A great way to learn about the history of the type of boat that Mr. Frei is rowing from Baltimore to Washington!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
A New Starting Date
Greetings, Gentle Reader,
This weekend I chatted with a neighbor who asked whether I have a row up my (short) sleeve this summer. When I described my intention to row to Washington, his face darkened. “DC, eh?” he asked, in the way people ask when what they really mean to say is, “Don’t even think about it.” He went on to describe a Baltimore-to- DC trip he and his wife made some years ago in their 31 foot powerboat. They took water over the transom (big waves), made hellaciously slow progress (wind and current), and faced heavy traffic, relentless bugs, and stifling heat and humidity. Why, the flat screen in the cabin even beat itself to death in the blow. No flat screen! Oh, the horror!!
He hasn’t talked me out of it, but this kind of first-person narrative tends to command my attention. I’m not likely to lose the flat screen that I won’t have in the rowboat, but I’m reminded that while this may be a shorter trip than journeys past, I’ll do well to prepare for the worst…and the worst, in his description, rivals the worst I’ve seen over 800 miles. Our conversation took me back to my own purgatory on the Delaware River in ’06, “a Kiddie Waterpark from Hell,” I think I called it, and I heard myself muse, “DC, eh…?”
As I read about typical Chesapeake weather in June, I learn that the winds usually blow from the south. Unless I am fortunate enough to hit a favorable weather window, this will make for a long 100 mile pull to the south, to Point Lookout (or, is it Point! Look Out!!) at the mouth of the Potomac. So - as if this has anything to do with optimizing weather probabilities - how about a new starting date for launch? Let’s try Sunday, June 21st, only because friends have wisely pointed out that if I hope to see anyone present to see me off, Sunday makes more sense than Monday. So Sunday morning it is.
To date, my physical preparation has been negligible. Peg worries, and she has a point. Between school, grading, and coaching, I have yet to find my way to the gym. Trotting after 8th graders does require some stamina, but it’s a stamina different than that called for in a boat. 8th graders command your presence, patience, an affable social nature, and a plucky optimism that can see past the moment to potential and achievement. Rowing long distances commands a plucky optimism, to be sure, and patience, but ’presence’ and sociability are superfluous. It’s a solo trip. One talks to one’s self at one’s own risk. But I’m fooling myself if I think I can row myself to the necessary fitness level in the early days of this trip; without a modicum of preparation, a south wind will beat me back into the Inner Harbor in short order. Humiliating. Worse, even, than losing the flat screen in the cabin. I’ll need to get with it, and soon.
Yet I have taken steps to get the boat in shape. The week before the row I’ll be taking my beloved boat back up to its Vermont birthplace - the Adirondack Guideboat Company - for some fresh hardware and a new knick-knack or two. Today, Steve Kaulback and the AGC crew were featured on Martha Stewart in a segment chronicling her acquisition of an exquisite cedar Adirondack Guideboat. Her impeccable tastes include things nautical, as it turns out, and it’s nice to know that while her sock drawer and mine likely bear little resemblance, we share an affection for the sensation of those cherry oars bending under a load, the effortless glide which rewards even modest effort.
You go, Martha! See you on the Potomac, perhaps?
Not many readers yet, but I’ll build a bit more tension in future blogs even while Kathy spreads the word as only she can. I hope you like the new cover photo she devised over the weekend. I myself think that it presages a post-apocalyptic row past the Capitol building after the last iceberg has melted (is that a polar bear wading down the aisle?), but I’ll leave it to you, Gentle Reader, to render your own judgment.
Talk to you later this week….
Mr. Frei
This weekend I chatted with a neighbor who asked whether I have a row up my (short) sleeve this summer. When I described my intention to row to Washington, his face darkened. “DC, eh?” he asked, in the way people ask when what they really mean to say is, “Don’t even think about it.” He went on to describe a Baltimore-to- DC trip he and his wife made some years ago in their 31 foot powerboat. They took water over the transom (big waves), made hellaciously slow progress (wind and current), and faced heavy traffic, relentless bugs, and stifling heat and humidity. Why, the flat screen in the cabin even beat itself to death in the blow. No flat screen! Oh, the horror!!
He hasn’t talked me out of it, but this kind of first-person narrative tends to command my attention. I’m not likely to lose the flat screen that I won’t have in the rowboat, but I’m reminded that while this may be a shorter trip than journeys past, I’ll do well to prepare for the worst…and the worst, in his description, rivals the worst I’ve seen over 800 miles. Our conversation took me back to my own purgatory on the Delaware River in ’06, “a Kiddie Waterpark from Hell,” I think I called it, and I heard myself muse, “DC, eh…?”
As I read about typical Chesapeake weather in June, I learn that the winds usually blow from the south. Unless I am fortunate enough to hit a favorable weather window, this will make for a long 100 mile pull to the south, to Point Lookout (or, is it Point! Look Out!!) at the mouth of the Potomac. So - as if this has anything to do with optimizing weather probabilities - how about a new starting date for launch? Let’s try Sunday, June 21st, only because friends have wisely pointed out that if I hope to see anyone present to see me off, Sunday makes more sense than Monday. So Sunday morning it is.
To date, my physical preparation has been negligible. Peg worries, and she has a point. Between school, grading, and coaching, I have yet to find my way to the gym. Trotting after 8th graders does require some stamina, but it’s a stamina different than that called for in a boat. 8th graders command your presence, patience, an affable social nature, and a plucky optimism that can see past the moment to potential and achievement. Rowing long distances commands a plucky optimism, to be sure, and patience, but ’presence’ and sociability are superfluous. It’s a solo trip. One talks to one’s self at one’s own risk. But I’m fooling myself if I think I can row myself to the necessary fitness level in the early days of this trip; without a modicum of preparation, a south wind will beat me back into the Inner Harbor in short order. Humiliating. Worse, even, than losing the flat screen in the cabin. I’ll need to get with it, and soon.
Yet I have taken steps to get the boat in shape. The week before the row I’ll be taking my beloved boat back up to its Vermont birthplace - the Adirondack Guideboat Company - for some fresh hardware and a new knick-knack or two. Today, Steve Kaulback and the AGC crew were featured on Martha Stewart in a segment chronicling her acquisition of an exquisite cedar Adirondack Guideboat. Her impeccable tastes include things nautical, as it turns out, and it’s nice to know that while her sock drawer and mine likely bear little resemblance, we share an affection for the sensation of those cherry oars bending under a load, the effortless glide which rewards even modest effort.
You go, Martha! See you on the Potomac, perhaps?
Not many readers yet, but I’ll build a bit more tension in future blogs even while Kathy spreads the word as only she can. I hope you like the new cover photo she devised over the weekend. I myself think that it presages a post-apocalyptic row past the Capitol building after the last iceberg has melted (is that a polar bear wading down the aisle?), but I’ll leave it to you, Gentle Reader, to render your own judgment.
Talk to you later this week….
Mr. Frei
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Starting date: Monday, June 22nd
Greetings, Gentle Reader, 5/3/09
A rainy Sunday evening presents more than a few options for an 8th grade English teacher. The ever-present stack of prose rendered by my students is, of course, one option…an option I deferred yesterday, and this morning, and again this afternoon. Sir Frances Chinchester’s Gypsy Moth Circles the World beckons, half-finished, from the bedside table, but I’m a realist: a nap would quickly ensue, and the day would be done. Peg has been sanding and preparing the downstairs bathroom for a fresh coat of paint, a project I’ve been conspicuously absent from and which builds guilt with each passing minute. “Gotta do a blog entry,” I called from the top of the stairs a few minutes ago. “Sure, go ahead,” she responded happily, as if believing that what I now do constitutes work. She knows better…exhibiting yet another reason why I love her dearly.
Yet, Gentle Reader, while it may appear that I am a paragon of procrastination and indecision, I have indeed made some weighty row-related decisions since my last blog entry.
First, I’ve declared a starting date: Monday, June 22nd (FYI, kids, the day after Father’s Day). At 20-25 miles each day, this date enables me a reasonable chance to arrive in DC on or by the 4th of July. Patriotic, yes? Should I be early, don’t expect me to row donuts out on the Potomac waiting for Michelle and Barack to light the fireworks; when I get to DC, I’ll be done. Medium well, probably.
Second, I’ve decided to make this, at best, a very low-intensity fundraiser. Many of you donated generously - beyond generously, actually - to previous journeys. You will recall that all proceeds go to financial aid in support of needy families at The Boys’ Latin School, where I teach. The Big Row in ’06 raised over $18,000, and last year’s quieter Erie Canal row pulled in an additional $8,000. Run the numbers and that totals $32.50 per mile over 800 miles…all because of you.
“Al,” you might be asking, “at $32.50 per (historical) mile, doesn’t that mean that you’re relinquishing $8,125 this year in your 250 mile voyage? Have you gone soft? Is there no longer any need?”
Hardly. In today’s economic climate, the need is starkly greater than ever! But I’ve been dipping into the same well, deeply, for two years. Wells need to replenish, and I am profoundly aware that the folks who, in better times, have supported my nautical hi-jinks are themselves not immune to the current economic travails.
In addition, the Boys’ Latin population has been enormously generous throughout the year. Even in the teeth of a declining economy, the school turns over every stone…and alums and parents respond with care and generosity. I feel that my row might be “a bridge too far” for some, and I am reluctant to pile yet another brick of obligation into some already well stressed wheelbarrows.
Finally, remember…I said “low intensity,” not “not a fundraiser.” Kathy will set up a pledge paddle, we’ll shoot for $8125, but I’ll not be hammering you during each and every blog. The need is still there, and I am mindful of it each day as I have the privilege to teach wonderful boys who would not be in my classroom were it not for the generosity of others. So…if you can, please DO pledge; we’ll make it easy!
Last weekend, Peg and I visited her parents who spend the winter In Montross, Virginia. Their home is on a small tributary on the Potomac, and I will certainly stop in to use their shower and avail myself of a soft bed during the row. Their place is exactly 130 miles away by car and, amazingly, 125 miles away by rowboat - more if I take a few side-trips along the way, which is likely. In crossing over the Potomac on the Nice bridge (it is a nice bridge, and a Nice bridge…the Harry W. Nice bridge) at Dahlgren, I was struck by the expanse of the river, its placidity…and its proximity to Dahlgren, the home of the navy’s Surface Warfare Center. They do a lot of R&D at Dahlgren and that R&D, as I’ve read, includes shooting a lot of sharp, pointy stuff out over the water. Over dinner, Mrs. McCarty noted that, “Oh, they don’t shoot the big stuff nearly as much as they used to; we used to hear the big booms a lot more often than we do now.” I’m hardly reassured; they live at least 30 miles away, and the “big booms” they no longer hear over that distance are likely supplanted by lots and lots of baby boomlets, any one of which likely propels something able to penetrate the 1/8 inch protective shell of my boat. Let’s face it…while Yamamoto might have had an interest in the difference between a 16” shell, a 5” shell, or a 20 mm gun, in an Adirondack Guideboat, they all spell trouble. I’d better do a bit more reading on how to avoid the flying metal - or whatever else they’re testing - next month. Unless they are working on a Twinkie Mortar or a Krispy Kreme Katapult, I’d like to row by on a quiet day. So, Gentle Reader, it’s “game on” on 6/22. We’ll erect the pledge paddle, and I know you will do what you can. But I’m going anyway.
Hugs,Mr. Frei
A rainy Sunday evening presents more than a few options for an 8th grade English teacher. The ever-present stack of prose rendered by my students is, of course, one option…an option I deferred yesterday, and this morning, and again this afternoon. Sir Frances Chinchester’s Gypsy Moth Circles the World beckons, half-finished, from the bedside table, but I’m a realist: a nap would quickly ensue, and the day would be done. Peg has been sanding and preparing the downstairs bathroom for a fresh coat of paint, a project I’ve been conspicuously absent from and which builds guilt with each passing minute. “Gotta do a blog entry,” I called from the top of the stairs a few minutes ago. “Sure, go ahead,” she responded happily, as if believing that what I now do constitutes work. She knows better…exhibiting yet another reason why I love her dearly.
Yet, Gentle Reader, while it may appear that I am a paragon of procrastination and indecision, I have indeed made some weighty row-related decisions since my last blog entry.
First, I’ve declared a starting date: Monday, June 22nd (FYI, kids, the day after Father’s Day). At 20-25 miles each day, this date enables me a reasonable chance to arrive in DC on or by the 4th of July. Patriotic, yes? Should I be early, don’t expect me to row donuts out on the Potomac waiting for Michelle and Barack to light the fireworks; when I get to DC, I’ll be done. Medium well, probably.
Second, I’ve decided to make this, at best, a very low-intensity fundraiser. Many of you donated generously - beyond generously, actually - to previous journeys. You will recall that all proceeds go to financial aid in support of needy families at The Boys’ Latin School, where I teach. The Big Row in ’06 raised over $18,000, and last year’s quieter Erie Canal row pulled in an additional $8,000. Run the numbers and that totals $32.50 per mile over 800 miles…all because of you.
“Al,” you might be asking, “at $32.50 per (historical) mile, doesn’t that mean that you’re relinquishing $8,125 this year in your 250 mile voyage? Have you gone soft? Is there no longer any need?”
Hardly. In today’s economic climate, the need is starkly greater than ever! But I’ve been dipping into the same well, deeply, for two years. Wells need to replenish, and I am profoundly aware that the folks who, in better times, have supported my nautical hi-jinks are themselves not immune to the current economic travails.
In addition, the Boys’ Latin population has been enormously generous throughout the year. Even in the teeth of a declining economy, the school turns over every stone…and alums and parents respond with care and generosity. I feel that my row might be “a bridge too far” for some, and I am reluctant to pile yet another brick of obligation into some already well stressed wheelbarrows.
Finally, remember…I said “low intensity,” not “not a fundraiser.” Kathy will set up a pledge paddle, we’ll shoot for $8125, but I’ll not be hammering you during each and every blog. The need is still there, and I am mindful of it each day as I have the privilege to teach wonderful boys who would not be in my classroom were it not for the generosity of others. So…if you can, please DO pledge; we’ll make it easy!
Last weekend, Peg and I visited her parents who spend the winter In Montross, Virginia. Their home is on a small tributary on the Potomac, and I will certainly stop in to use their shower and avail myself of a soft bed during the row. Their place is exactly 130 miles away by car and, amazingly, 125 miles away by rowboat - more if I take a few side-trips along the way, which is likely. In crossing over the Potomac on the Nice bridge (it is a nice bridge, and a Nice bridge…the Harry W. Nice bridge) at Dahlgren, I was struck by the expanse of the river, its placidity…and its proximity to Dahlgren, the home of the navy’s Surface Warfare Center. They do a lot of R&D at Dahlgren and that R&D, as I’ve read, includes shooting a lot of sharp, pointy stuff out over the water. Over dinner, Mrs. McCarty noted that, “Oh, they don’t shoot the big stuff nearly as much as they used to; we used to hear the big booms a lot more often than we do now.” I’m hardly reassured; they live at least 30 miles away, and the “big booms” they no longer hear over that distance are likely supplanted by lots and lots of baby boomlets, any one of which likely propels something able to penetrate the 1/8 inch protective shell of my boat. Let’s face it…while Yamamoto might have had an interest in the difference between a 16” shell, a 5” shell, or a 20 mm gun, in an Adirondack Guideboat, they all spell trouble. I’d better do a bit more reading on how to avoid the flying metal - or whatever else they’re testing - next month. Unless they are working on a Twinkie Mortar or a Krispy Kreme Katapult, I’d like to row by on a quiet day. So, Gentle Reader, it’s “game on” on 6/22. We’ll erect the pledge paddle, and I know you will do what you can. But I’m going anyway.
Hugs,Mr. Frei
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