFgkykR2YoqQEX_kclEHjtQIbxLrDhkv4VE_NLep66trtSeQDXWN3l_4w6Aa1lfApZtSmd_8p06Z7O8F1145mWfPkTuAXMX2Ak0JR-2PEg/s1600/Ready+for+our+Walk.4.7.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3PsGdmePkKfpan9ZHr5KGC36tAyiOagDNFgkykR2YoqQEX_kclEHjtQIbxLrDhkv4VE_NLep66trtSeQDXWN3l_4w6Aa1lfApZtSmd_8p06Z7O8F1145mWfPkTuAXMX2Ak0JR-2PEg/s320/Ready+for+our+Walk.4.7.20.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for Our Walk. 4.7.20</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we get home, we take off
our<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>shoes before entering the house. Using a sanitizer I made from scratch (from rubbing alcohol and </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a bit of oil of eucalyptus),</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> we wipe down all the cartons and wrappings, and move the contents to our own containers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Walk is the big event of the
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days we walk to the grocery
store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days we walk around the
neighborhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At 7:00 pm most evenings, neighbors
walk out of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>their houses just to see
each other and visit from across the street and down the sidewalk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We cook and clean and try to work,
but --</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> sometimes </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> fall into the morass of doom-surfing the twitterscape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Sometimes </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> we watch too many animal
videos </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> and fall prey to stupid facebook challenges.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> sometimes we grieve </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> because we
know people who have lost people. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> We
know people who are hospitalized </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> and we know people who are sick </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> but remain
untested at home, worried and wondering. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> “Is this fatigue coronavirus?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "Is this fever the sign?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Sometimes we are scared, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> When we think of
the crowds we’ve been in—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">or </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">when we worry
about people already going hungry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Plenty already were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1.0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s not going get better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-When every artist
we know is scrambling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-When Detroit is the first entry </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> in the Fragile and Impoverished Sweepstakes </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> in
Global Pandemic Sh*tshow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then my anger rises. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because it doesn’t have to be this way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The rich fly off to spread the disease and
shelter in place in home #5. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The middle
hang on in their homes, bored and scared and anxious </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> but at least a little
secure for a month, but please god, no more. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The workers trudge out to face a dance with disease and death for $10 an
hour. Giggers and the poor know no day is secure as they ask "</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Where is my next meal? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Can I stay in my house, my place, my spot?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It doesn’t have to be this way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Maybe it does--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Maybe we have to lose so much to truly know, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> truly know and understand--, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> when this storm is over--</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">There is
no going back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And really, why would we want to?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we can go forward--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> To a
world in love with life,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Newly
schooled in gentleness and compassion<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> And
crying for justice</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> In all we do.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0Detroit, MI, USA42.331427 -83.045753842.143674499999996 -83.3684773 42.5191795 -82.7230303tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-87568376764885981142016-10-31T13:35:00.001-07:002016-10-31T13:35:03.719-07:00Burgos the beautiful. or: How we lost two days without trying<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From: Chilham, Kent, UK, October 31, 2016<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About: Atapuerca to Burgos,
September 25-27, 2016.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Burgos was a big beautiful surprise. A blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The blessing begins with the decision to walk a labyrinth on
the windblown high plain just above Atapuerca.
Ever since we entered the Atapuerca valley, we had been puzzling about
the discovery of 1,000,000 years of human habitation in this location. Plus, it is Sunday, and because we couldn’t
stay at our hotel, we couldn’t go to mass at the little country church across
from our hotel. Instead, we would make our way to Burgos, over the steep climb of
El Alto del Cruz.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The climb is steep and rocky, with head-sized boulders
tussled about. Every step has to be
managed. We—and the two Italian mountain
bikers who had to dismount and push their bikes---pick our way up, stone by
stone, step by step, climbing the equivalent of 2000 rounded and uneven stairs.
The surroundings are beautiful, but it is
hard, hard work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On top, we can see in all directions. A sign proclaims “This is the best view of
the whole Camino.” It may well be. We can see Burgos in the distance, nestled
in a lush river valley. To the right,
there’s a ridge of wind turbans. Behind us lie the long limestone ridges where
humans have lived continuously for a million years. To our left, tilting sharply away, a series
of linked canyons, brown and gray on top but lined with trees below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bikers jump on their bikes and speed off, hoping, I’m
sure, that the way down will not be as rugged as the way up. There’s giant cross, decorated with peregrino
prayers in the form of stones, prayer cards, ribbons and shoes. We stop to mark the apex with a little
prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Out of the corner of my eye, about 50 meters to the south of
the standing cross, I spot what looks like a stone medicine wheel. It’s not.
It’s a spiral labyrinth composed of 2 foot pathways passing through 8 or
so turns to a circular center, in which stones form a Celtic cross. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Let’s walk it!” I proclaim.
Wes doesn’t want to do it. “Why
add more steps?” he protests. But I
start. Soon he joins me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I move through the spiral, sometimes facing a sharp wind,
sometimes the blazing sun, sometimes looking at the shining city, sometimes at
the ancient and nurturing caves. Round and round the spiral we go in faster and
tighter circles, more and more aware of the infinite and infinitesimal turnings
of life and the divine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Creating, growing, sharing, ending. The maiden, the mother,
the crone; the creator, the incarnate, the spirit; fire, earth, wind and water,
always present, always changing, moving through the minute breaths of my life
and within the circles and circles and circles of human presence in this spot,
beyond this spot, beyond and within this time.
Through time, in time, within time, in the palpable presence of the
creator, the creating, and the creation. Amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I meet Wes in the center, we grab and hold each other, moved
beyond words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The way down passes a series of ridges, most of which are
open range for grazing cattle.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are
still jubilant from our time in the spiral, and following a rocky two track.
Ahead a couple of dozen placid cattle (big horns, humped and wattled like
Brahma) munch on the thin and wispy grass.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There’s a few calves and few steers.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One young steer is standing in the track.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I figure I will shoo him off if need be.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A pair of young hikers, male and female,
either Italian or Spanish, and urban by their clothes and haircuts, are walking
up quickly behind us.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The steer is still
on the road ahead of us.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m not
concerned. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nor is the young castrated
bull.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the young woman behind me
is.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She cries out, almost in a panic,
“Señora! Gardete!”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At her screech, the steer bolts to the right, she and her
partner dash off the path to the left, then rush away from the danger of loose
cows. Wes and I look at each other,
“What was that about?” Did she think we
were about to be gored? Couldn’t they tell
a steer from a bull? Who’s afraid of
domestic cattle anyway? Certainly not
this daughter of a county agent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We keep walking down and down into various steep
canyons. At one tiny isolated village,
we stop for water, exchange a few words with some Italians resting their sore
feet in a small stream and drink from a fuente that has been running since
Roman times. My feet are hurting as
well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we come to another big downhill, into a small town
nestled in a steep valley, we see an ad for a new albergue. We start the debate. Should we stay or go? Well, it is Sunday, and we try to take a day
of rest on Sundays. We have already come
10 miles. It’s still 15 miles into
Burgos. This is the last chance to stay
before town. My feet hurt. It’s
Sunday. I don’t want to go into a city
when everything is closed. All right. Let’s stay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the albergue complex, the first thing we see are a group
of Canadians drinking beer and soaking their feet in a small blue wading
pool. In the reception room, we are
greeted by a frenetic and slightly off kilter young man, whose speech impediment
and habit of repeating sentence fragments makes the exchange of keys,
passports, and information quite difficult. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At last we are in our room: hardly bigger than closet, and painted
bright orange, the double bed barely fits.
There’s no closet, no other furniture—and yet it costs nearly as much as
last night’s beautiful and elegant room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have time to kill.
We visit with the other walkers, and watch the interactions of the
family who built this complex. Jaime, the
young man who waited on us, receives a tongue lashing from his father for
helping us. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks over and over. I want to intervene and say it was fine, but
don’t. A little while later, two teenage males come up from the village and
begin teasing Jaime, calling his name over and over, then sending him her and
there on bogus errands. This is an old
and sick sport with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later that night, at the communal dinner, I find myself
angry when one of the Canadians starts making fun of his interactions with
Jaime. Only the young Argentinian, who
has attached himself to the Canadian trio, laughs at the mockery. Thank goodness, it ends. Jaime and his mother expertly serve the 20
people at the table. Canadians,
Americans, French, Korean, Austrian, Polish, Argentinian, and Germans soon
devour the huge bowls of salad, roast chicken, and potatoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning, most are up before dawn, wolf down a
pre-packaged and cold breakfast, and are off with headlights to walk in the
dark. All the talk is who is going to
stay an extra day in Burgos. Not us, we
insist. We are already running a bit
late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we set out, we are joined by a young American woman,
walking in short shorts, tennis shoes, and knee brace. She tells us she has
been walking 35 kilometers a day, but is having a lot of trouble with her feet
and knees. She is thinking of taking a day in Burgos. We ask why she is moving so fast and she
doesn’t have an answer. Why wouldn’t
someone move as fast as they can?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We part ways at a junction. The way following the river is
slightly longer. The other continues
down the side of a busy highway. We
watch her power off down the highway, walking fast, though slightly limping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But who am I to judge, given the rotten state
of my feet. I had my boots repaired a few
days back in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. I have the unfortunate habit of
walking on the outside of my feet and destroying shoes at a phenomenal
rate. My great old Salomon hiking boots
had reached the tipping point and were putting dangerous and painful stress on
my hips, knees, and feet. I got new heels and insoles put on these old boots, but
it didn’t work. Every step hurts. No combination of socks helps. I try the old
insoles, the new insoles, both insoles. Nothing works. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We follow the alternate route alongside the River, which
runs for about 6 kilometres before dropping us in the middle of the city. At first, it is heavily wooded with tall
trees and heavy undergrowth. As the trail progresses, it slowly becomes a paved
path in a groomed park. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About 10 miles into our walk into Burgos, I stop at the high
tension light post, pull off my boots, stuff them into my pack, and walk the
remaining miles in my sandals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are people of every age out walking. Some are toting briefcases and taking their
lunch breaks. Knots of women in dress skirts and sneakers pace by in earnest
conversation. We pass many seniors
walking in couples or small same gender groupings, moms with strollers, and
numerous dogwalkers and their fussy, small dogs. Nearly all smile and wish us “Buen Camino.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are struck by the difference in our river walk into
Burgos and the one into Pamplona. Here,
people are strolling and visiting. There
are few bicyclists and even fewer aggressive exercisers panting and sweating
their way down the path. Is it because
it is a Monday? Or is it a change in the
culture? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we leave the river walk and cross into the modern city,
we notice two things. At the small café
bar where we stop for a quick bite, the prices are ½ what we typically paid on
the Camino… and the people are extraordinarily friendly to us. In the Camino bubble, because of the never
ending crush of foreign pilgrims and the seven day a week demands of the hiking
season, café workers can be a bit….perfunctory.
They just don’t have the energy to engage with all the strangers who
bellow commands in English at them.
Here, we are a novelty, and the short-haired, long-nosed, big-bellied
host is tickled to bring us little bits of this-and-that (olives, noodles,
mushrooms) to add to our beers and bocadillos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we cross a Romanesque bridge, the modern city
disappears and we are in the midst of a prosperous 16<sup>th</sup> century
city. We are lucky to find a room on the
fourth floor of lovely old hotel, overlooking one of the many busy cobblestone
plazas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We immediately set out to explore the old city, passing back
and forth from the river walk to various squares, stopping for coffee or wine under
enormous, but newly shaved sycamore trees. All along the marble esplanade of
the river walk, there are stands of carefully manicured topiary. At one café, just beside the 10 foot tall
statue of El Cid on his horse, and just around the corner from the marble
arches leading to the cathedral square, we drink red wine and feel like we are
in a small, romantic, sophisticated…and friendly corner of Paris. A lone accordion player sits beneath the
arches. We laugh when the first song he
plays is “Hello Dolly!” Of course, we
sing along, “You’re looking swell, Dolly! I call tell Dolly, you’re still growing,
you’re still going, you’re still gro..wing strong.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(English language music---especially American pop music—has
been omnipresent in Spain. The bus
driver in Logroño played Curtis Mayfield and Sam Cook, the bars pump out
Beyoncé and Adele, old men a tiny Spanish village played an unrecognizable <i>loteria</i> card game while listening to
“Move like Mick Jagger.” And how could
we forget the night we were serenaded by the world’s worst cover band with
their endless catalog of massacred American pop-music?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMC8YnKaVSUqToZiStisbHRsjBkigOBmHpMFnvezs4Rn7Ci9IHKsEjF2_O6yHdkZ-z-8U9uaD_RO-CLtD5GyjuDwT-pruUW425Ni4_caqOeV-EOOvA_5T5LyZpRS9Bf7AYjpoKAxQBA/s1600/Golden+Cathedral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMC8YnKaVSUqToZiStisbHRsjBkigOBmHpMFnvezs4Rn7Ci9IHKsEjF2_O6yHdkZ-z-8U9uaD_RO-CLtD5GyjuDwT-pruUW425Ni4_caqOeV-EOOvA_5T5LyZpRS9Bf7AYjpoKAxQBA/s400/Golden+Cathedral.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Golden Cathedral of Burgos</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We couldn’t visit either of our desired destinations, the
Burgos Cathedral and the Museum of Human Evolution. We weren’t willing to pay
the tourist price for admission to the cathedral. If we presented our pilgrim
credentials, which were back in our room, the price would be halved. And the museum was closed on Monday. Darn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This city has a tremendous pride of place. It is clean and
well-kept. We walk the narrow
cobblestone streets, peering at the tiny specialized shops and wondering how a
shop that only sells socks can survive. The scale is small, the service personal, and the specialization
intense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we wander the streets, and tend to several restocking
chores, replacing some foot and pain medicine, buying socks, toothpaste, and
support hose. Between their rotten
English and my awful Spanish, we communicate just enough to make the
transactions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wes has great fun taking pictures of all the statues in this
city of sculptures. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jl3HDoU_4gGcoNu0VzBzTusEgaHe3gXu0qwj_3egz7e6c6cC088fRNL0ChR0nqpWoBtSujTS1JF_gTiA5SbGI5JZbvmW7U2y2cgYIILvA-E58hp7bFJ1G9Ex04HYri8PHMfFdW48bQ/s1600/Traffic+Cop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jl3HDoU_4gGcoNu0VzBzTusEgaHe3gXu0qwj_3egz7e6c6cC088fRNL0ChR0nqpWoBtSujTS1JF_gTiA5SbGI5JZbvmW7U2y2cgYIILvA-E58hp7bFJ1G9Ex04HYri8PHMfFdW48bQ/s320/Traffic+Cop.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the Museum of Human Evolution<br /></td></tr>
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Every few hundred
yards, there’s another lifesize bronze statue of someone at work or play. Wes gets picture taken with a statue of
peregrino. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well... after our long, beautiful river walk, followed by
the delightful walk around the many plazas, shopping <i>calles</i>, and sculpture-strewn streets, we are more than a little intrigued. When the alarm rings at 7 AM on Tuesday, Wes
says to me still in bed, still half asleep. “I think we should stay here another
day.” I roll over, barely awake, and say, “Me too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On that extra day, we take an audio tour of the exquisite
cathedral, during which it is presented as a giant piece of art. It is a complex structure with at least 20
side chapels; but only two remain in use for prayer and worship. During the tour, I experience equal parts of
frustration at the egregious commercialization, awed contemplation of human
achievement, and the sudden surprise of recognizing architecture as Christian
pedagogy for non-literate congregants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Museum of Human Evolution deepens and extends those
thoughts. In 1979, when the railroad was excavating a cut for a new track, they
accidently uncovered a cave containing human and animal remains. Careful
analysis showed it was adjacent to a sinkhole into which animals regularly fell
and died, and which provided these ancient humans ( <u>homo antecessor</u>, a
new species) a perfect habitat: food,
shelter, clothing with little effort. <u>Homo neanderthal</u>, <u>habilis,</u>
and<u> sapiens</u> stayed in this valley, leaving a record of tools and technology,
learning and transformation from the Stone Age to the present, unmatched anywhere outside the Great Rift
Valley of Africa. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The museum examines evolution from multiple viewpoints. At the end of many hours, we have
contemplated changes in culture, in DNA, in tool building, and in
agriculture. We are overstimulated and exhausted…and
happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leaving Burgos the next day is difficult. As we wander our
way out of town, Wes is still taking pictures of the sculptures, and my feet
are still hurting. Just as we reach the
edge of town, Wes stops to take a another sculpture photo, this time of a woman
in a wheelchair. I sit at a bench, pull
off my beloved but now ruined boots and leave them there, the new insoles
poking out the top like sorry little flags.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walk into the hot, dry, flat meseta in sandals and hope
for the best. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-82138933039482063652016-10-15T10:30:00.000-07:002020-04-08T12:34:53.057-07:00The Camino BubbleAbout: Navarrete -Najera-Santo Domingo de la Calzada-Castildelgado-Villafranca de Montes Oca, Atapuerca, miles 144-200<br />
<br />
From: Villafranca de la Bierza, mile 407<br />
<br />
A note about process: Keeping the blog on the hike has proved a much bigger challenge than it was on the bike. We hike from 9am to 3pm most days. After securing our place, washing our selves and our one set of hiking clothes, and getting our dinner, there's little time (and often energy) to make notes about the day. Those notes are hand written into stories, which are then tediously entered into a document on my phone, which then has to be edited, then transferred to the blogsite. That seems like it should be straightforward, but it's not. There's another edit, and pictures to edit and add…then the whole process of posting on Facebook, Twitter, Google#, and emailing it…all on a tiny phone by screen with often sketchy WiFi. Yikes. <br />
<br />
I will keep posting, even as we are now within 120 miles of Santiago. I assume I will be writing about the hike even as we make our way back to Germany, then onto England. Let's hope I have all this writing done before we return home mid November….<br />
-------<br />
After our surreal visit to Logroño, there are days and days where we are completely encapsulated by the Camino bubble. We are traveling in the hilly reaches of Rioja, day after day and mile and mile passing through vineyards in one of the world’s wine producing regions. The vines are so heavy withfruit, the farmers pull off the excess, and <br />
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throw the grapes into the alleys between the rows. This, of course, attracts bees, flies, and birds. There is always a low hum around us.<br />
<br />
The little towns are defined by big grape warehouses, and little café/bars serving the Camino. The people in each sector don't interact. In Navarrate, we briefly step out of the bubble to be one of a few guests at in the enormous 19th century hotel, but mostly caters special events and weddings. It is just far enough out of town that most pilgrims don’t stop and too close to Logroño to draw the car crowd. The desk clerk laments, “ The tourists just drive on instead of stopping like they used to.” The bar and restaurant are closed , so we make our way to cafre recommended by Mei-Jing for it’s amazing tapas.<br />
<br />
It is staffed by a vibrant young woman from the south of Nigeria, who Wes offends when he compliments on her English. She says. “You know, don’t you that Nigeria is an English speaking country?” On the way out to the table in the courtyard. I have an attack of clumsiness, drop the tray and splatter food and drinks everywhere. One of the cooks taking a smoke break, rushes over to the mess, saying “No te preocupes!” (Don't worry!) over and over, patting me on the shoulder, refusing my attempts to help clean the mess, and rapidly moving to replace the food and drink...at no additional cost.<br />
<br />
Across the courtyard, we spot a well-known Camino fixture, a large, blonde, bearded, burly self-styled holy man. He has a little shrine outside Logroño and is in animated conversation with a woman in a long skirt and head wrap. The cook and the Nigerian counter clerk both know him and occasionally bring him bits of food or drink.<br />
<br />
We spend the next day walking through vineyards, before going to Najera, where we spend the night in a lovely, but overpriced hotel, eat dinner on a courtyard by the river, where the Italian waiter has a bit of a racket going with his almost exclusively English-speaking clientele. He sells food and wine from an unpriced menu for what he thinks the market will bear. We paid 2€ more for the same wine that young German couple, but 2€ less than the older British men at the next table. I’m tempted to complain, but don’t want the scene or the hassle. I am sure the waiter depends on that unwillingness.<br />
<br />
The tourists pretty much stay on the north side of the river. Occasionally locals and their children venture by the café on their evening walk, but they don't stop. After dinner, we wander the streets, attracted by the doors and caves in the prominent sandstone cliffs. These cliffs have housed saints and the penurious, this year's harvest, and today's outlandish party. Just three caves down from the hermitage of a medieval nun, we pass one in which a young woman in impossibly tight jeans and high heels joins a throng of people dancing to pulsing lights and beat-heavy music.<br />
<br />
The next day is beautiful and painful. My wonderful, but 10 year old Salomon hiking boots are giving up the ghost. I ruin shoes at a phenomenal rate because I walk on the outside of my feet. Rare-oh-rare is the shoe that makes it a year under that kind of pressure. But there comes a point when the mechanics of the shoes are destroyed, and they begin to painfully stress my hips and knees. <br />
<br />
I have felt the problem growing for several days. I don't know what to do. The bed and fit of these boots is flawless and so rare for square feet like mine. Can I get them repaired? Can I find something that will fit? Do I want to break in new boots on a long distance hike? Ugh. As we walk through valleys and canyons, up steep hills and down sharp drops, each step makes my feet, knees, and hips ache.<br />
<br />
We arrive in Santo Domingo de la Calzada, named after the “engineer of the Camino,” (whose statue bears an uncanny resemblance to Wes’ brother Jay). He was largely responsible for improving conditions on the medieval Camino. <br />
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We end up staying at the Hospideria de la Camino, which was originally established in the 15th century. The sprawling complex in which we are staying was built in the 19th century and must have housed hundreds of nuns and pilgrims. That night, at dinner, we are served by 3 sweet faced African nuns in modern habits, who both prepare and serve the food. The dining room is mostly empty, save a big group of Austrians, a few frail retirees, one French speaking couple, and us. Despite the attention and kindness of the nuns, there is an air of mournfulness.<br />
<br />
We had spotted a zapateria just outside the complex grounds. I ask for my boots to be repaired. The shoe repair man speaks no English, but with gestures, drawing, and a few words, I think we have an agreement. He tells me to come back the next day around noon. That's well after our regular our regular departure time, but if it means walking without pain, fine. <br />
<br />
The next morning, after picking up my partially re-heeled boots, and getting new insoles, we run into the same Google staffer on holiday we had seen a few days ago. His name is Kevin; he is ethnically Korean, lives in Los Angeles and speaks fluent Spanish. He has been using this skill to help the many clueless Americans, Brits, and Aussies on the trail. <br />
<br />
We had first met him in a small café off the main trail, where he, a fit red-haired German named Tomas, and we had a conversation about the glories of green Spanish olives. As we each told the story about why we are taking this walk, Tomas told about having to leave the company he founded after it was sold to ADP. The new owners told them they were moving operations to Poland to save money. He couldn't stand by while more than 1/3 of the employees he had worked with and developed were let go. So now he is walking the Camino. Kevin, on the other hand, told his bosses he was taking six weeks to walk the Camino. He could come back to work or not. They said fine.<br />
<br />
These curious syncretic encounters are part of the Camino bubble. We never know, when we have these intense personal conversations, whether or not wewill see these people again. Because we are all following the same trail, but moving at different speeds and taking different stops, reconnecting with people days or hours apart is not uncommon, yet always surprising and delightful.<br />
<br />
After a quick stop at the cathedral, which houses a live rooster and hen in the walls in tribute to a medieval miracle, (don’t ask) we are on our way through a landscape more given to corn and wheat than grape vines. We have a restless night at a truck stop that advertises itself as an artisanal chocolate maker. Its town is mostly falling in on itself and the artisanal chocolate is actually chocolate covered doughnuts, but it will do.<br />
<br />
The next morning, a few kilometers away, we find an exquisite and expensive restaurant/hostel such as we had imagined our previous lodging to be, where they make and sell meats and cheeses for 21€ a pound. While we are enjoying our coffee, a German couple next to us argues about where they should spend the next night. <br />
<br />
All of a sudden, an older American woman comes in, spots the Germans as someone she knows from the Camino, then rushes over to them and begins sobbing. She has just received news that a dear friend had died back in the US. The slender, red-haired German woman, so recently fussing with her husband, immediately begins comforting the distraught American. Just as we get ready to leave, the American gets an email. Her daughter just had a baby. More tears. A little while later, the two women pass us, still deep in conversation and counsel.<br />
<br />
My repaired boots are not working. I try new insoles, old insoles, both insoles, changes of socks to Wes’ increasing irritation and impatience. Nothing is working. <br />
<br />
We are beginning our trek into the Montes de Oca, a band of small sandstone mountains cut by rushing streams and littered with hermitages carved into the cliffs. We are looking forward to a stay in the San Anton Abad Hotel, a renovated 12th century pilgrim hospital. When we get there, footsore and beat, we discover that we actually don't have a room and they are sold out. When I show the host our confirmation, she thrusts my phone back at me with an emphatic, “Diez no nueve,”<br />
<br />
Another booking error! This time I booked for October instead September. Most peregrinos just walk until they are done walking, then find a place. That's beginning to look like a better idea. <br />
<br />
Thankfully, the host connects us to a nearby pension. We arrive just at the same moment two biking peregrinos arrive. Later, at dinner, we find out they are Pieter (the father) and Peter (the son). Dad is big and burly, with a shock of still blonde hair falling across his broad forehead. Son is also tall, but narrow in face and body, and nearly bald though he is in his thirties. They have ridden modified mountain bikes from the northern Netherlands. Dad has been diagnosed with cancer, and they are doing this big grand trip together while they still can. <br />
<br />
The next morning, we make our way over the top of the Montes, where the first battle of the Spanish Civil War was fought. At the peak, the dozens of hikers who passed us on the way up are taking a break. I stop to decipher the monument and realize it is the first and only positive view of the Republicans we have seen on this trip. <br />
<br />
At our lunch stop, we are shocked to encounter Lauren and Isabella, with whom we walked to the hilltop town of Chiraugui (of late night cover band fame). Lauren is a tri-athlete from Crested Butte, Colorado, her mother, a game sixty something from Chicago. Isabella had some leg problems that stopped them for a few days. Although she didn't say it, the implication was that pace set by Lauren was just too much.<br />
<br />
We are excited to get to our next stop. Not only does it mean we are very close to the halfway point of Burgos, but we are anxious to know more about the archeological discoveries in Atapuerca. We hope to stay a day to visit the sites where they have found human fossils dating back 1 million years, and evidence of constant human inhabitation since that time. This 1979 discovery and excavations have completely re-written the early history of Europe.<br />
<br />
We were lucky enough to walk up and get a hotel in Atapuerca, where the preponderance of guests were American or Canadian. Unfortunately, one big group of Americans is the kind that makes me cringe. Not only were they extraordinarily loud, without a good thing to say about anyone or anything, I can hear their derisive laughter in our room, four doors down. They mock the service, décor, and food in English, assuming they are not being understood--even though they ordered everything in English and expected to be served in English. The 17 century doors are tricky, and at one point, I heard an abrasive American voice demanding her money back because the doors were hard to open. Wes tried to engage them a conversation about the amazing archaeological area. No interest. <br />
<br />
Later, I heard them calling the backpack transport service demanding service that morning they were supposed reserve the previous night. When the phone disconnects, one woman said to the other, “See, I told you they hate Americans who speak English!”<br />
<br />
Well, we can't tell why they are on the Camino, but I do know one thing. Life in the Camino bubble is unlike any experience we have ever had. All the concentrated blessings and curses of being human are making their way with us, inch by inch, step by step, paso a paso.Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-59440149467464002672016-10-05T12:59:00.000-07:002016-10-05T12:59:26.039-07:00The Best Laid Plans...From: El Burgo Ranero, October 5, 2016<br />
About: Estella to Logroño, September 14-18<br />
<br />
We are in a tiny bungalow on the banks of the Ebro in the northern Spain town of Logroño, after a comedy of errors. We have had 2 long days of hiking and are now more than 100 miles into our journey. I thought I was such a smarty pants, booking our place to stay 2 nights in advance….but…<br />
<br />
We are depending on an online app to provide inf about distances and lodging. It requires flipping back and forth between various screens and keeping the distance on the maps clear in my head. Once Again, I have misread/ misunderstood/misused the maps.<br />
<br />
After our lovely 2- day stay in an apartment in Estella, where I was proud to have negotiated the purchase of new boots, socks, and underwear for Wes, as well as the makings of our dinner—in Spanish. It was fun stepping out of the Camino bubble and moving through the city like residents. I It was nice to experience simple, homely things like cooking and setting the table after being on the move for nearly a month.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside Los Arcos</td></tr>
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We had again booked an apartment in Los Arcos. It was more expensive, but OK, we liked our last apartment the day before. The walk is fine: high, dry fields in which we walked in the company of older Brits on holiday, traveling without packs. The high point of the day, however, is watching 30 griffin buzzards, with their 4 feet wingspread, fly in from all directions and squabble over a dead something (probably sheep) at the base of the sandstone cliffs across the valley. <br />
<br />
When we finally get to Los Arcos, we can’t get in. The landlady has to come 20 miles to work the glitchy electronic entry system.<br />
<br />
As we are finally getting in the door, who do we see but the Asian women with whom we had been traveling. It was really exciting to see them. The apartment, however, is not so exciting. It was about one third the size of the previous apartment and cost more. What the hell?<br />
<br />
After our trip to the alimentacion to get supplies for a simple dinner, we are just settling in, when we hear a knock at the door. It is Jian, Mei-jiang, and Fan-yi, come for a visit. They bring a photo of me coming up the Hill of Forgiveness, which they had made in Estella. As it turns out, they had been in the same apartment complex we were in Estella. We never saw them! <br />
<br />
We make plans have dinner together, and begin sharing travel arrangements. There are surprised we planned to get to Logroño the next day. Upon further inspection, we discover I have once again made a mistake with the confusing route maps. Viana, where our friends will be going tomorrow, is a manageable 11 miles, but Logroño is 8 miles beyond. Rats!<br />
<br />
We have already booked a bungalow on the river in Logrono for tomorrow. Now what? <br />
<br />
Even though the news upsets me, I don’t want to interrupt our conversation with these charming women. Mei-Jing is clearly the leader of this trio. She tells how Jian came to be traveling with them. Mei-Jing, Fan-yi and her uncle (Waun-ju?) are all from Taiwan, and had been planning their Camino for some years. They had booked an albergue in Pamplona, the first time they had stayed in a dormitory. <br />
<br />
Jian, a tiny, sweet faced Korean, with pale silken skin and wide smiling eyes that look perpetually surprised, was traveling alone. She had the bad luck to be sleeping on the top bunk above a freaky male pelegrino who not only masturbated in the dorm, but also stood over Jian’s bunk and made sexual gestures and approaches.<br />
<br />
From the adjoining bunk, Mei-Jing jumped into action, putting herself between Jian and the freak, shouting in his face, “No Touch! No Touching Her!” <br />
<br />
From that point forward Jian began traveling with the Taiwanese. They communicate in English, as best as they could. They are good hearted and funny. When we are with them, we laugh a lot. I am touched that they made a photo of me with hopes of seeing me again.<br />
<br />
We make plans to have dinner together. Not in Viana. Not in Logroño, but we should all be in Najera in a couple of days. Great! We exchange numbers and look forward to sharing a home cooked meal together.<br />
<br />
The next morning, we send our bags to Logroño and set out to walk to Viana, 11 miles away. We will need to figure out how to catch a local bus to Logroño, then get to our little cabin.<br />
<br />
We walk nearly alone on the chilly damp pathway, most of yesterday’s group of bluff Brits driven onto mass transit by the discouraging conditions.<br />
However, we like the walk a lot; the vistas are opening up and we enjoy the rolling environment with views of the mountains all around us. We are also grateful that we not walking through these fields of grapes, olives, figs, and almonds in the beating sun.<br />
<br />
When we get to Viana, Wes is surging ahead of me—for the first time of the trip. His new boots are working well and he is no longer hobbling along, every step a pain. In Viana, we need to find the bus station and my phone is dead. Wes walks up to various strangers and says “Autobus?” A French worker from one of the albergues comes out and tells us in almost comprehensible Spanglish, “Go left, then right by the big wall, it’s there.” (or something like that.)<br />
<br />
We go left, then right, and there are two big walls. Wes asks another man, who answers in rapid Basque/Spanish. I don’t understand anything but his gestures.<br />
<br />
We get to a corner which seeks like it should/could be a bus stop, but there’s no sign. I say go down to the main highway. Wes says, “Go up to the main town.” We try the highway, but still don’t see any bus stop. We are now getting nervous because the bus comes at 4pm and the last time my phone worked, it was 3:25pm.<br />
<br />
We are making our way to what may be a stop, when a young man (double earrings, drooping skinny pants, and short hair) comes tearing along, being dragged by a 100lb Rottweiler. Wes hollers, “Autobus?” and the young man, unable to stop the dog, points us up the many stairs of the escalera, to the street leading to the town center. We thank him and off he goes, running after the massive black dog.<br />
<br />
Up about 50 steps, then a climb to the center of the town leads us to a group of people with luggage sitting on a concrete bench. No sign, of course, so Wes asks, “Autobus to Logroño?” and gets a “Si!” and a bevy of words and a sign to “Sit, sit!” Before long, the modern bus arrives and we pay just 1.30€ for our ride to Logroño.<br />
<br />
As soon as we get off the bus, we can tell there is something going on. We hear lots of noise and there are all sorts of people on the street. Oh, well, what do we know? Maybe it’s market day.<br />
<br />
We follow our map to the center of town, where a big gathering is just ending—perhaps a concert in the park. There’s a big group of people dressed in red and white following a brass band. There’s all sorts of energy in the air and all of the restaurants and cafes are jammed. My plan for a long awaited lunch in Logroño is thwarted.<br />
<br />
We start making our way to the park where we will cross the river and get to our little bungalow. As we move that way, the streets become more and more crowded—and more and more rowdy. All sorts of young people are drenched in red wine and the drunkenness in the crowd is frightening. <br />
<br />
We have to move through the packed, agitated, inebriated group with our backpacks and walking sticks and not lose each other. Most of crowd are very young and very drunken. Many look like teenagers.<br />
<br />
In the distance, we can see a bridge blessedly free of the drunken mob. Just as we clear the crowd, I ask a drunken fellow, “What is this?” He shouts over a young man bellowing into a bullhorn, “La Fiesta San Mateo!”<br />
<br />
We finally get to the park where we can cross the bridge. It is now raining in earnest. There’s a knot of drinkers lurking under the pediments. We give them a wide berth. Next, we see a young man trying to get sexual with a young woman who clearly doesn’t want it. She pushes his hands away, and tries to move him back towards the crowds.<br />
<br />
Near our crossing, we spot a desolate restaurant just about to close for the day. It’s only customer is an exhausted, dark-skinned vender still dragging his stack of hats and helium balloons. We get a couple of cafe con leches and two tired sandwiches.<br />
<br />
Across the bridge, we don’t know how to get to the bungalows, so I drag out my emergency power and call the office. We are close….but….<br />
<br />
Our reservation is for tomorrow. What? <br />
I check my confirmation and sure as hell, the reservation is for Sunday!<br />
<br />
It is now 6pm on the biggest day of the biggest harvest festival in the capital of Spain’s most famous and celebrated wine region. We scan Booking.com, TripAdvisor, all of the listings in the guidebooks. Of course, there is nothing available. The woman at the desk apologizes and suddenly… We are in Screwville.<br />
<br />
The manager tells us she will check on one thing. Call her back in a few minutes.<br />
<br />
Now what? Our choices are less than limited. Plus, we don’t even know if she has our sent-ahead backpacks. <br />
<br />
A few minutes later, I call her back and she tells me the only she has is a big dorm room with 12 beds, which she can let us have for 100€-more than twice as much as we had planned on spending. And she tells us that our Sunday booking is non-refundable. I tell her we will call her back.<br />
<br />
A quick analysis of the situation tells us that something is better than nothing, and that we should take the next night in Logroño, as well. So it's two nights in Logroño, the first night in wooden bunk beds in a big cold and empty dorm. And our dinner plans with our new friends are ruined, too.<br />
<br />
We crawl into bed early and fall fast asleep…until I am awakened in the middle of the night with digestive upset from the tired sandwich. The next morning, we are up early, with a Sunday ahead of us. We walk the riverfront, spot a stork on a nest at the top of tall brick chimney, and make our way to a perfunctory mass with no music, no deacons, no altar servers in a huge double spire cathedral with a sculpture by Michelangelo and yet another Baroque altar. <br />
<br />
By the end of the mass, we can hear a brass band playing. When we step outside, we are right back in the middle of the festival. A big group of revelers, dressed in traditional maroon and white outfits, circle a small combo playing some kind of improvisational jazz, held together by a walking bass line played by a profusely sweating sousaphone player.<br />
<br />
We wander a bit, until we come across the big town square. Yesterday, it was the site of a concert; today, it is covered with small white tents. Hundreds of people are going from tent to tent, getting tapas and wine in glass goblets and small white plates. Wes tries to get some, but is rebuffed. An older man explains in slow Spanish that we have to buy our glass and plate, then we can get as much wine and food as we like.<br />
<br />
Just at that moment, we get a call from the park manager, telling us our bungalow is free. We have to come right now to vacate the dorm and move into the dorm. It is noon. As we make our way back across the river, we hear the sounds of the crowd increasing. By the time we cross the river, the sound has become a roar. <br />
<br />
Remembering our frightening traverse through the bacchanal yesterday, we decide to spend the afternoon sleeping, reading, and writing in the tiny bungalow. We ask each other, “Do you want to back over there?” Not so much. But we do think we will have a glass of wine.<br />
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Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-1349374180111855222016-09-30T21:48:00.002-07:002016-09-30T21:51:07.699-07:00The Ants Go MarchingSeptember 30: From Boadilla del Camino <br />
<br />
about Estella, Navarra, Spain, September 15, 2016<br />
<br />
I am sitting in a spacious apartment in the lovely small city of Estella. It is the 1st place where I thought I could live in Spain. It is personable with lots of small shops crowded around numerous squares. <br />
<br />
I am happy because I was able to renew my phone with the help of a very patient young female sales clerk. Her English was limited. My Spanish is a shallow mess. But somehow we got it figured out.<br />
<br />
I now have a Spanish phone number with plenty of text and data. This means I am no longer flying blind. Last night was a perfect example of why following the pelegrino route without a working cell phone is a bad idea. I understand that millions of people have followed this route for a millennia without a cell phone. I am happy to not be one.<br />
<br />
I had purchased a pre-paid SIM card in Amsterdam—to my endless consternation and confusion. I conducted the transaction in English. But every communication after that was in Dutch. I could never figure out how to establish my account or upgrade my service. I would get come on messages, “Gebruik deze surprise deal alleen vandaag door’m te claimen op HTTP:// xxxx of bikijk een van de andere deals.” Even with the help of Google translate, I couldn’t quite understand what was being said. (Every effort to add more minutes to my card reminded me of the joke Jean-Marie Allion about the Dutch language. “The Dutch must gone have to the Czech Republic and stolen all their vowels.")<br />
<br />
I cannot check ratings, make reservations, or look at the town’s website with a dead phone. Had I been able to do any of these, we would not have ended up where we did. We follow the guide book …and the crowd to a Pilgrim hostel on the lovely hillside town of Chirauqui. <br />
<br />
It had been a long walk from Uterga, where we really enjoyed our accommodations and company but felt somewhat taken advantage…7€ breakfast, anyone? (away from the Camino, a great breakfast costs 2€.) <br />
<br />
Many, many of the hordes with whom we are marching choose to stay in the lovely river town of Puente la Reina. They line up outside the door and around the corner of the cobblestone streets waiting for a chance for a bunk bed in a crowded room. The city was built in the 11th century to serve the medieval trekking hordes making the same hike we make today. <br />
<br />
We make our way through the narrow streets, punctuated by ancient thick wooden doors set into arched foyers, little shops selling high priced wine, sausage, books or tobacco. What are some sage for books or tobacco. <br />
<br />
We step into a square and squat church built long before the efflorescence of Gothic spire churches. Inside, it is dark and quiet and there is a strange little man there to stamp our pilgrims' passport—for a small donation, of course. But we are taken aback by the sight the massive bronze baroque main and side altars….so incongruous, so unexpected, so dusty and neglected. We sit for awhile and just look. There’s no stained glass. There’s no organ, just these strange middle European altars. They would not be a surprise in an 17th century Austrian church, but we can't fathom how they came to be in this tiny Spanish village. <br />
<br />
On the way out of town, we cross the eponymous 11th Century Bridge. We stop on the high second stone arch to have a conversation with bright red parrot in a cage on a fourth floor terrace cage. Our short whistles back and forth capture the attention of spaniel on the second floor terrace, and the chickens on the ground.<br />
<br />
We leave the town built for pilgrims to make our way to our hilltop sanctuary. I had noticed even before Puente la Reina, but especially afterwards, in the hot drylands above the river, a curious ant phenomenon. About every 25 to 50 meters or so, there is a big, busy ant superhighway. They are going from the nest, to the drying fields across the path-- hundreds of ants are picking up chunks of straw many times their size and making their way back to their nest.<br />
<br />
Big ants, little ants, on hills and on flats, have gotten some message and are making their back and forth across the path? Why are they getting the straw in such a committed, communal effort? Do they feel the touch of fall in the air? Do they perceive the black and threatening clouds on the horizon?<br />
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<br />
We make our way through fields of grapes just turning red, grey green olive trees with masses of small green olives, and the occasional fig tree. The air is scented with ripe anise, from which I pluck and savor small yellow blooms. The ancient village glows on the top of its hill in the afternoon sun. We are tired. We have been walking a week and Wes is now wearing his sandals, having thrown his boots away, not only for the pain they were causing, but also because the soles were flapping away from the body of the boot.<br />
<br />
After climbing all afternoon from the bridge crossing, we are ready to stop and concerned about the dark clouds and lightening in the distance. We follow a maze of alleys to the top of the rise, where the first thing we encounter is a group of drunken young men dressed in red and white. I try to warn him off, but Wes asks them for directions…in English… They surround him, laughing, poking, and prodding, until we make out one is pointing to a nearby sign. <br />
<br />
Near the top of the town, we spot a massive tent with any equally massive sound system. It is the local festival. In a nearby bar, white and red clad young adults dance and roar to the thump of techno music. <br />
<br />
At our albergue, our landlady is all business, hectoring like a seventh grade gym teacher. “This is your room. Don't lose your key. Dinner is at for 11 euros. We don’t provide breakfast. You need to get your own food from the store when it opens at 6pm; lights out at 10 PM. You must be gone by 8 AM.”<br />
<br />
Our room is functional. We are glad for the private shower and that we are not sitting glumly in the crowded dorm waiting for a chance to clean ourselves and our clothes. There’s no common room, no place to tarry, so people crowd on the porch and sit cross legged on their wooden bunks.<br />
<br />
At 6 PM, the crowd makes its way to the little carneceria, where we buy sausage, yogurt, juice, bread cheese, and a Coca Cola(!) for 6 euros. My stomach turns a little when it hits me have paid for 2 meals what we have often paid for one crummy breakfast. We rush back to hostel just as the rain begins to pelt. <br />
<br />
At dinner in the low slung basement, we are seated with 2 male Brits, and two Spanish women. The women speak almost no English. The older male Brit has no Spanish and apparently no interest in acquiring any either. His partner, perhaps brother or cousin, has been living in Barcelona for 6 months and has passable conversational Spanish.<br />
<br />
But he is neither prepared nor interested to serve as Mr. Instant Translator. I try to say a few sentences. Wes talks loudly and slowly. ..In English...But the stories are too complicated and the room is too clangy and loud, so conversation is a challenge. <br />
<br />
The food is passable. I have no idea what the watery, bland bright green soup is, but the salad is fresh and delicious, and the spaghetti is voluminous and tasty. But no one is having much fun.<br />
<br />
We beat a hasty retreat to our small room. As the rain subsides, the music begins. At first, we are tickled by the brassy sounds of folkloric music, followed by brassy, well rendered big band Jazz.<br />
<br />
Then the cover band starts. We are less enthralled by imitation Frank Sinatra and Elvis Pressley, interspersed with Adele, and warbling corridos. By the time the lights are turned out at 10 PM, Wes and I have put in ear plugs. <br />
<br />
We sleep fitfully, while the sounds of the party roars into the night. At 2:30 AM, I wake to the sounds of the band wailing Gloria Gaynor, “I will survive, I will survive” followed quickly by Queen’s “We will, we will rock you!” The world's least skilled, but most prolific cover band plays unrelentingly until 4 AM. <br />
<br />
At 6 AM, the albergue wakes, if it has, in fact, slept. There's no coffee nor any place to get any. We pack and get out, just as the dawn is starting to peak over the eastern hills. We make our way through the detritus of the all night party --plastic glasses, spilled beer, piles of vomit, and corners reeking of urine.<br />
<br />
The road out of town follows a derelict and rocky Roman road, then over and even more derelict and dangerous Roman bridge. As we march through the cool morning light, I see stretching before and after me dozens of hikers. <br />
<br />
What brought them from Italy, the US, Canada, France, Germany, Australia, New Zealand, Korea, Greece, Japan and who knows where? I cannot say, but like so many ants, we march towards a goal not seen or understood, but driving us ever onward. <br />
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<br />Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-32274390564156866942016-09-29T09:33:00.001-07:002016-09-29T09:33:08.307-07:00Yin and YangFrom: September 28, Castrojerez, Spain<br />
<br />
About: September 22, 2016--Pamplona and the Hill of Forgiveness<br />
<br />
After our lovely stay at the Iriguibel Sercotel in Uharte, we return to the Camino and almost immediately face a choice: follow the Camino on busy suburban and urban streets, or follow the shaded Riverwalk on the River Arga all the way to town. Despite the extra 5 km, we choose the river and don’t regret it all.<br />
<br />
It is a Sunday morning; there are lot people meandering, skating, walking their dogs, pushing their kids in strollers. Lot of bikes go by …pelotons of speeding racers in logo drenched jerseys and shorts, families on comfort bikes, sweating weekend warriors on mountain bikes.<br />
<br />
The greenway links numerous parks on which 3 features stand out, like the number of parks which have extensive community gardens. In addition, Spaniards are mad for handball and its Basque variation, pelota. All but the tiniest of towns has a semi-enclosed handball court. We also walk by 4 big public swimming complexes, with indoor and outdoor pools, slides, and wading pools. As the day heats up, the crowds at these pools grow and grow.<br />
<br />
Finally, after about 6 miles, we are nearing the center of Pamplona. We need to cross the river and go up a steep bank to get to the city center. The riverwalk continues, but right at the junction of the biggest garden, and another swim complex, I spot a stepping stone pathway across the river leading to a traverse up the hill.<br />
<br />
We are right under a 17th century garrison and steeling ourselves for a climb in the hot midday sun<br />
I see a family of swimmers appear through double glass doors not connected to any building. Upon closer inspection, it is an elevator to the top of the bluff. Well, all right..<br />
<br />
Upon exiting the elevator, we walk past the ramparts overlooking the river and are surprised to learn that these too are the work of the estimable and ubiquitous Monsieur Vaubon. Just past the barricades, we walk around the most of the circumference of the world famous and disappointingly active bull fighting ring, where big red and blue banners advertise past and future events.<br />
<br />
We make our way through the city, where everything but the bars, cafes, and churches are closed. The many squares are full of people. There are quite a few times when we have to make our way through crowds. With our backpacks, walking sticks, and walking clothes, I feel like the world’s biggest mark. In Camino-lore, Pamplona has a well-deserved reputation for pick -pockets, so we keep our wits and our wallets about ourselves.<br />
<br />
We go deeper and deeper into old Pamplona, past the ritzy shopping districts, past the tourist- thronged antiquities, past the sensible shops of the Calle Mercaderes until we find the “street” of our lodging. Down a street no wider than a narrow alley, the establishments and the patrons seem downright seedy.<br />
<br />
When we find our “gastropub,” where no one is eating, the chunky, short-haired bartender greets us enthusiastically, while also giving us the once over. He grabs a set of keys, and hustles us outside to an adjacent door. Just before he opens the door, her grabs a young blonde woman with long, frowsy hair, leather jacket and tottering boots, and gives her an enormous, full-on kiss on the mouth. He lets go of her without a word between them and takes us into a narrow hall, up a flight of stairs to gathering room in which numerous four foot tall bags of laundry are thrown in the corner.<br />
<br />
The whole thing seems shady and weird. We agree, then immediately worry when we pay for the room with our credit card. The bartender gives us a key and tells us our room is #10 upstairs, “Arriba! Arriba!” he says, pointing up.<br />
<br />
We start climbing the narrow, turning stairs. 1 flight, 2 flights, 3 flights—5 flights to an utterly bereft and charmless room. Dull grey walls, two small single beds, a flat screen TV, and a small bathroom with a small window overlooking the neighbors’ cracked tiles and hanging laundry. We have stayed in hermitages with more personality and better amenities.<br />
<br />
Well, no matter. We will be gone tomorrow. We spend the evening exploring the town, trying and failing to find the open Carrefour's supermarket. My mapping app kept saying it was right by us, but several circles of the area never reveal it.<br />
<br />
It was getting toward dark and even the pubs were beginning to close. We stop for a bite not far from our “D-luxe accommodations” and ask the Basque bartender about the Basque name for the city. He tells us “only Castilians (said with disgust) and tourists call it Pamplona. To the real people, it is Iruña.”<br />
<br />
As we return to our lodging, we see the same frowsy blonde with the leather jacket and towering heels wobbling down our gloomy street. She is very high or very drunk and is being followed by a thuggish fellow who is whistling repeatedly at her. Two creeps up the street watch this scene with amusement. It hits me this young woman is probably a prostitute.<br />
<br />
We climb the stairs to our cell, noting there would be no escape if this old building caught on fire. As far as we can tell, we are the only people in the building. Finally at the fifth floor, we lock ourselves in, then watch bad Spanish television until we are sleepy. Around 11:30pm, we hear people coming into the building. Raucous voices filter up the stairs. There’s all kinds of activity, doors opening and closing, people shouting—well into the night. I listen and worry. Wes manages to sleep with help of sleep mask and earplugs.<br />
<br />
The next morning, we are out of there as soon as possible. There is no sign of life in the lower floors, except an abandoned, not quite empty, cognac bottle in the hall. We are glad to leave and can’t agree whether this was a house of prostitution or not. Shaun: yes. Wes: maybe.<br />
<br />
We make our way to the new part of town with its stacks of apartments and wide streets. We drink coffee in the morning sun and look west to the big ridge on the horizon—El Alto del Perdon (Hill of Forgiveness). We will be glad to return to the quiet by-ways and highways of rural Spain.<br />
<br />
We follow the trail out of town, past a few small towns with their red tile roofs and pelota courts and city wells. It is full hot now and our climb over the ominously named ridge has begun. Under the shade of a tree, Wes is visiting with the same Asian group we had seen the other day. As I arrive, a rangy dog with a full loaf of bread in his mouth runs through the group, then stops in a newly plowed field to devour his purloined breakfast.<br />
<br />
The group, three of whom are from Taiwan, and the other from Korea, ask us to sit, but fearing our legs will seize up if we stop, we trudge on. The hill is steep, the path rocky, and the sun hot. We move from one shady spot provided by overhanging brambles to another. <br />
<br />
Up ahead, we can see bands of new apartment blocks lining the ridge. It looks like a desolate place to live, even though it has good views of the valley below. We stop for a moment and watch the trucks and traffic disappear into a tunnel under the ridge. That seems like a better idea than sweating our way up the Hill of Forgiveness. At least in the short term.<br />
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Up the hill in the heat, Pamplona in the distance</div>
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When we enter the little town near the crest of the ridge, red-faced pilgrims are sprawled in whatever shade they can find. Some offer their beers in toast to our effort. It is not long before we have one as well, to raise to the next overheated climber.<br />
<br />
We don't tarry, however. The sun is not going to get less fierce. So it’s the classic 25 steps, breathe, 25 more assault on the summit. We are welcomed to the land of rock, wind, and windmills by a large iron sculpture and multiple signs donated by the movie <u>The Way</u>. <br />
<br />
Just over the top, a skinny, smoking blonde peers out from a food trailer that must have been hell to pull up to this desolate spot. Nearly every pilgrim rushes over to by something cool to eat or drink.<br />
Before us, a new valley and the end of the Basque homelands. <br />
<br />
The climb down is as hard as the way up. The path is a tumble of fist-sized rocks which roll beneath our feet. We gingerly place each pole on the steep decline, and try not to slip, each step smacking our tender toes.<br />
<br />
We have just a few kilometers to our next lodging, the aptly named Refugio del Perdon. After presenting our dusty, stinking selves at reception, we are soon whisked away in a small SUV to a new apartment block just up the hill. In the door, our young host shows us around. Here is the fully equlped communal kitchen, here the attached eating and sitting room, beyond is an enclosed back yard. Up a couple of flights of stairs, here is our room: Queen bed, wooden furniture, a loveseat and coffee table, a big bathroom with whirlpool bath, shower, bidet, and toilet. Out on our private balcony, the reds and golds of a desert twilight begin to glow.<br />
<br />
After washing ourselves and our clothes, we walk back down to the inn for our dinner. We share a table with three Norwegian women and two American women from Tucson, Arizona. The Arizonans have just completed their first day and are a bit shell shocked by the heat and the difficulty. The Norwegians are on holiday, eating, drinking and walking sans backpacks from Roncesvalles to Logroño. <br />
<br />
The food is simple but good, the wine exceptional, and the conversation stellar. We laugh and talk about work and life and politics until all the other tables are cleared and the staff is standing there, rag in hand, staring at us. We take the hint, and go our separate ways.<br />
<br />
Back at our deluxe accommodations, we have to laugh at the yin and yang of our lodging adventures. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Lo veria. We'll see.<br />
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Pamplona Riverwalk with stork nest and community gardens</div>
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Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com009110 Castrojeriz, Burgos, Spain42.2884823 -4.1424199000000542.2767358 -4.16258990000005 42.3002288 -4.12224990000005tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-61995317854066164442016-09-25T06:41:00.001-07:002016-12-15T09:14:36.447-08:00A JumbleSeptember 20, 2016: Najera, Rioja, Spain<br />
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The first few days on the trail are a blur of steep ups and downs, interactions with “peregrinos” (pilgrims) of all ages, types, and ethnicities… the dislocations of adjusting to Spanish language and culture…and of course, physical exhaustion.<br />
<br />
Our first clue we have entered some other reality happens in the little town of Viskarret. After our climb over the Pyrenees, we could only make 6 miles the next day. We ended up staying at a posada (inn) notable for a few things: shutting down the electricity at 10 PM (too bad for people who need to get up in the night), and intense conversations with the British, Canadian, American, and Austrian guests around this high-priced communal dinner table. <br />
<br />
Earlier in the day, we discovered that the Brits who commented on my socks are in fact, Scottish and more than a little dotty. They are here in their motorhome, driving to various locations on the trail to offer advice, tell stories, hand out yellow and blue yarn flowers, and parade their fat little Jack Russell about. This is their twelfth or fourteenth trip to the trail. <br />
<br />
We also learn that many people walk a short distance, don’t carry their luggage and feel no compunction to get to Santiago de Compostela. We also witness a rather heated political discussion with the London Sunday Times reporter, his sister from Canada, and American from California, and the 2 dotty Scottish. <br />
<br />
When the conversation turns to Brexit and the Times reporter makes sure we know he has spoken to all the key players in the recent events. It wasn’t long before the topic was Donald Trump and his bigotry and shortly thereafter, Maggie Thatcher and her bigotry.<br />
<br />
The Canadian sister makes a case about Maggie’s support of white supremacy. The dotty Scottish either do not hear or understand her point, and make a full throated statement of support of Margaret Thatcher. To the Californian and Canadian sister’s ears, it sounds like they are in support of white supremacy. <br />
<br />
Jim the Californian slams down his unfinished beer, stands up, and pronounces, “I didn’t come all this way to hear this,” then leaves. The Canadian sister churns in her seat. When the Scots try to explain themselves, they only make it worse by saying, “I’m not a racist. We have a black deacon in our church.” The wife thinks she is helping when she say, “We have a black friend and he’s a grand fellow.” It’s clear they don’t know the difference between white separatists, white supremacists, and racists.<br />
<br />
After a bit more of this, the Canadian sister leaves, disgusted. The journalist then interrogates the poor, dotty Scots who haven’t the intellect, language, or skills not to be skewered time and again by the cynical Londoner. “Do you mean that you thought Maggie’s policies benefited the lower class people? How do you account for the increase in unemployment?” To which they reply, “We liked her, she brought back strength to our country when we needed it.” He asks, “How do you account for the Falklands War?” It was like watching a cat knock about a flustered and increasingly frightened mouse.<br />
<br />
Later that night, the journalist entertains the whole table with a long story of his uncomfortable night sleeping in a bunk bed in the massive dormitories of Roncesvalles. He is witty and well spoken… and used to being the center of attention. But he is also plainly unnerved by the Camino experience. He is furious the next morning that the electricity was out. He is angry butter is not served with the bread and the scanty breakfast is so expensive. His sister will not walk that day, overdone by the trip over the summit. He sets out alone, a beginning hiker with almost no Spanish and little tolerance for difference and ambiguity. Wes and I bet he won’t make the full week he has set aside for this walk. <br />
<br />
After our short day, we decide we better have a full day. Because we are not feeling so great, we decide to send our bags ahead to our next lodging. We pull out a few things from our packs and place them in small carry sacks. It is a joy to make the steep ups and downs without the 20 extra pounds on our backs.<br />
<br />
We are jaunting along. I am moving somewhat faster than Wes, and waiting across the highway when a car pulls up. A young Spaniard /Basque, his girlfriend, and his parents jump out of the car, and pull Wes over to ask him why he is walking the Camino. Wes relays that he doesn't know, but that something spiritual is calling him. The group ends up interviewing him on a small camera and by the time he re-joins me, he is crying. I try to determine why, but all he can muster is that is made him think about the enormity of our undertaking.<br />
<br />
The trail is full of pilgrims —on bikes and walking. They range from 3 young Spaniards who make a sport of throwing rocks at trees to an elderly British woman with painfully swollen legs, hobbling up the steep hills, a small open umbrella attached to her pack and bobbing with each step. Her companion is murmuring constant encouragement. <br />
<br />
When I pass two young American women, who have stopped to tend sore feet, I hear one say, “OMG, I can’t believe it. This is only the 2nd day!” Later, they pass me by, in intense conversation about a Danish fellow they had met in the dorms.<br />
<br />
By the time we get to the little town of Zubiri, it is full of pilgrims on this hot fall day. It is also clear, we have made two significant mistakes. When putting together the light pack, I have brought neither my Camelback water bladder, nor any way to deal with pain. <br />
<br />
I grow increasingly thirsty after a big climb. I am happy to join the throng of pilgrims visiting a food truck strategically placed at the top of the hill. I order a juice and get some fruit, and am trying to recover my equilibrium, when I am enthusiastically greeted by none other than the dotty Scottish. They mournfully tell me they won’t see me any more because they are now going over to the other big mountains on the trail…to offer their brand of comfort and encouragement, I suppose.<br />
<br />
The walk into Zubiri includes a drop of 300 meters in just few kilometers. I try to “walk slalom” down the hills, but my injured toe is banging against my boot, and every step is a searing throb. My “medicine chest” is back with the backpacks, so there's no way to arrest or mediate the pain. <br />
<br />
When I get to Zubiri, I have to walk to the far side of town to the town’s one “farmacia”— the only place one can buy ordinary drugs like ibuprofen.<br />
When we sit down to lunch after my pain pill detour, we realize we have made another, even worse mistake. <br />
<br />
Our lodging is still more than 8 miles away! I had had a great deal of trouble finding lodging the previous night. I finally found one in a town called Uharte, which was far, but seemingly not too far, if we aren’t carrying our packs.<br />
<br />
However…<br />
<br />
I had misread the map and miscalculated the distance by 5 miles… creating a walk with a total distance of 16 miles. With my throbbing toe, we would have happily called a stop at Zubiri, but we couldn’t. Our bags are on their way to Uharte. We have to get there….somehow.<br />
<br />
When most sensible Spaniards and pilgrims are taking their siesta in the hot afternoon sun, Wes and I are walking down a treeless trail, next to a massive manganese mine, going through his one bottle of water at an alarming rate. We are about to clear the mine tailings when we hear a voice from behind call out, “Are you from Michigan?” This was startling until I remember that I am walking advertisement for UM School of Social Work. I am wearing a maize and blue string pack emblazoned with a big block M, a remnant of hosting social work interns at Matrix.<br />
<br />
Diane is an American now living in South Carolina, but whose husband is from Gaylord, Michigan. She is traveling alone, on the 2nd day of her hike. We are on the 4th day of ours, even though we had all started at St. Jean Pied-de-Port. She is walking fast and light, but getting tired, and glad for some English conversation. We walk together for a while, but she soon finds our pace too slow and is soon out of sight. In the meantime, we cross and are crossed by a small group of young looking Asian woman, traveling with an slightly older Asian man.<br />
<br />
At the town of Larrasoaña, it is already starting to <br />
be late afternoon and we still have 4-5 miles to our lodging. We are beat and will never make it. Perhaps we can find public transportation or take a cab.<br />
<br />
Once in town, there are distressed pilgrims walking up and down the streets. Most of the bars and cafes are closed and all of the lodging, albergues, and hostels are full. Before long, we spot the reason. The town is hosting its annual fiesta. Hundreds are seated at long tables under a big white tent. <br />
<br />
Larrasoaña is a quaint medieval town in a cool mountain glen. Many of its stone cottages are 2nd home for people living in nearby Pamplona. Cars line the 12 foot streets, and more villagers, relatives, and part timers are arriving by the second.<br />
<br />
After wandering the town and realizing there is no option but a taxi, we start trying to figure out how and where to get a cab in this country town. We are hot, tired, and worried. As I sit there, messing with my phone, a small car with 3 young people finds a place to park just in front of us. <br />
<br />
Wes jumps up, runs over to them and says “Taxi?” Then signals making a call. Without any more interchange, the driver pulls out his phone, calls a cab, and tells us in broken English a cab will pick us here by the church in about 15 minutes. We are stunned and grateful. Our benefactors are gone in a moment.<br />
<br />
While we wait for the taxi, we see Diane again, moving with a group of 10-15 pilgrims, none of whom has any place to stay. We tell her about our choice to take a cab, but she says no. She clearly thinks we’re cheating.<br />
<br />
Well, maybe we are, but we are glad to. We never could have made it to our hotel, which as it turns out, is a wonderfully put-together and run old-world hotel on the outskirts of Pamplona, right beside the cool lush banks of the Arga River.<br />
<br />
In our room, we collapse on the bed, take cool cloths to our faces, take long, cool showers, change into our “evening clothes,” and happily drink the complementary juices. An hour ago, we were in a mess. But once again, guardian angels/kind people/Wes’ impetuosity /dumb luck has seen us through. <br />
<br />
With the sunrise tomorrow, we will walk into Pamplona and leave the Pyrenees' part of our journey. As per usual, the trip is taking us.<br />
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<br />Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-30716343723201227732016-09-18T14:56:00.001-07:002016-09-18T15:06:50.237-07:00You is HereSeptember 9th, 2017: Burguete, Spain<br />
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We made it over the top last night. By the time we crawled into the Hotel Loizu in Burguete, we were beat. We had come 12 miles and we were aching and sore all over our bodies.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, we spent a lovely night in a fully a furnished apartment in Valcarlos, Spain.. We made a cheap, but effective dinner, which required a visit to 3 stores in 2 walks up the hill.<br />
<br />
The apartment had a washer and a coffee maker, both of which seemed incredibly luxurious. So we washed our clothes the European way, which takes a full hour for each load, while we make several cups coffee in a tiny espresso maker. We flavor the coffee with thick, sweetened evaporated milk from a tube. <br />
<br />
Afterwards, put our clothes out to dry in the blaring heat. (on thoughtfully provided drying racks) while we drink our delicious coffee in a tiny back courtyard defined by a 20 foot stone cliff and the gray walls of the apartment. A metal spike fence separates each apartment’s courtyard and makes the scene look like a prison yard. However, it was about 20 degrees cooler than the front terrace where we were our clothes were drying, so we didn't mind the austere greyness.<br />
<br />
The next morning,<br />
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Wes and I are awake before 6, planning to get started before the traffic does, as part of the day will be walking on a curving, climbing, shoulderless road.<br />
<br />
We don’t make it out until 7:30 AM, just as the sun... if there were sun... was peeking over the steep canyon walls. Instead, it is misty and a bit foggy. We are grateful to be wearing lights. Wes is wearing a mini lantern on the back of his backpack and I have rigged up a pin headlight on the front of my shirt. The barrelling lorries and cars see our lights in the mist and slow down.<br />
<br />
Just before we turn to take a forest track, we come across two Americans, from South Carolina, Steve and Alice. They had missed the turn to the side track yesterday and so had mostly walked on the road to this point. They are about our age and laugh when we commiserate about the 60 year old pace. But they also do not seem like experienced outdoor people or travelers. Steve has his enormous pack off and is rooting through it to find the guidebook instead of keeping it ready reach in one of the pack’s exterior pockets.<br />
<br />
Our goal for the day is clearing the Ipañeta pass, which will bring us to the south side of the Pyrenees. We are glad to leave the highway, which has grown increasingly busy as the day progressed. It is unnerving to walk on the shoulderless road, where one side is a guardrail over a cliff and the other side abuts a mountain wall.<br />
<br />
We enjoy ourselves on the forest track, where ferns and stinging nettle abound. The trees are a mix of beech, sycamore, and something like an alder. We walk past many ancient farm buildings, made of stone and roofed with mossy orange tiles. They perch in little openings on the canyon floor and often climb to 3 or 4 stories. On some, we can see that the older stone has been covered with a white lime plaster. <br />
<br />
The designs of these white houses are far more variable than those in the Loire Valley, where square houses and hip roofs dominate. These houses seemed to have begun on the chalet model, one or two stories with a center front entrance under steep eaves. But over time, they twist this way or that, add dormers, extensions, floors, and additions following the lay of the land and the whim of the owner.<br />
<br />
Our ever climbing path wanders in and out of the farmsteads and compounds. Sometimes we are on a wide path beside a creek. Other times, we make our way up a single track on a narrow and steep path where I must warn Wes about overhanging, face-slapping stinging nettle.<br />
<br />
By 11am or so we leave our little stream, and enter the pass region of the hike. We are following a line of high tension power poles, on a rough track that grows increasingly steep and rocky. I am very grateful for stick I found to supplement my single trekking pole. Very often, I need four limbs on this rough and treacherous terrain.<br />
<br />
We are panting, heaving wrecks, about to enter the steepest in remote part of this hike. I am waiting for Wes puffing his way up the hill, when two Francais come jaunting by in sneakers, and the lightest of day packs. She is about 45; her pendulous breasts are swing braless under a light T shirt. The young man, probably her son, has a significant pronation on his left foot, so much so, it looks like his ankle nearly reaches the ground with each step of his wet tennis shoe. They trill a cheery “Ca va?” at us, and are soon out of sight. <br />
<br />
No one could accuse us of jaunting up the path, but we make steady progress, although our too scanty breakfast is long gone and we are getting low on water.<br />
<br />
The last few kilometres to the top are a real grind, made more challenging by the misty rain turning to light, then not-so-light rain. I insist we cover our packs with their protective rain cover. Wes doesn’t want to make the effort. It takes me a few seconds to cover his, but when Wes fumbles to remove the cover, but when Wes fumbles to remove the cover from its pocket at the bottom of my pack, I holler, “Do have to take this pack off and do it myself?” Thank goodness, Wes does not return fire and soon this hunger and exhaustion fueled snappishness slips into the mist.<br />
<br />
We are glad to make it to the 1055 meter summit, but the view is just a few 100 feet. The ancient stone chapel looms in the mist and nothing tells us to stick around. A skinny Spaniard in a short poncho appears in the mist, and almost starts walking back down the mountain until we shout him back on course. <br />
<br />
Once again, we are glad we did not take the upper route, whose chief virtue is panoramic views and whose is chief vice is a steep 500 meter descent. As it is, each step of the descent hurts. <br />
<br />
At the sight of the ancient monastery, now pilgrim haven at Roncesvalles, my heart leaps. When I see its square tower and long dormitories, I start looking forward to some coffee and real food. The handful of raspberries plucked along the way were helpful but not sufficient.<br />
<br />
When we land at the pilgrim office, we are suddenly in a sea of soggy backpack wearing…or shedding... travelers. A big group huddles on a bench in the corridor, eating sandwiches and apples. More than a few have the same hollow-eyed look of exhaustion we do.<br />
<br />
There is a big circle of pilgrims lining a tall table in the pilgrims' office. I move to an open spot where I am informed in curt Spanish by a sweet faced 20 year old woman, “This is a line and I have just cut in place.” It takes me a moment to process what she saying and ask her in French, “Where is the end of the line?” About 20 pilgrims back. I don't have the mental or language capacity to explain that all I want is the pilgrim stamp, while most people are trying to arrange lodging and breakfast in the vast dormitories.<br />
<br />
One hale and hearty Spanish woman is managing the whole affair in bad English, moderate French, and rapid fire Spanish. One big, young, damp American asks for lodging in careful Spanish and stands blinking and shocked at the torrent she returns in response. He then begs, “mas despacio, por favor” (more slowly, please).<br />
<br />
I wait and wait. Wes comes in several times to see what on earth is going on. The line begins to snake out the door. At last the volunteer calls out, “No dormir?” I wave my pilgrim passport in the air…it seems I am the only one in this giant line not seeking lodging. <br />
<br />
She moves me to the front of the line, stamps my passport in one second. Then we are gone, across the courtyard and straight into a bus load of elderly Spanish tourists huddling under umbrellas in their straight skirts, neat trousers and sensible shoes.<br />
<br />
The rain increases along with our need for some food. We find an open restaurant/bar. The bar is jammed, but the dining room is nearly empty. We take seats to discover all they are serving is a 3 course meal with bread, wine, and water...<br />
€18 each. Eeek. Oh, well, better that than a cold sandwich and beer for 10 euros.<br />
<br />
The food is delicious. I have lentil soup with sausage and peppers, trout and flan, while Wes revels in his fruit and cheese salad, stuffed pepper, and chocolate gateau. We drink a whole bottle of wine, fuss over our lodging arrangements for the night and meet a threesome sitting next to us speaking flat Midwestern English.<br />
<br />
He looks like he walked, but the 2 women are much too pristine to have braved the rainy trails. When we announce we are from, they say they are from London, Ontario. We say we met another group from London, Ontario, staying at the same apartment complex we were. The champagne blonde on the left starts, then stares, then says, “That was us!” <br />
<br />
Neither group recognized each other out of context. We visit a bit. They will stay in the town just beyond where we will, but I have a feeling we’ll be seeing them again...<br />
<br />
Just outside the restaurant, Wes talks to a couple of Brits in ponchos and their fat little Jack Russell terrier, who is sporting a Camino seashell on his collar. Wes asks if the dog is walking. He isn’t…too old at 14 years, but they’re all back again after many trips to the trail. <br />
<br />
They correct Wes on his pronunciation of "Buen Camino" and teasingly point out that one of my pant legs is up and the other down. The wife says, "Well, it’s just to show that her pink socks match her pink blouse, isn’t it?”<br />
<br />
The path to our lodging is flat and lovely, through a thick forest once noted as a haven for witches…(as the Inquisition would have history believe, more likely non compliant Basque women, I sniff to Wes.)<br />
<br />
We stop to read the town’s signmap, which proclaims in English. “You is here.” and we surely are. We make our way through this charming Basque town where Hemingway spent so much time, and find our lovely hotel. It takes seconds to shed our wet clothes and heavy boots. In minutes. I am soaking, then snoring, in the deep cast iron tub. <br />
<br />
After muscle rubs, healing ointments, and ibuprofen, we snuggle into comfortable but adjacent twin beds. We are glad to be over the mountain and truly started on our pilgrim journey.<br />
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Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-10435952773951934492016-09-12T14:13:00.001-07:002016-12-15T09:15:54.246-08:00The Road Less TraveledSeptember 7, 2016: Arneguy, France. <br />
<br />
We are in a nice room in the Hotel Clementenia, just a few feet from the Spanish border. We walked 12 kilometers through back country fields and farms to this sleepy little town. We definitely took the road less traveled. <br />
<br />
The night before, we stayed at Le Coquille Napoleon. Although I think we paid too much for a simple room, we delighted in the sense of life at the small compound created by the weathers Basque Jean Michel and his much younger, sprightly English wife, Lorna. With two Chihuahuas, Momma who barked and baby who cringed, two rambunctious spring kittens who charged and tumbled around the yard after three year old Anton. Half-wild, shirtless and shoeless, and speaking a conglomeration of French, Spanish, English and Basque, this is sandy haired toddler is as free and loved as possible. <br />
<br />
The menagerie was extended by a bright green parrot who alternately disappeared into the top tree branches, or flew long forays around the countryside or decided to periodically makes himself visible to the crowd by preening on the deck or in the low branches. His bright orange undermarkings suddenly render him visible. <br />
<br />
There are 2 speckled small chickens and a rooster. The gray kitten likes to worry one of the hens, making her run and squawk like a hassled housewife trying to dash across the street before the light changes. <br />
<br />
Inside the living room, we see a large aquarium. The next morning. we see the farm’s two burrows, mama and colt, at the fence looking for their breakfast. Before long, they move to the far end of the pasture to disappear once more in the bushes.<br />
<br />
At 7 AM sharp, the speckled rooster begins crowing as predicted by Jean Michelle. For some reason. I laugh as both humans and a few previously unseen black chickens come to the center yard on command.<br />
<br />
The breakfast is a quick and fairly silent affair, in stark contrast to the clangorous and languorous gathering of the night before, with 15 people gathered around the large table on the deck, jabbering in a mix of German, French, Spanish and English. The two French women, who earlier in the afternoon, spent hours in intense conversation with the other young French couple about the price of food and equipment, but who would barely speak to us, twit and giggle in rotten English with the single American male who showed up right before dinner.<br />
<br />
He is even more monolingual then we are. A tall blonde from LA, he is just as enamored with the French flirts as they are with him. Hector, a young Valencian in full football jersey and shorts, was greatly relieved when a portly Spanish man with the big voice and matching belly, showed up at the compound. The have an intense conversation, with occasional translations for the Frenchwoman and American man making goo-goo eyes at each other. <br />
<br />
Four Germen men, accompanied by one German woman and one Dutch woman are seated right by us. An open faced blonde, the Dutch woman has the best English of the crowd and she is good about engaging us in conversation. <br />
<br />
At breakfast, we watched a constant stream of pilgrims plugging their way up the steep hill next to La Coquille Napoleon. Wes and I nurse coffee yogurt and bread, (hardly worth the €7 price), and marvel at the range of backpackers going by. <br />
<br />
Most of our group has gone, including the hard- drinking and smoking Austrian, who left at 6:00 am. The next to go are the chittering French women, only carrying a belly bag and small day pack. The German group is next, hefting new backpacks on their middle aged bodies, followed by the slender young French couple who slept outside on the ground, didn't eat dinner with us, and who completed several rounds of salutes to the sun before hoisting their massive bags on their backs. <br />
<br />
We are the last to leave. As we say goodbye to Lorna and John Michel, Lorna tells us. “For some people, the Camino is just a 500 mile pub crawl”. It is is easy to see how the experience could easily become a walk between convivial and well-lubricated conversations with strangers.<br />
<br />
Because we have decided to the take the “low way,” with a stop half way up the mountain, instead of trying to make 26 kilometers and a giant pass on the first day, we are going down the hill many hikers are going up. We encounter a stream of older Brits whose bags must have been sent on as they are only carrying water and the lightest bags.<br />
<br />
As we make our way down to 30 degree hill, which is the first rough ascent from Saint Jean, we see people as anxious and worried as we were yesterday at the same point. The faces say, ”Do I really have the strength to do this?”<br />
<br />
We begin telling the sweating walkers what our landlord Jean Michel said to us, “That is the single steepest hill of the whole trip.” We encounter two elderly Brits, one of whom was sporting a jaunty safari cap, but who was already straining and bright red in the face. His face positively lightened and refaxed at our words. He was confident he could make it up this hill at least. <br />
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An overweight strawberry blonde woman with an enormous backpack was lolling around a route marker decorated with a makeshift cross, then found her way over to visit with a Palomino pony. As we arrive to provide the encouraging words about the hill, she is saying to the horse in American English. “You can’t have my apple; that’s my lunch.” The horse’s sensitive lips are feeling all about her hands, disregarding her words. Surely, she had just given him something. We give her our landlord’s advice and she responds, “Oh, you have made my day. I was afraid it was going to all be like this!”<br />
<br />
We leave the masses to sweat over the big hill and make our way along a burbling creek, and through farm fields where we attempt to have conversations with the resident cows, sheep, and horses. They are bored with pilgrims…or don’t understand English moos and baas...and don’t even look up as we go by. <br />
<br />
We are proud of ourselves for making this choice. We have made the first day error over and over on previous trips and have regretted it every time. We have paid for our enthusiasm and foolishness with injuries and horrible first weeks, as our bodies tried to acclimate to daily hard use.<br />
<br />
We know we haven’t walked any up any big hills living in Detroit. We know our training has not included much time carrying heavy packs. In fact, our training has had very little weighted walking at all. So once again, we must train as we go.<br />
<br />
How many of those pushing up the mountain will regret their first day blisters, and sore muscles, for the first quarter of their trip? <br />
<br />
We remind ourselves, the goal is to get to the end—and let each day grow in meaning, and distance as we grow in both physical and spiritual strength and are ready to receive it. This is a hard lesson to learn. We will find out if we have in fact learned it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIg-DDvrJVbSiu0ZdaSV_ermLzmmDFHJtilxTaFcsNe94gorn4pXQWOKGxwuJ7in5zhto3tU7Rj-TYXIE52o6oGu2vDozCjZeZGYIdMrdsfb1nDF23SSXKJRf9zCX6X6_4uotMnLmSA/s1600/WP_20160909_12_12_42_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIg-DDvrJVbSiu0ZdaSV_ermLzmmDFHJtilxTaFcsNe94gorn4pXQWOKGxwuJ7in5zhto3tU7Rj-TYXIE52o6oGu2vDozCjZeZGYIdMrdsfb1nDF23SSXKJRf9zCX6X6_4uotMnLmSA/s400/WP_20160909_12_12_42_Pro.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the mountains ahead...</td></tr>
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Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-20397869932761940862016-09-07T00:04:00.002-07:002016-12-15T09:22:29.071-08:00So Far and Yet So Close<i>September 4, 2015: Bayonne, France</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJ_BXx4e8fStADt0_pMVt7oNrzFbN0fwAQ3xoTcn0iK-8s4RTHRmDHWGQllHs4_8q1vvqWVQmtgrQydSE2AZKadtz883XHNBR1oOB_uDNrGOVRaOfi6iMUKTeCM90JZoSCu7SxS9npQ/s1600/WP_20160904_001+%255B30447498%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJ_BXx4e8fStADt0_pMVt7oNrzFbN0fwAQ3xoTcn0iK-8s4RTHRmDHWGQllHs4_8q1vvqWVQmtgrQydSE2AZKadtz883XHNBR1oOB_uDNrGOVRaOfi6iMUKTeCM90JZoSCu7SxS9npQ/s320/WP_20160904_001+%255B30447498%255D.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
We are in a small room on the 4th floor of a pension in the old elegant section of this very old town. We arrived this morning after a semi-restful overnight train from Paris. After three attempts, I was able to get our 2nd class reservations to 1st class (one of the unexpected benefits of our Eurail pass). Had we been consigned to 2nd class, we would have been sleeping in an extended seat in a compartment with 6 other people, where we would get very little rest. (but more than on Amtrak’s barely reclining seats.)<br />
<br />
In first class, we had the two top bunks in four bunk compartment. We got some sleep, but I was bothered by the presence of an older French man sleeping in the lower bunk. There was no problem other than our complete inability to communicate. He spoke a dialect of French almost completely incomprehensible to me ( I think I made out “Bon jour, madame” and “Dix” the word for 10). And he understood not one word of our English or my fractured French.<br />
<br />
The truth is that I was extremely self-conscious and awkward. This does not bode well for staying in the dormitories of the Camino. I will have to find a strategy for undressing and for being comfortable in an environment of strangers. We will be finding out soon enough, I guess.<br />
<br />
It is hard to believe we are this close to the trip now. I was excited last night as we waited in the run-down and sparse Paris’ Gare Austerlitz to see at least 4 other pilgrims waiting for the same train. One older woman with steel grey hair, sensible hair cut, and short sleeve plaid shirt wore a big brown back-pack adorned with the mussel shell of the Camino. I visit with a Brit from London, a short-haired slender man who told me he bought two train fares from London because he was worried a bout having enough time to transfer between stations (gares). “I was so anxious that I needed two hours between connections, I went ahead a bought another ticket after they wouldn’t change the first. As it turned out, it was a waste of 45 pounds, because I have plenty of time. I was just too worried.”We see him the next morning as we are leaving the train. He had spent a rough night with very little sleep in the 6 person compartment, where “you couldn’t move without touching another person.”<br />
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We were in need of a cup of coffee, so make our way to a lovely, low-end tabac not far from the station. At first, we sit outside next to a thin, drawn woman nursing a small cup of coffee while a tiny, cowed long hair Chihuahua stared at her nervously. However, she, and everyone else outside, is smoking, and the wind is blowing the fumes in our face, so we move inside.<br />
The first man I see while ordering looks utterly stricken, looking up at me with red and rheumy eyes as he nurses his first shaky drink of the morning. He is 55, heavy in belly, cheeks, and jowls, and looks all the world like a grief stricken postal inspector.<br />
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Across the room, a jocular man with a long Gallic nose is trying to make the table laugh. The tiny woman to his left is having none of it, though the two man opposite them break out in occasional raucous laughter. She sits straight as a stick, arms crossed over her belly, her chopped hair, mismatched skirt and blouse ( flowers up top, plaid below) and tight lips conveying “I wish I was anywhere but here.”. Another lively conversation is occurring in the corner.<br />
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Wes likes the energy and is relieved to speak in something close to his normal volume, after all the whispers and murmurs expected and practiced on French transportation. We drink small, strong cups of coffee flavored with tiny sugar cubes, surprised at ourselves because we never add sugar to our coffee at home. But here, it somehow completes the taste. Wanting another cup, Wes goes to the counter to order another from Bernadetta, the thin, hard featured, black haired waitress wearing skin tight pants and grey suede demi boots with 3 inch heels. When she brings the coffee and Wes attempts a mispronounced “merci beaucoup,” which I correct, she pats him on the arm and says, “Parfait.” We are charmed.<br />
<br />
About that time, the drawn smoker comes in to use the restroom, followed by the nervous Chihuahua. The mud grey pup stays right at her feet, tail between his legs, and goes both in and out of the bathroom with her.<br />
<br />
As we leave the café, we spot the anxious Englishman pacing back and forth in front of the train station. He told me that there was a train to Saint Jean with no attempt at the French pronunciation at 2:55pm and was surprised to learn there was a bus as well. I try to capture his eye to what arrangements he had made, but his pre-occupation and determined walk render us invisible. <br />
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At the pension, we are first greeted by two small spaniels. The black lets us touch him while he circles us warily, but the white and ginger cowers in his usual spot. Soon the landlord, a remarkably handsome young man with bright hazel eyes and chiseled chin, arrives. Between his broken English and my lousy French, we determine to leave our bags until we can check in a 1pm. Foolishly, I ask the dogs’ name, but not his.<br />
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Out on the Rue Port Neuf, it is a sleepy Sunday morning. Nearly all the shops and cafes are closed. We find an open boulangerie with nice looking quiches and croissants, but cheap out and buy the croque-monsieur. They’re pretty awful. On hard, stale white bread with tasteless barely re-heated cheese and some sort of gloopy mayonnaise spread, Wes immediately chokes on his first bite. He hacks his way up the street, trying to clear the noxious piece stuck in his windpipe.<br />
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We come to the Cathedral just as mass is ending. As we circle around to the front entrance, two beggars confront us. One, a youngish man in a baseball cap, accompanied by two bulky, sprawling, well-fed mutts, thrusts a yellow plastic cup at us. Another, somewhat older with dark hair approaching a monk’s tonsure, holds out a metal cup and asks us in barely recognizable English, “Going to mass?”<br />
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We wander in the church and are struck by its air of solemn sanctity (so different from the tourist exploitation of Chartres) and it's “Accuiel de Pelegrinos,” (helpdesk for pilgrims). As we peer into a small, wood paneled chapel, an older woman with badly dyed blonde hair the texture of cotton candy begins shouting at a man in the chapel. He leaves the chapel, as do we. She then follows him out of the church, yelling in high pitched French I don’t understand. She continues shouting for some time at the entrance of the cathedral, her voice amplified to the neighborhood because of the typanic structure of the arches.<br />
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We want to go to the next mass at 11:30, so decide to wait in the adjacent leafy cloisters. While we amuse ourselves feeding bits of peanut butter to a small blackbird, the blonde woman continues to yell. At one point, she marches through the cloisters, still ranting at the top of her voice. We put our heads down and hope we don’t capture her attention. Eventually, she returns to the church entrance, and after some conversation with the two beggars, quiets down.<br />
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The wait in the cloisters grows too long, so we wander the battlements of the ancient town, looking down into the empty moat and another wall beyond. Wes wonders if these were another design by Vaubon, introduced to us by Klaus as the military architect who created the defensive bulwark at the top of Freiburg. A few minutes later, when we stop to read about an unusual stone tower abutting a rough stone wall, we discover that the tower had been built by Roman soldiers in the 1st century, and yes, indeed, the double wall battlements were created by the ubiquitous Monsieur Vaubon. This small city on the frontier with Spain has been at the center of innumerable disputes for millenia.<br />
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We return to the Cathedral, give some small change to the waiting beggars, and see that the blonde woman is now vigorously sweeping the entrance while maintaining a constant flow of verbiage. The mass itself in in French and Latin, conducted by a pudgy African priest who spoke slow, careful, strongly accented French. I could follow what he was saying, but could not comprehend a word from the mouth of his pale skinned and grey haired deacon. I found myself watching the acolytes. Two tall thin, dark skinned boys, whose thick curly hair was not picked, pressed, or shaped were accompanied by a young boy of about 11 who may have been at the altar for the first time, so often was he directed and corrected by the deacon. The teenagers, by contrast, were stately, elegant, and handsome, providing the candles, platin, wine and hosts at the very moment the priest needed them.<br />
<br />
The music was a compelling mix of pop, Latin, and traditional church songs played on a 100 pipe organ and sung by a curly haired, long nosed, clear-voiced young soprano wearing a jaunty sailors’ stripe shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. In the service and songs, the name of the messiah is rendered “SheZuh”.<br />
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After our surprisingly satisfying mass, we make our way around town, stopping for snacks and water, then eventually dinner and wine, managing to communicate in some atrocity of French, Spanish, and English. Wes reads the Camino de Santiago guidebook, and I am pleased I am able to successfully edit my manuscript on my phone and keyboard whiling away the hours at the Café du Theatre at water’s edge.<br />
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Back in our room, we sleep for few hours, then wake to watch the “exciting conclusion” of the Star Trek prequel—in English—savoring the encounter between Zachary Quinto and Leonard Nimoy, before laughing uproariously at the stupid English practical joke show, Just for Laughs.<br />
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It is quiet now. All sounds of our neighbors’ lives—their nose blowing and dish washing and raucous discussion of sports—filtering up through the courtyards abutting our hall and bathroom windows, have abated. Wes snores smoothly next to me. The small fan placed by door of our nearly breathless room putters on. I will turn off the lights in this orange striped room and try to make my way to sleep. Tomorrow, we go St. Jean Pied de Port, get out pilgrim credentials, and begin the next phase of this adventure.Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-90605187302759179552016-08-15T14:02:00.000-07:002016-08-15T14:02:37.347-07:00Mountain Joy, Part 2<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">August 15, 2016: New York City<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next day, we are up early…our bodies are still on
Eastern Time. We wait for the office to
open at 6:00 am for coffee, fruit, and bagels.
I am not well rested. My toe hurt
all night, and Aspercreme did nothing to touch the pain. The toe is visibly
swollen as well as fluorescently colored.
Bruising is seeping down my foot: along the edges of the adjacent toes,
and along the side of my foot. The top
of my foot and ankle are also swollen. Every
step hurts. I can only wear the water
shoes I was wearing during the accident.
At least they’re pink and won’t look completely ridiculous with the pink
and peach dress I am wearing to the wedding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are anxious about getting to the top of the mountain on
time, so after a short, hobbling foray around town to buy a replacement for
the hat sacrificed to the river gods, I purchase a bright peach
solar hat. When I hobbled into the sporting
goods store and told the smirking sales clerk I wanted a lightweight,
crushable, waterproof, fully brimmed hat, he is taken aback. He takes me over to the rack of Indiana Jones
inspired hats, where all but one hat is tan or beige. When I grab the only
brightly colored one in the lot, I can see his stereotype of me is confirmed. “Well,
that certainly is a <i>fun</i> color,” the
unspoken (for a fat tourist like you) unsaid, but clearly heard. I smile sweetly, and tell him, “All the
better to stand out in a crowd.” He visibly blanches, knowing that I got the
sub-text in his snide remark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are dressing by 10 am for a 1:00 pm. wedding. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We make our way to the bottom of the gondola by 11am. For reasons we can’t explain, we are
unusually anxious about the wedding, and snipe at each other as we make our way
through the winding confusion of empty trophy homes and globs of flashy trash
Western styled condominiums.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we get there, my mother is already there with my nephew
and his family. He is dressed very formally, in a black suit, dress shirt, and
polished black shoes. They are on edge
and concerned because my younger sister, my nephew’s mother, has not yet left
for the wedding and she is three and half hours away. He and she are texting back and forth. He is upset with her, and it is clear she is
also frustrated and angry. Something wrong at her end has delayed her
departure. My nephew is trying to keep
my mother out of it. No luck. She joins the anxious and unhappy circle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My younger brother arrives, wearing a Hawaiian shirt. His mate and her daughter, both rather shy, are
dressed in summer frocks and stand to the side.
Always ready with a joke and hug, he tries to raise the positivity quotient,
and somewhat succeeds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My eldest brother arrives, giant camera in hand and starts
taking photos. No one
wants the snappishness of the previous moments to show up on the official
record, so everyone gives their best fake toothy smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A college friend of my 2<sup>nd</sup> brother (the father of
the groom) arrives. He greets my mother
effusively and announces, apropos de nothing, “I have become a Democrat!”. My
mother, still sharply political at the age of 87, immediately takes the
bait. “Why?” He replies, “We moved to
Utah and I just couldn’t stand be a Republican anymore.” My mother, “What, you
couldn’t take any more of Jason Chaffetz?” And then they are off to the races,
doing a micro analysis of various Utah politicians. They spar, and enjoy sparring; spouses,
children, and grandchildren lost from view.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My younger brother whispers to me, <u>sotto voce</u>, that
the party conversion was a big
deal. The big blonde man dressed in
chinos, dockers, and blue linen sport coat, is the son of the former Republican
Speaker of the House in the Wyoming legislature. My mother and recently deceased step-father
had served as representatives during his tenure. The son (and father) were solid businessman
Republicans, who didn’t really care what people did in their private lives, as
long it didn’t interfere with their right to make a profit. Like my step-father, and now this former
scion of the Republican party, they find it hard to stay in a party so
pre-occupied with divisive social issues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When a group of about 20 wedding goers have arrived, we go
to board the gondola to the top of the mountain, where the wedding will take
place. At first, the attendant won’t let
us board, saying they are not ready for us, and to come back in an hour. The group begins to disperse, and the same
attendant calls us back…”Oh you CAN go up…just wait in the bar on the top while
they get the wedding site set up.” We
call about for the now scattered group to come, but they have left the hot and
breathless courtyard, where there are no benches and the only entertainment is
watching pre-adolescents attempt bungee assisted flips on rented trampolines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we go to board the gondola, I misread the red warning
stripe and smack my injured toe on the edge of a stair I took to be a ramp. I grab Wes with one hand, and, to keep from
screaming, stuff my other fist in my mouth.
With tears rolling down my cheek, I board the 6’x6’ glass-encased
gondola.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We ride up with my mother and nephew’s family. My grandniece is excited and offers her four
year old commentary on the scenery as we are pulled up to 10,000 feet. “We're high.
Don’t jump out! Can we see our
car? Don’t be scared!”. The gondola is
hot and airless; Wes and my nephew are red-faced sweating in their formal jackets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On top, we are surrounded by an alpine wonderland where we
can see for many miles. The sun is
piercing in the thin air, and those people who have foolishly forgotten their
sunglasses are squinting in the bright light.
Both my mother and I stare balefully at the task at hand: climbing three
flights of stairs to the restaurant deck, adjacent to the mountain meadow where
the wedding will take place. Suddenly a
middle aged man in a jaunty straw boater materializes by our side and offers us
a ride in the elevator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We snake alongside him, through numerous twists and turns,
barely able to keep up with his hurried stride.
He opens two greasy doors and we slip into a service elevator. He says, “Don’t be alarmed when you get out
in the kitchen, just turn to the right and go through to the bar.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We step out into a wreck of a kitchen in the midst of a huge
rush: mostly Latino cooks and tall, tan, Anglo male waiters rushing in and
out. Abashed, we apologize and scoot out
as quickly as possible; right into a big hangar of a bar blasting out 80’s John
Bon Jovi My mother, for reasons unknown,
sits at a long empty table at the far end of the cacophonous empty hall. The rest of us, including my puffing husband
and nephew who just made it up the stairs, go out to the large deck to stare at
the mountains and blink at the sun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We find a table under an umbrella, see the nervous groom
swarmed by his groomsmen, and try to pack as many family members as possible at
the tiny table. I ask my nephew about my
mother. He grimaces, “She says she is
fine where she is.” She isn’t. She is sitting alone in a dark, rock-racked
hall. I know better than to take her at her word. I send a rescue party and soon she is sitting
with the family at the table, relieved not be left to her own self-destructive devices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We drink overpriced frozen drinks and complain about brain freezes. Every so often someone goes to the edge of
the deck to report on preparations on the wedding grounds below. When at last we are released, there is an
audible sigh, and 200 people in frocks, t-shirts, formal suits, spike heels and
sandals make their way to the white seats sitting on the fragile high altitude
grass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXR6XQ4ky1EsPrakBimQ4s8x8_hcXUFEbjv68ukKpoWlOXXGwfenIH-RE7kDp-91IjMaDGZN_gMb6wqH5fmlzytcBFlJuMxIHA8A6iRCpk3ZMblosPW7NPBGS-PAqKqcPV4DWzBEddeQ/s1600/Wedding+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXR6XQ4ky1EsPrakBimQ4s8x8_hcXUFEbjv68ukKpoWlOXXGwfenIH-RE7kDp-91IjMaDGZN_gMb6wqH5fmlzytcBFlJuMxIHA8A6iRCpk3ZMblosPW7NPBGS-PAqKqcPV4DWzBEddeQ/s400/Wedding+party.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Wedding Party<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">W. Nethercott photo</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The traditionalists ask “Which is the grooms’ side?” There is no answer, but when the groom’s
maternal grandfather, a tiny athletic 80 year old man with a New Wife, sits in
the second row on the left, we all follow suit. My mother joins the row. We sit behind them. My brothers, nephews, nieces and attendant
family move to the back rows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ceremony begins with cello and violin playing sweetly,
but the sound is soon lost in the immensity of air and mountain. The attendants arrive; first- nine youngish
men in dark pants and light shirts, followed by four female attendants wearing
sage or tan dresses. My brother and his
wife, clutching my nephew on either arm, bring him to the front. Soon, the bride, in a long formal sleeveless
white gown arrives with her father. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3LOmz2mafIDYOnRcG6E6o1hpNFx1vBvP_pKXJnx8b6CAhTYpLHInbjl9bxxC8JgU5Fhhm7EpwJC7662ky7LIN9u7__rEFcuWq9muiJr1X5KGxrC2IPmNrodkcuKSpPrZZGXdfdyY5w/s1600/MountainLove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3LOmz2mafIDYOnRcG6E6o1hpNFx1vBvP_pKXJnx8b6CAhTYpLHInbjl9bxxC8JgU5Fhhm7EpwJC7662ky7LIN9u7__rEFcuWq9muiJr1X5KGxrC2IPmNrodkcuKSpPrZZGXdfdyY5w/s320/MountainLove.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love on the mountain<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">C.Frankovic photograph</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The service is short, but beautiful, personal, and
heartfelt. I start crying when my nephew
began his vows, throwing his hands in the air and shouting “I love this woman!”
I sense Wes crying next to me. As the simple statements of “I promise to…” continue, I
hear sniffles throughout the crowd. Right
before the exchange of rings, there was a bit of silence, into which Wes sent a
wracking sob, much to his great embarrassment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The whole ceremony ends with the new spouses tying their climbing ropes
together, the belaying knot both a metaphor and nod to the start of the
relationship and shared passion for technical climbing. Their honeymoon, if an 8-months of living in
a van to climb in South America counts as such, is dedicated to this shared
love of high places and hard physical and mental challenges.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bride and groom soon disappear for pictures, which
include them climbing a small cliff in their tuxedo and gown, and the rest of
the party makes their way back down to mountain. In a few hours, we will meet again in a small
hall at the base of the ski-jumps, where the food is plentiful (including a
whole dark brown roast pig split from stem to stern laying on plank), the
drinks flowing and the music loud. There’s
no room at the long tables where my family is sitting, so we sit against a far
wall and visit with the brides’ cousin from Iowa. After a while, we rescue my mother again, who
has somehow found herself sitting amongst strangers in the loud room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After dancing one painful (oh my toe!) dance with the cousin's tiny blonde daughters,
Wes and I excuse ourselves from the noisy, hot, and increasingly drunken festivities. We join the throngs of tourists
and locals packed at the free concert adjacent to the hall. The smell of legal marijuana hangs in the air
as the Robbie Robertson band rolls through rambling Grateful Dead-esque
jams. We don’t last long, but hear the
next day from my exhausted brother that the party lasted well into the early
morning and that the bride and groom were called onstage at one point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning, we make our way to a final family gathering celebrating numerous
birthdays and anniversaries. We're surprised
to discover most of my siblings have already left. We better get ourselves down the road as
well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are pensive as we make our way back to Glenwood Springs,
sad that we couldn’t have had more time to just be with family in an environment
where conversation was possible, but also glad that we witnessed the joy of a true
love match glowing and shining in the brilliant blues and delicate greens of a
high mountain meadow. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-29536759740117151702016-08-07T22:24:00.000-07:002016-08-15T19:01:11.549-07:00Mountain Joy, Part 1<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mountain Joy, Part 1.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(August 4, 2016): Eastbound Amtrak, near Kalamazoo, MI<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we finally get off the westbound train in Glenwood
Springs, Colorado, we are tired and smelly.
The ride through the midsection of the country during the night was
smooth, but it was hard to sleep. The
air conditioning was blasting cold air, and I was grateful for the fleece my
mother had sent me. Wes used his linen
jacket for the wedding as a pitiful blanket and both he and I struggled to sleep
in our seats without straining our necks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We were not rested as the train climbed into the mountains,
then made its way through the deep, rugged, majestic canyons carved by the
ever-growing Colorado River. We were to
pick up a rental car just a few blocks from the train station, then make our
way to our room. We would drive the 120
miles to Steamboat Springs the next morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We called the car company to let them know we were
coming. No answer. We called the 800 number. No answer. We spoke to a representative in a different
time zone who confidently told me they were closed for the day and was
genuinely shocked when I told him they were supposed to be open for the next
two hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bemused and hungry, we call the only taxi in the region, who
promises to arrive in five minutes. 25
minutes later, a young woman picks us up.
As we are driving to the motel, we see that the car place is open, and
drop Wes off. I should have gotten out
as well, as the 1.5 mile ride to the hotel costs $20. Sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first room we are shown is hot, small, and
substandard. We can upgrade for an
additional $10. Sigh. We do.
Crawl into our room, take showers, and fall asleep in what proves to be
very high quality sheets and blankets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Up early the next morning, we take a nice exploratory walk
into Glenwood, the highlights of which are seeing two bald eagles and finding
an apricot tree full of fruit. Along the
way to town, for more than mile, we see dozens of business cards strewn along
the path. This, of course, provokes speculation and storytelling. Did Les Durkee “Get more with Les” at
Defiance Auto Repair, quit his job and throw his cards out the window in a fit
of pique? Perhaps his four color cards
with a sports car curving around a highway were blown from his dashboard as he
flew down US 40 just outside Glenwood Springs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The wedding festivities will not begin until tomorrow, so we
want to take the long way through the back country to get to Steamboat. When we ask for a backcountry map of the
Flattops, the tourist agent is apologetic. When we tell her what we want to do,
she runs over to the big map on the wall, and tickled, points out a small dirt
road going from New Castle to the White River valley settlement of Buford. She gives us detailed verbal instructions to
get to this forest road, and promises we will love it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We do. The Flattops are anomalous volcanic mountains in the
northwest corner of Colorado. Unlike the
peopled, touristy, granite massifs of the rest of the state, these mountains
are isolated, pristine, and untrafficked.
Up top, we are reminded of the parks and upland spruce/lodgepole forests
around Fox Park, Wyoming—with one major difference. The trees are alive here. The miles of grey and red trees, killed by
pine bark beetle and now burning in multiple fires in Wyoming, are not
here. It is a joy to be in a healthy,
living forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXTplCqtqx0nggQTJbZKivL7TMIx1XpOxjlpSQ6q_Jo2J5cHo3jiKJN_MxYjr9HoLF8RqBdYgA_Ht7ZhNlVoGeCV6z1ha0tB1UrzOCo8Pyip26bdBe6ExeXWTZMuPKKzJqAHCZQrQlQ/s1600/arrowhead+balsomroot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXTplCqtqx0nggQTJbZKivL7TMIx1XpOxjlpSQ6q_Jo2J5cHo3jiKJN_MxYjr9HoLF8RqBdYgA_Ht7ZhNlVoGeCV6z1ha0tB1UrzOCo8Pyip26bdBe6ExeXWTZMuPKKzJqAHCZQrQlQ/s320/arrowhead+balsomroot.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even though it is almost August, the meadows are full of
arrowroot balsamroot, lupine, brown eyed susans and many more flowers we cannot
identify. In this high flat country,
there are few streams. The snow must sit
late into the summer to support these miles of yellow, purple, blue, and white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we leave the highlands down a twisting turning track, we
enter the wonderland of the White River valley.
The settlement of Buford is marked by a tiny dot on our Colorado map,
and we hope to get a bite there. We don’t
find any town, but are surprised by the number of mansions edging the
valley. The closest place for services
is Meeker, twenty miles away, in the wrong direction. What the hell, we say, and follow the river
down lush hay fields and historic ranches.
This is the Colorado we remember from our youth, when it was still cow
country, long before the days of spandex and endurance fitness races.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a quick stop at a grocery store, we turn around and
follow the river back into the mountain valley.
After about 25 miles, the road turns to dirt and we track higher and
higher into theseremote mountains. The
two peaks we see, Pyramid and Pagoda, point to these mountain’s volcanic
heritage, as does the incredibly fertile black soil around us. We find out that White River National Forest
is the 2<sup>nd</sup> named reserve in the US.
After a while, even the massive ranches disappear and we are winding our
way through primeval, uncut forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Two passes later, we curve into the funky little mining town
of Oak Creek, where the small houses and the barefoot children remind us of
West Virginia. However, just beyond Oak
Creek, we feel the backwash of Steamboat Springs. Trophy houses dot the path and the traffic is
faster and more aggressive. The ski town
in packed; it takes 20 minutes to go 3 miles from the condo-maxium sprawl
around the ski hill into the downtown of the former cowtown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We are in a small motel on the north side of town, run by a
gregarious Pole, Greg and his American wife Emily. We settle in quickly, then go to meet the
family for lunch on the banks of the Yampa River, at the local favorite SunPie Café.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The backyard is full of pre-adolescent boys in full baseball
uniforms. The majority are wearing
soiled red and white uniforms bearing the logo “Oklahoma Fuel.” As I wait in the long line to order a drink,
I visit with a couple who tell me their son is participating in a fast pitch
tournament with 25 teams from around the country. They are using their travels (to eight
locations this summer alone) to scope out schools and build the possibility of
their son receiving a college baseball scholarship. The softening, brown haired dad remarks,
somewhat ruefully, “We might be better just saving money for his college.” His pert, blonde wife, with a twangy Oklahoma
drawl, objects, “Oh, now honey, at least we get some sort of vacation this way!”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After mountainous plates of fried food and sticky drinks,
the wedding party, now numbering around 30 people, goes next door to take a
tube ride down the rocky, low, quickly flowing Yampa River. Wes and I make our way to the river, where
the first thing I do is fall attempting to get into my tube. My older brothers’
family stare at us, as we fumble and stumble our way into the tubes. They pop right in and wait for the two flat
land idiots to achieve the simple task.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The river is both very low and very crowded. The ride is punctuated by collisions with
other tubers and numerous rocks. At one
point, my tube becomes high centered on a rock and I make a strategic
error. I get out of the tube to free it,
lose my balance, fall, and watch my hat slip away. While reaching for my hat, my tube slips away
and starts floating down the river without me. Our group is out of sight and I am in a
precarious position. Walking among the
slippery rocks and swift flow is difficult<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am relieved to see that some kind soul has secured my tube
on some high rocks about 50 yards downriver.
I stumble along, fall several times, and work hard to keep myself calm
and focused. My water shoes have come undone
and I struggle to keep my feet in the soles. When I finally get to the tube, I step on a
submerged rock to to reach the perching tube.
I slip off the rock and hyperextend my left big toe backwards in a
searingly painful move. After several
tries, I make it back into the tube and back into the flow of the river. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After some time, I am surprised to see Wes and my brother’s
family waiting for me, worried and wondering what could have taken me so long. I tell them I had lost my tube and it took a
while to get it back. They are
surprised, as am I when I realize it, that I have never been tubing in my
entire life. My 30 year old niece can
hardly believe it. What have I been
doing with my 60 years on this earth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The rest of the ride is uneventful, although there is one
nervewracking moment when the river jumps a small rapid near the outflows of
the mineral springs. Numerous 13 year
old boys are playing in the rapids and one decides it will be funny to jump
under my tube as we go over the 2 foot drop.
He gets caught, but jumps up free and gasping, a few feet below the
rushing dip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the end of the trip, my toe is visibly swelling and
already turning purple. Every step hurts
and I wonder if I have broken my toe…just what I don’t need a few weeks before
beginning our hike on the Camino de Santiago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To be continued….</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-73418380023384081312016-07-29T09:03:00.000-07:002016-07-29T09:03:43.179-07:00The Journey 2.1: And We're Off!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(July 26, 2016): On the Train to Glenwood Springs, Colorado</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next adventure begins.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We will cover many more miles than the last adventure,
generally in greater comfort, until we don’t.
At the centerpiece of this journey is a long hike along the ancient
Camino de Santiago/Way of St. James in northern Spain. We will begin that piece on or around
September 6 and expect to be walking until mid-October.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That portion of the trip will be a physical, mental, and
spiritual challenge. We will walk from
St. Jean Pied de Port on the foot of the Pyrenees in southwestern France, cross
the mountains into Basque Spain, then walk 500 miles to Santiago de Compostela,
the traditional goal of the pilgrimage.
We hope to walk another 70 miles to the Atlantic Ocean at Finisterre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Along the way, we plan to stay at the various <u>albergues</u>
(pilgrim hostels) or <u>refugios</u> (pilgrim huts) provided by various volunteer
and religious groups along the way. These are generally no-frills dorms used by
the many thousands of people who come from all over the world to take this
walk. We are interested to meet these
people, but hope that the lack of privacy, the noise of snoring (including our
own), and general hubbub does not mean we can’t sleep. As we know from trying to camp in the heat
after a long day of cycling, bad sleep means a bad adventure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It will be an exercise in simplicity. We will carry very
little, about 15 pounds each. We have
lightweight, but fully supported backpacks.
We have been practicing—a bit—with them.
We have gone on a few trips using just the materials we are taking,
honing the pack, eliminating and adding clothes and personal items. I am trying not to make the same mistake we
made with the cross-country bike trip.
We were carrying gloves, hats, and fleeces we would need in October when
we started out in July, when we were facing temperatures near 100̊F.
We dumped them halfway through Washington.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I successfully fought the desire to pack ankle braces and
elastic bandages. But somehow, I still
have a few pounds of personal items like moleskin, aspercreme and other “I know
this is going to hurt” stuff.
Prudence? Fear? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am trying to have enough trust that I will be able to get
what I need—in Spanish—when and if I need it.
However, the “we might” and “we could” and “what if” functions in my brain
are well-trodden paths . “It’ll be fine,” and “deal with it when and if it arrives” are
more unfamiliar functions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Traveling light and having faith: those are two watchwords
for this journey. Plus, learning about
the state of the world from the people we encounter. We are poking our nose above the fence of our
everyday American lives. What’s
happening out there? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While the sojourn across the country was, in many ways, a
journey away…from work, from our middle years, from the home-centered identity
which had held us fast for so long---this is a journey to. To? To…a deeper conversation with God, a
broader fellowship with the world, a new way of earning a living. Or so I think. Who knows what the journey will actually
bring. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t know I was finding a way to leave Matrix for good
when I started on the bike trip. But
that is what the trip brought me. I
thought I was just going to re-boot my relationship to work. Wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here I am, sitting in the exhibition car of the
California Zephyr. Looking out over the
vast expanses of corn that are the hallmark of America’s midsection. In my sight, a young Eur-Am family, two strawberry
blonde boys bored by their father’s attempts to entertain them with a card
game. To their left, a retired couple;
the husband’s shirt is nearly identical to Wes’ grey green Hawaiian
blouse. They stare inconsolately at the
Amish father and son, who came to sit at their table and now fitfully snooze
across from them. They are both wearing
blue shirts and black vests. Their hair
is cut into a Dutch-boy bob. The father
has a 19<sup>th</sup> century patriarch grey beard (no mustache, cut low on the chin and
straggling six inches down to his chest.)
Patriarch dad announced to uncomfortable retirees that they are from Canton,
Ohio. He speaks loudly with a pronounced German-ish
accent. His son is baby-faced and pink
cheeked, with a prominent long nose. At
fourteen or so, he is as beautiful as he ever will be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know if they are Amish. They could be
Mennonite. There are many, many of them
on this train heading west and they surprise me. The women wear starched white caps over their
hair, and all are wearing long skirts.
Their affect is 19<sup>th</sup> century, until I see one with a digital
camera taking a family photo in Chicago Union Station’s Great Hall. Or I see a pair of blue aviator sunglasses
perched on the brim of black felt hat.
Or catch a glimpse of flip-flops under a capacious gingham skirt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Behind them, a middle-aged Afram couple is playing dominoes. Both are wearing sweatshirts; she has a line
of white ringlets running down the middle of her head, in sharp contrast to
smooth black hair above her ears. I
suspect it is a hairpiece. She looks a
bit like a gilded age skunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Behind us, a Euram family crams into two benches surrounding
a table. For a moment, the two sons
joined my table. Resplendent in bright
orange t-shirts, I noticed the gaggle waiting at the gate. I asked the boys if they were part of
group. The younger, about 10 years old
with helmet tan colored hair, stared at me wide-eyes. His older brother (?), more confident at the
age 13, tells me they are a family going to see their aunt in Denver. I ask if they are going to a family
reunion. They don’t answer, and soon
scoot away to cram in with two women and two girls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The diner car attendant is a comedian who regularly comes on
the loudspeaker to announce “pineapple forests” or the “mountains of Illinois.” We are joined by a mother and daughter. She is slight, with a shag haircut, well
sprinkled with grey. Her daughter has
shoulder length hair, lightly curled at her shoulders, dusted with scarlet dye
over her black base. They are originally
from southern China. Mom is visiting her
daughter, a purchaser for Ford Motor Company in Dearborn, and they are on their
way to San Francisco. Mom is an 80-year old
pediatric nurse who looks about 65 years old. While she has a narrow face, her
daughter’s face is quite round, but they share in common a long nose with wide nostrils. They often laugh, and their noses crinkle and
eyes nearly disappear in their delight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8pKVJY46IQ9rX07PpgtsZtxq_SUqBQa3YldwbwF_0PzuU0TMSTwjBU3iMLVtemau9pnL_Kz0vlmX9AxkMeS8ufuOCYuNY-U3OCB0ptRxI5b-FCm4rcuH0dto_-LE6kYFsF2rCz31tg/s1600/Heather+and+Wii+Chee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8pKVJY46IQ9rX07PpgtsZtxq_SUqBQa3YldwbwF_0PzuU0TMSTwjBU3iMLVtemau9pnL_Kz0vlmX9AxkMeS8ufuOCYuNY-U3OCB0ptRxI5b-FCm4rcuH0dto_-LE6kYFsF2rCz31tg/s320/Heather+and+Wii+Chee.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heather and Wii Chee</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom is visiting from Yangjiang. A few years ago, after her businessman
husband died, the daughter, who now goes by the name of Heather, brought her
namesake mother, Wii Chee (?) to live with them in Troy, Michigan. However, Wii Chee doesn’t speak English,
doesn’t drive, and was isolated and bored in suburban Detroit. So she moved back to China but comes to visit
for long stretches of time. She will be
here for 5 months on this trip. Heather’s
husband was to have been traveling with them.
A businessman in Troy, he was called back to China after his mother had
a stroke. He has been back three times
and recently missed his youngest daughter’s graduation from high school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heather came to US as the lone female engineering student at
the University of Nebraska. She worked
as an engineer for some years, landing in Belleville, Michigan and working for
the automotive supply company Borg Warner.
She disliked engineering, and found her way to becoming one of three
purchasers of steel for Ford. She has
been doing this for 15 years and loves it.
She is only purchaser with a background in engineering, which gives her
an advantage both in and out of the company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Neither son nor daughter, both born in the United States,
were interested in following their mother’s interest in mechanical
engineering. The 25 year old son is
studying medicine and the daughter will go to UM to study business. Wes points out that it quite common for
grandchildren to follow the employment patterns of the grandparents. When Heather tells her mother, the older
woman’s eyes widen, then she laughs and laughs, saying she never noticed that. We
visit and visit, about cars, kids, and steel, until they are called to dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seated for dinner later, we sit across from two sisters
Martha and Margaret, both college professors on their way to San
Francisco. Martha is professor of Latin
in the Classics department at SUNY-Buffalo, while Margaret is a professor of
history at Las Cruces, New Mexico. We have a long talk about the price of
college and the indentured servitude
students now enter. Martha tells of a
graduate student in her department who entered the program with $100,000 in
debt and has now accrued another $50,000.
We can’t conceive how he will ever pay for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember when the US thought an educated populace was a
social good. Margaret tells that she paid $50 a semester at UC-Berkley. The tuition is now $10,000 a semester. Martha remarks that we just aren’t making the
investments we need in students, road, or infrastructure. And then we are off to the races politically…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning we have breakfast with a couple traveling
to San Francisco. Denise a small
energetic woman with short hair and a straightforward manner; she is an
American-born radio astronomer at the University of Cork, Ireland. Paul has brownish shaggy hair that he
regularly sweeps away from his face, and a strong body hidden in baggy nerd clothes.
He was raised near Cambridge, England and recently retired as a communications
engineer for British Rail. They met on a
development study trip in Ecuador, where they spent six weeks in close quarters
and have been inseparable since. We have
long conversation about alternative energy, of which they are knowledgeable and
passionate. When we part, Paul laughs,
saying their previous conversation with fellow travelers had been all about
llama breeding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our final encounter is with a young couple in the first
flushes of their love affair. They are
in the early 20’s, on their way to a town outside Sacramento. She is full modern-day hippie: purple
headband, tie-dyed shirt, star encrusted leggings, multiple stone
necklaces. She is carrying a variety of
whole and organic foods. In between snacking
on celery and hummus, she draws several versions of a mandala she would like to
get as a tattoo on her forearm. He looks
a bit like a full faced Brad Pitt, with long dark blond hair, startling grey
eyes, and an easy, slightly crooked grin.
They snuggle and touch constantly.
When the train enters one of the 27 tunnels on its way through the
mountains, they kiss and giggle. He has
just returned from working as welder on very high end racing sailboats, where
it wasn’t unusual for the boats to cost more than a $1m dollars. She has been working a sort of Upward Bound
camp near Durango, Colorado. They boarded
the train in Chicago and are trying to figure out what’s next for them. He tells me Colorado is adding 14,000 new
residents each year. That means
construction jobs and a chance for him to get a good welding job. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They are more interested in each other than anything else,
so we leave them to go watch the hundreds of rafters, kayakers, paddle
boarders, and fishers in dories making their way down the Colorado River. A remarkable number sees fit to moon the
train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we arrive in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, we are very
happy to get off the train. 33 hours on Amtrak is infinitely better than the
sardine torture of modern airplane rides, far less draining on body and car
than a 3 day drive across the country, but we didn’t sleep well and our backs
are complaining. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We climb off the train and stand blinking in the 100 degree
heat. The first step of our amazing journey is complete. Now off to the adventure of a family wedding.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-43531795573853334922014-02-28T13:38:00.000-08:002014-02-28T13:38:01.774-08:00R+71: Embracing the Tangle
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Detroit. 2.28.14<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have been back at work for six weeks now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am still getting my feet under me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The contrast to our lives on the bike is
remarkable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we were on the bike
sojourn, and then later, when we were on the writers’ retreat in our cabin, life,
managing priorities and communications were much simpler.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the bike, choices are reduced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When do we leave?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where do we go?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When do we stop?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where do we stay?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do we eat?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of these, the only one that regularly presented
complications was “Where do we stay?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
many places across the country, there were exactly two choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we camp outside or do we stay in the one
small motel in town?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Circle, Montana,
for instance, there was a KOA campground or there was a creepy looking
motel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were so tired after biking
hours in a howling wind, we didn’t want any more time outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We opted for the motel, and were filled with
anxiety when we saw its ramshackle sign and abandoned, crumbling coffee
shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turned out, the motel owner
“gave us his best room,” which although the plumbing leaked, and was newly
painted a spectacular combination of pink, blue, and gold, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it ended up being a pretty good rest for our
weary bones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6OmRWWYfMWvwq4CfDLnzJE_ozRfNe35l5J2zae3yelHVVOUhyphenhyphenhc8qfb_YjcZQwlObTqi1uGaMVKYrXo8Sosg92f0oLku02zy9Bx3ypuWAwrYXiN5XhmOMS_vDj0zXRA6sKRGQuH6Zw/s1600/Galada+Motel%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6OmRWWYfMWvwq4CfDLnzJE_ozRfNe35l5J2zae3yelHVVOUhyphenhyphenhc8qfb_YjcZQwlObTqi1uGaMVKYrXo8Sosg92f0oLku02zy9Bx3ypuWAwrYXiN5XhmOMS_vDj0zXRA6sKRGQuH6Zw/s1600/Galada+Motel%5B1%5D.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To stay or not stay here....that is the question.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Other times, we were faced with a plethora of choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Shawano, Wisconsin, there were many nice
looking accommodations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was late, we
had been lost (again), but we had reservations at a resort, theoretically on
the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our inner voices were
screaming at us, to just take one of these rooms and not bike out in the dark
to that distant room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when we got there, after meeting the
befuddled owner in a lobby reeking of cat, we found our beautiful lakeside
resort was actually a rundown welfare motel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still--these choices were pretty straightforward: cope or
not cope with the choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rail against
your fate (Wes’ choice in Shawano) or slip into surly resignation (Shaun’s
choice in Shawano).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good news was that we could leave behind
our bad choices the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left
it behind and rolled onto the next adventure.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Communications on the road are also pretty simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, for much of the day, silence
reigns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we mount our bikes, there
might be an hour or two where the only communication was an internal
conversation with yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many times,
there was not even that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our brains were focused on making sure that our bodies were
functioning as needed, especially when the terrain was challenging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only thing that mattered, that truly was
all-consuming, was getting that bike up that hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same can be said for many down-hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Full concentration was required when zipping
down a mountain at 35 miles an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is only one choice available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The same is true riding in traffic, as when we were trying to make our
way on that hell-hole of a two lane road going into Whitefish, MT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With no shoulder, heavy traffic, and a six
inch drop off the highway to the surrounding land, it took every ounce of our
mind and body to stay alive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we were going in and out of public places, like restaurants
or bars, communication was an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
we were tired, or not feeling social, we could easily choose not to engage with
the people around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we did talk
to the strangers we met, it was easy enough to turn the conversation to them
and find out about who they are, what they are experiencing, what they are
perceiving in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had nearly
pat answers to the five standard questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Where did you start?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where are
you going?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many miles a day do you
ride? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where do you stay?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many tires have you gone through?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If our conversation turned to our background
or interests, we could disclose… or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In any case, these were 15-45 minute relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before long, we would be down the road and
would likely never see this person again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Such are the pleasures of anonymity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, what a difference to be back in Detroit and back at
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, good bye to
anonymity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nearly everywhere I go in this
small town masquerading as a big city, I see someone I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here at the coffee shop where I am writing
this, I have spoken to 7 people in less than an hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these people I have known for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know their families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have had disagreements off and on through
the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must choose how I continue
these relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let bygones be
bygones?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Warily engage and watch out for
grounds of conflict?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep the war
alive?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost never choose the latter,
although I know people who do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I
could always choose the first, but I am rather bad at that best of
choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly I focus on the positive
and watch out for the negative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
the woman whose politics make me uneasy, but whose personality and family I
like, we talk of family and history and neighborhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back at work, the choices can be overwhelming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are ramifications to everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who will it benefit?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who will disagree?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happens if we do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happens if we don’t?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are the steps to get there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is a finely balanced choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Choose wrong and the resulting mess will
bring emotions and confusion and disorder that may take years to sort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even in the best of circumstances, I am operating with a
mass of indefinites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a human
operation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humans don’t always say what
they mean… even when they are not trying to obfuscate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may not have the skills to express
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may not feel comfortable
expressing it in these circumstances. They may not know what they want (one of
my particular failings)… And there are the inevitable balancing acts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What may be just great for A is deeply upsetting
to B and C is not yet ready to choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Round and round and round it goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the context for every decision must be considered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can I see what is happening in the city, in
our community?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I align with one
group, do I damage my relationships with another?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I speak against one option, do I close off
the possibility of a relationship with the people who support the other
option?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which way is the best way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who can tell?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And no matter what, whatever I choose, I will have to live
with consequences of my choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If my
choice angers someone, then I will have to work through the backwash of that
emotion, even while allowing another person the space and time to celebrate, or
worry, or dismiss the same thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
a tangle, that’s for sure.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrtgly3MyUxxNJTzT23JCG9VIiWVuRX5UVDRcnZ_37EJ38QY5R-q2edLoPzC4lLRkswZRRjVSPRqu0QBGR_ug5zogxTf3ZsEFl809tWW4kA1Rrif7GSamZPDPka94WkMT6Mcro7pg1g/s1600/Tangle+of+cable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNrtgly3MyUxxNJTzT23JCG9VIiWVuRX5UVDRcnZ_37EJ38QY5R-q2edLoPzC4lLRkswZRRjVSPRqu0QBGR_ug5zogxTf3ZsEFl809tWW4kA1Rrif7GSamZPDPka94WkMT6Mcro7pg1g/s1600/Tangle+of+cable.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During these first few weeks, being back in the tangle has felt
claustrophobic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How often I just wanted
to get on my bike and disappear from all these complications. How much I just wanted
to retreat into a spot where all the choices are mine, as are all the silences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, in one of those moments of grace that sometimes touch
my life, I had a realization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>The
tangle is the work</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To engage in
human work, and be in the human community means embracing the tangle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My only choice is to be as authentic and
simple and straightforward as I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
negotiations will be constant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
confusion will be ever present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My job,
therefore, is presenting my best and truest heart, and silencing the worrisome
yammer in my brain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agree to muddle
on, </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">sorting and sifting and winding the tangle that is
life.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-85167863347551544342014-02-03T12:54:00.002-08:002014-02-03T12:54:57.340-08:00R+ 43: Shedding a Skin<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: xx-small;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Detroi:t 1/30/14<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have been back in Detroit nearly six weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I am settled enough to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The need to re-organize and empty my house was
a powerful urge during the first weeks of our return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although our house-sitters did a fantastic
job of caring for our animals, house, and yard, some deep non-rational urge
required I take everything apart, clean, wipe, re-fold, re-stack, re-arrange
and otherwise re-connect to everything we touch or use in the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the kitchen, every shelf, every drawer, whether visible
or no, was emptied, cleaned, and re-ordered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have a mania for categorizing, so all the copper pots, cast iron, and
Creuset were cleaned, polished or re-sealed and put in their specific shelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the storage containers were re-united
with their lids and organized by type.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All of the food shelves were scrubbed and organized by food type.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I crawled all over the room, scrubbing the floors and the
woodwork, wiping down doors, cleaning, wiping, touching everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the midst of all this, I get rid of
excess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The memorabilia, the little tchotchkes
and doo-hickeys, the piles of paper, the “I might use this someday” stacks of
this and that---all gone through, much of it removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This continued throughout the house, especially in the much
neglected basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent days setting
up a new work space and clearing out and organizing a portion of the house that
had become a repository of good intentions, tired memories, and lost
dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One distressing day, I pulled
apart the hardware cabinet, to find that our circular saw, sitting in its
cardboard box, had been both wet and occasionally used as a kitty box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was rusted and filthy; a few of its blades
were so gone to rust they could not be rehabilitated with WD-40 and steel wool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There, working in my nightgown and bathrobe, I rubbed and
scrubbed the goo and bubbles on this tool, regretting our neglect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I emptied a small wooden cabinet of its
mittens and gloves, then spent hours sorting hinges and sliders and hasps and
whatnot into their own categories and finally into their own marked
drawer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Screws, nuts, bolts,
nails…mixed randomly into jars or piled in their half empty boxes were separated,
organized, and marked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I repaired or removed chairs and furniture that sat for
years in the basement awaiting attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I removed videos, and books, and papers by the box-full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every piece of clothing in our drawers and
closet were taken out, examined for fit, repair, and cleanliness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of my clothes are much too big now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took sack after sack of clothes to the
Salvation Army until I am in a “pant crisis”—I have only two pair of somewhat
too big pants suitable for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
only three pair of pants for casual wear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out go shirts, and shoes, and jackets, and purses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gone are briefcases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes spends days pulling apart bags and bags
carrying the scripts, rehearsal notes, promotional materials, and associated
palaver from years of directing and producing plays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the artwork and photos that had been
waiting years for frames have finally been displayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yarn and fabric in the box I mailed from
England (in 1983!) are put in project boxes, still awaiting their encounter
with the sewing machine or knitting needles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull down a box of dog and cat grooming
supplies, accumulated through years of living with animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We take leashes, collars, a dog shaving set,
brushes, groomers, on and on, to the Dearborn Animal Rescue group. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57hb2JmPwJaDTvoI6XzVl9M3MxsQXJ7cvIYwkcZESn5tDn7aQyq9M0apJ6x9Va8kJFrVx9wuWfxY9tRZ7z4xr0ADlpJEyXXrzgnybyeID1zRUyXRdDxtqrIkMFO1SlCEtt3b0T8MEww/s1600/WesSports.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57hb2JmPwJaDTvoI6XzVl9M3MxsQXJ7cvIYwkcZESn5tDn7aQyq9M0apJ6x9Va8kJFrVx9wuWfxY9tRZ7z4xr0ADlpJEyXXrzgnybyeID1zRUyXRdDxtqrIkMFO1SlCEtt3b0T8MEww/s1600/WesSports.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High School Sports</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We pull down books that have sat on the shelves in the
library for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out go the stacks of
audio books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of them good, sometimes
great books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ask: will we read this
again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the answer is “No,” out it
goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good bye to multiple copies of
anything, detritus of years of teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We debate: shall we keep this set of Carlos Castaneda books, remnant of
our life in the 1970’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes says “Let ‘em
go,” but oddly enough, I say “Keep.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
want to see if I still find any shred of truth in those trippy old things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Down on our hands and knees, we clean and scrub and repair
and wax and buff long neglected floors in our library and dressing room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To our embarrassment, we think this may be
the first time we have done the floors in the dressing room, although we have
lived in this house for more than 20 years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdBU9Zdxlyz6WZPFaptUnxPx7zPioFSfsPJO9rIjT8qEHh4bX1pt8lHJh63QbjaQz0ZZUtzOZLFPq7f0xxaPgT_fpCQFlVgkMs8La2lM9uXG_Z9P72tiG8AC-skGZoWW2aoMor2SysA/s1600/Dressing+Room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZdBU9Zdxlyz6WZPFaptUnxPx7zPioFSfsPJO9rIjT8qEHh4bX1pt8lHJh63QbjaQz0ZZUtzOZLFPq7f0xxaPgT_fpCQFlVgkMs8La2lM9uXG_Z9P72tiG8AC-skGZoWW2aoMor2SysA/s1600/Dressing+Room.jpg" height="200" width="112" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The floor is finally done!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We start the long process of going through boxes and boxes
and boxes of papers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first box is
one gathered by Wes’ mom and returned to us during the traumatic days of
cleaning out the family shed after his father’s funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we found every letter we had written to
them through all the years we had been married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were missives from our first years, travelogues of our time living
and biking in Europe, painful letters from our disastrous foray into Houston,
accounts of buying this house, promotional materials from Matrix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even more remarkable, Wes found letters to
his parents from the young woman who broke his heart. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were long missives from Wes on the road,
hitchhiking his grief away in Europe, escaping from the inevitable but brutal
end of that foray into mismatched love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzHJxTQU38VVA637UORpl6emknziyTxwKPMF3NtAD-B6gp1t89rumworOZ8n4eG3ipiuJWkjVhxaV8bJBwnv7JFoqldPGPsFt2dqYKz3MdUr1QNtXFiDk7T2_puuPR8dCM7uwtv0AbyA/s1600/letterfromEurope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzHJxTQU38VVA637UORpl6emknziyTxwKPMF3NtAD-B6gp1t89rumworOZ8n4eG3ipiuJWkjVhxaV8bJBwnv7JFoqldPGPsFt2dqYKz3MdUr1QNtXFiDk7T2_puuPR8dCM7uwtv0AbyA/s1600/letterfromEurope.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A letter from the road 1982<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There pages and pages of clippings from Wes’ days of high
school sports, but not a thing from his days of high school theatre. There were
long-lost pictures of children and relatives and olden days of yore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes sorts through these artifacts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wants to throw away all the sports stuff,
but I convince to keep it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a few
years, it may have more meaning for him than it does now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On and on the cleaning and sorting and arranging and
disposing goes…right through Christmas…right through New Year’s…right up until
I return to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It continues a bit at
time, even now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are making our slow
way through the storage room downstairs and know we have the giant problem of
the unheated but stuffed attic awaiting us when the temperatures finally climb
out of the icebox.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Throughout all this, several questions arise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do we have all this stuff?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did we keep all this stuff?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do we need to carry us forward now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During our 20’s, we were footloose and fancy
free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved all the time, shedding
possessions with nary a thought. (Although we now regret some of our
thoughtlessness: we shed a western couch and chair my mother had carried from
the earliest days of her marriage to my long-deceased father.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in full explorer mode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life was out there and we wanted to go meet
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d store the books and papers, garage sale
our meager possessions, and hitch-hike off to our next adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By the time we got to Detroit, in 1989, that pattern was
well past tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 33.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted a home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed a nest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set down some roots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For twenty years, we built a home and a
business and a career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We weaved
connections, and mounded up piles, and plugged along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until it was all much too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The bike journey put an end to all that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the miles, pedal after pedal, the junk
in our minds, the globs of fat on our guts and butts, were slowly burnt
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Returning to our home, it was painful
to see how constipated and fussy we had let every part our life become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So out it all goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If it has meaning, or purpose, it gets to stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goodbye to all those old and tired patterns,
so long to all that “just in case” keeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Good riddance to “woulda, shoulda, mighta” piles of papers, books, and
clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Third Third of our life is
upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaner, cleaner, clearer…those
are the watch-words for this time of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But my-oh-my, do we still have a long way to go!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I am still sporting plenty of flubber
jiggling on my gut, butt, and thighs, my house is still crowded with plenty of
stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind still cavorts in eddies
of worry and piles of fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a
lot more scrubbing, and cleaning, and clearing to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all of a piece, both within and without,
to come to the place redounding of peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-82662133455758328402013-12-04T17:22:00.002-08:002013-12-04T17:22:21.244-08:00T+160: In Spandex We Truss<span style="font-family: Calibri;">NOTE: Now that the tour journal telling the story of our cross-continent ride is complete, I have been thinking about how the blog goes forward. We will add a few more posts wrapping up the last days of the "Exploratorium," as we prepared to return to our cabin in Wyoming. This will encompass our travels in Maine, Massachusetts, and Seneca Falls, NY. I am also planning on adding a few "Rants, Ruminations, and Reminiscences" about some of the on-going issues, through-lines, and bigger themes of our journey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are now making plans to return to Detroit next week. There we plan to continue our explorations by bike--this time, in and around our amazing city. Plus--- we are in the beginning stages of scheming up our next adventure, which we are not quite ready to announce. Stay tuned! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Long story short: The journey to discover who and where we are is not complete. (Is it ever?) We are going to keep exploring and writing about our explorations. We hope you will continue reading. And yes, to the many of you who have suggested that this blog become the basis of a book. This has been my plan and hope from the beginning. If you have suggestions for publishers and editors, I would greatly appreciate your suggestions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">----------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>Reminiscence 1</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somewhere in the middle of North Dakota, I realized that long-distance
bicycle riding all day, every day, is an unnatural act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up to that point, I held out hope I
would find a way to be comfortable on the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had sought the Holy Grail of comfortable bike shorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had adjusted my seat up and down, back and
forth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I moved my handlebars this way
and that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had changed my bike
gloves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried adding padding, cutting
away padding, I wore extra bike shorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wore bike shorts with underwear and without.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cut pats of moleskin and affixed them to
various intimate and not so intimate body parts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And yet…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was often miserable and sometimes in real pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I began the bike trip, I was very overweight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I certainly carried (carry) excess
weight all over my body, there is no doubt that much of that excess was in my
butt, upper thighs, and belly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
means a lot of flesh in constant motion while on the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where there is motion, there is chafing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where there is chafing, there are sores and
abrasions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had sores on my butt where the saddle and the bicycle
short met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had terrible, swollen
abrasions on my “ladyparts”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could get
sweat burns on my thighs and under my gut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not a pretty picture, nor I assure you, a pleasant feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we went along, I got stronger and slimmer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My legs, my breath, and my stamina got better
and better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the strength and
endurance to do the daily ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
just the constant problem with my netherparts that was holding me back.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLM9bx31xMbyNRAtya8GaWRcuZL9EY4W5v5iZ6cAP5VKxOA6-f220OB3su4b4N5RvQ8QbzYnLivUzsLNlAeW4r4GjMBIUa0nAKU0vGxZzULkviQAuyzhlti4NeMeWoS67fC9k6Ds3rgA/s1600/Ready_to_Go.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLM9bx31xMbyNRAtya8GaWRcuZL9EY4W5v5iZ6cAP5VKxOA6-f220OB3su4b4N5RvQ8QbzYnLivUzsLNlAeW4r4GjMBIUa0nAKU0vGxZzULkviQAuyzhlti4NeMeWoS67fC9k6Ds3rgA/s320/Ready_to_Go.jpg" width="129" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am an inveterate tinkerer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Almost” drives me crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
something is working pretty well, I will mess with it, and mess with it, until
I have either made it better or totally screwed it up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the latter happens, it just spurs more
“dink, dink, dink” as Wes calls it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
always think I can figure everything out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is equal parts blessing and curse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When the washing machine drains and fills slowly, I will take apart the hose and
drain until I find the blockage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When Wes’ gear shift slips, I will take it apart and put it together
until he can’t stand it anymore and tapes it place<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(where it did work much better.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So it was a real crisis of conscience when I realized I
could not solve this problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter
how many minute adjustments I made—no matter how many types of bicycle shorts I
tried, I couldn’t fix this problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
I could do was mitigate the damage and manage the pain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70-_C0rOzWsuTAECMdM7-wZaC78OD-BQ45FRMLNN6fF1LaxCgjXpuwOb2_mm1F4K32qJ_M16GVG8cGp7a_ui4dC866W0dyP_GYkxCnVWZ7oo12VgUZHjN0Ppv5VRw4fqKCvbj74Aamg/s1600/1st+Layer.1.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi70-_C0rOzWsuTAECMdM7-wZaC78OD-BQ45FRMLNN6fF1LaxCgjXpuwOb2_mm1F4K32qJ_M16GVG8cGp7a_ui4dC866W0dyP_GYkxCnVWZ7oo12VgUZHjN0Ppv5VRw4fqKCvbj74Aamg/s320/1st+Layer.1.2.jpg" width="113" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thus began a different kind of problem solving that when it
reached its zenith, resulted in a full 30 minute dressing ceremony that began
each biking day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The individual pieces
of clothing, the specific order in which they had to be donned, along with the
application of various powders, painkillers, and emollients would rival the
complexity of dressing a 17<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century geisha.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By this time we got to the New York and were riding in cool
weather, this is what my dressing routine looked like:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> layer:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level2 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Full length sports bra with Gold Bond medicated
powder under the breasts and underarms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level2 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiry0m02Y28_WFnaSt_rxR3jCAERDTB8y8peZEjN3ti1KzzAbFuvUmaJ7-ANceOJChn_oPXlQKN1OFWXQ5fAN_ElZgjmY3_ttNWEUJX4sUBrIxw7gesqI-4pu3oHVDpnrjxefgJUJJaeA/s1600/2nd_Layer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiry0m02Y28_WFnaSt_rxR3jCAERDTB8y8peZEjN3ti1KzzAbFuvUmaJ7-ANceOJChn_oPXlQKN1OFWXQ5fAN_ElZgjmY3_ttNWEUJX4sUBrIxw7gesqI-4pu3oHVDpnrjxefgJUJJaeA/s320/2nd_Layer.jpg" width="138" /></a><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bicycle shorts* with extra strength Anbesol gel**
applied to my genital area, Gold Bond powder in the front of the shorts,
chamois butter or glide at various abrasion points<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level2 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Compression knee socks to keep my feet and legs
from swelling<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l5 level2 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An ankle brace to keep my rotten right ankle
from bowing out while riding<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd </span></sup>layer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bicycle jersey<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Knee warmers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Arm warmers which went down to my hands and had
a hole cut for my thumb<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih9PS78AIO7HS6r0Codr_yobb4RiW8Nt3a0d2l3kUnVX6R4DLnR0g5pewtW3CQjEFFYsgzUU4Kxzk1KxfQbT8MvgKl3uN5sdsPtkPqFsy0kKXubThY_lm2HRSq1RSGJiptEAewvFqt9w/s1600/4th_Layer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih9PS78AIO7HS6r0Codr_yobb4RiW8Nt3a0d2l3kUnVX6R4DLnR0g5pewtW3CQjEFFYsgzUU4Kxzk1KxfQbT8MvgKl3uN5sdsPtkPqFsy0kKXubThY_lm2HRSq1RSGJiptEAewvFqt9w/s320/4th_Layer.jpg" width="127" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">3<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">rd</span></sup> layer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wool socks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nylon sports pants that could be worn as
knickers or full length<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fleece or warmth layer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> Layer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtcRMNS-jmr2d4NGq0P-nIwbpWnODn3ZUHHi_dxIlSOHYqQQsDvMbNlETEycFHMGsnuDpBMNCdafXVBEWLb0szHnwJnWrHuatbB24MUJKd1JvvZi9jRuuuEjN7tumwoiJtNS8y9R7Vw/s1600/5_th_Layer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtcRMNS-jmr2d4NGq0P-nIwbpWnODn3ZUHHi_dxIlSOHYqQQsDvMbNlETEycFHMGsnuDpBMNCdafXVBEWLb0szHnwJnWrHuatbB24MUJKd1JvvZi9jRuuuEjN7tumwoiJtNS8y9R7Vw/s320/5_th_Layer.jpg" width="134" /></a><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nylon sports shirt with numerous pockets
containing Anbesol, gum, tissues,
lip gloss, phone, and sun screen or bug spray, as appropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leather bicycle gloves<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nylon over-gloves with electro-sensitive index
fingers and thumbs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Baseball cap <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Out the door<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bike helmet<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(despite the nerd factor, I wouldn’t be caught without one—a close
encounter with a stone fence during our bicycle tour of England convinced me of
that)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wind and water resistant parka<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><!--[endif]--> </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sunglasses<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my saddle bag, within easy access:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo6; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Small bottle of powder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo6; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chamois butter or glide<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo6; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Moleskin and scissors<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo6; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ibuprofen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo6; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aspercreme<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Basically, underneath my sports clothes, every part of my
body was being compressed and held warm by spandex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The knee and arm warmers could be adjusted
for heat or cold without the necessity of undressing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
always gave me a bit of laugh when the bike snobs looked disapprovingly at our
camper shirts and sports pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Underneath that shell, I was completely encased in bike gear.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wes didn’t need or want to go through all that
preparation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has what is known in his
family as the “May Butt”—a flat, narrow butt, often connected to fairly skinny
legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t have nearly the abrasion
problems that I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even so, even with
his bicycle shorts and underwear, he still suffered from what he called “40
Mile Butt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After being on the bike for
hours and miles, it is hard to be comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He would begin gyrating on his seat, sitting this way and that, standing
for a while, moving left or right on his hips, just to allay the ever
increasing discomfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We don’t know how people like long distance biker Andrew can
ride for 200 miles in a single shot, although we guess there are three factors
at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These kind of bikers are
usually whippet thin—there just isn’t much flesh to rub.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, they probably have invested in really
high quality bicycle shorts, a lesson I learned the hard way on this trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(See attached note on bicycle shorts.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Third, long distance anything: runners,
cyclists, rowers (whatever) probably have a highly developed capacity to ignore pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember hearing the
story of a woman who often runs hundreds of miles at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, “Let me tell you about all the
different types of pain I have experienced.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe some even enjoy the pain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not enough of a masochist to enjoy the pain, but I did
learn that I didn’t have to let the pain control me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was liberating to realize I
couldn’t fix the problem, but I could fix my reaction to the problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I easily could have let the pain ruin my
trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I decided that it was
irresolvable <u>and</u> it wasn’t going to stop me, I was much happier and had
more fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet another discovery of the
obvious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">*A Note about bicycle shorts:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the course of this trip, I tried numerous
pairs of bike shorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought shorts in
Detroit, in Anacortes, WA, in Whitefish, MT, in Fargo, ND, and in Port Dover,
ONT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cheaped out on the first pairs:
the padding was not anatomical at all and rubbed me raw. I ended up sewing in
extra padding before I threw them away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next purchase was long leg Pearl Izumis, which worked pretty well,
but the foam padding held the moisture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As I got in better and better shape, I discovered that I am “sweat-hog”
like my brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the day,
I felt like I was wearing a wet diaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was especially the case as I lost weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loose, wet bicycle shorts are an
anathema.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Canada, after complaining
to the bike shop owner, he steered me to pair of bike shorts from Sugoi (of
Canada) that cost well more than $100, fit incredibly tight, and had varied and
anatomically specific padding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matched
with bike glide gel, and when I couldn’t find that any more, chamois butter,
rubbed on the abrasion points, I was as comfortable as I had ever been on a bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not pain free, of course--see the note on
Anbesol.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">**A Note about Anbesol:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I spoke to the helpful female bike shop clerk in Anacortes,
Washington about my saddle and butt difficulties, she led me to the
anatomically cut Pearl Izumi shorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
also told me that many women riders use topical pain killers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I had a “come to Jesus” moment when
we riding through a beautiful estuary not too far from Anacortes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in such pain and no combination of
shorts, padding, or whatever was helping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not enjoy the beauty all around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had to do something to “STOP THE PAIN.” I thought and thought
about what could do this safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
realized that the painkiller I had used for toothache would work and be safe
for this purpose as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The benzocaine
in the compound would numb the active and painful abrasions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could prevent further damage and not suffer
from the damage already present, I would be all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I tried a few formulations, and found the highest strength gel was the
most effective and least messy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would
re-apply the gel regularly throughout the day. I am sure passing motorists were
wondering what I was doing down my pants, but oh, well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let them wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I wasn’t in active pain all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could be present to the
world I was traversing, which was, after all, the point of the trip.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">---------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Posted from Centennial, Wyoming</span></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-35680455402507656282013-11-26T14:47:00.000-08:002013-11-26T14:50:38.708-08:00T+155: The Final Push<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mile 4162: Portland, Maine<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We leave the bed and breakfast in Meredith and push out into
traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is chilly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have about a 50 mile ride to the little
town of Cornish, Maine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day, we
will only have about 30 miles to get into Portland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both have pretty strong homing fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like horses who have been on an all-day ride,
but who begin to trot and can’t be deterred once they get a sense of barn and
pasture, we are singled minded in our focus. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We want to get to Portland as soon as we can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, that doesn’t stop us from missing our turn and
going the wrong way for a few miles first thing in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though we were following Highway 25, we
were not seeing the lake shore as we should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead we were climbing a small saddle…and making good time, at
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just doesn’t seem right, I tell
Wes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s stop and check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pull off into a public area, check the
map, and…can- you-believe-it—not only have we gone the wrong way, I also have a
flat tire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grrrrr.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is already late because of the long conversation we had at
breakfast, so we try to control our anxiety as we change the tire and make our
way back to what should be a connector road back to EAST 25.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(We had been going due north on WEST 25.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>25B is a short-cut, all right, in
distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is straight up a steep hill
we can’t ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a long and cranky
push, we make it to the top and see the streets of Center Harbor, straight
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not completely confident in
our repair, so I brake like mad down the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">13%
grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes shoots straight down, and when I meet up
with him at the bottom, he has a bug-eyed, wild-hair grin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Near the junction with the main road, we see
a semi-truck loaded with hay just turning onto the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stops his truck and asks us if this the
road to Sunset Hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes tells him it
is, but warns him that he may not be able to make it up that grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drives off to attempt it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We don’t tarry at the lake, even though the town looks cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We push through Moultonborough, even though
it is on another lake and has an intriguing sign for the Cloud in the Sky
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope, we’ve got homing
fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No left, no right, just go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road outside of Moultonborough begins the
circumnavigation of the Ossipees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
climb up and can see its western flank with big canyons and fast moving
streams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibBiLNf41ViAKtoI3nRXJhBx-IdhX0RveqfSweG7yMn-OeT8e3x-na3IgkFm0Rel1gWwSXKRbYsiinMSZJ9X3CAlc4gMt5cysk6i-4H746iNaCMP50SNEdHjfjB61bgIbXcGOZGbFmeQ/s1600/Ossippee+Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibBiLNf41ViAKtoI3nRXJhBx-IdhX0RveqfSweG7yMn-OeT8e3x-na3IgkFm0Rel1gWwSXKRbYsiinMSZJ9X3CAlc4gMt5cysk6i-4H746iNaCMP50SNEdHjfjB61bgIbXcGOZGbFmeQ/s1600/Ossippee+Mountains.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ossipee Mountains</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we circle around these unusual mountains, the view to our
right doesn’t change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike normal
linear mountains, which have a beginning, middle and end, riding the perimeter
of the volcano means that mountain seems to rotate with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, once we are on the north side of the
circle dyke, the views to our left begin to be awe-inspiring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The White Mountains are just a few miles away
and they are impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point,
we look north and see a jagged peak far above the surrounding peaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A single horn of granite, the stubborn
remnant after glaciers had scraped away all else, stands 1000 feet above the
rocky ridges below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wonder, is that
Mount Washington?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It certainly was the
tallest mountain we had seen since the Rockies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">West Ossipee is at 1pm on the clock of the circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the last junction before Conway, in the
heart of the White Mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is also
the first place we see a road sign announcing the distance to Portland, Maine:
62 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a busy barbeque joint
right at the junction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are lots of
folks wrapping up their Columbus Holiday weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We eat in the tent outside the main dining area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was better people watching than eating. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around our table we see the following sets of
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a handsome young
couple, both quite athletic with the tans and muscles that come from lots of
vigorous outside activities, with five children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The oldest, a teenage boy of about 15 looks
exactly like his father, who looks no more than 32 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother has long, dark hair and a kind of
casual elegance that makes me jealous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Their youngest child is probably 5 years old. They order tons of food
and eat only part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all seem
very confident and relaxed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next to them is an intergenerational family of far fewer
means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The grandmother is on
oxygen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her two daughters are overweight
and wearing tight knit pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all have
their hair pulled tight into high ponytails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All three women spend a good deal of time correcting and engaging with a
young tween who can’t sit still and may not be able to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are numerous questions, in quite loud
voices, “Do you want the chicken?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
about the pulled pork?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please sit down!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you want to try chicken, or not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Answer me!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Across from us is a middle aged man of Asian descent, who
has led his tiny, tottering, nearly blind mother up the ramp and to a high
table, where he has very difficult time getting her into the stool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There he explains, over and over, what this
place is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not clear she
understands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the food comes, he
puts a bib around her then gently helps her take bites from her sloppy,
slippery sandwich.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the far end of the tent is another extended family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t see them very well, but I have a
great view of the patriarch, with his sailor’s cap, beige windbreaker, tan
chinos, and deck shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks like he
should be returning from a weekend on the boat instead of the New Hampshire
mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spends the whole meal on
his cell phone, only breaking his conversation once, with a loud, “Oh, all
right!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while he pulls some bills from
his pocket to give to two gesticulating teenage boys, who then run into the
interior of the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I come out of the restaurant, I see Wes in deep
conversation with an odd-looking fellow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had seen him riding down the hill to the junction on a beater bike
with a wobbly front wheel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked to
be in his forties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His clothes—work boots,
ragged jeans, polo shirt under a flannel shirt—were ragged and dirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His long blondish hair was stuffed under a
mangled fisherman’s brim hat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, his
eyes were clear, his face was clean and smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was gesturing animatedly and pointing to
his bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon learn he is telling Wes
of his plans to convert his bike to a recumbent so he could take a tour like
ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is very fascinated by the
trailers and asks Wes all sorts of questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The conversation starts to repeat itself and it is not clear whether this
fellow actually has the wherewithal to do what he says, so we gently take our
leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we are riding away, a young
interracial couple in full black leather come riding up on motorcycles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hear the cyclist tell them, “See them
trailers…I’m getting me one like that and headin’ out!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few miles down the road, through a strip of tourist
oriented businesses, we have traveled 180 degrees around the Ossipees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The main route continues circling, but our
route turns to the east, over a small pass, heading to Maine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country is changing from upland
hardwoods to boggy lowlands with ferns and pines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The houses are becoming few and far between.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NW3SVE_eeaZ_6qZiJseZkQ2jVcESFd5KXVAcV865cwnfsWGAkX9bXmj-yCVvzUbPlt2ySkVAflfYWbdQJZ7wluspo5unUTDwfrDV5edLpPYpY2nTnXBlx0COvcjzwWSgFujxRxycJw/s1600/Wes.+Maine+sign%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NW3SVE_eeaZ_6qZiJseZkQ2jVcESFd5KXVAcV865cwnfsWGAkX9bXmj-yCVvzUbPlt2ySkVAflfYWbdQJZ7wluspo5unUTDwfrDV5edLpPYpY2nTnXBlx0COvcjzwWSgFujxRxycJw/s320/Wes.+Maine+sign%5B1%5D.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We stop to take pictures in front of the beat-up “Welcome to
Maine” signs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have about 45 miles to
go to Portland, and still about 10 miles to go today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are feeling pretty excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to believe our traverse of the Northern
Tier is nearly complete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Almost immediately, we see that this part of Maine is in a
very different economic state than anything we had seen in New Hampshire and
Vermont.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of big, well-maintained
“add-on houses,” we now see bedraggled cabins or rusty, raggedy mobile homes
surrounded by old pick-up trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
are signs, some hand scrawled, offering firewood cutting, small engine repair,
or “Maine-made” crafts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead
carefully tended gravel or paved driveways, there are muddy two-tracks leading
to yards with falling down fences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
are also chickens on the road with great regularity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are moments of great beauty in this landscape,
however, especially alongside the Saco River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our minds, however, are focused on getting to Portland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as we go through the little town of
Cornish, with its rustic shops, outdoor cafes, and groups of weekenders pottering
about, we don’t stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our lodging is
well outside of town, in a new-but-meant-to-look old complex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a bar, restaurant, and butcher shop in
the downstairs retail area, and is advertising for more renters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s blinking external sign, at odds with its
attempted colonial tavern design, says the motel is open, but the restaurant is
only open on the weekends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJXW5NbPJ1eJfgZBqZPhk3g3aTebxcGm_FFQVctKf3sHn1HMwr1yJqPPhlpAbJmBYtkUkIZYt3Z-adSrbHkd2vY3oMIaE7j5aKztrYv5XQ8ORrqlBsyKJBNPOB_4ZWf5N22u_ssbbXQ/s1600/Ossippee+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJXW5NbPJ1eJfgZBqZPhk3g3aTebxcGm_FFQVctKf3sHn1HMwr1yJqPPhlpAbJmBYtkUkIZYt3Z-adSrbHkd2vY3oMIaE7j5aKztrYv5XQ8ORrqlBsyKJBNPOB_4ZWf5N22u_ssbbXQ/s320/Ossippee+River.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our hostess is a young, beautiful Asian whom we can barely
understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she finds out that we
are headed to Portland, she tells us we need to go to Kennebunkport and see
President Bush—the first one—he is always there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make sure we don’t miss seeing the bridge
over the bay, she says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is giving
us more enthusiastic travel advice when we finally interrupt her and tell we
are tired and need to get to our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She then apologizes several times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are to put our bikes in a covered awning behind the bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our room is upstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They will be serving until 8pm tonight and
no, they do not have a breakfast in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Putting the bikes
under the awning proved quite difficult because of the chained picnic table
also occupying the space. Both Wes and I end up with big bruises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upstairs, it is clear we are the only tenants
in the motel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room is new and
nice-ish. Like the rest of the building, it is built to look nice, but made
with the cheapest materials and the shoddiest construction--the simulacrum of
civility.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The restaurant/bar has a number of patrons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most are eating lobster, which is the special
of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It strikes with a blow that these
are probably fresh caught lobsters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
minds and stomachs are still in the mountains, however, so we have stir-fry and
sandwiches instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was probably a
mistake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We try to go to bed early, but like kids waiting for
Christmas day, we have a hard time sleeping and wake up every few hours to see
if it is time to get up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are up
before dawn and out the door just as the sun is beginning to peak over the
hillside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are passing through
numerous ups and down, with small farms and little cabins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not quite as disheveled as the area near
the border, but this is no high rent district, either.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The road turns south near the tourist area around Lake Sebago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are sure that this is a beauty spot, but
nothing is going to deter us from getting to Portland as soon as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have gone about 15 miles; the sun is well up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to get some breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We find a tiny, “Mom’s diner” looking café, complete with gingham
curtains, and pull into the parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just as we are about to go into the door, a young man standing next to
an old 3 speed bicycle, smoking a cigarette, accosts us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without warning, he launches into a big story
about taking bicycle maintenance classes at his alternative high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before long, we have learned that he was put
out of his previous school, that he loved the teacher who taught him bike
mechanics, that he thought it was a great thing for people like himself, who
need to learn a skill, but that the whole program was shut down because of
budget cuts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s looking for a job
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hopes he can find something to
do with bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He really likes bikes,
what kind are ours?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have they worked good?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we need anything done?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This all goes by lickety-split, with barely a
breath between sentences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stunned, we
tell him our bikes are working fine, and wish him luck finding work with
bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, he comes into the
restaurant, and unleashes another torrent at a fellow sitting at the
counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress and the cook
exchange knowing glances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress
then helps the young man find the door and tells him can come back later.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we are eating, two 30 year old men enter the café.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ask the whole diner, “Whose bikes are
those?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they hear our answer, they
sit in the booth next to us, and ask us questions throughout our meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While they are interested, they are also just
a bit disrespectful, with “Why on earth would anyone want to ride a bicycle
that far?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and “Don’t you have something
better to do?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, they wished us well as we left, and
told us we still had 25 more miles to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are surprised by this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have
been pedaling fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why aren’t these
miles going down faster!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young men
beep and wave at us as they drive past us a few miles later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bit by bit, the landscape begins to take on unmistakable
signs of suburbanization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two-lane
road becomes a four lane and the traffic is becoming more noxious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stop in the town of Gorham, which was
originally its own town, but has been swept up in the wave of
suburbanization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are about 10 miles
from the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On some material I had
picked up, I see a description for a bike route that will take us all the way
to the coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ride on the highway is
not pleasant, so this seems like a good solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We find the trail right away and are following a river trail,
when all of a sudden, it goes into a small park and peters out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wander about a bit but can’t find it
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wander out to a major junction
on the edge of a big industrial area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are trying to determine if one of these roads will get us to downtown and to
the ocean, when we see a bicycle tourist riding up truck-clogged street towards
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We flag him over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When he comes over, we are surprised to see he is a tiny,
beautiful youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hair is light
brown ringlets curling around his bike helmet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has enormous blue eyes ringed with long lashes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is just an inch or two taller than me and
looks to be about 17 or 18 years old, with soft pink cheeks. Except for his well-used mountain bike shorts
and dirty wind-breaker, he looks like an angel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is riding a mountain bike with an odd conglomeration of bags and a
huge sleeping bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We find out that he
has cycled all the way from Portland, Oregon, and that he left the day after us,
July 4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has never heard of Adventure
Cycling, but has been making his own way using Google maps. He has been camping
a bit, but mostly couch surfing or staying with various relatives and
acquaintances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More surprising, he was
now turning south, on his way to Florida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He hoped to be there by December.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had found Portland kind of inhospitable and was anxious to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could offer us no suggestions for a route
downtown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watched this little spirit boy
mount his bike, then ride off along the ridge, heading to southern parts
unknown. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are lucky enough to find good ol’ Highway 25 again, and
follow it past suburban malls, across freeways, and through an increasingly
dense and packed environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we go
along, Wes is telling an outrageous story about how the mayor will be meeting
us to give us the keys to the city…for a rather large fee, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, and that marching band playing the
victory march at your arrival, that’s an additional $6000. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you could just leave the fee with the
bursar, I have another pressing obligation…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At one point, we are faced with a Y junction, east or
west?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would have preferred south, but
that was not an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The east route
runs us past institutional buildings and ends at Portland’s Back Bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clearly, we had reached some portion of the
ocean, the smell alone would have told us that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the tide was out and gulls,
sandpipers, and curlews were hunting in the sodden mud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The main portion of downtown was to our right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cross another freeway and have to go up
to go downtown and down to the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
path takes us by a Salvation Army service center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are scores of homeless people hanging
around, all ages, all genders, all colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are those in hot conversation with others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some look like they are embarrassed to be
seen in this crowd, some are there in body, their minds elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one says a words as we pant up the hill,
in hot pursuit of a little piece of open ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We find our way to Commercial Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before us are a series of busy piers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some are serving the tourist trade (Whale watching,
scenic tours); others, for commercial fisherman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few look like private mooring for pleasure
craft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond these piers, we can see a
glimpse of water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We want to get
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6s10qO9MTpurUlNUKaAgeONwZP822vWuW3JwONYOvFYT5252R9cRRlbyca8BmRn_aIo2R_X9dNUrUK7lAHbc2xxRsz2630SLup0au7prB3PpgRMbiedlpTmW_wfRxeyCyrzEkkMJQQ/s1600/Wes+2.+Portland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6s10qO9MTpurUlNUKaAgeONwZP822vWuW3JwONYOvFYT5252R9cRRlbyca8BmRn_aIo2R_X9dNUrUK7lAHbc2xxRsz2630SLup0au7prB3PpgRMbiedlpTmW_wfRxeyCyrzEkkMJQQ/s320/Wes+2.+Portland.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first one we traverse stops us with a locked gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next one leads to a waterside condominium
with private boat slips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although there
are numerous signs saying, NO TRESPASSING, we will not deterred at this
point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We come to the edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be no ceremonial dipping our front
wheel in the waters of the Atlantic Ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is 8 feet below the edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
is not open ocean, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can see standing
oil tanks across the bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of it
matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have made it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even when two men exit the condominium and
give the fish eye to the two rasty-looking bicyclists on their dock, we will
not be deterred from taking pictures and sending a celebratory text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0BedBgbmjjw4OEO3j3YqZwcRfFoa7D_-MWowXckVwz2XFNypkGGKq0m_Uvs8mOx8E5JEP_uD6KT2wzy6lluRBCqMLWtEa0gOltRo5KBvI8jgiLoWQh-kOejLwsZc09jX4zj2kqRWbVw/s1600/Shaun_in_Portland%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0BedBgbmjjw4OEO3j3YqZwcRfFoa7D_-MWowXckVwz2XFNypkGGKq0m_Uvs8mOx8E5JEP_uD6KT2wzy6lluRBCqMLWtEa0gOltRo5KBvI8jgiLoWQh-kOejLwsZc09jX4zj2kqRWbVw/s320/Shaun_in_Portland%5B1%5D.jpg" width="174" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We made it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
hard to believe that we have reached the end of our bicycle journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our travels are not done, far from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will visit with my brother and his wife in
“downeast Maine.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We still have to get
back to our cabin, then back to Detroit, before this journey is truly
complete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for today, for right now,
we can celebrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can begin to begin to understand all the
changes this journey has wrought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
first, we’ll pause, and relent, and have at least one day where there’s no goal
to be met, no task to be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aaaaah.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">----------------------------</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Posted from Centennial, Wyoming</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWbS3dwkt5IQmgroIzc4FmjsIOOeHSXDIAUrzhm9mNzX7nYkiKZSIYHHdhWMbXaqnl6ZVI1J_VuXAjxbFz018PtORxWwrOBLWP4C8ZDyvLEZIcts_GWD_8J-mdb5ZCczxr1hu1RFZ4tQ/s1600/Shaun_in_Portland%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-10704001264552151602013-11-23T17:48:00.000-08:002013-11-23T17:48:26.111-08:00T+151: We Don’t Know, We Just Go…
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mile 4084: Meredith, NH<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Using my handy-dandy mapping tool, I find a way to take us
out of West Lebanon that will allow us to get past the congestion and freeways
before returning to US Highway 4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are
curving around a back road when we spot a tell-tale trail marker just off the
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trail does not show up on the
program, but this looks quite promising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’ll take it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not too far along, we see what appears like college students
out for a jog. We hope we haven’t made a bad choice. The conditions begin a
little dodgy, but get better as we go along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The trail is lovely as it crosses back and forth over the Mascoma River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t know where we are, but we are
paralleling Highway 4, so we keep going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few miles in, we are greeted by a handsome 60-something
woman and her gregarious Jack Russell dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She tells us we are on the Northern Rail trail, and that it goes 30
miles or so all the way up to Grafton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She also tells us about some the sights up ahead, including Mascoma
Lake, with the Shaker village of Enfield across the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asks about our trip and is very surprised
to find out that we started in Portland, Oregon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tells of a recent trip she and her
husband took to the Netherlands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There,
they would ride their bikes during the day, then get on a canal barge at night
for their dinner and lodging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tells us they enjoyed it so much, she has
developed a taste for more bike travel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We offer “tips of the trade” and we all laugh about the various
strategies we have employed to deal with saddle pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ride is spectacular as it passes Mascoma Lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two distinct features tickle our fancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In celebration of Halloween, various
scarecrows depicting sports deaths are placed on the park land between the
trail and the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bike-wreck
scarecrow seemed to be plowing into a giant rock on a small moto-cross bike,
with the stuffed rider about to fly right over the handlebars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hockey scarecrow had a black eye and
broken teeth, and a hockey stick out of his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The six or seven of these creations were
quite funny and creative---and must have been a big community effort to design,
costume, and place these images.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is also the first place we spot what we soon come to
call “New Hampshire add-on houses.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
house might begin with a small single gabled cottage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another generation would add a wing at a
right angle, then another might add another gabled cottage addition, which
might then have a connected corridor or two with eventually joined the barn.
Over the years, simple structures become quite complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell Wes that is what we are going to do
with our cabin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just rolls his eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeTqA5NFtlcMxyPxsKsn0kYmGcSA-Yve1E_upTG5bKl1-Hj3ELIRTV9KwGa8G4fDYAeAg7jRJVNHWJMHtaFw4yzHyk4ySKwtNSZOi7zKESyT948Cm4BHyDpJB5n5eG-9o1u9Krr-mGw/s1600/new-hampshire-rec-trail540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeTqA5NFtlcMxyPxsKsn0kYmGcSA-Yve1E_upTG5bKl1-Hj3ELIRTV9KwGa8G4fDYAeAg7jRJVNHWJMHtaFw4yzHyk4ySKwtNSZOi7zKESyT948Cm4BHyDpJB5n5eG-9o1u9Krr-mGw/s200/new-hampshire-rec-trail540.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We follow the rails to trails all the way to Grafton, even
though the track is becoming more and more marginal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are places where it is hardly more than
a sandy two-track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the trail
is just a few feet from Highway 4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
look longingly at the smooth surface, but don’t leave the track, choosing no
competition with vehicles over an easy ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trail takes us through a
variety of huge culvert tunnels, which strikes us as a good solution for
contested intersections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are getting discouraged at our slow progress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are working pretty hard and not going very
fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is nearly noon and we have only
gone about 12 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We enter a rock cut
where the train track was cut through 12 foot tall granite walls, and see a
small brass marker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have just passed
the Orange Summit, the highest point on the trail, and the highest point the
railroad reached between the coast and its terminus at White River Junction at
the Connecticut River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although we had
been seeing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mount Cardigan before and
beside us, we didn’t realize we had been climbing all morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We stop for a break at Danbury, where we will turn off to
take a road to the little town of Meredith on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we get there, we are tired,
crabby, and worried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know we have to
go a total of 60 miles to get to our bed and breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has taken us until after 1pm to go 20
miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How on earth will we ever make it
the rest of the way before we lose the light?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have an uncomfortable break at the small country store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of us are picking at each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My phone doesn’t work and there is no wi-fi,
so we can’t scout the road ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
young man and several senior ladies out for a bike ride try to allay our fears
about the route ahead, but I, for one, am not having it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One lady says, “It’s not bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are ups and downs, but it’s just like
life, isn’t it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are still sniping at each other when we head out on
Highway 104.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is pretty easy and quite
beautiful, but we are both convinced these good times will end momentarily,
leaving us to slog up the mountain to the Lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The miles start to slip by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re
cruising along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where’s the climb into the White Mountains?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part of the ride has been no problem
whatsoever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixErtutUCFBLwb3YXSd3ZYFoOEsz8Fx60HKc6oCwCRYYYQYOgMESfTL_Vno08JlWlFdzZaVboqh251w4X2fSjPuDS_kBoP5GXnOrBAG7jQPq8hVkALwdjHlNI26QjOA60nuSXjnXHx1A/s1600/Connected+farm.newhampshire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixErtutUCFBLwb3YXSd3ZYFoOEsz8Fx60HKc6oCwCRYYYQYOgMESfTL_Vno08JlWlFdzZaVboqh251w4X2fSjPuDS_kBoP5GXnOrBAG7jQPq8hVkALwdjHlNI26QjOA60nuSXjnXHx1A/s320/Connected+farm.newhampshire.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we ride along, we see lots of the “Add-on Houses.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, very few of these look like working
farms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are no animals, no
tractors, no work-trucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fields lie
fallow even as the houses are well-maintained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We pass the grounds of the private Hampton School, and realize that this
is probably the third private residential school we have seen since entering
New Hampshire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the road is
fairly populated, there are very few commercial establishments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask Wes, “How are people making their
livings here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He answers, “Maybe they
aren’t.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is obviously not a place
where people are trying to make a living and can’t, as we have seen in New York
and Washington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a place where
the living is coming from elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and the ride to
get much harder, as we zip along to Bristol and the crossing with Interstate
93.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a little outbreak of plastic land
close to the freeway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have about 15
miles to go when the climb in the foothills of the White Mountains begins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spend the rest of the afternoon climbing,
climbing, climbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have just cleared
one good sized hill when we see a long-haired hippie-ish looking fellow
standing next to his station wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
has pulled his car into the little verge between our road and a right
turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has been watching us hump up
the hill and as we go by, he calls to us, “Do you have a place to stay for the
night?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We answer that we have a bed and
breakfast waiting for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Too bad.” He
says, “I was gonna offer you a room at my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where you headed?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We tell him, and he sighs, “Man, you got a
big hill ahead of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good luck.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He wasn’t kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The country we are entering reminds me a lot of the glacial highlands of
the Rockies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are deep, cold lakes
surrounded by granite shelves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
distance we can see foothills with the occasional glance at the rocky highlands
beyond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are about 5 miles from the
town of Meredith and we look up to see what should be called a cliff
climb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re beat, but too bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up we go until we can’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it is off our bikes and time for
pushing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the top of this steep hill, our road joins the Daniel
Webster Highway and the traffic increases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now we are tired, it is close to dusk, and we are still not there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is spectacularly beautiful alongside the
shores of Lake Winnipesaukee, but hard to appreciate it because of the
dangerous road conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We feel a
surge of energy, however, when we get to the town of Meredith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a lovely tourist town, dominated by
large, white 19<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century hotels which overlook the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The town is a warren of 18<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> and
19<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century buildings sitting cheek to jowl on the hills just above
the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like all tourist towns, it is
full of restaurants, bars, and cute little shops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We need to make our way to the Tuckernuck Bed and
Breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I had made the
reservation, the innkeeper was thrilled to hear that we were cross country
bicyclists. Her husband, she told me, was an Ironman, and had participated in
many super long distance triathlons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
told her we were far from Ironmen and that a 60 mile day was a pretty long day
for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been a long day, and we
were feeling every bit of those 60 miles, when we found the street on which the
inn was located, and saw that it was another big climb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were pushing our bikes up the hill, on our
last legs, when a young police officer, in a Meredith Police Department sedan,
pulled alongside us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you know you
are supposed to be riding up this hill?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It took us a moment to realize he was joking before we had the presence
of mind to assure him that this was just our “cool-down.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our brains are fogged by exhaustion as we get to the house
on the top of the hill: our inn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drag
our bikes around to the side and meet a young couple who say, “You must be the
bicyclists! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kim has told us all about
your trip!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can hardly wait to hear
your stories!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They take us to meet the
landlady, an effusive, petite blonde with a somewhat raspy voice, who welcomes us
mightily and tells us how excited she is to have us staying there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t feel special, just tired, sweaty,
and hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gives us a great deal on
a beautiful suite at the top of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is all we can do not to fall asleep right then and there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a shower, we feel slightly less exhausted and want to
get some dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our landlady gives us a
bunch of menus and guidance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also
tells us that the other guests in the house are the young couple we had earlier
met; they were newlyweds on their honeymoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is also a threesome from England, fellow innkeepers enjoying a
holiday in various beauty spots of eastern and western United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She assured us that they were all very
interested to meet us and hear our stories tomorrow at breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, there would be no sitting back
and listening to other’s stories for us in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, how we wished we had been better able to follow our
landlady’s advice about eating establishments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had seen a little brewpub on the way in to town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thought it would be a good place to eat
and listen to the Tigers/Red Sox baseball game that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a fail on both counts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place was packed with sports fans, all
right, football fans cheering loudly, then not so loudly, as the New England
Patriots barely beat the New Orleans Saints.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a disappointing corporate plastic goo-fest for dinner,
we walk around the town, follow the lakeshore and explore the historic
inns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one, we were sitting by the
blazing fire, when a distraught man came in, trailed by a manager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His wife had lost her phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could we please move so they could check the
overstuffed sofas where we were seated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We do, but no phone is found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Off
they go, the man almost wailing, “What are we going to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where can it be?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We find the town charming, but we’re too tired to do much,
so we go back to our inn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We turn on the
game, but fall asleep with the Tigers comfortably ahead 5-1 in the 7<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
inning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, as we make our
way to breakfast, our landlady asks us, “Did you hear what happened in the game
last night?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her husband, who had driven
the 2 hours to attend the game in Boston, called her around midnight to tell
her that game was now tied and there was still one more inning to go. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was going to be very late getting back. She
woke up to find out that Red Sox had won, in one of the most stunning comebacks
in baseball history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At breakfast, all eyes are on us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We start by telling them about how much
economic distress we have seen as we travelled across the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not very romantic, to be sure, but it does
get the newlyweds going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are from
Rochester, New York and in their mid-twenties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has a degree in civil engineering; she in marketing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, they have sent more than 500
letters of inquiry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have gotten a
few bites, but they see people with lots more experience getting the jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wonder how they will ever get a start,
but they were still hoping a job would materialize for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Brits are shocked at this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know the economy was that bad in
the US.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We tell stories of our bicycle trip through England,
Ireland, Wales and Scotland and make the Brits laugh with those “innocents
abroad” adventures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all end up
telling stories of our favorite places to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think we ended up talking much about
our ride across the country, but it was good fun anyway.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we make our departure, our landlady, who had generously
volunteered to find our next lodging, tells us how much difficulty she had
making arrangements in the little town of Cornish, Maine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After numerous attempts, she was able to find
a place for us not too far from the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We thank her and commiserate with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who would have thought securing lodging would have become such an
on-going hassle? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tells us of one set
of bicyclists who had stayed with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They had arranged their entire lodging six months in advance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only once did they miss their
reservation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s clear we are not that
rigid or that well-organized.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we prepare to leave, I stop
to stare at a topographic map on the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just to the northwest of Lake Winnipesaukee lies a circular range of
mountains called the Ossipees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely,
this must have been an ancient volcano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I show Wes and he agrees with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We ask Kim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, no volcanos
around here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wondering what else could
make such a distinctive outline, we vow to look more closely as we ride
by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our route out of New Hampshire will
take us half way round this strange feature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the end of this day, we will be in Maine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
Somehow or another.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
-----------------------------------------<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Posted from Centennial, Wyoming<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-36634591942265984302013-11-21T13:43:00.002-08:002013-11-21T13:43:14.605-08:00T+148: The Real Deal and ….Really?<span style="font-family: Calibri;">T+148: The Real Deal and Really?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We mount our bicycles at the top of Sherburne Pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The town of Killington was originally named
Sherburne, but it was too easily confused with other names, so it officially
changed its name just a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The pass has kept its original name.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is distinctly chilly, although the sun is out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have gloves or mittens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes has gloves to put over his bike gloves,
but for reasons unknown does not put them on. The ride down is fast and
cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we reach the valley
floor, we are both bringing our hands to our body’s core to warm them up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is a beautiful part of the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The valleys are cut with rivers; the
mountains rise steeply and glow bright yellow and red above us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ability to enjoy this beauty is being
hampered, however, by how cold I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
a corner, about 5 miles below the summit, I pull in to a sports shop, where I
buy a pair of ski gloves with photo sensing. (So I can use my phone without
taking my gloves off).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we come out of the shop, we look across the highway and
see a house completely off its foundation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The houses and barns next to it have obviously just undergone a major
renovation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shoulder of the road,
which had been excellent, now is patchy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Parts of it have fallen into the Ottaqueechee River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The traffic is fairly heavy, but we soldier
on, seeing more and more signs of something amiss:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>another building off its foundation, strange
dark marks high on the side of a barn, the width of the road strangely
narrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I see the name of a furniture builder I recognize from the
pages of <u>Old House Journal </u>in a re-purposed warehouse not too far from
Woodstock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call a halt, and under
Wes’s protestation, tell him I want to visit the workshops of Thomas Shackleton
Furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Housed in a former wool mill,
the factory and showroom were a fascinating visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After viewing the handmade furniture and
pottery, we stopped upstairs to see the workrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, we encountered two young people in the
midst of hand-building two pieces of furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I stay and watch for a long while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Wes goes to look at the artwork downstairs.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The young woman, dark haired and long limbed, was using a
hand planer to shave the smallest edges from the footboard of cherry sleigh
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A young man, massively built, and
wearing a bandanna over his balding head, is working on a walnut sideboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is carefully chiseling dovetail joints to
construct an upper drawer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find out
that each piece of furniture is made by one person from start to finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The individual builder meets with the wood
supplier, and sources the specific wood for each piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The builder preps and cuts the wood, then hand
builds and finishes each piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say,
“It must be so satisfying to see a piece from idea to shipment.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both nod vigorously; she says it is one
of the main things that keeps them going through years of apprenticeship,
becoming a journeyman (person?) and finally mastering the art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He tells a story about friends who want him to make them
furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When confronted with the
price of a handmade piece of furniture, they are shocked and say they will just
get a piece from Ikea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell them I
think Ikea is a form of “classy trash”—it is visually very well designed, but
made of the cheapest materials and scantiest structures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ikea won’t last the decade: the works made by
these young artisans will be given to the purchaser’s grandchildren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I get ready to leave, the young man notes:
“Usually, it is the husband who stays to talk to us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I note: “I am ten times the gear head that
Wes is.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He says, “Well, that is what it
takes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I leave, I ask about the Shackleton name and find out
that Thomas Shackleton was indeed cousin to Ernest Shackleton, of the ill-fated
Endurance voyage to Antarctica.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that
trip, the ship was frozen in the ice for months on end, but Ernest Shackleton
was able to save his entire crew through great personal heroism and
effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making furniture from tree to
truck may not be as dangerous as sailing to the Antarctic, but it is heroic in
its own right in this age of flashy trash and corporate consumerism.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back on the road, Wes thanks me for making him go to this
workshop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We keep following the river,
with the shoulder becoming more and more suspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We round a corner, and see the Woodstock
Farmers’ Market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are lots of cars,
but we are suckers for hand raised foods, so we stop, despite our intentions to
keep moving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we are parking our bikes, we notice a hand-drawn sign on
the backside of the red clapboard building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well above my height is a scrawled note, “Hurricane Irene water
level.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We peer at the note, and look
around at the surrounding buildings, seeing the tell-tale signs of high water
on the market and the adjacent building, which houses a glass workshop and
artist studios. One of the store manager comes out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ask her about the sign and she tells us
that the water had completely crossed the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They had to do major renovations just to get open again, but were lucky
compared to some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRkIJHM9FdGefzTQLURoyNg7UalVNvpeMtkKR1UlQdWobMJuq7fIpEh7792UsfcALbSXZoiQ9c7dMaXpvNcSkWgWtrg3tkAufuVr8ga9ZizeS9i2Rc4cmhVt_FlT6Wgj4tOuDkQjPfw/s1600/Sh.+Vermont+4000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRkIJHM9FdGefzTQLURoyNg7UalVNvpeMtkKR1UlQdWobMJuq7fIpEh7792UsfcALbSXZoiQ9c7dMaXpvNcSkWgWtrg3tkAufuVr8ga9ZizeS9i2Rc4cmhVt_FlT6Wgj4tOuDkQjPfw/s320/Sh.+Vermont+4000.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We get some rolls and cheese in the tourist packed market
and go down the road to a series of tables next to the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I go in to get soup for lunch and discover
that this business had been completely swept away in the flood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is hard to imagine the sweet small river on
which we are sitting raging with such force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As we are eating, I realize that we have now completed 4000 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We take pictures in front of the river and
think about my brother Steve and the recovery they’re facing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because this is the Columbus holiday weekend, the pretty
town of Woodstock is full of people, buses, cars, and bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Columbus holiday passes with very little
notice in other parts of the United States, but here in New England and Upstate
New York, it is a big deal, although it could be more accurately called “Leaf
Peepers Weekend.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making our way through
this crush is no fun, but I call a halt to Wes as we go by a particularly
intriguing local art store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We go in and
are very struck by the high quality of the artwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Wes and I stare at a beautiful print of
aspens next to a frozen lake with the mountains in the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is fairly rare that Wes and I both get “beeped”
by an artwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We try to listen to these
impulses, but this is not exactly the right moment to buy a piece of art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walk away, as we usually do, to see if the
image stays with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walk through
the throngs, and check out a few stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The town reminds us of Aspen—not at all in the way it looks, of course—but
in the sophistication and expense of its goods and the profound sense of place
in its design and layout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we walk
along, we become more committed to the artwork and decide, “What the hell?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let this be the one memento of our trip.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back at the store, we make arrangements for the print to be
shipped to Wyoming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have a long
conversation with the store owner who was a longtime resident of Detroit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As usual, we have to allay her fears about
the destruction of the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had many
wonderful memories of her time there; she had lived on the far southeast of the
city and in Indian Village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had heard that there were even more
artists in the city than when she was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She compared the situation in Detroit to New York City in the 1970’s,
when that city was its most dysfunctional and yet a haven for young
artists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8M7ucl80GmAApIqzhrL0N7myKSX4jLOLmsXrBjs5__As-i1gm1o1YyBK3OrxQOz5hdCJ0eCkSXTbEO4HImkUggWnNH93RbjFet0HNhR3IYaGQM3sA5-oSGN679jBewSbyTbR9lSeGA/s1600/Vermont_sight.ed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8M7ucl80GmAApIqzhrL0N7myKSX4jLOLmsXrBjs5__As-i1gm1o1YyBK3OrxQOz5hdCJ0eCkSXTbEO4HImkUggWnNH93RbjFet0HNhR3IYaGQM3sA5-oSGN679jBewSbyTbR9lSeGA/s320/Vermont_sight.ed.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After our purchase, we return to the traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we pass a covered bridge, I see a road on
the other side of the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I use my
newly discovered mapping program to take us to the “road less traveled.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we ride up and down hills through tiny
villages and little farms under glorious red and yellow trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is Vermont at its most charming; we
wonder if we will have the same experience in New Hampshire.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The short answer is “No.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First of all, there is a snarl of freeways, roads, and bridges as we
cross the Connecticut River into Lebanon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Traffic is intense and we feel quite exposed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At long last, we clear the access roads and
confusing one way streets and are ready for a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spot a diner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The diner is full of students from nearby
Dartmouth College.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we go to sit
down, the young waitress behind the counter barks at us, “We’re closed! You
have to leave.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wes points out that the
doors were still open, she shouts, “You have to leave!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ask if there is someplace nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not an auspicious welcome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The layout of the towns and villages is quite confusing and
dense, but we make our way to a coffee shop and call our accommodations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been quite difficult to get a room on
this holiday weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After many calls,
we were able to get the last room in the hotel that serves the Dartmouth Hitchcock
Hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to cross freeways
again and wind our way around to find this out of the way lodging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room was bit worn at the edges
(especially for its high price), but young Indian desk clerk was friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no services, so Wes and I set out
walking to the closest convenience store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Bleah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gas station dinner for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just as we were coming back, we crossed an uncomfortable
scene in the lobby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three senior citizens,
one man and two women, were seeking lodging for the more slender, care worn
woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had to receive medical
services at adjacent hospital and had no car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The three pled with the desk clerk, but the motel was full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked, “What shall we do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where will we stay?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some desk clerks would have called around to
see if anyone had any openings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some
lodgers who saw this might have offered their room. But this night, neither
did, and the trio went out into the cold night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No room at this inn.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">--------------------------</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">posted from Centennial, WY</span></div>
Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066298756399952864.post-64427532123429738262013-11-15T15:48:00.001-08:002013-11-15T15:48:07.573-08:00T+144: The Oldest Ski Lodge in the United States
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mile 3987: Killington, VT<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are anxious to complete the trip on or before our self-imposed
deadline of October 15, and plan on moving through Vermont, New Hampshire, and
Maine as quickly as possible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vermont is
an upside down triangle; our route through the state is only 65 miles across.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pass over Killington is the last major
obstacle before us on this trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoOA5vUHgqDGBwRuCBjGriQIAPTBT1VTmafMynUCbRDDpUuesaQMMmDDLQQWoItW1lguXSlJ-1cXIEbz5DhJ7NxaHE8CfzYSWTi0gRnFhmRJAb44E43Y6V3NgvtyHwSUSjB3AKEWHVA/s1600/Vermont+Landscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYoOA5vUHgqDGBwRuCBjGriQIAPTBT1VTmafMynUCbRDDpUuesaQMMmDDLQQWoItW1lguXSlJ-1cXIEbz5DhJ7NxaHE8CfzYSWTi0gRnFhmRJAb44E43Y6V3NgvtyHwSUSjB3AKEWHVA/s320/Vermont+Landscape.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical Vermont landscape</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We know we are going to have a climbing day, and it begins
as soon as we leave Whitehall, NY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are able to get off the busy US Highway 4 and take its original route through
the towns of Fair Haven, Castleton, and Rutland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there, we will climb the pass to
Killington, where I have secured lodging at the top of the pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ride is beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The trees are spectacular, as is the little college town of Castleton,
with its main street of maintained Federal and Georgian mansions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have truly entered New England…the architecture
is utterly different than anything we have seen thus far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
West, old is 100 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, the
college was founded in 1787, and most of the houses were built about that same
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I understand,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in the global scheme, a town 250 years old is
an infant, but the scale, scope, and sense of continuity here is so different
than in towns developed and arranged for automobiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, we don’t tarry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are worried about the pass, so we push on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been warned, over and over, that the
passes over these Vermont mountains are nothing to sneeze at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are fairly short, true, but steep and
demanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the days getting
shorter, and the chill in the air, there’s no time to be a tourist.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have already made 30 miles when it’s time to find some
lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rutland, Vermont is the center of
that state’s granite and marble industry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are stone cutting businesses and granite supply houses all along
the road, although we don’t see any of the quarries, they must be nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In West Rutland, we follow signs to the “historic
stone cutters district” and see some massive cut stones, but only one small
deli “serving since 1930.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking
this looked promising as it was situated in an 1830’s townhouse, we climbed the
stairs, opened the door, and entered a tiny tavern with about 10 seats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress looked like a Barbie doll, with
platinum blonde hair, false eyelashes, enormous, perfectly round breasts, and
bright pink lipstick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We asked about the
menu, and the two guys at the little counter laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, “We only have hamburgers and hot
dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly, we just serve beer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was understanding and helpful, however,
when we asked for a place with a more extensive menu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She directed us to Mary’s Kitchen for a real,
home-cooked meal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This truly is a locals’ place, in a converted clapboard
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sit in the former porch,
surrounded by a group of ladies who lunch, a minister, and pair of local
businessmen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been climbing all
morning and are kind of sweaty and rough for this genteel crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are scrupulously ignored in this setting,
although we certainly feel eyes upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We eat rather quickly, speak to no one, and make our way to Rutland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rutland is a busy market town, nestled in the
midst of steep hills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a historic
downtown, which we glanced at from afar, and lots of big houses built into very
steep lots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was fascinated by one
Victorian house that first appeared to have three stories, but actually had two
additional levels opening onto the steep downhill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The town is a-bustle with preparations for a
big art fair to begin the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We climb up to the big park where the art fair is setting
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traffic is horrific, and we are glad
to step away from the crush for a minute to read a historic marker about John
Deere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did we know that he was
born in Rutland in 1804, and left his family there while he went to Illinois,
invent the steel plow, and found the company that is still going strong nearly
200 years later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We look longingly at
the art coming into the park, but know we still have to make the pass, so off
we go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Getting out of Rutland is a hard climb with heavy traffic
and no shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have to stop often
to catch our breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one raggedy,
rough spot, we get off and push our bikes over grass and broken pavement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pass Norman Rockwell’s studio on the way,
but again, we don’t stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road gets
rougher and steeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are getting
worried; we are still not to the pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally,
we clear the outskirts of the town and pass the gates that mark the beginning of
the pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road widens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a big shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To our astonishment, the grade eases and we
find ourselves plugging right up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
all our anxiety about this pass, it is eminently rideable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is easier than anything we ridden that
day.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; height: 152px; width: 152px;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWUBonAMJkqktcpMx6tXF47eDVPf1R279XIDhpr8xusI8zbWYigPJehgw-Bks5M5ibnthepB1cqC8oO6Sw6Ps3f2b68UIl4cXx_9D1gX9mxm9hgzO7JtD_G3bfPNQ8kjqlgyCeL4Ieg/s1600/Wes+at+Killington.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWUBonAMJkqktcpMx6tXF47eDVPf1R279XIDhpr8xusI8zbWYigPJehgw-Bks5M5ibnthepB1cqC8oO6Sw6Ps3f2b68UIl4cXx_9D1gX9mxm9hgzO7JtD_G3bfPNQ8kjqlgyCeL4Ieg/s320/Wes+at+Killington.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wes celebrates our final pass!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, we are tickled when we get to the sign announcing our
arrival in Killington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stop for
pictures and feel proud that we have cleared the last mountain pass of our
trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ride along the top of the
mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are lots of resorts
surrounding the Killington and Pico ski areas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we finally spot the Inn at Long Trail, we are surprised at how small
it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We step inside and greeted by Karl, the desk clerk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The inn has low ceilings and tree trunk
beams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are immediately struck by the
feeling of hominess and permanence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are couches and chairs nestled around a big fireplace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a stand up grand piano in the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are all sorts of conversation nooks, a
game room, maps and pictures on the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Its unspoken message is, “Come in and visit a while.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Behind Karl’s shoulder, we can see the Irish
Pub, with its dark wood, benches, booths, and tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It, too, looks inviting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Karl takes us outside and tells us to stow our bikes in the boiler
room in the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tells us that
the inn is named after its proximity to the Long Trail, a Vermont branch of the
Appalachian Trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They get a lot of
through hikers, some of whom stay in the trail campground across the highway,
some who welcome a soft bed and warm water on this part of their sojourn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karl looks like an unreconstructed hippie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has long gray hair, kind blue eyes, and a
mother hen energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has worked at the
inn for many years, loves his job, and is good at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How few desk clerks have actually been
welcoming!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could take a lesson or
two from Karl.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaMTmLRqCjnjB5VMxYufoCJDNmXtaZ_B4u4zyjiBLGFw-KNcdWZcHwoeFjXhKGPcnpz8caIYDXhhurYrtnEBxME5eMuPxZEVvqOC6U1r6W8zx1miw9mq8SV-bY2qFjXRM5SCS4r9Scw/s1600/diningroomboulder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaMTmLRqCjnjB5VMxYufoCJDNmXtaZ_B4u4zyjiBLGFw-KNcdWZcHwoeFjXhKGPcnpz8caIYDXhhurYrtnEBxME5eMuPxZEVvqOC6U1r6W8zx1miw9mq8SV-bY2qFjXRM5SCS4r9Scw/s320/diningroomboulder.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As he shows us to our room, he takes us by the dining
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is built around a massive
granite boulder the size of a small cabin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just outside the dining room windows, we can see that the inn is built
into the living rock of the Green Mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As Karl tells Wes that this is the oldest ski lodge in the United
States, I have to go touch the cool, rough strength of the boulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first he tells it as a joke, in reference
to 1.3 billion year old boulder which has survived three ice ages, around which
the inn is built.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it is also
factually true. The inn was opened in 1938, just as the ski industry in the
United States was being born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most US
ski resorts, (including the one my father opened in Centennial) were founded
after WWII by members of the famous 10<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> Mountain Division, who
skied and fought through the Italian Alps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our room is tiny but nice, with real wood furniture and nice
linens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is clear we are supposed to
spend our time in the lodge, not in our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That seems like a good idea to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is not long before we are down in the pub, where we meet the owner,
who introduces us to the staff and other patrons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His family, the McGraths, have owned the inn
since 1977, and spent the first years undoing modernizations and returning the
inn to its original state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the bar, we meet an older couple who have just driven up
from the college town of Castleton to celebrate their anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We celebrating too, and it is not long before
we are having a really fun conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both are former teachers: he taught high school math and she retired
from teaching at the college in Castleton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a great time telling “Administrator
from Hell” stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laugh a lot; they
congratulate us on our trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
congratulate them on their 40<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was sweet as it could be.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The dinner that night is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we are doing our laundry, Karl catches
us and says, “There are some through hikers I’d like you to meet.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He coordinates a meeting between two young
hikers and us for the next morning. We go the pub that evening, which is packed
with families and people of all ages, there to listen to some Irish music and
socialize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The musicians are really
talented, as can be seen in their intricate and beautiful instrumentals, but
their vocal music choices are drawn from the Irish cornpone/bar music bin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The schtick wears after a while; we wished
they would explore their lyrical side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the crowd was happy, the mood was good…who are we to complain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wes is ready for bed, but I am still restless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take my computer to the game room on the
pretext of working on the blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There,
instead of working, I watch three young children, two boys and a girl,
encounter non-electronic games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
play Chinese checkers, make contraptions out of the Tinker Toys, play “Shoot
the Moon” and more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dad, who looks
like an impossibly young executive, comes to get the kids for bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys go willingly, but the daughter, who
is a bit older at about 11 years of age, is completely fascinated by the
Lincoln Logs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She tells her dad, “In a
minute!” and he says ok and disappears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She is making house after house, all square or rectangular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I get ready to leave, I crouch on the
floor with her and show her how she can make rooms, bays, and extensions with
the logs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is building an elaborate
log mansion when I leave.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next morning we meet the young hikers, who have the
energy of junior high boys called before the principal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why were they being made to talk to these
old, weird bikers? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karl does the set up
and introductions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These young men are
on the final stages of their Appalachian Trail hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are on the final miles of a cross country
bicycle journey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One young man,
exceedingly fit, and wearing the athletic gear to emphasize his physique, does
most of the talking, while his compatriot stares into his tea cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are both from Virginia, where they work
in software.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They are avid cyclists and hikers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have been taking the Appalachian Trail
in 4-500 mile chunks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are going hut
to hut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are going fast, carrying no
tent, very little gear and food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
hike 15-20 miles a day, which is a lot in the tough and rocky terrain of these
mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask if they wear hiking
boots, and the answer is no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wear walking
shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask if they don’t need ankle
protection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He replies, with just the
edge of a sneer, “We don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other people
might, but not us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask if they have
ever had a problem not carrying a tent, like getting stuck in the rain, or
finding the hut already full of hikers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He again makes a sneering answer about making sure they get there before
anyone else…and oh, by the way, never listening to the advice of “civilians”
about the trail or conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Civilians”
in their book, are day hikers or weekend jaunters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only through hikers, like them, could be trusted
to convey knowledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t point out
that they actually aren’t through hikers, like the couple we met in Idaho.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karen and Mike hiked the 2200 miles from
Maine to Georgia in one trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After hearing all about their trip, Wes tried to steer the
conversation towards our trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not interested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The talkative one did tell us that he had
seen us making our way up the hill from Rutland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “I thought you looked like an old
couple on their way from grocery store.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wanted to pat him on his cheek and say, “Ah, youth!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someday you will learn that appearances can
be deceiving.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because we don’t
wear bike regalia doesn’t mean we are not serious bicyclists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wish them well on their journey, and go to
breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t have the presence
of mind or heart to return the good wishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At breakfast, a 30-something woman in a hand-knit stocking
cap is sitting right behind us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asks
if we are the cross country bicyclists staying at the inn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We say we are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asks how we found the ride up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We say, “Not bad.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She launches into a loud, funny discussion,
for the benefit of the whole dining room, about her hike to the top of
Pico.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is enthusiastic about her
experience: “Man, it was just great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was walking up there, just breathing so hard, then I go to the top and it just
took my breath away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I could see
for miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was awesome!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trees were big, the boulders were
huge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just loved it!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She is from Pittsburgh, on a business trip to Boston, who
thought, “If I’m this close, I might as well go see the mountains.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does this sort of short term adventuring
as a regular feature of her business travel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When she finds out we are from Detroit, she announces to the whole room,
“I LOVE Detroit!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have the best time
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love your art museum, and man,
what great music!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have never had a bad
time in that city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you just hate
the way people talk about it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is so
unfair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it is a great city!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In Pittsburgh, she is active in the anti-fracking
movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not long before she is
talking to everyone in the room about the dangers of hydraulic fracturing oil
drilling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not everyone wanted to have a
heavy duty political discussion with their homemade pancakes with real maple
syrup, but we loved her energy and the fact that she got people going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to get a move on, but were glad to see
the conversation continued as we were leaving. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are dragging our feet, delaying our departure, as we
loaded our bikes. Karl comes out and thanks us for coming to the inn. We tell
him we love the inn and that we will be back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We can easily envision a family ski outing here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now, on this chilly October morning, we
need to get down the mountain and onto the rest of our adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are not many places on this journey
that so tickled our fancy, but this is one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We will be back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
---------------<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">posted from Centennial, WY</span>Shaun Nethercotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15115813490940474055noreply@blogger.com0