Snowshoeing through the streets of Philadelphia

The East Coast was hammered by winter storms, and Philadelphia was subject to near-record snowfall. A blizzard starting late Friday night and continuing all day Saturday dumped a shade under 2' (the measurement was 23" and change) of snow on the city.

And I had a Holiday Party to attend.

It was only 8 blocks away, but cars were submerged in snowdrifts, and it was still snowing. So I dug out my snowshoes. Why not? I had 'em, they were here, I had to walk through deep drifts. So I strapped my boots in, and started trudging. Not many people were out on the streets, but the few who saw me just kind of stared. I felt good, giving them a memorable sight. Now those people can go home and tell people that there were people snowshoeing in the streets of Philadelphia.

Learning to Scuba Dive

I've always wanted to learn to dive, but it seemed too exotic, too expensive and too far away. Well, now that I'm going to be living on a cruise ship, it will be none of those things. So I'm learning to dive.

I took the online course as the classroom component, and today was my first in-person session. We didn't make it in the pool, due to all the cancellations, but we did spend some valuable time fitting equipment and practicing setting up some gear. Pool sessions will follow, and soon I'll be ready for some open water dives.

Whenever I get on the boat.

On the road again

I went on tour with the current show that I'm working on to Hamilton, New York. It is a small town in upstate New York, remarkable only in that it is the home of Colgate University.

In the middle of November, our minds were turned to worries of snowstorms and blizzards that would either prevent us from getting there, keep our audience sizes to less than a dozen, or trap us in the one-street town. Luckily for us, it was unseasonably warm, with no snow on the ground, and even a drizzle or two. Wildlife turned out to be a bigger problem, when the person in front of us hit a deer as we were driving the 16' box truck. No one hit any deer, or had any other driving mishaps, and we were all safely in the middle of nowhere.

We shuttled from the hotel to the theater on the town's main road (and the only 'highway' for miles), passing college bars, a nice variety of restaurants, and a post office. There was a gas station, but I didn't see a grocery store. I bet it was there, somewhere. Couldn't have been too far away.

Touring a show is a lot of work, and we hadn't done this show in over a year, so this stop was a major learning opportunity to get the kinks out and get situated. Which meant a lot of hours in the theater. Finally, on the penultimate day, I got an hour off. Then Saturday, I got most of the day off. Luckily, this time was enough to exhaustively explore Hamilton, NY (except I never did find a grocery store... Puzzling. But I wasn't looking for one).

Then a late-night strike, a celebration with the cast, and an early morning drive back. Like clockwork, we're back in Philly, the show is packed up and awaiting our next venture, and life goes on.

Run a 5K? Why not

In the latest event in my series of boredom-inspired adventures, I decided to start running.

Now I'm a goal-oriented person, and I know that and acknowledge that. So when I turned my attentions to running, I decided to utilize that knowledge. I have tried to run in the past, and although I'm physically able, I hate it. I have talked to many people who share my aversion to running. It's just not a fun thing. So I gave myself a goal.

I outlined a schedule of 5Ks and longer runs for the next three months, since I knew my schedule and anticipated general location. I looked up some pointers and tips to start running.

"Start running slowly and gradually. Build up to distance. Just get out and be active. It will take many months to build up endurance. Start by taking a brisk walk, then run for 30 seconds followed by 90 seconds of walking. Alternate in short intervals. As you become more accustomed to running, increase the duration of your runs."

I ran 1.5 miles my first time out.

Less than 2 weeks later, I ran my first 5K.

I beat my target time, and won my age group.

Back to a big city

And here I thought I was a country gal... I am glad to be busy again. I don't know if it's necessarily the city, or just the fact that I have friends, a job, a mail box and errands again. Maybe if I had all of those things in the country, I wouldn't be as glad to get back to a big city.

But here I am, visiting apartments, cleaning out my PO box (which got piled a little bit high with mail while I was gone), having meetings, hiring workers, planning events, having lunch with friends and unpacking my car (one item at a time, it feels like). And seeing a show.

What a busy day. Finally.

Tomorrow: work in New York City, then back down to Philly late at night.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; finale

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-Sometimes, spending the night doesn't mean sleeping...

I was visiting a friend in Barcelona. At the end of the trip, we went to the train station to get my ticket for the night train back to Italy, where I was living at the time. No problems there, I had my Eurorail pass and got a discount.

The problems began when we got to the other train station and my train wasn't on the list... Upon closer scrutiny of the ticket, we realized that I thought the train departed almost 2 hours after it actually did. So I missed it by a long shot. Darn it! I learned my lesson about not double checking times, and to not rely on keeping multiple countries-worth of train schedules in my head.

So we head to the nearest internet cafe, and I book a flight home for early the next morning (I had to be back in Italy the next day). It stretched the bank a little bit, but this was back when the exchange rate wasn't so horrible.

The problem came when we checked the train schedule to the airport, and saw that I couldn't get from my friend's place to the airport in time for the flight the next morning. It was too early, and the trains would not start running in time. Well, no big deal, I've spent the night in train stations before. So I go to the appropriate train station (the main metro hub of Barcelona, nicely populated and well-furnished), say good bye to my friend, and settle in for the night.

Not half an hour later, the guard came over to my section of seats and kicked us all out of the building. Confused, I asked what was wrong. His broken English reply (my Spanish was quite sufficient, there was no call to treat me like a stupid American): "Finished!"

I guess the main transportation hub of Barcelona closes at midnight.

So I shuffle out into the cold night air (it's March, still pretty freezing at night) along with the other travelers looking to weather the night. We cluster around the back door and wait. I head off into the city, to find what I can find, and maybe nap a good place to hole up for the next few hours. I find a big park/slide/lake by Gaudi in the shape of a dragon. Awesome. I explore it, then plunk down and start in on a book that my friend has just lent me. Around 1:30am, I'm too cold to keep sitting there. I pack up and go for a walk around the general viscinity of the station. About three quarters of the way around, I hear a gunshot. That changes my course immediately, and I beeline back to the trainstation.

I rejoin the ranks of frigid travelers, and hunker down to wait for the dawn. I pull out my trusty towel for some warmth, pick up my book again, and munch some cookies for warmth. This lasts half an hour. At which point, I notice a man has sat beside me. I keep reading. He slides closer. I keep 'reading.' He slides closer and tries to engage me in conversation. I am thoroughly engrossed in 'reading.' He stalwartly keeps attempting conversation, and eventually I gather he wants food. No more cookies left. I stuff the bag in my backpack, edge away from him, and keep studiously 'reading.' He edges right on closer. I hurriedly pack up and shuffle off 10', to the other end of the door area. I sit down and read, having made my desire to be left alone quite clear.

And my friend comes back and sits next to me. I immediately pack up and move again. This time no sitting, just standing there reading. He follows. I edge away. He edges closer. I edge away. He edges closer. I stuff my book in my pack and storm over to the other side of the door area, cross my arms and fume.

And he follows me. This goes on for some time, and at one point I went around a concrete block in the entrance plaza to get out of his sight, and there are 5 more homeless men. Oops. Not a good move. I rapidly get through them, outdistance the one chasing me, and return to the cluster of international travelers miserable around the door. No one looks at me.

No one says anything this whole time. I'm starting to get worried, so I'm looking for someone to help me. This homeless guy is relentless. I keep checking my watch and reckoning when the doors will open. It's 3am. Doors open at 4, or at 5?

There's a well-dressed older professor-type who looks British, a very young Asian couple who have somehow burrowed their heads into their armpits for warmth, a family from perhaps Eastern Europe who are coping well with the cold thanks to sitting on their luggage, recruiting extra clothing, and huddling together. There are a handful more people around. No one acknowledges me and my pursuer.

I play cat and mouse for a while. He never gets tired. I glare at him. I nearly growl with animosity every time he gets near. He's ubiquitous. He keeps babbling under his breath, not fully formed words, but his out-held hand makes his intention clear. I have nothing for him.

Finally, at 4am, the building opens again. We pour inside, seeking the warmth and comfort. The homeless man does not follow. I bolt for my train's platform, nearly doze waiting for the train to arrive, and finally get on my way to the airport and home to Italy.

Doesn't matter, go up.

Mount Adams: check.

It's the hardest of the Presidentials. Called a "hiker's mountain," all approaches have at least a 4,000 ft vertical elevation gain. It's the second highest mountain in the range (5,774 ft), and as someone put it, "the highest without an auto road to the summit."
And I was in no mood to climb it. I put off my climb for a day, due to being lazy (and recovering from Mt Washington's calf-burning decent). I finally told myself, you're doing it. I woke up at 8am and the rest went like clockwork.
Mountain climbing (well, mountaineering; there's no technical climbing skills involved) and distance-hiking are studies in inevitability, I say. You get a lot of time to yourself out there (especially if you go solo, as I do). I spend my time thinking on a wide variety of topics. One of my eloquent theories that I have formulated is the "study of inevitability." For me, climbing a mountain or completing a long-distance trail is inevitable, once I set my mind to it. Sure, each step is torturous and the whole thing is difficult, but it's not a challenge in the sense that it might not work out. Of course there are the accidents and rare occurrences that can derail the best laid plans or overcome the strongest willpower. But barring those, there's no question that the job will get done.

I go to bed the night before a climb (of this simple magnitude, we're not talking Rainer here) and know that the next day I'll summit. I'm prepared, skilled and focused. It's not a question of if I'll hate it (I probably will), if the weather will be fine (my research says it will, but my pack is prepared if it's not), or if my legs will give out on the climb (they better not, because they'd have to keep going anyway). It's just one step after another.

Eventually, there will be no more mountain in front of me. I can keep climbing long after the earth stops rising. I'm not the fastest climber/hiker, but I am inevitable. Each step is progress. Walking up a mountain is the seemingly unceasing task of making one's head height into one's foot height.

And then you're done. Then you get to go back down, and that's the worst part. No achievement to look forward to, gravity mocking you like it's your friend. Slinking back to where you began.

But somehow I can distance my emotions, feelings, thoughts and so forth from my overall goal. It doesn't matter that I'm exhausted, hate the experience, think this is stupid, am uncomfortable and could think of plenty of other things to be doing at the moment. Climb.
But I'm tired.
Doesn't matter, go up.
I could turn around right now and have hot tea and watch a movie!
Doesn't matter, go up.
This mountain is stupid, there's no accomplishment in climbing it.
Doesn't matter, go up.
The trail dips while I'm not at the summit yet! How dare it!
Doesn't matter, go up.
I don't want to.
Doesn't matter, go up.

I find it's best when I don't consider the scale of the task at hand. Yeah, it's inevitable that I'll get to the top/end, and I know that, but then each moment is just a chore. I'm putting in my time, nothing special. Each step in a marathon is just the tortured completion of the whole. So if the whole is bound to be complete, that just makes the moment torture. So I free the mind and go elsewhere.

I do math problems, plan my life, philosophize, relive past accomplishments, categorize feelings, re-live past events, tell someone off, budget the month, reconcile my college experience, resolve arguments on personal and global scales, ruminate, write computer programs and tie knots. All in my head. Sometimes I talk out loud. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I scowl, sometimes I cry. Is this normal?

Doesn't matter, go up.

Above the clouds

On Friday, I climbed Mount Washington, the highest mountain in the Northeast United States. It stands a lofty 6288' above sea level, and is the keystone of the Presidentials, and the White Mountains. Its closest competitors lie in the Blue Ridge Mountains, down in North Carolina. It's the 8th tallest peak this side of the Mississippi.

Friday was a clear day among foul ones, with Thursday being completely overcast (I drove past the Presidentials, and couldn't even see the start of their slopes, only 100 ft away) and Saturday being rainy and stormy.
I started early and took my time, and soon enough I was at the top. I'm getting the hang of this climbing mountains business. No need to say that the trail was vertical in some places, there was a lot of scrambling over rocks, etc. I guess that all goes with the territory. Certainly with the White Mountains.

Above treeline is not some arctic tundra, as I had pictured. It's pretty reliably cluttered with talus. No easy way up, and no easy way down.









I went up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail (then ducked onto the Lion Head Trail), which was extremely well kept. It was a swath 12' wide, and more or less paved. Unfortunately, it was paved with more rocks (although there were random). It wasn't easy going. But I guess it's a durable surface, to withstand the hundreds of people who travel it.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; part V

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

Sometimes the solutions aren't cozy.

-In my very first post, I relate the story of my travel back to the US from Italy, with all of its pitfalls and snags. I'd like to reference one of the aspects of that story: I've slept underneath a bush in Paris. It was a very uneasy sleep, not very restful, and only lasted a couple hours, before the train station re-opened. There is a long time between midnight and morning, though, and even 4am is very far away when you're cold and shelterless at midnight or 1am.

-As I left my study abroad program in Italy, leaving my luggage at a storage place, I had a 50+ lb pack on my back, and a sketchy plan to see Naples and Pompeii, then fly to England and walk across it. Simple. I take the train down to Naples with my Eurorail pass, and find myself in the Naples train station at 10pm. Not a good place to be. Busy, gritty, unsafe. So I scrap plans for sleeping in that train station (see previous posts, train stations are usually good places to sleep). I grab a slice of pizza (finally, thick crust pizza! I immediately comprehend the differences in pizza recipes that have been alluding me for 4 months) and catch a train heading around the Amalfi coast. A few stops in, Salermo. Quiet little town, it's on the map, so can't be too small. Perfect. I get off, and scope out a place to sleep. So much safer than Naples. Oops, the waiting room has been taken over by Rom. There's about 50 people in the small room, carpeting the floor, under plastic and cardboard, huddled together for warmth. I'll let them be. So I make my way to an out-of-service car (again, see previous posts, very good sleeping arrangements). Half an hour later, the cleaning crew comes through and kicks me out. So I head out into the night. It's pretty cold, but I have a sweater. I walk around for a few blocks, find the ocean (ok, small town indeed, it's about 3 blocks wide), and then find a nice patio/overhang that's the entrance to a bank. I stretch out my sleeping pad, climb into my sleeping bag (its first use, I just bought it for the trail across England), huddle my belongings close, and uneasily sleep for a few hours. I wake up to the dawn, pack up and catch the early morning sights over the Amalfi coast. Success! On to Pompeii.

How to kill a day

Read a book, watch a movie, surf craigslist, clean out inbox, bake something, eat something, take a shower, check all remembered and semi-remembered log-in accounts on the internet.

How to kill a few days:
All of the above, plus, find more books to read, stalk people on facebook, organize pictures, develop methodology for surfing craigslist, surf eBay and other online stores, hike.

How to kill a week:
All of the above, developing finely evolved style and techniques for each. Climb mountains.

How to kill a month:
...working on it. No answers yet.

Climbing Mount Jefferson

Lacking a job, I've turned to climbing mountains. Not very profitable, but at least it's cheap.

My first 4000-footer was Mount Jefferson, the third highest mountain in the state, weighing in at 5712' above sea level. It's also the most accessible, since the Caps Ridge Trail leaves from about 3,000', and runs straight up the ridge to the summit.

That sounds easy.
Pure vertical walls of granite, dripping with snow, slush, ice and water, tell a different story.So it took a little longer than expected, and the final climb above treeline was pretty relentless.

I took a couple side trails to get back down, venturing out toward Mts Clay and Washington, and traveling on the Appalachian Trail for a bit. This turned out to be a bad choice, as there really wasn't a trail to follow (despite cairns every 20'). It was all upturned shards of granite lightly covered by snow, hiding pitfalls and crevices. The connecting path to get me back down the mountain was completely unbroken, so half a mile took me close to an hour. Snow was past my knees in some places, and I fell more than once. I went at a snail's pace, testing each foot placement with my trekking poles. Thank goodness for synthetic pants. All the snow just whisked right off of them, and I remained warm and dry.

I also used my pants to great effect when scooting down the vertical sheets of rock. Like sledding, without the snow, sled, clear path or illusion of safety.But it was a perfectly clear day, very warm and clear. I couldn't have asked for better weather.

Next up: Mount Washington.

Hiking does not equal Mountaineering...

...And this is mountaineering. Quite a difference.

It's the tail end of fall here, and Mount Washington has a nice layer of snow on it. I've been hiking a lot (that's what you do when you have the White Mountains in your backyard), and I usually start out in fall, and end up in winter. At around 2,000 ft the snow starts to stick, and by 3,000, it's a good 3" deep, sometimes more, depending on which side of the mountain you're on.










I hiked the Imp Trail, which visits a glacial erratic on the side of Imp Mountain. The profile of the erratic looks like an imp, hence the name. Not as famous as the Old Man of the Mountains, now deceased, but still a profile. I guess there are plenty of those, in the Granite State.


A few thousand feet of elevation gain landed me among snow, and great views. I was across the notch from Mt. Washington, which was lost in clouds. The wind chill has been hovering around zero these past few days. I'm hoping to climb it sometime next week, if the weather holds.

Living the Lonely Life

Here I am in Gorham, NH, a small New England town that prides itself in how small it is. It's in an amazing location, perched on the outskirts of the White Mountains National Forest, within sight (on a clear day) of Mount Washington, the Northeast's highest peak. It's 10 minutes from Maine, 30 minutes from Vermont, not too far from Canada, and completely in the middle of nowhere.

Perfect.

I've successfully escaped summer, and have landed in the final throes of fall. I woke up this morning to a couple inches of snow (they quickly melted). The fall foliage is magnificent up here (I see why it's a popular vacation destination). It will probably be gone when the week is out. Already some mountains are looking bare. It's about to enter into that dismal time before ski season and after fall foliage, where it's cold, rainy and deserted. Not too bad.

I'm living in a trailer right now. Well, to be fair it's a mobile home. But I've lived in trailers before (a parked RV for my summers in Abingdon, VA on a horse farm). I have my own bedroom this time around, but share everything else. We'll see how long it lasts.

I'll hear before the week is out if I get the dog mushing job, and maybe they'll have suggestions of nearby places to stay. They still think I'm in Philadelphia, and I didn't want to let them know that I threw caution to the wind and moved up to New Hampshire, blindly hoping to get the job they weren't 100% sure existed. That doesn't seem to inspire much confidence from future employers... Especially when they were a bit nervous about letting me know that the job didn't actually exist yet.

So I've filed for unemployment (hey, free money!) and am searching the area for a job to get me through to November (or all winter?? What am I doing?!). Should be interesting!

I know absolutely no one in the area, and don't find that to be a problem.

Fall in New England

So I drove up to New Hampshire to interview at a dog sledding kennel. I again packed up everything into my car, switching to my winter gear, and hit the road. I was up late packing up the car, and got up early to hit the road. I had a 4pm meeting in New Hampshire, and woke up in Delaware.

I got on the road at around 7:30, and drove the whole day. New York was a mess, with my google maps directions breaking down a little. And I hit a lot of traffic. But I eventually got sorted out (thanks to the gps on my phone), and continued on. As I passed through Massachusetts, the ground started to rise and the leaves started to turn.

Eventually I was driving through the full spread of fall in New England. Despite mediocre weather (it was overcast, with intermittent showers), the views were spectacular. I didn't have my camera handy, and didn't really want to stop, so I took a few quick pictures with my cell phone.

So I got to the kennel, and spent a great weekend in New England, with perfect views across mountains, tons of dogs around (the kennel had close to 100), very friendly people, and a fun new sport to learn.

Now I'm in a newly rented room, waiting to hear whether the kennel got the contract or not, waiting to see if I got the job or not. Meanwhile, I'm looking for something to do. I'll hit up the local barns this week, see if they need a stable hand. Maybe other odd things. Nothing's ever boring.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; part IV

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-Night travel is very convenient for sleeping. You have to get somewhere else anyway, so you're paying for a ticket, so all that's left is to get comfy. I've never slept in the sleeping compartment of a night train (too expensive), but I have spent many nights on night trains, in uncomfortable chairs, among hundreds of peers, equally uncomfortable. I was in Granada, Spain, heading up to Barcelona. There was a night train that made the run every night, very practiced. It stopped at places in between, but ran like clockwork. I found a seat, tried to find a comfortable position, while mimicking the findings of my peers (legs on seat in front? Ick. Head on window? Ok, but with padding. Sit on your pack? Hmm, good enough). After an hour in the half-lit compartment with everyone radiating misery, I drifted off to sleep. I vaguely remember a couple of stops in the night, but mostly slept the whole time, being utterly exhausted. I woke up in Barcelona, heading the complete opposite way. Something with the route in the night had shuttled the train in two different directions. How did I know which car I was on? How did they know I wanted to go to Barcelona? Was I in fact in Barcelona? When everything turned out alright, I thought nothing more of it, just made a mental note to double check all night trains.
The best strategy, on regular trains, is to find the most seats that you can, in a row, and stretch out and claim them all. The bad news is that someone will probably want one of those seats as the train gets more crowded. I find that pretending to be asleep lets you not deal with the ill will of other tired passengers. I was in Porto, Portugal, taking a train down the coast to Lisbon (supposedly a great visual experience--too bad, it was dark and I was tired). I had stretched out across 3 seats (what a luxury! There were usually only 2 seats), to be jostled awake as a group of six guys in their twenties came on board and started spreading out. One of them really wanted the chair my legs were on, and pretending to be asleep didn't mollify him. Seeing as the guys had tripled the population of the train car, I thought it was reasonable to cede them some territory. I was a bit apprehensive about sharing my minuscule territory, but everyone settled down, I checked that my bag was secure, and we waited out the night. I slept, they slept, we weren't exactly more comradely for the experience, but we all got to Lisbon marginally better rested.

-Switching gears, I have slept in interesting places to avoid travel. Occasionally when too tired to make the commute home, I have slept in the theater where I was working. This was a college thing, as most professional theaters would frown upon this situation. I liked the sets with beds on them the best. They were comfortable. Other times, I would find a couch in the space, or haul in a prop mattress from props storage. The sleeping arrangements were always improvised, with extra fabric as bed linens and prop teddy bears as pillows, and always cold. But they got me through the night, gave me some rest, and got me to the theater before anyone else the next morning. Not recommended.

Gone hiking

I took my parents hiking this week, getting them out backpacking for the first time in three years. And their second time out, ever. It's odd to think that for all of us, our first experience with backpacking was three years ago, on the Kalalau Trail (see picture at top). Since then, I have covered many hundreds of miles, and they have refrained from setting foot, under weight, on the trail.

To be fair, they're a little bit older than I, and they're quite interested in hiking. Backpacking is just a little more intense. It's hiking on steroids. Hiking all day, for many more hours and miles than most people endure. Plus carrying weight, which makes hills and uneven terrain (of which you find plenty, in the wilderness, where one is generally backpacking) very difficult to maneuver. And nights are comfort-free and to be endured, rather than enjoyed. Very different from hiking. Or even camping.

The trail I took them to was called the Thunder Swamp Trail, a rather ominous name for a relatively tame trail. It was either rocks or swamps, with relatively flat terrain throughout (three days of hiking, and only 500' of vertical elevation gain, total). The pace was slow, since the trail was only about 25 miles long, and we had all week. I would have done the miles in a day, but then I wouldn't have been up there, 2 hours from Philadelphia. And it would have been a half-hearted two-day attempt, so I'm glad that I had a good reason to go.

The scenery was decent, with no staggering views (and no nasty climbs, to make up for the lack). This is the lake we camped by on our first night.







The trail was well-maintained, for the most part, with reliable blazes and cleared footing.









There was a lot of water (we realized they weren't kidding about the 'swamp' part of the name), and on occasion the trail was completely underwater.







We didn't see too much wildlife, which was fortunate, since my mom is scared of meeting a bear, and bears are quite common in the area.









The weather was great. It was cool and a little breezy, and overcast to keep the sun off of us, but with peeks of sunshine to brighten the day. The nights were not too bad, especially with all the right gear. My camera did fog up in the early morning, giving me an interesting view of the inside of my tent. The blurriness obscures how small of a space I had for sleeping and after-dark living.

Moving out...

...with no where to go. I'm hitting the trail for a week, then I have a job interview in New Hampshire, and that's as far as my plans go.

I've been packing all morning, refining my necessities in the process. Things I didn't use will go into storage, and I'll pull out some winter clothing. Packing up all my stuff takes about an hour. I want to get it down to about half an hour.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; part III

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-Many people have spent nights in travel hubs. They're not the most comfortable nights, and usually sleeping on an airport seat happens by accident. For me, an airport or train station is a haven for sleeping. I just take out my sleeping pad, fresh from the trail, and lay it down next to all the seats, and I'm the envy of all the cramped travelers huddled onto the chairs. Those little plastic arms really are the hated enemy of comfortable rest. Luckily, on most models, you can slide your torso underneath the armrest, bend your knees over the next one, and rest your head on the adjoining armrest, to span 3 seats and get horizontal. That is, if you don't have your own self-inflating air mattress that you haul around with you (ok, I only have mine when going to/from the trail). I've styled my own sleeping arrangements in the airports of the US, the UK, Spain and Portugal.

-Lacking an enclosed traveler waiting area, which can be found at most airports or train stations, other accommodations must be found. In many train stations in Italy, the passenger waiting area was previously engaged. Many Rom families would move into the enclosed area at night, and turn it into an exclusive hostel. Not wanting to get mixed up in that, I politely found a place to sleep elsewhere. As I say, I really don't want to get into a turf war with gypsies. I'd find a quiet corner (no sense looking for a clean corner, it's Italy after all), and unroll my trusty sleeping pad. I found that if I buried myself in my sleeping bag, and slept on my valuables, with my bag right beside me, no one would bother me. It was a light sleep, but it was pretty obvious that I was a poor tourist backpacking around Europe, and neither the night watch nor the commuters would disturb me. The morning rush would wake me and I'd move on, so I wouldn't be sleeping through too much traffic.

-One of my favorite places to sleep, especially in the late winter/early spring, as nights were unexpectedly frigid, is off-duty trains. There's plenty of uneasiness that comes with dozing off for a few hours in a train car. Where will you wake up? Will an angry conductor shake you awake, demanding your ticket or else he'll turn you over to the police? Will the security guard mistake you for a graffiti artist and unleash his attack dog upon you? Sometimes the trains get cleaned at night, so the cleaning crew may discover you (as it happened to me in Salermo). If they're nice, they point you to a train that they already cleaned, and excitedly help you open the heavy doors. Not all discovery is bad, but I tended to avoid people checking the trains, or walking around the station. I don't get deep sleep in train compartments, but it's much warmer than the station, usually, and it's padded, unlike the stone benches. Seats are less comfortable than places where one can recline, but it's all a tradeoff. Traveling, at least how I do it, is not about comfort. It's about the destination. And for a free night's sleep, a train station that never closes can provide a warm and secure sleeping space.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; part II

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-As a recap of adventures detailed in other parts of my blog, I will reiterate some sleeping arrangements. I have slept in my car on multiple occasions. I have found that the best place to sleep in one's car is at a rest stop alongside a toll highway, since the bathroom is right there, breakfast is there, it's lit, it's populated and it's not accessible by random people walking up. Toll highway rest stops, however, are not my usual travel destination, and not always available along the route. Lacking a rest stop, I usually head to a hotel parking lot. Overnight parking, no one asks questions, sometimes security patrols the area, and it's lit. Bathrooms do tend to get a little hard to find, as most hotels don't have public restrooms. But luckily, there's usually a restaurant nearby. The worst place to sleep in one's car, I have found, is state parks. When the little signs says "closes at dusk," they might not mean right at dusk, but the park does close. Usually it's about 6 hours later, after midnight, when a police officer will knock on your window, very loudly, with a flashlight shining in your face. And most of the time, they'll make you move along. Then you find a hotel parking lot.

Was that this morning?

It's been one of those long days, across many miles. I find myself reviewing recent experiences, which have been crazy enough to become good stories, and realizing that these events happened today.

I woke up at 5am, Central Time, after 4 hours of sleep, to pack and catch a 5:30 shuttle to the airport. When I changed my pick up time, the shuttle company was very adamant about me taking responsibility for missing my flight; it wouldn't be their fault if I got to the airport too late. I got to the airport with plenty of time to do self-check-in and get my small backpack through security. Until I checked in at the wrong airline, then went to the correct airline only to find that my reservation had been voided. So I called the emergency travel assistance number that Princess had given me with my travel reservations, only to find that the number had been disconnected.

Deep breath.

Another occasion when I am grateful for internet access on my phone. Looked up the correct number, got my flight renewed, waited for a confirmation from California (it was 4am there... I wonder how that phone call went...) and finally checked in. To run into a big backup at a small security screening station.

But the line moved fast, I got my steel toed shoes through security without getting accused of smuggling bombs (I worried, a bit, what they would think when they saw that x-ray), and I got to the gate with a couple minutes to spare before boarding.

Then I didn't sleep on the flight, after getting jolted awake by the lack of flight reservations...

Smooth transfer in Charlotte, NC, to a bigger plane. A short delay, but I was a little bit delirious at that point, so couldn't comprehend the consequences of a delayed flight, or entertain the possibility of a canceled flight. I finally slept on the plane for a little while, then was jolted awake by the landing. Grabbed my backpack and made my way to the train in a haze.

I took public transport home (hadn't taken public transport yet all the way to the current place I'm living, so I just felt it out), stopping to check my mail (my PO box is across the city from where I currently live).

A brief rest, a brief sandwich thrown together, then off to work, to do electrics notes, then house manage one of the Live Arts Festival's busiest shows.

From Texas Hill Country to the streets of Philadelphia, this has been a long day.

And now I should go do laundry.

Console Training In Austin, Texas

I have never been to Texas before, aside from many layovers in Dallas-Ft Worth airport (I'm starting to recognize locations of food courts--that's pretty familiar). I am now in Austin for a couple days, down at High End System's headquarters, learning to program the Whole Hog 3.

Princess Cruise Lines, which has recently hired me, is flying me down, putting me up in a hotel, and providing most of my meals, just so that I can learn a new programming language. Pretty sweet gig. And I don't even have a contract with them yet.

So all of my paperwork is in, and everything is in line, but still no start date. My life is still on hold as I await, with bated breath, the inevitable job offer. But I dislike my life being on hold. In fact, I'm recently coming off of a life-holding experience (college, anyone?), and wish to avoid it. Well, the cruise gig is worth waiting for, and I have confidence that I'll make the most of the hold.

Here at fixture training, I've met up with 3 other Princess employees, who are all terrific fun, and two have already completed contracts on boats. There are great stories being exchanged, as me and the other guy without cruise experience hungrily soak up all the details of ship life, and we all relate our past paths and future career trajectories. We're an international bunch, coming from Philly, Florida, New Zealand and the UK. I leave after console training, but there's fixture training next week, when more international hires arrive. They say that there won't be too many Americans on the boat. I'll probably be the only one in Production.

Awesome.

So I get a taste of my upcoming job, right in the middle of the Philly Fringe festival. Monday was a whirlwind day, starting with a work call at 9am in a theater in Philly and ending with a company-arranged van dropping me at a hotel in Austin. And I'll be back in Philly Thursday afternoon, just in time to resume house managing, and probably pick up more work calls.

Regular week.

News vs Not News

My life is nicely organized, well-planned and stable. Until September 20th. After that, no plans.

That's the extreme version.

The real version is that I have a long list of things that I could do. And plenty of time to do it. I have some pretty exciting finalists, and a couple weeks to figure something out.

What I could be doing after September 20th, realistically:
1. Work on a cruise ship (I was hired by Princess Cruises as a lighting supervisor to travel with one of their ships)
2. Attend training for a troubled teen wilderness therapy program, to become one of their counselors (I'm currently in the hiring process)
3. Hit the trail (I have maps and plans for the Pennsylvania Mid State Trail, stretching from Maryland to New York)
4. Work at a dog sledding kennel in Alaska (I have a phone interview today to check out a position)

So while my life is in flux, and I have no sure future, I know that I will do something fun. I have confidence that I will end up not only doing something, but doing something interesting.

But while all of these paths are well-thought-out, not all of them will come to pass. If I almost worked at a dog sledding kennel in Alaska, that's not news. That's hype, not worth mentioning. Just talk. I like to follow through on things that I said I would do. So if I say it, I do it.

So until I know what I'm doing, I'm not saying anything.

A Retrospective: 10 of the more interesting places I've slept; part I

Everyone sleeps, and usually the hardest part about traveling is finding a good place to do it. Housing is expensive, and comfort is important. This series of posts shares some of my solutions to finding a cozy place to spend the night:

-In a tent in the middle of a cow pasture right outside of a small town in Northern England. I'm sure the town had a name, but after over a week on the trail, they all ran together. I was hiking England's Coast To Coast, a path first tramped by the fellwalker Alfred Wainwright. It was my first multi-night backpacking trip, my first solo trip and my first self-planned trip. I would walk all day, then find a convenient campsite (read: minuscule patch of ground, moderately flat, near the trail) when it got dark. At the end of this day, I was just entering a small town, and couldn't get through it before dark. So instead of seeking lodgings in the town like a normal person (England is very expensive, especially with the exchange rate at the time), I plopped down in a nice field right across from a school. There was an abandoned barn on the fence line, but when I pushed in and looked around, I found needles littering the ground. Oops. Backpedal. So it was into the middle of the field with my white tent for me. I spent the night, woke up with the dawn, packed up, and was on my way through the town. No one bothered me.

Questioning the status quo

I've been slowly getting moved in to the place I'm staying in Philly, eventually getting the car unpacked, finding the grocery store, setting up a desk to work at, etc.

I've gotten a few things off of Craigslist, too. That's a first for me. I've always known and perused Craigslist, but never actually used it successfully. Now I have gotten some awesome upgrades from it. I upgraded from the air mattress that was lent with the room to a real mattress (still on the floor, but who needs box springs). And recently I switched from a fan to an air conditioner. That's a big one, which I'm really looking forward to.

Where I stayed in Chicago had very strong air conditioning, and Chicago's summer was much more mild than Philly's this year (must have something to do with that huge lake nearby). Due to the temperate climate and the strong presence of air conditioning, coupled with the nature of my job (sit in a cool theater all afternoon), I never got used to the heat of summer. In previous walks of life, I get used to the heat and never get adversely affected by it. But there were no barns in sight, no horses to ride this summer. So I got to Philly and it was hot. Dreadfully, stifflingly and depressingly hot. After a week of sweating and swearing off summer for the rest of my life (and altering my life plan to get me to Maine or Alaska every June), I got used to it. A couple days after I started my Craigslist quest for an air conditioner, though.

So I have an air conditioner.

And I suspect that I will be utilizing Craigslist later, when I pack up my life and my belongings and move along again. I don't think my own air conditioner is necessary where I'm going, and I don't think a mattress fits well in my car.

Things I get to have once I settle down

I've started making a list for myself of things that I want, and would use, but can't have until I move around quite a bit less.

One of those things is a bike, which is not on my meager list of possessions merely for the lack of space as I'm toting myself and all of my worldly belongings around the country. A bike would be supremely useful, especially since I find myself landing in city after city (what happened to the farm girl?), where cars are just not the best idea. But all the room I have is a moderately-sized trunk and backseat (which I try to keep clear, since it doubles as my bed half the time I'm traveling).

Maybe I'll look into one of those little foldy bikes... Ha.

Another thing is a dog. Dogs don't do so well incorporated into lifestyles where one lives in one's car for a couple days, is put up at friends' houses, flies from one end of the country to the other (or across an ocean), and works a significant portion of each day.

But I really want a dog.

Not enough to give up the nomadic lifestyle. I'll wait, and look forward to the day I get a dog.

Meteor Shower

Chicago has a lot of light pollution. This picture was taken around 1am.


But luckily I'm in Evanston now, which looks out at Chicago. Granted, it's not very far:


But far enough so that Evanston's northern sky gets mildly dark. As one of my co-workers pointed out, there is a huge, dark lake stretching to our east.

Luckily, the meteor shower tonight is visible in the northeast sky. So I went out to the lakefront, (on the beach with waves [even though it's a lake, not an ocean or a sea...]) to watch the meteors fall. I only stayed for about 20 minutes, but I saw a few shooting stars.

It was interesting to think about the thousands of miles between each meteors entry point into the atmosphere, but there on the ground, it was only a few degrees in my field of vision. That small turn of the head can translate into vast distances when magnified to the outer reaches of Earth's atmosphere. Pretty cool that huge, inconceivable distances are as close as our own planet's metaphorical doorstep.

But what is an inconceivable distance? A hundred miles? A thousand miles? Ten thousand miles? When was the last time you traveled that far? By land? By car?

By foot?

Will you ever?

Facing the Music

At the time of my last post, I had packed all my possessions into my car and headed west. I had a job for 7 weeks, and a place to stay. And after that job, life.

Well, 7 weeks is more or less over, and life is staring me in the face. It was another nerve-wracking game of chicken to find something to do next. What would happen first: would I get a job, or would my current living situation expire?

I was at the brink of reconsidering my nomadic lifestyle, of having to stop this romantic game of hobo-ing and consider where I was actually going to sleep at night once I got sick of the cramped conditions of my car (and needed a shower). Then a couple things fell into place, another month sorted itself out, and just like that, the crevasse of uncertainty was pushed back another few weeks.

Life as usual. Apparently. It'll take some getting used to, but I suspect that my nerves will be solid steel after a couple years of this. Game on.

Epic Driving

I drove from Portland, Maine through Canada to Chicago. My route took me past the White Mountains of New Hampshire, through upper Vermont, where French-Canadian culture started making its way into the road signs (with distances also in kilometers and French translations), across the border into Quebec, past Montreal and Toronto, and through Michigan.

I left in the morning, giving myself plenty of time to see the landscape I was driving through. The White Mountains were quite stunning, even with a low cloud cover. Montreal had a very nice skyline, but horrible traffic. My conclusion from spending an hour on the 5 miles of highway surrounding Montreal is that in Canada, all cars break. Constantly. At all times within sight there was at least one car broken down, and traffic backed up for miles. Luckily, there were no accidents, just cars getting tired.

Driving through Canada was an epic task, and I have a new appreciation for the distance between Toronto and Montreal (about as far as, say, Philadelphia and Boston). I also now know about the difference between Quebec and Ontario, two provinces of Canada, and appreciate their differences. Also, the view of the stars to the west of Toronto was striking. I have never seen stars that clear while being on a major highway.

I drove until a little after 4am (not being used to caffeine, a little goes a long way!), slept in my car (in a hotel parking lot), woke up early, baking a little bit in my car, and continued to the big city. I drove from one climate to another, and crossed a time zone. Very disorienting. Three hours of sleep combined with 19+ hours of driving does not make for a chipper afternoon, but being excited about life kinda makes up for the lack of sleep.

Is that cat missing something?

Looks a little weird, maybe. A shaved spot on her front leg for an IV...

I'm up in Maine again (my first time was in winter, now I'm back to experience the summer, six months later). I'm pet-sitting the menagerie for my trainer during her honeymoon.

I flew into Philadelphia from San Francisco last Tuesday to pick up my car and trunk-full of stuff that will get me through a summer in Chicago (so, not too many sweaters). Then I hit the road, driving up to my trainer's house outside of Portland, ME. Although the drive was only around 8 hours, I split it up overnight, stopping somewhere in Massachusetts around midnight to sleep. I pulled into the parking lot of a highway-side hotel, read for a bit, and tried to get back on Eastern Time. Well, trying to sleep when not extremely tired in cramped, uncomfortable car while parked underneath a streetlight and trying to be semi-attentive to crazies who might want to murder you is not an easy task. I did sleep for several hours, though, and woke up nice and early and nice and tired. One day back on the East Coast, and I'm already back on Eastern time. Perfect.

I got to my trainer's house very smoothly, packed the car and helped with some last-minute preparations. Then in the morning, it was off to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, a three hour drive. The trip was smooth and scenic, with some fierce downpours along the way.

I was at the wedding to be the photographer, so I spent the weekend behind the camera lens, attempted to document the goings-on. The ceremony was outdoors, and the forecast was not so great. We had the rehearsal in driving rain (with only 6 people there, due to weather), and hoped for better weather on Saturday. Well, the weather for the ceremony was not better. It held itself to a drizzle for most of it, but let loose with a few downpours just to make sure everyone was thoroughly soaked.

Many tourists and visitors to the park stopped to take a picture of the ceremony. It was an unexpected sight, I imagine: 30 people in nice clothes gathered in a circle on the rocks by the crashing sea, the bride and groom inside the circle without any weather gear, rain pelting down incessantly... Some of the small children started to cry. But it was a hugely successful ceremony, short and memorable, and it was a marriage, which is what counts.

After a fun reception and a late night in the hot-tub, the wedding part disbanded the next day, and I was left to explore Acadia National Park, then find my way home to the animals. I ended up taking the long route home (local roads the whole 170 miles... Oops).

The animals are much the same as over winter break, only Baxter, the little fourth dog, was given to a friend of the family. And Truvie, the cat. She was tragically hit by a car earlier this year, broke her pelvis and shattered her right foreleg. Luckily, she survived, and is as mobile and weird as ever. The only big change is that she no longer has two front legs...


So tomorrow it's off to Chicago, via Canada, with another two-day car journey.

Urban Hiking

I'm out visiting my brother in the lovely, urban San Mateo, which is a city-suburb of the lovely, urban San Francisco. I've been wandering around the city, seeing the sights. I've been taking the metro into the city and walking around in whatever direction I felt like going at the time. I enjoy touring cities by feel, relying on my sense of direction. I throw a city map in my bag, glance at the subway layout, and off I go.

San Francisco is a great city for walking around to see the sights. True there are wicked hills, but down by the water the land is pretty flat, making for good all-day walking.

One of my favorite ways to see a city after a full day of walking is to jump on the subway. I rode the subway out to the end of the line into the suburbs, walked across the platform and rode back into the city. No charge, no hassle, a free tour of the countryside surrounding the city. San Francisco has an excellent surrounding landscape, with striking scenery and great views across the bay.