Dirt Bikes

So there I was...coming out of one of my favorite burger places a few days ago on the shores of Lake Ontario when I heard the high pitch whine of 2 cycle engines coming from a connecting bay.  Going to investigate, I found a long curvy circular track made on the ice of the bay from the shoveled snow and orange cones set at strategic corners.  Motorized dirt bikes with studded tires, made to grip the ice, were circumnavigating the track at high speeds pushing the limits of gravity and centrifugal force.  As Kim and I sat and watched these risk-takers, I thought back to the days when I owned a Yamaha 250 Enduro dirt bike while living in Missouri.  We lived out in the country and I remember a blizzard coming through that made all the rural roads impassible.  The daughter of a friend, that lived nearby, was very sick and needed medication from a pharmacy about 10 miles away.  So he and I jumped on our dirt bikes and took off into the deep snow, crossing farms and wooded land cutting our own path to town.  Many slips, falls and challenges later we made it and returned with what his daughter needed.  I also remember the time I was navigating the bike through a wooded area that was extremely inhospitable with steep hills and dangerous drop offs.  Heavy rains had created muddy puddles everywhere and as I approached one at a good speed I guessed it to be six inches to a foot deep.  I was wrong.  As I hit the four foot deep mini pond the bike went under water as I flew off into the mud.  It took over an hour to get all the water out of the engine and carburetor but it eventually started and the only thing hurt was my pride.  The time I can picture most about owning the bike is when I would take my 18 month old son with me.  With this mammoth helmet on his head, he would sit in front of me hanging onto the handlebars as we motored out of the driveway, up the dirt roads  and into the woods with him laughing and squealing all the way.  Returning home we'd find Kim standing out front wringing her hands with nervous anticipation relieved to see that I brought her baby back in one piece.  Good times.  

Granny and Paw-Paw

So there I was...having lunch with the pastor of my church the other day and we were sharing how we found one of the greatest treasures in this life, our wives.  I was telling him that I was set up on my first and last blind date by a well meaning coworker.  Having very little money at the time and basically subsisting on macaroni & cheese,  we began our courtship with conversation over nothing more than coffee and tea.  By our next date my financial situation had not improved in the least so going hiking seemed a good idea.  She suggested hiking her families land of many acres down near the Arkansas border in southern Missouri.  When we arrived at our destination she wanted to stop by her grandparents place who owned a farm close by to introduce me.  Coming from Connecticut, I had become acclimated to the very different mid-western way of life while living in Springfield, MO but had not had much exposure to the rural farming communities.  As we approached the farm house a large man with even larger hands got up from his chair on the front porch and shook my hand with a smile and one of the heaviest southern accents I had heard.  This was Kim's Paw-Paw and she was quite proud of him.  Then it happened.  Granny walked around the corner of the house.  She was a small woman dressed in cowboy boots, cotton dress and a bonnet on her head.  She was the epitome of what I had thought a southern farmers wife would look like in story books or on TV.  As I was taking this all in, my eyes were drawn to the holster strapped around her waist holding a revolver neatly by her side.  At first I thought she must be messing with this Yankee who was so far from home, but she went on to explain how she had been shooting the snakes that were eating the eggs in the chicken coop.  Over the next several months I got quite an education from Granny and Paw-Paw as we got to know each other and they found a very special place in my heart.  Kim reminds me of Granny with her giving and upbeat spirit, playful nature and a giggle that brightens a room.  How can you not fall in love with that?

Uncle Pete

So there I was...jumping from a fire escape three stories up to grab onto the window ledge of a building.  It was a few days after the death of Lyndon Johnson who died on January 22nd 1973.  To honor the 36th President of the United States, public schools had the day off and a couple of friends and I decided to ride our bikes across the Connecticut River into Hartford.  After visiting a radio station and several stores, I told the guys I should check in on my elderly uncle who lived in an apartment building in the downtown area.  After knocking at his door and getting no answer I went out onto the fire escape and saw his window half open.  He would sometimes have to do this, even in January, because the old steam radiators in this building would pump out too much heat in certain apartments with no adjustment.  Knowing he wouldn't have left it open if he wasn't home, I leaned out to see into the apartment through the window and saw him lying face down on the floor.  Believing I could make the jump from my perch to the window ledge and acting like a youth with no sense, I made my move.  While hanging on with one arm I was able to slide the window up the rest of the way and scramble through.  He looked bad but was still breathing, though unconscious.  He had laid there for three days and was close to death according to the doctors.  Having Parkinson's Disease, he had fallen and found it impossible to even turn onto his back.  After a long hospital stay he made a full recovery and was better than ever, thanks to a new and effective drug to treat this illness.  
Sometimes, what looks like a negative can have a positive effect.  Who would have thought that several more years would be given to my Uncle Pete because a President died.  

Gyros

So there I was...watching the Today Show a couple mornings ago where they were showing a new one wheeled motorcycle going on the market soon.  The way this thing stays up is with the use of gyros.  This is the same technology that was pioneered by Dean Kamen when inventing the Segway several years ago.  Why does this factoid find itself in my blog?  Three reasons.  One...I think gyros are one of the coolest underused phenomenons of physics that I know of.   Two...They've started putting gyros in the bilges of boats under the brand name Seakeeper that can cut the rocking of a boat dramatically, even with no forward movement.
Three...Dean Kamen owns an island just off the coast of Groton, Connecticut that I used to boat  around for years when I had a mooring in the neighboring town of Noank.  The name of the island is North Dumpling and is actually part of New York though closer to Connecticut.  Years ago, during the elder Bush administration, Mr. Kamen wanted to put a wind turbine on his island to generate some energy from the winds, especially from the west, funneling down Long Island Sound.  New York would not allow this to happen for a variety of reasons.  After many legal battles, Kamen said that his island would secede from the U.S. if an agreement could not be reached.  He was friends with Bush and though I don't know about the legalities, there was some sort of agreement reached involving a non-aggression pact.  Whether legal or just a ruse, there is now a wind turbine on the island.  Kamen, in all his wit, is called Lord Dumpling and printed money for the island called dumplings.  Boating by the island you can see his navy consisting of an amphibious vehicle that can go on land and sea along with a replication of Stonehenge that Kamen says is to sacrifice the lawyers.  For the President's assistance, Kamen outlawed broccoli since Bush hated the vegetable.  It was always fun to take guests for a cruise around North Dumpling and watch their reaction as the story was told.  Thanks Dean for your work with gyros and your wonderful sense of humor.

Christmas Cruise

So there I was...pushing my 9 foot long Dyer Dhow fiberglass rowing/sailing boat onto the ice at the edge of a lake we lived on several years ago.  Kim and I were embarking on our annual Christmas Cruise, a tradition we started years earlier.  In the week before Christmas we would launch the boat from the private beach where we stored it and circumnavigate the lake looking at all the decorations and lights the residents had on their docks and houses while sipping hot chocolate that Kim poured from a thermos.  Some years were colder than others and often there was ice formed around the shoreline going out a hundred feet or more.  The center of the lake took longer to freeze as it was spring fed.  This particular year, the ice was an inch or two thick, so after Kim got in the bow of the boat I climbed in the stern giving us the required combined weight for the boat to break through the ice.  I started my little 1953 Johnson 3 horsepower engine and it would push us forward until the bow rode up on the ice and again broke through.  This scenario was repeated many times until we finally came to open water and our cruise around the lake was a grand success.  Sometimes people would wave from their yards as we passed by no doubt wondering how in the world we got out there.  Returning to our beach we would find the the narrow path of broken ice chunks we had created on the way out and followed them into shore.  Always enjoyed the challenge of the ice...if I have a strong boat.  

Ice

So there I was...hiking out onto the ice of Lake Ontario.  Kim and I had given part of a Saturday to snowshoeing through the park bordering the lake's south shore and after dropping off our deep snow hiking wonders at the car, we slipped and slid our way onto the hundred plus yards of ice extending out from the shore.  What made it especially tough going was that it froze in the form of ice balls the size of bowling balls.  Thousands and thousands of them.  Made you feel like you were on the moon if the moon had water.  Got me thinking of one of the winter trips we did with friends years ago.  Instead of the deep snow that we were used to snowshoeing in, that year the weather had spread a thick layer of ice over everything.  Ever the Robust Trampers, we hiked out away from our warm wood fired cabin only to spend the entire time trying to stay vertical, struggling against gravity and ice.  At one point I did a most magnificent full split.  I can't do a split.  Hurt for days.  The next year several of us owned those cleats you wrap around the soles of your boots to avoid these olympic displays in the future.  Many years before this, I brought my new bride home to Connecticut during the winter to spend some time with my family.  Since she had never ice skated, I took her to the pond where I spent countless hours of my youth playing hockey, ice tag and just skating lap after lap until darkness fell and you couldn't see to avoid the cracks in the ice anymore.  She did exceptionally well for her first time and didn't even fall once.  So I pushed her down.  Everyone needs to fall at least once their first time out.  I don't think she saw it that way.

Carson's

So there I was...checking my emails at Starbucks after hiking from my home through the 6-8 inches of snow that was still falling making a stark winter landscape into a Winter Wonderland. I love snow!  The first email I open is from my close friend, Jan with sad news of the closing of Carson's, one of our favorite breakfast places located in Noank, CT.  Opened 106 years ago it hasn't changed all that much.  From the old stools at the counter to the penny candy and old fashioned milkshake mixer this place was a blast from the past.  We kept our boat moored for the summer in the small coastal town of Noank and would dingy into shore for the short walk to Carson's where we enjoyed a great breakfast while chatting with fellow boaters and locals.  It wasn't uncommon to still be enjoying the atmosphere as we relinquished our booth to the next hungry customers only to carry our thick ceramic coffee mugs outside to the front porch where conversation would continue.  Others sitting out there would join in as would the many dogs that would inevitably be there with their owners knowing that Carson's was always a stop during their morning walk.  My son, Josh, would plead with Kim and I to get him a milkshake from Carson's come afternoon and when we balked at buying him one every day this little 10 year old concocted a plan.  He was familiar with another well known eatery in Noank called, "Abbott's Lobster in the Rough" that people from out of town could never find.  Lost and frustrated they were always stopping locals to ask directions.  Josh made a cardboard sign that said, "Directions to Abbots 10 cents" (he misspelled Abbott's) and stood on the corner where most of the cars got lost.  He did a booming business and people would usually give him far more than 10 cents for the service.  In no time he had enough money for several milkshakes and candy, too.  The owner of Abbott's drove by and being impressed with Josh's entrepreneurial spirit he took a picture of him with his sign that hung in the restaurant for years and is still on their website under "Getting Here".  All because of Carson's.  So many fond memories.  This icon will be sorely missed.