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.