From Pickleball to Walker: Who Knew? pt 3

 Wow...it was kind of like Covid-19, my memory of the hospital stay is fading fast, but I do get little flashbacks here and there. I need to write about the staff before I lose those memories. First off, when people speak of diversity, I usually think they mean one of every kind of ethnic group and sexual orientation. In this case, diversity meant to me, whoever was hiring, was after people that had some kind of pizazz or character trait that made them stand out. That was why I kept thinking I was on some kind of Wizard of Oz trip and wondering which one of the staff only needed a heart or a brain while we traveled down the recovery road.

The first distinct memory was of the guy I called the "backpacker". Nobody understood what I meant, but he was my first Physical therapist, a smaller thin guy with round John Lennon glasses and his hair in a bun...looking much like many of the guys I met on the Appalachian Trail, usually with taller girls that seemed much more excited about the hiking than the guy did. My backpacker Therapist tried to stand me up right after the surgery to demonstrate that I had full weight bearing ability...and I immediately passed out from the pain...twice. He finally went and found a large woman therapist who was able to get me to take two steps before I begged for mercy.

I knew I was down for a long time, and was hoping it all wasn't going to be in a wheelchair. One thing I did not count on was a bit of collateral damage to my groin area. I don't know happened there, all I saw was black and blue mess. Somebody asked me if I could pee and I replied, "with what? I can't even find it!" And that was how I came to meet the first of many characters that kept me laughing when crying seemed more like a correct response to the situation.

Nurses usually came one at a time, but there was a tag-team couple of nurses that I never got the right names of. All I can remember is they were both in their 30's or 40's and Latin. They had a running private joke that one of them was Jessican the Mexican...although both were Puerto Rican. I know from one of my own friends, Josh, that Puerto Ricans being mistaken as Mexican is a joke...not 100% sure I know what that joke is, but those ladies both laughed a lot when referring to Jessican the Mexican. When I met them, I already had my room fixed up to keep me from being bored to death and I had a music keyboard and a computer. They all knew I was a musician and was working on writing songs about my journey from happy-go-lucky to screaming in pain to recovery. These two ladies were actually my first inspiration for a song when one asked the other (like I wasn't there), "What exactly did you do?" Jessican replied "I cleaned his thing with the GNC." The other said "What did you just say?!"

At this point, pain was forgotten, and I was giggling as I composed my first recovery song about how my life turned around when the nurse cleaned my thing with a GNC. 

BTW, I'm not sure if I got the acronym right, but it was some long-handled tool that was used to keep you from getting a Urinary Tract Infection...which I got anyway...but from that day on, I spent my time looking for the spark in each of the staff I would meet to figure out what made them special to get hired there...and I found some doozies!

 

 

From Pickleball to Walker...Who Knew? pt. 2

The video above depicts the end of the hospital/rehab part of the journey. One of the truly strange aspects of this whole trip, was how I became famous as the "pickleball guy". It seemed to start with me in the emergency room, hoping that I had just somehow dislocated some joint in my hip and that somebody would just say "on 3, 1....2...snap!" and I would be just like new. That turned out to not be the case and my newfound friend, Jon, took one look at my foot flopping and shook his head. He told me I was getting the best surgeon around and that he would make sure I'd be back on the court in no time.

It didn't sink in quickly. I'd never spent the night in a hospital before, much less with the CEO of the whole place standing by and telling me stories. He was a neighbor of the folks we were playing pickleball with the day I got injured. Somebody made a call, and man, did I get the red carpet treatment. Jon told me stories about him playing tennis and pickleball and how he was going to be more careful after seeing what happened to me. I remember telling a nurse a few weeks later how cool this guy was, and she replied that she had once spoken to him for 5 minutes and was wowed. Many times during my stay, I wondered how much he had intervened on my behalf. I don't know if I was at the best hospital, but I did know that I was getting the best service that hospital could offer.

Soon, I had x-rays that were shared around as everybody wanted to see how the surgeon had fixed my spiral femur fracture...and they would say in the hallway, "are you the pickleball guy?" One of the head nurses, a petite Filipino woman near my age, always jumped when she saw me. Whipping out her phone and showing me photos of her husband playing league games. "He's rated 4.1!" she exclaimed. I had no idea what that meant, except that I barely knew how to keep score...but they didn't know that. "Yeah, I was a 4.5, the last time I got rated," I replied dryly. Knowing that she was the full-on cartoon version of the Asian mother, I added, "By the way, my blood type is A+!" She looked serious for a moment and then started showing me some more photos of her husband on the traveling circuit of Pickleball pros in Florida. 

Yep, no one was ever going to know that I was a rank beginner that fell over his own feet...the bigger they are the harder they fall...that saying had a brand new meaning to me now...

 

From Pickleball to a walker..who knew

 

 

3 weeks in a hospital...I'm still processing that as I prepare to leave this rehab center where there are two options: get better or go to a nursing home. It's been a huge journey and one that has been full of characters that could have populated a story like the Wizard of Oz.

In a huge bit of irony, a repeating phrase from a seasoned pickleball guy kept coming back to haunt me. It started simply as something fun to do with Taylor while at the gym. We didn't know how to keep score or anything, just having fun beating the ball back and forth, and then we watched other people play and saw how serious they got and the thought started seeping in "hmmm, we could beat those guys.."

One of the senior guys in the group we frequently saw playing, cautioned me that the local emergency rooms were full of injured pickleball players. "Never chase a ball that's past you, never go after a high ball." I basically thought the problem was that really old, decrepit folks were trying to play this simple game.

Then came the day of our first real test as a doubles team, playing against a couple of younger women that were pretty good. Me, as the big guy, I just needed to show that I could return any shot that could come my way. How did I get to this point, I don't know, but I was happy, excited and on fire until the moment I charged the net, missed the ball and crumpled like a rag doll on the ground.

Soon I was surrounded by 3 concerned women and a team of EMTS that decided they might as well bring the hook and ladder truck just in case. I was like "I'll just walk it off" until I saw my foot flopping on the ground and realized that I could not even move an inch without screaming like a little girl.

Soon, I was carried off in an ambulance and began the journey from happy-go-lucky to discovering the true meaning of pain. However, this story is not about pain, surgery and medicine, it is about the parade of characters that filled my life in the next 3 weeks. The closest experience I've had is on the Appalachian Trail, where you briefly meet someone, and sometimes learn something about them that blows your mind.

I would have to say, that one of the craziest bits was meeting the CEO of the hospital and having him keep up with me the entire time. He loves Pickleball, and apparently many of the doctors are into as well. It is very possible that I influenced them to be more careful on the court...but let me tell you about the medical folks that cared for me...it's the part I don't want to forget.

 

390 miles through the mountains on loaded bicycles: Whose Idea was that? Part 2

 

Steve and I have a few things in common, one of them is getting up early, extreme early. We left the RedRoof Inn in the dark, ate a large meal at the WaffleHouse and then set off with our bikes loaded all the way up, on the downhill route through town to find the actual trail. By the time the sun was up, we were already cruising along, wondering what we were going to do with all the extra time because we were riding so fast. The countryside was beautiful and it was great to see it without the constant curtain of rain we experienced last year. We didn't really know how fortunate we were, until the locals started  telling us about how much rain had come before we arrived. Soon, this was evident in the muddy trails and I was never so glad that I had purchased fenders for my bike right before we left on the trip.

It was surprisingly warm up there. We expected from the 40's-70's and it was more like the mid 80's. I had one pair of shorts in my pack and that's what I wore the whole expedition. I was really getting into the trip and was thinking that we would sleep like babies when we finally got to our destination for the night: a bed and breakfast called the Bikepath B&B in PawPaw, West Virginia. It was a town so small, that I think the audience for a Friday night high school football game in my town might dwarf the population here. It was about a mile off the trail, and we followed our GPS, me with dreams of a T-bone steak, baked potato, and perhaps a fresh garden salad with some locally-sourced dressing at a little diner where the chef might come out of the kitchen to make sure my steak was just the way I wanted it. Reality soon came into view. Our spot for the night was an old house, with a handprinted sign. I had misgivings right off, and then realized plan B was camping on the side of the trail without any camping gear. Then it came to mind that I saw nothing like a restaurant nearby and the advice being given was that the only gas station in town also had a grill and made good hamburgers. It was about then I started trying to remember what I trying to accomplish, I knew I wanted out of my comfort zone, but that was to be done by riding my bike longer than I ever imagined. Somehow, I had also imagined each night I'd have a wonderful meal and perhaps a masseuse with lots of experience with deep tissue massage.

We did get a great breakfast at the B&B and also made friends with a couple and their dog. The day looking like another good one, and we were facing the big deal: we had to climb the mountain to get to our next night's stay, which was a hotel, hopefully that had chocolates on the pillows and a large shower in the bathroom and a big screen TV that got something besides Fox News....We got half a mile from the B&B and Steve had a flat tire. Looking back, I realized that was one of the better parts of the day...

390 miles through the mountains on loaded bicycles: Whose Idea was that? Part 1

 There is something wrong with people like me. We see something that sounds difficult and uncomfortable and think, "Wow, I'd like to do that!" Unfortunately, I have a couple of brothers that feel the same way. We find fun sports and start contemplating how it would be possible to remove all the fun and make it more like really hard labor. This was how this adventure was born in our minds, when one of Paul's friends told us of a trip up north on a long rail-to-trail that was nothing but misery. Our ears pricked up, and we started thinking about how we could get involved in spending days riding full loaded bikes up a mountain and then spend our evenings in somebody's guest room in an old house.

If you have read any of my work before, you probably know that we already attempted this in 2023, and came home with our tail between our legs. Sickness, broken bikes, and a week of solid rain and cold, convinced us of one thing: We must try again! This adventure consists of 2 trails, The Allegheny Gap Trail from Pittsburgh to Cumberland, and then the C&O Towpath from Cumberland to Washington DC. Apparently, last year, when it was raining and miserable, we did the easy part. I didn't fully understand that part until I started reading about why they named it the "Allegheny Gap". It means that they found a low point in the mountains to run railroad tracks from Pittsburgh, but that low point is a relative thing, especially to Floridians.

This time, we started where crapped out last year: The Redroof Inn in Williamsport, MD. You might be thinking, "Wait a minute! That's a hotel, sounds good to me!" I'd tell you that if you ever need a cheap room, where you can bring your muddy bike in with you and nobody cares...it's perfect. If fact, they let us leave my car there for a week while we took off on our biking trip. They were great people, and there was a Waffle House right next door. Would I take my wife there for a vacation? That's tough. She has endured a lot, but this would have been next level, me never allowed to select a hotel again, kind of stuff.

Nevertheless, We took 2 days to drive up, dropping Paul off on the side of the road for his backpacking trip, and then left Tuesday morning, me, all pumped up and ready to take on the mountain, Steve shaking his head that somehow, my CPAP machine broke during the drive up, and I had to go without. I promised I wouldn't snore at night....

Two Old Coots and the Tow-headed kid

 

I was sleeping that great way you can when it's cold out and the only way to stay warm is to keep the sleeping bag pulled up the way up over your head. You know it's dark outside and getting out of that bag merely means the pain of the upcoming day is about to begin. Sure, there will be wonderful sunrises and sunsets. The sky will be clear and blue, and the leaves will be in the midst of changing to the vibrant colors that happen in the fall. BUT...you will be seeing and feeling all of that while carrying a large pack with tent, sleeping bag, and all of the supplies for 5 days on your back while marching uphill with small breaks to eat some food that tastes like something from a vending machine that hasn't been serviced in five years. Yes, there are times when it seems like the best part of the day is right before you crawl out of that sleeping bag.

At some point, I looked at my watch and marveled that it still seemed dark at 7am, and thought, if we don't get going, the uphill marching will continue farther into the night than I might prefer. I pulled on enough clothes to make it worth venturing out to attempt a decent cup of coffee.  I had the tent half unzipped when this head floated into view, saying "I have a great deal for you!". It took me a minute to register where I was, who I was, and I had to hold my hand up, while I realized that it was Levi, my grand nephew, the only 12 year-old I'd ever met that wanted to go backpacking with a couple of old guys. Levi kind of reminded me of myself at 12 years old, except that I remember me as being a shy bookworm, that loved science fiction, and books in general, much more than any physical activity. If this kid had any of my DNA, it was polished up, and refocused in a totally different direction. He was tall, thin, with a shock of blonde hair, and a personality that knew no enemies, just prospective friends. He was smart and could talk a mile a minute, and that's what was happening now. We had arrived on this trip with me in a solo tent and Levi and his grandfather sharing a two-man tent. The idea was that Levi might be scared sleeping alone in the woods and having his PopPop nearby might offer some comfort. This was our first morning after sleeping under the stars and Levi already decided the sleeping arrangements could be improved. 

    "So, I could sleep in your tent tonight and you and PopPop could sleep in the other tent together!" My guess was Levi was thinking I might enjoy Paul's snoring, and Paul might enjoy mine. I almost felt sorry for the kid for a hot moment and then replied, "You're on your own, kid. I got my tent and that's where I'm sleeping!"

 

Traveling The Potomac River The Hard Way: Part 2

 

It sounded great on paper. An epic journey beginning with riding the Amtrak train from Winter Park, FL to Washington DC and then riding bikes from there to Cumberland, MD on the historic C&O trail, stopping at hotels in small towns and sampling the food and culture along the way. It was to be an escape from the incessant Sunshine and heat of Central Florida. The talk of this trip began way before the whole Covid Pandemic and much of the discussion was, could we even pull this off? What kind of bikes would we need to make the trip. In the beginning, we were riding lowslung Catrikes and were told they couldn't go on the train, nor would they work very well on the rough conditions of the trail...fast forward to 2023 and we were on lightweight e-bikes that weighed less than the 50 pound limit of Amtrak and had enough range to last a day. We started attempting long distance trips close to home, loaded down with saddlebags, seeing if we could really do 60 mile a day for multiple days. 

We booked pretty far in advance, as the space for bikes is limited on Amtrak, and what started getting a little spooky as the trip was getting closer...the weather forecast...

It was hot, but not that kind of hot where you can smell the asphalt melting under your feet. Steve and I were standing alongside the railroad track in downtown Winter Park, FL. A quaint little place in central Florida, populated by  the very rich and those who serve them. It was one of those places where the phrase "the wrong side of the tracks" came from. On one side was Park Ave and the blocks of shops that sold things that didn't have price tags on them...the kind where if you had to ask, you could not afford them.On the other side of the tracks was Hannibal square. The place where black folks used to live, and is now populated with hipsters that paid lots of money to have a small old house on a tiny lot, with a new Tesla parked out front. 

We waited patiently, wondering what was ahead, when we started feeling the train coming from the vibrations at our feet. Moments later, our bikes were handed up to the gentleman in the baggage car and we were welcomed up and into our roomette on the sleeper car. It was calm and exciting at the same time. Nothing much like an airplane terminal in Orlando. We had our own concierge and he took us to our room and explained how everything worked. My first impression was that it was a long time ago that this train was new, and it must have been built for smaller people. Neither Steve nor I are small and we were jammed in, facing each other...for the next 17 hours. The seats folded together to make a single bed and there was some kind of contraption that pulled down from the ceiling and made a top bunk. Steve took one look at that and said, "You are sleeping up there!" By this time, the train was rolling down the track and I was looking at a familiar landscape from a totally different perspective. I was thinking this was going to be much better than backpacking. I mean I had a really good bike, some electrical motor help if I needed it and it wasn't going to be hot like Florida...the only thing was, I was still getting over a really bad cold I had picked up a week before. I was gulping Steroids, Anti-biotics and cough medicine. It was going to be epic, I just knew it. Our Concierge came by and request our dinner desires and things were really looking up. A few hours later, we lurched our way up to the dining car, just like in the movies and picked up our trays. There was plenty of food. It wasn't awesome, but it was way better than some things I've had before and since. We sat together in silence in the dining car, munching on steak while looking at the industrial landscape rolling by us...that part was nothing like the movies. Apparently, where they put the railroad tracks in Florida is the equivalent of looking out behind a restaurant....they must figure nobody is ever going to look at that. We started seeing rain, and kept telling each other that it was just sprinkles and that will just cool stuff off a bit..then I started noticing how deep the mud puddles were in the fields...and it was raining harder..

 

Traveling the Potomac River the Hard Way: part 1

 

I’m having this well-known feeling of dread. In spite of being prepared six-ways from Sunday for every possibility, here I am. It’s starting to get dark, traffic is rushing all around me, and I’m pushing my fully loaded bike up yet one more hill. I’m in Bethesda, Maryland. I don’t know why, and I don’t where exactly where my hotel room is and my waterproof phone inside a waterproof case is acting very much like water is winning the war. I’m down to a couple bars of battery and I have no idea of what happened to my battery-backup brick. I’ve been pushing for hours and ahead of me is one more steep hill. Steve calls me from the hotel to say he is following me on the locator app and that I’m heading in the wrong direction. I’d like to stop and discuss this, but I’m also noticing a guy across the street waving his arms and yelling at the passing cars. He sees me, and decides to cross the crowded six lane highway to come over and help me with the bike. I’m tired, medicated, soaked to the bone, and almost ready to hand this $4000 bike over to anybody that would like it. Of course, any would-be robber might notice that one of the crank arms and pedals is missing. Yes, even expensive bicycles can break, and when this kind of failure occurs, pushing is the only option.

I know, you are already thinking, me? I’d just call Uber! I did that, and the Uber guy pulled up, looked at me and drove away fast….yeah that was a one star review, and then I got really unhappy when Uber told me I got charged $8 for the guy to come look at me and drive off. Before that point, I was even smarter (my brain cells were dying off at a rapid rate). I had pushed the bike to a Home Depot, and rented a truck to carry it to the hotel, somewhere off in a distant place, that seemed so much closer when I had two functioning pedals. I ran inside Home Depot, waited patiently, while dripping everywhere, and people staring at me and my muddy, loaded-up bike. Got the keys to truck, ran out to Steve and rolled up the back door and turned to see Steve’s face. It wasn’t good. I turned back to the truck and it was loaded to the ceiling with used drywall material. The Home Depot crew came out, tsk-tsked, took photos and mumbled about how somebody was in big trouble…but there were no more trucks, and nobody wanted to unload the drywall….if I had known how the day would proceed after that….I would have unloaded the truck by myself…Meanwhile, Steve decided he needed to pedal on to the hotel to make sure the bed was made correctly…

A Black Night On The Trail

 

 

 

 

I was sitting on the step of a shelter on the Appalachian Trail, doing what I normally do while on the hike, pulling everything out of my backpack, looking for the one thing I need that always seems to be on the bottom. I think I need a special pack that opens on the bottom and that might be my one big contribution to the backpacking community. While I'm examining the contents of my pack and marveling at how many things I've brought along that I have yet to use, I'm listening to brother Paul tell his famous stories to a young couple that we met at the shelter. They were quite an oddity. Both were in their early 20's at most and both were fair-skinned red-heads. My kids are redheads and I'm often told by my daughter that red-heads do not go together. I'm not sure if that is some genetic thing, or just that two wildcard personalities don't usually match. But, this time it did and the second thing I realized about them is they were really scared. They were sitting  very close, knees touching and holding hands while they told the story of their last few days to Paul. I was trying not to listen, but did anyway and soon I was getting goosebumps and wondering if I could make it all the way back to the car without stopping....and that would have been an incredible feat, because it was getting late in the day and the car was an 8 hour hike ahead of us.

I frequently marvel how worry and fear can consume me, yet many things I do all the time don't bother me much at all. If my brain can find some kind of math that makes me feel good, I'm fine. For example, surfing. Many people worry about shark attacks, and I live in a place where that is more likely than others, but what I know is that I am way more likely to die of drowning while surfing than from a shark attack, so I spend my energy making sure I'm safe from that...at least until I see a big shark fin heading towards me, then everything changes. Fear on the trail is a different thing. I've learned that the small sounds you hear in the night are not bears, no, even medium sounds are probably raccoons, A bear would sound like a dinosaur plodding in the dark. What IS scary is footsteps, careful, deliberate footsteps.

The young couple was asking if we minded stopping here at this shelter and spending the night with them. That was something I had never heard before. Usually hikers want solitude and hope that you are moving on. These two were hoping we could lend some protection from this ominous person they had met several times and thought he might be stalking them. They described him as an older homeless-looking guy with wild eyes that loved telling horror stories. The girl relayed one that I cannot forget to this day. The man said he had been hiking all day and was running low on food and came to an opening in the woods where somebody had placed some trail magic. Trail magic is a hiker term for presents people leave in the woods for fellow hikers, usually it is food, sometimes, it is something you can't usually get in the woods like a cold beer in an ice chest, but it is always something that brightens up your day in a large way. This time, he did find a large ice chest, and ran for it, hoping for some cold drink and something to eat. He opened chest and found it full of raccoon heads. Somebody had gone to all of the trouble to kill a dozen raccoons and leave their grizzly remains behind for a terrible joke on a hiker.

His wild eyes gleamed at the young girl as he reached that part of the story and she slowly realized that he was the one that had placed the dead raccoons in the ice chest. They left him soon after that, but he was calling after them, asking if they were planning on staying at the next shelter and to save him a place to bunk. They ran as fast as young folks can with full backpacks, and knew that they were now deep in the woods with a crazy person. Their hope was Paul and I. 

This is where my low-level reptilian self takes over...there is no way I'm sleeping in the woods, waiting for crazy guy to show up. "We hike all night until we make the car. I'd rather die from exhaustion than getting chopped up by a serial killer!" Paul wanted to make a stand, find a big stick, make booby-traps, surround the guy, tie him up and take him into the cops.

While this discussion was going on, my brain was also flashing how this would be a great story if i survived, and if I didn't, perhaps that "found diary" would be my "black Travis McGee story". That certainly needs explaining. A part of our society has wanted to clean up our literature, in an effort to show that we are better than we used to be. John D. MacDonald's books may someday fit into that category. He was an old guy, writing that kind of stuff we still get today, where tough detective guy solves the problem while disposing of the bad guy and getting all the chicks...except that in John's day, the female characters weren't too well fleshed out, and the black folks they got even less. Me? I think we need to remember how people were and we read that stuff and didn't complain. I'd like to think we've moved to a higher plane, but I'm not so sure. John did one particular thing with all of his Travis McGee stories: they all used a color in the title. There was a large rumor in the literary community that when John died, he left behind a manuscript that was the "Black Travis McGee Story", the one in which Travis died. No one ever found such a story, but that particular night it occurred to me that this might be the Black Ed Perkins story.

We pushed on, using headlamps and eating whatever we could while walking. All the while listening for footsteps behind us, and that my friend, was the fear feeling I carried with me for a whole night.

We got home, laughed about it, then read in the news that a homeless man that had been traveling up and down the Trail had killed two people with a machete. The description was that two young men had tried to restrain the man while the woman with them ran ahead...Those two young men died. The woman ran the trail for 6 miles......running 6 miles in the woods and knowing your friends were getting murdered behind you....that is a real fear....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Wilderness Of Things That Need Some Explaining: Part 3

 I've had a few times in life when my senses totally let me down. Where this happens the most is on the water. I remember looking across a bay from my kayak and thinking "What is the world is a large cruise ship doing in this bay?" and when it finally gets close, it's a small shrimp boat. I'm pretty aware that my brain is trying to make sense out of something with bad information. 

That was happening to me tonight. There was a pink light floating out there in the woods. This is the same woods where the wild PTSD guy was menacing us earlier in the day. There was also a guy running around somewhere out there with a sock over his head and I was starting to feel like a kid that had been told one too many scary stories around a campfire.

My pulse was racing and I realized that being alone is quite a bit different than sitting around with my two armed brothers that are also karate experts. I was hearing crackling sounds behind me and then to my right and I knew then that there is a distinct amount of worry that I can handle at one time. Then I felt the wet touch of something with a really bad smell. I turned to face the monster alone, still not registering the full amount of fear that was working it's way up my chest and wanting to be born as a full blown scream, when my brain did another one of those tricks. Suddenly, the monster came into view, and it was a huge Pitbull dog with a large pink harness with glowing LED lights all over it. Confusion reigned with knowledge that I was alone in the woods with a wild pitbull dog and the cute pink harness claiming that she was a friendly girl...In the end, the pink harness did define the situation, and once she determined that I was a nice guy, she laid down by the fire, just out of reach.

Not much later, the guys returned from their ride and the pink-alien dog ran off. Nobody believed my story, and many laughs were heard around the campfire as I tried to explain what had happened. 

As wild as the weekend seemed to be in my head, we had a blast getting jeeps stuck in the mud and driving places where it would have taken a tractor to get us out. It was almost perfect until I backed into a tree leaving the campsite....good news...I had not worried about that beforehand at all!

The Wilderness Of Things That Need Some Explaining Pt 2

Wednesday was a day driving of going down endless intersecting dirt roads, and at one point I was 100% sure of where I was going...and I was wrong. Jeeps are just amazing in that they seem to like going places that would have killed other vehicles I've owned. When I first bought the Jeep, I pretty much thought I would be the guy that had fun owning one, but never actually getting in a situation where I needed 4 wheel drive. My brothers made sure that was not the case, and right off the bat there was "Do you think I can make it? Hold my beer!". Then we took out the bikes and rode another trail for hours until we figured we could follow the power lines and somehow end up back near our campsite. Paul was our scout, and the crazy guy had not seen Paul before, so he rode through the area, and saw the guy yelling into his phone that he was being attacked by Jeepers and they need to get a ranger out here now! We decided to spend some more time riding around and perhaps venture back late in the day. I was suggesting that perhaps we should camp in Paul's driveway, while Steve kept pulling out his gun and seeing if there were any bullets in the clip, sort of the way I keep checking my back pocket to make sure I brought my wallet. Meanwhile, Paul is talking about how this is turning into the best trip in recent history, and we haven't even set up tents yet!

We rode until our butts wore out from the bouncing, and finally decided around 3:30 to see if the guy was ever going to leave. He was gone, but now the other sites were full. There were still embers in the campfire, and as a weird sidenote..that fire was going the whole time we were there. I'm not sure about much else with that strange guy, but he was a hell of a fire starter.

We got our stuff set up and sat around the fire discussing meals, politics...nowadays we start with "Not to be political, but...", and what kind of crazies are in these woods. I remembered that my Dad spoke of camping solo in Ocala and the large group of Rainbow people up there. About that time, I started noticing a single character walking around the 3 campsites, as if looking for something. Strange manner of dress for this place. He/it was wearing tight clothes like you might wear for skiing and a headpiece that totally had no features. It looked like a giant black sock with no holes for eyes or mouth. I was more than a little bit freaked out, but Steve said it was probably mosquito netting, while he tightened his grip on his shoulder holster. Me, I was looking for signs of some kind of giant sword or knife. After a while, he was gone and I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. The guys did not seem worried, and Paul said what we really need is a night ride in the woods! Yeah....I don't know about that, but I had a whole different problem, because as we pulled our bikes out to ride, I realized I had a big flat tire. They rode off while I sat at the campfire, content to work on my bike, none of the worries of real life, and pretty sure that SquidGames boy wasn't coming back in the dark...or at least I wouldn't notice it if he did. 

I fixed that tire in record time, pretty good considering I was working with a flashlight and strange noises in the bushes from time to time....Guys? Is that you? No answer...but there was this glowing pink circle floating in the woods, it almost seemed as if it was slowing making it's way towards me. I quickly grabbed a bicycle tire tool in defense...not really sure if that was going to stop an alien...
 

The Wilderness of Things That Need Some Explaining Part 1

 

I sat back for a minute in my Walmart campstool and wondered just how many things could go sideways in one short trip. The three brothers in adventure were trying something totally new: Primitive camping in a state forest. Yes, there were designated sites, with a picnic table and a fire ring for campfires. Bathroom facilities? One community Port-o-let, shared by the 5 campsites. Unisex, you might ask? Well, if a woman ever ventured out in these woods, she wouldn't be the kind to stand in line for the ladies room in a bar while the mens room stood empty.

Perhaps I should concentrate on the things that went right. We all have jeeps, and great electric mountain bikes, and weather that any northerner would give their paycheck for right now. It was cold enough to wear a light jacket and sleep easy in a good sleeping bag in a tent, after enjoying a roaring campfire. The Cedar Creek Campground really seemed like a place nobody could ever find, but I did find it with google, after ignoring Siri's constant suggestion that I try the Cedar Creek Campground up in Middleberg....either Siri has a quirky sense of humor or she doesn't know that Middleberg was having some serious non-camping weather.

My first day started off awesome, with little idea of what was ahead. I was rolling down A1A, taking the scenic route with the top off, once it warmed up enough. The tide was high and the waves were big with really clean faces from the light offshore wind. I was sipping on my second cup of coffee when Steve called to let me know that he was on the way as well and soon we could meet at the entrance of the state forest. I pulled off the main highway onto a dirt gravel road, and mere seconds from civilization, I was already missing running water, electricity, and toilet paper, and I hadn't yet reached the campsite. Right off, I ran into a snag. The gate was locked with no attendant, and another guy was letting himself in...I walked over and he made the sign of the cross and said I needed my own code...he drove off before I could even reach Paul on the phone and figure out what the deal was....it was all handled on the internet and somehow he didn't check his email or something and eventually we got a code. Once in, I was driving down two ruts with grass growing up...so what was back here that needed us locked out?

About thirty minutes later, Steve and I met up and found our campsite. The only problem was that somebody was in it. We found a empty site and sat down to soak in the peace and quiet until it was our turn to set up.  It was surprising that so far from anywhere that only one site out of four was unoccupied on a weekday morning..who are these strange people that want nothing but to park somewhere in the woods? That was a question I probably should have asked before now because, a tall, lean man that looked to be in his fifties, came stomping out of site 4, heading towards Steve saying "What are you looking? Why are you looking at me?" I had visions of characters from the movie "Trainspotting". He was as angry as any drunk I've ever seen in a bar, right before a fight. As he strode towards my brother, his hands were clawing at his flannel shirt as if his muscles could no longer be contained within the fabric.  Steve stood his ground calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation, saying soothing things like "No worries, we were just trying to figure out which campsite is the one we are supposed to get". My mind was racing, either the guy had a knife in his waistband and would get Steve before I can even make out the words, or Steve karate's the guy into the hospital, or worse..guns come out. At the minimum, I'm thinking the rest of the week will be spent in the Sheriff's office while they grill us one at a time for our stories. "Yes sir, I would like a cup of coffee with cream...and I'll take one of those cigarettes too, just in case I need something to barter with in the big house".

We decided to drive off and figure a new gameplan. Steve had his gun out, showing me his new clip that holds 30 rounds...I marvel at it while wondering if I would still keep firing at a zombie, or meth-crazed lunatic if the first 8 shots didn't do the job. I was thinking, game-over, dude! Even if we could trust the guy would leave when he was supposed to..how could we be sure that he wouldn't come back at night and do the Easy Rider on us? Steve is discussing shifts, taking turns on guard duty, making sure that each us of had a loaded gun and were ready to take on the enemy...I was thinking how unprepared I was for this and a little bit worried about how prepared Steve was.

Finally Paul showed up and we shared the story with him. Far from thinking we might need to camp somewhere else, his eyes got a little twinkle and he said This trip just got interesting...."

Ollie And The Tribute To The Worst Campsite In The World

 

 As is usual, I was griping about how we haven't been camping for a real long time, and Pam declared once the state cools down enough to sleep without sweating, she's ready to consider some time in the woods. Unfortunately, everybody in Florida, in addition to everybody that owns a camper up north agreed with her assessment. 

I opened up my browser and started searching for open campsites at all of my favorite campgrounds. Yep, everything is booked up everywhere. I always hoped for the day I would retire and be able to do stuff on weekdays when everything wasn't so crowded...little did I know that millions of people were retiring when I did and had similar plans. I did find some spots, maybe not the best campsites, but at least we were out in the wild. At this point in time, I did not truly comprehend that I was perhaps, one of the less informed camping enthusiasts in the area. We arrived at Fort De Soto County Park merely moments after the allotted time, to find a long line of RV's waiting to check in...on a Monday!!! I finally get our ticket and head to our designated spot...or 'pitch' as the Brits have it. Although Pineallas County calls it a camping space, site 119 is more like the parking space for the bathrooms. And we spent our downtime in folding camp chairs, watching the coming and going of folks as they came to do their business. There was nothing like cooking supper at the picnic table while I listened to the gentle sounds of toilets flushing nearby. Ollie, however, didn't mind this at all. He gave a rousing bark to every person that walked by, and a couple of extra barks for any kid that decided to ride a bicycle past our camp.

I will write this site number down so I don't forget this special trip. I can't say that this was the worst campsite in the world...but it was a Tribute.

Camping With Pam & Ollie -The Next Thing I Need To Buy

 It is possible that I was wrong. There I've said it, and we can now all move on. Pam has, for over forty years now, insisted that I care too much what other people think. Actually, I just would prefer to come off as 'someone that knows what he is doing'. I can't speak for the women of this world, but probably a whole lot of men consider when bringing their wife camping or fishing means to them....that time when you have to back a trailer up..and your wife is helping. 

We have done this a few times before, and we owned a boat for years, so it isn't like  we don't know anything about trailering. And, Pam is great at driving the van, she can weave into little spaces at the Farmer's Market like it's nothing....but a pressure situation at a boat ramp or campsite? 

Phrases like "No! Your Other f...ing Left!" just roll out like nobody is listening, and we aren't drawing a crowd already. I know durn well that there are 90 year old men and women around us that could back in a 40 foot motorhome like it's nothing, and here we are looking like greenhorns.

My very next purchase is going to be a set of walkie talkie radios so Pam can whisper her words of endearment concerning my lack of ability to translate what she says into the correct actions. She says this won't help much because she will shout into the radio anyway. We finally got into the spot once I remembered that I had a backup camera...but I'm still getting those radios!

Food for thought...what if people are not gathering to laugh, although I have witnessed that, but to feel sympathy? Later that same day, while out walking Ollie, we had to stop because a large motorhome came to a halt and put its backup lights on. An older woman jumped out of the passenger side jumped out and the yelling began. The driver put it in park, turned off the motor, got out and invited the woman to get in the driver's seat....now why didn't I think of that?

The Boys, the Bikes and the Broken Part 4

 There is something that us Florida people don't think about much. I should have remembered it from my backpacking experience in the mountains of the Appalachian Trail: If you have a nice long downhill, pretty soon you will have an extreme ascent to follow. 

In this instance, we had spent hours climbing down this steep face of clay, rocks and weeds, hoping that somewhere ahead there would be a gentle path of overhanging trees and a nice wide trail of pine needles. We finally did come to something like that. It was a T in the trail. To the right, it appeared that the trail was going to go straight back up that mountain, and to the left there was a sign that said "Horse Stables".....Steve ventured the idea that we could ride to the horse stables, find a way to town, get lunch and then think about how we could ever get back to camp....I was all in for the lunch part, and wasn't looking too far into the future. Meanwhile, Paul was eyeing the straight up trail, wondering if he could make it and get GoPro footage to prove to his biking friends that just because you are riding an E-bike, doesn't mean you're a wuss.

The majority ruled, and soon we were on gravel, passing a barn, and a house, horses, and a lady that ran out yelling "don't y'all know you're on private proverty!?" Paul explained that we were some elderly brothers that got lost on the trail and were trying to find our way home....somehow I felt like he had a lot of experience of explaining his way out of jams...

She yelled out some directions on how to get back to the campground...while I was still wondering of the town of Chatsworth had a decent BBQ place with picnic tables outside.

The lady chased us down in her truck, but Paul really won her over and she made sure we found the right way back to the campground (or made sure we got off her property).

You ever been on an old country road that corkscrews for miles up to the top, and find some crazy bicyclist trying to pedal up that road? Yep....that was us.

The Boys, The Bikes And The Broken Part 3

 

We were really excited about doing some real mountain biking, and there actually was a trail that started right near us in the campground. Unfortunately, the trail looked more like the place water runs downhill after a good rain...steep and full of clay and rocks. Nobody got hurt, but Steve was thinking it was a good possibility, while Paul's eyes were glowing with the prospect of real danger ahead of us.

Once we got past the first 15 minutes of tough stuff, it turned into something more like a path a person would hike for fun and we all were enjoying it. There were pull-offs where you could view spectacular landscapes that you usually only see while backpacking. It seemed like the ride was over too quickly and we headed back to camp to plan a REAL ride for the next day.

We ended up finding a 17 mile trail that went way off into the wilds, and I started getting a little concerned that the farther we rode in, the more difficult it would be to get out if something went wrong. There were even notifications about specific places on the trail where you could get airlifted out if something went wrong...that should have been warning enough....but Paul's eyes were really glowing at that point.

We started early the next morning, and it took a bit of trouble to find the trailhead. We had to go several miles down a dead-end road and the go past a sign that said "No Admittance".  We knew we were at the right place because there was a large sign on a tree that said "Warning: Advanced Riders Only Beyond This Point".

3 hours later, I was pretty sure we were going to need that airlifting spot...It was straight downhill rocks, us walking our bikes with the brakes on full, while the bikes were trying to go on without us. Paul was certain that something was wrong and the motor was tugging his bike...but even with the battery off, he could barely hold it back. I kept thinking "Man, the only way out of this place is climbing right back up that mountain that we could barely walk down...how are we going to do that?"

We argued and looked at how much food and water we had, not even counting all of the black bear warning signs we saw....then Steve had an idea...it was a great idea...doesn't mean it wasn't painful though...

 

The Boys, The Bikes, and the Broken Part 2

 

I learned many things on this trip. Number one would be: don't bring too much stuff. We were packed into one camper and we had gear coming out of our ears. The first morning we spent at Fort Mountain, Paul and Steve went into town to get a propane tank so we would not have to eat peanut butter sandwiches the rest of the trip. That trip to town required both of them because Paul, in spite of his healthy food obsession, had a jones for a fountain coke like nobody else...a bottle of coke would never do, and he really hoped for crunchy ice.

I had a few hours alone to reflect on how quickly my body decided that 70 degree temperature was just about right for t-shirt, shorts and flipflops. It still seems strange that I got used to the lower temp so fast, while I'm still struggling with re-acclimating to the Florida swamp days after I got back home.

Food-wise, it was a constant struggle for me. Steve, the grillmaster always had more meat going on the grill than my family would eat in a week. There is some part of me that must have once been a starving beggar in Medieval times, because when Steve would say "Do you want two 1/2 pound hamburgers or only one?" Why in the world would I turn down an extra hamburger in the woods where I might left alone starving on the trail that same day?! And this went on for almost a week...3 times a day.

Paul, on the other hand, was disdainful of all of the meat and instead brought his special concoctions that he made himself from all organic ingredients, where the cost of making the food was no object. So, we have a tupperware box full of Chocolate chip cookies and granola bars that tasted better than the brownies we get for a once a month treat at home....by the way, that box of granola bars was so big, that even with me holding the box in my lap....we didn't finish it off until the last day of the trip.

 Me, I brought vegetables, if baked beans count as a vegetable, and some other stuff that never got used, because there was some much better food to eat.

Thank God, we were out on the trail most of the days. My heartrate averaged about 135bpm while riding, and if you think that an electric bike makes things effortless, there is always the prospect of riding full blast into a tree, falling in the rocks, or at the least, running out of juice and having to push a 70lb bike uphill to get back to camp. What those bikes do is make it where you can actually pedal that 70 pounds uphill in a place that you couldn't pedal a regular mountain bike for very long. Downhill? That same heavy weight became a juggernaut and we soon learned if we wanted to ride in the mountains, we needed much better brakes! I can repeat something you probably already know: that no matter how long and hard you exercise...a bad diet beats good exercise every time!

Next up: We find out why we never saw anybody else out riding on the trail...

 

The Boys, The Bikes, And The Broken

 

When we were young, Paul, Jerry Carr, and I took a trip up to north Georgia to ride our dirt bikes. It was a one-off thing, but I still remember it fondly. After Paul, Steve, and I had been riding our electric mountain bikes in the wilds of Florida for a summer, it occurred to me that these machines might do well up in Georgia. Thus, we hatched a plan that consisted of a long drive and 4 days of hard riding and seeing if we had changed much since those early days.

I picked Fort Mountain State Park in northern Georgia, because I had been there camping with Pam and Ollie. I saw all of the mountain bikers in the campground and heard that it was an epic place to ride...I must not have listened closely.

The ride up was smooth, Steve driving the whole way, in spite of me insisting that I would be glad to drive as long as it was not raining, not dark and no where near Atlanta. As is usual on such a trip from Florida, all predictions were that we would arrive by 3pm and we got there around 8pm....all those predictions assume that we could always drive the speed limit and you never needed to stop for gas, food or restroom breaks.

In spite of that very long drive, including Google taking us straight through the heart of Atlanta, Steve pulled in, hooked up and then grilled us supper...or at least he was willing to. He had purchased a brand new gas grill, specifically designed to fit in the small space he had. We had packed in enough food to feed 6 of us for 2 weeks, because we knew it was a long drive down the mountain to Chatsworth, which supposedly had a grocery store.

I was helping with the paper plates and silverware, getting some baked beans going and locating soft drinks for the 3 of us when Steve suddenly realized his fancy new grill only worked with a giant bottle of Propane, the kind you use for a home grill. Steve had 5 brand new bottles of the little ones you use for camping...and no adapter to hook them up...

Man, those were the best peanut butter sandwiches that night! I thought to myself that something had to go wrong on any given trip, and we got it out of the way on the first day...if that's the worst thing, we're good!

.....not so fast, Perkins....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Camping With Ollie and the Beach Poodles: Part 2

 

If there was a best part of the camping trip, it was finding this almost deserted beach and enormous dog park. We had a giant fenced in place for Ollie to run until he dropped, and occasionally, he met some new friends.

It was a short walk from the fenced in area to a section of beach where folks were letting their dogs have a free run. I wasn't quite ready for Ollie to go running free...since I was pretty sure I would never catch him, and I wasn't at all positive he would come back to a couple of old folks that were hardly worth chewing on.

We had the two of us, trying to control one little rowdy puppy, and then this old lady strolls up on the beach with 3 different size poodles and just let them go. The big black one had to be the single most frou-frou dog I have ever seen in person. The dogs were nice and loved Ollie. He got all of the dog attention he could want that day. The lady turned out to be a groomer (shocker!), and she gave us advice about what Ollie was going to need. Turns out that our puppy's coat takes extra work...and perhaps body armor for the groomer.

The big surprise for me was that Dharma, the black standard poodle that did not seem to belong on some dirty little beach, was the nicest dog I've ever met. She was quickly my best buddy, once I got over the hair-do. Ollie didn't mind the attention I got from Dharma, he was too busy working over 'Stretch', the toy poodle, who was a big ball of fur. Every once in a while Dharma would come over and nose Ollie upside down to show him that size matters in the dog world.

 Ollie found that the beach was the best place in the whole world...and he still doesn't know about getting wet. You can dig anywhere! And there is so much cool stuff to bite and smell! He sat quietly at attention while he watched a young woman with a Brittany Spaniel throwing a ball into the ocean and the dog swimming out to get it. He's not ready yet, but soon Ollie will be a wet, muddy mess anytime we get near water....just not too soon, please?

 

Camping With Ollie and the Beach Poodles: Part 1

I don't know if we just get lucky or I really know how to predict extreme weather. Almost every time I plan a camping trip, we get a hurricane. I cancelled the last one after it appeared that the hurricane was going to land right where we were to pitch our trailer. The time before, we bee-lined home right before the storm hit up in Atlanta. Right now, it seems like Orlando is the only place that was safe from hurricanes in 2020. 

Slightly shy of a hurricane was the cold front that came through while we were camping this week. We pulled into Fort DeSoto Park in Saint Petersburg, Florida, on a nice winter day, just cool enough to let Pam wear a jacket and crocs. Ollie, the pup liked this place that had a million things to taste and smell. The photo above was taken on the first day, of what I expected to be a few days of biking, paddleboarding, and dog walks on the beach. There was charcoal, firewood, and the fantasy of romantic evenings, watching the calm waters of the Gulf lapping up on our own private beach. We had good food in store, plenty of ice, and I was getting pretty good at dealing with the whole camper thing without looking like a newbie while setting up. I'm still considering what I've seen some other older couples do: buy little two way radios, so Pam can whisper "NO! Your OTHER left!" while I'm backing the trailer into to a patch of low hanging tree limbs. This would be preferable to the current method of Pam yelling out her instructions while the neighboring campers pull up chairs to watch the best entertainment available..

The afternoon sun didn't last long, and the breeze was picking up to the point that I was thinking I might not get a chance to put Ollie on the paddleboard and show him that he was definitely a waterdog. It was about then that I met our next door campground neighbors. It was a couple of women, either of which looked like they could handle this outdoor stuff much better than I could. They had a trailer that was called "Vintage" and looked much like a very cool new version of something old. As they introduced themselves, they mentioned the coming rain and wind. At the time I was thinking of a light breeze and some sprinkles. I was pretty wrong about that. Most of the night we spent cuddled on the small bed watching our latest binge-show, while the wind screamed and the rain pounded the metal roof and sides of Bambi.

Ollie was great and when I got up early to walk him, I found out what we had in store...30 mph winds and temperature so cold that the jacket I almost left home wasn't enough. Pam murmured that I had promised her beautiful weather with no rain and she wasn't getting up until I could produce it. I was already looking at a long crooked tree branch that was hanging over the camper and creaking like it wasn't going to last the day. I really needed a shower and a shave, but it was looking like it was going to be a long day in small quarters with a puppy that had a blood thirst...