Two thumbs Up!

Have you seen that movie, "Up"? It was WONDERFUL! Any kid from 2 to 102 will love it. See it at the Riverview, the best neighborhood theater in Minneapolis, and you'll even get popcorn with real butter. I am still smiling...

i'm back.

Sometimes when I'm flying, I forget to look at the sky.

I bet you were bracing yourself for another contemplative life metaphor...nope! Tonight it's just pretty and I'm glad to be safely home.

That's all. Did ya miss me?

Lost

In which the Thomas's go for a hike...

We pulled into a makeshift parking lot off of a dirt road about 40 miles up the Gunflint. A place that Eric goes hunting every year, he knows it well. In the early winter, there is nothing green around and you can see miles in every direction through stark forest landscape. A rocky ridge line up ahead, a trail meandering down the hill to a small lake, Gunflint Lake off in the distance. Power lines, service roads, marked ski trails. But in the thick of the summer, everything is green. The trails are grown over with heavy brush, and downed trees and trail markings are easily lost.

Despite the change in perspective, we easily found the trail head for Rabbit Run, a trail we've hiked before. This was going to be a leisurely stroll into the woods, nothing at all challenging for Lilly and Samuel. We had enough water and snacks to make it across the ridge and down to the lake where we would stop to have a little picnic. Eric knew this area well so we were very casual in our preparation...no maps, no compass, a little water and a bottle of "Off" to spray down with.

We started up the trail and although the growth was heavy, it was mostly open and grassy and posed no problems. The weather was unseasonably cool, in the 60's and overcast so there was little threat of dehydration or sun burn. It was a perfect day for a quick hike to tire everyone out.

Maybe half a mile in, the trail started to get lost amidst heavier brush and pine tree scrub. The mosquitoes were thick and I began to realize that "Off" was more like mosquito nip than anything that would really keep the bugs away. We had left the hard stuff at the cabin. Still, we could see the blue tape wrapped around trees every 100 yards or so to mark the trail. Even though the brush was getting thicker, we felt confident that we were headed in the right direction.

As we climbed the ridge, we realized that the trail was zigzagging up and down through thickets of berry bushes and fallen trees. It was no longer easy to get through. The grass was over Samuel's head in some places. We were at the point where we had come far enough to not be sure if going forward or going back would be our best bet.

Eric was sure there was a break in the brush just over the ridge line - a heavily used walking path that led down to another trail beside Gunflint Lake. I trusted that he knew the area well, but I wasn't so sure he had his bearings. I was no longer noticing the blue taped trees and the mosquitos were chewing us up, particularly Samuel. He was getting tired, hot and overwhelmed so Eric had put him up on his shoulders. Walking behind them, I noticed a colony of mosquitoes biting Samuel around the top of his underwear waist band. In the comics, Spiderman might save the world, but when it came down to insect-on-insect, he was no match for the skeeters.

Samuel was growing increasingly uncomfortable and squirmy on Eric's shoulders. I began to sense just a little bit of anxiety in Eric as we followed a clearing in the brush that seemed like the trail, only to have it lead us to an impenetrable thicket or grove of new pines. Picking up on his bewilderment was all I needed to set off full-on panic.

I knew that we were not far from the car, in a heavily populated area of the Gunflint Trail. But, over the past few months, I have been reading nothing but "woodsmen in peril" adventure stories. I guess I was jones'ing so badly for a trip to the cabin, the fresh air off of Lake Superior as you head out of Duluth and into Two Harbors, the smell of pine and cedar that gets stronger and stronger as you drive up highway 61...that I had started reading nature books just for the contact buzz. So even though we hadn't been air-lifted into the middle of Quetico or lost on a portage in the BWCA, my mind was racing with images of people who had simply wandered a few yards off the beaten path and ended up in desperate survival situations. It was always the stupidest errors of judgment that started a disastrous chain of events leading to hypothermia, dehydration or starvation.

With two young kids in tow, the slide show in my head was fretful, to say the least. What if Eric tripped and bonked his head or broke his leg and I had to get out on my own somehow? What if Lilly wandered too far ahead into the brush? No one really knew where we were. Our car was not in a designated parking lot. We hadn't entered our trek from a marked trail head. It would be Monday morning halfway through our work status meeting before anyone really began to wonder where I was, and with my propensity to always be running late, realistically, it would be more like Tuesday. That would be 5 days. Probably not too many for a family of 4 to survive on a chunk of summer sausage seeing that we were in prime berry picking season, but who wants to go that long without coffee??? Serious crisis mode was setting in.

I wanted to go back to the car, immediately. Eric agreed that we should turn back, even though he was quick to point out that we weren't technically lost. He knew this area well and was certain that we were only a few feet from a well marked path. He was probably a lot more confident than I was because he did at least have the perspective of knowing where on the Gunflint we were. He knew we were fairly close to the road, the power lines and the lake. But as far as I could tell, we were heading into deeper and deeper woods and in the opposite direction of where my natural bearings told me we should be going. I was desperate to catch a glimpse of the blue tape.

When we finally saw a couple tagged trees, I realized that we were still following them but seemingly in the wrong direction. When I brought this to Eric's attention, it only annoyed him, which set off our usual struggle for control. I was quick to talk over his suggestions and become the practical one, in charge. Aside from my new hobby of adventure reading, I had absolutely no first hand knowledge of the woods that would make me an authority. While Eric has lots of survival skills and experience in the woods, he also gets easily confused on direction and suffers from lack of judgment once his adrenaline is pumping. The kids took daddy's side and were quick to repeat what he had told them, "Daddy's been hunting here for years. He knows exactly where we are." In hindsight, they were right to have faith in him and to be calmed by his knowledge. Even though we had wandered off our path, my anxiety was mostly self-inflicted.

Within a few minutes, we had found a series of tagged trees that seemed to be leading us in the right direction. The path was a different one than the one we had walked in on, but as we followed it, it started getting easier to discern. I felt the grip of panic let go and in no time at all, we were back to the car. During the ride back to the cabin, Eric was still crabby at me for over-reacting and not trusting him. He admitted that the trail looked completely different in summer than when he was hunting, but insisted that we were never in any real danger. After 23 years of marriage, I'm still not sure when he's trying to convince me or trying to convince himself.

That could be one reason why we tend to take longer than most to find our way out of the woods.

Tonight, I've finally escaped St. Louis and have made my way to Louisville. The vibe of Louisville is a relief from the edginess I feel in St. Louis - like the heavy sigh of a city trying to revitalize itself too little and too late.

But in comparison, Louisville feels like a "glass half full" kind of place. The hotel staff said it was safe to walk alone at night so I decided to take a stroll down the waterfront parkway along the Ohio River. I ran right into a bluegrass festival. Outside on a large, grassy field, people were setting up chairs, blankets, coolers, etc. to enjoy this "hillbilly hootenanny". I got a basket of fish'n chips from Joe's Crab Shack and enjoyed it picnic-style while listening to great music and watching a huge orange sunset over the river.

The evening was perfect, but I left wondering why it takes going out of town to have this kind of fun. It made me kinda sad, actually, missing my kids and thinking of how much they would've enjoyed this night.

It's clear to me that we need to shake off St. Louis once and for all and start living like Louisville.

Cheers, St. Louis

A good thing to do when finding yourself alone outta town, in a city where you really had no inclination to ever visit in the first place, a city like, say...St. Louis, is go to a baseball game. Nothing beats an outdoor stadium on a muggy night in August.

A crowd of people brought together because of the love of the game creates instant bonding, without ever even having to talk directly to anyone. You can mutter observations under your breath, second guessing the ump on a terrible call, or loudly exclaim, "Brilliant!" when the pitcher lays down a perfect sacrifice bunt.

And, if you furrow your brows and make a forever controversial statement about the merit of pitchers batting in the NL, you can be sure that some hometown fan nearby will pipe up and invite a healthy debate. Then you'll have a friend to high five or lament with for the rest of the game. I think that's why little boys like baseball so much...instant friendship, no strings attached.

At the end of the game, you've enjoyed an acceptable level of social engagement over something genuine.

You can walk that mile back to the hotel, even through the dangerous part of town, because you now recognize others going your way. Your half-eaten bag of peanuts identifies you as part of the faithful.

Two slightly drunken elderly gentlemen gladly agree to escort you to your hotel. They tell you their names are Larry and Bob and they are from Oklahoma and South Dakota, respectively. They've already hatched a plan of self-defense in case they get mugged at gunpoint. They share the story of how this happened to one of their cronies on a recent trip through St. Louis. You would be lying if you said you felt the least bit safer with these codgers, but at least you can laugh in the face of fear.

When you tell them you are from Minnesota, Bob teases, "So you're one of those liberals then! Huh huh huh! Nice job on that new senator! Huh huh huh!" You consider this for a minute and then reply, "Well, let's keep that in mind when the mugger comes. I may be able to offer him food stamps, but we all know I ain't got no money." "Huh huh huh!", reply Bob and Larry. They wish you a wonderful evening and safe travels.

Back at the hotel, with a glass of room service wine to help finish off the peanuts, you drink a toast to a night well spent.

command-zzzzzzzz

I am finding myself in St. Louis this week, traveling for business. Here in the hotel, it seems kinda lonely and too quiet -- so I've decided to sleep with my laptop, screen open, on twitter. How's that for cyber-sychotic??

Revelry

There is no better soundtrack for chugging up the side of a mountain on a forest road than trumpets. With the nautical blue gray Lake Superior sky behind me, the trumpets blasting from the local classical music station make me sit up straighter in my seat as I gun it up the trail road. Up ahead on the horizon, there is a grove of tall pines spotlighted by the emerging sun in an unearthly way. Although the sign says to slow down to 35mph as I approach a tight curve, the feeling that I could keep going full speed ahead and blast off into the air with a regal trumpet fanfare is almost too hard to resist. Chest pumped out, head held high, here I go!

When they find me an impressive distance off the road, smashed a mile up a pine there will be only one way to accurately describe my demise. It was clearly death by trumpet.

From where I'm at...

It's been too long since I've been here, to this blogging space in my brain. I too often fall into the trap of thinking too hard about what to write here and forget that just showing up is good for me, if no one else. Having never been a planner in any area of my life, it's out of character for me to do it here. So I'll write today from where I'm at.

Which happens to be in the parking lot of a landromat in Grand Marais, MN. That's way Up North to all you city folk. A beautiful harbor town on the shore of Lake Superior that feels more like somewhere in New England than in the midwest. Even though I love this town with it's quirky characters, the best public library in America, the Ben Franklin store and last but not least, those world famous donuts, the real reason we come through here is to get even further outta town up the Gunflint Trail.

The trail is about a 60 mile long road that stretches through the heart of the BWCA and Superior National Forest. It's one road with no civilization except for a few resorts and outfitters. It's the closest thing to heaven on earth for me and my family. We stay in cabins, so we get the best of the woods along with good coffee and modern day plumbing, although as my kids get older, the call to paddle and portage is getting stronger for me. I think it's only a matter of time before I get really granola and start carrying and burying.

But for now, the cabin life is good enough -- going to the laundromat is a small version of roughing it, as proven by the van full of bikers that just parked next to me. There they are, stripping down naked inside their old van, throwing clothes into a garbage bag and dumping quarters out of an empty Marlboro box. I assume they're in town for the Hell's Angels convention happening a few cities back down Hwy. 61.

Maybe tomorrow I'll post some Wisdom From The Woods -- some soul searching insight gained between washing dishes, picking blueberries and playing with my kids. But for now, this is where I'm at, about to sink a few more quarters into the soap machine.