Frum Outdoorsman: Rare but Possible

The wanderings and adventures of an orthodox Jew

Archive for the ‘Kayaking’ Category

Kayaking the west branch of the Sacandaga River

Posted by Frum Hiker on May 29, 2007

Little whirlpools with slight amounts of foam at their sides form as my paddle dips sideways into the golden water, forcing me smoothly ahead with every dip. The water gargling is the only sound unnatural to my surround dings, brisk gusty winds shake the trees and they creek and moan as the atmosphere purges itself of some sort of weather front moving invisibly yet forcibly across the land.

The water has a murky look from afar, completely flat until my kayaks hull gently glides across its surface parting its murky surfaces to reveal white sand and sunken logs covered with moss just beneath its placid surface. So calm is the water in front of me that the reflection is picture perfect, showing the mossy pine trees, fern covered rocks and earth hills sitting right on the creek. The pine trees are producing this smell that is so Adirondack in nature I can just imagine myself hiking up one of the high peaks and just before the tree line is crested, that smell hits you, that decaying pine cone-needles smell combined with the stunted top of the mountain trees and the wind whipping the bald crag and all of the contents below the mountain can be smelled with the pine. Tree line pine I think to myself as I breath in heavily and exhale, the type of breathing that one who lives for the moment and truly appreciates their surroundings can truly enjoy.

I pull my feet out of the kayak and stretch them out on top of the small red boat. I adjust my chair and just look up at the soft fluffy cumulus clouds that are being blown to the east rather quickly in this strong, weather fronted wind. I am protected from the wind, in this creek, actually a river though hardly so.

No more then 10 feet wide and 1 foot deep in some places, the West Branch of the Sacandaga River is a paddler’s paradise. I was told about it last year and all year long while my kayak sat derelict on the side of my house providing a winter home for spiders and worms, I waited until kayak season began. On Friday I drove past the very place I was paddling now and thought that it looked so inviting, this little sliver of water could be seen from the road every now and then snaking its way through vast swampy plains surrounded by low lying hills and pine covered flatlands.

Then yesterday Memorial Day, I was in my car blasting some live Alman Brothers Band trying to compensate for the humming of the straps keeping my kayak on my roof. The West Branch of the Sacandaga River lies in the southern Southern Adirondacks just north of Caroga Lake, New York. The closest city is Gloversville- about 30 miles away. The road that it lies off of is Route 10, multiple parking spots are available to put in. I parked at the most crowded one- because I figured it was the best. Route 10 itself is a beautiful road with tons of swimming holes, kayaking and hiking trails and also has a large shoulder to ride a bike on.

I kayaked upstream and besides the serenity which I noticed immediately, the scenery was amazing and constantly changing. The river itself is very clear when passing near the water, from afar it has a murky black water feel. Looking over the sides of my boat I could see multiple dead logs, rocks and water plants gently swaying in the hardly noticeable current, in fact I was leisurely paddling upstream with hardly any effort- besides the few beaver dams which had to be portaged. I tried in vain to paddle through their openings- but I lost being shot back out just as I crested the opening within the dam.

At first I was surrounded by low lowing marsh and could hardly see out over it, little channels lead everywhere and I could see birds and small animals scurrying about as my slight wake slapped against the shore. The all of the sudden the marsh gave way to thick forest mostly pine and lots of lush ferns jutting out of the moss covered rocks on the shore of the river. Sand bars on the side of the water made for amazing summertime relaxing and swimming holes were abound. The topography of the river bed itself was amazing. Despite its narrowness it was quite deep in some places and it was interesting to see how it was 10 feet deep and all of the sudden the bottom of my boat gently hit sand bars. The sand was beautiful and made for great walking if someone wanted to get out and splash around in the stream. Only towards the end of the road for upstream paddling did any rocks appear.

The scenery was amazing as was the solitude despite the fact the road could never have been more then a half mile from where I glided swiftly along the placid black surface. I met some nice people from Northville and had a lazy afternoon chat about different paddling spots in the southern Adirondacks. I like the southern Adirondacks better, because the downstate folks who make the trip usually go north leaving the south to locals and the less rowdy types who usually venture north to the Saranac Chain Lakes Region. The told me about a lake I could hit up on the way back downstream and about a few creeks in the Great Sacandaga Lake area.
west branch

On the way back downstream I took the couples advice and took a turn at this one little side creek. Soon the trees were replaced by marshes, but this time the marshes were very low and gave me a full vantage point. I could see a few miles in either direction and was amazed to find I was surrounded by some mountains and one of them had a bare rock cliff. In the foreground were some awesome swamps with half dead pine trees and lots of bushes and water plants. The stream was very narrow to get to the lake and once I got there the wind picked up a lot in the open area. So windy was it that I noticed I was paddling and not moving so I turned around.

I got out of my kayak and put it on the roof of my car, my muscles felt great and it was the first upper body workout I had gotten in ages. The wind was slight and the sky was bright so I took my road bike from my trunk and decided to take a ride. I ended up riding 11 miles north on Route 10, to the Piseco Lake Outlet otherwise known as Big Bay. This another beautiful paddling spot I have noticed and if not for the wind creating choppy conditions I would have kayaked here as well. I sat on the shore and took a nap as I listened to the waves lapping the shore and the wind swaying the trees.

This site has a list of many canoe and kayak spots in the Adirondacks and I find it to be very useful.

Posted in Adirondacks, Kayaking, Road Biking | 8 Comments »

Dreaming of summer

Posted by Frum Hiker on March 8, 2007

Its about that time of year that everyone starts talking about how they are sick of the cold and the snow, though barely two months ago everyone was talking about global warming and how its been the warmest winter on record. I can even recall one Friday afternoon in January riding my bike in shorts and a t-shirt on completely thawed and dry trails in the Newburgh area. I can remember tasting the sweat coming off my helmet and the mud caking my bare legs and I marveled at the sunny skies and the fact that it was getting dark at 4:30 yet I was in my summer gear riding trails that haven’t seen snow in months. I could hear shots in the distance from small game hunters and I could see the boot prints and shotgun shells scattered about from the recently over dear season.

Like many folks I long for those long lazy days of summer. I sit in my car, and look for any signs of buds on the trees or any grass poking through the thick quickly browning shroud of snow that has been melted and refrozen like an ice cream pint defrosting in a freezer- to the point that its once beautiful sight of soft fluffy layering has been mixed into a construed field of icy, brown nastiness.

All I can do is wait and dream, daydream about all the hiking I will do- once the days get long and the sun hovers in the late day sky 9oclock at night, still setting, a huge orange blaze on the horizon spewing its brilliant orange, pink and purple hues in every which way as far as the eye can see. I can long for those sticky hot humid days, driving down some dirt road, with all four windows open, shirtless, feeling my back sticking to my leather seats, blasting some rocking country music with those shrill sounding fiddlers and listening to the whistling of the wind as it passes through my two bikes strapped to my roof. Small rocks slapping the underbody of my car, win flowing through my hair, sweat pouring down my unshaven face, not a care in the world, watching the trees fly by like picket fences in suburbia.

I long for those days spent, hiking up endless hills, 40 pounds strapped to my back, weeks worth of food and my heavy breathing the only sounds for miles. I long for the nights spent snuggled in my sleeping bag, quietly listening for the rustling of bears in the woods, praying to God that they don’t eat me tonight. The sounds of my MSR filter swooshing the clear contents of mountain streams through its silicon, drinking that natural water – straight from the source- no middle men. Sitting peacefully on top of mountains, no people or roads for 25 miles in any direction, soaking up the sun, carefully plotting my route on my topo-map, imagining all of the cool stuff yet to be seen. Feet aching from 25 mile day hikes, sucking it up and eating my nasty dehydrated food- just to see what the next 25 miles has in store. Just another mountain, valley, night spent in the woods.

I long for outdoor shows, sitting on the lawn and rocking out to some hardcore live music, maybe some Shakespeare, maybe some art thing, anything, just give me it outside. How about some small town fairs or county fairs, farm contests and rodeos, places for small town Americans to gather and gossip and share stories about how they grew Franklin Counties largest eggplant.

I long for clear blue streams, slowly gurgling over rocks, me sitting in just a pair of shorts- life jacket and holding my paddle, old bottle of mountain dew and a couple of energy bars- flying around in the hull, just paddling my little red kayak down Sacandaga River or Canandaigua Lake or anywhere else. Paddles dip gently in the still water, and the only sound is the slight part in the water created by my hull. Large birds fly around amongst their homes in the cattails and reeds and I lay on my back staring up at the ever changing shapes in the clouds.

Most of all I long for the feel of my bike between my legs. Pounding up and down hills, jumping over logs, the feel of caked mud up and down my legs, face and arms- mixing with bloodied elbows and sweat drenched t-shirts. The sounds of the chain slapping the chainstays as I fly down rock strewn paths that snake through the countryside. Rocks hitting my tires and my suspension moving in every which way – as I get lost in my own world. My lungs crying out for air and my camelback nearly empty at the end of an epic 20 mile ride on some gnarly trails. Or the feeling I get when riding in NYC down the bike path by the west side highway and munching on some candy- while seated on a bench in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge. I think of hanging out with my baggy pants punk rockin pierced up friends at some local skate park thinking of lines- just sitting on my bike waiting for the bowls to clear up.

And so I sit at my computer thinking of more posts and dreaming of summer- hope is in sight though- this weekend starts the warming trend and temps as high as 50 degrees are expected for next week

Posted in general Outdoors, Hiking, Kayaking, Mountain Biking, Rural America | 1 Comment »

Winning the battle against the yetzer harah while kayaking Lake Durant

Posted by Frum Hiker on December 27, 2006

Do you know how hard it is to find some solitarian kayaking in the Adirondacks in the summer? I never even thought about how crowded it is up there in the summer until recently, hundreds of cars from downstate and NJ swarm the area to hike, and paddle the wilderness areas of the high peaks area of Lake Placid, Keene and Saranac Lake. I usually hike in other areas in the summer just because I live and play upstate to get away from the very people that flock there to do the same.

I was up in the Ticonderoga-Lake Placid area for work and figured I could do some good kayaking on some peaceful, serene, island filled lakes. To my chagrin every single lake I passed in the Saranac Lakes paddling region was filled to the brim with jet skiers, canoes, and motor boats enjoying the 95 degrees out on the water. I so wanted to be out there too, but by myself without the noisy boaters and loud children.

So I did what any man would do, I kept driving further south on route 30 in search of the less touristy areas until I found it, a gem lake featuring no place to launch a boat. Actually there was no place for me even to launch my kayak, besides a semi road that required a high clearance vehicle to get on. My Subaru scraped its underbody as I drove down the rutted muddy road into the woods on the side of Lake Durant. I drove about half mile and parked my car off to the side and prepared my boat for launch. Connecting my paddles, donning my life vest, getting a water bottle and grabbing some chow I eyed the beauty that stood before me. The lake was black and wavy watered void of any other boats, it featured several islands and rocks planted smack in the middle of the lake.

I eased my kayak into the water and let my paddles do the work. The only sounds I could hear was the strong wind obviously bringing in some sort of front, my paddles dipping methodically into the water, and the water lapping against my hull. Silence was imminent on this lake void of people. I paddled around the lake going up to the shoreline to gaze into the clear water to spot the fish that usually hand out by the shore, frogs were a flying and reeds were gasping for life as I carelessly paddled through them. I spotted a flat rock in the middle of the lake and hoisted myself onto it after I had been paddling for around an hour or so. It was refreshing lying in the breeze, gazing out at Blue Mountain which jutted out of the horizon only a few miles away. Its exposed cliffs and 3,500 foot summit made for a spectacular backdrop. I was cursing the yetzer harah for bugging me to swim during the nine days. The rock was situated so that right off the rock the water depth was at least ten feet a perfect swimming point, the air was also hot making it more inviting. I started screaming out loud that I was not going to succumb to his wishes and to my surprise held my ground.

I was in almost heaven, lying on this rock in the middle of the lake, a cool westerly wind, and the water gently lapping at the edges of my island. The pine trees surrounding the lake were giving off that thick northern scent that one usually gets while hiking in Maine or Northern Ontario. Though I wanted to swim this was just as good. Sitting there munching on fiddle faddle, and drinking lukewarm water out of a bottle that had seen better days.

Posted in Kayaking | 1 Comment »

Important websites for frum Jews interested in the outdoors

Posted by heshman on July 21, 2006

www.trails.com – lists many local hiking trails, they charge but some services are free.

www.mtbr.com – the greatest site on earth, classifieds for mountain bike parts, trail reviews- the best feature, with over 250 trail reviews w/directions in NY State alone. Furthermore the trail reviews can be searched by closest town.

www.pinkbike.com – another great site with photos, classifieds, and tons of other cool stuff. Mainly geared toward the downhill, freeride and urban crowd. My crowd.

www.krudco.com – in order to find the list of all of NYS skateparks go to links and click on list. The closest park to the Jewish Catskills is in Port Jervis and it aint too great.

www.jewishoutdoorsclub.com –  frum singles doing what most singles dont.  rock climbing, hiking, biking, even ice climbing and more.

www.frumsatire.wordpress.com – site that makes fun of fruumies in a satirical manner, I know the dude well and he’s quite a joker, also a fellow outdoors frummy dude.

Posted in Hiking, Kayaking, Mountain Biking, Rock Climbing, Skiing | 1 Comment »

Kayaking on Otsego Lake

Posted by heshman on July 6, 2006

Squinting sweating, and extremely thirsty at the same time, I role over and check my watch sitting on my sun baked window sill. 10:15am, not too bad, why the hell is it so hot already I wonder to myself. I take a swig from the lemon lime seltzer that is perched up against my bed. It is warm and flat, but I let the last hints of refreshingness wash over my palate. I hurry to the bathroom to embark on my ritual peeing session. About to don my teffillin, I realize I need to take a dump, good, I can read the atlas and wonder where to go. I am already thinking I will definitely take my kayak out. Man it is so hot my ass is sticking to the seat already, hmm Adirondacks or Catskills. In the corner of my mind I am recalling my phone message left last night on my new friend Michelle’s machine stating my offer for a hike today. I know she will probably be busy, and hates cell phones so it will take her some time to get back to me. Maybe G-d is kicking me back about my anti-cell phone theories. This always happens by the way, meet some girl get all gung-ho and then wait frantically for their phone calls while convincing myself that there may be some future with them.

Is there a future with this girl, I think, as I drove my car with my kayak on top down the thruway going west. My kayak is making a racket as I bob my head to some Reel Big Fish blaring on my 8 speakers trying to take my mind off of the glistening sweat beginning to accumulate between my legs and Man-boobs. I guess Catskills win- based on my decision to be closer to home should this girl actually call. I say I don’t play games, but if I wasn’t I would just call her back- NO I cant look too desperate. Cooperstown 51 miles, I didn’t know it was that far. Down route 20 I go, US Route 20 is the alternate route west of I-90, pre-interstate this was the main route from Boston to San-Francisco, I like these old main routes because they tend to be the most dilapidated since the Interstate tends to take 99% of traffic away from them. They tend to littered with signs of our road trip past, old ice cream stands, gas stations, abandoned motor lodges and old signs beckoning weary travelers to stop and eat or sleep or play. These icons of American culture are almost all gone in the eastern edge of this country though in the west where things are replaced at a slower pace they tend to last through the re-deveopment of landscape into suburban shopping centers. My mind drifts back to Michelle and our chance meeting. One week ago my friend Chavi approached me and said that her friend Michelle was asking about me and was going to email me from myspace.com. I never have much to do with myspace being that I think that stuff is ridiculous. Well I felt like I was in high school again checking my email 5 times a day waiting to hear response from the message I sent to her. Why was she so cool? She is beautiful and according to her profile a music junky and into hiking, and frum, oh heshman is falling for some girl who sent him a one lined email.

Last Wednesday night I was at Chavi’s house listening to some music, when she all of the sudden called Michelle to ask why she never emailed me. Then I was placed on the phone with her, and for the next 3 hours I was thoroughly impressed with this girl whom I had never met or seen. Very easy going, I asked her to meet me for some live jazz the next night- to which she agreed- though she tried to imply it was not a date- of course it wasn’t because I aint paying, or picking up I thought to myself. I meet her at the muddy cup- and am shocked at her beauty- she is I would have to say one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen and she is wearing a skirt and long sleeves. We jump easily into conversation ranging from the quality of art adorning the coffee shops walls to the recent gay marriage amendment to the music of Steve Vai to making fun of seminary girls. She asks me if I wanna walk instead of sitting inside the noisy café. A few things I want to note- this girl is not shy with me at least at all. She is extremely expressive and not afraid to say whats on her mind- most girls do not do this. It is eventually me who tells her it is getting late and I must go to sleep. Heshman has met and befriended the hottest coolest chick, now what happens is always the same- I fall for the girl- eventually tell her, get rejected the classic we can be friends line, then I sulk for a day or two, then realize she wasn’t for me, then become better friends and wonder how could have ever liked her in the first place.

I slam the stick into 2nd gear from 5th and pull a ghetto u-turn to focus my attention at one of the oddest cars I have ever seen. A bright green 1960’s VW Beetle jack up about 4 feet with huge truck tires sits awaiting a mad buyer willing to shell out $6,000 for this hulking beast. You know I should publish a photography book on the things for sale on the sides of back roads in rural America.

There is nothing like a Sunday afternoon driving down some windy dirt road with your kayak and bikes on the roof rack, shirt off, blasting some bluegrass or 80s metal, with no real destination. The twang of the banjo, the flow of the fiddle, and the noise of rocks slamming up against my cars underbody, the sweaty towel acting as my seat cover, so my back doesn’t stick to my leather car seat, the sneer of foreign car drivers as they stare at me and whisper “white trash” amongst themselves.

I am in Cooperstown NY, home to the farmers museum and baseball hall fame, home to a beautiful main street, and sides streets lined with beautiful Victorian homes, also home to Otsego Lake- stretching about 15 miles north starting in downtown Cooperstown. As a child my dad would take us here and we would ride this old wooden boat that made trips up and down the lake. I was always fascinated by this castle like structure sitting in the middle of the lake. It was my intention to kayak out to it and check it out. The lake was very crowded- and the boat launch charged 10 bucks to my dismay, so I had to park on some side street and walk my boat to a beach where it would be free. I have not kayaked yet this season so I knew my arms would hurt from the workout.

Even in the crowded lake with all the party boats and jet skiers speeding about, I did not fail to find my own solitude and happiness. Lounging on my kayak lost in my own thoughts, frying on the sun, dipping my feet in the water off the sides, and munching on a protein bar, ah a little piece of heaven. I always dreamed of being able to go boating whenever I wanted- as a New Yorker you don’t think things like this are possible, you think only rich people can afford boats because the only boats you ever see are yachts. For some reason I am singing at the top of my lungs Zoot Suite Riot by the Cherry Poppin Daddies- where the hell did this come from?

I finally after an hour of paddling, chilling, and singing reach my castle like structure- really it is only about 100 feet from the shore connected with a strip of rock. It appears to be some sort of mini-church- cool non-the less. It is interesting because with kayaking I cannot do it for more then 2 hours- I blame it on A.D.D. but who knows- maybe lack of action, I can bike for hours on end.

The second I get out of my kayak back at shore I feel the heat of the day once again. It hits you like a truck but the water is way to cold to swim in. I sit at the shore on a bench and watch the few families swimming and wading in the water. A family of fat people is providing me with thoughts, as a man on a bike with a few kids pulls up. I begin comparing the families. One skinny one fat to each other. Fat family- loud noisy father has a tattoo, Skinny family- nicer swimsuits politely spoken and good bike. Hmm…as a sociologist I must say fat people must be poorer and have less access to healthy foods, gyms, workout equipment, fancier foods with lower fat content, etc….Or maybe they are just lazy hmm…Ok I got to go do some riding and check my phone for that holy grail phone call from Michelle. Let me tell you how I know I am getting desperate, on Sundays I never leave my phone on- but for that missed call from Michelle- I was looking forward to all during my kayak- no I did not get it, so I relented and called her- did not leave a message because she would know what I was calling about. 30 minutes she called me back to apologize for not calling- I of course know she hates cell phones and do not expect her to call so quickly- and say that I am on the road wandering and its no big deal for her not to come hiking. It isn’t but of course I want to see her badly.

With that down the drain I continue to drive south east on route 23 going nowhere in particular just enjoying the wavy long grass waving in the hot, humid, breeze. How I wish it were august- the Catskill roads dotted with makeshift farm stands selling my favorite – cherry tomatoes, orange ones, and yellow ones. Oh how I long for the sweet, dirt covered, fruits, filling up old plastic bags in my front seat. The future cornfields are now just long rows of semi-plowed dirt waiting for the callused hands of their loved farmers to plant this year’s crop of corn, soybeans, or my luxurious cherry tomatoes.

There is one thing I especially like of this part of the season. My first whiff of freshly cut long grass being cut by old men on Sunday afternoons, riding their John Deere’s across their 5 acre manicured lawns or fields as we city folk would call them. How I love the smell of fresh long grass, normal grass just doesn’t cut it. Seeing those old men dressed in short khaki shorts, and plaid button down shirts, opened, shirttails waving in the wind exposing their chest hairs, makes my nostrils long for the inevitable. Like a fine dry red wine with fish, the only thing that accompanies this smell is the banjo, fiddle, and mandolin, simultaneously joined with old Kentucky coal miners’ perfectly harmonious voices, singing about the Confederacy and their love of Jesus.

I feel a headache coming on from the heat and decide I will drive aimlessly rather then ride, its already 5:30pm so I should start heading back anyway. I hook a right onto mountain ave in Stamford- home to the headwaters of the Delaware river, mountain ave becomes a dirt road and at some point there is a turn off to drive to the top of Mt. Unsyantha- I remember my father trying to drive up the road and turning around- we did have a Camary and only front wheel drive, so I figured it would be another test for my all wheel drive car. Throwing it into first then quickly second and staying there I slowly made my up the narrow, rocky, rutted toad, to the top. I do enjoy knowing that if I get stuck I am screwed and will have to back down because there is no room for a u-turn. My car is bumping around and rocks are flying, suddenly a break in the trees reveals a pull off accompanied by a 3000 foot hazy view of the farmland below. This is indeed a good reward, though after laying there soaking it up for 10 minutes the large black flies become unbearable and I continue to the very top. At the top there is a small history of the park and a fire tower, again the flies annoy me and I decide to make my way down. At about midway down I encounter a small compact car fearfully lead footed on his breaks trying not to die as they go down. I make my move to pass and it moves aside- I pass by fast leaving them in awe of my driving abilities and in a cloud of dust. I then decide to drive on this road I once found but wasn’t very safe for my Volvo, low clearance and front wheel drive issues are letting me discover once impassable roads all over again. Road Seven- not even containing a sign that states “limited use highway” usually roads that are more suited to 4 wheel drive vehicles are noted as such- this road should have been. Midway I notice 3 raccoons eying me from a tree, I snap a few pictures at their curious fuzzy selves and continue on my journey into the unknown.

For some reason whenever I am in the Catskills I always take route 32 back to Albany and not the thruway- no matter how tired I am. Well about 20 miles south of Albany I turn on some road that I think hooks up with this other road- ghetto country roads short cut I think. I am listening to the Doors now- wondering if Michelle likes them since she is a Dylan fan and all. All of the sudden I hit it- the dread that one like myself gets when we are welcomed back from our trance by encountering that first suburban plaza or first cul-de-sac. Oh how I hate seeing a store larger then a bathroom stall with those bright florescent lights, containing a bunch of yellow Ford Explorers packed to the brim with children returning from soccer games, eating popsicles. How I instantly long for those lines of people gawking at classic cars at the roadside ice cream stands, How long for that smell of fresh grass caught between the blades of a John Deere riding mower, how I long for dilapidated towns with the closest thing to a shopping plaza is the general store next to the gas station. After the suburban hell sets in and my eyes adjust to the sore sights of the concrete jungle and the pre-fabricated Victorian wanna be homes, the thought of the week of work ahead fills my mind with even more longing for the open road, the woods, and the safe hull of my kayak floating down Otsego Lake.

The upside of this reawakening is the reminder that whenever I want, the woods, fields, streams and small towns are merely a few miles down the road from all this madness. I find myself once again driving 70 MPH on a scenic-free stretch of road sunken between long blocks of look-alike homes with their foreign cars and i-pod yielding children. I am driving through the everyday world of nothingness and materialism. We enter, drive and exit without a sense of feeling. We the drivers constantly angry trying to get ahead of the next- longing to make the next light- before it casts us down to waiting amid our hulking plastic and metal cocoons. One would think with the invention of leather seats, 8 speaker sound systems, DVD, and satellite radio drivers would be a more peaceful breed. But no we drive with our windows shut look straight ahead with a look of “if you fucking look at me I will tear your head off” look.

I drop off my kayak at my buddies house where I will be moving in a week or so. And Drive to a suburban plaza to buy some frozen TV dinners for the week ahead, even I can only escape the world of shopping malls, cul-de-sac’s and chain stores- I am always thrust right back into it.

The music of the city accompanies me as I make my way back to my apartment in downtown Albany. I am once again racing with the tinted windowed SUV with spinning wheels to the next light. I am once again listening to the harsh voices of metal heads barking of fast cars and hot women rather then harmonious voices singing of southern pride and Jesus. I have once again arrived home.

Posted in Kayaking | 6 Comments »