Tea & Trails

Day 44  Mile 5611
Banff, Canada

The word for today is, “TRAILS.”

Trails, trails & more trails. Trails are an important part of any visit to the stunning Banff/ Lake Louise area. While my morning coffee is still warm in my bear-shaped coffee mug, we’re deep into guide books and trail maps deciding on today’s bike, hike or run. This park is blessed with an abundant network of trails to match any fitness level- all rewarding visitors with waterfalls, stream-views, quiet forests & glimpses of wildlife.  We particularly enjoyed a venture out to the Kananiskis country for a horseback ride into the lush mountainside.

My favorite trail was a bit arduous 4.5 mile trek up to lovely Lake Agnes Tea House. This popular trails skirts along the shores of Lake Louise, famous for its bright blue hue (the result of suspended particles from glacial erosion.) The Tea House, the oldest in Canada, is a family-run business in operation since 1905. Renovated by the Magee family, the children used to walk the trail daily to catch the school bus and now live onsite and bring up foodstuffs to cook delightful items fresh daily. Warm cookies sure made the trip down a lot easier.

Up, Up & Away

Day 32  Mile 4995

Vancouver, Canada

The word for today is, “SKY.”

Much of our activity here in this wonderful city has involved looking, going, and being UP. With amazing weather, waterfront pathways & trendy restaurants, it’s hard to stay inside in Vancouver. We’ve enjoyed daily walks and runs in leafy Stanley Park.  We’ve biked for miles for a well-deserved libation in the Olympic Village or Granville Island. We enjoyed a stunning flight over the city and harbor in a small aircraft. On nearby Grouse Mountain, I once again tackled the heart-pounding, sweat-inducing Grouse Grind, locally known as “Mother Nature’s Stairmaster.” The 2,800 foot vertical gain never fails to kick my butt. Then we hit the skies for zip lining over the mountain’s gorges and valleys.

But a highlight of the trip is the annual fireworks competition. The three-night event, now in its 25^th year, is the largest public event in BC. The competition pits teams from China, Brazil and local favorite, Canada, against each other for pyrotechnic and musical extravaganzas. The first evening was nothing short of spectacular. The Chinese fireworks danced in perfect precision with broadcast music for the entire 25 minute show.  It truly exceeded all other displays I’ve seen (sorry, Macy’s!)  It will be interesting to see how Brazil fares tomorrow.

You Had Me at Disco Water Station!

Day 30   Mile 4931

Vancouver, Canada

The word for today is, “DISCO.”

We’re settled into one of our favorite cities, Vancouver, and ready for two weeks of active fun. Our friend, Fred, is up visiting from Florida and we are participating in Vancouver’s annual PRIDE Run/Walk in Stanley Park.

Local runs are a great way to really see an area and learn about the residents and local businesses- all while getting exercise and having fun. Today is no different.  I’m used to large races so it was a fun & different experience to participate in a small (500 athletes!) event. A retired service dog in a pink shirt accompanied the race organizers as they readied the crowd. A Zumba warm-up session readied the runners. Along the course, it was great fun to visit the disco water stations. ‘Nothing like a little Olivia Newton-John and Pointer Sisters to add a bit of zip to your step.  If you got lost, you could just follow the trail of boa feathers along the path. Now, I think a hearty breakfast is in order! If I could only get “I’m So Excited” out of my head… 

Sitting by the Dock of the Bay

Day 24   Mile 4774

Victoria, Canada

The word for today is, “CONTENT.”

Have you ever had a room on vacation that was so special that you were half-tempted to never leave the property? You know what I mean- a place where you put on your plushy robe, use all the wonderfully-scented toiletries and enjoy the thick pillow-top bedding. 

That’s our predicament here in the Pink Dishrack.

It’s not the Ritz or a glitzy Caribbean all-inclusive resort but the Pink Dishrack is a special and unique abode. It’s a float house tucked into a marina on Victoria’s harbor.  Yes, a

“Sleepless in Seattle” float house.

Named for the pink plastic dish rack given a permanent place of honor in the bay window of the kitchen, our floating home boasts of a porch with two Adirondack chairs so close to the water I can lazily toss cheese tidbits to eager geese. In the harbor, we watch tiny boats ferrying passengers to and fro and in the distance, cruise ships are in dock.  We’ve both agreed our floating home is far preferable to any stateroom Carnival could offer.  We’ve even made new friends who had us over for sunset cocktails on their live-aboard (I know, it’s crazy- us making new friends?)

Before a wedding last fall brought us to the Pacific Northwest, I’d barely heard of Victoria. Now, it is hard to get it out of a hearts. We thoroughly love cosmopolitan Vancouver but smaller Victoria boasts of a special charm and a kinship with nature.  With a temperate climate, showy hanging flower baskets adorn most streets. Miles of rolling coastline are lined with bike paths and verdant parks. One path, the Galloping Goose traverses much of the island and being Canadians, motorists cheerfully yield to bikers and pedestrians. Jeff was even thanked by a policeman for walking his bike on a pedestrian-only path. The city’s love affair with the sea is evident- whale watching boats, SUPs, kayaks and ferries crisscross the harbor, narrowly avoiding landing seaplanes.

Today was spent entirely in motion. Beginning with a bike ride to the tony eastside coastline, we happened into a classic car rally, a farmers’ market and a large annual art festival. Covering the several mile length of Moss St., artists shared their talents along a backdrop of manicured Craftsman homes. A favorite sign alerted visitors that a nearby street also offered live music, chill space, water & love. Later, we lingered along the wharf enjoying the Busker Festival. In its fifth year, the event brings together top street performers to entertain crowds in random locations throughout the city. We enjoyed bubble tea while watching gymnastic juggler Kate Great perched precariously over torches and machetes as she juggled. Elsewhere, fire-breathers, acrobats, contortionists and others entertained the milling crowds.

But on our last night, we’re happily back at the Pink Dishrack, nursing a wine (or three), listening to the distant gulls and taking in a final pink sunset- happy and content.

Fare Thee Well & Adieu

Day 22  Mile 4617
Friday Harbor, WA

The word for today is, “QUAINT.” A west coast cousin to Martha’s Vineyard, from the moment you exit the ferry from Anacortes to the cacophony of sea gulls circling the marina

Adieu from Roche Harbor

you can feel your BP drop. Welcome to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island.

It’s hard to believe we are a mere 100 miles northwest of Seattle. With 176 named islands in this archipelago, 60 are populated and only a handful can handle the influx of visitors. San Juan Island, while the most popular for visitors with its charming inns, locavore restaurants, craggy shoreline and rolling hills. First settled by the Lummi Indians, the beaches are still desolate- mainly visited by families hoping to spot whales, porpoise or otter. We couldn’t resist a stop by the local alpaca farm or shops carrying local lavender.

On a long and bit arduous bike ride (hey we don’t have hills in FL!), we happened into Roche Harbor.  Originally settled in 1882 as the largest producer of builder’s lime on the west coast, owner John McMillin and his wife worked hard to create a welcoming home and lodging for their many guests and dignitaries, including Teddy Roosevelt. Their guesthouse is now Hotel de Haro, a traditional wooden structure now filled with photos and artifacts from the heyday of the quarry. Under new ownership, the cobblestone waterfront is now home to a tony marina, expanded luxury cottages, cozy restaurants and even a petanque court.  The stunning garden still remains - its pergola still painted with sayings to wish farewell to friends and businessmen as they left the grounds to return home by boat from the harbor. My favorite: “Your coming gave us pleasure, your going gives us pain.”

Is This Quinoa Kombucha Organic?

Day 17  Mile 4208
Portlandia, OR

The word for today is “EXTREME.” Folks in Oregon don’t do things halfway. They either totally relax or totally go for it.



Even the cars are green in Oregon

Bend totally goes for it. They say most people in Bend are either athletes or microbrewers. The lovely town tucked neatly into the middle of the state, boast of 23 local breweries, weekly festivals and farmers ‘markets, and countless extreme athletic endeavors. On one Saturday alone, I had the option of doing a 5K run, a 7,25, 50 or 100 mile bike ride or, if I was willing to miss brunch, a 24-hour extreme mountain bike race. Kayaks, SUPs and families in inner tubes dot the Deschutes River that meanders through town. Being a city girl, I had to place little rock cairns along my forested running path so I could find my way home from my run.

While Portland equally embraces outdoor activities, it proudly wears its quirky and relaxed badge of honor on its tie-died sleeve. Portland is often tagged as the city where young people go to retire and apparently, many do it at an early age. Legions of both young and old leisurely hang at cafes and on stoops enjoying a cup of fair-trade coffee and locally grown sprout muffins or later in the day, relishing an organic quinoa burrito with a cup of kombucha at one of the town’s squares loaded with festive food trucks. This comfortably-sized city is quite livable with tons of green spaces, squares for concerts and markets (of course the Saturday market is on Sunday as well- go figure) and ever-present bike paths that snake along the river. We've just picked up our Walmart bikes to go enjoy the scenery then off to the San Juan Islands.

Movers & Shakers

Day 14   Mile 3956
Sun Valley, ID

The word for today is, "BIGWIG." When we drove past tiny Hailey airport on our way into the Sun Valley area, it looked as if a flock of white seagulls had roosted along the air strip (remember, we live in Florida!)  Upon

closer inspection we realized what we were seeing was a flock of gleaming white Gulfstream G5s, Lear Jets, and the occasional Cessna. We knew Demi, Clint & a number of bold faces live in the area but this was a bit over-the-top.

Then it dawned on us.  We weren’t the only big deal coming into town. It is the week of the annual Allen & Co Sun Valley Conference. This annual weeklong conference hosted by the private investment firm draws a “who’s who” of the business elite. Most of the tony Sun Valley Lodge was reserved for the private event with media (mainly an assertive Fox News gal) and the hoi poi like us held at arm’s length. The event is most famous for the deals done during down time- every late night tête-à-tête between participants leads to rampant speculation of mergers and takeovers. It’s a harder ticket to score than a Super Bowl box seat.

While I was in one of the shops, Jeff enjoyed time on the outside bench as an assortment of bigwigs strolled by in their lanyards and ID badges (much like us at a Pfizer launch meeting.) We spotted an odd assortment including NBA commissioner Adam Silver, Bob Kraft, owner of the New England Patriots, author Thomas Friedman, presidential hopeful Chris Christie (who is no taller than Jeff but about 3x larger) and my favorite, Diane von Furstenberg (you should have seen my appalled face when I had to explain to Jeff that she was the creator of the classic wrap dress. Duh!) I most hoped to see Elon Musk- I wonder if he would have come in a Tesla or a SpaceX shuttlecraft.  Take that, G5!

Born to be Wild

Day 11 Mile 2503
Sturgis, SD

The word for today is “BIKER.”  Blink and you’d miss Sturgis- a small speck of a town miles north of the major tourist stops in South Dakota. But in early August, get ready- this place will rock as close to a million motorcycle aficionados descend on Sturgis for the 75^th Annual Bike Rally.

I always wonder- how does a small town like Sturgis become the mecca for all things “biker?”  Why not Des Moines, Reno or Orange Park, FL?  I think it is relentless and committed marketing. Sturgis all started with the local Jackpine Gypsies Motorcycle Club and a race with nine bikes and a small audience in 1938. Since then, crowds have grown to an all-time high of 600,000 who converge in Sturgis to party, race and do God-knows what else.

This year, the 75^th anniversary, promises to notch things up to a new level. Imagine Daytona Beach on steroids. There aren’t even a million people living in South Dakota- where are they going to put all these party animals? Huge bars line the two-lane main drag. Full Throttle, an infamous bar made famous on TRU TV, even has a lot next door lined with hundreds of tiny trainer/cabins so patrons can stumble home without even hopping onto their bikes. I can imagine it now, “Hey babe, want to come see my tiny 200 square foot beer-stinky closet?” And you won’t want to miss Topless Tuesday or Lynyrd Skynyrd in concert. Hey, as a frequent Mardi Gras participant, I guess I can’t throw any stones. Or beads. Party on, Garth!

Where the Deer & the Antelope Play

Day 9  Mile 2406
Keystone, SD

The word for the day is, “Tatanka,” the Indian word for buffalo. We’ve loaded up, cameras ready to take in the sites of the Black Hills.  It abounds with astounding fetes of mankind- Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse, just to name two. We’re both overwhelmed by the perseverance, tenacity and vision of the sculptors. Gutzon Borglum envisioned a majestic ode to American birth, growth, preservation & development, as signified in the faces of four great leaders. The sculptor died before the project was finished.  Similarly, work on the gargantuan Crazy Horse Memorial has outlived its designer and continues slowly with just his 87 foot head teased out of stone. 

But the majestic Tatanka are what leave us breathless. Custer State Park is home to nearly 1,500 head of buffalo- many who weigh as much as a ton. Once, more than a million roamed the continent but they were nearly hunted to extinction. At Custer, they feed alongside our SUV, crunching grass loudly, enjoying the sunny weather and nursing their offspring.  It’s odd to know that if one gets cranky, he could take us on.  Imagine what they could do to the many motorcyclists down visiting from Sturgis.

We Are 'Ear!

Day 7 Mile 1923
Mitchell, SD

The word for the day is, “CORN.” It’s everywhere.  Sweeping vistas of corn fields align the
highways. They say it’s “knee high by the fourth of July” but these crops are tall enough to carve out a corn maze (those things always frighten me as invariably some mass murderer lurks within the stalks.)  Our corn adventure began in Lincoln, NE, the home of University of
Nebraska and, you guessed it, the Corn Huskers!  The stadium is enormous, holding over 90,000.  Home games have been sold out since the year Jeff was born.  He takes issue with the sign over each gate stating, “Through these gates pass the greatest fans in college football.”

 There are plenty of “corny” things in this neck of the woods- Wall Drug Store (the Midwest equivalent of South of the Border, the tourist trap on I-95 with ubiquitous signage for hundreds of miles along the highway.) We visited the Prairie Dog Camp where 50 cents buys you peanuts to feed the alert little creatures who dart in and out of their holes.

But the mecca to corn is in Mitchell- the famous Corn Palace. Let me share a few “a-Maiz-ing facts about this 113 year-old icon to the yellow stuff.  600,000 pieces of corn in nine colors adorn the palace and intricate murals each year. The palace has served as a community forum and celebration of all things corn and now the wonder draws thousands of tourists off the highway to sleepy Mitchell, SD. We were “ear!”
   

Welcome to Walmart

Day 5  Mile 1403

Bentonville, AR

Jeff & his razorback pal
on the art trail.

The word for the day is “WALMART.” We are in Bentonville, the mecca of consumerism and all things Walmart. You can drive on Walton Dr. but don’t plan on enjoying a quick hot dog at Costco ‘cause there ain’t one in the state. This is Sam’s Club territory. This microcosm of American purchasing power has its own airport, a Walmart arena, tons of business hotels and the best highways in Arkansas. 

It also features Crystal Bridges, a bucolic museum of American art. Named for a natural spring on the museum’s wooded site, this brainchild of Walmart matriarch Alice Walton not only includes first rate works of American masters but an extended sculpture garden outside along the miles of trails surrounding the stunning museum. Its eclectic collection ranges from Rockwell’s iconic Rosie the Riveter to Warhol’s Dolly Parton The gardens alone are worth the visit. And it's all free- compliments of Walmart.

Who Needs Whole Foods?

Day 3 Mile 1052     #DiscoverNorthAmerica

Nashville, AR

My new running posse

The word for the day is, “HEARTLAND.” After our first thousand miles, we are ensconced in the ArkLaTex, a catchy term developed by local newscasts to describe this corner of Arkansas tucked into the loving arms of Louisiana and Texas.

Long before “farm to table” became in vogue, folks here practiced “garden to table” and still do. It’s where we “big city folk” get much of what we eat. My muggy morning run passes numerous chicken, beef & dairy farms with the heady scent of freshly-laid manure and gardens laden with juicy vegetables, heavy-in-the-hand and splitting from the frequent bouts of torrential rain.

Here, when vegetables & fruit are ready to pick, neighbors come knocking with hods full of fresh produce to share. Local radio weather reports are big talk around town- especially since a tornado plowed through town earlier this year, taking lives and destroying property. Jeff’s parents show off the new high school arena where the Nashville Scrappers will play and we’ve visited a favorite auntie, Jimmie Jean, who reigns over her hall at the local nursing home.  Welcome to the Heartland!

Let's Get Ready to Play the Holi!!!

So says our guide Amir. To us, it sounds like we’re getting ready to rumble with our nemesis from the nearby parochial school.  But Holi is much more fun and more colorful than a rainbow.

I’ve been fascinated with Holi since I first saw it as an Amazing Race challenge.  In fact, we built our trip around the opportunity to “play the Holi.” Holi is the Hindu and Sikh equivalent of Carnivale with a bit of Mardi Gras thrown in.  Everyone participates in colorful Holi fun by celebrating and throwing colored powder on each other. Not little bits of color- handfuls and handfuls of bright color! Bonfires dot the roads, painfully close to nearby houses and structures. These serve as gathering spots so friends can plan their frivolity.

It’s a day when many Indians get wild and get a bit tipsy. Imagine scooters packed with riders covered from head to toe in purple, orange and green dye. Some folks don white outfits and coat their skin and hair with oils so they don’t ruin their good clothes and skin with the dyes. Imagine a hearty game of tag on colorful steroids.

We started the day in Jaipur visiting the Amber Fort via elephant ride before Holi got rolling. We then got a final bit of shopping in, enjoyed local Indian fare, cultural dancing, and my personal favorite, elephant decorating. Their skin is soft, dry and coated with countless wrinkles and wiry hairs.  Their eyes seem to look deep into your soul.

I know personally that it took more than a rough loofah to get the green off my back. Most folks are tuckered out, smashed and just plain Technicolor by mid-day that they are ready for a bath and a nap. Happy Holi!!!!

What Day is it? What Day is it?

It may mean Wednesday and “hump” day in the US but in India it means, “camel rides!!!” Today we had the chance to spend the morning with Ram and his two-humped sidekick, Battle. While tigers may be the main attraction at Ranthambore Park, we were captivated by our jaunt into own in our camel drawn carriage.  Ram had friends that seem to sell everything from saris to masala tins and the image of blonde women (and Jeff) seemed to draw a lot of attention from the townfolk. When we “parked” Battle in the town square, we were concerned that someone might steal him.  That seemed to give Ram quite a chuckle and he assured us Battle would be waiting for us. For future reference, camel rides, much like elephant rides, are quite bumpy, higher up than you might imagine and both love their banana treats.

An Indian Fixer-Upper

A wise man (OK, our guide Amir) once said, “There are two groups of people- those that have visited the Taj Mahal, and those that have not.”

Sunrise at the Taj is all it’s cracked up to be.  Something about the white marble is so clean, pure and symmetrical amongst the chaos that surrounds its gates. How can you NOT fall for a memorial to love? Built by emperor Shah Jahan in 1653 as a memorial to his beloved queen Mumtaz Mahal, the site is actually the mausoleum for the lovers and features intricate inlayed stone work, jeweled ceilings and pristine gardens and pools.

How is Jeff going to top this?

The Circle of Life

Millions of pilgrims- and tourists- annually visit Varanasi. It’s much like the Islamic hajj to Mecca, Catholic forays to St. Patrick’s Cathedral or Ole Miss fan trips to Oxford. It’s packed with pilgrims, holy cows, tourists and trash. But what draws the crowds is the Ganges.

Hindus believe the Ganges holds the power of salvation in every drop. It is one of the most sacred places in the world and serves as the spiritual heart of India.  Although its water is fouled by pollution of both the living and the dead, Hindus believe it has the power to cleanse the sins of one’s life and therefore is just the spot to be cremated.

Tiny pedicab drivers negotiate the narrow lanes and packed bazaars, negotiating a sea of scooters, pedestrians and livestock to drop us along the waterfront where we join the throngs boarding small wooden rowboats to experience Varanasi at sunset.

Over 80 ghats, or steps, line the water, each with its own significance and use. Many use the steep stairs each morning for their bathing rituals, to meditate, to practice yoga or to dry laundry along the shore.  But at night, Manikarnika Ghat is our focus.

It’s hard to describe the scene. The funeral pyre at the ghat has burned 24 hours a day for over 1,000 years. Huge piles of wood are ready to add to the blaze and holy cows nuzzle the embers in search of tasty flowers among the ashes.  One after another, wrapped bodies are immersed in the Ganges and added to the flame before a full cremation.  A funeral at Varanasi is a celebratory, albeit expensive send-off for an Indian family. Although illegal, some bodies are weighed down and buried in the river as the funerals are too expensive for many Hindu families.

There are others that are not burned in Varanasi’s fire- pregnant women, small children, holy men, those bitten by a cobra and those who died from small pox. Hindus believe Gods already live in these bodies and shouldn’t be burned.

Boats gather at the end of the evening at Dashashvamedh Ghat for Ganga Arti, a flame-filled prayer ceremony with singing, chanting and dancing with lighted lamps. Both pilgrims and tourists purchase small marigold rings dotted with wax to be lit and floated on their way carrying wishes and prayers for loved ones who have passed on.

Namaste.

Masala: India's Secret Spices

You can tell a lot about a place by its food. On an early foray to New Orleans we enjoyed a cooking class where we learned about the Cajun culture and the Holy Trinity, the delicious mix that is core to most local recipes.

In India, we were introduced to masala.

We were fortunate to spend our first evening in Delhi in the home of Rashmi and Anil, a lovely local couple who opened their home- and their kitchen- to us. We began the evening with a visit to the neighborhood “shopping center”- more of a stretch of vegetable stalls, kiosks, and shops to purchase necessities for our feast. Most interesting were the milk dispensers where local staff bring their milk canisters to the market, pay their rupees, and the spigot dispenses either whole or “toned” milk. We made a quick stop at the local Hindu temple so that Rashmi could make a short visit (Tuesday is apparently an auspicious day for a temple visit AND they give you candy as you leave!)

Once back in the kitchen, Rashmi pulled out her well-worn and well-loved masala tin that is home to the spices that underpin most Indian dishes. A nearby pat of ghee (clarified butter) is always at hand. While we worked, we enjoyed a few rounds of local Kingfisher beer (perfect to wash down spicy samosas.) We made chapatti, we made naan, we made dishes I can’t even pronounce but surely enjoyed. We shared local gifts- our Ghirardelli chocolates and home-made Arkansas pepper jelly and Indian spices and teas.

By the end of the evening, my realization was that we are all more alike than different.  Indian cell phones ring with our same AT&T ringtone as businessmen go about their business.  Women grabbed last minute items at their local shops just like our frequent Publix runs. Proud grandparents share crayon drawings on their refrigerators and wedding photos line walls of their homes. They discuss cricket matches with the same fervor of an NFL play-off game.  And they open their homes to new friends to break bread, or in our case, chapatti and naan.

India: Crazy, Chaotic and Charming

India is a fascinating dichotomy. With a literacy rate of 74%, 58% of the population still use open toilets. Indians own the most gold per capita in the world and host elaborate weddings with guest lists into the
thousands but income levels average less than $ 7,000 USD annually. In this country where historic and varied Hindu, Sikh and Muslim temples and mosques rest side-by-side, religious differences underlie long held enmity with its next-door neighbor, Pakistan. Yet, it continues to captivate us.

A heavy fog of pollution is omnipresent in Delhi. This governmental center of the country, Delhi is reminiscent of Washington DC with its wide boulevards and embassy row while Mumbai favors New York City as its financial and business capital. Delhi is made up of two distinct areas- Old Delhi, famous for its Mughal architecture and hectic labyrinths of footpaths, and New Delhi, designed by British urban planner Sir Edwin Lutyens, with its well-appointed rotaries and wide boulevards. We’ve enjoyed amazing architecture while learning about the country’s heritage. At Jama Masjid, India’s largest mosque, we were issued what can only be described as festive hospital gowns to cover us properly for this holy site. We also visited the strikingly simple Gandhi Memorial. Bicycle rickshaws were our mode of transportation as we negotiated the chaos of Chandni Chowk, a congested commerce area selling everything from motorcycle parts to precious metals.

We particularly enjoyed Bangla Sahib Gurdwara, the massive Sikh temple. I’ll admit to a fascination of the stoic Sikhs with their elaborate turbans hiding the long hair required by their religion. After removing our shoes and socks, we were lent bright orange bandanas as head coverings. We washed our feet in the holy pool before entering the ornate gold covered temple. Imagine Trump Tower meets Taj Mahal with bling, bling, bling. Think golden altar, crystal chandeliers and gold-veined mirrors. A hold man with a feather fan continuously fans near the Holy Book to chase away pertinent flies who dare land on the book. Chanting and readings from sunrise to evening draw crowds who enjoy the temple’s meditative pools and on leaving, are issued a small sugar and ghee concoction serving as a Sikh communion of sorts. What a first day in this special place

Boston Stronger

Most people never have the opportunity to perform in front of a million people. Not so for those of us who had the privilege of participating in this 118^th running of the Boston Marathon.

As race director Dave McGillivray described the race, it was “epic.” With over a million spectators (or as I should call them, roadside participants) cheering on over 36,000 runners, it was easy to see how over 99% of those who started in Hopkinton finished 26.2 miles later on Boston’s Boylston St.

With heightened security, our team gathered early in Hopkinton to join the long lines for porta-potties. Ingenious planning was required to carry my race-day necessities. My four dollar thrift shop fleece not only kept me toasty but was home to a myriad of electronics, fruit, nutritional supplements, chap sticks, trash bags, and my “heroes” cape with the names of those supporting my fundraising efforts.

My only point of reference to describe the spectacle is Mardi Gras in New Orleans- but without the beads and floats, but with the beer and screaming throngs. Crowds lined a dozen deep in many areas. From weathered Bostonians in equally weathered Red Sox sweatshirts to a children’s gymnastics class handing out high fives while popping up and down on mini-trampolines, you could feel the collective energy pushing you along.  At Wellesley, the annual chorus line of coeds with their “Kiss me because I’m (insert your own descriptor here)” drew a good number of male runners to the sidelines to collect their kisses. I admit to giving in to more than one “Free Hugs Here” sign from buff guys. I’d heard about the daffodils planted along the entire course but was only allowed peekaboo glimpses through the legs of spectators.

I admit to getting particularly emotional while passing (or often, being passed) by a number of wounded and handicapped runners. Spectators were particularly loud for local favorites, Team Hoyt, honoring father Dick who has pushed handicapped son Rick in his wheelchair to compete in triathlons and marathons for more than three decades. This is Dick’s last marathon.

As a non-qualifying charity runner for the American Red Cross, I expected a long day but wasn’t fully prepared for Boston’s abundant hills (I believe I actually heard them scoff at the meager bridge I used for training.) I used the uphill walks to capture crowd shots and even send a post or two.  As a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I didn’t want to forget a moment!

I had a number of valuable “learnings” from this “epic” event:

·         When bad people do bad things, good people will overcome with wicked vengeance. Hats off to the people of Boston who took back their finish line!
·         If a wonderful opportunity presents itself- take it!  A casual conversation at a party last May led to the chance to be at this starting line (Thanks, Karen). That night, I decided to go for it and never look back.
·         If you accept an opportunity, be prepared to do what it takes. After pushing the button to send my application, I went out for a run. Good intentions may get you to the starting line but hard work and commitment are necessary to make it to the finish.
·         Finally, you can’t do it alone.  It does take a village- from those dear friends who generously supported my fundraising and sent countless day-of-race wishes, to fellow runners who helped make training and racing miles melt by. And most of all, my super-supportive husband Jeff who now knows more than he ever wished to about chafing products and blister relief but still rose early on Patriots’ Day to make me “lucky” pancakes and hunted me down hours later on the course at mile 25.  I may be the one with the medal and the cool commemorative jacket but these are the folks that made this opportunity possible.

Sweet As...

In New Zealand, if you like something a lot or think it's really cool, you'd call it, "sweet as."  Not "sweet as something", just"sweet as." 

Our tramping trip to Milford Sound ended with - a cruise through the massive Fiordland National Park and it was "Sweet As." The crystal clear water in the park is so deep that cruise ships can’t reach the bottom to anchor. I lost count of the massive waterfalls tumbling into the sea. Our captain tucked the boat alongside one- delighting and drenching those on the top deck! Fur seals struck a pose on rocky outcroppings along the snow-capped mountains as kayak paddlers broke through the mirror-flat waters. Unfortunately, photos just don’t do the fiords justice so you’ll just have to plan your own trip to see them.

Back in Queenstown, we grabbed one last walk along the water, said goodbye to our mountain views and toasted our accomplishment in a pub with a group of fellow walkers.

From this trip I took away the great respect and stewardship the Kiwis have for their land. I didn’t see one piece of trash on the entire trip. An active and low impact lifestyle is the norm for most and they are more than pleased to share their lovely country. So grab your backpack and jumper, put on your sunnies and head on down for a flat white- Sweet As!

I'd Rather be in a Staff Meeting...

On the third day of our Milford Track hiking adventure, as we continued our ascent to the Mackinnon Pass, I heard something come out of my husband’s mouth that I never thought I’d hear. As we slowly slogged up the trail he muttered, “In six years of retirement, I never thought I’d say this but I’d rather be in a staff meeting!”

I can only hope his momentary lapse was due to the arduous climb through the fog to the highest point of our hike, named for the fearless Quintin Mackinnon who pioneered the track in 1888. I hoped that the descent, albeit a rocky one, would raise his sagging spirit and ease his tired legs.

The Milford Track, often called "the finest walk in the world", is the capstone to our three-week adventure. Most recently, we’ve made our way down New Zealand’s mountainous South Island, enjoying breathtaking vistas, snow-capped mountains and the easy-going vibe that is synonymous with the Kiwi lifestyle.

After departing from Franz Josef glaciers we dropped off our car in Queenstown. Jeff was glad to hand over the car keys after days of mountain switchbacks and more than a few white-knuckle moments on the road.

Queenstown was originally settled in the 1860s during one of New Zealand’s gold rush periods.  It now serves as their center for extreme sports. A walk down the main drag affords opportunities to partake of bungee jumping, sky diving, paragliding and rafting. In the winter, it serves as a hub for skiers.  Ringed by the Remarkable mountain range and sitting on glacial Lake Wakatipu, the town of 12,000 swells to over 30,000 at peak periods. Proud locals will share that the lake is 99.999% pure so you can go ahead and fill your water bottle right from the lake! Jeff was itchy to put a line in the water to snag one of the huge trout calling the town pier their home.  A 15-minute transfer left us at the Shotover River where we boarded a speedboat for a rock-hugging, high-speed ride own the winding river. We pulled 360s within inches of the rocky canyon walls.

At our Saturday briefing, we met our fellow hikers, were issued our gear and received final instructions for the upcoming hike. This is my first hiking trip carrying more than a day pack- we carry all our clothes, drink, lunch and other needs on our back. We spent the evening paring down and dividing up essential items (OK, we spent the evening tasting New Zealand wine, but we talked about packing while we drank).

The drive to the trailhead was spectacular- passing sheep and cattle stations and meandering streams. After a quick ferry ride and hike, we arrived at Glade House, our first lodge for the trip. Remember, all the materials used to build these 50-person lodges had to be carried in by boat, helicopter or on foot. Several succumbed to fire or avalanche and required rebuilding.  The effort makes the structures with their picture-perfect views even more impressive. We settled in to enjoy a hearty supper with our fellow trekkers- mainly from Australia, Japan and the US.

Each morning we were awakened by Genny. Genny is not a saucy New Zealand gal. Since power goes off each evening at 10pm when the “Genny-rator” is turned off, for an eye-opening wake up call we were instructed to leave our lights on and enjoy a bright wake up when the “Genny-rator” came on each morning.

The first day hiking is always a bit shaky. You find yourself questioning how much food and water to bring, what pace to keep and how much clothing to wear. Nights include reassessing your pack and tending to sore muscles and blisters (OK, again they also include wine and stupendous views). Day Two was when Jeff informed me (as he did in Kili) that I should include my next husband on any future hikes. His painful gate resembled that of Kramer in the Seinfeld episode where he wore the really tight jeans and walked like Frankenstein.

To get a sense of the often rocky inclines, one 9-mile day took eight hours to complete. This was followed by a 13.5 mile day- all carrying a 20lb. pack. It has truly given me a new appreciation for the joint pain and increased effort required to carry even small amounts of additional weight. Can you spell Weight Watchers?

Our final day was spent hiking on rain forest trails lined with giant ferns and waterfalls. The trek was arduous but rewarding when we gathered with our fellow hikers for the ferry to our final lodge.

You may wonder (as Jeff often pointed out) why a person would put themselves through such effort- especially on vacation! The challenge and ultimate achievement of the goal is compelling. Sharing the experience with new-found friends is equally memorable. The encounters with exquisite scenery and wildlife are something you can’t see from a tour bus.  And in the end, it’s better than ANY staff meeting!

Ice, Ice Baby

The weather fairies were with us again for our morning helicopter ride to Franz Josef glacier.  Due to fog and visibility, it was touch-and-go if we would fly but we were the only group to make it up to the glacier for the day. Once the copter landed we strapped on crampons to grip the ice. The glacial terrain is constantly on the move so the crew carries axes to cut stairs to create paths to various ice caves. It makes for a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

Skipper vs. Barbie: the Battle of the North Island

When I was a little girl I had a Skipper doll. Skipper was Barbie’s younger scrappier cousin.  She wasn’t nearly as glamorous as Barbie but she what you’d call “spunky” and was the kind of doll that could probably throw a good softball pitch.  I SO wanted to love Skipper but Barbie was the one with the cool beach house and metrosexual boyfriend. How could you resist her charms?

That was how I feel about Wellington. It is the Skipper of New Zealand’s north island, living in the shadow of glamorous and well-heeled Auckland. Both have beautiful waterfronts dotted with sailboats and breezy restaurants. While Wellington lacks the population and size of Auckland, as the country’s capital it has a substantial government center. Its local universities give it a youthful quality with areas full of ethnic restaurants and pubs for watching “footie” games. While Auckland’s movers and shakers enjoy cocktails at trendy locavore restaurants, Wellington’s after-work crowd gathers on lawns at local rowing clubs along the quay. Our favorite time in Wellington was spent walking the miles of nature paths in the city’s Botanical Gardens. Their outdoor café in the rose garden was a perfect spot for brunch and a glass of crisp wine.

To get to the south island, the most practical way is via ferry. The boat is huge- full of people on foot, in cars and in caravans (the Kiwi equivalent of RVs) as well as large trucks hauling goods between islands. The four-hour journey was pleasant- they even have a kids’ play area, a casino and show two movies on the crossing. It took a good hour to load us all onto the vessel and they strongly reminded travelers to note where their vehicles were parked- much like a Jersey shopping mall parking structure. I can only imagine the honking if we were to lose our car among the many decks and bring disembarkment at a standstill.

Our first stop on the south island was a special one.  We’ve settled in to a lovely cottage tucked into the countryside in the south island Marlborough wine country. Run by a lovely couple, we’re staying in a sheep-shearers cottage on a small property complete with sheep, deer and chickens (who are kind enough to supply eggs for our morning breakfast). We can barely bring ourselves to leave the idyllic property (but I did get a special run and bike ride through the vineyards!) The owner, Paul, has taught me how to make a flat white coffee-a complex procedure that includes warming cups to the optimum temperature before filling.  He would cringe if he knew I had CoffeeMate in my suitcase. Paul has a ’55 red Morris convertible- a cross between a Mini and Alfa Romeo. We were so taken with the little sportster that he gave it a washing and chauffeured us to a special dinner at the Hertzog vineyard. What a memorable evening!

After a side trip to the famous west coast Pancake Rocks with their powerful blowholes, we’re now settled in to Franz Josef, getting ready for tomorrow morning’s helicopter ride to our glacier walk. 

Our Date with Mt. Doom

OK, not really Mt. Doom. Ngaurahoe is the mountain featured as Mt. Doom in Lord of the Rings. We are heading off to hike its next door neighbor, Mt. Tongariro. New Zealand takes its LOTR stories so seriously- we think there should be a drinking game involving Jagermeister every time someone says “hobbit.”

The Tongariro Alpine Crossing is arguably one of the finest day hikes in the world. We are using it as a dry run for our 4-day Milford Track hike at the end of our trip. Due to high winds, blistering cold and volcanic ash, the trail has been partially closed the last few days.  Luckily (or not so luckily) the trail is open for our day of hiking. 

We literally have on every item of hiking gear and clothing we brought.  Loaner gloves allowed Jeff to leave his hand-socks at home. Wind gusts of 35mph cut through our clothes but luckily the sun peered out to warm things up a bit.  With the trail closing, we did an out-and-back hike for 6+ hours instead of the full 8-9 hour adventure. The topography was striking.  Much of it appeared like a rocky Mars- dotted with small drought-tolerant succulents and rocky terrain. Later, streams and lichen made for a more verdant landscape. One crater area was covered with rolling clouds at our feet as we walked across the flatlands.

Probably one of the best views was actually from the huge windows at the Schnapps Bar at the foot of the mountain. Well, at least it was warmer! And they had Jagermeister… just in case!

Kia Ora, My Little Kiwi!

Kia ora, Welcome to New Zealand. After a long journey we are safe and sound in middle earth as Hobbit aficionados know New Zealand. The country is full of national parks, volcanos, wineries and sheep (due to sheep “emissions” the country can’t meet its limits of the Kyoto Accord). One thing it’s not full of is people.  Only 4.2 million live in the entire country- three quarters live in the North Island. OF these, I believe two thirds are cute guys with even cuter accents!

About 12 percent of the population is Maori, the local indigenous people. According to Maori legend, the demigod Maui sailed from Hawaii in his canoe and caught a huge fish. The fish is supposedly the north island while his canoe is the south island. This week the country celebrated Waitangi Day, marking the date in 1840 when the treaty was signed between the British and the Maori. I must admit I’m having trouble with the Maori words- particularly the names of small towns. Most start with “W” or “T” and are tongue-twisters like Whakatane, Waitara and Waipukurau. To further complicate things, the “wh” is pronounced like “f”, “r’s” are rolled like “d’s” and “a’s” are like “ah.” You should hear me calling out directions from the map.

We settled in quickly into Auckland, the nation’s largest city. The “City of Sails” wraps nicely along the water and boasts of 70,000 boats in its harbor. The quay is dotted with trendy bars and outdoor cafes. Auckland is a livable city with their own version of Central Park (the Domain) and Ponsonby, a leafy neighborhood of wooden Victorian homes and cafes. Jeff was elated to find the Superbowl available at a nearby 115 year-old tavern. I guess Beyonce goes beyond all borders.

We’ve become addicted to flat whites- the ubiquitous creamy latte-like coffees offered in every café. I do love my froth but these are beyond description. I’m also feeding my sweet tooth with hokey-pokey, a yummy butter brittle ice cream, and pavlova, the feather-light national dessert much like a gooey merengue. Thankfully, our itinerary is jam packed with activities to work off these treats.

After Auckland we ventured to Waitomo for blackwater rafting in the area’s famous glow worm caves.  This is one of those activities that you can do in other countries but would never be allowed in the litigious US. After suiting up in heavy wet suits and selecting a size-appropriate inner tube (if you sit in it and it sticks to your bum, that’s the one!) we hiked down to Ruakuri Cave. After slithering under low hanging stalactites (remember, stalagmites have a “g” and come from the ground while stalactites have a “c” like ceiling!) we cascaded down freezing underwater waterfalls. Once we dimmed our headlights, we were amazed by the light show of millions of glow worms dotting the ceiling. What a sight! Unfortunately they don’t allow cameras as they want you focused on not drowning or causing bodily injury, so I’ve had to attach a photo from the tour company. 

Next up… hiking the Tongariro Crossing, supposedly one of the finest one-day hikes in the world!  I had better juice up on flat whites!