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
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Though I welcome the chance to read some more of your prose, I do think it's time to worry. Some caution please?
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