Anticipation

Summer on my calendar has officially arrived. The fourth of July celebrations have already come and gone and Le Tour de France is underway! This morning the sun peeked over the horizon in California at 5:45 a.m., a comfortable 60 degrees, the skies were turquoise blue, the winds calm, bird’s singing quietly in the background, and the fresh smell of the trees filled the air. Well, not exactly, you see today’s chore was to empty and completely scrub the cats litter box. As you might imagine the smells were not exactly that of a floral bouquet. Anyway . . .

For me, summer continues to build the anticipation of this year’s annual high Sierra adventure. This will be my fourth consecutive year wildness backpacking near Bishop, CA. It’s less than two weeks away and my motivation for training increases daily as the trip approaches. My challenge is to not overdo it, maintain a balance between workout and proper rest.

As a devoted cyclist and French compatriot, anticipation always runs high with the start of Le Tour de France (Le Tour). This year’s 2,277 mile bicycle race was officially started by the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and Prince Harry. Saturday’s first stage of 118 miles began in Leeds with the finish in Harrogate. The familiar voices of NBC broadcasters Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen made it eminently clear that favored to win this first stage was Mark Cavendish. With England's Royal family waiting in anticipation at the finish to see their native countryman win, 984 feet from the finish line he crashed. Sadly, after all of his work to get to Le Tour Mark Cavendish is out after dislocating his shoulder. What a stark reminder that all the training and preparation is useless when your fragile body is injured.

The drama of yesterday morning’s Le Tour reminded me that as your body gets stronger you must exercise caution and care when training. Yes, accidents, I suppose, are inevitably a part of sport, but I’m moving forward alert and attentive. The last thing I want to do is inadvertently twist an ankle, or injure a knee. The slightest injury would end the trip before it even begins. Much like what happened to Cavendish.

Thankfully I can report my training regiment has been consistent. Since purchasing the new backpack I’ve logged over 30 miles with a loaded pack. Alternating between power walking, cycling, and hiking I’ve now logged over 150 miles since June 20th. Wow, that’s hard to believe!

So, today I’m officially designating it as a rest day. It’s still early, I wonder how stage two of Le Tour is progressing? With Cavendish out I’m sure last years champion, Team Sky’s Chris Froome will be the favored rider. Pardon me while I go flip on the television.

Stay tuned . . .

Comments

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

Engineering Beef Stew

On July 2nd—Day Two of what I call The Great Un-Working —I sat down with my morning notebook to map out this new chapter of my life. One goal made the list in bold ink: Learn to Cook. At seventy, I was adding a skill most people master before they’re old enough to drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying . My contribution to the culinary arts during my bachelor years–tuna mixed into Kraft Mac & Cheese. Let’s just say I wasn’t threatening her spot on the Food Network. But retirement changed the equation. I’m officially off the clock while Lori is still working. And I had a lovely thought: Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she came home after a long day to find dinner waiting? She loved the idea. Then came the question that haunted me for weeks: “What do you want to make?” I had no idea. Apparently, the first step in learning to cook is deciding wh...

When the Universe Calls in Sick

Take Thoreau’s Advice . . . Four weeks ago, we stood on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, trying to channel Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought a pocket-sized copy of his essay, Walking . It’s slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists didn’t have notifications interrupting their urge to wander. Thoreau’s counsel is disarmingly simple: step away from modern life's machinery and let the landscape recalibrate your perspective. Back home in Vista, I took that philosophy straight into the backyard. Thursday morning, ink-black, pristine skies arrived. I aimed my refractor at Jupiter, whose light has bathed Earth since mastodons roamed the plains. It felt cosmic. Profound . I left the telescope mounted overnight, convinced the heavens were on retainer for an encore at daybreak. Naturally, the universe called in sick. By sunrise, a wall of coastal fog had rolled in off the Pacific, sealing the valleys beneath a damp, gray Tupperware lid. After about th...

On The Fly

Search This Blog