Zipping across the country through numerous states – some old, some new, some forgotten – I’ve had the privileged opportunity lately to reconnect with some dear friends.
Imbibing over beer, wine, root beer and mint tea; breaking bread in backyards, on decks, in restaurants, living rooms, kitchens and in Grand Central station; crashing in spare bedrooms, fold-out couches, floor space and basement futons; I’ve caught up on what’s new, and the benign and pleasant passing of life. There were also many late-night reminiscings on the meaning of life. Well actually, we mostly pondered on how little has changed, and how little has remained the same.
Of course, with any passage of time – up to 12 years in one instance – there was the meeting of spouses, children, parents, friends and pets. I even had time to help plant a vegetable garden with one family in Montana, trade ghost stories while chewing on dried squid with another in Ohio, and play peek-a-boo with an 18-month old Brooklyn toddler who didn’t understand a word I said.
These days with so much interaction limited to Facebook one-liners, it's good to spend face time with people I care about.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Random Thoughts from Another Time Zone
It’s 9 AM and I see the sign: “see the largest prairie dog in the world!” But in Kansas?? Well, I have been struggling to find something nice to say about the state, and this sounded tacky enough to be worthwhile. But the signs led to a gas station, and the PD statue – apparently larger than the one in the Badlands – won’t be unveiled till this coming weekend. An uncontested claim it will remain. Which leaves me with nothing nice to say about Kansas, except that its speed limit is 70 mph. Oh, and at Kanorado, which is Exit 1, a whole mile from Colorado, I saw familiar burrows of my first PD colony for 2009. I left Kansas with a smile at least.
From Colorado on up to Wyoming, the pronghorn came out to play; I started to pass more pickup trucks and drivers with cowboy hats; and there was even a Wall Drug billboard.
I drove 719 miles today. This is my fifth road trip in one year, logging some 20,000 miles. As a result, my U.S. geography is improving … in my spare time this afternoon somewhere between Cheyenne and Sheridan, I learned that I could name 44 out of the 50 states. The region I performed worst in is the northeast, where I lived! Figures.
My appetite came back.
Hunger = Cranky x (Alone in Car) x 719 miles
I have sympathy for friends who have had to bear the brunt of my hunger crankiness.
From Colorado on up to Wyoming, the pronghorn came out to play; I started to pass more pickup trucks and drivers with cowboy hats; and there was even a Wall Drug billboard.
I drove 719 miles today. This is my fifth road trip in one year, logging some 20,000 miles. As a result, my U.S. geography is improving … in my spare time this afternoon somewhere between Cheyenne and Sheridan, I learned that I could name 44 out of the 50 states. The region I performed worst in is the northeast, where I lived! Figures.
My appetite came back.
Hunger = Cranky x (Alone in Car) x 719 miles
I have sympathy for friends who have had to bear the brunt of my hunger crankiness.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Roadtriplogue
One night in Kansas and the world's your oyster
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? I am 159 miles from the Colorado border and can push on no longer, so a night in Kansas it is.
Historically, travelers stocked up in St. Louis before heading out west, so it seemed like a worthwhile tradition to emulate. My morning began with a Trader Joe’s run for Cliff bars, granola bars, peanut butter, mesquite honey, dried fruit and nuts, and a couple of bottles of wine.
Missouri was a pretty enough drive and I even made a pit stop at Mizzou, i.e. Missouri University, to drive around the campus, only to be stopped by about 150 students in graduation garb. Idling on the street waiting for the procession to pass, I broke into a cold sweat. It appears that I still have a ways to go in coming to terms with the idea of going back to school.
And then I hit Kansas. Let’s see … President Eisenhower, Bob Dole and Arlen Specter were all born here. Yeah, that’s about as interesting as it gets. And while I entertained the idea of pushing to Colorado tonight, I have also come to admit that it’s possible, that just maybe, my “allergies” is in fact a cold that has been brewing for a couple of days. The most compelling clue was the fact that even though I had hardly eaten all day, I’m not particularly cranky, just tired.
Every now and again, i.e. when I don’t have a choice, I listen to my body so it’s time to take it easy, get into bed before 9 PM, and sleep in. This is officially my memo to myself demanding, no excuse me, commanding compliance and better health by morning. I don’t have time to get sick, for goodness’ sake!
Hey, hey … maybe I am a little cranky after all.
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? I am 159 miles from the Colorado border and can push on no longer, so a night in Kansas it is.
Historically, travelers stocked up in St. Louis before heading out west, so it seemed like a worthwhile tradition to emulate. My morning began with a Trader Joe’s run for Cliff bars, granola bars, peanut butter, mesquite honey, dried fruit and nuts, and a couple of bottles of wine.
Missouri was a pretty enough drive and I even made a pit stop at Mizzou, i.e. Missouri University, to drive around the campus, only to be stopped by about 150 students in graduation garb. Idling on the street waiting for the procession to pass, I broke into a cold sweat. It appears that I still have a ways to go in coming to terms with the idea of going back to school.
And then I hit Kansas. Let’s see … President Eisenhower, Bob Dole and Arlen Specter were all born here. Yeah, that’s about as interesting as it gets. And while I entertained the idea of pushing to Colorado tonight, I have also come to admit that it’s possible, that just maybe, my “allergies” is in fact a cold that has been brewing for a couple of days. The most compelling clue was the fact that even though I had hardly eaten all day, I’m not particularly cranky, just tired.
Every now and again, i.e. when I don’t have a choice, I listen to my body so it’s time to take it easy, get into bed before 9 PM, and sleep in. This is officially my memo to myself demanding, no excuse me, commanding compliance and better health by morning. I don’t have time to get sick, for goodness’ sake!
Hey, hey … maybe I am a little cranky after all.
Whoa ... talk about a serious wrong turn!
OK, OK, humor me on a lame joke... I've been on I-70W for a loooooooooooooong time.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Taking a Sizeable Bite Out of the Big Apple
I get the strange feeling that at least one of my friends in New York thinks I’ve become an uncultured vagabond. My lineup for 10 days in Gotham included: my first ballgame in three years; my first symphony (Mahler No. 1 in D Major); an uproarious British comedy visiting from London’s Old Vic; and a day of trail building in Bear Mountain.
These days, I hesitate to call New York ‘my’ city anymore. I still remember how to navigate the subways, walk and sip hot coffee without scalding myself, and can keep stride to hit every ‘walk’ sign on city blocks, expertly weaving through pedestrian foot traffic. When the #4 train inexplicably stopped at 149th Street, I joined scores of New Yorkers and walked the streets of the Bronx, following the Jeter, Teixeira and Rivera jerseys all the way to the new Yankee stadium.
But I no longer avert eye contact and even condescend to acknowledging another human being’s existence with a half-smile or a nod; and I haven’t felt the need to plug in my iPod, finding novelty in the city noise of construction, honking cabs, and snippets of random conversations.
This is a city where I am almost never asked where I am from. I’m brown and have black hair, after all. Now if you’re blond, blue-eyed and white…that’s unique! You can ride for 50 minutes on a subway from Brooklyn and not hear a word of English. My closest friends vary from locals to far-flung Thai and Turkish nationals. And you can walk out of Avery Fisher Hall after a performance by the NY Philharmonic, and know with certainty that there’s a percentage of people in that very same hall, who were also at the very same baseball stadium the night before. It’s that kind of city.
This is the city of my 20s and a place of many ‘firsts.’ This is where I found out what makes me tick and what turns me on. I attained some of my proudest professional achievements here, and too many gross personal failures. And yet each time I return, I feel more and more like a stranger; a visitor looking in. I’ve lost my edge, my angst.
Perhaps what feels strange and ever stranger is not ‘my’ city, but me; the person I was and the person I’ve become; the New Yorker vs. the former New Yorker. We go through many stages in our lives, and hopefully experience growth, transformation and evolution into better, updated versions of ‘I.’ Surrounded by these familiar settings – my home for 10+ years – I am reminded of my former self and struck by what I hope is forward progress of my current incarnation. I suppose NYC continues to teach me a thing or two about myself. It is one helluva city.
These days, I hesitate to call New York ‘my’ city anymore. I still remember how to navigate the subways, walk and sip hot coffee without scalding myself, and can keep stride to hit every ‘walk’ sign on city blocks, expertly weaving through pedestrian foot traffic. When the #4 train inexplicably stopped at 149th Street, I joined scores of New Yorkers and walked the streets of the Bronx, following the Jeter, Teixeira and Rivera jerseys all the way to the new Yankee stadium.
But I no longer avert eye contact and even condescend to acknowledging another human being’s existence with a half-smile or a nod; and I haven’t felt the need to plug in my iPod, finding novelty in the city noise of construction, honking cabs, and snippets of random conversations.
This is a city where I am almost never asked where I am from. I’m brown and have black hair, after all. Now if you’re blond, blue-eyed and white…that’s unique! You can ride for 50 minutes on a subway from Brooklyn and not hear a word of English. My closest friends vary from locals to far-flung Thai and Turkish nationals. And you can walk out of Avery Fisher Hall after a performance by the NY Philharmonic, and know with certainty that there’s a percentage of people in that very same hall, who were also at the very same baseball stadium the night before. It’s that kind of city.
This is the city of my 20s and a place of many ‘firsts.’ This is where I found out what makes me tick and what turns me on. I attained some of my proudest professional achievements here, and too many gross personal failures. And yet each time I return, I feel more and more like a stranger; a visitor looking in. I’ve lost my edge, my angst.
Perhaps what feels strange and ever stranger is not ‘my’ city, but me; the person I was and the person I’ve become; the New Yorker vs. the former New Yorker. We go through many stages in our lives, and hopefully experience growth, transformation and evolution into better, updated versions of ‘I.’ Surrounded by these familiar settings – my home for 10+ years – I am reminded of my former self and struck by what I hope is forward progress of my current incarnation. I suppose NYC continues to teach me a thing or two about myself. It is one helluva city.
Brooklyn Bridge
Have I ever mentioned I love bridges? And if I can't walk or climb them, I'd settle for driving across them.
A Traditional Hello from a Big City
The only thing worse that driving in NYC is driving in Asia!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Smokin’ Smokies
Backpacking solo has always intimidated me. What if something were to happen?
While reading at my picnic table at my campsite in Cosby, the lady camped across from me came over and asked, “are you here alone?” When I answered in the affirmative, she asked, “and you’re hiking by yourself?” Again my answer was “yes” to which she responded: “do you remember that young man who had to cut off his arm in Utah?” Aron Ralston – an inspiring story, and an extreme example of what could go wrong.
Several things did happen on my solitary excursion: I hiked a 5.4 mile section of the Appalachian Trail (AT) tracing the Tennessee and North Carolina border; lunched at a historic fire lookout station on Mt. Cammerer; and met a 62-year-old pharmacist whose retirement gift to himself was to attempt to thru-hike all 2,175 miles of the AT. Inspired, huh?
Afterwards, I nursed sore muscles of my intact limbs and weary feet, but my spirit soared. It was the undisputed highlight of my trip to the Smokies. I had deprived myself an entire arena of fulfilling experiences simply by being afraid.
The true test though will come later. Will I be able to face down other areas of my life that has me paralyzed by fear; where the stakes are much higher than say, a sprained ankle? When I am next on the edge of ‘the great unknown,’ will I be able to take that step of … faith?
While reading at my picnic table at my campsite in Cosby, the lady camped across from me came over and asked, “are you here alone?” When I answered in the affirmative, she asked, “and you’re hiking by yourself?” Again my answer was “yes” to which she responded: “do you remember that young man who had to cut off his arm in Utah?” Aron Ralston – an inspiring story, and an extreme example of what could go wrong.
Several things did happen on my solitary excursion: I hiked a 5.4 mile section of the Appalachian Trail (AT) tracing the Tennessee and North Carolina border; lunched at a historic fire lookout station on Mt. Cammerer; and met a 62-year-old pharmacist whose retirement gift to himself was to attempt to thru-hike all 2,175 miles of the AT. Inspired, huh?
Afterwards, I nursed sore muscles of my intact limbs and weary feet, but my spirit soared. It was the undisputed highlight of my trip to the Smokies. I had deprived myself an entire arena of fulfilling experiences simply by being afraid.
The true test though will come later. Will I be able to face down other areas of my life that has me paralyzed by fear; where the stakes are much higher than say, a sprained ankle? When I am next on the edge of ‘the great unknown,’ will I be able to take that step of … faith?
Black Bear with two cubs
Six black bears in a span of two hours made for some interesting wildlife viewing
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