Love is a mountain bike trail

It was a beautiful Sunday, sunny and 78 degrees. My mind wanted to keep me indoors. But I made myself get out and get busy. I have always found peace of mind in the woods so I decided to take the mountain bike out for a spin. Now it’s been almost 3 years since I had my bike on any serious trails. I had taken a horrible spill that left my collar bone with a plate and 7 screws in it. Needless to say, since then, I haven’t been eager to get back on the bike. But for me the bike creates the right mixture of nature and sweat inducing activity. I headed out to the old Virginia Power Canal path. I had been told that the trail leads up to the vista point with a Shoney’s billboard overlooking the river, a quarry and interstate 95. I have seen the sign hundreds of times from the road and wondered how to get there. This is the way. The trail started easy enough – wide with lots of space. It was easy and fun. I was overly cautious because I had fallen before. I was very aware that even the little bit of gravel and sand on the trail could make this ride end badly. After some distance the trail thinned out. Walkers and families became fewer and it was just me and the trail. Still passable with very little effort, I was enjoying it. I had all the tools I needed. I had to learn to trust myself and the bike, to become one with it and use all its features, paying close attention to my abilities and of course the trail. Getting to the quarry was relatively easy. I was feeling much more comfortable on my bike and actually having fun. The fear of my fateful fall from before was gone. The quarry is a beautiful spot. It’s about an acre around with clear green water. Sheer rock sides and sunshine accentuated its beauty. The river was to the right and the billboards high above in plain view. It was at this point I had a decision to make. I could stop turn around and let this be extent of the ride or I could go further. The trail gets even narrower from here turning into what mountain bikers call ‘single track’. It had been fun getting to this point. I wasn’t putting pressure on myself. A slow and steady pace had allowed the trail to present itself to me slowly and kept me feeling comfortable. I decided to press on. I was nervous but felt I could make an assessment of my abilities along the way and if need be, pause, walk or just plain turn around. The trail began gaining elevation. This territory scares many away because there are lots of obstacles. I overcame the roots, was painfully aware of drop-offs and walked the bike across felled trees. Each root, bump or tree that I overcame gave me that much more confidence to continue. Reaching the billboards was not without trials. It was clear I needed more practice, but the pain, emotional feelings, and bumps from the trail disappeared once I got there. I could see the river through the trees, the quarry directly below and of course 95. I could clearly see the spot from which I decided to start my ascent. The effort to get from there to this point was absolutely worth it. I had a feeling of accomplishment. The view was what I needed it to be and I wanted to stay here. I had to leave long before I was ready. Biking up is hard, but biking down is harder. The trip up to the vista was exhilarating, and the trip down much slower and longer. You ride in the woods not for the highs and lows but for the personal challenge, the experience of sharing in nature and the eventual peace it brings. ‘Love’ is a mountain bike trail.

Backcountry Hiking and Camping

My good friend George invited me out to the Shenandoah National Park for some Back Country Hiking / Camping. He had chosen a 20 mile circuit of trails that included some stints on the Appalachian Trail. My last attempt at a long hike had ended miserably and 3 days earlier than expected with both knees suffering from IT Band flare ups. I thought that this hike may be a means for me to mend my bruised ego. George is a thoroughly seasoned hiker carrying a pack of 20lbs that holds literally just the bare necessities. I on the other hand hoist 35lbs of pack with a heavier version of those same necessities. We started out Friday evening with a drive to the National Park and finding the trail head at Beahms Gap off of Skyline Drive. The plan was to hike just one mile on Friday, decompress, hit it hard on Saturday and then coast back to our vehicle early Sunday afternoon. There was a bit of foreshadowing when that first mile to Byrds Nest 4, a three sided stone shelter, was at a severely steep incline and wrought with switchbacks in the trail. Although the signs said not to, we were staying the night. We set up our gear, mats on the ground, sleeping bags on top of that. Our packs at our feet to keep them off the cold ground. The view from the shelter as the moon rose was amazing. Fast Forward to 3am. George gets up, as men our age seem to do in the middle of the night. His sounds in the shelter startle me as I had been listening for bear all night. I decide its better to join him out there in the dark wilderness rather than be there alone later. I head get up as well. He heads the 30 feet back to the shelter and I’m just finishing up, when from nowhere comes an incredibly loud and close noise “wooooohooooo…eeaahaahhh..” I had never heard anything like it in my life.. It started like the sound of a redneck girl’s warcry at a Lynyrd Skynyrd Concert after a shot of Jack. It ended with the sound of something very, very animal. “What the hell was that!!?“ I said frantically… “Pee Monkey’s” George said pointedly.. Apparently that’s the phrase he has assigned those unexplained noises that only happen when you leave the comfort of your sleeping gear in the night to relieve yourself. We finally decided that it was a coyote. Saturday brought mixed blessings. Beautiful weather but lots of hiking and a true challenge called “Little Devils Stairs”. Don’t let the cute name fool you, this rugged piece of trail rises 1400 feet in just 1.5 miles. Shear granite walls rose from each side so far up that I couldn’t see the top. A rambling waterfall ran down the middle amongst dead fall trees and boulders that had been lodged there long ago. As we began our ascent, it became clear that ‘slow and steady’ were the watch words. Each high step onto a boulder required a push, a balance and then a willingness to allow the inertia of my 35lbs pack to propel me forward to the next boulder. My legs were screaming as I would push my body up to each successive foot hold. If this trail had been any steeper, we would have needed ropes. It would have been a challenge even if we had no additional gear to carry. We renamed this section of trail “Satan’s Staircase.” Cause it was hell getting to the top. We made another 7 miles after we reached the top. Stopping to pump filtered water into our water bottles from a stream. We made camp at Elkwallow Gap. This night too brought coyote howls and loud crashing sounds in the pitch of the night. With me in my tent and George in his hammock, each noise would have us shout out to the other.. “Pee Monkey?” and the answer would come…. “Pee Monkey.”

What I did on my summer vacation...

Remember your first assignment from your English teacher on your very fist day back to school? Well, I’m long past school but am beating her to the punch this year. This is my account of one of the things I did on my summer vacation. While hanging out in Key West, Connie and I did a couple of snorkeling trips. The first into the shallow back country waters of Sugar Loaf Key. Led by Lazy Dog Charters, we kayaked into the mangrove forests. Our guide was very knowledgeable as she told us of the interdependencies of each of the species of plant and animals. Without going all “treehugger” on us she made it very clear that the human impact on these natural preserves has a major impact on the surrounding land mass, reefs and animals. The red mangrove starts the cycle rooting itself in the most likely waters for its survival. Each subsequent mangrove variety provides just another little bit of the equation to allow for a land mass to begin to form. Over the course of years each mass becomes is own self sufficient habitat providing food and shelter to birds, small land animals and even acts as a safe haven for newly hatched tropical fish. Without these isles of life, the wildlife in deeper waters would be depleted. We snorkeled in 3 -15 feet of water moving slowly so t we didn’t kick up the loose sand. Pausing and watching an entire world would appear. Miniature amphibians like Sea Cucumber, Nurse Sharks and one small but mean Barracuda would swim within inches. Although not easily recognized due to its brown striped coloring, this baby barracuda proved to be just as aggressive as its larger parents are rumored to be… eating its way through schools of fish one by one right in front of me. Our second trip was to the third largest coral reef in the world. We traveled by a catamaran called the Caribbean Spirit 6 miles out into the Atlantic to the Florida reef. The reef grows incredibly slow and shares a symbiotic relationship with the fish and microscopic animals. We snorkeled in 3 – 40 feet of water. There were thousands of fish in a wide array of colors and sizes. A pause to gaze into the deep yielded another world. It’s never been so easy for me to see the circle of life played out in such plain view. Fish in all sizes and colors, lobster, urchins and a much larger version of my friend the Barracuda all played their part. Seemingly coming out of nowhere this silver Barracuda was about 3 feet long, slender, with a protruding lower jaw and very jagged teeth. While all the other fish were animated and moving rapidly, this one chose to suspend himself motionless within 5 feet of Connie and me. Watching us with what appeared to be a dead eye and oozing a bad attitude. My brain flashed to the memory of his aggressive little brother from just a few days before. I wondered if I looked like food. I wondered if this fish could smell my fear. I tried hard to both leave the area and fit him into the view finder of my underwater camera, a feat that makes it nearly impossible to take a decent picture. In what seemed like an instant, the carnivorous fish slowly and confidently moved off into the distant. As ominously has he had appeared, he faded into the haze of the water until he was gone from my view. As if on cue, we were called back to the boat. Connie and I compared notes with the other people on the snorkel trip to find that our Barracuda was just one of many that were seen. It is my firm belief that every relaxing summer vacation needs to have a good shot of adrenaline thrown in just to keep things interesting. I’ll take my “A” now…

Running Socks in the City

There are very few things that you can do no matter where you are… Running is one of those things. It’s healthy, legal, and costs minimal to do it. It’s also a great way to explore a city. I’ve found that most cities are tolerant of the running crowd and that has allowed me to run in cities all across the US. The Big “D”, The Windy City’s Grant Park and now The Big Apple’s Central Park have all been taken in by me, one stride at a time. Before hopping on the train for 3 days in NY, I called Hope Tarr to see if she would be in town. To my delight she had just finished a new book and had time on her hands for a visit. Many of you know Hope as a long time Fredericksburg resident who broke out of our small town for life in the big city. She and I agreed to meet in the Gramercy area at Pete’s Tavern. A place for locals which claims to be the longest continuously running bar in NY and purports that O. Henry had written the short story, Gift of the Magi in one of their booths. Over dinner, I shared that my itinerary included a run in Central Park and with no hesitation Hope accepted the invitation to join me. We had agreed to meet on 90th and 5th avenue. Since I was going to run, I felt fully justified in taking a cab 61 blocks uptown from my hotel. I only met one person during my trip that was not absolutely pleasant…. my cabby had no tolerance for my lack of knowledge of the cities road system. As I told him the street and cross street I was hoping to get to, he exclaimed “Impossible!” After three attempts (while we were moving) and his three similar exclamations, I apparently blurted out something that made sense to him and with quick left turn and his horn blaring a warning, we rolled from the hot concrete into a lush green patch of the city. The contrast is stark. There is no transition from the hot buildings and sidewalks that were loaded with harried shoppers and business people to the cool wooded pathways loaded with runners, bikers, and the like. Each of the outdoor enthusiasts seemed to be enjoying their respite from the grayness of city life, opting for the green and brown of the real outdoors. You should know I find absolutely no joy in the run itself. Yet, no other sport I take part in gives me the physical and mental satisfaction I get from a hard run. Regardless of distance the first half mile or so is all struggles. My legs feel tight, my shoes aren’t feeling right, and my brain begins tossing negative thoughts at me. Shortly after the ½ mile mark everything gets easier. I always have a positive feeling by the time that I finish that sticks with me for hours. During this run we set a pace that allowed for a nice balance of conversation and physical exertion. Unlike me, Hope is a disciplined runner. I have no compunction over a stop for a photo opportunity. My brain kicked in somewhere after the first trip around of the Jaqueline Kennedy Onasis Reservoir. It had adopted a NY accent and a “forgetta-bout-it” voice that got louder in the back of my head. As I stopped and made some attempt at an excuse, Hope quickly shut me down with a well authored quip that went something like “….your not going to go all macho on me are you?” …. Nuff said. The run turned into a walk and continued out of the park for 61 blocks towards downtown. It was filled with the disturbingly wonderful smells of the city, thousands of local inhabitants, a trashcan fire and being turned away from a nice restaurant due to my exercise attire. From beginning to end this big city “run” was exactly the city experience I needed it to be.

Making Music

I’ve been “playing” guitar for about 3 years. “Playing” is the word that I use loosely to describe “learning”. Those of you who have attempted to learn an instrument know exactly what Im talking about. You are given a simple set of musical notes to play, and then some how are supposed to make music from them. It’s the equivalent of learning the alphabet one day, and then being expected to spell words, sentences and paragraphs shortly after. I’m here to tell you that there is hard work and magic in between gaining the knowledge and then applying it. Even then it’s a while before anything melodious comes out. I got started with the guitar in hopes of developing my creative side. My world at the time was filled with computer jargon, one’s / zero’s, Yes’s / No’s. Everything was either black or white with little or no grey area. I was in dire need of finding a way to express myself. I started at Apple Music, taking lessons with Tim Bray. Tim was a wonderful instructor who has a terrific manner and method. Tim would teach using the music that I liked to listen to, cover the basics and then turn me loose to practice at home. By no fault of his, I found that I was staying true to form and learning all the technical stuff about the guitar but was still not taking the bull by the horns and playing music. I couldn’t seem to let loose. I decided that I needed to practice with someone. Bruce and I had been friends for a while and agreed to get together. Imagine my surprise when I showed up at his house to find that he doesn’t play a six string like me, he plays bass. I had to carry my own weight. It’s the best thing that could have happened! Bruce has been playing music for many years. In addition to bass guitar, he plays keyboard, upright bass and is learning the violin. We worked with several songs til we found a few that suited us both. I praise his patience. The opportunity to perform came recently at a House Concert I was hosting. Before they started, I asked the scheduled performers if they minded that I play a couple of tunes after they were done. I would have a captive audience which made my plan perfect. Two local acts, Brady Earnhardt with Rebecca Maxon and Bob Sima came to play. 40 people, most of whom were friends, came to enjoy these singer/song writers. Brady, Rebecca and Bob wowed the crowd. Their acoustic music and words made us feel the full range of emotions. As their show drew to a close, I felt one more, Fear! They say that the number one fear of most people is public speaking; I say it’s playing and singing in front of people. How was I supposed to follow those fantastic performances!!?? My playing isn’t horrible, but still I planned everything to work in my favor. I served Sangria at the gathering, hoping to lower the crowd’s expectations. I selected songs that I knew well and were forgiving for me and my nervous fingers. I even chose one song that enlisted the aid of a pretty girl to sing along with me. My music might go badly, but add a pretty girl and everything gets better. (Thanks Connie!) With my sheet music in hand and heart pounding I took the stage in my living room. Before starting, I took one final look at my audience, not sure what I would see, but hoping to find compassion and tolerance. It was time to play… In my 4 songs, the music flowed from me. It was not without flaw, but my errors seemed secondary to the fun I was having. The crowd was listening, and toes were tapping. Little did they know, I was realizing a dream.

Chakra and Awe

I am busy. I’m busy in my job, I’m busy in my personal life, I’m busy in my brain. I found that I needed something to slow it all down. I found Yoga and Meditation. My involvement in those things recently led me to a workshop sponsored by the Healing Arts Yoga Center here in Fredericksburg. Ren Fields, Director of the Center, led twenty of us on this 2 1/2 day adventure to discover more about ourselves. The workshop was held at the Satchidananda Ashram (also known by its more pronounceable nick-name “Yogaville”) in Buckingham, VA. Situated on the banks of the James River with the Blue Ridge Mountains as a majestic backdrop, the ashram and surrounding grounds encompass over 700 acres of serene, wooded landscape. The Ashram, renowned throughout the world, promotes a system of beliefs encouraging all religions, all races, and all nationalities to focus on the principles of peace, selfless service and healthful, balanced living. At the center of this environment is the LOTUS Shrine. The shrine is shaped like a lotus flower with petals flowing upward and painted in hues of pink and light blue. The interior is circular with a large granite lotus flower in the center. From the center of that a single band of light flows upwards across the ceiling then branches out and down along the exterior walls to many separate altars. Each altar celebrates a specific religion and displays a devotional statement taken from it’s ancient texts. The statement reminds us of the light inside each of us that creates our common bond. To honor the environment visitors are asked to be silent and no photos are to be taken inside. People come here to meditate, share in the positive energy and learn the teachings of the now deceased Guru Satchidananda. The Workshop covered the subject of the 7 chakras - the energy centers of the body -- The concept of chakras underpins yoga’s philosophical system and spiritual energy practices. The promise is that meditative focus on the chakras will help to combine the human body and mind into a single unit. My hope is this practice will help to quiet my busy mind. The subject matter challenged my typical Rationalist approach and gave me much to think about. It broadened my perspective and encouraged my openmindedness. My friend and fellow Yoga Teacher Trainee, George had been here before. He helped me to keep the subject matter and the entire environment in perspective. We are two men in a female dominated area of study. Both of us in stressful, authoritative professions by day – we find some quiet and meaning through the practice of yoga. We bonded very quickly. He and I share a common sense of humor, which sometimes ran counter to the beliefs of the ashram. Although respectful to the environment and our fellow students, we found trouble while making jokes at dinner during a devotional speech and were scolded by a Swami. I claimed ignorance of the ‘no talking’ policy. George had been there before, so I blamed him. I know I shouldn’t have… but seriously, who wants to be in trouble with a Swami? Awareness came to us as we were quietly poking fun at a group of ashram visitors who were clearly on their own dyed hair, tattooed and pierced path. We realized in that moment our childish and judgmental ways were being confirmed. Although we had come along way just by choosing to be in this environment, we still had a looooong way to go if we were hoping to achieve true enlightenment. That realization, however, didn’t stop either of us from irreverently sharing the humor found in intestinal gas created by a vegetarian diet (especially tofu) or encouraging others to kiss our collective first chakra. All 20 students in our group felt and heard the peaceful message of this place, we only had to look within ourselves to know its validity. Truth is One, Paths are Many. Namaste

A River Runs Through it - Atlanta that is...

Trout fishing within the city limits of Atlanta? You bet! I caught up with Chris Scalley at ‘River Through Atlanta Outfitters’ for a afternoon of trout fishing on the Chattahoochee. Amazingly just 20 minutes from my downtown hotel was the winding green water of the river. Once on the river, it was beautiful. We put in at a gentle bend in the river with downed trees (“structure” in the vernacular) and a good mix of fast and slow moving water indicating more structure below the surface. Chris began working with an Atlanta outfitter in 94. Having fished this river his entire life, he began running his own Drift Boat guide trips on the side and then started his own business. Drift Boat Trout Fishing enabled us to fish about ½ a mile of water in the Jones Bridge area of the river. Chris would motor us up river and then use oars to skillfully manage our float back down. I would cast perpendicular to the boat, mend my line (a fly fishing term), and watch as my lure would float down stream with the boat being pushed gently by the water at the same pace. With the line making large graceful arcs overhead I was able to place the lure where I wanted it. Using a more arm than wrist, I would roll the line out and watch my artificial bait, a nymph, gently land on the water. My guide would correct bad behavior or compliment my basic skills with catchy little statements. As I cast into the likely path of a fish he would say with unrehearsed enthusiasm “you’re in the kitchen now!” If I were casting too much, a gentle reminder “… there aren’t any flying fish in the Chattahoochee.”. Very attentive and professional the river man would manage the boat, point out the best ‘channels’ for fish and tend the line and lures as necessary. While fishing, the conversation would ramble like the river, but mid sentence as if in a fit of turrets, he would shout “strike!”. It was my cue to yank upwards on my rod tip and begin dragging in my line with another beautiful 12 – 15” trout on the hook. As the hook was set, the fish would run towards deeper water. I was urged to have fun with it, steering the fish “gently” in the direction that I wanted it to go, and also to bring it closer to the boat. We hooked two types of trout – Rainbow and Brown. Despite Chris’ shout, there was never a vicious strike it was more of a ‘take’. Rainbows would subtly hit the bait from below the surface. Brown Trout however would take the bait the same way, but the second I would set the hook, the fight was on. The Brown trout were bred in the river and are much stronger than the Rainbows which are stocked regularly. The first Brown to strike was a surprise. With about 20 feet of line in the water, I began to drag in what felt like a monster on the end of my rod. In direct opposition to the pounding of my heart, Chris urged me to be patient while bringing in the fish. My rod was bent in a great arc that led from my hands, towards the sky and then downward with the tip almost touching the water. The line ran from left to right and then left again, with blurry flashes of fish at each turn. The thrill was incredible. The fight was intense. It was easy to imagine a lunker the size of my leg fighting me from the depths. This fish was as determined as I was but we had opposing goals. In total I caught 5 fish, there were twice as many exciting strikes. But as my guide readied the net and this 6 inch monster came into view, it was obvious that despite its smaller size, this was by far… the largest fish of the day.

Just like riding a Bike...

I have to challenge the old cliche'. Riding a motorcycle is not "just like riding a bike"... :( Just a little history - I have been riding bicycles, mini-bikes and dirt bikes since I was very young.... It was a fun way to grow up and it allowed my father, brother and I some very quality time together. My brother (shown in the picture) and I would take that very mini bike, and cruise through a home made dirt course in the woods.. with jumps (BTW - all the dirt from the jump came from the hole directly behind it - so there were consequences to not making the jump). We werent the smartest kids in the neighborhood. My dad was a motorcycle enthusiast... he was pretty bold, doing some motocross and steep hill riding. He also had a Suzuki road bike which he passed on to my brother who rode it to and from college. Anyhow, he made sure that we had motorcycles growing up. In July 07 I purchased a street bike from a friend of mine. I was not worried in the least about it.. in fact, I was super thrilled. It was my hope that the bike would allow me to ride often and explore near and far. My Bike, a Yamaha FZ 6, typically called a 'crotch rocket' when some asks what type of bike I have.... is a respectable first road bike. Lots of power which is both a blessing and a curse, a great look and any sport bike enthusiast recognizes it as an "amazing example of human engineering". The seating position is somewhere between upright (ala Harley Davidson) and laying on the tank (ala Super Sport Bike).... All that said.... 20+ years have passed since Ive been on a road bike. ( I did wreck the last one, by the way, but thats another story all together). I have riden my new bike every week that weather would permit it. In the beginning everything was going great. I cruised around town from stop light to stop light.. slowly reducing my fear of other vehicles, then of long sweeping left hand curves (Ive asked several folks and this seems commonon). Im pushing my speed up beyond the speed limit (sorry, officer), and have decided to begin taking longer rides. Amazingly, this is where the real issue is. For the past few weeks I have been taking longer and longer rides with my Uncle and Aunt. The latest route has been an 86 mile trek from my home out rt 208 into Orange County and back up the winding roads to the courthouse. As I had said earlier I had become pretty adept at running my errands around town, but I wasnt getting the full affect of what a real ride was about.

What I found out was the riding is soooo much more than getting on the bike and letting it run. Fast is a desire, but one that you need to work up to. Honestly, Im happy at this point if I stick with the speed limit. But other things came up unexpectedly too...

Wind. Of all variations. I can be cruising on a road surrounded by trees and the second the road opens up to a field or crossing a bridge.. and wham!! wind comes out of no where. Its jarring. and it shakes the mind more than just a little. Another form of wind comes from BIG trucks passing from the other direction. This wind comes with the threat of becoming a bug on the windshield of a behemoth truck. By comparison, Im so small the trucker doesnt even know that I was there and certainly wouldnt know if he ran over me.

Crowned Roads with no shoulder. Theres something that surprised me. Get an image in your head of me on my bike staying plumb with the earth, while the road grades off to my right. You feel like your gonna fall off the road. My fix has bigger ramifications than the problem. I hug the yellow line..... that puts me closer to the... you guessed it... BIG trucks. And anyother vehicle that may cross the line into my path.

The absolute biggest surprise for me is the physical and mental stamina required to ride longer distances. Yes, I said stamina. The first 30 miles, I started to feel the strain on my arms. My traveling mates suggested that I relax my arms... and consider taking my hands off one of the handle bars for a little while to relax them... So, I fully understand that this can be done. But I have to say, I have sooo many things going on in my head... mostly centering on the things that can cause me harm, I assure you that taking my hands off the wheel, at this point anyway, aint gonna happen. 55/60 miles per hour on a crowned road with a truck coming in my direction with one hand on the wheel, just makes for bad mojo. We've made this trip twice in two weeks... although this isnt the only motorcycle riding that Im doing, its this ride that has absolutely worn me out. My forearms and back are so tired that I cannot ride the next day with any confidence.

You say.. what about the mental stamina? Try going 86 miles with the thought of having to do everything right on every mile.. knowing the consequences are much more severe than falling into a hole on the other side of a dirt ramp. Its work.

Is it enough to make me stop... no... but its not Just like riding a bike either.

PaintBall - Part I

Paint Ball ******* I meet new people all the time. I always engage them about their interests. I’m frequently surprised with their responses. I met Steve and Matt some months ago and in short conversation quickly realized that we had a lot of common interests. Their favorite activity is Paintball. Naturally I was invited to play. Half the fun of a new sport for me is gearing up. Off to the Paintball Store I went. My new gun, a Tippman 98 Custom Pro, described as “virtually indestructible” was not the low end of equipment, but as I found out on the field, there was considerable space between it and the top end. Semi-automatic weapons with names like “Ego” and “Ion” with embedded electronics and automatic feeders supplying 30 paintballs per second to a trigger happy warrior were there. My gun, an air tank, and a face mask that made me look like Skeletor were enough to get me started. It was a rainy day when I arrived in the boondocks of Hartwood with my new gear. It was clear that considerable effort had been put into this private paintball field. Steve and Matt and some others had been working with this two acre plot to create a space where they could hone the skills of their “Home Team”. A rough hewn fort at both the high side and the low side of the field became the castles from which warring teams could advance or protect. A variety of man-sized construction conduit lay in between. Black and corrugated – each piece had been strategically placed and modified for its new purposes each showing the now faint markings from previous mock battles. Enormous root balls from fallen trees, a rain swollen creek, and stacked logs at key intervals that allowed for a protected advance, retreat or ambush, the sloped field had all the makings to enable adventure. Steve was the leader of the team and the field. Despite his few words, he was clearly in command, everyone waited for him to give the word regarding what game, when it started and what happened next. Matt, faithful lieutenant and formidable paint baller himself would ensure that everyone complied. Tim, the man to see to get the hookup for almost anything, he brought the compressed air, had an endless supply of batteries for the higher end guns he was selling cases of paintballs, and even packs cigarettes to the camouflaged soldiers. Me, clearly a newbie, these guys made sure that despite my inexperience I had a good time. We chose teams using two different colored paintballs in a hat. 8 in each color were blindly chosen one by one by each of the 16 players. Based on the ball you were either labeled “Evil” (a brand of ball) or something that seemed considerably less significant. My favorite game was called “Hamburger Hill” where the ‘evil’ team was chosen to advance on the high side in an effort to take the fort, while the other team was given a prior opportunity to set up an ambush waiting for the most opportune time to strike. 3 hits and a player is out. The honor system and some very colorful paint are used to validate a player’s status. I can’t accurately describe the primal urges or the adrenaline rush that comes from knowing other humans are shooting at you. A shot to the mask got my attention, the splatter of paint crept through the mask onto my face. It helped only slightly to know that these balls of paint were not going to kill me. I had make an effort to keep a calm head. I was put out by two more hits of bright paint on the sole of my muddy boot. Apparently my enemy was an extremely accurate shot and I never even saw him. I ended the day muddy, wet, physically tired, bruised by paintball hits and thrilled at the thought of coming back.

Spring Training

There are occasions when my work schedule precludes my activity schedule. And even then, I still try to find some time for the things that I love the most. That was the case for a recent two week trip to Orlando. I was there for a conference… outside of Universal Studios.. . I have to make note that Orlando is not really Florida at all.. more than an hour in any direction to get to a beach, and cold at night. Orlando really is more Disney than stereotypical Florida. I personally cannot find the attraction outside of the Disney/Epcot/Universal/Marine World … which is just not my thing. The one true positive for me was that Spring had clearly sprung in Orlando where the temperatures reached the low 70’s during the days and that was a clear delight compared to the 30’s and 40’s that were hitting back here in Fredericksburg. I did enjoy a couple of short runs through the hotels and strip malls. Anyhow, business occupied most of my time. My conference was scheduled tightly 6a – 9p and held in a hotel that was large enough that you would really have to make an effort to find the outside world. However, with a little planning and some luck, in the second week I was however able to get out to a Spring Training Game. My attendance at the game was earned by the fact that a fellow captive had tickets… and I had a car. We stole away late one afternoon feeling somehow justified in our disappearance from the conference in that with drive time, we would only catch a portion of the game. It seemed like a fair trade. Apart from the many cliché’s regarding baseball in the spring and smell of the air and almost religious experience of being at a ball field…. My companions and I couldn’t help discussing the seemingly young age of the players on the field which led to multiple stories of ourselves as kids either playing little league or attending major league games. More than anything, I found the concept of “spring training” to be very unique. Although, there was a scoreboard this game was not about keeping score. Although die hard fans were noting every minor event to use as proof that their team was going to go all the way to the World Series based on this outing. But the players were there to shake off the rust left from a winter of lethargy. There was nothing to prove… no stats that counted …. I began to think… couldn’t we all use this time as ‘Spring Training’? A time to dust off the self that slows down during winter and push just a little to see which of our skills have survived for another season of play? How nice would it be to get outside without the pressure of competition…. Or approach your job with the thought of making something new happen…. At home you could change an old pattern… In your relationship…. Try something new…. For me Its time to get out the mountain bike…. If you see me, feel free to pass me and remind yourself that Im just shaking the dust off.

Lets Get Acquainted

Lust. I've been asked to write a regular column about sports - but instead I choose to write about lust. It’s the siren's song of lust that calls you to do more with your life, to see things and do things. It’s Lust that asks you to test yourself and prove that you’re alive..... Lusting to be more than what you are.... It is from this place that I feel that I am qualified to write a regular column. Lets get acquainted – I’m Dave. I’m 44. I am very active, I bike; hike; run, snowboard, kayak, ride a motorcycle, am a budding guitarist and yoga instructor in training. In the past few years, I’ve spent time in an Alaskan rainforest, hiked (some of) the Appalachian trail, celebrated in Mexico City along side of Robert Redford in the winners circle of a auto race, hunted duck in Texas, attended Bull Riding championships in Vegas, braved the wilds of NAPA valley (yes, its sport!), chopped up more than one TPC golf course and sailed in Annapolis. It’s more accurate to say that I’m athletic than it is to say I’m an athlete. There never seems to be enough time to become ‘good’ at any one thing, but my interests are many. I have a full time job, a household to keep up and volunteer my time at a local charity. It’s important to understand, that I am a solidly average guy. I am not the guy that wins the race, but I show up every time. I have had successes and failures. I’ve reached some goals (ask me about my Gold Medal from the fitness challenge) and fallen miserably short on others(ask me about my Appalachian Trail hiking trip)… and sometimes have just fallen (ask me about my collar bone..) . I am constantly faced with the real issue of getting older and having the activities that I find interesting slowly slipping away from my physical abilities. The philosophy of it all is geared towards staying involved with life. The activity or performance is secondary to the experience. It’s important for me to have something on the schedule to look forward to, and of course to enjoy life in the process. Setting goals and working towards them is valuable. I push and learn about myself in the process. This is the lust I referred to earlier. Upcoming ‘experiences’ include a variety of adrenaline, scenic outings, self exploration and goals. There are a couple of kayak trips in the works to the Chesapeake bay, a late summer motorcycle trip to Deals Gap, NC to ride 318 curves in an 11 mile stretch (affectionately called ‘The Dragon’), A trip to the Ashram and Retreat Center at Yogaville, Buckingham, Virginia, And the elusive golf goal of breaking 100. The real glory is the stories that I get to share. These stories will chronicle my activities, but more importantly will focus on the places I go and the people that experience them with me. I will offer a real life perspective, covering the true fears of facing a challenge, the exhilaration that comes with accomplishing a goal that was beyond my own belief, and yes, sometimes the agony of defeat. With this column, you get to hear them all and who knows; maybe we can even generate some lust in you as well.

Clinton at UMW

At the last minute, I was told that Former President Bill Clinton would be speaking that the University of Mary Washington. I am a huge fan of Clinton’s post presidential accomplishments. Opportunities to hear a speech from someone with historical significance do not come to our historical town often. I decided to take my shot. The school was buzzing. The line to get into The Great Hall of the Woodward Campus Center was every bit of 1/4 mile long winding between the buildings dedicated to higher learning. Kids and adults alike were braving the 20 degree temperature to hear what Bill had to share with us. We were so far away from the Hall that I considered taking matters into my own hands, leaving my spot and heading towards the front of the line with a $50 bill in my hand, hoping to buy a spot from someone closer. I did not, but my thoughts wandered around the concept that on a college campus... 20 bucks probably would have gotten the job done. As the line began to move, my hopes began to increase. Soon I could see the hall. I was getting surprisingly excited. As we got closer, I imagined how disappointed I would be if I got turned away now. And then I moved closer. And then, I was in. Security was amazingly slim. In the area where the former President was to arrive, there was an obvious security presence with police and private security. But getting in the door there were no metal detectors, or obvious security searches. Being inside, I was amazed at my own reaction. I am not starstruck, I don’t follow the tabloids and really don’t care if Angelina ever marries Brad. These things are not important to me. But here I was, one of the last 25 people to get into the hall, standing on my tippy-toes, straining to see over the heads of hundreds. Hoping to see just the head of the man who was about to speak. Mr Clinton spoke... and yes, he 'stumped' for his wife's campaign. I was struck by how he seemed to make every topic relevant to the crowd in front of him. His manner was easy, seemingly unrehearsed. But his point was clear. With the current state of American affairs this may be the most significant election in decades. The outcome affects all of us as individuals, as Americans, and as world citizens. He spoke for an hour. All the while I was jockeying for position to get closer. Even with my zoom, and then digital zoom engaged, I was still too far away to get a picture. Mr. Clinton finished his speech to wild applause and the room began to empty. I filed outside, and immediately moved to an unobstructed view of his departure. But what I wanted was more than a picture. I move back to the Hall, and found President Clinton still inside and shaking hands. Would it be possible for me to get a hand shake? The small crowd was loud and heaving. People were pushing inward and then leaving, and as the left, I inched closer. People were reaching in, Bill was reaching out. Serious looking private security scrutinized everyone. In an instant, I made eye contact… thrust out my hand… and he took it. I was a sum total of 5 feet away… I nearly squashed half a dozen school girls in the process, but Bill Clinton and I shared a fully engaged handshake. There was something powerful there. It was obvious that his confidence and personality have aided his success. As our former president, a senior statesman, accomplished philanthropist, and potential “First Husband”, he had me and everyone in the crowd mesmerized.