Though my out-of-the-boat life seems determined to consume every last microcalorie of my energy, I've managed a passable amount of training activity this week.
Joe and I did just half a loop of the harbor Tuesday. We were both having busy days, and I was still a bit tired and sore from what I'd done over the weekend. I was also having some discomfort in my left shoulder and lat area, probably from moving some massive oak planks in my workshop.
That discomfort had eased by yesterday. I went down to the riverfront and did my first "work" workout since returning from out West. With a short race on the schedule three weeks from tomorrow I'm trying to keep up a regimen of short, fast pieces. After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints, I did a set of four 30-second sprints at three-minute intervals, then did one of my "bridge-to-bridge" sprints in 1:58, then did another set of four 30-second sprints at three-minute intervals. The sprints didn't feel particularly sharp or smooth but I focused on good form the best I could.
I did rounds of the strength routine Monday, Wednesday, and today. I'm not sure what I'll manage to do this weekend, as I'm scheduled to have a colonoscopy Monday and am on a restricted diet between now and then.
Friday, August 17, 2018
Thursday, August 16, 2018
My "bridge to bridge" sprint
Now that I'm finally learning a few video-editing skills, I want to start posting footage of some of the things I often refer to in this blog.
One such thing is my "bridge to bridge" sprint. In the harbor on the Memphis riverfront, the distance from the southern edge of the monorail bridge to the southern edge of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge is very nearly 450 meters. This makes it a good place to practice sprints of the Olympic variety, because all you have to do to get a 500-meter equivalent time is divide your time by 0.9.
One such thing is my "bridge to bridge" sprint. In the harbor on the Memphis riverfront, the distance from the southern edge of the monorail bridge to the southern edge of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge is very nearly 450 meters. This makes it a good place to practice sprints of the Olympic variety, because all you have to do to get a 500-meter equivalent time is divide your time by 0.9.
Monday, August 13, 2018
Monday photo feature
At about this time two years ago I was paddling on the Hudson River near Peekskill, New York. If you look closely you can see the Bear Mountain Bridge just to my right.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
A bit of summertime survival; and, I'm not a daredevil
The Mississippi River is settling down into the low water levels that are typical in late summer and fall. This weekend it's below 5 feet on the Memphis gauge, and unless there's some appreciable rainfall in the Midwest I expect it'll be dropping below zero in the next few weeks.
It's also hot here, not exactly a surprise in the month of August. But the humidity has been down a bit, making the heat more bearable. Even though we've had Fahrenheit highs in the high 90s, it hasn't been particularly unpleasant outside.
Since returning from the Columbia River Gorge I've been keeping an eye out for surf opportunities here on the Memphis riverfront while the weather is still warm and getting soaking wet isn't a big deal. When I got down there yesterday morning there was no barge traffic in sight and, feeling sore in my lats and abdominals from the new strength routine I'd started Friday, I figured I would just do a steady 80-minute paddle. But then, shortly after I got out onto the Mississippi, an upstream-bound rig appeared down near Presidents Island. I was in the mood to surf and I paddled down to meet it. While the waves weren't smooth and consistent like in the Columbia Gorge, I did find a few to ride, and I captured it on video:
Of course, even on the best waves surfing is a lot of work, and by the time I was done surfing yesterday I found myself hot and exhausted and facing a long paddle upriver to get back to the harbor. I took a deep breath and paced myself the best I could. I took several breaks to cool off in the water as the sun beat down. I never doubted I would make it back, but it was a slow, not very pleasant journey. Once I was finally back on the dock I relished some swigs of cold water from my insulated water bottle and a nice bath under the hose.
I figured I'd spend today recovering from yesterday's exertion, but when I reached the mouth of the harbor there were two barge rigs--one going upriver, one down--passing by. I couldn't resist the urge to surf a little more. Of course, this time the mouth of the harbor was right there and I could head in as soon as I started getting tired.
The waves today were a little bit better than yesterday's and I was sorry I didn't have the Go Pro camera with me. I've mentioned before that I'm not really an avid user of my Go Pro, and that's partly because I'm just not a big tech nut, but there's a deeper reason as well: one of the biggest misconceptions I'm constantly fighting here in the Memphis community is that I must be some kind of daredevil to go paddle out on the Mississippi River, and I think the presence of a camera on my boat strengthens that impression because it looks like I'm trying to glorify my exploits in a "hold my beer and watch this" sort of way. I'm an athlete, not a daredevil, and I care about safety as much as anybody you'll ever meet on the river. I believe that a skilled paddler is generally a safe paddler, and I've spent decades trying to raise my skill level as high as I can.
So... I'm glad I got a bit of surfing footage yesterday because I'd been wanting to capture some to share with the readers of this blog. But I'm not going to keep taking my camera out there hoping to find the ultimate set of waves.
It's also hot here, not exactly a surprise in the month of August. But the humidity has been down a bit, making the heat more bearable. Even though we've had Fahrenheit highs in the high 90s, it hasn't been particularly unpleasant outside.
Since returning from the Columbia River Gorge I've been keeping an eye out for surf opportunities here on the Memphis riverfront while the weather is still warm and getting soaking wet isn't a big deal. When I got down there yesterday morning there was no barge traffic in sight and, feeling sore in my lats and abdominals from the new strength routine I'd started Friday, I figured I would just do a steady 80-minute paddle. But then, shortly after I got out onto the Mississippi, an upstream-bound rig appeared down near Presidents Island. I was in the mood to surf and I paddled down to meet it. While the waves weren't smooth and consistent like in the Columbia Gorge, I did find a few to ride, and I captured it on video:
Of course, even on the best waves surfing is a lot of work, and by the time I was done surfing yesterday I found myself hot and exhausted and facing a long paddle upriver to get back to the harbor. I took a deep breath and paced myself the best I could. I took several breaks to cool off in the water as the sun beat down. I never doubted I would make it back, but it was a slow, not very pleasant journey. Once I was finally back on the dock I relished some swigs of cold water from my insulated water bottle and a nice bath under the hose.
I figured I'd spend today recovering from yesterday's exertion, but when I reached the mouth of the harbor there were two barge rigs--one going upriver, one down--passing by. I couldn't resist the urge to surf a little more. Of course, this time the mouth of the harbor was right there and I could head in as soon as I started getting tired.
The waves today were a little bit better than yesterday's and I was sorry I didn't have the Go Pro camera with me. I've mentioned before that I'm not really an avid user of my Go Pro, and that's partly because I'm just not a big tech nut, but there's a deeper reason as well: one of the biggest misconceptions I'm constantly fighting here in the Memphis community is that I must be some kind of daredevil to go paddle out on the Mississippi River, and I think the presence of a camera on my boat strengthens that impression because it looks like I'm trying to glorify my exploits in a "hold my beer and watch this" sort of way. I'm an athlete, not a daredevil, and I care about safety as much as anybody you'll ever meet on the river. I believe that a skilled paddler is generally a safe paddler, and I've spent decades trying to raise my skill level as high as I can.
So... I'm glad I got a bit of surfing footage yesterday because I'd been wanting to capture some to share with the readers of this blog. But I'm not going to keep taking my camera out there hoping to find the ultimate set of waves.
Friday, August 10, 2018
Trying to resume normal life
I'm trying hard to settle back into some normalcy here at home. On Tuesday I paddled with Joe in the harbor for the first time in almost a month, and that was a big step in that direction.
Yesterday I did a fairly hard 60-minute paddle out on the river. It included a warmup and three 8-stroke sprints, followed by some long up-tempo pieces.
Another step in the path back to normalcy is getting back into a strength routine. I've drawn up a new one and I did a cursory round of it this morning.
Yesterday I did a fairly hard 60-minute paddle out on the river. It included a warmup and three 8-stroke sprints, followed by some long up-tempo pieces.
Another step in the path back to normalcy is getting back into a strength routine. I've drawn up a new one and I did a cursory round of it this morning.
A new strength routine
Strength work sort of went by the wayside during my Western odyssey, and since I've been home I've had many, many things to deal with and that has made it hard to get a new routine going. But at last, I've drawn something up. I'm keeping it short because of all the other heaping helpings on my plate.
1. Core exercise demonstrated my Daniele Molmenti at 3:44 of his video on this page
2. Lat pulls with barbell (demonstrated by yours truly in this video)
3. Stability ball exercise demonstrated by Jing-Jing Li at 2:55 of her video on this page
4. Bent-over rows
1. Core exercise demonstrated my Daniele Molmenti at 3:44 of his video on this page
2. Lat pulls with barbell (demonstrated by yours truly in this video)
3. Stability ball exercise demonstrated by Jing-Jing Li at 2:55 of her video on this page
4. Bent-over rows
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Fontana followup
Here are the results of this past weekend's race on Fontana Reservoir. It looks like the times column got squeezed so you can't see the last seconds digit, but at least we've got the overall order of finish here:
Sarah Ruhlen got some really nice photos at the finish. Here's a visual of what I could only describe in words in my race-report post:
Here comes the lead pack! That's Chris Hipgrave in the lead, followed by Terry Smith and Pete Greene. I'm somewhere behind Terry or Pete; the guy in the orange PFD is Sven Jonsson.
Chris beats out Terry for the title.
Second place is all Terry's.
The race for third is on! Pete had just a little too much cushion for me or Sven to run him down.
I manage to edge out Sven for fourth place.
Laurens Willard was the sixth person to paddle his boat across the line.
Cindy Massa and Ted Burnell raced in a tandem outrigger canoe (OC2). They took first place in a class of one.
The first all-female boat to finish was this tandem surf ski. One of the paddlers is Leslie Brass; I don't know the other's name, so I'd appreciate it if anybody who does know would tell me.
Heather Frogge was the first female solo finisher.
Monday, August 6, 2018
Race schedule update
Well, we're gettin' down to the short rows, as one of my farming ancestors might have said.
Best of luck to everybody participating in the USCA Nationals up at Syracuse this week. I've enjoyed attending the nationals for the last two years, but this year it's just too tall an order considering the travel I've put in this past month.
I believe I will race two more times this year: in Louisiana on September 8 and in central Mississippi on September 22. I have a wedding to go to on September 29, so I'll miss the race on the Ouachita River that day.
August
9-12 U.S. Canoe Association National Championships. Onondaga Lake and Erie Canal, Syracuse, New York. Marathon races in a variety of boat classes sanctioned by the USCA.
September
1 Big River Regional. Mississippi River, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. 13 miles down the largest river in North America.
8 Lower Atchafalaya Sprints. Atchafalaya River, Patterson, Louisiana. A series of 3-mile races on flatwater. Register
22 Gator Bait Race. Barnett Reservoir outside Jackson, Mississippi. A 5.5-mile flatwater race. Register
29 River Rat Paddle Challenge. Ouachita River at Monroe, Louisiana. 6.5 miles on a Class I river.
Best of luck to everybody participating in the USCA Nationals up at Syracuse this week. I've enjoyed attending the nationals for the last two years, but this year it's just too tall an order considering the travel I've put in this past month.
I believe I will race two more times this year: in Louisiana on September 8 and in central Mississippi on September 22. I have a wedding to go to on September 29, so I'll miss the race on the Ouachita River that day.
August
9-12 U.S. Canoe Association National Championships. Onondaga Lake and Erie Canal, Syracuse, New York. Marathon races in a variety of boat classes sanctioned by the USCA.
September
1 Big River Regional. Mississippi River, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. 13 miles down the largest river in North America.
8 Lower Atchafalaya Sprints. Atchafalaya River, Patterson, Louisiana. A series of 3-mile races on flatwater. Register
22 Gator Bait Race. Barnett Reservoir outside Jackson, Mississippi. A 5.5-mile flatwater race. Register
29 River Rat Paddle Challenge. Ouachita River at Monroe, Louisiana. 6.5 miles on a Class I river.
Monday photo feature
This tire made it as far as mile marker 66 on Interstate 40 in Haywood County, Tennessee, on Friday. Then it had had enough. What I think happened is that part of the plastic lining on the inside of the wheel well had come loose and rubbed against the tire, abrading it until the tube was able to burst through. My Toyota Corolla has 179,000 miles on it and it's running as well as ever, but little things like those plastic liners are starting to crumble.
Fortunately I have a full-size wheel for a spare. I found it in a junkyard in Missouri last year. It had a good tire on it and everything. Best 50 bucks I've ever spent on an automotive item. I was able to complete my trip to and from North Carolina, and now getting a new tire is on my to-do list today.
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Racing back East
The drive from Memphis to western North Carolina on Friday could have been smoother. I blew out a tire in the first hour, and the traffic in the Chattanooga area was heavy and slow-moving. But I still made it in less than nine hours' time. In the last few weeks I haven't quite driven from sea to shining sea, but I've come pretty close.
I made myself comfortable in the Forest Service campground at Tsali and woke up yesterday morning feeling ready to go. Racers were gathering in the parking area just down the road from Tsali campground and I quickly found myself greeting folks I'd just shared a house with out in Oregon: Cindy Massa and Ted Burnell had come over from Chattanooga, and Will Schaet was up from Jacksonville. And the race director, Chris Hipgrave, had been out at "The Gorge," too.
Because of the mountainous terrain, Fontana Reservoir is a skinny impoundment with many "fingers" where all the various tributary streams come in. The Paddle Grapple's course would start and finish at the Tsali boat ramp, at the end of one of these fingers. Racers would paddle out of that finger and around a couple of bends to the left, loop clockwise around an island, cross a piece of open water to another island, round that island and head back into the finger to where they had started. The 6-mile course would be two laps of this circuit.
The gun went off and I found myself in hot pursuit of Laurens Willard, while off to our left a lead pack was quickly forming up consisting of Chris Hipgrave, Terry Smith, Pete Greene, and Sven Jonsson. I knew this was the train I needed to catch to have any shot at a top-five finish, and I spent the next mile throwing in sprint after sprint to advance up the series of wakes these four were trailing behind them.
After a considerable expenditure of energy I finally pulled up onto Sven's stern. Unfortunately, Sven had just dropped off the lead pack and now Chris, Terry, and Pete were pulling away from us. Needing a breather in the worst way, I settled onto Sven's stern wake and watched as the top three pulled farther and farther out of reach. It looked like I was now racing for fourth place.
I stayed put for the rest of the first lap, hoping to conserve energy for aggressive moves in the second. As we began the second lap I could see that Laurens was in sixth place, close enough behind to run us down if Sven and I didn't keep our boats moving. Once we were out of the finger and approaching the first island I moved up alongside Sven, looked ahead, and saw that we had inexplicably made up a lot of ground on the lead pack. The objective for the final couple of miles was clear: find a way to reel them in.
The lead pack moved along in single file with Chris in first, Terry in second, and Pete in third. Once again I was throwing in sprints to try to gain on them one wake at a time. After a while Sven took over and led the way with a few sprints of his own. But we never got any closer than maybe two boatlengths. Pete's stern seemed almost close enough for me to reach out and touch, but the building fatigue in my body made closing that last little gap a taller order than ever.
As the five of us headed back into the finger where the finish line awaited, I reminded myself that the lead pack's lead had seemed insurmountable late in the first lap, but now they were right there within striking distance. In other words, "it ain't over until it's over." As we rounded the last bend and the finish line came into view, I briefly debated whether I should go after Pete, who was now by himself in third place, or hang back and concentrate on holding off Sven. It hit me that I was still feeling really good even after all the wicked sprints I'd done, and there was no excuse for holding back. With about two hundred meters left I began paddling as hard as I could. I knew catching Pete was a long shot, but little by little I was closing the gap on him and I could feel myself opening one on Sven.
Chris pulled away from Terry in the last few dozen meters to win in 47 minutes, 41 seconds. Terry crossed the line just six seconds back. Despite my furious charge Pete held onto third place, clocking 48:07 to my 48:11. Sven rounded out the top five just a couple of seconds behind me. Laurens took sixth a short while later.
After the finish I learned why Sven and I had gotten back in contention: Chris, miffed at having to lead the entire first lap, stopped paddling at the beginning of the second lap, forcing either Terry or Pete to take the lead. They must not have been very cooperative because Chris was the only person I remember seeing in the lead at any time in the race.
Chris and Sven both live in the area surrounding Fontana Reservoir. Terry is from Chattanooga, Tennessee, while Pete hails from Beaufort, South Carolina. Laurens lives in Charlotte, North Carolina.
The top overall female finisher was Heather Frogge of Gainesville, Georgia. The complete results are not yet posted online, but I will link to them whenever they are.
It seems that I can always find a reason to ask "what if?" after a race; this time, I'm wondering "what if" I had been a little quicker at the start and made contact with the lead pack right away. But in general I'm happy about my fourth-place finish. This is one of those races where you have to beat out some good athletes for even a prayer of cracking the top five, and that's a big reason I decided to make the drive over for it even though I was weary of driving.
I'm also pleased with how I held up during the race. I was able to race aggressively and still have the energy for a strong finish. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised that I'm in good shape considering all the hard paddling I did while surfing out in the Columbia Gorge, but those were all "play" workouts, and I'm the stubborn regimented sort who can't quite believe that anything but a "work" workout can bring real improvement. Oh well... I turn 51 later this month, and maybe I'll dedicate my 52nd year to lightening up a little.
I spent another night at Tsali and got an early start back west this morning. I stopped at Parksville Reservoir, part of the Ocoee River, and paddled for 60 minutes. Now I'm back home at last, with my next race more than a month away. I'm glad to have some time to get settled back in at home and do some good training for what's left of the season. I've also got a mountain of chores to deal with in my non-athletic life. It's time for life to get boring again.
I made myself comfortable in the Forest Service campground at Tsali and woke up yesterday morning feeling ready to go. Racers were gathering in the parking area just down the road from Tsali campground and I quickly found myself greeting folks I'd just shared a house with out in Oregon: Cindy Massa and Ted Burnell had come over from Chattanooga, and Will Schaet was up from Jacksonville. And the race director, Chris Hipgrave, had been out at "The Gorge," too.
Because of the mountainous terrain, Fontana Reservoir is a skinny impoundment with many "fingers" where all the various tributary streams come in. The Paddle Grapple's course would start and finish at the Tsali boat ramp, at the end of one of these fingers. Racers would paddle out of that finger and around a couple of bends to the left, loop clockwise around an island, cross a piece of open water to another island, round that island and head back into the finger to where they had started. The 6-mile course would be two laps of this circuit.
The gun went off and I found myself in hot pursuit of Laurens Willard, while off to our left a lead pack was quickly forming up consisting of Chris Hipgrave, Terry Smith, Pete Greene, and Sven Jonsson. I knew this was the train I needed to catch to have any shot at a top-five finish, and I spent the next mile throwing in sprint after sprint to advance up the series of wakes these four were trailing behind them.
After a considerable expenditure of energy I finally pulled up onto Sven's stern. Unfortunately, Sven had just dropped off the lead pack and now Chris, Terry, and Pete were pulling away from us. Needing a breather in the worst way, I settled onto Sven's stern wake and watched as the top three pulled farther and farther out of reach. It looked like I was now racing for fourth place.
I stayed put for the rest of the first lap, hoping to conserve energy for aggressive moves in the second. As we began the second lap I could see that Laurens was in sixth place, close enough behind to run us down if Sven and I didn't keep our boats moving. Once we were out of the finger and approaching the first island I moved up alongside Sven, looked ahead, and saw that we had inexplicably made up a lot of ground on the lead pack. The objective for the final couple of miles was clear: find a way to reel them in.
The lead pack moved along in single file with Chris in first, Terry in second, and Pete in third. Once again I was throwing in sprints to try to gain on them one wake at a time. After a while Sven took over and led the way with a few sprints of his own. But we never got any closer than maybe two boatlengths. Pete's stern seemed almost close enough for me to reach out and touch, but the building fatigue in my body made closing that last little gap a taller order than ever.
As the five of us headed back into the finger where the finish line awaited, I reminded myself that the lead pack's lead had seemed insurmountable late in the first lap, but now they were right there within striking distance. In other words, "it ain't over until it's over." As we rounded the last bend and the finish line came into view, I briefly debated whether I should go after Pete, who was now by himself in third place, or hang back and concentrate on holding off Sven. It hit me that I was still feeling really good even after all the wicked sprints I'd done, and there was no excuse for holding back. With about two hundred meters left I began paddling as hard as I could. I knew catching Pete was a long shot, but little by little I was closing the gap on him and I could feel myself opening one on Sven.
Chris pulled away from Terry in the last few dozen meters to win in 47 minutes, 41 seconds. Terry crossed the line just six seconds back. Despite my furious charge Pete held onto third place, clocking 48:07 to my 48:11. Sven rounded out the top five just a couple of seconds behind me. Laurens took sixth a short while later.
After the finish I learned why Sven and I had gotten back in contention: Chris, miffed at having to lead the entire first lap, stopped paddling at the beginning of the second lap, forcing either Terry or Pete to take the lead. They must not have been very cooperative because Chris was the only person I remember seeing in the lead at any time in the race.
Chris and Sven both live in the area surrounding Fontana Reservoir. Terry is from Chattanooga, Tennessee, while Pete hails from Beaufort, South Carolina. Laurens lives in Charlotte, North Carolina.
The top overall female finisher was Heather Frogge of Gainesville, Georgia. The complete results are not yet posted online, but I will link to them whenever they are.
It seems that I can always find a reason to ask "what if?" after a race; this time, I'm wondering "what if" I had been a little quicker at the start and made contact with the lead pack right away. But in general I'm happy about my fourth-place finish. This is one of those races where you have to beat out some good athletes for even a prayer of cracking the top five, and that's a big reason I decided to make the drive over for it even though I was weary of driving.
I'm also pleased with how I held up during the race. I was able to race aggressively and still have the energy for a strong finish. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised that I'm in good shape considering all the hard paddling I did while surfing out in the Columbia Gorge, but those were all "play" workouts, and I'm the stubborn regimented sort who can't quite believe that anything but a "work" workout can bring real improvement. Oh well... I turn 51 later this month, and maybe I'll dedicate my 52nd year to lightening up a little.
I spent another night at Tsali and got an early start back west this morning. I stopped at Parksville Reservoir, part of the Ocoee River, and paddled for 60 minutes. Now I'm back home at last, with my next race more than a month away. I'm glad to have some time to get settled back in at home and do some good training for what's left of the season. I've also got a mountain of chores to deal with in my non-athletic life. It's time for life to get boring again.
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Here I go again
The weather in the Mid South has been unseasonably mild since I got home. We've had Fahrenheit highs in the 80s, and the overnight lows have been below 70. The humidity hasn't gone anywhere, though. Having been in the much more arid American West, I can't not notice the humidity here. Even light chores get me sweaty in a hurry. But I shouldn't complain: the weatherman says oppressive heat will be returning next week, so I'd better enjoy this break while I can.
I had an odd morning on Tuesday. I'd woken up in the wee hours with considerable discomfort in the area where my left triceps muscle meets my left lat, approximately. I was hoping maybe I'd just slept on it wrong and it had gone to sleep, but later on when I was up having breakfast the pain persisted. I couldn't think of anything I'd done to hurt that area and I hoped it was just a mild strain as opposed to a tear or worse.
After breakfast I went over to my rental property and worked on replacing some rotted-out siding. That took my mind off what was happening with my left arm/shoulder. Then I went down to the riverfront to paddle, and it was then that I realized the discomfort was just about gone. Lest I become too elated, a hornet flew up and stung me on my left elbow. Hornets like to make nests inside the more rarely-used kayaks, canoes, and rowing shells that are stored at my marina. I shrugged, got in my boat, got a good long warmup, and did eight 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals.
Since Tuesday that arm/shoulder issue hasn't been entirely absent--I can feel a hint of it when I move the joint around--but it hasn't been as bad as it was when I woke up Tuesday morning. This morning I went back to the river and did something similar to Tuesday's exercise: six 12-stroke sprints.
Why all these 12-stroke sprints? Well, I have another race this Saturday. I haven't been talking about it here because I wasn't entirely sure I would have another driving trip in me so soon after my Wild West adventure, but I've decided to go ahead. It's The Paddle Grapple race on Fontana Reservoir in western North Carolina. It'll take me a good eight hours to get over there, but I really like the event. I like the distance (6 miles), and there's usually plenty of solid competition there. And the Nantahala Gorge is a place I've enjoyed visiting since I was a kid.
Meanwhile, following up on earlier posts, I've continued playing around with my digital movie-editing software. I've always wanted to star in a music video, and what follows is my first. Be forewarned: it's dumb. D students in film school are making better ones as we speak. Seriously, don't even watch it unless you truly have nothing better to do for the next three minutes and ten seconds.
Okay, if you did watch it, and if you actually like the song, you can buy the album it's on here.
I had an odd morning on Tuesday. I'd woken up in the wee hours with considerable discomfort in the area where my left triceps muscle meets my left lat, approximately. I was hoping maybe I'd just slept on it wrong and it had gone to sleep, but later on when I was up having breakfast the pain persisted. I couldn't think of anything I'd done to hurt that area and I hoped it was just a mild strain as opposed to a tear or worse.
After breakfast I went over to my rental property and worked on replacing some rotted-out siding. That took my mind off what was happening with my left arm/shoulder. Then I went down to the riverfront to paddle, and it was then that I realized the discomfort was just about gone. Lest I become too elated, a hornet flew up and stung me on my left elbow. Hornets like to make nests inside the more rarely-used kayaks, canoes, and rowing shells that are stored at my marina. I shrugged, got in my boat, got a good long warmup, and did eight 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals.
Since Tuesday that arm/shoulder issue hasn't been entirely absent--I can feel a hint of it when I move the joint around--but it hasn't been as bad as it was when I woke up Tuesday morning. This morning I went back to the river and did something similar to Tuesday's exercise: six 12-stroke sprints.
Why all these 12-stroke sprints? Well, I have another race this Saturday. I haven't been talking about it here because I wasn't entirely sure I would have another driving trip in me so soon after my Wild West adventure, but I've decided to go ahead. It's The Paddle Grapple race on Fontana Reservoir in western North Carolina. It'll take me a good eight hours to get over there, but I really like the event. I like the distance (6 miles), and there's usually plenty of solid competition there. And the Nantahala Gorge is a place I've enjoyed visiting since I was a kid.
Meanwhile, following up on earlier posts, I've continued playing around with my digital movie-editing software. I've always wanted to star in a music video, and what follows is my first. Be forewarned: it's dumb. D students in film school are making better ones as we speak. Seriously, don't even watch it unless you truly have nothing better to do for the next three minutes and ten seconds.
Okay, if you did watch it, and if you actually like the song, you can buy the album it's on here.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
News flash: some racers are better than others
"The people who win aren't just faster, they are better. They are better and they know more."
These words were spoken by Sylvan Poberaj, the long-time coach of the U.S. whitewater slalom team. The statement is almost absurdly simple, but Scott Shipley thought it was profound enough to print it in his book Every Crushing Stroke: The Book of Performance Kayaking. Since this book came out in 2001, I've been pondering the deeper meaning.
In just about all great sports, the object is simple. Take baseball, for instance. A player goes up to bat hoping to hit the ball into the field and then run at least as far as first base before the fielders can round up the ball and throw it there. But delve deeper and you find layers of complexity. And the best players see all the many nuances. What pitch to expect when the count is 2-1. When it's better to go for a home run and when it's better simply to put the ball in play. There are many, many things going on at once, and the best players are not the ones who can simply hit the ball the hardest or run the bases the fastest or make the most acrobatic plays. The best players have the mental acuity to be aware of the many variables in play and of every scenario that could possibly unfold from each pitch.
This is very much the case with whitewater slalom, the sport Poberaj is referring to in the quote above. Slalom, too, has a simple objective: paddle through all the gates on the course as fast as you can without missing any gates or touching any poles. But that's just the bare outline of what takes place. When I was racing slalom back in the 1990s, I always felt as though the top athletes were seeing things I simply could not see. Certainly they could all make their boats go faster than I could, but there was more to it than that. They seemed to know exactly what stroke to take at every instant during a race run. When they made mistakes they typically recovered from them with a single stroke. They seemed to have anticipated everything that could possibly go wrong at every place on the course. They knew when to use all their power and when to back off a little.
On the trip I've just completed I participated in my first true downwind race. There, too, the elite athletes were all fast; I expect every single one of them could beat me handily in a sprint on flatwater. And they almost certainly have a high degree of balance and control to keep their boats moving in downwind conditions. But I think they have even more than that. Their movements are informed by a superior intellect. They can read how the waves are developing in front of them and plan four or five moves in advance. While guys like me are sliding backwards off the backs of waves, they are using the smallest of bumps to maintain their speed and are ultimately moving forward in the waves. And they're probably doing other things that I haven't imagined yet.
The top racers are simply... better. And they know more. I mean, duh, but... yeah. Maybe that statement really does sum it up as well as any other.
These words were spoken by Sylvan Poberaj, the long-time coach of the U.S. whitewater slalom team. The statement is almost absurdly simple, but Scott Shipley thought it was profound enough to print it in his book Every Crushing Stroke: The Book of Performance Kayaking. Since this book came out in 2001, I've been pondering the deeper meaning.
In just about all great sports, the object is simple. Take baseball, for instance. A player goes up to bat hoping to hit the ball into the field and then run at least as far as first base before the fielders can round up the ball and throw it there. But delve deeper and you find layers of complexity. And the best players see all the many nuances. What pitch to expect when the count is 2-1. When it's better to go for a home run and when it's better simply to put the ball in play. There are many, many things going on at once, and the best players are not the ones who can simply hit the ball the hardest or run the bases the fastest or make the most acrobatic plays. The best players have the mental acuity to be aware of the many variables in play and of every scenario that could possibly unfold from each pitch.
This is very much the case with whitewater slalom, the sport Poberaj is referring to in the quote above. Slalom, too, has a simple objective: paddle through all the gates on the course as fast as you can without missing any gates or touching any poles. But that's just the bare outline of what takes place. When I was racing slalom back in the 1990s, I always felt as though the top athletes were seeing things I simply could not see. Certainly they could all make their boats go faster than I could, but there was more to it than that. They seemed to know exactly what stroke to take at every instant during a race run. When they made mistakes they typically recovered from them with a single stroke. They seemed to have anticipated everything that could possibly go wrong at every place on the course. They knew when to use all their power and when to back off a little.
On the trip I've just completed I participated in my first true downwind race. There, too, the elite athletes were all fast; I expect every single one of them could beat me handily in a sprint on flatwater. And they almost certainly have a high degree of balance and control to keep their boats moving in downwind conditions. But I think they have even more than that. Their movements are informed by a superior intellect. They can read how the waves are developing in front of them and plan four or five moves in advance. While guys like me are sliding backwards off the backs of waves, they are using the smallest of bumps to maintain their speed and are ultimately moving forward in the waves. And they're probably doing other things that I haven't imagined yet.
The top racers are simply... better. And they know more. I mean, duh, but... yeah. Maybe that statement really does sum it up as well as any other.
The top female surf ski racers at the 2018 Gorge Downwind Championships. Left to right: Michelle Eray (5th), Teneale Hatton (2nd), Naomi Flood (1st), Ana Swetish (3rd), Rachel Clarke (4th). Photo by Tom Gomes.
The top male surf ski racers at the 2018 Gorge Downwind Championships. Left to right: Patrick Dolan (5th), Cory Hill (2nd), Kenny Rice (1st), MacKenzie Hynard (3rd), Austin Kieffer (4th). Photo by Tom Gomes.
Monday, July 30, 2018
Monday photo feature
This photograph is a symbol to me. A symbol of my technological ineptitude.
You see, my intention was to set my Go Pro camera to take a picture every ten seconds during my paddle on Lake Tahoe last Monday. This is the first photo it took, as I was getting in my boat. It's also the only photo it took. I paddled my boat on the beautiful lake for an hour, thinking the camera was capturing all kinds of lovely scenes, only to get back and discover that I'd actually set it to take one photo on a ten-second timer. And so here's the only photo of Lake Tahoe I can offer you.
Some paddlers never go anywhere without their Go Pro cameras, but I'm not an avid user of mine. To me it seems like kind of a nuisance that distracts me from what's important (paddling). I only break it out when I'm paddling someplace unusual like Lake Tahoe, or maybe when there's interesting weather or high water or something on the Mississippi at home. Because I don't use it often, I'm perpetually out of practice and make dumb mistakes like I did at Tahoe.
I don't know if I'd describe myself as tech-phobic, but technology does have a way of passing me by. To become proficient at using any sort of device or software you have to spend time playing around with it, and I never seem to have the patience for that. I don't sit still well, and if the thing I'm trying to learn is not exceptionally user-friendly, my eyes quickly glaze over and I throw up my hands and quit. I'm also sort of a tightwad and wait as long as possible to upgrade my hardware.
As a result, I have a phone that is at least a decade out of date. I tend to miss deadlines for certain taxes and fees I owe because I'm now expected to pay them online rather than fill out the forms that I used to get in the mail. I don't know the results of some lab tests I had at my doctor's office recently because instead of sending them to me in the mail like they used to, they want me to use their decidedly user-unfriendly "patient portal" now. I've been putting off forming an LLC for my rental property concern because it's an online process that looks scary and boring. I'm perfectly awful at promoting my woodworking business on social media.
It's not New Year's Day, but I'm thinking a resolution is in order. I need to get myself up to speed. The video I posted the other day is a part of the resolution, and I plan to spend this week taking some more such baby steps. Of course, I've still got a boat that needs paddling and a lot of work to do on my rental properties and so on, so this is going to take some discipline on my part.
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Race results
The results of the Gorge Downwind Championships are now posted. You can view them here.
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Americana fun, 2018 edition
For years I had a personal goal of visiting every state of the United States. I have now almost achieved that: I've been to every one except Alaska. I'll get up to "The Last Frontier" one day, but in the meantime I've set a new goal: paddling a boat in every state. On the trip I've just finished I added three new states to this list: Oklahoma, Nevada, and Kansas.
Here's the updated list. States marked with an asterisk (*) are the ones I have merely visited. States marked with a pound sign (#) are the ones I have visited and paddled a boat in.
Alabama#
Alaska
Arizona*
Arkansas#
California#
Colorado#
Connecticut#
Delaware*
Florida#
Georgia#
Hawaii#
Idaho#
Illinois#
Indiana#
Iowa#
Kansas#
Kentucky#
Louisiana#
Maine*
Maryland#
Massachusetts#
Michigan#
Minnesota*
Mississippi#
Missouri#
Montana#
Nebraska*
Nevada#
New Hampshire#
New Jersey*
New Mexico#
New York#
North Carolina#
North Dakota*
Ohio#
Oklahoma#
Oregon#
Pennsylvania#
Rhode Island#
South Carolina#
South Dakota*
Tennessee#
Texas#
Utah#
Vermont#
Virginia#
Washington#
West Virginia#
Wisconsin#
Wyoming#
Here's the updated list. States marked with an asterisk (*) are the ones I have merely visited. States marked with a pound sign (#) are the ones I have visited and paddled a boat in.
Alabama#
Alaska
Arizona*
Arkansas#
California#
Colorado#
Connecticut#
Delaware*
Florida#
Georgia#
Hawaii#
Idaho#
Illinois#
Indiana#
Iowa#
Kansas#
Kentucky#
Louisiana#
Maine*
Maryland#
Massachusetts#
Michigan#
Minnesota*
Mississippi#
Missouri#
Montana#
Nebraska*
Nevada#
New Hampshire#
New Jersey*
New Mexico#
New York#
North Carolina#
North Dakota*
Ohio#
Oklahoma#
Oregon#
Pennsylvania#
Rhode Island#
South Carolina#
South Dakota*
Tennessee#
Texas#
Utah#
Vermont#
Virginia#
Washington#
West Virginia#
Wisconsin#
Wyoming#
Home at last
I rolled back into Memphis yesterday afternoon after driving some 2700 miles over six days. There were moments when I wondered if I would ever make it: I was within 40 miles of home when I hit a horrible traffic jam on Interstate 40 just east of Crowley's Ridge in Arkansas. I ended up getting home at least an hour later than I should have.
But I made it, by golly. And I'm so glad to be back. The Columbia River Gorge was beautiful, and I saw all kinds of fascinating things on the drive out there and the drive back. But I've been missing everything about home. My family and friends here. My cats. My familiar training ground on the Memphis riverfront. My kitchen and control over my diet. My familiar comfy bed.
I'm pretty certain about one thing: if I participate in the Gorge Downwind Championships again (and I would definitely like to), I believe I will fly out there. Driving across the country is a valuable experience that's worth doing once a decade or so, but it's exhausting and takes me away from home for a long time. And while it's a hassle making sure I have a rental boat lined up and a rental car and stuff like that, I'm pretty sure that once I've crunched the numbers on what I spent on this trip, I'll conclude that flying and renting a boat and a car will be a better deal financially, especially if I share the car rental with other paddlers.
On Thursday morning I left Burlington and crossed into Kansas on Interstate 70. A while after that I re-entered my own Central Time zone. I continued on through towns like WaKeeney, Hays, and Russell, and then headed north from I-70 to Wilson State Park. Having pored over my maps, I had determined that Wilson Reservoir might be a nice place to paddle. This impoundment was created by the construction of an earthen dam on the Saline River.
The name of the river suggests that the water is salty. It did not seem so, but apparently the salinity is high enough to make the Saline River unsuitable for irrigation. Whatever the case, I thought Wilson Reservoir was quite lovely. People think of the Great Plains as being flat as a pancake, but there is actually plenty of relief out there, and Wilson Reservoir takes advantage of the terrain of the Smoky Hills region. It's easy to delineate the tributary streams that form the "fingers" of the reservoir. I put in on one such finger, formed by Hell Creek, a tributary that comes in from the southeast.
With several competitions still on the schedule this year I was feeling eager to get back into some sort of training mode. After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints, I did several 10-minute pieces in which I pushed the pace. For much of the time I tried to pull fast through the stroke but keep the stroke rate low by taking my time between strokes.
It was already 3 PM by the time I finished paddling, but sheer determination got me east and south all the way to Sallisaw, Oklahoma. That left me with a pretty easy drive for yesterday, at least until I hit that traffic jam.
I've been spending today doing all the usual chores that follow a long trip: unpacking and putting things away, tidying up the house after 17 days of unmonitored kittycat hijinks, re-stocking the pantry, and so on. But I did make time to go down to the riverfront for a 50-minute paddle. I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints, and then tried to surf behind a barge rig that was coming down the Mississippi. It's usually the upstream-bound rigs that generate the best waves; the ones going downstream typically don't run their engines as hard because they've got the current working in their favor. But this one must have been behind schedule, because it was trailing some huge waves behind it. They looked good for surfing, but because they were moving so fast they were hard to catch. I had to paddle at maximum power, and just like out in the Columbia Gorge that was hard to do when I was off-balance on the crest of a wave. I did get a couple of decent rides.
I'm still processing a lot of the stuff that happened on my trip. I'll try to write some more later.
But I made it, by golly. And I'm so glad to be back. The Columbia River Gorge was beautiful, and I saw all kinds of fascinating things on the drive out there and the drive back. But I've been missing everything about home. My family and friends here. My cats. My familiar training ground on the Memphis riverfront. My kitchen and control over my diet. My familiar comfy bed.
I'm pretty certain about one thing: if I participate in the Gorge Downwind Championships again (and I would definitely like to), I believe I will fly out there. Driving across the country is a valuable experience that's worth doing once a decade or so, but it's exhausting and takes me away from home for a long time. And while it's a hassle making sure I have a rental boat lined up and a rental car and stuff like that, I'm pretty sure that once I've crunched the numbers on what I spent on this trip, I'll conclude that flying and renting a boat and a car will be a better deal financially, especially if I share the car rental with other paddlers.
On Thursday morning I left Burlington and crossed into Kansas on Interstate 70. A while after that I re-entered my own Central Time zone. I continued on through towns like WaKeeney, Hays, and Russell, and then headed north from I-70 to Wilson State Park. Having pored over my maps, I had determined that Wilson Reservoir might be a nice place to paddle. This impoundment was created by the construction of an earthen dam on the Saline River.
The name of the river suggests that the water is salty. It did not seem so, but apparently the salinity is high enough to make the Saline River unsuitable for irrigation. Whatever the case, I thought Wilson Reservoir was quite lovely. People think of the Great Plains as being flat as a pancake, but there is actually plenty of relief out there, and Wilson Reservoir takes advantage of the terrain of the Smoky Hills region. It's easy to delineate the tributary streams that form the "fingers" of the reservoir. I put in on one such finger, formed by Hell Creek, a tributary that comes in from the southeast.
With several competitions still on the schedule this year I was feeling eager to get back into some sort of training mode. After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints, I did several 10-minute pieces in which I pushed the pace. For much of the time I tried to pull fast through the stroke but keep the stroke rate low by taking my time between strokes.
It was already 3 PM by the time I finished paddling, but sheer determination got me east and south all the way to Sallisaw, Oklahoma. That left me with a pretty easy drive for yesterday, at least until I hit that traffic jam.
I've been spending today doing all the usual chores that follow a long trip: unpacking and putting things away, tidying up the house after 17 days of unmonitored kittycat hijinks, re-stocking the pantry, and so on. But I did make time to go down to the riverfront for a 50-minute paddle. I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints, and then tried to surf behind a barge rig that was coming down the Mississippi. It's usually the upstream-bound rigs that generate the best waves; the ones going downstream typically don't run their engines as hard because they've got the current working in their favor. But this one must have been behind schedule, because it was trailing some huge waves behind it. They looked good for surfing, but because they were moving so fast they were hard to catch. I had to paddle at maximum power, and just like out in the Columbia Gorge that was hard to do when I was off-balance on the crest of a wave. I did get a couple of decent rides.
I'm still processing a lot of the stuff that happened on my trip. I'll try to write some more later.
Thursday, July 26, 2018
I made a video (and that's a big deal)
Here's a clip of some video I shot while paddling on the Columbia River last Saturday. I'm in an area known as Swell City, near the Washington side across from Hood River:
Though it seems simple enough, the very existence of this post is a mammoth achievement on my part. Twelve hours ago I had never edited a digital video clip and never posted anything on my You Tube channel. Sitting here in my motel room in Burlington, Colorado, somehow I've managed to accomplish both those things. This poor web-unsavvy soul will accept any and all pats on the back.
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
Back across America
The long journey home is underway.
On Sunday morning in Hood River the weather was picture-perfect: clear blue skies, mild temperatures, and for once no wind. I know we surf ski paddlers are supposed to love the wind because it provides those epic surfing conditions, but I have to admit I got weary of living my out-of-the-boat life with that gale-force wind constantly blowing last week.
I headed south, hoping to make it at least as far as Klamath Falls. As I drove into the afternoon, the blue sky was replaced by a gray haze. South of Bend I began to realize the reason: wildfires. There was one stretch of 50 miles or so where I must have been quite close to a fire, because the smoke was disturbingly thick. I had supper in Klamath Falls and decided to keep going, hoping I could find some cleaner air. I drove into California and camped in Modoc National Forest.
On Monday some paddling was on the agenda. I'd never been to Lake Tahoe before, so I decided to check that out. I looked for access on the Nevada portion of the lake because I'd never paddled in Nevada before. The sky was still hazy from fires in the region but otherwise the lake was beautiful. I paddled for 60 minutes, trying to practice some of the downwind skills I'd learned on the many motorboat wakes.
After that I got back in the car and began to cross Nevada on U.S. 50, known as "the loneliest road in America." I thought it was quite lovely. Expecting barren desert, I was instead treated to a whole variety of landforms and colors. I found a place to camp some 20 miles off the highway, up in a place called Kingston Canyon. There was abundant vegetation and even a bold creek flowing through.
Yesterday I did nothing but drive. I completed the trip across Nevada and got most of the way across Utah, camping in the town of Green River. I might have savored the ambience there if the mosquitoes hadn't been so bad.
Today was another all-driving day. I made it all the way across Colorado. Having camped the last three nights I was ready to check into a motel, and so here I sit in a room in Burlington, Colorado, just west of the Kansas state line. I woke up this morning in the Plateau Province and now I'm getting ready to hit the hay on the Great Plains.
The plan for tomorrow is to find a place to paddle in Kansas, because I've never paddled in Kansas before. Otherwise I hope to make good progress in the car so that maybe I'll arrive home in Memphis at a reasonable hour on Friday.
On Sunday morning in Hood River the weather was picture-perfect: clear blue skies, mild temperatures, and for once no wind. I know we surf ski paddlers are supposed to love the wind because it provides those epic surfing conditions, but I have to admit I got weary of living my out-of-the-boat life with that gale-force wind constantly blowing last week.
I headed south, hoping to make it at least as far as Klamath Falls. As I drove into the afternoon, the blue sky was replaced by a gray haze. South of Bend I began to realize the reason: wildfires. There was one stretch of 50 miles or so where I must have been quite close to a fire, because the smoke was disturbingly thick. I had supper in Klamath Falls and decided to keep going, hoping I could find some cleaner air. I drove into California and camped in Modoc National Forest.
On Monday some paddling was on the agenda. I'd never been to Lake Tahoe before, so I decided to check that out. I looked for access on the Nevada portion of the lake because I'd never paddled in Nevada before. The sky was still hazy from fires in the region but otherwise the lake was beautiful. I paddled for 60 minutes, trying to practice some of the downwind skills I'd learned on the many motorboat wakes.
After that I got back in the car and began to cross Nevada on U.S. 50, known as "the loneliest road in America." I thought it was quite lovely. Expecting barren desert, I was instead treated to a whole variety of landforms and colors. I found a place to camp some 20 miles off the highway, up in a place called Kingston Canyon. There was abundant vegetation and even a bold creek flowing through.
Yesterday I did nothing but drive. I completed the trip across Nevada and got most of the way across Utah, camping in the town of Green River. I might have savored the ambience there if the mosquitoes hadn't been so bad.
Today was another all-driving day. I made it all the way across Colorado. Having camped the last three nights I was ready to check into a motel, and so here I sit in a room in Burlington, Colorado, just west of the Kansas state line. I woke up this morning in the Plateau Province and now I'm getting ready to hit the hay on the Great Plains.
The plan for tomorrow is to find a place to paddle in Kansas, because I've never paddled in Kansas before. Otherwise I hope to make good progress in the car so that maybe I'll arrive home in Memphis at a reasonable hour on Friday.
Monday, July 23, 2018
Monday photo feature
This is the vacation rental house I called home last week. It's a charming, comfortable little place right in the main business district of Hood River. 2700 square feet. It's not in bad shape, but it could use some updating and sprucing up.
If you want it, it's on the market. All you need is $1.5 million.
I first visited Hood River 20 years ago. Back then it felt like a really down-to-earth sort of town... a place an ordinary guy like me could live. Now it's an ultra-wealthy resort town like Aspen. It's not hard to see why, as the Columbia Gorge area is an absolute paradise for people who love water sports, mountain sports, or both. For paddling alone, the Gorge has it all for both whitewater and open-water enthusiasts.
But Hood River suffers the typical problems that bedevil every "it" town. The cost of living is through the roof, and on the weekends when tourists flood in it's nearly impossible to find a place to park and the streets and highways are gridlocked.
I can't overstate how beautiful and fun it is here, but I can't see myself living in a place like this. I've learned to appreciate the upside of living in a city that the rest of the world doesn't want to move to.
Sunday, July 22, 2018
Race photography
To give you an idea of the conditions in the Columbia River Gorge, here's a photo taken this past week by official race photographer Tom Gomes:
There are many more such photos posted on the Gorge Downwind Championships Face Book page. I haven't spotted myself in any of them, but there are some impressive shots nevertheless. Go have a look.
There are many more such photos posted on the Gorge Downwind Championships Face Book page. I haven't spotted myself in any of them, but there are some impressive shots nevertheless. Go have a look.
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