Where a man’s a man and the children dance to the pipes of Pan  -Spinal Tap

I can’t sleep on red-eye flights, but was still feeling fine when we arrived in Reykjavik a while after sunrise.  Probably because it was only my usual bedtime EDT.  We boarded our London flight half an hour later.  That one I slept through fine thanks to the broad daylight, which makes me drowsy, combined with actually being tired.

Maybe being tired contributed to my humiliation at the Hertz Gold counter when, after I complained that my car seemed to be locked, the nice Hertz lady pointed out that I should try the driver’s side door on the right side of the car.  I was off to a smashing start driving to Bath.

When I mentioned to Ma how Felicity had been twice to Stonehenge and Harry once on previous drives to visit Laura and Nigel in Bath, her face lit up.  Turns out Ma hasn’t been to Europe since she was 19, and she was excited about the prospect of visiting this popular heritage site.  And so we did.  It’s strange to say a 4000+ year old monument changed a lot since my last visit 4 years ago, but it did.  (There’s a new car park and visitor center a shuttle’s ride away.)

Where most of the driving to Stonehenge was on major motorways, the drive to Bath was on small country roads.  Ma was oohing and ahhing at every old building in every little village we passed, and she didn’t stop the entire way.  We listened to old Air Supply tunes and just absorbed the new scenery around every turn, not to mention a few dozen roundabouts.

After a lovely visit including a walk near Solsbury Hill, sunset brews, a delicious vegetable lasagna, “pudding” with clotted cream, and Nigel’s fancy lattes, Laura and I talked each other’s ears off until after midnight, as we do.  Tomorrow Ma and I will join the rest of the Pebbles, and Laura will meet us circa Grosmont for the big finish!

20 minutes until we board our flight!

I drove up to New England from OBX yesterday, my second such road trip in a week.  Last week I drove up for the internment of my grandmother, who donated her body to the medical school when she died two years ago.  It was finally time to get closure with a ceremony, the best part of which is always spending time with my far-flung but lovely Nason-side family.  I also caught Bill Nighy’s broadway show, Skylight, on the way back with some of the NYC Nason contingent.  Awesome.  Gran, thanks for bringing us all together again.

The 12 hour drive yesterday passed by in a blink just like the previous two, thanks to audiobooks.  My friend Allie got me hooked on these, and while my eyes and reflexes are still on the road, my mind is off someplace else, and I arrive at my destination wishing I had another half hour of road to finish the book!  In this instance, it was Kicking and Dreaming: A Memoir by Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart fame.  Also awesome.

My family in Massachusetts had dinner and a pre-birthday cake waiting for me, and a comfy bed, and I slept hard for a full 8 hours before waking up at 6am.  This, I predict, will happen every night of the hike.  But not tonight, which will be interrupted by a stop in sunny Iceland.  My driving on the wrong side of the road tomorrow can only be enhanced by a sleepless red-eye night.  Ma has no idea what adventure she’s really in for tomorrow!

Speaking of Ma, who’s about to board the flight with me, she described our activity today as “trying to squeeze 15lb. of s**t into a 5lb. bag.”  That basically sums it up, except scale it up to 100lb. of shit.  (Notice I’m only beeping out my mother’s swears.  I think it’s best to keep her saintly as long as possible on this trip!)  I brought way too much stuff, so I may be feasting on several pounds of fish jerky before Saturday morning just to get my pack liftable.  This should surprise no one who’s hiked with me before.

Tomorrow we’ll get as far as Laura’s house near Bath, and hopefully our fellow Pebbles are making similar progress toward St. Bees as we speak!  See you soon!!

Two weeks until the first day of our walk!

I finally did a weekend of test hikes to calibrate my pack load, first at Point Reyes with my friends Allie and Jeremy, then with Seth and Ealish in San Francisco. The results were promising, but not without some important lessons learned.

The plan for Point Reyes on Saturday was to simulate an average day of Coast to Coast hiking. We chose the longest loop described in the park’s brochure: Woodward Valley Loop (13mi). It starts out with a climb up Mt. Wittenberg (1407′), then gradually declines toward the ocean and remains largely flat after that, with a grand total of ~1900′ gain and return. It was absolutely gorgeous, perhaps good preparation so I’m not caught breathless in the Lakes District? At the end of the hike, our various devices were telling us we had gone 17mi that day. Between the optional summit loop, beach side trails, and extra laps around the parking lot we must have forgotten about(?), we earned some bonus miles somewhere. It felt like farther than an average Wainwright C2C day will take us, but we’ll see.

My pack, later labeled “ridiculous” by Seth, included:

• 3L Camelbak bladder, full and only half depleted by end of hike
• DSLR with battery grip, 3 zoom lenses, carbon fiber tripod, flash, extra batteries and storage cards, etc.
• Traveller guitar w/ headphone amp
• iPhone 6 Plus & iPad Air
• Various resealable bags of snacks
• Raincoat, maps, and random small stuff I didn’t bother removing from my pack.

And the verdict?  Carrying my camera in a front holster (aka toploader) pack not only made the camera immediately accessible for fleeting shots of wildlife, and so convenient I didn’t hesitate to take photos of every beautiful thing I saw, but also balanced my load so my backpack wasn’t dragging me backward as much.  I felt great for the first 10+ miles.  That’s when the wheels started coming off the bus.

Jeremy and Allie generously offered me some of their Saltstick electrolyte pills and Clif mocha shots.  It lifted my energy and my spirits and made me stop thinking about the blisters forming on the balls of my feet.  I was having no trouble breathing or carrying my load, it was really just my feet deteriorating underneath me.  Also, I was so desperate for some arch support I would try to land my foot on every rock and root just to get something pressing up under there.  I was walking gingerly the last couple miles, almost limping, but we made it to the end.  And Jeremy also shared his supply of alcohol wipes and blister band-aids. We completed the day with delicious beer and food consumption, all part of the training you know.  I really wish these two were coming with me to England.

So I survived simulated day 1.  But could I do it a 2nd day in a row?  After Seth’s mocking, I did lighten my load: I packed only 2 lenses instead of all 3.  So that saved me a solid pound, bringing my pack down to about 35 lb.  It’s extremely likely that if I carried nothing but snacks and water, I’d practically float effortlessly across the English countryside.  And maybe by day 2 of the actual hike, it will come to that.  But I truly intend to take a gazillion photos and learn a few new guitar chords so I have something to show for my 16 days on the trail beyond the 192 miles of blisters!

On Sunday, Seth, Ealish, and I urban hiked through Glen Canyon Park, up Mt. Davidson (928′, highest point in San Francisco), down and up to Twin Peaks (2nd and 3rd highest at 925′), and then back to Glen Park where again we practiced the beer and food phase of the simulation.  (I think we have that one down pat at least.) Still wearing the same band-aid from the day before, my feet were kind to humor me and carry me the 7-8 miles without further complaint. A solid night’s sleep after Pt. Reyes was enough to prepare me to do it all again, and I could have kept going farther on Sunday if necessary. The weekend of hiking left me confident, but also with a shopping list:

• alcohol wipes and Band-Aid mole skins and flat-pack duct tape in case a blister is in a hard-to-secure location
• Clif gel shots, both with and without caffeine, since I’m a recovering caffeine addict (clean since 2001!) and always avoiding relapse, but apparently the 50mg included in these shots enhances their effectiveness
• fish jerky, which Allie introduced me to at Pt. Reyes to my delight
• SaltStick electrolyte replacement capsules, which probably work better than gatoraid
• my trademark trail snacks, Philippine brand dried mango and crunchy peanut butter Clif bars, with some dried coconut thrown in for good measure

I think I’m ready!

(Photo credit: Allie Larkin)

I’ve taken the liberty of plotting a whole mess of geocaches onto our C2C map.  I don’t intend to make geocaching along the way a huge priority, but it could be a fun way to kill time while waiting for different subsets of hikers to regroup along the way.

Together Maurice and I have been experimenting with geocaching for over a decade now.  We used to be addicts, but we’ve recovered from those crazy days.  Now we’re just recreational geocachers.  (Come on… just one more!)

Learn about geocaching here.

Now Seth just needs to map out the best pubs along the route, and we’ll be ready to go!

Almost same as the old boss.

The path of least resistance would have been to replace my canoe-tragic camera with the identical model. But you know I’m not the sort of guy to take shortcuts. Instead I will struggle with the adoption of a new-fangled Canon 5D Mark III. It is my cross to bear.

The truth is I’m intrigued by this camera’s potential, with sufficient hacking, to support RAW video recording. I suppose if I’m willing to take my cameras canoeing, then I may be willing to install back-alley, warranty-voiding firmware, too. Some people find their courage in the form of running into burning houses, or standing up to the school bully. Mine comes in the form of being reckless with electronics.

And now, after this joyous announcement, let the universe proceed to unveil a Canon 5D Mark IV.

File this under “Aimlessly Wandering Pebbles” rather than migratory ones. I have a lot of strange and unrelated hobbies. But my New Year’s resolution is to collaborate more in creative endeavors. So let’s talk about my longest running collaboration to date.

Alicia Bessette and I have been friends since high school. I enjoyed her writing in English class and in our school’s literary magazine, and I respected how she already knew in 10th grade what she wanted to be when she grew up: a writer. Along the way I heard her play piano, both in recitals and just messing around in the school auditorium.

I’m not sure what possessed me, almost a decade later, to not only suggest that she record an album, but to suggest that I produce it. I guess I’m often overcome by confidence that exceeds my actual abilities. Mind you, I had no training in piano myself, nor in sound engineering, nor in anything else that would be useful to this collaboration. I just had this urge to make it happen.

20-something years and three albums later, I’m still as excited about each new song that goes from Alicia’s head, onto her piano (aka Naked Franz), and some months/years later via the magic of Wachusett Records and our state-of-the-art recording facilities (ha!) eventually to CDs, iTunes, etc.

I hope you enjoy this new video we recently completed. I expect there will be plenty more where that came from.

I received the tentative list of inns booked for June! This is getting real. An average of 12 miles per day still seems like just a number. Maybe it’s best if I keep it that way as long as possible.

Meanwhile I have a few months left to be thirty-something. Then I’ll need to buckle down and start doing something with my life. I still have time if I act now, right? RIGHT?!

2015, you are the first chapter of the rest of my life story. Long or short, comedy or tragedy, I have a feeling it will at least be a page-turner. Now where’s my corkscrew?

Back in November, Laura suggested I pack my boots when coming to visit Batheaston. I was betwixt visiting my recent hire in London and a standards body meeting in Chertsey. We were fast approaching our 6-month countdown to Wainwright, and planned to undertake a rigorous walk around Bath. Boots would be a necessity.

The boots gained some decent mileage around London first. Whilst traveling light, the savvy jet setter knows that a versatile collection of shoes cannot be accommodated. I wore my boots to the West End 3 times in total (Wicked, The Book of Mormon, Mathilda), which may be 3 times more than they’ll ever attend theatre again.

And so it was that Laura took me climbing up on Solsbury Hill. Boots/wellies were donned. The rain was falling hard. We were determined. Laura and I climbed Solsbury Hill (yes, THE Solsbury Hill) in her Škoda on our way to see ‘Allo ‘Allo! in Bath. Wainwright practice would have to wait for a less rainy day. After all, weather changes, and we’ll see nothing of the sort come June.

That was my cousin Ezra’s slogan as he blogged about his experience. I won’t say he fought cancer and then surrendered to it, or use some other clichéd metaphor to make it more digestible to the rest of us healthy bastards. To put it plainly, he contracted a disease, the doctors tried to eradicate it, it went away for a while, came back, Ezra decided not to treat it further, and he died in May at age 40. Half a life, yet he lived it twice as full.

I’m wearing one of Ezra’s work shirts right now. While sifting through bags of his clothes headed for donation in NYC this weekend, I picked out the grungiest one I could find. It’s gray, covered in a variety of grease stains, and it seems to have been snagged in a machine or a bike chain at some point. It’s too small for me. But I feel like a superhero wearing it. After all, my cousin was The Bike Maker.

As you know from my post about the ring, I have enough trouble letting go of living people who were important to me. Worse is when they’re taken from me and I can’t let go gradually on my own terms. And so it was that, after leaving NYC and spending ~17 hours with dear friends in Connecticut watching movies about a certain other ring that folks had trouble letting go, I found myself at my alma mater, WPI, saying “Fuck Cancer” yet again.

My thesis advisor, Matt Ward, who also taught my introductory and advanced graphics courses, passed away on October 13 at age 59. For those of you keeping score at home, I’m in my 20th year of a career in… computer graphics. I presented the paper Matt & I published based on my thesis at the IEEE Visualization conference in Phoenix, my first talk in front of a giant audience. And we hiked down into the Grand Canyon together. So let’s just say this guy was pivotal. We had been out of touch for years, but it just so happened when I heard of his passing that I already had plane tickets to attend his memorial.

It was originally going to be a late October celebration of his career, with Matt in attendance to receive awards, so I signed up without hesitation. But after deciding to discontinue treatment, his health failed quickly, and the organizers had to bump up the celebration to the end of September. As chance would have it — remember, I’m an atheist — I was already up in Massachusetts, on campus at WPI no less, for a recruiting event the very day on which the celebration was rescheduled.

Matt was sitting there in Higgins House in a wheelchair, blanket in his lap, occasionally summoning the strength to lift his head briefly to survey what was going on around him. There were many friends and colleagues in attendance, way more than I imagined, taking turns kneeling down to greet Matt. I worked up the courage to approach him, unsure if he would recognize me, moments before his wife wheeled him away forever. I thanked Matt for all the time he spent with me and said good-bye.

So I figured now I’m stuck with a useless October plane ticket, but at least I’ll have an excuse to visit friends and family in Ezra’s Harlem neighborhood and New England. Ha! Matt had the impeccable timing to leave us mere days before my October 20 return, his originally scheduled going away party. It became a New Orleans style musical wake, orchestrated well in advance by Matt who approached several musically inclined friends, “Hey, what are you doing in about 5 weeks? Would you mind playing at my memorial? I have some songs picked out…”

I’m not sure what the parting message is here. Bad things happen to good people? Life is short, so live like you are dying? Blogging about how other people’s cancer affects you is decidedly self-centered? Fuck cancer? How about: We are the pebbles. We migrate. That is all.

I wonder how often that title phrase is used literally? Probably as often as the word “literally” is used literally. Anyway, cue the choir of angels, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

L.L. Bean stocks a variety of brands: their own brand, alongside Keen, Merrell, Oboz, Salomon, Teva, and others. My three criteria going in were mid-height, waterproof, and comfortable. I was partial to the Salomons, but they didn’t have clown shoe sizes (12+) in stock. So I asked to try on the Merrells, which is the brand Ma decided on for her Wainwright footwear, as well as the Oboz, which are apparently the latest fancy award-winning boots.

I happened to be wearing my Wrightsock double-layer crew hiking socks while traveling up the coast that day. Perfect! I got my foot half into a Merrell before aborting, asking if perhaps they had a half-size bigger? “Sir, that’s the size 8 you pulled off the display rack.” Carry on, then. The size 12 boots were decidedly roomier than the 8, but still a snug fit.

The Oboz were stiff. I climbed up and down the stairs and circumnavigated the store. They were like wearing alpine ski boots. I don’t care how many awards they won, the Oboz would need about 192 miles of breaking in. Meanwhile the Merrells, especially by comparison, felt like putting on a pair of slippers. I was comforted in the knowledge that Merrell doesn’t make size 12.5, so the snug size 12 Merrell Moab Mid GORE-TEX won the day.

I hope to road test these boots over the coming weekend in California. Stay tuned!