June 29, 2014 - Mooney Bay NY

Matt rigged up an awesome sail and he and Al coasted for a while today, but on the whole our rowers will be glad to leave the big waters of Champlain tomorrow for the Richelieu River.   They covered 38 miles and are spending the night in Mooney Bay, only 12 miles from the Canadian border.

They're well-positioned to clear US customs tomorrow by what they've heard is the closing time of noon.

June 24, 2014: Training by Actually Rowing

The Think System is behind me. Yesterday I climbed into my boat and rowed.  

Resetting the ergonomics of the sliding seat, ensuring the proper security and lubrication of the oarlocks, arranging the handy little bungee cords I use to secure stuff along the sides…to be honest, all of this took longer to accomplish than the actual seven-mile initial outing. And to be totally honest - and why not be?- this brief foray on the water was itself punctuated by two separate coffee stops: Brian’s house is 2.2 miles north of my mom’s, and I can always count on him for a strong cup ‘o Joe, great insights on the news, and the epiphany that if we both head north for 1.3 miles more, Bob and Tina will augment our coffee with muffins until, well, until it’s time to head home.

That’s how I got to seven miles, four cups of coffee, and two muffins by noon yesterday.  

“Al,” you may be asking, “what did seven miles, four leisurely cups, and two Everything Muffies teach you yesterday about your state of preparedness for your journey?

Yours is a fair and good question, Gentle Reader, one that should be considered in the incubator of history. In 1969, Apollo 11 took one and one half preliminary orbits around the earth, going nowhere but checking systems and gaining steam before heading off to the moon. But nobody sits down next to you in a diner, stares into the curdled cream in his coffee, and sighs, “Man, those Apollo guys sure were something to take those extra one and one half orbits before they headed off to the moon….” And when Indy was over, did anybody ask, “Hey, how many warm-up laps did Ryan Hunter-Reay take before that flag went down?”  I think not. And Hillary? She traveled 956,733 miles as Secretary of State, far more than I will in the coming weeks. Does anyone ever ask how far she rowed before she started her remarkable round of itinerant diplomacy?

I rest my case. We each prepare in our own ways. But the chickens will come home to roost on Friday morning at 7AM when the orbits end, the flag does down, the wheels go up, and Saguenay sits 560 miles off the bow.

Today, I rest. It’s my way.

Mo’ latah!

Al    

June 20, 2014: Still training. Training hard(ly).

Whew! Today I washed and waxed the Mini. “Wax on, wax off….wax on, wax off….” I imagined the stoical Mr. Miyagi standing by, arms folded, nodding imperceptibly as long-dormant musculature came back to life, generously overlooking the fact that Daniel-san was 14 back in ’84 and had something to work with. The Mini, significantly smaller than the ’46 Buick that was the object of the Karate Kid’s labors, enabled me to stumble inside to a training Guinness (“a food, not beer”) before any real damage was done.

“So much, for now, regarding the motor’s continuing overhaul, Al. Don’t let it get tedious. But what about the hull? What are you rowing?”  

Ah, Gentle Reader, thanks for the counsel and candor. You’re right. I’m (usually) only a few keystrokes from tedious if not already over the line. Let me try to pull it back from the edge.

Permit me to offer a tip ‘o the wide-brimmed hat and this link to the Adirondack Guide Boat Company in Vergennes, Vermont.  http://www.adirondack-guide-boat.com/ Having rowed my guide boat for more than a few thousands of miles through all kinds of weather, water, and “inadvertent contacts,” I can assure you that any superlative that these otherwise modest craftsmen ascribe to their boats is grossly understated.  Easily driven, stable under a load, and as durable as Vermont craftsmanship and Kevlar can make her, the Adirondack guide boat is the perfect vessel for this kind of trip. And if an elegant sheer line between plumb ends defines “salty good looks,” she’s got that, too. During The Big Row in ’06, I suggested that if parents ditched the jet-skis and put their kids into one of these boats instead, threw in a jug of water and some tuna sandwiches and told them to get lost for a few days, lives -and the environment- would improve. Better yet, if the parents themselves parked the Clorox Bottle, picked up the oars and a saucy Merlot and adopted, if only for a few days, the liberating spirit of enlightened discomfiture, things- big things- would be better yet.

So tomorrow (Saturday) I’ll actually climb into my boat for the first time this year and yes, the training (as defined by actually rowing) will indeed begin in earnest. I’ve already slapped some fresh varnish on the gunwales and oars, and it’s a tribute to these boats that so little has to be done to ensure safety for so long. Hands must harden and, to be honest, derrieres must acclimate (TMI?), as these are the repetitive-motion contact points with boat, but Old Paint herself is resting…waiting…ready.

No wax on, wax off for her.

Let’s just get going, she says.        

Big ups..’mo latah.

Al

June 19, 2014: This is Training?

I’m eight days away from pushing off on a 550 mile row, and I have yet to touch an oar since 2013.

“So, Al, exactly how have you planned to be ready? Surely there must be some preparatory activity in advance of, like, you know, the actual…rowing?”

Ah, Gentle Reader, an understandable question. And in asking it, I can pick up an endearing hint of concern in your voice, the tone one might hear six miles down the road in being asked, “Honey, did you turn off the oven?”

Let’s see. Training.

Well, Peg and I are on Chicken Duty this week, taking care of the ten chickens and six chicklets that live right around the corner from our apartment here on campus. If you were to accompany us on a typical round, you might readily agree that Chicken Duty counts as training, calling as it does for perseverance (waiting out a chicken as she decides whether or not to enter the coop at the end of the day), pain tolerance (absorbing the relentless pecks of the chicklets before you can place the feeding tray on the ground), and self-discipline (“Get up and do it again,” as Jackson Browne sang in ’76; the chickens are there every day, day after day. So, of course, is Saguenay.)

Not sufficiently rigorous? Well there’s more, of course:

Since The Norton Center for the Common Good is moving to new quarters this summer, I filled several boxes with books and papers- heavy books and dense papers- and then I deconstructed my Harkness Table which was built by a guy who does not know the meaning of “portability”.

I got a haircut on Tuesday and ate Sushi.

I walked to town for stamps on Wednesday. I’ll need stamps, I think, and I went to get them.

I watched Shark Girl on cable last night.

I’ve eaten a lot of the perishables in the ‘fridge. Can’t have them going bad while I’m gone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this row, and I’ve been looking at maps.

OK, OK….I see your point: there’s not a lot of rigor here. It may be that as on other rowing adventures, I‘ll get in shape by getting into the boat on 6/27 and starting to row. But there’s something to say about Professor Harold Hill’s inspired “Think System” (The Music Man, 1962). Hill, you may recall, opines, “You don’t have to bother with the notes” in mastering music. In the end the kids play the music, the parents are delighted, Hill is vindicated, and he gets the girl…a happy ending all around. Maybe I don’t need to bother too much with the strokes yet, either?

I’ll leave the Sojourn to Saguenay metaphor to you, Gentle Reader. You’ll do fine.

   

June 17, 2014

Greetings, Gentle Reader, and welcome aboard!

What follows, the documentation of my fifth rowing sojourn of significance (if one defines “significant” as, umm, like, well,uh….a few weeks on the water) may entertain, it may even enthrall, or it may more likely cure insomnia, but it necessarily follows in the wake of accounts of my earlier aquatic journeys:The Big Row (Albany, NY to Baltimore), Locked Up, Locked Down (The Erie Canal), Mr. Frei Rows to Washington, and Row Canada (Kingston, Ontario to Cleverdale, NY) are all in the books…the last one covering 502 miles over 18 days with Brian Rooney rowing gamely alongside as a wingman.http://mrfreicanadianrow11.blogspot.com/

This summer will be different.

“Different how, Al?” you may be wondering.

Good question, Gentle Reader.  Here’s how.

First, I will be starting in my home waters, not finishing there. The Big Row (Troy to Baltimore) featured a tumultuous welcome in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor by friends, Fox News, and even my own mother. At that time I was living in Baltimore, so “home waters” fits, right? The Erie Canal adventure ended in Troy, where I was born….the very definition of “home waters,”yes? Row Canada finished at the Lake George Club and a lobster; I’m not a member, but it’s close to my mom’s camp on the lake…so let’s call it “home” for the sake of adhering to atoo-hastily contrived theme, OK?

So here’s what’s up this time around: At O-Dawn-Early on 6/27,I’ll push off from my mom’s dock on Lake George, row north up Lake George, up Lake Champlain, and then up the Richelieu River to the St. Lawrence Seaway where I’ll hook a hard right towards- and then past- Quebec. I’ll hang a hard left when I get to the Saguenay River, meandering north as far as time and body will allow, finishing (I’m estimating) 550 miles or so from home waters in the vicinity of Lac St Jean. No bands, no Fox News (thank God), no glitter or glitz will mark my arrival - just a boy and his boat, a bit worse for the wear but enriched by the experience, slogging ashore, a bit thinner, perhaps, falling into Peg’s embrace and then into the Mini for a ride home.

Second, I’ll be starting with a wingman….but not finishing with him. My dear son Matt has procured a matching boat and will accompany me for the first 150 miles or so- maybe more if we get lucky with the winds on Champlain- and I could not be happier to have his company. He has to split after five days to get back to work, so along the way I may regale him with the virtues of the academic life and an academic calendar which make missing work in July…Ha! Academic! Anecdotally, among Matt’s very many virtues is his certification as a massage therapist, just the kind of guy an out-of-shape sexagenarian might hope to have along on the opening days of a rowing adventure, yes? More on this later, I suspect.

Third, I will be completing my journey through the Saguenay fjord, home waters of the Greenland shark. This is “different”because, Gentle Reader, the specter of the Greenland shark lingers once you’ve checked it out, as I have. Check it out:

http://planetsave.com/2013/06/02/greenland-shark-eats-a-polar-bear-sleeper-shark-facts-lifespan-diet-and-video/

It swims at less than two knots but eats pretty much anything in its path. Think “aquatic snow blower,” as my colleague Joe Neary has described it. While I can row at 4.5 or faster, much faster if I feel I am being pursued, I only hope that I don’t hit one of these fellows from behind, angering it into a burst of undocumented speed.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the “difference” of thisparticular row could be framed as a magical confluence of time and distance…or as an elderly pipedream masquerading as boyish enthusiasm. The hard fact is that when I push off from the dock on the morning of 6/27 fortified by a hot coffee, a warm Corn Toastie, and Matt’s supportive company, I’ll never have been older (a month or so short of 63, if you must know), and I’ll never have tried to row farther (maybe 600 miles if one counts scenicly motivated meanderings, precautionary courses, and wrong turns).

So, this will be a different row. But Viva la difference, as they say in Quebec, nes pah?

I hope I get there to hear it in person.

Gentle Reader, I’ll be documenting my preparation (such as it is)over the next ten days, and I’ll do my best to assure that you’re up-to-date on my progress (such as it will be) once I push off.  

I’ll be glad to have you aboard. It will make it easier knowing you’re vicariously in the boat with me, especially when that dorsal fin pokes through the surface. If I can row faster than the Greenland shark that’s after me, I can certainly swim faster than the virtual crew member who is not in the water with me.

Like much of what you may read later, that makes no sense whatsoever.

But it will.

Big Ups,

Al