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The Ebb and Flow of the Tide...

On my first visit to the Schoodic Peninsula, when the tide had been low, we had noticed a little house along an inlet that had a dock on stilts. We had driven past it before we realized what we had seen. On the 17th when we left Acadia National Park and headed 'down east' I stopped and photographed that little house. I would go by it on two more occasions, when the tide was at different levels. I guess you could say I was a little fascinated by the tides and how different it looked under the various conditions. If you ever get there, this little spot is on the right side of the road, just as you exit the National Park on the Schoodic Peninsula.






At high tide, or thereabouts. 12:43 pm on September 17th.




Not quite low tide, at 10:48 am on September 21st. It was a cloudy, rather dreary day.






At low tide. 3:14 pm September 27th.

I'm Not in Kansas Anymore!

Tuesday, May 10th - - It never crossed my mind that I'd spend nearly six days in Kansas, much less enjoy most of it! Crossing over into southeastern Colorado the countryside looked much the same as it had in western Kansas. Fields were under cultivation to begin with but as I ventured further south and west there were more vast expanses of prairie.



However, within a few hours, the view changed dramatically. Mountain peaks touched with a dusting of snow could be seen off in the distance. It wasn't long before they loomed much larger and closer. With the change in view came a dramatic change in daytime temperature – from a high in the upper 90s to a high in the mid 50s. Thank goodness that, unlike the air conditioner, the heater in the van works!





West of Walsenburg, Colorado on U.S. Highway 160/285.

My destination for the night was the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, near Alamosa. I had visited there once before, way back in May of 1979.





This time, Mother Nature was definitely not cooperating with me. The further west I traveled, the cloudier it got. Once at The Dunes, the sun would occasionally peek out from behind the clouds, but even then the lighting wasn't that great. This is the view from my campsite. The base of The Dunes is about a mile and a half distant.





The image above and those following have been modified. I was going to say “enhanced” but that is entirely dependent upon who is viewing the images. Since you aren't going to see the originals, suffice to say that I think these are an improvement over the originals, considering the lighting conditions at the time.





Human figures add a little perspective on the size of these dunes. They (The Dunes) truly are magnificent.



And from what I remember from back in 1979, they are extremely difficult to walk on. I did go out to the base of The Dunes but simply did not have the energy or stamina to go any further. Besides, it was getting late in the evening, a strong wind was blowing, and it was cold!





The quality of light was pitiful, and it was nearly gone, but the views were still awesome even though they can't truly be captured by the camera.

Wordless Wednesday :: Schooldaze ~ Fourth Grade

Tombstone Tuesday :: George and Minnie Linvill

Minnie Belle Shuder was born August 10, 1878 near Oswego, Kosciusko County, Indiana. She was the daughter of Isaac and Nancy Jane (Lavering) Shuder, my Dad's grandparents and therefore was a sister of my fraternal grandmother, Elsie Shuder Wiseman.

According to their Kosciusko County Marriage Application, Minnie was married in Indianapolis to Richard Harry Larrabee, son of Cornelius and Meliss (Conn) Larabee., on August 10, 1906. She was 28 years old and he was 36. When their only child, Richard J. Larrabee, was born on March 5, 1915 she was 36 years old. However, I'm not positive that they were the birth parents as her obituary states that Richard was her foster son.

Apparently, her husband went missing for a while. In an article in the Northern Indianian dated January 17, 1918 we find that "Mrs. R. H. Laribee [sic], the daughter of N. L. [sic] Schuder of Barbee Lakes, has asked Marshal C. W. Douglass to assist in locating her husband who was missing for more than a month. Inquiry was being made at Indianapolis where he was last heard from December 11th. He was a carpenter and for a number of months was employed by the government and worked at Camp Taylor and other army cantonments. Early in December he accompanied his wife here and returned to Indianapolis, where their goods were stored, intending to move them overland to this county. Mrs. Laribee received a letter from him after he went to Indianapolis which stated that because of the bad weather the draymen wished to postpone the trip for a few days. That was the last heard of him. Mrs. Laribee says her husband was suffering from a severe cold when he went to Indianapolis, and says it is possible that he may have become ill and taken to a hospital. He has a brother in Indianapolis."

A note in my cousin Caroline's files stated that Richard was never heard from again. However, Minnie and Harry R. Larrabee were found in the 1920 census living in Warsaw, Wayne Township, Kosciusko County, Indiana (page 230). Harry was listed as a 50 year old carpenter and Minnie was 41 years old. Listed with them was a son, Richard, age 4 years.

It seems that all did not go well for Minnie and her husband. An index of Whitley County Marriage Records show that Minnie was married to George W. Linville on May 18, 1928. I haven't gotten a copy of the marriage application yet but the index gives her last name as Schuder instead of Larabee. It should also tell us whether her first marriage ended by divorce or death of Richard Harry.

Minnie passed away at age 68 on November 27, 1946 at her home in Millersburg, Indiana. George was 70 years old and still living in Millersburg when he passed away on April 10, 1949 while visiting his stepson, Richard Larabee in Goshen, Indiana. His obituary stated that George was a wood worker and had formerly resided at Churubusco, Warsaw, and New Paris. Survivors were listed as a step son, Richard Larabee, and a step grandson, James Larabee.

George and Minnie are interred at the North Webster Cemetery in North Webster, Kosciusko County, Indiana. They are in the same cemetery as her parents and several siblings, although in a different section.


Thanks to wonderful directions from my cousin Charlene, I found Minnie's gravesite. It is in the southernmost section of the cemetery and the marker is the first one in the row just beyond the big bush. You can see the blue waters of beautiful Lake Webster in the background.

GEORGE W. / 1878-1919
MINNIE B. / 1878-1946
LINVILL
Photograps taken May 21, .. - Copyright © .. by Rebeckah R. Wiseman

A Walk in the Woods, a Day at the Races

It felt like one of those dream states where worlds collide and everything is mixed together. 80 degree heat in October. A supposedly obscure bicycle race with ball game-sized crowds. Roads closed, cheering heard from a mile away. But most disorienting was the warped sense of time and place.It was Saturday morning, and I was walking through the woods where I'd spent practically all my free time as a teenager many years ago. I had not set foot there in over a decade, but my rote memory remained intact. My feet did the walking along the still-familiar trails until finally I found myself in a clearing, facing that wacky neoclassical structure that now served as the podium for theProvidence Cyclocross Festival. No matter how much I tried to incorporate this fact into my narrative of "the woods" of my teenage years, it just did not compute. Worlds, past and present, were colliding.







They say that when you visit places from your younger years everything is smaller than you remembered, but the opposite was the case here. The clearing was more spacious than I recalled. The trees looked taller. The race course was enormous and complicated. They told me Cross Vegas was a bigger deal than any other race I was likely to see, but as a spectator I disagree. This was huge. There was more going on. And in the daylight I could see it all a lot better.






Part of the course followed the lake, with the riders backlit picturesquely as they cycled along the shimmering water.






Another part wound its way through a pine grove, beautiful trees and tight turns everywhere.






The requisite bridge.






The stretch of paved road leading up to the start/finish.






And of course the exciting parts with the obstacles and the steep hills.






But aside from the race course itself, there were many pockets of public space where spectators and racers could stroll around, socialise, eat, watch.






A bouncy-house was set up for kids.





There were multiple food vendors.






And the beer tent offered some of the best seats in the house (though they wouldn't serve me as I didn't have my driver's license!).





Finally, there were tents with handmade bicycles from local builders on display, as well as a tent selling interesting vintage bikes.






It was easy to see why the Festival was attractive for so many: It simply offered a nice way to spend a day in the park, around nature and bikes. There was no charge for admission, and food and drink were reasonably priced. The turnout was impressive, and with the sun out people stuck around all day - some watching the races, others simply walking around, talking, picnicking. I never expected to see a bicycling event in the US with such a large public turnout, let alone in my former neck of the woods.






In her bookMud, Snow, and Cyclocross (available at the Ride Studio Cafe to purchase or read inhouse), Molly Hurford contrasts cyclocross spectator culture in Europe with that in the US. The main difference is that at American races, until very recently spectators were largely made up of participants. Amateurs would race, then stick around for the elite races that would take place later. Elite racers would show up early and watch the amateurs. And while friends and families would come and watch as well, the events have nonetheless been mostly insular, with no expectation of engaging the general public. In Europe, on the other hand, cyclocross has for some time been a spectator sport on a grand scale, much like baseball or football in the US. At that level, it would be ridiculous to suggest that one has to be a participant or know one personally in order to enjoy watching the event. It is entertainment. Hurford points out that at the moment, cyclocross in the US seems to be on the cusp of potentially transitioning to the type of status it holds in Europe. The audience I saw in Providence on Saturday certainly supported this possibility.






Listening to some of the conversations around me, it was clear that a substantial chunk of the public had no direct connection to cyclocross. They stopped by because they read about the event in the local paper's weekend listings. Or else their neighbour or co-worker was going and they tagged along. Probably because I had a big camera, I was approached on multiple occasions and asked questions about the event by spectators who were there for the first time and weren't sure what they were looking at. But despite not understanding what was going on around them, these visitors were obviously having a good time. They were sticking around. They were supporting the vendors. They were looking at all the bike and equipment manufacturers' names with interest. And they were saying "good job" to the racers. I wonder how many of them had a good enough time that they will seek out other races after this one. I can see it happening.






With attendance high and not limited to cyclocross inner circles, sponsors enjoy greater visibility. And if you look at the sponsors whose names are displayed on the team kits, many of them are outside the bicycle industry: real estate agencies, lawyers, dentists, grocery stores, landscaping firms. Greater attendance by the general public directly benefits these businesses, which makes it worth their while to continue - and hopefully expand - their sponsorship programs. It will also make other businesses consider cycling sponsorship as a viable form of local advertising.






I think about things like this, because quite a few of my friends and acquaintances race, and there is a lot of discontent about how difficult it is to attract sponsors. But the reality is that sponsorship is a form of advertising, not a charity or a merit scholarship. A business needs to believe that a cyclist will provide sufficient visibility for their brand to make it worth their while to sponsor them. And for that we need wider audiences and greater media attention - even if it's just grassroots media - people taking pictures of the riders in their kits, then posting them online and sharing via social media.






Getting back to the idea of US cyclocross being in a place where it can potentially break out into the mainstream, one thing I noted in Molly Hurford's book is that by far not all of her interviewees wanted that. Some expressed disdain toward the fact that in Europe there are "fat guys smoking cigars" showing up to the races, as well as others who are not into the sport at a participant level. These critics would prefer that cyclocross in the US remain insular, "pure." It would be a valid point of view ...ifthose very same people then did not turn around and complain about lack of sponsorship opportunities. You can't have it both ways.






Why do I care about any of this, you might be asking yourself? Well, because as a spectator I am finding cyclocross immensely entertaining, and I appreciate that. Entertainment is a big deal. We need to sustain those who entertain us if we want the fun to continue.






Watching a cyclocross race in a place that I had filed away as belonging to a past life - separated from all this crazy bicycle stuff by at least a couple of other past lives - has challenged my tendency to compartmentalise things, to break up the past into distinct, locked memory boxes. Things do come around full circle sometimes. It's like following a trail in the woods, and eventually finding that you've walked around a lake. And now here you are, in the same spot where you first stood twenty years ago, straddling your rusty mountain bike in front of the Temple to Music. "You can totally race cross on a mountain bike," says a teenage girl to her friend behind me, as I stand there lost in thought.

3 days of shenanigans

Laura and I planned to go ice climbing with my buddy Matt Johns from Kentucky, Joel Torretti and his buddy Josh Hurst from Maine. Yeah you read right, he came here from Maine. After a start consisting of breakfast at Valley Dairy, shopping for - drill bits, a six pack, twice forgotten pants, non-alcoholic drinks, snacks and probably more. We've learned that buying a sixer around 9:00 am is harder to do than you think... Oh yeah I almost forgot it was raining. Not the best weather for ICE climbing, or is it? Well Matt had to stay in Kentucky so we sadly were Mattless. It ended up being Laura, Joel, Josh and I. After our morning shenanigans, we decided to drive to Meadow Run in Ohiopyle to check out the Upper Meadow amphitheater for potential mixed lines. The rains stopped by the time we arrived in Ohiopyle. Upon pulling into the parking lot we saw the quantity of ice along the Lower Meadow cliff band and decided it was clearly time to climb and check out the Upper later in the day. We spent the morning cranking the mixed lines and even added an alternate left var. to Captain Caveman that traverses left more under the roof before pulling the lip around the last hanging curtain. Slightly longer and harder than Captain Caveman. All kinds of shenanigans going on there. Fun stuff... short and pumpy. Laura busted herself up falling on Anger Management (which some asshole stole the draws off of) so she stayed to climb Hemlock with me and following the advice of Dr. Torretti, decided to head home to heal for tomorrow and Sunday. The 3 of us stayed and climbed a couple more lines and decided to walk to Upper Meadow to eye the amphitheater while we still had a couple of hrs. of light. What can I say... Its steep, burly, has free hangers and pillars galore. Its impressive to see. We explored around looking at potential lines out the steep cave. We decided to work on a line that starts on some ice in the back of the cave and heads up through several overlaps to the free hanging curtain at the lip. Burly, but by no means the most difficult line there. Joel rigged a line from the top while Josh started up the ice and got the first bolt in. I put him on belay as he worked up, go into position and placed the 2nd. He came down and I was up. I went up on lead to the high point and continued up into position and located where to put the 3rd. I didn't get more than a 1/2 inch when the drill was doing no good. The battery was dead. I lowered the drill and proceeded to get myself stuck for a while. After much effort, I was back to the ground. We cleaned up and walked out as it was getting dark. Good ice, good laughs, good fun. 1 down 2 to go. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings... Enjoy the photos!