Google Maps says it's only 1159 miles ...

... however, try that with a 27 foot long boat strapped to the top of your car:

(That's my mom and dad at the bow and stern, respectively, by the way. You can click on any photos to make them bigger.)


I finally was able to make the trek back East to pick up my new/used sculling single.

I've been rowing and sculling for the past 4 or 5 years on the Mississippi River out of the Minnesota Boat Club and ... well, I'm addicted.

Or crazy.

Maybe a combination of the two.

I drove 1100 plus miles from Minnesota to Pennsylvania to see my family for Easter; but mainly I had to drop off parts of an indoor sculling machine I sold to a guy in New Jersey and to pick up the shell from another guy in New Jersey, who just happens to know the first guy - small world, huh?.

So, on the Tuesday after Easter, my dad and I braved the rain and traffic in 40 degree weather to make the 140 mile round trip to the Jersey Shore from Philly. The gentleman (a lawyer who started rowing when he went to Penn for undergrad) I bought the boat from was great (well, almost - I'll get to that) and accommodating and everything went fairly smoothly. He rows out of a brand spanking new, multimillion dollar boat house in Ventnor, NJ.

The boat house was an impressive structure that's the home for rowing teams for several high schools and one college, as well as 40 or so private rowers. There were 3 or 4 bays and the boats were stacked 5 or 6 high. Thank god the boat bays were wide enough that I was able to squeeze my CRV into one and load the single on top of my car - out of the pouring rain and almost freezing temperatures! It was such a miserable day, I didn't stick around to take any photos. Plus, it's always a good idea to get the hell out of New Jersey - did ever notice that all the toll roads, bridges and tunnels charge you to get out of Jersey but they don't charge you to get into Jersey? Apropos.

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So, a few days later, my brother and I were getting the boat ready to take the long trip back to Minnesota. We tried to put the cover on the boat (also sold to me (cheap) by the lawyer from Penn) and:



It looked a little funny. The skeg (the black fin looking thing) wasn't lining up with the neat Velcro hole. Also:



It was 10 fucking inches too short!

The bum sold me a cover that didn't fit. And he swore he measured it and promised me that it'd be fine.

After I left a hasty and rather terse message on Ivy League Lawyer's voicemail, we decided to just cut a new hole for the skeg and then duct tape the shit out everything. There is no way that I was going to transport the boat without some sort of covering!

(the guy ended up returning my call - he was apologetic and is willing to refund and/or pay to get the cover altered ... but screw it, I'm returning his shitty cover and I'm going to have a newer more weather-resistant cover custom made. By the way - the cover is needed - look at all the dead bugs stuck to the boat rack. Ewwww)

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Anyway ... The road trip was fun. My brother, Eric, is one helluva great guy and agreed to be my co-pilot on both legs of the journey. He's also the head duct-taper and structural engineer on the whole project - I think we could have driven through an F5 tornado and the boat wouldn't have budged from the top of the car.

It was also fun to stop at divey-motels and eat in greasy-spoon diners along the way. We ate a Texas roadhouse/steakhouse in Elkhart, IN and I felt like something was looking over my shoulder the entire meal:

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The Mississippi River is still fast and high and I don't plan on going out in a single on Ole Muddy until later this summer. I'll still mostly row in a double in the morning for now; but I'm going to be taking my new/used single to a lake near my work one or two days a week for the next few months so we can get acquainted with each other.

But, hopefully, by late summer/early fall, I'll be skimming across the placid waters.


Hmmm ... I still need to re-christen the shell. Maybe "1159 miles"? ...

My soundtrack (part two) ...

... While it is going to be summertime soon (hopefully), and the "The Natural" is one of my quintessential summer movies (and soundtracks), I think I found my new anthem.

I stumbled upon it while listening to my brother's ipod while we drove halfway across the country.

So the next time I need to feel heroic or need to be inspired, I'll just turn the volume up to "11" on my ipod, plop my ear buds in and play Aaron Copland's "Fanfare for the Common Man".

(give it a minute or two to load, then turn up the volume on your speakers, etc).

Something about it just gives me goosebumps ...

Waiting ...

... for spring!

Where the hell are you? I made snowmen yesterday with Peter in the front yard and I may light a fire in my living room fireplace tonight while I work on charts for work.

This is April - that is not right. I'm getting sick of wearing sweaters. And snowboots. And wool hats.





Even my bonsai's are confused; this poor maple and cotoneaster are trying to push out new leaves but the occasional snowstorm and freezing temps are holding them back.

I hear birds chirping every morning. The dock at the boat club has been in for a week and the river has thawed. The yuppie down the street emerged from the Starbuck's last month and didn't see his shadow, so there shouldn't be 6 more weeks of winter.

Mother Nature - wake up!

Is "brey" a color? ...

... or how about "bran"? Or "greytanandbrown"?

That's the only semi-quantitative thing I can say about the Minnesota landscape this time of the year - the pervasive color pallette of dead vegetation. Everything else that pops in to my mind is more qualitative: drab, dreary, dreadful and my favorite in the alliteration parade, depressing.

I definitely know I have a little SAD in the late fall and early winter, and I think I did an okay job this winter by working out regularly and trying to soak up what little sun was out there to combat it. I even took some Vitamin D to help boost lowered levels caused by living in this northern wasteland.

And, I thought I was doing fine ... until Daylight Saving Time ran me over like a truck full of anvils going 90 mph down an incline. It completely f'ed up Peter's schedule too, much to Laura's (hi, honey!) and my chagrin - he's still not back to his pre-DST bedtime.

Don't get me wrong, the increased daylight is a small joy in my heart these days, but the newest bee in my bonnet is the horribly bleak weather and the dead landscape. At least the snow covered all of the imperfections (like the leaves and trash in my backyard) and made everything look clean and bright. Now, with the snow cover caput, everything has the run-down, weathered and deflated look of a neglected compost pile.

arrgh. Can't even muster a capital "A" these days.

To paraphrase one of my favorite movie lines: "This is our most desperate hour. Help me, spring; you're my only hope."

Jumping the shark ...

... Well, I think facebook has donned it's leather jacket, grabbed the nearest towrope and is sailing over the shark tank with it's new layout.

We're a fickle, ADD society these days. If it isn't either shiny and new or well- used and comfortable, then it might as well not exist because no one seems to care anymore.

Anybody want to follow me on twitter?

Tweet, tweet ....

He who smelt it (part deux) ...

... So, I'm trying to transition back to the erg (indoor rowing machine) from the treadmill in hopes that I'll be able to get back on the water in a month or two and not be too pitifully out of "rowing shape".

The rowing machines at my gym are definitely a step up from the usual fare seen in gyms (I was using one at a YMCA a while ago and the chain was so rusty that it broke while I was using it - and believe me I wasn't pulling that hard) but they still aren't as nice and well maintained as the one that sits sadly folded up in the corner of my office.

So this morning, I decided I could get up 15 minutes later and workout in my office on my rowing machine instead of going to the gym. This is a bonus because Daylight Saving Time is kicking my ass bigtime.

I was surprised how relatively easy the workout was going despite not erg-ing in, oh, 4 to 5 months. Like falling off a bike, or in my case, a treadmill.

However, I have a fiber processing problem. And my office is small. And warm. And I had the door closed. For 30 sweaty, falutelence-filled minutes.

I ... need to get a fan. And maybe some beano.

Well, the service has been pretty good up until now ...

Peter had his 2nd birthday a few weeks ago and, of course, like most 2 year olds, he was more excited with the party balloons than the actual party itself.

Can't blame him.

What I did notice is that some of his playmates his same age - mostly girls, as he is a chip off the ole block and is a ladies man - talk better than most of my patients. Well, they're definitely more polite.

"I'd like some more milk please, Ms. Mills," said the cherub with the golden curls, holding her cup out to Laura as she passes.

"Milk - me, me. pease!" chirped the younger woman of the group.

Peter just looked at me, grunted, made a flapping hand sign with his right hand and then threw his plastic cup in my general direction. It bounced off one of the cats who slinked off but will probably retaliate by shitting in the bathtub later.

It then occurred to me that Peter doesn't need to speak because we are typical older, doting parents of an only child. He grunts and points and we give him what he wants, within reason.

Laura bought some signing videos which he loved to watch ad nauseum when he was 6 to 9 months old - until he broke the DVD player. As a result, he has a good repetoire of signs (which by the way are the same American Sign Language signs) and can get his point across for most of his life's neccessities at this point.

He's also physically pretty advanced - he's tall and strong and amazingly adept at most fine motor activities as well. Most pediatricians note that boys also learn to talk later and there is a trade off balance between the physical and mental milestones. And, with his learning how to sign, I'll be surprised if he won't talk until he's five.

(it probably doesn't help that his current favorite DVD's feature a penguin who speaks a made up language and a monkey that basically points and grunts ... hmmm)

This will probably be a moot issue in several months (in fact, I'll probably wish he'd shut up sometimes!) but for now, as a fairly intelligent professional with a fairly intelligent wife (who regularly kicks my ass at scrabble and boggle), it's frustrating when your offspring isn't at the crest of the development wave.

I should say he does have a handful of words, but most of them sound like something Jodie Foster says in the movie "Nell". (May an tay in the wiiiinnn!!).

I know life's a long ride and he'll probably (hopefully!) do well and contribute to society, but the one thing I wish he'd learn how to say is "daddy".

Then, I wouldn't care if he never learns another word.