This is my thirty-
first daily tanka. One for
Should I keep writing tanka?
It’s been a fun thing to do.
This is my thirty-
first daily tanka. One for
Should I keep writing tanka?
It’s been a fun thing to do.
Spring days are good for
Considering nightmare fates:
Lost in a desert,
Trapped in a besieged city,
Sick with an unknown illness.
I’d considered trying to write something long and detailed about our new president, but when Inauguration Day arrived, I didn’t have the stomach or time for it.
My politics are pretty clear to anyone I know on social media, so I probably don’t need to say more than that while I hope he’s a good president, I don’t think there’s any realistic chance of that happening. Trump is not presidential material, which makes his current job even more colossally ironic.
What really gets me angry today is how Trump mocks a set of illusions that I’ve built my life around. These illusions or beliefs are built on and reinforced by my own white male privilege, but Trump now gleefully disproves them – that for instance a good person will do better for himself and people he loves than a bad person, or that the combination of intelligence and hard work will beat assholery and privilege.
Grasping, tawdry, vulgar, and ignorant, Trump has nonetheless succeeded. He’s the most powerful person in the world.
I’m not going to jettison those illusions of mine yet, though. Maybe I’m a dumbass for not doing so. But I’ve read this novel, and I think I remember the ending.
In a no-words-barred nerd battle at the Northfield middle school spelling bee, Julia took second place behind last year’s winner.
Julia spelled eleven words correctly, then missed on “gesticulation,” which the champ spelled correctly as well as “prestidigitation.” We’re so proud of the kid! Now she’s going to the regional competition in February!
People often express surprise when I say that I’m looking forward to one of my winter races, when I say that it’ll be “fun.”
Given the dislike or even hatred (not to say fear) that many people seem to have for winter, I guess I can understand their surprise. I would need many more words than I have in this post to explain all the forms that the “fun” of a winter race can take. But one kind of pleasure that I enjoy during the races, and during winter generally, is the pleasure of being in the snowy landscape.
Even today, taking a completely ordinary ride home from the gym, I saw this wonderful view, looking east out of Carleton’s Arboretum:
I’m looking forward to the fun of riding through these scenes again. Four days!
What: The Chequamegon 100 mountain bike race – actually only 80 miles this year due to rain damage on one part of the trail network.
Where: Chequamegon Area Mountain Bike Association trails near Cable in north-central Wisconsin. The CAMBA trails are tight, technical paths through dense hardwood and conifer forests.
Why: To redeem myself after failing to finish the Cheq 100 in 2015, when I stepped down to the 62-mile race after the wet trails proved too much for my legs and fatbike.
Who: the Coyote, my Salsa El Mariachi, which got a little buggy and dirty.
My best gear: my Osprey hydration pack, a Syncro 3 that held a big reservoir and a few gels and nothing else. Light, comfy, ideal.
My worst gear: my lower back.
The low point was when I had to stop with ten miles to go to to stretch my aching back for the millionth time. The brutally rough trails were almost too much.
The high point was riding the whole day with my friends Galen and Sarah, who though much faster than me, rode with me from start to finish. I valued the company and the inspiration as well as the chance to watch how they handled the trails.
It was in the bag when we hit a high point on the last section of singletrack and saw the road that led back to this finish line.
The key lesson learned is that flow is everything on MTB trails. Being able to generate and maintain momentum is a far more important skill than being able to generate massive power. (Power and speed helps too though!)
I don’t think I’ve thought about what it might be like to be an animal for decades – probably since I was a little kid. Well, maybe I do a little imagining now and then. Swooping down a long hill on my bike, I might wonder if I feel anything like how a hawk might feel as it dives out on the clouds onto a hapless rabbit.
That imagining pales next to the deep and deeply weird imaginings and the even weirder doings that British writer Charles Foster describes in his book, Being a Beast. Concerned – obsessed – with the experience of being an animal, Foster states on the first page of the book, “I want to know what it is like to be a wild thing.” He not only tries to think about what it must be like to be a badger or a fox or a swift, but even tries to be a badger and a fox and a swift, going so far as to eat earthworms like a badger, to skulk through urban streets like a fox, and to – well, he can’t be much like a swift, which spends weeks aloft migrating between Europe and Africa. Mindbendingly bizarre, these experiences are also – thanks to Foster’s human command of language – entertaining examinations of the biology and psychology of being a beast (all of which include scores of engrossing facts about the natural world) and a set of cases in which Foster tries to be those different beasts.
It’s safe to say, I think, that very few people – at least in the industrialized West, where we have so safely and brutally segregated our lives from nature – are willing to go to Fosterian lengths in imagining an animal’s existence. Hunters, as he shows in the red stag chapter, might come closest, trying to duplicate aspects of wolf-ness. I like certain kinds of extreme fun in nature, but I don’t think I’d sleep in a cave in a riverbank like Badger Foster, belly-surf down a river like Otter Foster, run through the fields like Stag Foster, or eat trash scavenged from a garbage bin like Fox Foster.
Maybe because most of us aren’t willing to go one-twentieth as far toward animal-ness as Foster, Being a Beast serves as an extended essay on a wild kind of human eccentricity and a moving consideration of a human kind of longing for the wild. For many of us, segregated in our cars and houses, this longing is imagining the freedom that we think is at the core of animal experiences. Animals experience more than freedom, of course: hunger, exhaustion, terror, as well as satiety, restedness, calm – and maybe even a sense of happiness in doing the things that make them what they are. Foster writes:
I can’t always be in the wild. Sometimes I have to be in places that smell of fear, fumes, and ambition. When I’m there, it helps very much to know that badgers are asleep inside a Welsh hill, than an otter is turning over stones in one of the Rockford pools, that a fox is blinking in the same sun that makes me sweat in my tweed coat, that a red stag is cudding among ghost trees by a stone circle near Hoar Oak, and that there’s a swift, hatched above my Oxford study, hunting, almost beyond human sight, in the high hot blue over the Congo River. That these things should be a comfort is strange. They should taunt. They should say, “You’re not there. Ha, ha, ha.”
This knowledge that animals are leading their unknowable lives while we lead ours is a comfort to me too. I find my own mind wandering, when I’m tired or stressed but also when I’m satisfied or calm, to visions – experienced directly, stolen from photos and films, and fully imagined – of bison, my favorite unknowable animals, out there in America, doing bison things. It’s a relief and a pleasure to know they’re there while I’m here. That there are wild beasts that I’ll never become.
Composing my blog post before last year’s Arrowhead 135, I had to sit far away from my motel-room window, which was entirely iced over in that year’s epic cold.
This year, we are prepping for the race in a too-hot room at the Falls Motel in International Falls, where tomorrow’s temperatures are forecasted to range from 15 to 35 degrees F, or about 50-60 degrees warmer than last year.
Needless to say, I’m extremely excited for the race. I know the course, the weather and conditions will be good, the Buffalo proved itself in Idaho to be a great bike, and I should have a decent bump in fitness from the Fat Pursuit.
Or, you know, maybe not: maybe my legs are still fried! Either way, though, I’m happy and lucky to be here in I Falls ready to kick things off again. I enjoyed catching up with some old friends and meeting some new ones at the pre-race events this afternoon, and I’m very grateful for all the support and interest from friends far and wide – especially as always Shannon, who’s solo-parenting while I’m adventuring.
I’m hoping for a 24-hour finish, which is conceivable and maybe even realistic. My tactics, such as they are, include stopping as briefly as possible at the checkpoints and trying to follow the wheels of some racers whom I know are just a little bit faster than I am.
You can follow the race on the Trackleaders service used at the Fat Pursuit. The race tracking page is at http://trackleaders.com/arrowhead15. Since not all racers are using tracking devices, Trackleaders won’t provide a comprehensive view of racers’ times and placings. For that, check the official race results page, which will include everyone’s times at each checkpoint and the finish.
We took our summer vacation trip to Hancock, Michigan – my hometown, and a great jumping-off point for all the cool stuff in the Copper Country. We don’t go back often, or often enough, but when we do, I really enjoy playing tourist at "home." Growing up in the Keweenaw, I don’t think I ever visited any of the waterfalls along the western side of ridge that runs up the peninsula. With my family and my mom, I saw two of them on Thursday. Like the U.P. itself, they’re outstanding in their modest way.
Eagle River Falls is right in the middle of the tiny village of Eagle River. A beautiful old bridge creates a perfect vantage on the falls and the remains of a factory that (I think) used the falls for power.
Jacob’s Falls is a little further north, after a winding drive through a tunnel of trees.
Jacob’s Falls is right next to an abbey and to a small shop – the Jam Pot – where the monks sell amazing baked goods and jams. (Thimbleberry jam is basically platinum in a jar: $14 for a tiny jar.)
The falls are really no more than especially arresting ways for water to get to the Big Lake. It was wonderful to soak my feet in the cold water
And soak up the views of the endless shoreline.
Ten non-frivolous things for which I’m thankful today:
1. Julia, an amazing third grader.
1. Genevieve, an amazing first grader.
3. Shannon, an amazing homemaker.
4. My wonderful job at Carleton.
5. That we can meet all of our material needs.
6. My wonderful friends, near and far.
7. Northfield, an excellent place to live.
8. The Carleton Arboretum, maybe the best part of Northfield.
9. Minnesota’s four distinct seasons.
10. That my family is healthy and happy.
The summer of 2012 was defined for me by trips to the city pool. I went with the girls to the pool at least 25 times this summer. If we averaged two hours per trip (a few trips were shorter, many were longer), that’s about two days worth of time at the pool, soaking up the sun and lounging in the water. Shannon probably took the girls to the pool at least twice that many times, so the girls probably spent something like 150 hours at the pool. Not bad for one summer!
We went so often because the girls loved it. The summers of 2010 and even 2011 were a little rocky, since the girls were younger and less sure in the water. This summer everything came together. Julia is a really good swimmer, thanks to lessons and her own growing willingness to just get in the water and *swim*. She even started doing “laps” between various points int the pool, which was impressive.
Vivi quit her lessons last winter, but she picked up some skills from Julia and can motor around pretty well. Julia continued to jump off the diving board, a feat she accomplished first last summer, and Vivi decided to brave the board – and the deep water – this summer, too. She was always the smallest human in the line for the board, but by golly she jumped off like there was no tomorrow.
And of course I played quite a bit with them, too – though not as much as they would have liked, which was 100% of the time. (Sometimes my old knees demanded that I get out of the water: all that crouching is hard on ’em.) The funniest part of the whole summer came today when I begged off of another round of “monster” (i.e., chasing them around the water and throwing them into the air when I caught them). The both protested, “Noooooo, Daddy! You have to stay in! We don’t want to play by ourselves!” I asked, “What do you do when Mama’s at the pool with you by herself? Doesn’t she come in and play with you?” The looked at me like I was crazy. “No, she just sits on the side and talks with the other moms.”
Tonight while drawing at the kitchen table, Vivi had an itch on her back. She reached around to scratch it, then jumped in shock. “What’s wrong, honey?” I asked. Eyes wide but arm still reaching back, she said, “I felt something! What am I touching?”
I leaned over to look behind her, expecting her to have maybe squashed a mosquito or discovered a leaf stuck to her sweaty, sweaty skin. But no: she had discovered her shoulder blade, which was jutting out, like they do. I told her that she was just touching her shoulder blade, and she wondered in response, “Did I just grow it? Does everyone have them?” I pulled up my shirt and scrunched my scapulae to make them pop out. She touched them softly, perhaps worried they were going to bite, smiled, and reached around her own back to touch her own again.
Just wait’ll she discovers biceps (among other interesting body parts).
Carleton’s annual reunion is a huge deal, literally taking over campus for three days in the middle of June every year. The aftermath is always impressive: giant empty tents, scores of recycling bins, trodden-down grass… This year the aftermath included some new seedlings – maples by the look of the leaves – in a part of the Arboretum where the indefatigable Arb crew recently cleared away buckthorn and other underbrush. I think the seedlings look pretty cute in their little nets:
Following on yesterday’s post about my experience in Steve Kelly’s jazz history course, here are the best ten songs that I heard for the first time in the course.
10. Coleman Hawkins, “Body and Soul” (1939)
9. Nina Simone, “Love Me Or Leave Me” (ca. 1965)
8. Count Basie Orchestra, “One O’ Clock Jump” (1937)
7. Nat King Cole, “Just You, Just Me” (1957)
6. The Modern Jazz Quartet, “Django” (1960)
5. Count Basie & Jimmy Rushing, “I Left My Baby” (1939)
4. Joshua Redman, “Moose the Mooche” (1993)
3. Benny Goodman Orchestra, featuring Charlie Christian, “Solo Flight”
2. Duke Ellington, “Sepia Panorama” (1940)
1. Louis Armstrong, “West End Blues” (original Armstrong version, 1928)