Embracing the Local Scene

My manager told a fellow manager last week that she and I were "embracing the local culture". She's right. We are both definitely working hard at embracing it vs rejecting it. I had just purchased a pair of cowboy boots within hours of her sharing that. And if that is not embracing the local scene, I don't know what is.



She is doing her own thing to find a way to do that and I'm doing my own thing to do the same. There are times when it can seem a bit slow to me, and I find myself literally amusing myself by doing things like tracking the progress of how quickly an animal decays in the hot summer heat. Then I take pictures of that progress to share with Nathan who does not get to outside and play during the day like I do. Warning: Gross picture below.




Pretty cool, huh? For the record, that was taken on Day Nine. Tropical storm Debby dumped all kinds of water in the area making a mess of things for many people and animals.


The river flooded due to Debby's gift and so we dealt with more flooding in the park. So much so, we "moved" from one site to another site to avoid being in the flood water.



Let's see, beyond all that fun I have had tree frogs jump on the top of my head twice in the past month. Once it took a lot of arm flailing and a funny dance to get it to leave the top of my head. That was pretty fun. It has been so boring for the most part here though that it has allowed me to be ridiculously lazy. I've enjoyed it. We are leaving to go on a cruise tomorrow and while I'm excited, I fear that after my recent daily pace, I will be exhausted two days in. I will have much more to share here when I get back though. Something more blog worthy than tree frogs that is.



Living the life in lazy Florida.

Rural Cycling: Fantasy vs Reality

Though fate has been such that I've spent most of my life in cities and suburbs, I have always been drawn to rural areas. When I first started working after grad school, I finally got my wish and lived in the rural North for two years - but for logistical reasons this could not last, and we subsequently moved to Boston. Still, I continue to dream of long country roads, of creaky farm houses surrounded by unruly gardens, of moody seascapes with not a housing development in sight, and of miles of dense forest stretching as far as the eye can see. This is probably what drives my interest in touring, and I use my bike to get out of the city every chance I get.

On Memorial Day we rode through the hilly country roads of Lexington, Lincoln and Concord. It is so nice there, that my rural fantasies flared up again big-time. Oh to wake up in my farmhouse (modestly sized, white clapboard, mansard roof), get the bike out of the barn, and cycle 20+ miles along a pastoral landscape to the nearest town on errands... I get overwhelmed just thinking about it!

But how realistic is cycling for transportation in a rural area? According to the Co-Habitant, my dreams will be crushed by harsh reality if I actually get what I want. He reminds me how far away everything is from everything else. He reminds me that in Northern New England winter can last from mid-November till April and in many areas it is impossible to get around without an all-wheel drive motor vehicle. He reminds me that cars do not uphold the speed limit on those picturesque winding rural roads, and points out that narrow road + blind turns + trucks speeding along at 60mph = bad news for cyclists. Plus, when it gets dark in the countryside, it gets really dark - pitch black! Will I be able to deal with that?

I agree with all of these points if I stop to think about it. Yet, I continue to depict myself as a rural cyclist in my mental picture of the "ideal future". Is it pure fantasy? Will I be longing for the bike lanes and the urban landscape of Boston when living in my farm house in the middle of nowhere? I do wish there were more websites out there that focused on rural cycling, so that I could form a better idea of its practical aspects. The cows refused to share their honest opinion.

Celestial Beings

[image via Spernicelli]


Depending on who you speak to, it is either the most over-rated vintage bicycle in existence, or the Holy Grail: The classic Bianchiin the legendary "celeste" green.






[image viaSpernicelli]


The first time I saw a true vintage Bianchi wasa couple of years ago,in Austria. It was many decades old and partially dilapidated, hanging in a dark corner of a stuffy bike shop - among dozens of other classic Italian bikes. Still, the Bianchi was the one I noticed. From across the room, I walked toward it with a flutter in my chest, my hand already stretching out to touch the lugwork. Amore.






[image via Mike's Bikes]




Started in Milan in 1885, Bianchi is described asthe world's oldest bicycle company still in existence. Though it has always produced a wide variety of models, Bianchi is best known for its classic racing bikes - particularly in the distinct "celeste" shade that has become its signature colour. Of dubious origins (some say inspired by the Milan sky, but most likely a product of surplus WWII paint), the exact formula of "celeste" has varied throughout the years. But it has always been some magical mix of sage green and powder blue - offset by the seductive shimmer of Campagnolo components.






[image via the Fixed Gear Blog]




As I stare at these images and sigh, I wonder what on earth attracts me to these bikes - Straight out racing bikes that two years ago I would not have even known how to mount, let alone ride.






[image via theoelliot]




Bianchieven produced several mixte models throughout the years - But somehow, it's the classic racing bikes that really draw me in.



And while initially my interest in Bianchi was purely aesthetic, that began to change as my cycling skills expanded. Over time,I have transitioned from thinking ofthese bicyclesas mere eye candy, to seeing myself riding one in future - most likely as my "wildcard" bike, to replace the vintage Trek currently occupying that spot.








[image via prollyisnotprobably]


One interesting industry development, is that the current Bianchi company is re-introducing lugged steel to its modern line-up as part of the Classica line. This began with the partly lugged Dolomiti roadbike in - greeted with some dismay due to its awkward mix of modern and classic features. The line up looks more promising, with the Tipo Corsa and the Pista Classica - both featuring chrome lugwork and fork crowns. Though the lugs look somewhat generic to me and the price is likely to be prohibitive, I am excited to see this and look forward to the models being released. Bianchi "celeste" is at its best when surrounded by lugwork, on a classic steel bike.

An evening in Duluth

Duluth is a beautiful city, and whenever I come to Duluth (if I have the time) I do the good "tourist" thing and make a stop at Canal Park. My brother and I have some appointments tomorrow, but we decided to come down tonight so we could see a movie and not be so rushed tomorrow. As we came into town we noticed an ore boat out on the lake, heading towards the ship canal. We decided to check in quickly at our hotel then go to Canal Park to watch the ship come through.



When we got to Canal Park, it looked like the ship's passing was going to be timed perfectly with the setting sun. However, the ship was moving so slowly that by the time it entered the canal the sun had gone down and the ship was no longer in that nice, warm evening light. Oh well! I still snapped a few pictures as it went through. The image below was shot with my 17mm lens, which allowed me to fit the whole ship in the frame at close range, but also distorted the look a little bit.



After hanging out at Canal Park for a little while longer, we went to see the new "X-Men" movie. When the movie was over, we took a walk along the harbor past the Vista dock, and I took a few pictures along the way. I loved the reflections in the water in the image below:

Evening Thundercloud

We sure have had a lot of cool clouds filling our skies lately. This one was captured while I was kayaking the Pigeon River recently. I could hear thunder off in the distance but I never did get rained on while I was out there.



Below: Another one that I captured the same evening along the river.

Enchanted Gardens

Cycling past the Boston Public Garden last night, it looked so magical that we had to stop and take some night pictures. When people see pictures like this, they often assume that the wild colours are some sort of special effect - infrared photography or Photoshop. But in fact this is an entirely natural outcome of what's known as "long exposure photography." No flash, no special effects - just you and your camera.

To take a night picture, the camera is placed on a stationary surface and the photographer sets a long exposure time (the duration for which the camera's shutter remains open). To give you a point of comparison, daytime pictures are typically taken with an exposure time of less than 1/100th of a second. Night pictures are taken with with an exposure time of 5 full seconds or longer.

In order for long exposure pictures to work, both camera and subject must remain completely still - or else every movement is recorded as a motion blur. Facial expressions are the hardest to keep still and features tends to come out blurry. Bicycles on the other hand, are quite capable of standing motionless and are very patient too - which makes them perfect models for night photography.
Looking at these pictures has made me realise just how comfortable I've become cycling at night. Especially now that it's so hot during the day, that is certainly coming in handy. On Friday and Saturday nights, drivers tend to be more distracted and erratic - so being aware of that (and having one's bike lit up like a Xmas tree) will help you stay safe.

Car Talk... Recollections of a Wilted Romance

Here is a confession: I feel guilty about my car - or rather, what used to be my car.My poor car, once so beloved! I received it as a gift from my family six years ago, after I earned my doctorate and was about to start a new job in a mountainous region of Northern New England. It was the most lavish gift I have received in my life by far, either before or since, and I was filled with gratitude and disbelief. The car was beautiful and impeccably tasteful and rugged, and my excitement knew no bounds. The exterior was a lovely shade of dark gray and the interior was beige suede (I still remember the texture and smell of the seats when the car was new). The 4WD, the optional manual mode, and the myriad of safety features would keep me protected on the treacherous terrain of the place I was to live (and commute for over 20 miles to work). I named the car, and loved it as if it were a puppy. And I delighted in my long commutes - through the valleys past idyllic farm scenes and along dangerous mountain cliffs through the clouds of thick fog that would rise in the mornings.




Everybody was relieved at my reaction to the car, because I had never been an enthusiastic driver in my previous attempts at car ownership. By my early twenties I had dispensed with cars altogether, living in urban areas where they weren't necessary. Interestingly, this was viewed by many as a lack of self-sufficiency on my part: By living in cities, not practicing driving, and allowing my already questionable motoring skills to deteriorate, I was making myself dependent on urban comforts and public transportation. This new job in a rural area demanded a re-adjustment.





My romance with the new car lasted into winter... until I got into a horrifying accident involving darkness, black ice,fresh snow,a cliff and a railing - into which I crashed head-on after losing control on a turn. Miraculously, I emerged unscathed. And though the front end of the car was totaled, my insurance company came through wonderfully and soon the car was good as new. According to the policemen on the scene, that stretch of the road was so bad that night, that "there was nothing anyone could have done different, except not be out on the road". Not an option of course, when commuting home from a long workday.



I cannot say that I began to dislike or fear cars after this event; it was nothing so dramatic or definite. And I continued to drive throughout that winter and the next, in the same dangerous snow and ice, with no further mishaps. But I no longer thought of my car anthropomorphically, no longer considered it cute. It had become just a thing - a necessary thing, but a dangerous one, too, as well as a stuffy and oppressive one at times. Somehow I no longer saw the charm in the beige suede interior or the beauty of the tasteful gray exterior. It was just a car - something that made sense to use only when the necessity outweighed the danger and the feeling of stuffiness, but not otherwise. It was an excellent car, to be sure - useful especially in rural areas, and great for hauling things in its roomy interior. But just a car.





Several years after I got married, we moved to Boston. Within a week, we decided that the Co-Habitant would sell his car and mine would be shared. This was in no way driven by "ideology" on our part; it was simply absurdly inconvenient to have two cars in Boston, and since his was larger than mine, it was the one to go.




When the decision was made to share my car, I hardly suspected that I would never drive it again, but that is exactly what happened. I have not been behind the wheel of it or any other motor vehicle since sometime in 2007, over three years ago now. I have no idea why, and it was never my intention to categorically stop driving. But soon I found that I would rather walk to my destination for an hour than drive there (which was exactly what I did before I started cycling). What used to be my car now pretty much belongs to the Co-Habitant; I experience no feelings of possession when I look at it or sit in the passenger's seat while traveling together.





Will I drive again? Realistically speaking, I probably will, though I don't know when that might be. I am not "anti-car" and consider cars to be useful and necessary in many circumstances. But I cannot imagine wanting to drive just for the sake of it, or loving a car in the same way as I do my bicycles.