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May 20, 2005
Sun Set Splash
Posted by Ocean at 01:37 AM | Permalink | | Comments (0)
Splash of Photo-Synthesis
Posted by Ocean at 01:16 AM | Permalink | | Comments (0)
May 19, 2005
An Extra Week
One fine summer several years back, I found myself in the curious situation of having an extra week of vacation. Having no plans, and no friends around who were out of work, I figured I'd hit the beach, do some fishing, catch up on to-do lists, and try to repair some entropy. That lasted about two days.
I woke up and decided to go for a ride. I packed in half an hour and was off. Saddle bags hanging on the back, backpack bungy netted on the back seat, and a tank bag. Plenty of room. It was a good set-up. I scrunched into the cockpit, the backpack providing a backrest, the tank bag a comfortable pillow to lean my chest on. The Kawasaki GPZ 750 was a sport bike, but its relative upright rider position was very comfortable for a long haul.
Being it was summer, meant there was really only one general direction - North. No maps needed. I had my helmet's face shield up as I drove through the congestion of the bridges and construction zones outside of NYC. Then North. Away. I probably should have checked the weather, but the Throughway has plenty of overpasses to rest under when the light sprinkles turns to torrents. I needed two of them, then pulled into a rest stop for a bathroom break. OK, now I was a bit wet, and I must have had crazy helmet hair, but all those staring eyeballs made me uncomfortable. I used the facilities and washed my hands and...holy crap! My face was speckled dirty, almost black. Do not ride through NYC with the visor up!
Somewhere up in the Adirondacks, tired and hungry, I pulled into a comfortable little restaurant. Strech my legs and seat myself at a quiet table off to the side. The waitress comes over.
"Out for a long ride by yourself, huh?"
"Yep."
"I'm just getting off. Beer?"
"Yep."
Back with two cold pints of beer, "Mind if I join ya?"
"Nope."
I was an enjoyable dinner. Guess I did a good job washing my face. Another 20 minutes down the road, I find a cheap little hotel and get a room key. I'm tired. Its raining. I drive the bike through the door and park it next to the bed. My baby. No need to unpack.
The dawn wakes me up and I'm ready to ride. I go out toward's the office for coffee. The old lady who owns the joint yells at me, "Where the hell is your bike?"
"Um, its in the room - it was raining and - don't worry, it doesn't leak oil - I..."
"Oh", laughing, "I don't care about that. I thought it was stolen! Go get yourself some coffee. I just made it."
"OK, thanks." Cool.
Smooth, twisty, single lanes winding through the mountains are the best roads to ride. It becomes a moving meditation. Both feet, both hands on automatic, your body swings its weight into the gravity void inside the curve. Into the zone. Fortunately there are two sides to every coin. Open another corner of your mind, and slow the bike down. The Adirondacks are just to pretty to race through. Pull over at nice spots and look around. Drink from a clear stream. Take an hour to gaze at a pair of Peregrine falcons doing their thing.
Off into the east, the Green Mountains of Vermont are softer, gentler, with miles of green rolling hills. Hit the throttle. Its 1AM. The cool of the night has fog settled low in the valleys. Its getting late and I'm in the middle of nowhere with no clue. I'm just riding the twists at 75mph, enjoying, until I find somewhere to crash. Pun not intended. Then I smell -
~~~~~~
Then I smell - COWS. The STRONG smell of cows. Manure and cows. Backing off the speed, I slice a corner and find almost no room left to break. Cows. (If you ride, it is a very, very good thing to practice hitting the front brake hard, at speed. Maximum front brake without skidding is the second fastest way to stop, the fastest way being to hit something). Like cows. They are sleeping in the road. Over 50 of them. I stopped with a good 10 feet to spare, but the closest one didn't even flinch. Not even a moo! I beep my horn - still no moo. And they are not about to move, let alone moo. Weaving through them is harder than negotiating those cones during the licsencing test. At least if I fell over the bike would be ok. The cow too, I'm sure.
The White Mountains of New Hampshire contain some of my favorite spots in New England. Its 79F at the base of Mt.Washington. At the summit, its 37F. Rugged beauty. On the decent, my breaks start burning, even though I'm abusing the gears to slow me. This area is as close as the east gets to the west. At the bottom, I collect my little "This Bike Climbed Mt. Washington" bike bumper sticker, which is kind of cool, but its not going on the bike.
Still heading east, I'm scouting out a place to camp along the Kangamangus Hwy. This gorgeous stretch is famous for its own congestion when the leaves peak. Apparantly the leaves on this road are "special". To be fair, it is a special place. I pull over here and there for some short hikes and watering holes. Doubling back, locate my spot - an grassy road with a boulder blocking traffic. I head in and find a nice bed of pine needles for me sleeping bag. Dinner is GORP. Cashews, peanuts, sunflower seeds, raisins, and M&M's. I sleep early with the darkness and cool pine air. Long day tomorrow.
Further east, down route 302 to Naples, Maine. Great food and a beer at Rick's cafe. Watching para-sailing and float planes on Long Lake from my outside table. I'm starving. The result of last night's dinner. Clams, mussels, lobster, corn on the cob. Twenty minutes south, I pull into a special place. One particular cove on Sebago Lake. I say hi to friends and swim in the refreshingly cold water. Its still "refreshing" in June. Its too nice here, I stay the night.
In the morning, I hit the interstates heading south. Paying tolls is a pain in the butt when you are on a bike. But there is always room on the ferry when you have no reservation. Its a rough day, so the crew ties my bike to the iron rafters with heavy rope. Across Long Island Sound and I'm home.
I check my phone messages. The boys want to go riding. If they massage my butt. We settle on fishing.
(too tired to read, proofread, or edit... so its a too early release like everything else. I'll be back. I have fans now, ya know ;)
Posted by Ocean at 07:04 PM | Permalink | | Comments (2)
May 11, 2005
Full Moon Fever
Cozumel, Mexico.
Some secrets are better left unrevealed. Then again, who knows how long it will last?
Cozumel is an island of limestone, 12 miles off the Yucatan Peninsula. It is across from Playa Del Carmen, a bit south of Crazy (Cancun). A strong azure current of 100-200ft visibilty flows through this 12 mile funnel, creating some of the best drift diving in the world. Spectacular coral reef formations and abundant and varied fauna provide a surreal backdrop to fly through. The reef is visually intoxicating when you are up real close. The intricacies of patterns, colors and lifeforms can hold your attention far longer than your air will hold out. Back up your ocular lenses a bit, and you feel spidermanlike, gliding in, through, and around 80ft skyscrapers of rugged coral. Just try not to touch. Fragile. Another world. This is no secret.
Back at the beach after two great dives, the boat deposits you back on the beach somewhere around 2PM. Plenty of day left. So many options - shopping at the Mayan jewelery, art, craft shops; perhaps a Margarita or three; back to the room for a nice romantic nap. The afternoon vacation time blends seemlessly into the night. Great restaurants. Night dives. "Carlos N Charlies", where you can smell tequila puke in small spurts as the cruise ships let off the young party crowd in downtown, San Miguel. (recommended, but only for a single 15 minute, people-watching drink). Most places have there own little quiet bar where you can enjoy the stories of you fellow divers. You can have your pick, as long as you are fresh for diving at 8AM. No secrets here.
However, on the night of the full moon, it is often wise to throw a chang-up into the plans. A fiesty little ex-girlfriend, (I'll call her "L" to protect the "innocent"?), and I strolled down to have a frosty beer while we figured out what else to do that night. It had been a great day of diving - material for another post. There was another couple at our outdoor bar. It turned out they were in some band from NYC. She was sitting on the bar, singing loudly, trying to be sultry and lounge-like. Is it actually possible to be more annoying? (No). He had endured this painful trial before, but all I got out of it was knowing that I wasn't wasting vacation-time around them.
Then she said it. "Are you guys going to the Full Moon Party? We rented a VW Thing. You could jump in the back!"...
~~~~~~~
There is a happening when the moon is full. Obtain a ride, and drive south along the coast, for about 20 or so miles. Stop when you see it. Its on the southern tip of the island.
The locals are of Mayan decent. Friendly, humble, proud, some great people. And they know how to throw a party. (although, I don't think they metabilize alcohol that well).
Park on the grass on the left side of the road. Then walk away from the party, across to road to the ocean. Large translucent turquois and aqua colored waves rolling in and breaking under moonlight strong enough to dive in. Hammocks swaying in the gentle breeze. Curse to youself for not bringing along your camera, because you have never quite seen this example of perfection before.
Back across the road. Find a good spot on the grass, amongst the 200-400 locals. Maybe 10% tourists. Dead center is the stage, a rectangular box about eight feet high. The band is amazingly good, pulsing the breeze with highly dancable reggae and rock. Close your eyes, and you would bet money the guitarist was Santana.
To the right is the consession area. Propane bar-b-que grilling burgers, hotdogs, chicken, fish, vegetables, and more. Huge coolers full of equal portions of ice and beer - cold! Cocktails. Salads. $1.50 / almost frozen beer. On the left is the bonfire. Its hard to get too close. The flames easily flash upwards of 20 feet.
Dance. Watch people. Fun. There was this one Mayan cowboy, complete with boots, spurs, bandana, denim, and turquois and silver who could easily walk into Hollywood as a star. He pulled off every aspect of his flair in such a genuine way that is a rarity these days. And he danced as a dolphin playing in waves, better than I've seen anyone dance in person, so weightless, fluid, graceful, yet masculine in movement. As far as women, I had brought my girlfriend "L", who was looking mighty fine, and as the party wound down, we had to find a ride back to town.
We started looking for a ride as we walked to the parking area at the road. I was looking for another couple, or small group with a bit of room, when L shouts me over with her ride. I say no. She says yes. I say no. She says come-on! I say OK, you'll see.
I'm finishing a bottle of Corona, under the full moon, in the open back of a big white work truck with 10 highly intoxicated male locals, "L", and three more guys in the cab. Its a two lane road, but the lanes are kind of wide, with dirt shoulders on each side. Our driver took great advantage of this set-up. When he felt or heard dirt under the left wheel, he pulled right. When he got dirt under the right wheel, he pulled left. My thoughts are now centered on visualizing how to land and roll without getting under the truck. That and the 10 drunk Mexicans staring at "L".
Suddenly the driver hits the dirt on the right, keeps going, bouncing through a small drainage ditch, and slowly, very, very, slowly comes to a stop in a clearing next to the road. No one says a word. We are in the middle of nowhere, and everyone just jumps off. It becomes apparant that this is the "rest area". Everyone gets off to take a piss, except the driver, who can't stand up - literally. They relieve him of his driving duties and prop him against the truck while he relieves himself.
We start up again with a new driver. "L" is now in the cab where it looked safer, and the previous driver is sleeping at our feet. The new driver ain't to bad - he's not even hitting the dirt, although he is having some trouble straddling the center line. I figure we are about five miles from town, when the driver hangs a right, inland. This is not towards town. The only guy who spoke english - lets make that the only guy able to actually speak - explains that they go this way to drop the work crew at their homes. Of course, this guy is the first to be dropped off. We zigzag left, right, left, right, going further inland, making stops to drop off people. About five people have been dropped off when the driver pulls over, says nothing, gets out, and walks to his home. This leaves no drivers. Next thing I know is the tranny is getting mangled, the gears are getting crunched, and the clutch is smoking. "L" was now driving. She starts following the same direction pattern - away from where we need to get to. I start to complain that we are getting too far off the beaten track. Then the 60 something year old drunk next to "L" starts trying to kiss her.
This whole atmosphere has been one of a small dose of danger, vigilance, and a whole lot of amusement. But now I am annoyed at being ignored like a ghostlike gringo. And things are getting out of hand. I bang on the top of the cab roof with my empty Corona bottle, and shout in the window to change direction. No response. Now I'm pissed off and worried. I break the bottle over the roof, swing over the bed railing, and stick my face in the window, yelling god knows what. Finally everyone got my message and we turn straight towards the center of town to where the pier embraces the cruise ships and subsequently gathers the police force. "L" pulls to the side smoothly, not really in a parking spot, and we hop out, cross the street ducking into the nearest club for a relief beer, leaving the truck running with half a dozen mexicans too drunk to drive or walk.
Ok, so we didnt dive the next morning. There's always night dives!
Posted by Ocean at 11:01 AM | Permalink | | Comments (2)
May 02, 2005
Empty My Cache
During the Carboniferous Period, about 290 million years ago, the forces of nature placed a large mass of igneous molten rock into the more ancient existing metamorphic rock. The result was the granite bedrock underlying much of the lakes region of south-western Maine. As the molten rock cooled, crystals of quartz and feldspar and slivers of reflective dark and light mica formed, giving the granite its colors of whites, light pinks, light tans. Varying fluid pressures allowed for variable grain size of the crystalline structure. Higher pressure and slower cooling time allowed the individual crystals to develop larger in size. There are also dark colored rocks, the result of Mesozoic Era (225 to 65 million tears ago) intrusions of new and different composition igneous molten rock. These dikes can be seen as the narrow bands of basaltic black, cutting through the light granite. Some of these rocks and formations are quite beautiful, but they are only foundation upon which the glacial ice sheets carved their art.The last ice sheet melted in retreat over 13,000 years ago. Glaciers are immensely powerful rivers of ice. They flow downwards at a slow pace, but the weight and pressures created by the flow over the lanscape is enough to carve out and pulverise the existing granite bedrock. This was this process that carved out an area that is today, roughly 47.5 square miles wide, reaching down to a depth of around 325 feet.
Sebago Lake is large enough to now serves as the public water supply for the city of Portland and surrounding areas. It also serves as Vacation land, due to its beauty. Surrounded by the evergreens of the Maine woods, the shoreline of the lake consists of sandy beaches, granite outcrops, boulders, and cliffs, and marshlands. The fresh air smells of pine, and the water of the lake is possessed by magical properties of which you can drink.
In summer, surface temperatures are pleasant for swimming. Dive to 100ft and you will feel youself pass through five to seven distinct thermoclines. Your bubbles will sound oddly crystalline. It is cold. The clarity of the water and the geological artwork allow you to endure the shivers.
There is this boulder the size of a huge house. It is cracked open in the middle - a split of three to four feet. Within this split opening are lodged many smaller boulders that didnt quite make it to the bottom. Fun swim-throughs. But what most people miss - is the cave. Its at the base of this split rock. You enter a small dark chamber which leads to a small opening. You need to take your tank off and feed it through, then follow. Your flashlight now reveals a small chamber that has a small drop-off ledge on the far side. You must be very careful not to stir up any silt. A dive partner can place his arm into the opening to remain in contact with your fins. However, if you wish to explore a little more, you must break contact. It is you alone. Proceed to the small drop-off ledge. With full arm extension, you can almost reach the bottom. There you will find a pillowcase. The contents of the pillowcase were hermetically sealed in a long fire-side night's worth of candle wax, almost four years ago.I have forgotten the brands and vintages, but I recommend the premium white with a Maine seafood dinner. The red will work, chilled on a cool fireside night. But dont wait to much time after the dive to celebrate with shots of some good, smooth, tequila. You won't need any rocks. ...Cheers!
Posted by Ocean at 10:58 PM | Permalink | | Comments (0)