The Feel of the Road

I never gave much thought to the feel of pavement until I started cycling in Ireland last spring. Then I noticed the difference straight away: The tarmac, as they call it in the British Isles, felt distinctly softer than the asphalt in my part of the US. Having lived for years in the UK before I was a cyclist, I'd somehow never noticed this. But on a bike it was difficult not to. I could feel a give in the road's surface under my tires. It was also more porous, gravely in texture. Feeling more resistance than I'd come to expect from pavement, I kept wondering whether my tires had gone flat, or whether something was mechanically amiss with the folding bike I was riding.Later I learned that the roads in Ireland are a kind of chipseal. The differences I sensed were real.




Being back this summer, and with a skinny-tire roadbike this time, the characteristics of the Irish roads feel even more pronounced. The softness and the rough texture make me exert more effort to achieve the same speed as in the US. I would place the experience as somewhere between riding on pavement and riding on tightly packed gravel.




When the tarmac is freshly laid or repaired, the top layer can be quite loose. It also loosens easily after stretches of bad weather.Cornering on such sections without realising what you're dealing with can be dangerous.




There are other interesting effects. Once I did a long distance ride in a75°F"heatwave." On the return leg around 4pm, I noticed that the road in front of mewas glistening, getting shinier and more liquid-looking by the minute - almost as if it were melting. I thought to myself "Nah, can't be. I must be tired and imagining things." Next things I know, viscous clumps of tar were sticking to my tires and clogging my brakes. I had to pull over and scrape the gooey black chunks off, then use a stick to knock the hardened clumps out of the brake calipers. Then I sat in the shade and waited for an hour, until the road cooled off enough to continue home. To my relief, the following day everyone was talking about the melting tarmac, so at least I did not hallucinate the surreal experience. I guess the tarmac here is not rated to withstand such boiling temperatures!




If you're riding a harsh-feeling bike on Irish roads, you'll know it. The rough texture exaggerates the jarring sensations of road buzz. When I tried a friend's racing bike, my hands were vibrating so much I could not believe it. "Oh it's like riding on razor blades, to be sure," he laughed. I stroked my own bike with renewed appreciation.




Once I do get used to the roads here, the roads in the US feel unnaturally hard and smooth in comparison, and readjusting to them takes some time as well. As for the New England potholes... well, that is a topic that deserves its own post, possibly in poem form.

Get in the Bunker, It's Snowing Out! Our Relationship with 'The Elements'

The blizzard that has swept over the East Coast in the past couple of days has left everyone stunned. After Boston received over a foot of snow within a 24-hour period and another half a foot the next day, life came to a halt. The street plows were quickly overwhelmed, a snow emergency was declared, public transportation ceased, and drivers were asked to stay off the roads. What had been a perfectly functional city only a day earlier quickly turned into a desolate snow-covered landscape. Our Cambridge/Somerville neighbourhood in particular resembled a Siberian village by Sunday evening, with only the rooftops and the tips of pine trees peaking out under a thick blanket of white, as the darkened sky continued to dump more powder onto the abandoned streets.

Our family phoned to ask how we were coping. Did we have enough food and was our heating working? I had to giggle at the imagery of being trapped in our home, eating canned food next to a space heater. After all, I had just returned from a mile-long trek to the grocery store, somehow managing not to perish in the process. I sympathise deeply with those whose travel plans were derailed because of the storm, and even more so with those who are stuck in airports. But I am surprised by the mass panic and the "hide in the bunker" sentiment of those who are merely staying at home in the city. We are not being bombed. The snow is not radioactive or poisonous (well, at least not significantly so). We can conquer it by... walking! and by wearing really warm clothing!

It seems to me that at least part of the problem, is that "dressing for the weather" has become a novel concept for so many people after years of driving. Despite living in a cold climate, a number of my friends simply do notownwarm clothing. A thick wool coat and proper winter boots are not necessary for getting in and out of the car and walking across a parking lot, so why spend money on them? It makes sense, given an automobile-reliant lifestyle. But as soon as the car is unavailable or non-functional, you are trapped - and that is a horrible feeling for those who like to be independent.

I do not subscribe to the "you're not made of sugar and won't melt " line of thought: We can get sick if we go out in bad weather dressed inappropriately. But dressing appropriately is not difficult, and can vastly improve our relationship with nature. Remember the fun of "snow days"? A walk to the grocery store during a blizzard can be just as nice. There are parts of the world where this weather is normal and not a "snow emergency" at all. I have lived in such areas and found my winters to be more enjoyably spent there. But in Southern New England, the winter months are treated as something one just needs to tolerate until they are over - which, to me at least, is rather sad. While I miss cycling on the days the roads are impassable, I don't want to contribute to that mentality. I love snow, and I love the magic of winter. And I did see a mountain biker on my way to the grocery store! The streets were abandoned except for me, him, and the occasional snowplow. We waved to each other across the vast expanse of white and silver, each encouraged by the other's presence.

An Ageless Subject - Age - COG 52

Lisa has posted the Carnival of Genealogy, 52nd Edition over at 100 Years in America. The topic is "Age" and as Lisa says " This is a collection of tales and trivia, stories and statistics. Thanks to these contributions by various family historians, we have a look into the lives of others who stand out from their family tree (and society in general) because of their age." There are some new contributors as well as the "regulars" and a wide variety of tales that have been told. As always, I'm amazed at the quality and variety of the posts contributed to the COG. Check them out! Lisa has done a wonderful job of putting it all together. I for one know that it is not an easy task to come up with a good "lead" for each of the posts. Well done, Lisa!

The next edition of the Carnival of Genealogy will be a “carousel” edition. Just as carousels have a variety of animal figures so, too, will the next edition of the COG have a variety of topics. All subjects are welcome but please limit yourself to one submission. Submit any article you’d like (genealogy-related of course!) and if you'd like an introduction for it, please write your own. Jasia will be hosting the next edition on the Creative Gene blog but she won't be writing any introductions this time around. The deadline for submissions is August 1.Submit your blog article using the carnival submission form. Past posts and future hosts can be found at the blog carnival index page. Want to know more about the Carnival of Genealogy? See Jasia's Frequently Asked Questions page.

Kudos to footnoteMaven for the Carnival of Genealogy posters.

For numerous reasons, I neglected to post something when the last two "issues" of the COG were published. So, in case you haven't read them yet:

• The 50th Carnival of Genealogy : Family Pets was posted by Bill West at West in New England.
• Carnival of Genealogy, 51st Edition on the topic of Independent Spirit was posted by Thomas MacEntee at Destination Austin Family.

Pictured Rocks :: Miners Castle

Friday, August 5th - - It was about a 50-mile drive from the campground at Indian Lake to the western end of the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. It was a beautiful day. My intent was to take a 2 ½ hour Boat Cruise along the coast of Lake Superior but I turned right at the intersection instead of left and ended up at the only “pictured rock” that is visible from shore – Miner's Castle.





The view from the overlook was magnificent! The water in the cove was so clear you could see the bottom – a sign stated that the average depth was 25 feet and it dropped off rapidly from the shoreline. If you look closely you can see some people lounging on the rocky shoreline and some were floating in the crystal clear water.





A close-up view of Miner's Castle – some of the people are more visible.



These three swimmers were almost directly below – they are there – in the middle of the photo. Can you see the canoe on the shore? It is to the left of the large clump of leaves on the right. I walked down to the lower overlook but was not impressed. There really wasn't much of a view at all from there.





Then I drove a short distance to the parking lot for Miner's Beach. Nary a spot to park and people parking where they really shouldn't have! So, not to be put off completely, I went back to the intersection and turned the other way to the parking lot for a lakeside trail. Several parking spots were available so I grabbed one of them and headed off. The trail lead to the cove shown above. It was another 1.5 miles to Miner's Beach but I stopped off here for a while. And lingered. There were only half a dozen other people there and some of them left after a while. Soon I was the only one there!





Discarding shoes and socks and rolling up the pants legs, I strolled along the water's edge. The wet sand was like walking in quicksand. It grabbed your feet and held them tight. Then the water washed over the sand and released them. Venturing out a little further into the water there was a layer of smooth rocks along the shore and walking was much easier. Never mind that the pants got wet well above the knees! It felt so good in the 80 degree sunshine!



I lingered there for several hours absorbing the sun's rays and enjoying the cooling breeze. Sorry, Carol, but there will be no photos of the Pictured Rocks from a boat - I never made it to the dock!

Natural Bridges National Monument

On the morning of my third day (May 23rd) at Mesa Verde National Park, Mother Nature decided to allow me to experience another side of her personality! I awoke to the sun rising through a beige-colored sky and strong winds – it was a dust storm. Or rather, a sand storm. My plans for the day had been to hike several of the trails in the park but instead I went to the library in Cortez and was able to get a few blog posts written and scheduled. I also checked the weather report for the next day – it was to be more of the same and included most of southeast Utah and southwest Colorado.

That evening the wind died down somewhat and the sky cleared up a little. But by the next morning the sand storm had returned. Since I was going to attend the Southern California Genealogy Jamboree in June I didn't want to go any further east or north into Colorado (I plan on returning to Colorado later this summer) and had decided to go back west, to Capitol Reef and Bryce Canyon. It wasn't that far and it was more or less in the right direction.

As I left Mesa Verde, the wind was gusting to 40 miles per hour. Visibility was okay but I kept seeing a “wall” of sand several miles ahead. I continued to drive down the highway and the wall of sand continued to appear in the distance. Then it dawned on me, I was “in” that wall. After just a little over an hour of driving, I decided to stop for the day. The closest campground on the way was at Hovenweep and that is where I went!

There were only five sites in use when I got there and two of those campers left within an hour of my arrival. That left three others and me. One of the other campers said she now knows a little about how it felt during the dust bowl days of the 1930s. True, but we got just a small taste of what it was like. I can't imagine dealing with that for weeks and months at a time. The sky didn't get blackened out by the dust and there were no huge dust clouds as shown in the photos of the dust bowl, but the sky was light beige in color and the dust was everywhere. The inside of my van was covered with a light layer of gritty sand. It permeated every opening it possibly could.

It was hot. It was dusty. It was windy. I didn't do any hiking. It was a quiet day. Not much was going on, other than the howling wind and the sound of sand blowing against the van. Near sundown, not that you could actually see the sun, the wind died down and the sky started to clear. The front had moved through and along with it came cooler temperatures.

The morning of May 24th arrived with clear blue skies, bright sunshine and cold temperatures. I drove west from Hovenweep to connect to US 163/191 then north to Utah Highway 95, which went through the mountains. As I gained elevation, it got colder and a few snow flakes drifted down from the now gray and gloomy sky. Soon the snow was falling thick and fast, reducing visibility. Big flakes of snow, lots of them. And they were sticking to the ground. Forty-five minutes later, and about two hours after leaving Hovenweep, I saw the turnoff for Natural Bridges National Monument.

This is another of those parks that I knew nothing about except that it was on the map. Because of the weather, my intent, when I turned off the main highway into the monument, was to simply drive through to see what it was. When I got to the visitors center it stopped snowing and I could see the sun trying to come through the thick layer of clouds. But it was cold and windy and quite uncomfortable.

There is a nine-mile scenic loop drive which takes you to viewpoints and trailheads for the three natural bridges. The difference between a natural bridge and an arch is that the natural bridge is created by water, specifically a stream or river gouges its way through the rock. Once the river has done its job of creating the opening, then the wind and rain enlarge it through erosion similar to the way those elements carve out an arch through solid rock.

Despite the chilly temperature, the hike to the Sipapu Bridge was so much fun that I decided to hike down to view the other two bridges also. But first, I drove back and picked out one of the few sites still available in the 13-site campground!

Sipapu Bridge seen from about halfway down the trail.

Sipapu Bridge is the second largest natural bridge in the world (only Rainbow Bridge in Glen Canyon is bigger). In Hopi mythology, a “sipapu” is a gateway through which souls may pass to the spirit world. The trail to the canyon bottom below Sipapu is the steepest in the park. A staircase and three wooden ladders aid in the descent as does a series of switchbacks.

One of the ladders used to descend/ascend to/from Sipapu Bridge.

The view from beneath Sipapu Bridge.

A zoomed-in view of Kachina Bridge from the the overlook.

Kachina Bridge is massive and is considered the "youngest" of the three because of the thickness of its span. The relatively small size of its opening and its orientation make it difficult to see from the overlook. The bridge is named for the Kachina dancers that play a central role in Hopi religious tradition.


Portions of the trail to Kachina Bridge.
Kachina Bridge.

Owachomo Bridge.

Owachomo means “rock mound” in Hopi, and is named after the rock formation on top of the southeast end of the bridge. From the overlook, the twin buttes called “The Bear’s Ears” break the eastern horizon. Tuwa Creek no longer flows under Owachomo like it did for thousands of years.

Owachomo Bridge is presumed to be the oldest of the three bridges because it's delicate form suggests that it is has eroded more quickly than the other bridges.

In addition to the impressive natural bridges, the monument has one of the darkest skies in a national park in the country. The stars were brilliant. Even with the moon shining brightly, the night sky was really, really dark! The number of stars that could be seen was incredible. In my book it ranks right up there with the night skies of Big Bend National Park and the Grand Canyon!

And the weather that day? It was a little chilly, but the sun did break through the clouds and it warmed up a little. I did have to add some layers of clothing for the night but it really didn't get uncomfortably cold. The bridges were immense, the trails were fun and challenging, and the views were fantastic! All in all, it was a great day.

Staff wanted in Singapore

In preparation for my Asian trip, I revisited my old pictures. I saw this and had a good laugh!







This one was taken in Singapore 6 years ago. A restaurant looking for staff and brutally advertising the qualities they do not want.



Just a few more nights before my Dubai layover and Asian trip...

Hale Brubaker & Crow's Corner School

Maurice Hale Brubaker (known as Hale) was the youngest son of Malissa Joslin and William Brubaker. He taught at least one term at the Crow's Corner school in Smith Township, Whitley County, Indiana when he was 18 years old. This was still at a time when college degrees were not required for teaching.

Hale's life was cut short when just 6 years later he died of pneumonia while attending Law School at Columbia University in New York. His death had a traumatic affect on the family. It was a shock to his parents but particularly his father who died a little over a year later.

The brief "biography" of Hale was written by his mother: "Hale died in N Y Dec 14 1910 aged 24y 6m & 27da he was in Columbia University a Law Student would have finished in May 1911 he was born in Troy TP Whitley Co graduated in common School when 13 & in high School 17 Taught School in Smith TP. was an active member in the First Baptist church & Sunday School after all God took him called him higher where he is at rest Mother"

I'll be posting more about Hale in the future...

The Pupils listed on the Souvenir tag are:

• Grade VII: Chester McNeal, Thomas Griffith, Etta Rowland, Bessie Gordon, Katie Fulk, Dessie Garrison
• Grade V: Ethel Herron, Jennie Gilbert, Rilla Boggs, Edward Gordon, John Fulk, Charles Gilbert, Jesse Rowland, Earnest McNeal, Herbert McNeal, Cyrus Griffith, Joshua Griffith
• Grade III: Lottie Herron, Virgie Griffith, Frank Garrison, Howard Gilbert
• Grade I: Opal Boggs, Millie Garrison, and a few more that were in the damaged portion

Chihuly in the Desert

Chihuly in the Desert, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

Here's some of Chihuly's glass I wrote about earlier. He truly is a gifted artist to be able to envision these incredible pieces of art.

Aspen Leaves

The aspen trees were just leafing out and their leaves almost looked like flowers when the sun would shine on them.

Dove

Finally, a centre-right government in the Netherlands

After 111 days of grueling mix and match, tug of war and hair pulling scenes, finally a new regime has been formed (eindelijk!): for the first time in decades, The Netherlands have a RIGHT-WING government that will be led by The Bachelor* Prime Minister (yes, he is single ladies and supposedly not gay) together with the struggling Christians** with support from all the rage Beethoven*** camp.

The Netherlands have always been pro socialized in almost everything, something along the one for all, all for one approach which honestly I find a bit peculiar. I have always believed in working hard to make our dreams a reality or even to be able to live comfortably. Of course we all need to have safety nets (social benefits), have proper controls regarding free enterprise (bank crisis for example), loving mother nature (but not losing the vision to other pressing matters like building more roads) and so on and so forth, equilibrium right.

I also want to point out—which is a common misconception by many people who are not familiar with the Dutch political scene and Dutch mentality. A right-wing government in the Netherlands is comparable to a left-wing government in the USA. I am using the USA here as an example because many people are familiar with American politics. So, just imagine what a left party is in this country.

Here’s some recent news for those interested:

Formatieoverleg afgerond
Dutch right wing parties reach agreement on coalition
Dutch coalition agreement is presented to the public
Islamic veil ban in Dutch coalition deal (Looks like Sarkozy is getting some support)

*Mark Rutte, leader of VVD (Liberal Party) aka The Bachelor
**CDA/Christian Democrat Party (they struggled to get votes and were acting like sissy girls)
***Geert Wilders, leader of PVV (Freedom Anti-Islam Party) aka Beethoven
.

Thorp Lookout ..

Jennifer's birthday getaway.

We had lofty ambitions to go hiking/camping in the North Cascades, but the 30% chance of thunderstorms scared us away. I was hoping for views, while Jennifer was hoping for lake swimming. In the end we found a combination that should work just fine; Thorp Lake and Thorp Mountain Lookout.

We got a leisurely start and drove up to the trail head arriving around 11am. Unfortunately, the signage is not ideal and we drove to what is listed in the book as the shortcut. This is a trail at the end of a logging road that leads to the lake. After we geared up and started up the trail we immediately noticed a sign stating it was not the trail. We opted to continue as the trail looked well used (and there was more than a half dozen cars at the "trail head.") However, a few hundred meters from the parking lot we made a right instead of a left. This put us in some open clear cuts and following some trails that looked like game trails. There was flagging tape, so we figured we were heading in the right direction.

After a while of not seeing tape, we stopped for lunch. I scouted ahead, and did not like what I saw. We decided to head back down to the parking lot and hopefully pick up the trail somewhere in between. It was difficult to retrace our steps, and the way down was more slippery than coming up. We slipped a bunch and had to bushwhack even more. After reaching the parking lot elevation, we traversed through some devils club and rejoined the trail. But not after a fair amount of suffering.

Fruits of our labor

This time we noticed the correct trail heading left and followed it. It was nice being on a real trail, and in no time, we were at the lake. Jennifer felt that the two hours of off trail travel was good because the actual trail to the lake was too short. (Mind you, this was the "shortcut" trail.)

Once arriving at the lake we noticed what we often do every time we go in the woods for Jennifer's birthday: the bugs. The mosquitoes at the lake were voracious. Fortunately, it wasn't that hot and we were able to put on jackets and pants to keep ourselves somewhat protected. On the flipside, it did not make us determined to do anything outside, so we hung out in the tent a bit to escape.

Home sweet home

After a bit of relaxing in the tent we got out and scouted the route to the top of the mountain for the next morning. We also took a path part way around the lake to a boulder field and watched the pikas who were apparently watching us. When we returned to the camp, we made dinner.

After dinner, we did a bit more local exploring before retiring to the tent. (The mosquitoes were driving us crazy and we had no repellent.) It was early, but Jennifer felt she could use the sleep.

When we awoke in the morning, the mosquitoes were not as bad. But as we ate breakfast, they became worse. We figured we had to move quickly once done and hopefully the higher we went, the better off we would be.

We started the hike to the lookout and kept moving because stopping made you a target. It was fairly humid, and for the most part going higher did not result in more breeze. It was warm, but I opted to keep my pant legs on to keep the bugs off. There were a few trail intersections, including the one for the real trail to the lake. For the most part the trail switchbacked through subalpine meadows below cliffs.

Flowers
In what seemed like a very short time we were at the lookout, greeted by the lookout, Lori, and her dog Grace. We took in the views and ate snacks, then chatted with Lori for a while before signing the register and heading back down. The lookout had told us the view was better than the previous day, so we were fairly happy that we waited until the morning to come up to the lookout. Rainier was under the clouds, but the Snoqualmie peaks to Dutch Miller Gap were visible as well as Hinman and Daniel. Mount Stuart was just a shadow in the haze.


The hike back down to camp was warm and uneventful. When we arrived back at the lake, we considered swimming, but we cooled off fairly well with the breeze off the lake. We also weren't sure about subjecting more skin to the swarms of mosquitoes. So we packed up and hiked out. While trying to find the trail out, we stumbled upon the toilet. We passed the not so obvious real trail head on the drive out.

I think this is a nice trip for families, but if you needed to do more and just a day trip, there is a nice loop that can be done incorporating Little Joe Thorp Lake as well. It seems to me the ridge trails there would also be nice options, but we didn't consider them at the time.

Nick's Valet by Nick Ruggieri

My name is Nick Ruggieri and I am a second-generation Italian-American raised in the Washington, DC area. My memories of growing up in Washington have strong roots with my Sicilian grandfather, Nonno, as he was affectionately called by my family. Nonno was born Nicola Ruggieri in Fiumadinisi, Sicily in 1896 and came to America in his early twenties. Fiumadinisi was a small town where crime was relatively non-existent due in large part to a town center that engaged in public displays of its own form of civil law. Those caught stealing got a finger chopped off in front of all to witness. It was that simple…you do the crime, you pay the price.

Nonno’s travel experience to this country was never discussed and we gather his time at Ellis Island was quite unpleasant. Legal entry to the United States required a sponsor from one’s country and $50 cash in one’s pocket. In years to come, my grandfather sponsored other Sicilian immigrants who followed his lead in making a new start and finding work in America.

In the early 1930s Nonno launched his business, Nick’s Valet on 14th and Irving Streets NW. He set out to establish himself as a shoe cobbler and haberdasher of sorts, providing shoe repair and design, as well as tailoring, dry cleaning, and shoeshine services. The back of the shop housed living quarters in which he and my grandmother, Nonna, raised two daughters and one son - my dad. All were born with the assistance of a midwife in this tiny little apartment. The family later moved a few blocks away to 3805 13th Street NW. They lived in a beautiful row house with three floors, each having long narrow rooms that seemed to stretch on forever. Planted in the backyard were wonderful fig trees that many Italians seemed to cherish back then.

As kids growing up in the 6os my brother and I had the wonderful opportunity to work in Nonno’s shop performing the more menial tasks - sweeping floors, working the cash register and greeting the customers, but our greatest joy came in observing and talking with Nonno’s employees. By the time we started frequenting the shop, most of the older Sicilian workers had either retired or passed on. They were replaced by African-American men hired by Nonno. Two guys I will never forget were Joe the shoeshine man and Louis the tailor.

The shop shoeshine stand, quite in vogue back then, consisted of five leather-cushioned chairs that sat high upon two steps of smooth white marble. Joe would grab his tools of the trade and begin slapping shoe polish directly from his hands to the shoes. With a brush in each hand, he’d go about polishing the shoes in a rhythmic pattern that sounded quite like a jazz drummer playing with brushes. Next he used his buffing cloth to draw a brilliant shine out of each shoe. When he snapped that cloth three times over each shoe, you knew his work was complete. Man, in all my then-eight years of existence that was the coolest music I ever heard coming out of a human being! I truly believe my interest in drumming came from watching Joe do his thing.

Louis the tailor, on the other hand, was a character to say the least. By week’s end, when Friday rolled around, Louis was already half in the bag and spinning more yarns than cloth. He shared wild stories with my brother and me, staring at us with his gleaming madman eyes, while his wicked smile proudly showed off his two gold teeth. He often argued with Nonno, and I can recall one incident in particular in which Louis threw a shoe at my grandfather beaming him right on the head. My grandfather wasn’t the kind of guy to take crap from anyone, and many times my dad had to jump in between those two to keep the peace. One Saturday morning I accompanied my dad to the DC penitentiary, which at the time was located next to the DC Armory. I distinctly recall waiting in the car while my father trudged through the gates to bail Louis out from yet another Friday night venture that landed him in the drunk tank. (My father said it was the eeriest feeling to have those gates slam shut behind him, and I often recalled those words when growing up - they helped me in choosing between right and wrong on many an occasion.) After what seemed like an eternity, my dad finally re-emerged through the gates with Louis staggering behind him, sporting a fat shiner on his right eye and reeking of cheap booze. We drove Louis straight to the shop to start his work day not even stopping for a cup of coffee. Louis may have had his shortcomings but he was a good man and I loved him dearly, as did all who came into contact with him.

Not only were those two guys a constant source of wonder to me but the endless stream of persons who walked through Nonno’s door on 14th Street were like none other I had ever experienced in my lifetime. But I’ll save those stories for another time.

Nonno’s shop burned down in the ’68 riots and for years there was an empty lot where Nick’s Valet once stood. From time to time I would drive by and just stop and stare, remembering what once was. I would still have the same special feelings that I once had as a kid on that block. Some memories are just etched in time.

Eye to Eye

Making Fruit boots for hard mixed climbing?

Now is a good time to put some thought into Fruit boots if it is something that interests you for next winter's mixedseason.













I'll have a review on the newest Boreal Ice Mutantmodel later on as fall approaches and the temps drop.









But nothing like thinking ahead. The fun I was havingin myhome made pair is why I searched out a commercial pair. One caution? You'll want your boot crampon combo to come in at around 2# total per foot to really take advantage of a lwt technical combo. BD raptors come in at 10oz per foot. That leaves you with 22oz per boot before you bolt the cramponon. More than one climberis just using the front half of the crampon so that candrop some weight as well.



http://bigfootmountainguides.com//03/03/how-to-make-mixed-climbing-boots/







http://climbs2high.blogspot.com//11/new-project-fruit-boots.html







http://rockandice.com/articles/how-to-climb/article/359-make-fruit-boots-do-it-yourself-crampons

Autumn Storm, Kawishiwi River

Yesterday as I was driving home from Ely there were some of the coolest looking storm clouds I've ever seen moving along the Kawishiwi River. I couldn't resist stopping and making some photographs!

Bertus, the world-famous cat in Utrecht

During the Christmas holidays Dutchman
and I strolled down Catharijnesingel in Utrecht. Catharijnesingel is a canal
that rims the south western part of Utrecht’s old centrum.





We both love walking, and of course as
part of this activity we have to stop by at a café to grab something warm to
drink. Café de Poort was a very convenient choice as it is located on the
corner of Catharijnesingel and Oudegracht.




In Café de Poort we
met ‘Bertus’. The regulars in the cafe told us that he
is very famous in Utrecht. He is a male ginger cat and he is the house cat of
the café. His favourite spot in the caféis sitting on the top back ridge of the second and
third seats facing the Oudegracht. We were also told that sometimes he can be spotted at the other café across
the road.




Bertus is a very picky and arrogant cat as well.
He has this kingly posture that says—‘Who are you? What do
you want? I am the boss here and do not mess with me, stay away from me!’



He actually gets peeved when people pats him longer than a minute. Interestingly, he doesn’t like women. How did I know? Well, firstly, he doesn’t like me (ouch, that severely injured my ego), and all the female specie that came around to pat him, he sneered and clawed at them.He does allow a few regular male
guys to stroke his back, including the Dutchman, for longer than a minute, and repeatedly as well. UNFAIR. Why is that?!




I don’t know why but cats always fall
under the charm of the Dutchman. He has this magical magnetic animalistic aura in him that
cats cannot say no. I’m envious.






Visit Period: December