From the Pool

Returning upright towards the midday sun after dipping almost to the ground, the young spiky-leaved palm tree I am watching looks like it is supporting an invisible orangutan jumping up and down on its slowly developing spine. Again it pulses down, down, and down towards the Bermuda grass. Then it hovers just above for a graceful moment as if it is smelling or inspecting the little worlds that exist between the blades. Of course there is no large and unseen animal climbing the tree, instead it is ceaselessly bending over to the sporadic commands of the gales generated hundreds of miles away by Hurricane Irene. I take this scene in, from a Floridian poolside chase lounge, with a wry smile, knowing that I am living through one hell of a summer. Bemused, I lift my Yuengling to my mouth and somehow simultaneously, I consider unforeseen things that could have gone irreparably wrong while contentedly reflecting on a couple of magical moments already experienced. I casually shoot these thoughts out at the legions of cumulonimbus, those puffy thought trampolines, patiently awaiting their seasoned return. Never does it occur to me to do anything else. After all, I am sitting poolside.

On this day, two days removed from an earthquake that rocked the very same Washington Union Station that I had been in the day before, I watched the television news break into hurricane coverage about mandatory evacuations to tell me about an Amtrak derailment. The California Zephyr, a train that I had been on just 23 days earlier, had run into a stalled piece of farm equipment left on the tracks. There were 178 people aboard and thankfully none were seriously injured. This has been the second major train crash this summer and amidst rumors of terrorism plots to bomb passenger railways on the anniversary of September 11th, I’ve become concerned, naturally.

But through the veil of concern I glimpse a multidimensional life map of my summer and realize how lucky I’ve been so far. Here I avoided train crashes, there an earthquake, and the whole recent time I’ve been playing chicken with a potentially fatal Atlantic Ocean behemoth of a storm. I’ve weaved my way between these mines of misfortune to have quite possibly the best summer of my life. Granted, I haven’t been playing centerfield for the Anthony Wayne Blue Jays, but I’ve experienced a number of cherished and remarkable events unsurpassed by nothing except the thrill of playing little league baseball.

The first that comes to mind is my great friend Jason’s wedding. On August 6 Jason tied the knot with a wonderful, friendly, stunningly beautiful woman named Michelle and the wedding was fantastic. I say this because of the day’s intimacy. It seemed that everything was arranged, performed, created, and designed by friends, family, or the bride and groom themselves. Doing this immediately transformed the stuffiness of expensive “luxury” and needless formality, too common amongst celebrations, into a warm and comfortable atmosphere dripping with care, consideration and love. I’m sure that being close friends with Jason for almost 20 years and having the privilege to be his best man added to my perceptions as well. I was able to see many old friends, including Jason’s dad for the first time in years, and my two sisters (Ali and Holly) and mom flew in for the occasion too. We had a party just like Lionel Richie would’ve wanted: All Night Long.

Jason The Groom, Jenny, Hambone, Hambone's sister Liz, my sister Holly, me, my brother-in-law John, Holly's boyfriend Ryan, Phil and Mandy

Smokin': Holly and her big bro

After the wedding my family and I took advantage of the opportunity to be together by heading an hour east of Toledo to Cedar Point (the greatest amusement park in the world). We had a strong crew that consisted of my sisters Holly, Julia, and Jen; my mom and step dad Dennis; Holly’s boyfriend Ryan; and my step mom Sue. We crushed Cedar Point, surfing our wave of family mojo from ride to ride, leaving a kaleidoscopic wake of laughter and spent adrenaline behind us. Born so close to the park, most of the family grew up roller coaster lovers. This has not been the case for Julia (who I affectionately refer to as Jules). However, on this day Jules gave most of the rides a shot, including the incredibly intimidating Millennium Force. A ride so tall, steep and fast that I was once told to “bring another set with me” if I chose to ride it. Her courage to face her fears, regardless of their importance, was endearing.

Jules, Holly and Ryan walking towards Cedar Point

Jen and Jules feed me dippin' dots (the ice cream of the future)

It was with feelings of endearment and brotherly love that I embarked on the next part of my trip. Jules was to accompany me to Cleveland on the train and watch the Indians versus the Tigers with me. Because of the way the train and baseball schedules were laid out I was able to spend a day in Cleveland with Jules. We arrived on the scene at six in the morning and promptly took a nap at Jules’ biological grandmother‘s (my step grandmother) house after some tasty scrambled eggs and toast that really hit the spot. We awoke, ate again, and headed to the lake. Julia’s aunt (my step aunt) Mary, Uncle Todd and her children Robert, Addison and Evelyn live a five minute’s stroll from Lake Erie. The Great Lake - the most temperamental of the five - was in rare form. Because of the powerful waves, humans were discouraged from swimming at the beach. We enjoyed the extreme conditions and walked up and down snapping pictures, looking at the water-worn rocks, pocketing found sea glass, and simply admiring nature before we headed out for dinner and drinks with Mandy and Phil. Mandy is my sister Holly’s best friend from elementary school which makes her an old friend to me as well. Jules and I visited with Mandy and her husband Phil, touring their up-and-coming neighborhood, chatting away and laughing often before making our way to the stadium to pick up our free tickets courtesy of the lovely young couple I just mentioned.  We watched the Indians scorch the Tiger pitchers for 10 runs on 18 hits before strolling through downtown Cleveland and eventually catching the long bus back to our beds for the night.  Spending the day with Jules left me impressed by her curiosity, envious of her youth and overwhelmed by her remarkable maturity. It was a day I will always remember.

Jules and her camera, Diana, ready to capture the approach of the Lake Shore Limited

Lake Erie

A blurry Mandy, Phil and Jules

I am brought back to poolside by the postulations and pontifications of retired men, who mid-float, really should have nothing to complain about. But old habits die hard: “Water‘s pretty warm today. Too warm I‘d say.” “Went golfin' yesterday. Ralph shot an 88.” “Are you kidding me? He’s broke, doesn’t have a pot to piss in and I‘m supposed to pay my taxes so he can golf?” “No, no, no, he made all his money through Radio Shacks in Ecuador.” “I’ve been  listening to you fellas since ten after and I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” “I don’t know why nobody listened to me fifteen years ago when I told everybody on the board…” Hearing the gripes I decide to zone back out and continue my reflections. I leave my week in Ohio behind and move on down the line…   

From Spring Training to Summer Training

So I was tying up this polar bear a couple months ago, well, let me back up a little.

I was interviewing for a job with the World Wildlife Fund and really wanted to impress the staff there.  I had snooped through some of their records and found a polar bear adoption order for one Kathryn Wrigley and thought to myself, "This is my chance to shine!"  So between my fifth and sixth interviews I hightailed it up to Churchill, Manitoba in search of orphaned polar bears. (It is important to note that I was not employed by the WWF.  Not for legal purposes, but because I believe that this circumstance is partially responsible for the reason that I was unfamiliar with their adoption policies.  In fact I was under the impression that when somebody adopts a human or some other animal that he or she takes it home and provides for it.  Much to my chagrin, it wasn't until a couple days later that I learned this is not always the case.)

So there I was, tying the legs of this polar bear together to get it ready for delivery to Vermont, when Tampa Bay Rays manager Joe Maddon approached me. "Say there son," evidently he was on some spiritual excursion seeking guidance for the upcoming season from the aurora borealis, "you sure look like you know what you're doing.  You tie up polar bears like Millard Fillmore passed legislation...without even thinking about it." A statement that was especially funny to me because I was thinking the exact same thing. "We could use a man like you roaming centerfield this year. Whaddya say you come on down to Port Charlotte and try out for the team?" I told him that I only wanted to play for the Cubs, but he offered to buy me a grouper sandwich when I arrived, so I said sure.

Rays' Manager Joe Maddon

After getting out of the Winnipeg jail I made my way to Florida and actually beat out the new phenom, Desmond Jennings for the starting centerfielder position.  But Rays' management and I couldn't reach agreement on a suitable contract so I decided to hang up the cleats.  However it wasn't a total loss because during my week down there I read several books about trains and decided to tour the country on the rails.

Down in Florida taking some cuts against the Yankees' Joba Chamberlain

Picture Pages III

The Citi Field Rotunda

My sister Holly giving a hug to Nick Cannon

Holly and I

On a NYC bicycle parking station

Baseball Games, Trains & Low Automobiles

Modelo Donkey

Chia bust

Ryan and Holly

Breakfast vantagepoint at DC's Union Station

Phillies fans in Washington

More Philadelphia fans in Washington

In DC's Union Station

The Station in Miami

Back in Time

"Crank up the Huey Lewis!" I yelled to Kathryn as we approached Doc, Marty and the DeLorean. We were about to embark on a trip through time, back to 1775. Let me tell you why.

The previous day Kathryn and I were at Fenway Park watching the Red Sox battle the Rays. Dustin Pedroia came up to bat and I overheard a man saying something about how no second baseman ever hit as well as Pedroia. I leaned in and mentioned Ryne Sandberg. Clearly I had taken the Bostonians by surprise simply by mentioning a National League player. The discussion stalled because nobody in Boston knows anything about 28 of the 30 major league teams. Slowly rotating on the wobbly axis of RedSox/Yankee lore one man finally ventured a departure, "What about that Bobby Thompson? He hit the 'shot heard 'round the world.'"

That's when another fellow chimed in. He hadn't heard what we were discussing and totally hijacked the conversation putting it on course towards the birthplace of the American Revolution. "It stawted in Con-cud." Then a different fan yelled back "What are you crazy?! The first shots weh fy-yud in Lexington." "Bullshit friend! Con-cud!"

That's when a mysterious message came onto the scoreboard. It said "Moonlight Graham will not be a part of this story. Sleep tight, mates." I thought I was the only one that had seen it, but later that evening when I wheeled around the street on my bike Kathryn was standing there, in front of me and directly in the beam of light cast by my solo headlight. She said, "Moonlight Graham." I hopped off the bike and accosted her for not previously mentioning that she had seen the message too. I asked her if she had heard the voice also. She said, "'Go to sleep?' That voice?" I asked her what that meant. She said, "It means were going to bed."

We made it to Kathryn's parents house in Lexington. On the way I asked her about the Lexington/Concord rivalry and where the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. Growing up in Lexington she had a clear bias, but she dismissed it long enough to tell me that there is significant dispute between both towns of where the official "shot heard 'round the world" occurred. She showed me to my quarters in the guest room and I relaxed, revelling in the comforts of a nice bed after a long day. Soon I was asleep dreaming of MacQueens apple pies and penpal romance.

Just as soon as I had drifted off I was shocked back to consciousness by the guitar riffs of Eddie Van Halen. A being was standing over me. He demanded that I do one of two things or he'd melt my brain. The first option was to try and discover where the "shot heard 'round the world" happened. The second was to take Lorraine to the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance. I was already in Lexington, and because I don't know how to play "Johnny B. Goode" on guitar, I chose the first.

So there we were, jamming to Huey and the News and meeting with Doc and Marty. I kneeled down to pet Einstein and inspect the flux capacitor to make sure it was fluxing. Doc leaned over my shoulder and talked to me about his machine going on and on about plutonium and gigawatts. At one point I turned to him and said, "You know, I bet if this baby hits 88 mph you get to see some serious shit." He wasn't amused, but Marty was and out of pure gesticulation slapped the top of the driver's side door.

We cranked the time circuits to April 19, 1775 and took off.

Kathryn and I canoed up the Concord River to the North Bridge where David Brown's farm was. We saw the Lexington Green where Capt. John Parker and the colonists made their first armed resistance to the British soldiers. And we saw many places in between, like where Paul Revere was finally captured. Where was the "shot heard 'round the world" fired? Here's the deal:

The British were on their way to Concord. That is where the colonists stashed all of thier arms and ammo. The Redcoats were intent on getting those weapons to prevent colonists from shooting them. To get to Concord the Brisitsh had to go through Lexington. That's where the first altercation occurred. Captain John Parker and the men of town stood, fully armed, in the path of the Redcoats. A skirmish ensued and nobody knows who fired the first shot. Eight colonists were killed and ten were wounded. The British suffered one injury and no casualties. The rebels retreated. The British marched on to Concord and found more armed colonists at the Concord River. About 400 minutemen stood in the field on the western side of the north bridge to meet the British force of 96. Another shot rang out and more fighting took place: "The British attempted to cross the bridge. They were not shooting rubber bullets, this was war." This time the rebels were more successful and it was the Redcoats that retreated.

So there were two "first" shots fired. One in Lexington and another in Concord. The skirmish in Lexington happened first, but the shot in Concord began the first successful colonial resistance. Either way I'm betting it was the patriots that fired first.

Here's some pictures:

Kathryn and I at Fenway

The Concord Minuteman

The Lexington Minuteman (w/ a helper)

The old Brown Farm with the North Bridge in the distance

It's 1775. Do you seen woman in the Bonnet?

KT yelling to me about the Libyans that were in hot pursuit

The North Bridge

A cynical impression of New York City

"We could slip away. Wouldn't that be better? Leave with nothing to say. You in your autumn sweater."

The Northeast Regional pulls outside of New York's Penn Station at 6:55am and I can hardly wait to get to Boston. We're all on the inside of the train now, and most can hardly care. The numbers of paper (paper!) Starbucks cups in hand are rivaled only by the numbers of green ties and shoes that go click-clack, like a train down the tracks of career. A New York Times is at arm's length and a neck is stretched at popped collar's length while the glasses, fully fashionable and functionally fuzz-ridding glasses, are applied mid-face to find out about forgetful forces and feel good farces.

Outside there are men who will never be outside of New York City, that keep New York City running, exercising and healthy so other men, like me, may come and go as they please. Homes, family homes with kitchen tables and armchairs step on shoulder after shoulder after shoulder and rise only to see other shoulder steppers that too are surfacing to breathe something besides piss and garbage. I heard someone say, "This is New York City. America? That's a different place all together." True? Maybe. But for sure it is New Yorkers that are all together, in this shithole.

Maybe to some, those affluent or blind or both, it's a place to behold. They can polish away the rusts of wrongness with their accumulated quilts of cold cash. There is an awful lot of defensiveness here. I know why New Yorkers are proud of their city. It's because they must be, or they'll get so goddamned depressed running into elbows, paying six dollars for milk and fending off pretentiousness that it would be unbearable. So as it is in too many places, the top of the city's food chain revels in the diversity of its primary producers, delighting in delicious and different dinners every night. Shape suiters naively tag along, bouncing from the trophic trampoline of instinct up the American dream grapevine to pop grapes like apes.

Or apples. Big apples.

This is what I see on the trains. All of them. The trains that arrive and depart the city whiz and whir past projects, ghettos, and fields of industry. Acred cement slabs of industry, occupied by men that make 500 times less than the man that put them there, to be more precise. The city trains, they rock back and forth, the same way the pangs of escape must surely sway the desires of the train riders. Again, inside these trains I see men and women that will only ever see the inside of New York City. Some have their work boots kicked into the aisles and others carry children. They are beautiful children that may someday have a chance to climb atop the torpedo, rather than having it locked on them, threatening them forever. Its only a chance, but it's a chance -- a chance counting on a chance that counts on the currents of a river of chances. Of course the beautiful children first need mom and dad to make rent this month, and the next month, and the next month...

Top Nine Seinfeld Episodes

One of the things that I like about my blog is that it revolves around a couple of different suns and baseball of course, is one of them. Because of this I can post pretty much anything and just chalk it up to being "out of left field." My thinking is if popular lexicon can hijack the number seven position -- the rag arms of the outfield, the "it'll work" spot for the backup first baseman -- then I surely can use it and abuse it for my personal blogging purposes.

So, from out of left field...
 
I'm traveling to New York right now. That's where my favorite television show was set and the home of the Yankees (a George Costanza employer) and the Mets (Jerry's favorite team). In honor of my big apple arrival I'd like to list my top nine Seinfeld episodes. Here we go, off the top of my head and followed by my favorite line:

9) The Bizarro Jerry ("Hello, Vargus..")

8) The Chinese Restaurant ("You know we're living...in a society")

7) The Alternate Side ("These pretzels are making me thristy")

6) The Marine Biologist ("You know I always wanted to pretend to be an architect")

5) The Merv Griffin Set ("Say hello to our good friend George Costanza")

4) Festivus ("No bagel, no bagel, no bagel")

3) The Hot Tub ("You tell that son of a bitch no Yankee is ever coming to Houston")

2) The Pilot* ("If you took the raisins, if you didn't take the raisins -- They weren't even my raisins")

1) The Boyfriend* ("I'm Keith Hernandez")

*2-part episodes

A Change of Plans

In Portland minutes before departure

The bicycle has been taken out of the picture. It is now sitting in a barn in Ohio. I'm depressed about this, but not totally. I think there are some good things that can come from finishing the trip without the bike. All the signs were pointing me to continuing the journey without it, and who am I to argue with signs? Especially ones that can be interpreted in a myriad of ways.

The last time I actually rode my Jamis Aurora was in California. I had it in a box, ready to follow me to Oakland so I could use it to tool around the bay area. When I arrived at Jack London station my bicycle didn't. In fact, when I departed 3 days later the bike still had not made the northern voyage. I was concerned. I like my bicycle. I paid a lot of money for my bicycle. Why hadn't it made it to Oakland yet?

The explanation I received was because it couldn't fit on a bus. Here's the thing: I had to take a bus from L.A. to Bakersfield in order to hop on a train that went up the San Jacquin Valley to Oakland. The bicycle had to wait for a train that left L.A. and went straight to Oakland. I'm not sure why this took so long, but it wasn't until I was in Denver that I had a verbal confirmation of where my bike was.

Leaving my bike in LA

I stayed in Denver for six nights. It was on the second night that I learned my bicycle had finally made it to Oakland. On the fifth night it arrived, lights blinking I'm told, in Denver. So I could have easily been sans bicycle for the duration of my mile high stop. Fortunately for me I have nice friends in Denver. One of them is Mariel.

Mariel loaned me her bike for most of the time that I was in Colorado. Because of this I was able to get around town with ease and do most of the things that I had wanted, which included a night of trivia on the other side of town and the baseball game.

Denver also has a great system set up to rent bikes. There are these stations all over the city where bicycles are locked up, waiting for someone to pay for their use and then deposited at another station. The loan from Mariel, the ease with which I used public transportation in San Francisco and the bike rental experience fused with the trouble I had transporting my own bicycle to lead me to the decision of leaving the bike behind.

A bike rental station in Toronto

Another side of this is that many friends, acquaintances, and even complete strangers have reached out to help me along my trek. I've found that it is often convenient for those offering a bed or a meal to meet me with their automobile and my bicycle use has the potential to gum up the works of generosity. I am extremely appreciative of everybody's help and don't like adding inconveinece to the list of favors.

Things changed, or maybe it was my perception of the way things were that changed, and I had to adapt. Isn't that what we do? Anyways, flexibility is a part of travel. Or at least a major portion of the prescription of travel enjoyment. Rigidity and parameters added to a diet of over-planning and tight schedules can lead to hyper acute travelosis.

From this I hope to be able to focus more on the public transportation in the cities I visit. I am composing this from a restaurant in Toronto, ON, watching cyclists casually ride alongside cars and trucks along Church St. I got to the restaurant on Toronto's kick ass subway system. If their subway sytem wasn't so good I'd probably have taken a bus, like I did in Cleveland with my sister Julia.

I'm excited to see what the other cities have to offer and who the people are that use public transportation. A person I know wrote a poem and sent it to me the other day. In her poem she talked about seeing people on the bus and making up the stories of their lives in her head. I tell you, that is a lot of fun. Beyond the obvious societal benefits of a healthy public transportation system (we can all agree on that, right?) riding buses and city trains is an entertaining exercise in imagination.

More Pictures

For a week I'm taking a break from my trip to celebrate my good friend's (Jason) marriage, see some old friends, and visit family. Because Jason has been so close with the fam, my mom and sisters are flying in from around the country for the wedding too. So it will be a great reunion and I'm excited to have a good time. I'll be back to the blog late next week. Until then here are some pictures from the last week or so.

Having a catch

Bike Parking: $0

The thing about A's games: no lines

Following the Colorado

Amigo and Gia

LA

Home of the Rockies

The Skipper: Joe Maddon

Heads up 

The mutant peanut hand from outer space

Mariel and Lane (sad Rockies' fans)

Cross-country accomodations

Trivia Time

The trivia squad

Last night I went to play some trivia in Denver. Our team name was "Baseball Games, Trains & No Automobiles" and we were a foursome composed of myself and three other fantastic friends: Lane, Mariel, and Will. It was a heated back and forth contest for all 8 rounds. We finished in 3rd with 72 points, 3 behind the 1st place team. It was a blast and I thought I'd throw some baseball trivia onto the blog today:


How many times has Halley's Comet passed the Earth since the Cubs last won a World Series?

What 2B/SS combo has turned more double plays than any other?


What player was forced to abruptly end his baseball days with a career average of .356?

What pitcher had the most wins in the 1980's?

How many times did Joe DiMaggio strike out during his 56 game hitting streak?

When asked what his secret to winning was, Casey Stengel replied, "I never play a game without my man." To whom was Stengel referring?

Name 5 Bill Veeck stunts.

Name three teams that have installed solar panels somewhere in their home ballpark.

Who was the last switch-hitting MVP in the American League?

What did Jeffrey Leonard do to infuriate Cardinal pitchers in the 1987 NLCS?


*Answers*
Twice
Lou Whitaker and Alan Trammell
Shoeless Joe Jackson
Jack Morris (162 wins)
DiMaggio struck out 5 times
Yogi Berra
Brought Eddie Gaedel to the plate (he was a midget), put the White Sox in short pants, grandstand managers day (the fans decided when the team stole, bunted, pulled pitchers, etc.), disco-demolition night, made Harry Caray sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame", and the first exploding scoreboard just to name a few
Arizona, Boston, and Colorado come to mind. The new look Miami Marlins will have a state of the art "green" stadium as well.
The AL MVP in 1971 was a pitcher, Vida Blue.
After hitting a home run he rounded the bases with "one flap down."