At Home at 35 Below

Rolling over to get out of bed Monday morning, my joints creaked like the Tin Man’s, begging for oil. My legs were consumed with a dull roar of pain, echoing from my toes to hips. What the hell did I do to warrant this? I haven’t been to the gym in years and my office job doesn’t strain me too much (although those 6 flights of stairs can leave me winded). No, the answer lay far north of Madison, 435 miles as the car drives to be exact. A weekend in the frozen taiga of Northern Minnesota’s Boundary Waters was the culprit.

My Buddy Slota and I have been up to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCA) a few times before, including twice in the winter (for his wedding in 2010, I gave him a coupon redeemable for one sweet adventure a year). I have a goal of going to the BWCA in every month of the year and after my trip with the folks from George Williams College over Halloween weekend; I was left with only 6 months left.

George Williams College Crew in BWCA costume

Slota and I have been camping in the BWCA twice in January so a new month was in store. February it was. He had a friend from Chicago who wanted to come after bailing out on our last trip and that turned into another guy “winning” a spot on the trip in a White Elephant exchange (it wasn’t your typical white elephant gifts). Slota and I met up with another friend, Joe, on New Years and he invited himself on the trip. A group of 5 going up to the BWCA in early February was a big number, until we hooked up with another group, pushing our number to 11. Yes, we had 11 people winter camping in the middle of nowhere, half of whom had never winter camped before. This should be interesting.

Greg was the leader of the other group and had a lot of experience leading groups into the wilderness at all times of the year, calming my anxiety over whether I could bring everyone back alive in my group. My previous winter adventures with Slota have been interesting to say the least. Our first trip was going to last 5 days and we were going to make a loop of 15 miles or so. We snowshoed in 6 miles and set up camp on land, at an actual campsite. The cooking stoves didn’t want to work (I’m guessing -20 degree temps had something to do with that), leaving us with frozen food and a lack of water. We headed back the following day and camped along the way, running into the same problems, which were magnified by my inability to get a good campfire going (my failure to get a fire going was my biggest disappointment of the trip – it still haunts me). We survived in an igloo we found and made it out with all of our extremities intact. Not bad for our first frozen foray.

Our first trip to the BWCA in Winter

Our next trip was better after we learned you are supposed to camp on the ice in the winter. We set up in a sheltered bay, blocked from the wind, only to have the wind shift and blow right into our campsite the last two nights. It wasn’t as cold and my white gas stove worked so we ate and drank our fill. I was confident Slota and I could survive, but was nervous with the newcomers. Luckily, Greg was coming to show everyone (including me) what to do to enjoy yourself winter camping.

The second January trip

Look! Petroglyphs!

Slota facing death (iciclecide?)

January Sunset

I met up with Joe, Slota, Reno and Andy in Eau Claire on their way up to Duluth for the evening. We were convening in Duluth to make our last preparations and meet up with Greg’s crew at Fitger’s Brewhouse to enjoy the night. The Brewhouse is a tradition for people heading into (and out of) the BWCA. They make some excellent microbrews and sell nalgene growlers, enabling you to bring their beer into the glass-free BWCA. It’s awesome.

We checked into our hotel and headed over to Sir Ben’s for beers and to plan our menu (menu’s are best created over beers). I had the Abrasive Ale from Surly Brewing, their Double IPA – quite hoppy and tasty. We bought our groceries, including 4 different sticks of summer sausage, and headed back to the hotel for a little roof top hot tub action. The temps were dropping towards zero and a snow began to fall as we dipped in with Grain Belt Premium’s in hand. The big lift bridge loomed on the skyline as we finished off the 12er in the “man soup” (I guess that’s what you call 5 dudes in a hot tub). Shortly thereafter we headed to Brewhouse for food and more beer.

Man soup!

We saddled up with our grub and drinks when Greg showed up. I had met Greg the year before at Slota’s wedding in Mexico. Having finished my hike just before the wedding, I was feeling pretty important and then the first person Slota introduced me to was Greg who had just completed a circumnavigation of Lake Superior in a kayak. Really? Dammit. Anyways, Greg was a pretty cool guy and I was looking forward to talking to him again at the Brewhouse. I go “Hey Greg” and he just stared blankly back at me and said it was nice to meet me. He didn’t remember me. Awesome. He blamed it on the fact I was clean-shaven in Mexico and was sporting a 6-month beard now. Oh well.

Flight of Brewhouse Brews

The rest of Greg’s crew showed up as the band, The Brothers Burn Mountain got cranking. The band consists of two brothers who can bring it. The drummer plays like Animal from the Muppets. They were great and I highly recommend catching them if you’re in Duluth or they are passing through your town. With a percussion backdrop, we passed around a boot of beer and got to know each other. It was a good night, but more important things began in the morning. We closed down the Brewhouse and walked along Lake Superior back to the hotel where we managed to order Pizza Luce before they closed down. Being a homeless bum, I took the floor and let the more civilized people enjoy another night in a bed.

The Brothers Burn Mountain

Duluth Lift-Bridge

The sky was a deep blue Friday morning as the wind built up decent waves only to have them break upon the rocky shore. We putzed around and got a little later start than was planned. With the cars packed, we headed to Greg’s to figure out where we were going. We had an intense game of rock-paper-scissors to decide our entry point. It came down to the last toss as Greg and Sawbill Lake came out the victors.

After a two-hour drive, all 11 of us arrived at the Sawbill parking lot and started loading up our sleds, careful not to leave anything of import behind. With a forecasted wind chill of 35 below for the duration of our trip, being ready for anything was paramount. We set off into the sun splashed Great White North with smiles on our faces, excited to test ourselves and enjoy a weekend in the middle of nowhere. The mild winter left a dearth of snow throughout much of the Midwest, but we were lucky enough to find a hearty snow-covered landscape with 4”-8” on the ice and 12”-18” of snow on land. Perfect for snowshoeing!

Getting ready at the Sawbill entry point

A single line formed on the lake as we headed north, reminding me of pictures of people lined up while climbing Mt. Everest, forming a colorful caterpillar against the otherwise white background. The soft crunch of the snow followed our every step as we trudged with our snowshoes on, towing our gear into the teeth of the wind. The wind huffed and puffed but forward we went. Small adjustments were made as we found problems with the way we were hauling our gear.

On our way to the middle of nowhere

After hiking for a couple miles, we found a cove protected from the arctic wind, optimal for setting up camp. Staying warm in sub-zero temps is hard enough without the wind weaseling through your layers, bringing a chill to your core. Darkness would be arriving soon enough and wood had to be found and cut for the campfire and shelters had to be constructed for those disinclined to sleeping under the stars, so everyone found a job and the work progressed quickly. The scrape of the shovel was followed by a dull thump as snow was tossed ever higher as the snow mound for the quinzee took shape. Quinzee is the technical name for the snow fort everyone made as a kid. You pile snow up into a big mound, wait for it to settle and harden, and then excavate out the inside creating a dome to sleep in or to hide from the elements. Our shelters were built out of snow and sat on the ice, which doesn’t sound like a recipe for warmth, but with people in them, they actually raise the temperature over whatever it is outside (snow is a great insulator).

Andy building the quinzee

Camp coming together

The woodpile grew ever larger and camp began to take shape. Greg and his crew got their sleeping situations set as they were sleeping under the stars. I spend a lot of nights camping, but I’m a chicken when it comes to sleeping without the protection of a tent. I don’t like bugs crawling over me and animals sniffing to see if I’m food. The wall of a tent brings me a modicum of comfort. With the bugs frozen, this gets thrown out the window in the winter (can you throw something out the window if you’re outside already?). Maybe sleeping under the stars is the way to go in the winter. I wasn’t confident in my gear to test this hypothesis yet so we built a one-person quinzee for me (bawk bawwwk bawwk). It ended up being a bit too small so I pulled my gear out and slept under the stars anyways.

The campfire was lit, brightening up the creeping dusk before being swallowed by the moonless sky. I set about cooking dinner for our crew and ran into problems right away. The cold was freezing the stove. We learned that white gas performs better in the cold, but I guess 10 below zero was too much. I retreated to the canvas tent with the wood stove in it, trying to warm up my gas stove enough to pop it and allow me to feed the crew. The food was cooked, as I grew frustrated with myself. I expect better from myself, especially when cooking is involved. Greg had no problem with dinner because he had a big pot with a pasta soup thing, which he cooked right on the fire. That looked way easier than messing with stoves. A few hours into the camping trip with Greg, I had already learned that tents were stupid and stoves unneeded. Our crew carried a lot of extra weight.

Eating in the canvas tent

The Eye of Sauron made an appearance

With temperatures dropping, we huddled around the campfire, passing bottles and stories. A little night Frisbee was played before the battery on the light-up Frisbee froze. Greg introduced us to a new “game”. I don’t recall what the name was, but under the cover of night, you looked straight up and focused on a star while the other “players” spun you around. After plenty of good spins, you were stopped and had to look at the person in front of you who turned on their headlamp, blinding you. This “game” caused your senses to go completely haywire for a few minutes (kids and their idea of fun these days). I passed on playing.

It’s a great feeling standing outside with temps approaching -20 and you’re enjoying yourself. If you are prepared, you can not only survive, but also thrive in extreme conditions. The last few logs were sacrificed to the campfire and water bottles were filled with hot water (mmmm I love me some BPH!). The hot water wasn’t for drinking, but for sticking in your sleeping bag as a sort of wilderness heater. Even with the water bottles, I slept horribly. When I pulled my sleeping gear out of the quinzee, I exposed myself to the wind a bit too much, dropping the temps to a wind-aided 35 below zero. I was never too cold, but I couldn’t get comfortable. My makeshift pillow was a failure. When I did drift in and out of sleep, my dreams all involved me sleeping on the ice in the freezing cold. Not exactly the dreams I was looking for. The creaking and cracking of the ice under me didn’t help things either.

Alas, the morning sun rose over the spruce trees on the horizon and I was still alive. I did a quick check of all my extremities to make sure they all functioned (never in doubt) and tried to rouse my mind from the fog of a restless night. Everyone got up and moving (although some a little slower than others) and breakfast was made – warm water with oatmeal packets! We decided to do a little exploring and check out some areas that looked easier to access in the winter with the water frozen. Greg had made lunches for his crew before leaving for the BWCA consisting of meat and cheese and probably something else, wrapped in a tortilla. They filled their water bottles with warm water and wrapped their lunch around them, enabling them to have a warm lunch on the clear, cold and blustery day. Brilliant. Have I mentioned how much smarter Greg is than I? My crew had frozen sticks of summer sausage and blocks of cheese, which we put close to our body to hopefully thaw a bit before lunch.

The jovial spirit of the weekend continued as we snowshoed north on Sawbill, on our way to an inlet that needed a closer look. We came across moose tracks (not the ice cream, sadly) that were being covered up on the windswept lake. Hope rose that we may encounter a moose, but it was not to be. Moose (meese?) can be elusive in the winter. We stopped for lunch on a sunny hillside where the conversation soon turned to the possible fact that wolves have evolved to use skis. The proper etiquette when you come across a wolf skiing is to stop and let it maul you. All this talk made us hungry like a wolf (……) and our sticks of sausage were carved up and distributed to the eager crew. The cheese wasn’t quite thawed so it was more difficult to cleave without leaving cheese crumbs everywhere (the cheddar was sharp, but not that sharp).

Moose tracks?

With full bellies, we headed out again towards an ever-shrinking stream. The crick weaved in and out, leaving a sinuous strand of white through the grass and sedge of the lowland. A math nerd would approve of the perfect sine wave formed by the meandering stream. We came across a beaver lodge with freshly munched logs and branches strewn about the snow (That’s a breathin’ beaver). The curvaceous stream led into an oblong lake. The group split apart with one group heading north to see what the stream had to hide while the rest of us horked a left to summit a rock face.

I scampered across the ice and scrambled up the outcropping to gain the vantage point. The temptation to jump was strong, but no one wanted to have to drag an injured idiot out of the Boundary Waters. We posed for pictures and enjoyed the views. It was time to head back and the quickest and dumbest way down was to jump (although from a lower point). I of course jumped, skimming a rock with my right snowshoe, eventually landing safely in the powdery snow.

Joe making an aerial descent

On the way back we built up heat from walking and walking and walking and if you watched Surviorman you know that out here “you sweat, you die”. My layers kept coming off, trying to fend off the sweat, but a little perspiration arose on my body. This wasn’t a problem until I turned the last corner to our camp and the full brunt of the wind hit me like the polar breath of Jack Frost. Holy Shit. I’ve never been to the arctic, but this was extreme. My frostsicle beard was acting like a man-made balaclava, doing it’s best to deflect the battering wind and blowing snow.

Jameo nipper with a frostsicle beard

The sound of an axe splitting the campfire wood welcomed us “home”. With everyone back at camp, the problems and cares of the “civilized” world faded to oblivion as people gathered wood and water with the ice cracking around us as if in pain as the temperatures began their dive toward the nighttime low. It was a selfless sight as everyone pitched in to ensure the survival of the larger group.

Sigurd Olson had a great line about getting the work done and surviving in the Boundary Waters:

If a man can pack a heavy load across a portage, if he can do whatever he has to do without complaint and with good humor, it makes little difference what his background has been. And if he can somehow keep alive a spark of adventure and romance as the old-time voyageurs seem to have done, then any expedition becomes more than a journey through wild country. It becomes a shining challenge and an adventure of the spirit.

How swiftly a place becomes home when the tents are up and a fire burning.

Home

We came as two disparate groups but quickly became a community. Reno, Andy, Joe, Slota and I originally planned to come up alone but jumped at the chance to team with Greg, Tim, Tom, Charles, Deet and Maury. Trying conditions creates bonds that cannot be replicated in ordinary life. Friendships grow out of not only necessity, but also a common experience. Turns out the Duluth guys all know Reno’s wife from back in the day (not like that you weirdo’s), and everyone has a kindred heart with Tim and his search for Sasquatch (denial is the first nail in your coffin).

My crew warmed up our leftovers (Old Man Winter is a great freezer), while Greg made rice and beans for his crew. The food added to our warmth and comfort, but not more than the knowledge gleaned from surviving the previous night (I also think taking nippers of Jameson played a part in warming our souls [It’s a sweater you wear on the inside]). We watched from our protected cove as the wind continued to whip off the point. The waning moon rose to illuminate camp as everyone bundled up for their last night of the trip. The terrible dreams of the previous night were replaced with crazy ones, more typical of my deranged sub-consciousness.

My "bed"

The morning came and Slota and Andy had a 10-hour drive back to Chicago so we packed up without breakfast. The sleds were loaded and tied-down and we gathered for a group photo. The quinzee’s we constructed needed to be demolished and we did it in style. Maury lowered a shoulder and rammed one side, while Slota pulled out his ninja skills and flew in from the other side. Joe finished it off with a powerful two-boot stomp.

Maury as a battering ram

Don't get in a fight with Slota

The sun was in our face as we began the final march out of the snowy wilderness and back to our vehicles. Wind had crafted designs in the snow that resembled a map of a snow-covered land dotted with frozen lakes. I paid homage to and got the obligatory picture of the BWCA sign, we were out of the Wilderness, but not home yet. Our last hurrah came at the Northern Lights Café in Beaver Bay, Minnesota. They have a great brunch spread and we did our best to clean them out. Laughter permeated the room as we recounted the weekend and other shenanigans (35 below is pretty funny after the fact). We said our goodbyes and started talking about a return trip the following winter. I’m looking forward to seeing those guys again the next time the bottom drops out of thermometer.

Leaving the Boundary Waters

We parted ways and headed back to being bankers, speech pathologists and Sasquatch hunters. I began my solo trip to Madison with my thoughts returning to civilization (namely the Come Back In and how the regulars, and especially the bartenders Jess and Andura, were doing without me around). It was interesting how little I thought of the outside world while in the Boundary Waters. My thoughts weren’t encumbered with the weight of everyday life and were free to wander were they may (I’m not sure this is a good thing for me). It was a revitalizing trip. “Normal” people vacation on the beach to refresh them, but this crazy winter trip reset my head by pushing and reminding me that great things (and happiness) can be achieved with a little gumption and perseverance. I look forward to my next adventure, wherever that may be and whomever that may be with. Forward!

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Five

I awoke at 4:30 AM in the park and ride to a guy monkeying around with a truck next to me that had a big tarp covering the bed. He looked pretty weird (this coming from a guy sleeping in his car) and kept glancing over at me. I had parked away from the rest of the cars to give myself a little solace. Apparently that was not going to happen. After 20 minutes of farting around, the guy got the truck started and tried leaving, but only made it 5 feet before the truck died. A few minutes later he finally left. I was weirded out by that so I tossed my sleeping bag aside and hit the road.

I left Portland, wanting to come back sometime. It was a lot bigger than I thought (metro population of about 250,000) and had some great bars (at least that was the word on the street). After driving for a bit, I decided it was in my best interest to try and get some more sleep so I pulled into the Maine Visitor Center in Yarmouth. Across the street from the visitor center was the headquarters of Delorme. They make the maps that adorn the backseat of my car. It was just another random moment of my trip. I slept for a few hours and then headed up US 1, past LL Bean and the small towns that dot the Maine coast.

My excitement built as I crossed onto Mount Desert Island, home of Acadia National Park. I had done a little research and knew I had to go to the Park Headquarters to register for winter camping at the park, but I still went to the visitor center that is closed down for the season. After consulting a map, I followed the coast (Is it still considered coastline if you are on an island?) up to Bar Harbor. I quickly realized the town nearly shuts down in the off-season. There were at least 15 hotels shuttered for the winter and finding a closed restaurant was easier than an open one.

I registered to camp and before I went to set up camp, I asked the lady in the office where I could find a good lobster. Camping is free in Acadia after December 1, but you have to park at a gate and walk a half-mile or more to the campground and the only open bathroom is a port-a-potty and water is gleaned from a hand-powered pump on the other side of the campground. Needless to say, I had the campground to myself. Having free-range to pick any campsite can be tough because you want the perfect site. I walked around for a while before settling on a site that was elevated and had good drainage in case it rained and pitched my tent.

After getting situated, I headed into town, looking for Geddy’s and a lobster. I had never had lobster before so I figured Maine would be a good place to experience that for the first time. I found Geddy’s and a seat at the bar (I was the only one). Stacy, the bartender, found out I was from Wisconsin and immediately asked if I had any cheese curds with me. Add Stacy to the list of girls I’ve disappointed. She talked me into getting the island special, which consisted of a whole lobster, clam chowder, fries and a slice of blueberry pie. The homemade chowder was excellent (I always thought Campbell’s Chunky New England Chowder was the best you could find…), but that was just a precursor to the lobster.

The recently deceased crustacean was placed in front of me, waiting to be decimated with the help from the claw cracker by my greedy fingers. Stacy explained how to eat the lobster and I dove in. Minutes later, the beast was in my belly and all that was left was its hulking exoskeleton, quarried of the goodness inside (a shell of its former self?). The bartender said I was too clean after eating a whole lobster, and that I should’ve been covered in butter and chunks of lobster. Well, we don’t like to waste food in Wisconsin. I look forward to my next encounter with a tasty, tasty lobster.

The locals thought I was crazy to sleep outside in December. The low that night was in the mid 30’s. I hadn’t camped in weather that warm in a month or two. They were crazy for thinking it was cold outside. I had another local beer or two from the Atlantic Brewing Company and headed back to my tent. I nearly stayed for one more beer and I’m glad I thought better of it because 15 minutes after I got to my tent, it started raining, hard. I feel asleep, nice and dry as my tent deflected the deluge.

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Four

I turned into Portsmouth, New Hampshire as the afternoon was turning to the evening. Portsmouth is an old town and that is readily evident in downtown. I parked my car and walked around for a bit, getting a sense of the history of the place. A huge tree caught my eye from behind a fence. I stopped to take a picture when I noticed a plaque that told me the tree was a horse chestnut and was planted by William Whipple after returning home from signing the Declaration of Independence in 1776. Wow. That’s pretty cool. I have no idea who William Whipple is but he seems to have had a green thumb.

With the arboreal part of my day finished, I headed to the Portsmouth Brewery to imbibe the local brews. I saddled up at the bar and ordered what the couple next to me had, a flight of beers. The best way to get a taste of the local beers is to sample them all! The Portsmouth Brewery beers were joined by a few from Smuttynose Brewery, which is also located in Portsmouth, and their one revolving guest tap that currently was Celebration ale from Sierra Nevada. I felt a little out of place because it was a little more upscale than I’m used to. Looking around at the locals, I imagined them coming from old money (or being old ship captains). I kept to myself as I worked my way down the plank of beers. A guy walked in and sat down a few stools away and looked like a guy I could talk to. He had a big beard and looked like a guy I’d see at one of the music festivals I go to.

Eventually, another guy sat down between us with long gray hair, someone else I could talk to. The two of them knew each other and started talking when I overheard the first guy say “Cornmeal.” My ears perked up and eyes grew wide as I turned and asked if he happened to be referring to the bluegrass band Cornmeal out of Chicago. He affirmed that it was and that they were playing up in Portland, Maine that night. Holy Cow! They are my favorite band and I thought I had checked their schedule before I left on my trip, but I must have missed them. I was sort of planning on ending up in Portland that night so this couldn’t have been any more perfect.

Beer Flight!

The first guy, Matt, was heading up to the show and had me follow because I didn’t know where I was going. I said I was probably going to sleep in my car and he warned me about the strict parking restrictions in downtown Portland. One time he was sleeping in his van after a show and woke up to a tow truck trying to tow his van away. I followed him to the park and ride which is a great place to sleep in your car. We called a cab and headed to the show. Hot Buttered Rum and Cornmeal were on tour together and had been alternating who closed. I was hoping Cornmeal closed because I’m not the biggest fan of Hot Buttered Rum. My hopes were true as Hot Buttered Rum took the stage. They were OK, but sounded more alt-country than bluegrass, not my cup of tea. The highlight of their set was when they played the Beatles “I’ve just Seen a Face.” That’s one of my favorite Beatles songs and hearing it today was made more special because it was the anniversary of John Lennon’s death.

In-between sets, Matt left me alone and went to talk to some friends. I wandered around and checked out the merch table before settling back in front of the stage with a fresh PBR tall boy when I noticed a girl snaking her way through the crowd towards me. Of course she wanted to talk to me. I found out her name was Jess, was just learning the fiddle and had never heard of Cornmeal before (perhaps I won’t be sleeping my car tonight). I told her to prepare herself to be embarrassed by the fiddling prowess of Allie from Cornmeal who wields a fiddle like Van Gough used a paintbrush and Sergey Bubka commanded a pole vault pole. We talked about road trips and how it’s interesting how the geology changes as you drive from place to place. Cornmeal started and effectively ended any conversation with their amped up bluegrass. Jess was impressed with Allie (who isn’t?), but half way through the show said she had to head out. Well, I guess my car it is. Oh well. We said goodbye and I immersed myself into the music once more.

Cornmeal played a killer cover of the Doors “When the Music’s Over.” The show ended with Hot Buttered Rum coming back on stage to help Cornmeal close the show with the classics “Little Maggie” and “Friend of the Devil.” It was an awesome Cornmeal show and if you ever want to see a band bring the house down, check them out sometime. Here is Cornmeal playing a Paul Simon cover. Matt and I got a cab back to the park and ride and we exchanged info. Turns out exchanging phone numbers would come in handy the following week. It would not be the last time I saw Matt or talked to Jess.

What an unbelievable day. I started in New York, saw the Dan Patrick Show studio, reflected at Walden Pond, sampled beer in Portsmouth, met Matt who brought me to a Cornmeal concert in Portland and ended the day by sleeping in my car at a park and ride. I could get used to this road trip thing. The next leg of my journey brought me to Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor, Maine with more stories to boot.

Acadia in the moonlight

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Three

I left the relative safety of NY and headed up the coast to find whatever treasures awaited me. I knew that success was not waiting for those who planned, so I was reassured I was on the right path. My path took me to Milford, CT to check out the Dan Patrick Radio Show Studio. It may only be the upper story of a Subway shop, but the man cave doesn’t care. His sports talk show is the best on the radio. Hands down. Perhaps some day I can command the audience DP does.

I got back on the road and kept going until I rolled into Walden Pond. It was a beautiful day as the sun illuminated the lake and pushed temps in to the 50’s. A trail wound around the pond with other trails interspersed throughout the 2680-acre property. The main trail was more like a narrow road, built to withstand the multitude of visitors. On this day, there were a handful of hikers moseying around the pond and even a few hardy swimmers! Walden Pond is a hot spot for long-distance swimmers. It is a decent sized relatively undeveloped lake with no motors allowed, located within the Boston metro area. U.S. Olympian Alex Meyer trains there as he prepares for the 10K open water event. I can’t even run a mile and this guy is swimming 10 kilometers, insane.

Walden Pond afforded me the chance to clear my head after a week in New York. It’s interesting how different my thoughts are in Nature compared to a city. I feel like I think more deeply (scary, isn’t it) when I’m away from people and other manmade distractions. In town, I look for a cheap laugh or comment because the pace of life dictates how long you can focus on one thing, whereas walking in relative solitude enables me to delve into a topic or thought and really probe the thought entirely. I’ve thought and written about the conservation movement in Wisconsin from the likes of John Muir and Aldo Leopold and those ruminations floated up from the depths of my head as I stared at the site of Henry David Thoreau’s cabin. Thoreau came before Leopold and Muir was still in his early years as Thoreau was at Walden Pond, laying the groundwork for conservation and nature in America (and the world).

The site of the cabin and woodshed were marked with small pillars delineating the structures. Off to one side, was a huge pile of rocks. Thoreau lovers have a tradition of placing rocks on the pile in honor of him. If I had known this, I would have brought one of the rocks I’ve picked up on my travels around Wisconsin, perhaps next time.

People had filled the site of Thoreau’s woodshed with sticks and branches paying homage to Thoreau and the idea of Walden. More cynical people would look at the woodpile and laugh, saying it means nothing and is a lame attempt to reconnect with Walden, but actions mean something. Placing a ceremonial stick on Thoreau’s woodpile is a gesture that speaks volumes. It pays tribute to Thoreau and the idea of Walden. We need to reconnect with our own Walden Pond. People become jaded and think nature-lovers are all hippies, like it’s a bad thing to enjoy and protect nature. Screw that. Nature is for everyone

Being a dork, I brought a copy of Walden to read as I walked around the pond. I skipped around a bit, reading random passages, but eventually settled down in the chapter “Solitude.” Thoreau writes, “I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” And “Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows. The really diligent student in one of the crowded hives of Cambridge College is as solitary as a dervis in the desert.” He’s talking about how you can be around people, but still get lost in your own thoughts if you focus on the task at hand. We all have solitary moments, but we may not realize it at the time. Everyone needs some time to himself or herself each day, but that gets lost in the hustle and bustle of life. We can get a little stale if we just go through the same routine everyday. From Walden, “We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are.” I love my sharp cheddar cheese, but every now and then, it’s good to change it up and try something new. Walden Pond enabled Thoreau to get away from the distractions of life in the city and just live and think deeply. Walden is not necessarily a place, but a frame of mind. Everyone needs their own Walden Pond.

I finished my walk around Walden Pond mentally refreshed for whatever crazy adventures lay ahead. I wasn’t sure where the rest of the day was going to lead me or where I was going to sleep, but my car was headed to the Portsmouth Brewery in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and I hopped in. Little did I know that was just the start to an insane story involving Craigslist Maine.

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. Two

It was a beautiful fall day as I restarted the journey. The hills are a little larger in Pennsylvania than Wisconsin, but they were still dotted with blaze orange. It was hunting season in Pennsylvania, bringing to mind the movie the Deer Hunter. It’s one of my favorites (Meryl Streep is hot!), but I hope I don’t get as crazy as Christopher Walken (I have my de Niro beard going). Getting past the thoughts of Russian roulette, I noticed that even the barns are different in Pennsylvania. They use more stone and are not your typical rectangle layout, but form a short T. Up and down over the mountains of eastern Pennsylvania, I moved closer to my first new state of the trip, New Jersey. Right around the border I emitted a “whoa” as I rounded a bend and was affronted with a huge rock face that had been uplifted at a 90 degree angle to how it was formed. It was awesome. New Jersey, not so much (Jersey girls aren’t trash, trash gets picked up on Thursdays).

I stopped for gas just over the border and found that it’s a state law that someone has to pump the gas for you. It’s full service in Jersey (I guess that’s one way to keep unemployment down)! I started sweating the closer I got to NYC. I don’t like driving in big cities, especially one I’ve never been to and have no idea where I ‘m going. I kept waiting to hit traffic, but it never came. I crossed the George Washington Bridge and tried snapping a few shots. I wasn’t in Wisconsin anymore that’s for sure. I made a wrong turn or two, but picked Blayne up without incident (although I was still sweating pretty good). Now we had to head to Newark to pick up Fields which meant driving through Manhattan and the Lincoln Tunnel. Traffic was pretty slow, but we pushed our way through because we’re from Wisconsin. We emerged on the other side in Jersey and thought the apocalypse had befallen the Earth while we were underground. Dilapidated buildings, rundown infrastructure and just an overall hellhole describe Jersey. I think I found a new “worst state in America.” The airport wasn’t too bad to get around though. We were a bit early so we toured the terminals while we waited for Fields arrival. I was tempted to ask a cop if this was JFK. While wasting time, we saw probably 20 cop cars with their lights on, pulling cars over. It was a little crazy. Fields arrived and we headed on up to Tuxedo, New York to meet up with Riles.

He greeted us with hugs, handshakes and Zywiec. He stocked his fridge full of the Polish beer, which may not be a very good beer, but it was free! The Badgers were playing in the inaugural Big Ten Championship game against Michigan St for the right to play in the Rose Bowl. We threw on all the Wisconsin gear we had, be it Badger or Packer, and headed to bar. Characters is a smallish bar in Sloatsburg, but Riles is a regular so we were made to feel at home with random shots of Jameo throughout the evening. Needless to say, we won and tied one on.

The next day arrived with the promise of a Packer win. We moved just slow enough in the morning to miss our train by less than a minute so we had to wait an hour for the next one. You can drink on the trains so we ran to the store to get more beer because of our hour setback. We finally hitched a ride on the train and were at the Meadowlands in no time. Our plan was to wander around the parking lot and snag some beer and food from Packer fans tailgating, but we never made it that far. There was a “tailgate” right by the stadium that we ended up at because we severely needed food and the beer was convenient too. We made friends with a couple young ladies, one of whom thought I looked just like the guy from the Packer Rock Anthem video (if you haven’t witnessed the greatness, youtube “Packer Rock Anthem”). I disagree, but I’ll take it! The one girl was from Green Bay and her parents have a Packer bus that they took to the Super Bowl last year and are planning to do the same this year. I asked if I could tag a long and she said I could. Needless to say, I left the tailgate without a number so I’ll always have to play the “what if” game with her and the Packer bus…

The game was great as the Packers came away with a last-second win. The Giants fans were stupid as anticipated. They started leaving after the Packers went up 8 in the 4^th quarter, because I guess that is too much to overcome. The Giants tied it up with under a minute left, but the Pack marched down the field and Crosby sealed the win. Boom!

Packers defending their undefeated season

Monday came as we had to drive Blayne to LaGuardia. Things did not go as smoothly as planned, but no one died (we think). We spent the rest of the afternoon at bar before heading back after dinner. It was a low-key evening as we recovered from the weekend. Tuesday, Packer stock went on sale so we all became NFL owners. It feels great being an owner of the greatest franchise in NFL history. We got moving and headed to NYC to be a tourist and attend the Jimmy V Classic at Madison Square Garden. We missed the train by a minute, of course, and had to wait over an hour for the next one. The joy of being a Packer Shareholder helped assuaged the annoyance of the wait.

NYC welcomed us with a warm drizzle. We putzed around the city, taking in Times Square, Central Park, Broadway, Radio City Music Hall, Macy’s (omg! The shopping was faaabulous!), Empire State Building and other sights. To get out of the increasing rain, we headed into Lucy’s right by the Garden and spent the next few hours tipping a few back. Game time arrived and the Garden beckoned. Madison Square Garden is the mecca of college basketball. It was only half full or so but you could feel the energy that exuded from the arena. It was awesome. Mizzou won the first game and Marquette won at the buzzer in the second. Bob Knight and Digger Phelps sat 15 rows in front of us and were besieged by gawkers and fans all night. Dicky V and the Schwab were also in the house. It was a full house for ESPN, that’s for sure. After the game we got some food from a street vendor and it was excellent. We arrived back at Riles place late and I’m glad I didn’t have to work the next day.

New York was fun, but I was looking forward to branching off on my own and getting out of civilization. I needed a little wilderness to rebalance myself. This morning I accomplished my goal of being the first person in America to see the sun rise as I scampered up Cadillac Mt. in the early dawn. You’ll hear about that more in future posts. I leave the relative safety of Bar Harbor Monday, for the wilds of central and western Maine. I hope to talk to a moose and see a little snow. We will see where the next week takes me. I’m looking forward to it!

The Great East Coast Road Trip Vol. One

How can I live my life any more irresponsibly? By taking a multi-week road trip to the East Coast of course! Who needs to work (you can tell the importance of your job by how easy it is to miss a few weeks [with no pay of course] and have no one notice)? This whole expedition began with my buddy Riles inviting me out to New York for the Packer-Giant game. I have a friend who goes to grad school at Penn St. so I thought I’d visit him and from there it spiraled out of control to a trip encompassing New England from Walden Pond to Bar Harbor, Maine to the Green Mountains in Vermont and finally Niagara Falls. I may die, but hey, it was a good time!

The road trip began with me driving from EC to Madison after a day working at Hoffman Hills State Rec. Area. I had to leave early enough to catch the Badger-North Carolina basketball game that night. I of course waited to the last moment to pack everything so I was late for the tip. I arrived at the Slaney’s house in Madison and if there is crazier place than that I’d like to see it. There is never a dull moment and my good friend Mark was there to help breakdown the game. Mark is one of the people whom I feel honored that calls me a friend. Despite our cheering and beer chugging, the Badgers lost. I was expecting a worse outcome, so I was surprised when we only lost by 3.

I woke up “early” the next morning and headed out on the road to make it to State College, PA, home of Penn St. My friend Kris lives out there and is going for his PhD (his girlfriend Kristin is only going for her Masters so she is obviously slacking). Being a man I didn’t use the GPS I had at my disposal. It’s more fun to work through directions in your head (plus from Madison to Pennsylvania there are only 4 different roads to take). I had emailed a host of friends with knowledge of my route and the Northeast to solicit ideas on where to go. My Indiana expert was Laura who struggled to come up with places to visit there (not a good sign). She tossed out the idea of visiting the Indiana Dunes, which I had heard good things about. I planned to camp there but plans changed and I trucked through, getting sidetracked in South Bend, IN. Notre Dame may be a bit pious for me (If I wasn’t going to hell before, I sure was going after my Notre Dame visit). It was interesting to see the iconic sights that have been given a meaning through sports like Touchdown Jesus and the Golden Dome. Walking around campus and Notre Dame Stadium it felt different than any college campus I had been to before. Maybe it was the vast numbers of out-of-staters or the religious feel, but I felt like I didn’t belong. As I walked up to the Golden Dome, bells started to ring, which startled me, and caused a “Jesus Christ” to pop out of my mouth. Whoops! Overall, it was great seeing one of the classic campuses and stadiums in the country.

I had wasted too much time in South Bend so I had to make up some time. The old Intrepid motored the rest of the way through Indiana and Ohio without stopping. Turns out western Indiana received a lot of snow recently as the countryside was covered with an early season wet snow that clung to the north side of the trees, giving away the direction the wind blew during the storm. Northern Indiana is known for not only Notre Dame and Michiana (that’s what they call the weird border region between Michigan and Indiana [I guess “wasteland” was already taken]), but being the RV capital. I knew this but finding out there was a RV Hall of Fame in Elkhart obliterated my mind. I have no idea what this place would entail. Do they have RV’s from people who have taken them on epic road trips? Maybe they have the first Airstream or other technological improvements. If they called it a museum that would make more sense than calling it a Hall of Fame (calling it a Hall of Fame does a disservice to other great Hall of Fames like the Bowling Hall of Fame in St. Louis). Regardless, that might be the lamest place in America.

Ohio came and went without a pit stop. I set the cruise at about 6 over the speed limit and was passed by maybe 5 people the entire state. Ohioans drive slow. The only thing of mention in Ohio was the town with the unfortunate name of Sandusky (I looked for Tommy Boy at Callahan Brakes, but to no avail). Not a good time to be a Sandusky.

I arrived at Penn St. at 10 pm (Pennsylvania is beautiful in the dark) where I was greeted by Kris and Kristin. I beckoned Kris over to my trunk where I revealed the bounty of Wisconsin beer and cheese I had smuggled over state lines. There were four Wisconsin microbrew 6 packs and he chose the Dave’s BrewFarm Matacabras and New Glarus Black Top. I selected the beer based on awesomeness and the chances that it could be found out East. The BrewFarm was my ace in the hole because it was such a small brewery, plus it is Wisconsin’s only wind-powered brewery. Kristin had thrown a bunch of leftovers from the CSA into a soup and I slurped it down quite eagerly. Kris and I headed out to Zeno’s for a few local libations. I let Kris choose the first pitcher and he managed to select the only beer on tap that I had had already (or heard of for that matter), Victory’s Hopdevil. I was wearing a Wisconsin Badger sweatshirt so I had to give people some crap after crushing them a few days earlier on the football field. I turned over the beer menu and to my chagrin; the first beer on the list was Dave’s BrewFarm Matacabras. Really? I couldn’t believe it. It’s great that you could find it out in Pennsylvania, but it diminished my effort (although it was $6 a bottle and I bought the 6er for $10).

Clever bike shop name at Penn St.

Friday was a late starter for me. I putzed around and headed to campus just after nooner. I like walking around college campuses and seeing the architecture and history that comes with a campus that’s been around for well over 100 years. I thought about wearing another Badger shirt but decided against it, they’ve been through enough already. The gloom of the skies overhead accompanied me as I waltzed around campus, going from the scurry of students in-between classes to the sparse sidewalks as the learning commenced. The symmetry of the walkways, buildings and big old trees always fascinate me. I love pedestrian malls with majestic 200 hundred-year-old elms or oaks arching over the people walking about, not seeing the beauty that hovers over them. Kris skipped out on his studies and we checked out the art museum on campus. I’m quite the philistine when it comes to art. We moved on to lunch (they ID at all hours at pubs and bars in Penn St. It’s weird seeing a bouncer at 1 in the afternoon) and then a final jaunt over to Beaver Stadium. It seats over 100,000 people and is a monument to Joe Paterno. There is a statue of JoePa outside the stadium with a quote that has new meaning these days “They ask me what I’d like written about when I’m gone, I hope they write I made Penn St. a better place not just that I was a good football coach.” There may be an addendum to that after the recent events. I gave the stadium the old Wisconsin salute and headed back to get ready for the evening. Euchre was on the docket.

The Kris’s and I went to the Darkhorse to meet up with a 4^th for cards and beer. The Kris’s teamed up and attempted to derail my partner and me. Over the course of the next few hours I made my way through local beers like Otto’s, Troeg’s, Elk Creek, Weyer and Sly Fox. The game ended in a tie at 3-3 as we moved to a new bar to meet up with folks who had attended the hockey game. One of the first comments I heard was “I love Bald Eagle State Park! The do pumpkin chucking!” My kind of place. Outside of the bar was a Penn St. sign, too tempting to not tamper with. I pretended to pee on the sign while Kris snapped a few photos. The bouncer kept yelling at me telling me how cool I was for doing that. We finished with the photo op and headed back to the bar and were promptly denied access to the bar. He said, “The cops may not have known what you did, but I do.” A few cops had driven by while I was pretending to pee but didn’t seem to care, but this bouncer had it out for me. I congratulated him on catching me pretending to pee and we headed home.

Saturday came with the anticipation of driving to LaGuardia and Newark Airports. I delayed my exit as long as I could, but my friendly duties could not wait. I bade Kris and Kristin goodbye. It’s always good to see Kris. He’s always being smart, studying mycorrhizae around the country. We’ll meet somewhere down the trail.

I'm currently in Bar Harbor, Maine hanging with the locals. Since Penn St. I went to the Packer game, Madison Square Garden and Walden Pond. I met a guy named Matt in Portsmouth and we road-tripped up to Portland for a Cornmeal concert and today I met Everett in Acadia who let me over to house to use his internet which ended up us just swapping stories for a few hours. It's been a great week or so with more stories to detail. I'll update when I can. Sunday I'll be the first person in the US to see the sunrise so suck it America!