Category: Outside

Eleven Hundreths

I like running. I am not very good at it, which may be why I like it. It’s a challenge, and no one is going to give me any crap if I’m not good enough. Showing up is good enough.

But I digress. I like running because I am not very good at it. It doesn’t matter what my day was like, after a quarter of a mile I cannot talk any more. Shortly after that, I cannot think anymore. And that’s how it should be.

I am forced into the here and now. Not with mental exercises or by repeating mantras, but by physical exertion. It becomes my meditation. It ceases to be about my parents, or work, or how our front “lawn” has gone to seed already; it becomes about breathing, moving my feet, keeping my back straight, breathing, hands low, breathing, head up, abs tight, breathing, breathing, breathing.

A “Samaritan” is a run along Hackett that begins at Forest and goes to St. James, where I stop and do 20 pushups, continues to Samaritan, where I turn around, stop again at St. James for another 20 pushups, and ends on Forest again. It is a smidge over 2.5km. I can usually do this in less than 14 minutes. I consider it a pretty good run if I can do it in under 13:30 and don’t feel like I’m going to die at the end.

Today I did it in 12:59:89.

How Do You Pronounce Huyck?

I like the directions for getting to the Huyck Preserve. Get on Rt 85 and go to the end, then take a right.

Three other cars in the lot when I got there, around 1100. I compared my map to the one at the trailhead and decided I should take a picture of that, for future reference. I took an obligatory photo of the falls and minutes later I was huffing up a steep hill.

I went up the west side of the lake. It was pretty, and quiet, and I took my time. Just the wind in the trees and the birds. It’s funny how the water moves but makes no sound. Around 1130 I realized I had forgotten to bring a notebook to write anything down. Around 1145 I positively identified colt’s foot, a wildflower that looks like a dandelion with a weird stem.

There was a spot where I had to stop. I had to. It stopped me. It was so calm that it calmed me. I stood there wishing I could capture this moment. The smell in the air. The sound of the water. The little spray over the rocks in the creek. The temperature. The squiggly little roots. The best I could do was take a picture, which does not do any justice.

Quite a while later I came out on the other end of the preserve. I walked down the dirt road and picked up the Wheeler’s (?) trail on the other side. I stopped for lunch around 1215 at Partridge Loop One. It took me almost an hour and a half to get back to that point. The trail wound through everything from spreads of birch to quiet and dark pine, a couple of swampy areas and dry creek beds. Lots of stone walls. I startled a herd of deer three times. I was never close enough to get a good count, but I think there were four. Maybe five. All you can really see is the white tail disappearing.

I came down the east side of the lake. Around 1400 I saw the first human being in three hours. I was back in the car and on the road by 1430.

More photos, including wildflowers, here.

A Good Day

I woke up this morning with sunlight streaming through the window.

I had cereal and a banana for breakfast, packed up my stuff, and drove to Thacher Park. I hiked a section I had wanted to hike for at least half a year. Squirrels, a chipmunk. Butterflies, wildflowers. Turkey vultures, a massive raven having a late lunch in the middle of the road. I was in the woods for almost four hours and saw only three people (and one dog) the entire time.

I spent a few hours on the porch, cozy in a sweater, reading and flipping through new magazines.

Then I rode my bike to New World Bistro Bar for dinner. I had some fantastic white sangria, singing with grapefruit, mushroom soup, ham, potatoes, braised greens, and pear crisp “in fashion” for dessert.

I can’t explain why this was a good day. I’m not sure if it’s the things I did, or that they were easy and enjoyable, or just having had a few days to relax. Maybe I was just able to tap into something momentary. Whatever it was, I am happy for a while.

Biking to Five Rivers

It’s been quite a while since I rode all the way out to Five Rivers. I couldn’t have asked for a better day to do it again.

I packed up and hit the streets around 10am. Was hoping for light traffic and got it. Light headwinds and sunshine. Half of this trip I’ve covered before, but beyond there things get tricky. The traffic doesn’t slow down. In many places there’s no shoulder, and in some the pavement is broken up. It’s not as nice a ride as it could be.

When you finally turn right on Orchard it’s a big change. The road is clear and easy, and there aren’t many cars. It’s what riding in the country should be. I locked up my bike at the perpetually empty rack, and took off on foot.

It didn’t take long to start feeling like a new man. Like a real human being again. Sitting on wooden benches in the bright sunlight, listening to half a dozen different kinds of birds. The smell of wet wood chips. The light brown of the grass.

When I’m here (and here is a mental place as much as geographical, probably more spiritual) To Do lists make no sense… Geese. A woodpecker. Deer tracks in the frozen mud.

I was shocked to find the field had been mowed. I thought it was supposed to be a wild grassland. Why would you mow it? I’ve seen rabbits and deer in that field. Today it just looked desolate.

That upset me for a while. I wasn’t sure why. But then it got muddy and I had to focus on more immediate concerns. Balancing on fallen logs is fun. I took my time getting through there. No reason to hurry, and really exactly where I wanted to be. I saw two turkey vultures but didn’t get a photo of them. Good thing I’m not a photographer.

On the other side of the “hill,” closer to the creek, most of the mud was actually still frozen. I ate a granola bar at Jay’s Home Run. I wandered down by the creek, which is one of my favorite spots.

The water is soft greens, blues, browns. The little waterfalls, the bubbling parts of the this brook, are different every time I come here. Bundles of twigs left high by the flood, stranded. Dark sands, sculpted by the slow stream, occasionally punctured by the hoof of a deer.

I took the long way over the bridges. I saw a person, the first person I’d seen or heard in at least an hour. And then more people, suddenly. They built a new bridge at the far end of the trails. It has that “new lumber” smell.

Then it was time to ride home. It was warmer so I stowed a sweater and my hat. I was hungry and planning to stop somewhere for lunch on the way home. Unfortunately everything looked like pizza or it was closed. So I just went home. A really good couple of hours.