Little bit O' Maine and New Hampshire with just a dash of New Jersey

After leaving the meditation retreat in West Virginia I felt deserving of decompression  from the decompressing I had done and made a beeline for my old stomping grounds on Long Beach Island, NJ. Much to my chagrin, Spring was stubbornly refusing to be sprung, but I did get to catch up with some old friends. After getting the obligatory shot of Old Barney (Barnegat Inlet Lighthouse) and climbing to the top for a view to kill for during a rare clear afternoon I figured it was best to beat it out of there to spend some time with family. Family time in New Jersey was concluded with a ride on the Staten Island Ferry and a jaunt into NYC with my uncle for an afternoon of street photography  before I continued farther  into the great northeast. That part of the country where Yankee fans aren't welcome and the winters can be wicked cold.

March Against Monsanto 2013

My father and I even braved some of that cold rainy weather to join in the international rally against Monsanto in Manchester. Although you couldn't say the turnout was huge by any stretch of the imagination it was respectable given the circumstances. The message seems to be getting out there if honking cars and "thumbs ups" are any barometer. 

After filling the belly with some home cooking and breaking my camping gear out of storage it was high time to put it to use, but not before transitioning my nephew from riding a scooter to riding a skateboard. After only about an hour of instruction, I dare say, I wish I was that good a skater at age 5. He was stoked, as was I. My sister and brother-in-law, probably not as much. 

After the family goodbyes I was off to Maine to have a poke around. Under the watchful eye of the Cape Elizabeth Lighthouse families, pets and all sorts of people ready for summer to kick in were taking advantage of the spring warmth for a day at the little beaches along the shore. A little further north in Portland I visited what appears to be another lighthouse, but is referred to as a "Head Light". I don't know what it did to deserve that. The poor thing must have teased to no end while growing up. Maybe it has both a low and high beam? 

At this point I'm as far North and East as I'm prepared to go, so after a mountain bike ride in Riverland State Park it's time to make a left and venture west. Crossing back into northern New Hampshire I'm setting up to do some hiking and camping in the White Mountains. I stopped off in Lincoln to check in and see if the Rangers can point me in a good direction for some primitive camping and the envious elder ladies directed me to Lily Pond. One  comments that it must be heavenly to just be able to pick out a place and set up camp. I invite her to come along, but I wasn't heavenly enough to pick her up. She politely laughed me off. 

Portland Head Light

Stopping off at each of the scenic lookouts along the way I eventually park the van at Lily Pond. Although I didn't see any lilies, there is a notice that there are two bridges out along snowmobile trail I'm about to travel along. Not knowing exactly where they are and what sort of inconvenience it will bring I decided with some intrepidity to forge on. The trail is wet, very wet. I have a foreboding feeling that without a bridge, a crossing may not be possible. Fortunately, after arriving at the downed bridge and hunting around a bit I find that by relocating a few stones strategically I can not only safely cross the stream, but do so barely getting my socks wet. One bridge down, possibly another to go? Fortunately I never had to deal with the next missing bridge, but it didn't get any drier. In fact along the way I was chuckling to myself how it would be difficult to comply with the rule of not camping within 200 feet of a trail and/or moving water. As I marched on and the sun continued to fall my chuckling turned to mocking, then to cursing and finally to outright civil disobedience. This is untouched natural dense forest. You basically need a machete if you want to venture off the trail and it's difficult to even find ground level enough to pitch a tent. Essentially, in the late spring thaw it's next to impossible to find a spot not resembling a marsh or having a small stream meandering down it. 

I guess the forest fairies had had enough of toying with me and granted the smallest of plots where I could set up my tent without the aid of a raft, even if the ground resembled a smaller scale version of the mountain range, peaks, valleys and all. I figured after an evening of sleeping on that terrain, either my bad back would be miraculously straightened or I would have to be air lifted out. At that point I really didn't care since my options were nil and I had given way too much blood to the mosquitoes, leaving me precariously low and precluding me from donating anymore for many weeks to come. Possible alternative names for the White Mountains: Wet Mountains, Marsh Mountains, Mosquito/Gnat Mountains or Forget About Camping Here in the Spring Mountains!

Things took a turn for the better once I was safely barricaded in my tent from the onslaught of biters and bloodsuckers. The evening was pretty pleasant with the depths of outer  space putting on a brilliant dance of stars which was not unexpected like the flashes of light late in the evening which resembled heat lighting and remain a mystery to me since it definitely wasn't warm enough for heat lightning. 

Which brings me to another mystery: Have you ever wondered what a sneezing moose sounds like? Me neither until the other night because I'd swear that is what I heard! It sounded like someone trying to start a chain saw and repeatedly failing!? Anyway, moose trumps dove, so I consider myself now to be one up on that little purple proud 'Prince' or 'Artist formerly known as Prince' who is once again, 'Prince' and his little "crying doves"! 

Hiking out in the morning I was once again accosted by an army, or should I say, air force of flying insects and realized there were hundreds of thousands of more acres to explore in this forest and not one plausible reason to do so at this time of the year! Trust me on this one. So after a refreshing dip in the river to wipe away the bug juice, I was off to .......Vermont

Nirvana- Days 35-41

Unfortunately, I didn't find Nirvana during my stay at Bhavana Meditation Society. I did, however, make a few new friends. Such as Mangala who is about to dive into the monastic life through the fiery hoop of ordination after a year of preparation. And Loi who is on an international tour of monasteries. Or Andrew, a thick guy with a heavy Russian accent who finally got his daughter to do a retreat him. At least that's his story. I'm not completely confident he isn't KGB, but that's a whole other rabbit hole. 

Then there are the anchors of Bhavana Society such as Robert who more often than not can be found in the kitchen making sure all the guests and residents are well fed. And I must say even though, as is standard practice no one eats after 12 noon, everyone is well fed with a pretty impressive spread. I am, however, still trying to comprehend how a meal for 8-10 vegetarians can generate enough dirty dishes to keep a team of 5 busy washing up for 30-40 minutes. They could seriously use a smart kitchen manager to streamline things.

The true spiritual or educational anchors of a meditation center or monastery are, of course, the monks.  At Bhavana Society there are three resident monks. The junior most monk is an American born and there is no mistaking that fact. The next senior monk is, as you might expect, a no nonsense Sri Lankan named Bhante Seelananda. The Senior monk and founder of the Bhavana Society is Bhante Gunaratana who is also a Sri Lankan and became a monk at age 12 and took formal ordination at age 20 in 1947.

One of the perks of doing a casual personal retreat with no formal retreatants present is that you can do things you wouldn't normally be able to do, such as work. During a formal retreat there is a strict schedule and it's all business. Well, actually, no business, just all mediation. During casual retreats, on the other hand, you are asked to pitch in for a couple hours each day and help out with things that need to be done. As it turned out they had some carpentry work to be done and so it was a great pleasure to be able to contribute in that way.

The day before I was scheduled to depart Bhante Gunaratana came by while I was working on a project for them and said that he had been wanting to speak to me all week, but during every opportunity he found me working so hard that he didn't want to disturb me. He followed that up with an invite to stay as long as I like. "You scratch my back, and I scratch yours" as he put it. I was flattered that my actions transcended the need to fill out the usual paper work and such which is usually necessary to extend ones stay longer than 6 days, but I needed to keep moving.

Later, after the days meal he told me and Andrew a story of when he visited Russia as a young man back in the day when the KGB and the cold war were very much alive and well. A time when he remarked, "Everyone I met knew my name and I couldn't figure out how." (They were KGB). This story may well be a meditation subject for me for the rest of my life. He told how he entered a taxi on his way to start a day of sightseeing when a thief reached into the window and grabbed his camera. He described the tug of war that ensued. Him holding on to his camera firmly and the would-be thief hanging half way into the cab. An apparent stalemate ensued, but neither was giving up. Then Bhante "G", this sweet, peaceful, frail  5 foot 2 inch, 85 year old who can't be more than 90 pounds soaking wet says in a Sri Lankan accent  "So I took my elbow and smashed it into his nose! And he ran away.". Not the ending to the story I would have expected and the only chuckle I had all week.

Lastly, for those of you who don't know what it's like to go on a meditation retreat I want to paint a rough picture of it for you. Be prepared to wake up at 4:30 am and get yourself seated in a position which is comfortable, but one in which you won't be lulled to sleep. Then you'll hear a soft gong signaling you to close your eyes. Then just be aware of all that is going on in your body and mind as objectively as possible. Don't plan. Don't peek! Don't daydream.  Don't fidget (and be thankful it isn't Zen, because then when you fidget, and you will, you get whacked with a stick!) Do that for an hour and the sound of three gongs signals the end of the sitting. Get up, stretch and get circulation back in your limbs. Start over....... and over.... and over.....Reach enlightenment.

Pretty simple really!

For more information on Bhavana Society: http://bhavanasociety.org/teachers/

Magic Bus Tour- North Carolina and Virginia, Days 30-34

Late April, 2013

 

So I broke camp and was ready to high tail it out of Georgia, but I wound up taking the long and winding road that perhaps The Beatles wrote about as I burned up my brakes on the numerous, twisty, steep grades leaving Cooper's Creek. After crossing the state border I blinked and almost passed right through that evening's rest stop, the tiny country town of Franklin, North Carolina.  One of those kind of towns that still has a "Main Street" that looks like a "Main Street" and very few other streets. One of those towns with a 25 mph Speed limit "to tame them new confounded loud smelly wheelie contraptions".

 

The next morning I awoke and drove through the slightly bigger mountain town of Bryson City, but including  "City" in the name must be an inside joke. It does however grant access to another epic mountain bike trail system called Tsali. I only got to do one of the loops before my knee screamed at me to quit, but with four loops in total I would have to give this place a really high rating even sight unseen. You'll have to spend 2 days there if you want to do all the loops because you can only do 2 a day as they alternate with the horses. Well, horse riders. And based on the lack of horse poop I'd say those horse riders are reserving much more time than they really need.  However, there is a very nice campground there though so it is very convenient to spend the night and get to do the whole trail system. I might just have to do that at some point in the future.

Mage gave me a scare when she stalled on me twice and in a secluded, no cell service mountain area. I was relieved when I popped the hood and saw that one of the air filter ducts was loose and sucking in straight air. You might not think that taking in too much air would cause a stall, but it does! I realized that after installing the battery isolator and trying to run the engine with the air filter removed.  

Confident that the problem was resolved, but not cocky I decided to get out of the mountains (after the trail ride of course) and head for Asheville just in case some more in depth repairs would be needed. All seemed well with Mage so I made for one of America's Scenic By-ways, "The Blue Ridge Parkway". Definitely worth a "Sunday Drive", it's chock full of some wonderful scenery interspersed with areas to pull over and take in the views. However, I would also recommend the occasional detour to drive along one of the roads on the map that you have to squint to see. There's something special about driving the local roads, gliding through the farmlands and spotting those rusty antique cars and old farm equipment amid the rolling hills and methodically plotted plantings.

Back on the Blue Ridge Parkway I stopped at mile 115 for another trail ride. I really wasn't expecting much of it, but it was on the way. Boy did I underestimate it! The Beginner's 1 mile loop was fast a furious as you would expect. Then I rode the first half of the Intermediate course and it too was rather fast and flowing. Then I hopped on the 1.4 mile Expert section even though I normally stay away from the tough stuff when riding alone in the middle of nowhere. Well it offered  downed trees,  slippery leaf covered, off camber and super steep sections nearly impossible to traverse and capped it off with the occasional thorn bush branch reaching out to say, "Hello, Nice to meet you! Would you care to donate blood today?". Needless to say I walked a fair bit of that section. Then to add insult to injury I hopped back on to do the last half of the Intermediate trail and it too got rather technical so that by the time I had thoroughly explored "Explore Park" as it's known, my butt was thoroughly dragging!

Now for a slight detour into culinary news. Being a vegetarian, fast food has never really had much to offer for me, but Burger King and Subway both offer veggie burgers so I have occasionally dined with them, but after recently learning how they and that other "clown outfit" are poisoning us I have sworn them off. It seems they add to their breads a chemical called Azodicarbonamide* that's only use is in the making of plastics. This chemical is banned from not only food, but food packaging in... well..... just about every other country on the planet. No wonder you can put that crap on the sidewalk and none of Mother Nature's critters will touch it. Bon appétit! So as a result I have become a frequent purveyor and budding connoisseur of Asian buffets.  Is it better than fast food? Well, that all depends on your choices. Yes, you can overdose on MSG and oil and too much food in general, but with some discernment you can also do quite well. And I have been doing pretty well, except that there is always that damn dessert aisle! However, even at the most packed of buffets, it is really easy to spot the plastic and thus refrain from eating it!

Anyway, I've driven the length of the Blue Ridge Parkway and I'm now in Woodstock. Janis Joplin, Hendrix and Santana are nowhere to be found, but I'm a hop skip and a jump away from High View, West Virginia where I'll be tomorrow to start a week long personal meditation retreat.

More to come on the flipside, if I don't take a detour into Nirvana!

*(http://www.examiner.com/article/azodicarbonamide-another-reason-to-avoid-most-bread)

Georgia- Days 25-29

Georgia is on my mind. How couldn't it be? It's smack dab in the way of my progressing up north. Fortunately I still have some friends in Atlanta so I'm gonna make the most of it. 

Crossing the border from Florida I immediately stop to fuel up. At $3.33 per gallon I briefly consider just doing laps around Georgia for the remainder of the trip, but a bookstore billboard catches my eye and I decide to have a look. First I go next door and have a stroll at the Antique's store which is a very large utopia for anyone into that kind of thing, but it also has a seriously good collection of vinyl too. If you're looking for new tunes to rock those needles let me know, I'll send you directions.

Now I enjoy reading. I used to do quite a lot of it, but these days it's mostly via the web. However, on a trip like this some thread bound paper and ink is never a bad thing. Even if only to start a campfire. The problem is that I hate searching for books. When I walk into a bookstore my brain just sort of freezes up and shorts out from information overload. I do slightly better in libraries where I find it easier to zone in on what I find interesting, but I decided long ago to more or less give up on finding books and focus instead on letting books find me!

I know that may sound like some Age of Aquarius mumbo jumbo, but I have to tell you that although I haven't been constantly reading lately, the books I have read are all winners. So it's with some intrepidity that I stroll into this bookstore. I quickly realize that one way or the other it's going to be a quick trip. Fifty percent of the books are Bibles, another 40% of the books are about the Bible and the remainder are, I assume, filed under the genre of "slightly to mostly blasphemous". 

Amazingly I came away with three books. The Auto- biographical Volume 1 of Mark Twain who happens to be one of my favorite authors, nearly tackled me as I walked down its aisle. It's a tome and with its weight and girth it simply jumped out in front of me and demanded that I buy it. Out of curiosity I decided to see if they would carry anything Buddhist and to my surprise I found my second purchase, the one and only book of that type in the store. Lastly, at the checkout they offered a  book by Mr. Rogers for fifty cents. When I was very young, maybe 6 or 7, I  remember exclaiming very loudly to my Mother as I pointed to him on the T.V., "I DON'T LIKE HIM!!". I can't remember exactly why I objected so much to Mr. Rogers, but I suspect he was just too nice and sugary. However, as an adult I can respect his message and heart so I felt I had to give him a second chance and bought his book for a penance. Though I do hope it isn't too sickly sweet.  

Heading deep into Georgia I had planned on staying in Oconee National Forest for the evening. Unfortunately, I didn't do much actual planning and drove around and through about 80% of it trying to locate the Ranger station and only finding private homes everywhere which I thought was very odd for a National Forest. Needless to say you can guess where the Ranger station check-in was (somewhere in the other 20%) and I eventually gave up on the idea and settled for another night of concrete camping. 

The actual heart of my Georgia trip I'm going to keep short because it was about getting  caught up with a couple of old band mates and although vastly fulfilling for me, it would be of little interest to others. Suffice it to say that they are doing well and I'm very happy to learn that they have not let their creative sparks die and are as successful as ever. A third band mate whom I didn't even know was living there was working so I missed him, but it was nice to hear his voice and catch up on the phone. 

Progressing north I was a little bummed that plans fell apart to have breakfast with an old mountain biking buddy due to residuals of a dental procedure, but he did confirm what I would be doing for the afternoon. Riding Blankets. No, not sleeping in between the sheets. Riding "Blankets",  a top-rated trail system near Woodstock, GA. I never in my life saw a trail parking lot with close to 100 cars in it! Roswell Bikes and Specialized even had tents set up and demo bikes available. I'm not quite sure why I skipped on demoing a $5000 bike? I guess I was either afraid of trashing it or afraid of taking too much of a liking to it! All in all, a great place to ride. They put a lot of work into it and it's well laid out.

One last night of camping in Georgia, I stayed at Cooper's Creek in Cohutta National Forest. I thought it was funny that neither the camp host or the camp Ranger were familiar with my "America the Beautiful" Annual Inter-Agency Pass. It wasn't quite like a bad movie parody, "We ain't never seen one a does 'fore!", but I still had to chuckle and then settled into a cool evening by the "creeking crick". Actually with the sounds of the water flowing over some of the rocks, it was more of a "babbling brook", I'd say. I couldn't understand what it was trying to say, but that didn't stop me from trying. It kind of sounded like it was saying, "Aren't you glad you're not in that horrendous Atlanta traffic anymore?" The answer to which would be a resounding "Hell Yes!". 

So it's off to North Carolina.....