Trip to the Black Forest

Last Thursday I took off for the County (Aroostook, for the uninitiated) on Sahib, to go visit my woodlot and camp in the "Black Forest" before it's all thinned.  The logging operation has started and will last for a month or so.  I walked the lot with Bob the forester working with the Martin Forest Products crew and explained that my objective is to harvest with recreation and wildlife as secondary goals to forest health and income.  At first it was rather dismaying to see what I had wrought on what had seemed to me to be a "pristine" location, but upon reflection I realized that it was going to produce a better forest.  Bob cut me a slice off the butt of a spruce and determined that the plantation was about fifty years old, and that assuaged the guilt...the plantation was man-made and meant for harvest.

Above is a shot of the harvester as it undoes in ten seconds, what nature took fifty years to do.  I'm trying not to feel bad.

The trip was a lot of fun, despite the initial period of rain, which is an issue when you are on a motorcycle and sleeping in a tent.  Sahib did well despite the hot supper I fed him on the way up.  Trying to stay ahead of the weather and set up the tent dry; I pushed him to 75 mph (legal between Houlton and Bangor).  The manual cautioned about "...running the motorcycle at high speeds for long periods of time."  Well, they didn't specify how fast or for how long, but I have an idea.  When I stopped, I found him foaming at the mouth-frothy oil being blown out the air cleaner.  The rest of the trip was as mellow as the rest stop by the side of Madawaska Stream.  I enjoyed several great meals from Rita and Doug Anderson's kitchen and helped Doug with the new horse barn he is building.

Back in Westbrook, I hopped on another set of wheels and cycled out to see some motor-cross races with Bruce from Ernie's Cycle Shop.  One of the riders, Donnie, had worked at the shop when I did and was switching from downhill MTB racing to dirt racing.  That's Donnie leading here, on his way to a fourth place finish.

Is has flown off to L.A. to visit with her neice and new baby, and then is heading for a nephew's wedding in Virginia.  I am preparing for a trip to Flagstaff Lake with Nick.  More adventures to follow.  Cheers!

Fun on the Kennebec

Sunday last, we went fishing on the lower Kennebec with Nick & Susan.  Plenty of luck, good for the fish, bad for us.  But then, we had nothing to clean, no fish guts on the deck and fresh-smelling hands when it came to sandwiches and chips while drifting in an eddy.  After a very relaxing cruise, we stopped at their house and eventually decided to try fishing off the shore behind the house.  Nick's granddaughter, Camilla had allegedly caught a catfish there a couple of weeks ago, and I was dubious, having never heard of anyone catching catfish in the Kennebec, especially below head tide.

I learned that, not only are there catfish there, one of them is an omnivore.  Not having any traditional dough balls, dead squirrels, old sneakers or desiccated Spam to use as bait, we decided on peppered chicken breast and raw breakfast sausage.  The two-pound gastronome fell for a chunk of the latter and surprised the hell out of me.  The evidence is above (catfish is the one with the hook in its mouth).

The week has been spent cycling, painting, arranging repair for my four-year-old Frigidaire refrigerator.  I remember fondly the Whirlpool which lasted 25 years.  'nuff said.

Time here is winding down, and we've started to get the packing jitters.  Gotta weigh this, that, cull heavy stuff that we don't really need.  Unfortunately, I brought over several art books that I use frequently for reference and must travel back.  Added to that weight is the torque wrench and associated bits, adapters and sockets that are mandated by the purchase of a carbon-framed bike.  Guess I'll leave out the bottle of Mescal.  I spent about $160 to buy 15 kilos of extra weight allowance, hoping that would cover the bike.  It covers the bike box and torque wrench.  Back to the drawing board, I guess...

Amigos del Ciclismo cyclist wins award!

I can do this every year!  I didn't win the furthest-traveled award.  That went to a couple from Alaska who are riding an MS event in every state.  The six-pack of gritty McDuff's Summer Ale was the furthest-traveled-but-couldn't-drive-it award.  Shown here at presentation ceremony with daughter and Team Captain, Shannon and team member Sarah Currah-Shultz who both received 5-year trophies.

Awards

Team gathering before start

Looks like a bug to me!

Would you put that in your mouth?  Aside from eating stuff we can't get in Spain (lobsters, beef burgers with Canadian bacon, bleu cheese and pesto, refried macarni & cheese, Nick's ribs) we've been painting, cycling and driving to various appointments.
I'm having a bike sale.  Have road bike, touring bike, full-suspension MTB and (soon) my classic '70s steel frame roadie up for sale.  Trimming the stable and hoping to take some of the sting out of paying for the new bike.  I finally got the full-carbon bike I promised myself as a graduation present after the UBI course.  Didn't go for the Madone I originally wanted, but jumped on a Cannondale Synapse 3.  The long-ride comfort aspect sold me on it.  Now to prove it right with something longer than 30 miles.  Plan to do 25 out, Moody Mountain (Whaleback) and then 25 home this Sunday.  Should have a good idea how it will perform after that,
Safe cycling...

On the Airport ride

On the road again, though not on my bike.  After a very quick ride to Alicante, thanks to Dave Gartside and a good flight on EasyJet, we're in London under cloudy skies (no surprise there).  It is kind of nice to not be perspiring, and am trying to get over the novelty of seeing water standing in ditches and fields.  Paid 4.80 Sterling for a bottle of Peroni beer and am still quivering from sticker-shock.  I'm bracing myself for the onslaught of exorbitant swill that passes for wine on the moderate-price shelf back in Portland.  Already missing good ole Fidencio, the Eu.0.99 treasure.

Can't wait to get back on the old Trek and tackle Whaleback Road on Moody Mountain.  Salud!

Viva Espana!

This was the uniform of the day for Sunday, 1 July 2012.  We'd been watching the 2012 finals with our breath in our throats, wondering whether Spain would prevail.  Unable to sit still and wait for things to happen, I donned the shirt, jumped on the ancient Colnago and pedaled down the Rio Segura Trail to Formentera where I met David, Margaret, Mark and Jane in a sea of red and gold clothing spread across the plaza.  The place was packed; tables, chairs, wheelchairs, bicycles, children, grandparents, babes in arms and the rest of us-all with a glass or bottle in hand and a cheer in our lungs just waiting to explode.  And it did.  Goal #1 brought the crowd to its feet amid thundering applause, wild cheers and the hiss of skyrockets from every plaza in Spain.  And the game continued, as most of you know.  At half time, I jumped on the bike and hurried back to Algorfa and the plaza which had a television inside and in front of every bar.  The crowds were glued to the sets and the tension was palpable as Italy did its best to try and recover.  After a beer with friends there, I sped home to finish the game with Is an Tim who had decided to put their feet up and watch from the comfort of the couch.  The final two strikers' goals sealed the championship and we all exhaled and had the celebratory brew.  Viva Espana!

This may be the last entry from Spain til the fall.  We leave on the 15th and are just realizing that we have a lot to do in the two weeks.  Butterflies...panic...etc.  On top of all the preparations, cleaning, packing and paper-chasing I hope to do 900 kliks.  Yup, I've set another goal-10,000 kliks this year.  Sounds like a lot, but it's only about 6,250 miles, less than my previous high.  The real challenge will be to keep the pace up while in the US and then there are the down days in London during October.
Stay tuned...

20 June and looking toward September

Another scorcher and a ride into the foothills, with the Amigos, or at least a number of them.  The large group split up right at the starting point, Studz Bar in Benijofar.  About fourteen of us headed out in a faster group, heading for Abanilla.  A similar number headed of for parts unknown to me.  The hills separated our group with the Danish/Norwegian/German contingent charging ahead; the lone American holding up the middle and some Brits guarding the rear with one each from Jordan and Spain.  Not that they couldn't go faster, but they decided to stay with a slower member, while I got dropped by the faster lads.  After the coffee break, we split again, with the faster group (including me) heading off for a longer ride home through Santomera and the dreaded tunnel-climb in Oriuela.  As I anticipated, after we did the fast descent, we started climbing and flying on the flat.  I couldn't keep up with the 36-38 KPH speed, so I told them that I knew the way home and they should speed on withouot me.  Method to my madness-I avoided the climb to the tunnel and had a leisurely ride home, finishing with 95 kliks done.

  As you can see, I've been thinking of the September trip into Flagstaff Lake.  I'm looking forward to sitting on the rock, casting to pickerel and perch and sipping on a beer.  If you're interested, we can probably find another kayak or canoe.

No, it's not snowing here in Spain, but at times today I kind of longed for the cool.  The Amigos did the airport run and then toured the coast through Santa Pola, the salt flats and then through La Marina.  It was rather warm.  So why am I posting a photo of me in a snowy environment?  It's to remind you all that the MS ride is coming up, and that I'm soliciting funds again.  Please visit my page and open your wallet:
 http://main.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR/Bike/MAMBikeEvents?px=3818121&pg=personal&fr_id=17754 
Is and I are heading back to the States mid-July to whip the team, or what's left of it into a cohesive, tire-burning force-to-be-reckoned-with (if you'll pardon the dangling participle).  

Lately, I've been punishing myself on La Finca Hill, right near home.  It's three km up from one side and four up on the other side.  Reason for the penance is my poor performance on the Amigos' last foray into the Hondon Valley.  We went to Novelda last week and I wound up flaming out and walking about a km till I found my legs again.  Needless to say, the group got a nice long rest while they waited for me.  I figure that if I do La Finca at least twice a day when I'm not on a group ride, I'll not give the guys another lengthy rest period.  Maybe dropping my weight to 175 will help, but I'd rather not give up beer and bread, rice and wine...and all that.  But then, I'm not in Spain to eat twigs and grass.  C'est la vie.

Barcelona

Now to recap last month's visit to Barcelona.  It was interesting, to say the least.  An inauspicious beginning at Estacion Sants gave creedence to all the "pickpocket" warnings we'd received.  Is, her son Russell, his girlfriend Zarah, son Orrin (in stroller) and I were clustered around, discussing which metro line to take to our rented apartment, when we were approached by an excited young man waving a map and blustering in Spanish.  As I turned my attention to him, trying to decipher what he was raving about, his unseen companion snatched my shoulder bag and laptop case which I had carelessly laid at my feet by my suitcase.  Is spotted him and blurted, "your bag!".  I turned to see the thief about six feet from me, calmly walking away with my bag on his shoulder.  I grabbed him around the neck and pulled my bag away, then let him go.  As he ran off, I regretted not choking him out or breaking his fingers, or at least dropping him, but then it was in public...

The next day we covered a few galleries, had a great, though expensive lunch at Cal Pep, a jam-packed restaurant that specializes in seafood.  We arrived half an hour before they opened and were the second party in queue.  More sight-seeing for the others, while I went to a color lab to get some prints made of one of my paintings.  It took three visits, and cost lots of Euros, but I got some fine reproductions of  Banago River 7. I'll put it on display once I figure out how to do a watermark.

Day three found Is and me wandering around Barceloneta and crime-fighting again.  While we were seated on a park bench, I noticed a man on a bike approaching us and studying us more than casually. He realized I was watching him, and switched his attention to a fellow dozing on a bench to our right.  As we watched, he glided up behind the guy and reached over the back of the bench and was about to lift the dozer's pack, when I shouted, "Hey!", waking the intended victim.  The thief made a lame excuse about looking for a light for his cigarette.  No mention of the fact that it was someone else's pack and he didn't know the guy or have permission.  Thief cycled over to us and started cussing me out, insulting my mother and asking if I spoke Spanish.  I said I did, called him a thief and told him to  do bad things to his own mother.

This is a street scene I shot while sitting on a different bench, waiting (again) for another one of Nick's recommended restaurants to open.  We weren't disappointed and left fat and happy again.  We had wandered around much of the port area, and saw just about everything the average tourist sees.  The Picasso Museum was anti-climactic.  I had no interest in Sagrada Familia and found the Gaudi-designed park to be less than stimulating.  His style does nothing for me-go ahead, call me a Philistine.

My favorite piece of sculpture is the one that says, "Madrid?  That way!"

Our overall impression was that Barcelona is over-crowded with tourists, noisy and busy and not a place for the inattentive.  Not a relaxing city, though the metro/transit system is super and the cuisine very good, priced accordingly.  We were happy to head back to Comunidad Valenciana.

Happy Birthday (yesterday), Dylan.  Tried you on Skype, but figured you were out galavanting.  We're off to Barcelona tomorrow, plunder in our sights.  You'll have to wait till July for delivery.  We plan to go to the Picasso museum, and possibly Joan Miro's, hit some eateries that Nick recommended and I have to go to a printing firm to get digital files of a painting and then contract for a small run of prints.  


The citrus trees are in full bloom and the air is perfumed beyond my experience.  Cycling around with Is this afternoon, it was almost an olfactory overload.  Great day, except for high winds picking up a lot of dust from the newly-harrowed orchards and blowing pollen everywhere.  Allergies took a hit.  

I'm starting to find/recover a few of my images from various sources, cloud, flash drives and this machine.  The old laptop is resting (clean) in Westbrook, awaiting further tweaking and twitching.  I finally got the drivers for my camera loaded on this and should be able to post future pictures.  Fingers crossed.  Here's one of Dyl and H.

Monday the 16^th of April, 1500 hr: Sitting here, killing time at Logan Airport, wondering what is going to go wrong next.  It’s been an inauspicious start to a long, potentially error-fraught trip.  First thing-my taxi was late.  They had forgotten my call of last night, so at 1100, my 1030 cab rolled in.  No apology, but a quick trip to catch my 1130 bus.  The cabbie’s “No tip?” gave me the opening I’d been waiting for years to fill.  “I’ll give you a tip.  If you’re in a hurry, don’t call Westbrook Taxi.”

Next, my large bag was taken off at the wrong terminal.  I saw it sitting on the curb, all lonely and unclaimed as the driver boarded the bus.  When he asked what airlines we were all using, and I replied ” United-that’s my bag out there.”  He stated that somebody had put the wrong tag on my bags.  I replied that I’d used the tags the ticket desk had given me.  He told me that I needed to get off at Terminal C, not A. 

At the United desk I disturbed three chatting McJobbers by asking a couple of questions.  Turns out, I had been at the right terminal, the mix-up being that United had just eaten up Continental and nobody was sure what was going on.  So they checked in my bag, assuring me that it would be checked through to Madrid.  I don’t expect to ever see it again.  While checking myself in, using the machine that the loquacious three were irritated at helping me with, I kept seeing messages that one or more of my (two) flights may have been overbooked and offering me $150 funny money if I wanted to take a later flight.  N.F.W.

I then had my first golf cart ride to Terminal A, where the TSA was waiting to sink its teeth into me.  Apparently there is an alert about terrorists beating cabin crew with bicycle chains, and I had to explain why I had one in my carry-on.  Simple, it would have made my checked bag overweight and it was the heaviest small item that could be switched.

With one hour in between flights in Newark, I think I can guess what the next horror-show will be.  I think I’ll go get a beer…or two…

Algorfa 18/04 at 1950 hr. 

Rolled into Callosa yesterday about 1700.  I had all my luggage and was essentially on schedule by the optimistic timetable I had worked out ahead.  Nearly missed the train in Madrid as I was catching up on some Zs and didn’t hear the announcement.  Nodded off several times on the train, waking myself by snoring.  Fortunately it wasn’t by drooling on myself as I used to do in Economic Geography 101.  Pulled into Alicante with ten minutes to buy a ticket and catch the 1605 to Callosa.  The warning lights were flashing as I dragged my suitcases at speed to the train; and was seated for a minute when it pulled out.

My 0700 alarm wasn’t set, but I did crawl out of the sack at 0830 and proceeded to fix two bikes, cycle to Cyclogical for a seat post, cut it and re-assemble it for Russell, then hit the road again with him and Is for a total of 28 kliks.  San Miguel time now.  It’s good to be back-wish you were all here.

About to leave Rochester, N.Y. after a three-day visit with Andre and Brooke.  In celebration of Passover/Easter, we reluctantly forced ourselves to eat and drink too much; stay up too late and get little exercise.

One memorable moment was my first Garbage Plate, a local "delicacy"(?), which consisted of piled macaroni salad, cole slaw, cheeesburger sans bun and split hot dog covered with mustard and chopped onions.  I declined on what was offered as "meat sauce".  After my failed effort to clean my plate, I was informed that the meal was invented as a late-night effort to soak up alcohol.  Having got the order wrong, we then went to LUX to try and set our systems right.  Our morning after photo tells the whole story.

Today's ride

Mid-March in Maine

This is the bike I rode today. Although I have gotten both the Trek roadie and the Diamondback commuter fit and ready, I was seduced by the warm weather and the fact that the Enfield started on the first kick. After eight months of disuse, the critter fired up with a slight coughing fit and then settled into its usual rumbling idle. So I donned the necessary gear and meandered the back roads up to Nick and Susan's to retrieve the shaving kit I'd forgotten after spending last night with them. Once back in Westbrook I started dinner and began reading the inordinate pile of (crap) reading material and advertising that has arrived to herald my becoming eligible for Medicare. After one glass of excrable wine (nowhere near as good as Fidencio which costs a third) and seventeen pages I decided to do something meaningful. I washed dishes and came to play on thee 'puter. Am missing the cycling in Spain, but I hear that the weather over there has been quite wet. Glad I missed it. We're setting record highs here, with summer-like weather on the first day of Spring. Forecast is for 27C or 80F inland, tomorrow. Think I'll go take an Aleve for a splitting headache. Don't know whether it was caused by reading government brochures, money-grubbing adverts or the vinaigrette mis-labled as Merlot. Buenas Noches!

Early March in Alicante

Second of March and we've had some t-shirt days mixed in with sweater days. Got my first sunburn on a ride with the Amigos, and last Friday's trip to Guardamar Light. It is a small lighthouse on the end of a breakwater which protects the mouth of the Segura River. The breakwater is home to a tribe of fearless feral felines who relentlessly stalk a ham sandwich but merely turn their noses up at olives. Must not be martini drinkers. I like to set out on the hard-packed gravel trail around 11 and cruise along the south bank of the Segura, through citrus orchards, artichoke fields and a couple of towns; listening to my iPod and setting my cadence to the various tunes. Anyone trying to keep pace behind me would be befuddled as my tempo changes from Brubeck's "Take Five" to Morrison's "L.A. Woman" and then to Piaf's "Je Ne Regrette Rien".

If you look closely at the foot of the lighthouse, you will see the miscreant that made a pass at my sandwich while I was turned in the other direction to take the next shot. It shows the fishermen who patiently fling dough-balls at tiny fish, without much success, I might add. But then, fishing is not really about catching, is it? Anyway, I watched the closest fellow concoct his bait. He took a couple of handfuls of flour, mixed in some water and added what looked like decomposing shrimp before kneading it into a grapefruit-sized ball. He then tore off a chunk and placed it into a plastic jar and stirred in some more water (I presume) until it reached the consistency of chewing gum on a sidewalk in August. Then, winding some on a stick, he transferred a gob onto two small hooks, about the size of that which one would use for sunfish, on a drop-rig and cast out into the current. While I ate lunch and fended off marauding cats, he rebaited four times without threatening a fish. Beats mowing the lawn.

At the Orihuela Medieval Market Festival

Last weekend we went to Orihuela, a city near Algorfa, and a very historic spot. It was here that Ferdinand and Isabella joined their kingdoms (by marriage) and started the alliance which eventually became Spain as we know it. It is also where Ferdinand's friend and banker convinced the royal pair to fund an expedition by Cristobal Colon, leading to the America as we know it.

One shot is of a Quasimodo-like jester who was walking a large ball through the crowd. The other is of a baker with some massive loaves of bread. This was not a place to be when hungry, or broke. Orihuela hosts what is alleged to be the largest medieval festival, and it did not disappoint. We spent about four hours there walking through narrow booth-clogged streets; viewing all sorts of food, drink, baubles, leatherware, ironware, pottery-you name it. Lots of fun, but unfortunately it is held during the first weekend in February and not a warm time. Sitting in a sidewalk cafe quaffing mead and chewing on a shank of lamb would be much more pleasant in a t-shirt than a leather coat.

Some pics from Spain

This is a view of the Royal Palace in Madrid, taken through a gunport in a wall.

Did I mention the dramatic sunsets?

Mid-Winter break

Now this is the way to spend January.

Beach and boat

The boat is identical to the one on whch we were riding home from Saona Island. Racing along, side-by-side, bouncing off waves at break-neck speed was more appealing to the twenty-somethings than to us. Made my beer fuzzy.

February Edition

Finally got my puter back in working order. Nick very kindly sent me a replacement power supply which got here in 1/4 the time I waited for the local place to tell me that the one I ordered was still "in the mail". I hope they can sell it whenever it arrives. Anyway, we set off for Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic on the 23rd of January. Is wanted to go on a "Holiday", and I had the hardest time figuring out how to go on "Holiday" from retirement. After I spent days on white sand beaches, swam in transparent water, sailed a catamaran for the first time, ate too much, partook of limitless daiquiris, wine and whatever-I figured it out. Pictures to follow-somewhere in this post. Had a couple of cold days in Madrid, but played tourist around the Royal Palace and watched the hubbub around a funeral for a Provincial President. I have never seen so many cops in one place. There were Guardia Civil, National Police who even had a mounted detachment, and the Madrid Municipal Police. All told, there must have been about 200 visible. No telling how many were in plainclothes, on rooftops and inside the buildings, not to mention the black helicopters. We're experiencing a cold spell here, and high winds blown all the way down from the steppes. Everyone says that it's the coldest they've experienced, which leads me to wonder whether it's following me. Went out for a ride with the Amigos last Sunday and saw a shelf of ice where a puddle had been. At least the roads were dry. Heading West for Maine in March. Gotta collect papers and prepare to alleviate the national debt-at least that's what it feels like when I file taxes. I guess someone's gotta pay to send the Border Bastards to arrogance classes.