It wasn’t the (hard) cider which made me surpass myself, it was the liberation we had torn away from the gray encroachments of 1943, the escape we had concocted, this afternoon of momentary, illusory, special and separate peace.   – John Knowles

It was a Saturday afternoon exactly two weeks ago when I got a life-altering phone call from my wife’s aunt. My brother-in-law, David Tate, arborist, lover of trees, and master tree climber, had passed away. Since his teenage youth Dave had been fighting bi-polar disorder, and after 36 years of life this powerful mental disturbance had finally overwhelmed him. Since David was a quiet man living a reclusive life, few people got to know him the way I did, and I feel somewhat compelled to offer the short biography of a man who only found peace on earth in the long-armed embrace of trees.

Our fates became intertwined in 2001. Dave had spent the last three years at Appalachian State College in the mountains of North Carolina but was abruptly cutting off his studies and coming home. He would tell me later that there was something about the SUV-driving pseudo-hippies wearing $80 tie dye t-shirts he found hard to stomach. When he showed up for his first day of work at my young tree care company I gained a better understanding of what his trouble had been with that confused faction of the college crowd.

David Tate at home in a tree

Dave tumbled out of his car at the jobsite looking more like a character from the Lord of the Rings than a 21^st century human. He was wearing tattered shorts and the remnants of what was once probably a pretty nice t-shirt. He turned his face slightly to the early morning sun and reached two hands over his head to corral his long mane of hair into a ponytail. I found myself wondering what kind of leather moccasins or sandals he might put on his feet, but you can imagine my astonishment when this visitor from middle earth walked across the yard in nothing but the footwear he was born with and asked “What do you want me to do?”

I know it sounds like I’m making this up, but I just don’t write fiction that well. And the story of David’s barefooted entry into his tree care profession gains legitimacy when you consider that this man loved his feet!  He loved especially his naked feet. He was quite handy with them, in fact, using them more adroitly than many humans use their fingered appendages.

If you invited Dave over to hangout or watch TV, you had to make sure that your coffee table was more than a Dave leg-length away from the couch, or else you might find him big-toeing his way through the pages of a book. If the TV remote was on the table you would see the channels changing while his hands were rested quietly in his lap. He would pick up pens or other objects with his toes and absentmindedly reposition them.

I suppose the fact that David was born with four hands predestined him to become one of the best tree climbers this world has seen. Once I convinced him to put some boots on and started sending him up a rope, it didn’t take long for him to discover his own special calling, and to begin forming bonds of brotherhood with the many tree climbers and tree workers who were in attendance at a ceremony to honor his life last week.

Tree climbing is one of the most physically and mentally demanding occupations a human can choose. But Dave’s special mastery of this profession required more of him than merely mind and body. Many times he and I found ourselves climbing in the same tree. Up there, 80-100ft above the surface and its hard-to-understand people, up there, at close range, I saw a man who poured not only his mind and body into his task, but his heart and soul, as well. The full portion of his being. This is a rare occurrence, I think, in the modern world. I was privileged to witness in Dave a man doing exactly what he was born to do.

The darker side of Dave’s illness led him into hopeless contemplations about the human condition, about capitalism and its narrow-spirited focus on material wealth, and about the increasing separation of man from nature. Not exactly the “grey encroachments of 1943” spoken of in Knowles’ book, but to a sensitive earth-dweller of 2013 grey encroachments nonetheless. David’s worst enemy was the television and its 24-hour news narrative of strife, conflict, and earth abuse. At earth level, Dave saw hopelessness. And this shy, often inexpressive, grounded David is the one that many people knew.

But I worked with Dave for about 8 years. We spent 10-11 hours of our day together for 8 years, and I was privileged to witness a Dave that you would have never known if you only experienced earth-level encounters with him.

Imagine this. It’s one of those hot Richmond summer afternoons where the smother of humidity thickens right up to quitting time. Imagine a man climbing through the canopy of a massive 150 year old oak tree. He’s covered in sweat and sawdust, muscular arms moving rapidly as his thick fingered, vice-grip hands grab whatever they can find for purchase. Fresh scratches on his arms intersect with the healing wounds from the day before, and the day before. He has risen above the complicated human nature of the people below, and is interacting with a more simple nature he understands and loves. Like a special artist or athlete his body moves in perfect harmony with his self, his soul, and his surroundings. This man you picture now is a master of his craft. His mastery is expressive.

Imagine a man expressing himself fully through action, motion, determination, and commitment. Imagine a man doing what he loves to do, using all four hands, more the son of nature than the son of man. Imagine that Mother Nature embraces her son and his abilities. The man feels strong, able, and complete, and returns the embrace. Imagine a man whose mind is quiet, whose motion is pure and instinctive. And standing out in brilliant relief against the canvass of a strange and uncertain American present, imagine a man who is content; a man at peace with himself and the natural earth he loves, enjoying  “this afternoon of momentary, illusory, special and separate peace.”  I saw him. He was real. This man who was more at peace among trees than people was real.

He was David Tate. Richmond has lost one of its greatest lovers of trees.

The international geocaching logo.

Remember when you were a kid and you’d spend an entire summer afternoon staging a treasure hunt with your neighborhood buddies? Well, now those days can be more than memories. The (socially acceptable) adult version of treasure hunting is called geocaching. You can geocache on your own, with your kids, or as a way to keep everyone happy at your next family reunion.

Geocaching is a kind of outdoor treasure hunting and can be done right here in Richmond. The basic idea is to seek and also hide your own treasures in the nooks and crannies of public spaces and then share the coordinates online (as well as any experiences or tips you might have). The “caches” vary in shape and size and can be more or less difficult to find. Your find might be a buried film canister or a giant rock with a secret compartment. But every cache has a log book, which you would mark and re-hide once you’ve found it.

All you need is a handheld GPS unit or an smartphone and a sense of adventure.

Brent Hoard is an active member of Central Virginia Geocaching, an online community that’s helping to grow interest in the sport all over the region, especially in Chesterfield and Henrico county parks. At Pocahontas State Park, visitors can research and seek historical “caches,” placed by park staff, to learn about a particular point of interest or historical event.  Both counties and the Virginia State Parks highlight geocaching as featured attractions on their websites.

“I tend to encourage new geocachers to try the sport for the first time in local or state parks,” Hoard said. “It supports parks systems and shows park management how much geocaching is valued. ”

Old ammo boxes are often used to hide caches.

Hoard not only shares his geocaching skills with newcomers to the sport in person and online, but has many off-the-wall (in a literal sense) experiences to share from cross-country geocaching treks. Many of the Richmond-area caches are Civil War themed, while a trip to Madison County might include a crossing over a long-forgotten covered bridge. Traveling to one cache spot in Henrico County includes walking past a rare triple-crossing railroad.

One of Hoard’s most memorable adventures occurred on a trip to Raleigh.

“I was part of a team that included climbing up a 200-foot smoke stack, followed by repelling down a 150’ rock face…the day ended with crossing a decommissioned bridge.”

It is possible to travel anywhere in the world and check out local treasures in communities nearby and in distant continents. A great website with locations all over the world, including locally, is geocaching.com. There is a wide range of caches on the site, from simple, easy-to-find ones up to “5-star” challenging hunts for the zealous treasure hunter.

What is the easiest way to satisfy your curiosity about this free, under-the-radar fun? Attend one of the local geocaching group meetings. Hoard is consistently impressed with the healthy attendance at his group’s meetings on the first or third Saturday of each month.

“I’d recommend finding an accomplished geocacher to accompany you on your first trip.  These meetings are great way to make some connections.”

Hoard’s enthusiasm in sharing his passion for finding treasures, and discovering new spots and landmarks right in your own community is infectious.

“I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard someone say – I didn’t know this was here! – in response to finding a geocache.”

A beaver lodge is among the treasures Pocahontas State Park offers.

Pocahontas State Park was established in 1946 but was administratively combined with the surrounding state forest in 1989, making it the largest park within the state system. Nearly 60 miles of interconnecting old logging roads and pathways are now designated as hiking, biking, and horseback riding trails (open to the latter two in varying degrees), with some of the routes wide and level, and others narrow, less used, and somewhat challenging.

Being so close to the large populations of Richmond and Petersburg, the park is often viewed by its neighbors as more of a municipal than state park. However, unlike most city parks, there is a fee to visit Pocahontas (it’s called a parking fee, but you have to pay to enter). I’m sure many of you, including RichmondOutside.com webmasters, may disagree, but I have always felt it unfair that you and I, the owners of the parks, have to pay to visit them. I know there are the arguments that parks need the money to be maintained, that benefactors of the facilities should pay for their upkeep, and so on. Yet, it is these fees that can discourage the very people that the parks are trying to attract, especially those on a limited income. And yes, I know some of you are going to say that the parking fee for Pocahontas is only $5 a day on weekends. But if Virginia’s neighbor, West Virginia, a state that certainly has fewer financial resources, does not impose a fee to enjoy the vast majority of its parks, cannot the Commonwealth also afford this little bit of benevolence?

Now that my little rant is done, I do want to say: Try not to let this matter of fees keep you from visiting the state parks, including Pocahontas. Laurie and I went there this past fall and had a great time hiking one of the main pathways, the 2.5-mile trail that encircles Beaver Lake. 

There’s an observation deck near the start of the trail that let us look upon the thousands of water lilies crowding the surface. Pawpaw trees and sensitive ferns grew near the pathway as it crossed a number of footbridges. While the spores of many ferns develop on the bottom part of their leaves, those of the sensitive fern grow upon a separate, fertile frond. Making use of another observation platform, we watched a couple of ducks paddling around and an egret trawling the water for a meal.

A few hundred feet later, a boardwalk delivered us across a wet area where ironwood and beech trees inhabit the moist soil. Sadly, the beeches were marred by the inevitable graffiti and love messages that thoughtless people just seem unable to refrain from carving into the bark. The small brown balls we found on the ground were the fruits of the sycamore tree. Made up of numerous tiny nuts covered in tufts of hair, the balls come apart as the temperatures cool in the winter months.

I was happy to see that two of the things I always look for when near a lake or pond in Virginia were here at Pocahontas. The first was a beaver lodge. Constructed primarily of sticks, mud, and leaves, the inside of a beaver’s lodge, which is above the water’s surface, is lined with soft grasses and shredded bark. A small hole in the top lets fresh air in. If you are here in early morning or early evening, and if you are lucky, you might spot one of these rodents swimming toward you or scurrying rather clumsily across the land.

The second thing I always look for appeared just a few moments before the hike came to an end—an osprey in search of food circling twenty feet above us. The male osprey brings a fish back to the female to feed the couple’s young. This can be hard work as each fledgling requires two pound of flesh per day to develop into a healthy adult.

So…even though I don’t particularly like the idea of a state park fee, I didn’t let it stop me from enjoying the natural beauty they offer… and I hope it doesn’t stop you, either.

Please note: A portion of this description is adapted from 50 Hikes in Southern Virginia, available through www.habitualhiker.com.

Getting there: Take I-95 Exit 62 about midway between Richmond and Petersburg. Follow VA 288 west for approximately 7 miles, turn left onto VA 10, and make a right onto VA 655 in an additional 1.3 miles. Bear right into the park on VA 780 in another 4.2 miles. Continue along the main park road and turn left 1.8 miles later to leave your car in the lot next to the CCC Museum.

There are many misconceptions about fly tying. The first and foremost is that tying flies is extremely difficult and should only be attempted by a seasoned fly angler. The reality is there is no reason that someone just taking up the sport of fly fishing shouldn’t start tying flies right off the bat. In fact, I recommend it. If you’ve fly fished for years without ever trying your hand on the vise you are really missing out.

I started tying flies in college, a decade after I first picked up a fly rod, and another decade before the YouTube phenomenon. There were a handful of videos out and some books on tying flies, but nothing compared to the wealth of information out there now. For those wishing to learn how to tie flies these days, they need little more than to purchase a basic starter kit, something you can pick up at the Orvis store in Short Pump or the fly shop at Bass Pro, and a connection to the internet. Just a simple search for “fly tying” on YouTube will yield 52,000 results, so it is best to narrow down what you are looking to tie first. Most beginners start with the “wooly bugger”. If you have ever picked up a fly rod, you know the pattern. A bugger, tied in different colors and sizes can catch just about anything that swims from a largemouth bass to a tarpon. I have caught thousands of fish in my life, of which I remember only a handful that weren’t caught within the last couple of years. I will never forget, however, the quarter pound bass I caught on the first olive wooly bugger I tied nearly 20 years ago.

Dale Huggins teaches fly tying at the Orvis store in Short Pump.

Many accomplished fly anglers are too intimidated to start tying flies. They feel like they won’t have the time or maybe they won’t be good at it. The reality is it takes just a little time to learn to tie flies you can catch fish on. Even a beginner can tie a handful of flies for his or her next hike to a brook trout stream or trip down to the James for the shad run. They are fish after all, and they will eat feathers on a hook. A new tier need not worry if his or her pattern doesn’t look exactly like the one at the shop. The fish don’t generally care, and sometimes they will eat them even better.

Sadly another misconception about fly tying is that it will save you money on flies. Unfortunately that is not true. At least if you are like me. I have never left a good fly shop without picking up a few new tying materials. Over the nearly two decades I have been tying flies, those materials have been piling up. I have toted them from Virginia to Georgia to Colorado to Oregon and back again, living in over ten apartments and homes over that time. The first thing I have considered during every move is where I will set up my tying station. Of course if I sat down and used up all the materials, I might save some money, but unfortunately if I lived as long as it would take me to do that, I certainly wouldn’t be doing any fishing by the time I was done.

With all that said, tying flies won’t cost your arm, your leg, or your first born. For the price of a decent meal, you can be sitting at a table with everything you need to tie plenty of flies. And of course there is no price tag on the satisfaction you will get from catching a fish on your own creation, which is a unique opportunity and an additional bonus in an already great pastime. Plus, for those of us not artistically inclined with pencil and paper (I struggle drawing a good stick figure) it provides an ideal chance to feed our creative side.

That first fish on my own fly started the ball rolling, and I have since tied thousands and thousands of flies from patterns designed to catch bluegill to those fashioned for sailfish. Once you start tying flies, the idea of catching a fish on a fly tied by some kid in Thailand is akin to shooting a wild quail over someone else’s bird dog. It’s still fun, but it somehow lacks an element of wholeness that can exist when you start from the beginning with bare hook and thread.

Fortunately some of the simplest ties are some of the most effective. I have already mentioned the wooly bugger, a great pattern for smallmouth bass on the James and largemouth bass anywhere. Shad flies are some of the simplest patterns one will ever tie, and you can be catching fish on your own flies after work in the spring. Fishing for striped bass on the fly rod has become increasingly popular as well. It’s hard to go wrong with the Clouser minnow, one of the easiest patterns to tie.

While there are plenty of videos on Youtube and websites dedicated to tying flies, I would certainly recommend starting out with a class before venturing out on your own. Winter is the perfect time to do that, when we spend more time indoors anyway. The Orvis Store in Short Pump offers free classes to beginner tiers in the winter. It’s also a great way to meet fellow fly fisherman in the area.

So, if you have been considering saddling up to the vise, I strongly recommend it. It won’t be long before spring is in the air and many of us will be itching to get back out on the water. I can promise you, once you catch that first one on your own fly, you will be changed for life.

Richmond would not exist were it not for the particular combination of the James River and the granite outcroppings of the Fall Line. That much is obvious. The river’s rocky bottom is a spawning ground for a multitude of fish that attracted the very first human inhabitants, Native Americans, to our fair environs. Later those rocks presented an obstruction to navigation for English colonists. They had to stop here – at least for a while. They did not have much choice. They soon figured out that anyone seeking passage to the western reaches of Virginia would have to negotiate a way around those boulders. This was accomplished through the creation of canals and later railroads. Thus, a hub of transportation and commerce was born.

What is not so obvious is exactly who built the “stuff” of the city in its early days. Richmond and the James River abound with prehistoric and historic works that still form the very structure of the city today. Many bridges, canals, streets and buildings still bear the marks of nameless laborers who toiled to fashion a metropolis out of the cold, hard substance that stopped colonists in their tracks – granite. Significant among these works is a large and impressive but, often overlooked retaining wall on the north bank of the James near the Pipeline Trail. It begins at the end of 12^th Street and extends passed 14^th Street under the Mayo Bridge. Large sections of the wall can be seen today and still support the bank on which sections of downtown are built. Our modern city literally rests on the work created by forgotten stonemasons nearly two hundred years ago.

This nineteenth century photograph shows the wall under the Mayo Bridge and stretching out of the frame in both directions. Credit: Cook Collection, Valentine Richmond History Center.

I have always been intrigued by this wall. Its construction must have been a major undertaking for laborers who largely worked by hand and did not have the aid of today’s machinery. This is especially impressive when considering the wall’s monolithic scale. It is nearly a half-mile long and made of rock that weighs an average of 150 pounds per cubic foot. When viewed at its highest point from Norfolk Southern Railroad Bridge, one can see an old, bronze U.S. Weather Bureau flood gauge that puts the wall’s height at 25 feet.  Historic photographs indicate that it was even longer in the nineteenth century and stood higher before the river silted in to current depth.

I have long believed that this wall is associated with the Kanawha Canal and its docks in Shockoe Bottom. Even though the wall is about 150 yards away from the canal and docks, it would have provided flood protection for the businesses there. The first phase of the canal and its docks in the Bottom was completed in the 1820s. It was subject to frequent flooding and damage. The James River and Kanawha Canal Company continually spent huge sums of money to keep this section of the canal in good enough repair to operate. The JR & K Co. was a partnership between the state and local governments and private investors. The canal it created is one of the earliest public works projects in the country. There was great incentive to protect the Commonwealth’s investment in Richmond as it promised to connect Virginia commerce to the interior of the continent and the rest of the world.

Another problem with the original Richmond Dock was that the lock that connected it to the tidal James was too small to accommodate the largest ocean-going ships of the day. Throughout the 1820s and 1830s, the JR & K Co. was under great pressure to improve the Richmond Dock in order to receive larger vessels and replace the old wood locks that connected it to the turning basin upriver at 11^th Street and the rest of the canal west of Richmond. Such improvements would have been wasted if measures were not taken to protect them from the frequent floods of the James.

So, I set out on a mission to link the building of this wall with the canal and dock improvements that occurred in the 1840s and 1850s. My thought is that as the dock and canal were widened and deepened, excavated spoils were deposited behind the retaining wall along the James. The wall, standing 25 feet over the normal level of the James, would have provided a good deal of flood protection and as earth was piled behind it new real estate would have been created along the south side of the dock and canal. One would think that there would be some kind of documentation (engineering drawings, construction records, newspaper stories) of a construction project of this magnitude. So far, I haven’t found records of this kind.

However, my main objective is to put names and faces on the anonymous workers whose handiwork forms the foundation of a long stretch of the city. Indeed, modern warehouses, condominiums, restaurants and parks depend on the integrity of this stonework built two centuries ago. As a matter of fact this ancient wall supports the modern floodwall that guards downtown from the occasional rages of the James River.

The modern Richmond Floodwall sits on the shoulders of its much older brother. Photo by author.

I have visited the Valentine Richmond History Center and the Library of Virginia and looked through boxes and files of yellowed and fragile documents. I have read volumes written by historians about the history of the canal. The records of the JR & K Co. and the Virginia Board of Public Works are stuffed with receipts and invoices related to the sale of company shares, property transfers and occasional mentions of payments to contractors. There is precious little related to the building of specific structures – and nothing that details the construction of a retaining wall along the James.

However, there are some documents that provide a tantalizing hint about when the wall was built and perhaps even who financed it. Period survey maps show a great amount of detail about the Richmond riverfront during the first half of the nineteenth century. I found several maps from the 1820s to 1840s on the state library’s website that show a natural and sloping riverfront where the wall is today. So, the wall was not there then. I was very excited when I found an 1829 JR & K Co. map that shows the land around the north end of the Mayo Bridge. This map shows a straight line in the river channel where the stone wall is today and next to it, an inscription that reads, “abutment proposed by Mr. E.C. Mayo.”  Edward C. Mayo was a tobacco merchant who owned the land on the north-east side of the Mayo Bridge. He later built a warehouse on the site and shipped his wares from the Richmond Dock. So, the Canal Company and one of its largest tenants were at least discussing the creation of an “abutment” in 1829.

However, an 1841 survey map shows that nothing had been built there as the natural shoreline still matched that of the 1820s maps. I pushed on. The next map I found is from a Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad survey made some time in the 1850s. It is much different from the older maps. It illustrates the canal and dock improvements that began in the 1840s and finished in 1854. It also shows a clear and deliberate straightening of the riverfront – parallel to the south side of canal dock and uniform in width from 14^th Street all the way down the Tidewater Connection locks just passed 28^th Street. It is clear that something caused the straightening of the shoreline and the map shows that thing is exactly where my stone wall is today. Moreover photographs of the wall taken at the end of the Civil War show it extending downstream beyond the Mayo Bridge. And the icing on the cake, an 1872 atlas of Richmond by F.W. Beers shows a “HIGH WALL” in the same place Edward Mayo proposed his abutment in 1829 – the same place where the wall is today.

I am now sure the wall was built between 1841 and 1854 and it is at least contemporaneous if not connected to the improvements made to the canal and dock at that time.         

That leads me to the main point of this story. I was only able to figure out when the wall was created by looking at old maps so the human element is still woefully under-documented. It is clear that an immense labor force was necessary to undertake such a project. It is known that the JR & K Co. hired contractors that employed immigrants and leased slaves from private owners. Little has been written about the use of slavery in public works projects but one can imagine the protests of Virginia abolitionists who objected to their tax dollars spent on an enterprise that relied on forced servitude. This wall on the James is probably one of the few remaining edifices that can be attributed to slave labor. It is appropriate that part of today’s Richmond Slave Trail follows the Mayo Bridge that spans the wall. Perhaps there should be a marker there.

The method of splitting stone in the early 1800s merits some description because it vividly illustrates the arduous occupation of these unnamed masons. First, a series of holes must be drilled. The drill was typically a steel pole with a star or spoon shaped auger at one end. It was driven into the stone with a heavy hammer. Bit by painstaking bit, little pieces of stone were extracted with this “drill” until a long series of holes, each about three inches deep, was reamed along the line where the mason wanted the rock to split. Second, two shoe-horn pieces of iron called “feathers” were placed in each hole. Next, iron wedges were placed between the feathers and carefully hammered. As the feathers were slowly separated by the hammered wedge they transferred pressure outward and the stone eventually split. It might have taken an hour or more to split one large stone. There are thousands of split stones in the wall by the James River. Many of them still bear the distinct drill marks made by the “feather and wedge” method of cutting rock.

The work of an unknown nineteenth century mason can be seen in the drill marks of this stone. Photo by author.

The experience of a 19^th century stonemason was not entirely an endeavor of drudgery. Many, if not most, projects of the day required elements of style. The wall on the James is no exception. It is crowned with carefully sculpted capstones that add a touch of grace to its otherwise coarse utilitarian appearance. Such well-hewn ornaments were made by workmen of considerable skill. Perhaps the opportunity to work on these specialty pieces was a relief for laborers who might otherwise stand knee deep in the mud of the riverbank to lay giant blocks. It is clear that the capstones were shaped with care and even affection. The numerous fine grooves that mark their surface attest to that. It is easy to see how a craftsman, with his hammer and chisel, patiently and proudly rendered beauty from rock with every loving slice.

The supple texture of this rock was accomplished through the careful hand of a now silent craftsman. Photo by author.

In my opinion, there are few things worse than not feeling appreciated for your hard work. Centuries ago untold numbers of laborers worked to build the foundation that supports my hometown – the place where I play, live and work hard. Whether they were immigrants who labored out of necessity or slaves who suffered under duress, I believe they would have wanted a “thank you.” Here it is. They deserve it.

Where to go

The wall can be viewed from two good locations:

1. The Pipeline Trail. Park at the Pipeline Overlook parking lot at the intersection of 12^th and Byrd Streets. Walk east (downstream) to the steps and ladder that lead down the Pipeline Trail. The wall can be seen from the pipe.    

2. 14th Street Canoe and Kayak Steps. At the north end of the Mayo Bridge, take the driveway to the gravel parking lot. Walk down to the bottom of the steps. The wall can be viewed from the river bank.  Be sure to read the historical signs I wrote when I worked for James River Park!

I would like to thank a number of local history experts who helped in the research of this piece.

Thanks to: Dr. Bill Trout III, Langhorne Gibson Jr., Lyn Lanier, Ralph White, Kelly Kerney, and Meghan Hughes.

Credit: Phil Riggan

In some localities there is a definitive off-season for riding your mountain bike on trails. This is usually demarcated with the onset of consistently below freezing temperatures and the first big snowfall. In these areas, the bikes are hung up in the garage and the skis/snowboards are dusted off for a different type of riding. Fortunately for us, those bikes never get stored away for the off season. In my mind, there is NO off season for riding my bike. A Richmonder can ride well into the fall and winter months with the passion to pedal, awareness of changing conditions, and the proper gear.

Fall has long been my favorite time of the year to ride. Summers in Richmond get downright nuclear, sometimes making it difficult to breathe much less pedal a bike for hours on end. Fall ushers in some cooler temps and a longing to pedal as many hours as you can before the sun falls below the horizon. The dirt picks up some moisture changing it over to the perfect tacky consistency. This little bit of moisture in the ground allows you to rail corners you would otherwise wash out on as you ride through. The leaves falling from the trees add an element of surprise making certain portions of trail more difficult as the layer of slick cover compromises your riding technique.

This is a great time to go back and revisit your body position and balance when riding.  Remember…weight equals grip. Keeping your body low over the seat and centered will help you attain maximum control as both wheels will have roughly the same grip. Another general tip is to be mindful of keeping your arms relaxed and slightly bent (elbows out). This will help keep your upper body more towards the front of the bike, keeping your weight more centered for bike control and front wheel grip (helps eliminate washing out on loose leaves). Lastly, remember to breathe and keep your legs, torso, and hips relaxed while riding. Riding over a trail that feels ‘loose’ and is almost completely covered in leaves can lead to feeling nervous and unsure of your usual confident riding abilities. When you are relaxed, your ability to balance and react will be greatly increased enabling you to absorb the trail better, be more in control, and have more fun!

Credit: Phil Riggan

Another component to riding in the fall and winter is having the proper riding gear to be comfortable. You can certainly get by riding without all the new-fangled outdoor gear or top of the line Patagonia jackets. However, there are some critical pieces of clothing that one cannot live without during the colder months. First, a helmet liner or balaclava is not only functional but necessary. Second, having a good pair of leg/knee warmers comes in handy when pedaling into the fall and winter months. Some people don’t mind riding in pants but this option gives you a little less restriction in maneuverability. You can find these items at any local bike shop in town.  There are also some online dealers that offer cold weather riding gear. Check out Price Point http://www.pricepoint.com/thumb/1-Clothing-2-Cool-Weather-Gear-False.htm and Jenson USA http://www.jensonusa.com/ for great online offer deals.

Unfortunately, daylight savings time makes riding seem impossible as the sun sets right when you are getting off from work. If the dark cannot keep you from riding, then pick up a light and get back out there. This equipment can be quite expensive and sometimes unreliable. Talk to your local bike shop or riding buddies to find the best fit for your riding needs. Two years ago I purchased a light that has performed great. I didn’t feel the need to spend $300 on a light I was going to use 2 dozen times in the winter. So, I purchased a MagicShine MJ808 light that puts off more than enough light to have fun riding at night http://www.magicshine.hk/Product.aspx#cp12 .

The last component to riding in the off season is to respect your local trail closures and get involved in the mountain bike community. During the off season, many trails are in poor shape due to the heavy traffic during the spring and summer. It is important to respect trail closure signs to avoid further damaging our beloved trails in Richmond. The fall and winter months also allow for some much needed trail work. If you are not a member of RaMORE, then I highly recommend you join. Your modest donation goes a long way to keeping the trails we love. Visit their site to join and to get info on upcoming trail work days http://richmond-more.org/. If you like the social aspect of riding (including night rides) then get hooked up with a group of riders not afraid to get out on the trail. The Richmond Bombers http://www.meetup.com/RichmondBOMB/ offer an outlet for group rides and help strengthen the riding community in and around Richmond.

As you can see, the off season is not an accurate term for riding in Richmond. There are plenty of people and resources out there to ‘fuel’ your fall and winter riding. Thanks for taking the time to read this post…now, get out there and ride!!!

Credit: Leonard Adkins

Beavers living wild within the city limits of Richmond? Long-time residents may not be surprised by this, but I would never have thought such a thing existed when I moved to the area a few years ago.

It was on my first visit to Powhite Park — around 100 acres of land that exists incongruously as a natural area squeezed by housing developments, a hospital, and Chippenham Parkway—that I first encountered the beavers. Within sight of the culvert that carries Powhite Creek underneath the four-lane highway, these industrious rodents have created a wetlands environment suitable to their lifestyle.

A large percentage of the park’s users are mountain bikers and the trail network that is there can be quite bewildering to figure out. Within the hundred acres are scores of junctions and short pathways, but the good thing is that they all connect in some way or another—and you can’t get lost since you are almost always within sight, or at least sound, of houses or roads. My guess is that it would be about five miles if you were to walk each little trail segment without retracing any steps.

It’s on the more western, flatter side of the park that you will encounter the work of the beavers, such as gnawed trees and branches  (although on my last few visits here it seems I’m seeing fewer and fewer signs of them).  Of course, the park is also home to other wildlife, so keep an eye and an ear out for deer, turtles, skinks, and woodpeckers.

You might spot a belted kingfisher make a swooping dive into the slow-moving water of the creek in search of food. If successful, the bird will emerge a few moments later with a fish in its beak, sometimes emitting its distinctive dry rattle as it flies off to consume the meal.

An ancient Greek tale is the basis for a modern-day term and tells of the origin of kingfishers. Halcyone, daughter of the King of the Winds, threw herself into the sea to drown upon hearing of the death of her husband. She did not die, but rather she and the spirit of her husband were turned into kingfishers—birds having the power to calm tumultuous waters. Thus, our use of the phrase “halcyon days.”

The main portion of the trail system loops along the perimeter of the park, eventually doing a little bit of up and down in an oak and hickory forest. It’s nothing very strenuous, but at least enough to feel like you are getting in a bit of exercise. Once you’re familiar with the park, start to explore some of those interconnecting side trails and you’ll find some interesting things, such as the dried stream bed that the bikers use as a “half-pipe” riding course.

Getting there: Headed westbound on Chippenham Parkway, get off on the Jahnke Road exit. The park entrance is across the road from the exit ramp. Coming from the west, you will take the Jahnke Road exit, go under the parkway, and have to make a U-turn at the first light to come back to the park entrance.

A wave waits to start the Richmond Rox triathlon.

Hundreds of vehicles, racks full of bikes and bumpers covered in stickers with funny decimal points, traveled in unison toward the pre-dawn warehouse of Rockett’s Landing.  I, along with my teammates, my neighbors, my parents, and Richmond’s thriving multi-sport community would be a part of an inaugural half-iron-distance (1.2-mile swim/ 56-mile bike/13.1 mile run) competition, organized by Richmond Multisports. The riverfront in the city’s East End would be a mecca of endurance junkies from dawn to dusk on a perfectly cool and sunny September day. “Let’s do this!” I thought to myself as we reached the parking lot.

 My first love and forever passion will be running, but I completely changed it up this year and joined TriGirls to transform myself into a triathlete over the summer. Not only did I make some great friends, but I felt like I was truly prepared to make it through 5-6 hours of constant exercise. Since I am used to being intensely competitive when I “just” run, it was hard work to tame my race outlook. Riding is not my strength, so I was constantly giving myself a pep talk to “just have fun” while leaving it all out there. In more blunt terms, I was coaching myself not to have a freak out when someone who is 30 years older passes me (which happened often) at mile 40.

 As I blasted Cake’s “Going the Distance” in the car to inspire me en route to the race, I began to be fearful I would be the race car left on the track at the end of the song. No, I thought, knock it off – have fun!

 In brief: I laughed; I cried; I shivered my way through 70.3 miles of riverfront racing. Here’s the lowdown. 

 On the Scene

The transition area was in the parking lot in front Conch Republic restaurant. Easy parking, a well-organized set up to rack the bikes, and a super friendly volunteer crew allayed my nerves. After black body marking, using the restroom 11 times, and lots of high fives from my best training mates, I was ready to line up dockside.

 Swim

The out-and-back swim launched from the dock right under The Boathouserestaurant. I felt pretty hardcore because I was one of a handful of people without a wetsuit. Being in the third wave allowed me lots of mental prep time. I filled it with a good number of jumping jacks, asked for warm up hugs from strangers, and turned around to gaze longingly at the rooftop bar deck, reminiscing about sunset happy hours that seemed like only yesterday. Sigh.

The author in the transition area.

 Before I knew it, I was in the chop with a hundred other hot pink coneheads and the race had started. The water was the perfect temperature, with minimal current, and I was rolling. This was going to be a good day. I felt like there was no other place I would rather be. The swim out to the orange buoy in the distance was within easy sight and safety kayakers were well positioned, offering great encouragement.

 I rolled right up to the dock ready to saddle up. Oh wait – I have to get to transition. As I bounded down the dock and up the stairs feeling superbly confident from my swim, I became pretty chilly. Actually, this is an understatement. But hey, I realized, I don’t have to spend ten minutes peeling off a wetsuit before the ride, because I’m already half naked and ready to ride. See ya later, suckers!

 Bike

I mounted the bike and pedaled my guts out to warm up, before settling into a conservative, but pressing pace as Haddad’s Lake appeared on my left. This local amusement lake resort reminds me of the kitschy vintage postcards, with hand written memories of 1950s family vacations, sold in antique stores. For the next ½ hour, I entertained myself with creating what I would write in a postcard from my race. 

 The course meandered along the river, on to country and main roads to route 5, through Henrico and Charles City Counties. The turns were clearly marked in bright yellow arrows, with police officers or volunteers at every turn. It would have been impossible to get lost. 

 The course roads were not closed off to traffic, but it was generally safe and enjoyable.  One three mile section had been recently “roughed up” for repaving, forcing me to slow down substantially, while jarring through the road crevasses and praying that I would not get a flat.  Phew – I made it unscathed.

 A right hand turn onto route 5 at about the 40-mile mark was quite nerve-wracking with a few rage-filled pick up trucks. All of those people who spent extra time peeling off their wetsuits had blown by me in the bike by now, as well, so I was at a low point after my short-lived lead.

 Two peanut butter sandwiches, four water bottles, and almost 3 hours later, I was ready for my favorite part – the run. Thank goodness.

 Run

At the finish line.

My training must have worked well, because I felt ready to roll off of the bike.  It was challenging not to go too fast right away, as I was so excited to get to my favorite part of the race.

 In stark contrast to the countryside ride, the run course cut through Richmond’s urban pedestrian paths. With the river on my left, I flew through the paved Virginia Capital Trail, down through the canal, and onto the floodwall. There was never an opportunity to become bored, as I was always step hopping, bridge crossing, or hill climbing. The water stops were spread out well and it was fun to support other racers on the spectator friendly layout.

 The half marathon course consisted of two identical loops, with the true test of grit and endurance coming in the second loop. After feeling like I could conquer the world and moving at a seven minute per mile clip in loop one, I hit the wall hard and in drastic fashion with about five miles to go. Maybe I should have run slower to start or pounded another PB sandwich on the bike? Too late now.

 With the New Market hill looming in the distance, I decided I would feel better after I crested that hill. When confronting rough patches in previous races, I’ve learned that I cannot give myself an option to “feel bad.” Telling myself to suck it up and forcing minute-long surges does the trick. Speed surges always make me snap out of the slog. It amazed me to emerge from that rough patch with time to spare. I motored down to Brown’s Island with the certainty that I would crank it all the way in. 

 With two miles to go, I was refocused and running strong. The inflatable finish line was in sight and the announcer’s voice was beckoning me to get there sooner. As soon as I hit the dirt next to the boathouse, I was in a full out sprint, unable to feel my legs moving. I flew by a few people in the last hundred meters and abruptly halted. I have never been happier to be finished a race in my life!

 Wrap Up

 Marathons and road races require endurance and mental toughness, but this half-iron triathlon was quite an epic journey. The vast range of athletic skill, planning, on-the-spot adaptability, and excitement required provides for an unmatched, awesome experience.   Perhaps what made it exceptionally special was the pride and privilege I felt to complete the adventure in my own city, with my best friends, and right in and on the James.

 Overall, each portion of the race was well planned and executed. The race director offered organized pre-race rides and swims and pre-marked courses (to practice!).  Volunteers were knowledgeable and very supportive on race day. The course exposed racers to diverse parts of Richmond and was spectator friendly. Extra points for a finish line, keg, too. Most importantly, it was a ton of fun (even when it hurt)!

 Come on out for some Richmond Rox action next year and live the adventure of a hometown half-iron.

Credit: Insidetrail.com

It’s been a week since I completed the Grindstone 100 in Swoope, Va.  Arguably the toughest event I’ve every competed in, the slugfest is a 100-mile (101.85, to be exact) run/hike/crawl through the mountains of Western Virginia.  It not only covers more distance than Richmond to D.C., but it also climbs nearly the same amount of elevation as Mt. Everest. Those two facts aside, the most painful aspect of the Grindstone came in the form of root and rock covered single-track that extended most of the race. The rocks – or “shale shit” as I affectionately named them – made it near-impossible for me to roll into a solid cadence. Not to mention the constant tripping and toe-stubbing. The latter has resulted in a big toe sans toenail.  After such a beating, the question remains – the question almost everyone I know asks me — why do I do these races?

The answer lies in the psychology of these types of endurance trials. Only four years ago, I distinctly remember saying “I will never run a marathon.” Since that time, I have finished the infamous Vermont Death Race, the Storm the Eastern Shore Adventure Race, the Atacama Crossing 150-mile Stage Race, three marathons, two 50-mile trail runs, four 50k trail runs, the Total 200 bike ride, and now the Grindstone 100.  This amounts to 800+ miles of trekking, running, cycling, and kayaking – not to mention all of the miles training for these events – most in the last 12 months. So, why am I already looking ahead to another 50-miler, 100k, multiple 100-milers, and a Double Iron-distance triathlon?  Simple. Because I can.

Why do we give up long before our body wants to? This dilemma is my driving force. If the race exists, it must be feasible to complete it, right? I had a conversation recently with my buddy, Frank Fumich, about a quintuple (yes, that’s 5x’s) Iron-distance triathlon. That equates to 12 miles of swimming, 560 miles of cycling, and 131 miles of running! A friend of his just completed this feat of seemingly impossible endurance last weekend at Lake Anna State Park. Now, Frank’s attention is turned to doing the same in 2013. Just a year ago, I would’ve said “never” to attempting such a task. I’ve seen what I’m able to push through, and now I’m thinking “maybe.”

The author before the race.

 My body will continue on. Despite the pain, the misery, the “dark places” my mind wanders to, the second I cross the finish line, those things are distant memories and my attention immediately turns to the next race. The little voice inside all of our heads that says “Give up!,” “The pain is too great!.” “This isn’t worth it!,” is hushed as soon as I reach the finish line.

As a student of literature, I’ve compared my experiences to Dante’s Inferno.  He transcends the different levels of Hell, guided by Virgil – his pacer of sorts. The misery of those he passes by – those damned to eternity in their respective circle – is not too dissimilar to those fellow racers huddled on the side of the mountain, crippled by pain, fear, and cold.  But Dante continues on. He knows that the end is near and he will soon exit the strange land that causes so much despair.

Okay… that might be a bit of stretch, but couldn’t it be argued that life, in general, is like a race or a classic piece of literature? This analogy isn’t a new one. How often do we see the guy at the office that has no hope after a divorce or loss of a job – crippled by the fear of the unknown? If we only knew how far away the finish line was, it might make it easier to persevere.  But we all have lines we can cross each day. If we live in the present and focus on one foot in front of the other, we will eventually find what we seek.

Perhaps this is a bit too philosophical. Maybe I’m just an endurance lunatic, but I honestly think there is more to life than trudging through the misery. For me, these races prove that we are more capable than we think we are. We compare ourselves to one another, but at the end of the day, we’re all in it together. I crack up when marathoners ask me “what was your time for the Grindstone?.” Dude!  It’s irrelevant!

I’m no Karl Meltzer, that’s for sure. But, I did suffer through the same course as the Speedgoat. I’ve walked the same path, and I succeeded. In life, some people get where they want to go faster than others, but the experience of those that take a bit longer – those that enjoy the journey – makes the result that much sweeter.

Resting at an aid station.

So, maybe my conclusion is to take your time, push yourself further than you feel comfortable, and stop worrying what other people are doing. If you’re afraid of how long it will take you to run a marathon, know this: the cutoff is usually 7 hours and the medal you get is exactly the same as the one everyone else gets! The fact that you challenged yourself in a way that 98 percent of the rest of the population never will is success. I will never qualify for the Boston Marathon or receive one of those nifty 1^st place awards, but I will have the experience and the knowledge that I finished something that so many others were scared to even attempt.  That’s my definition of winning.

In my conversation with Frank, we were trying to hammer out our schedules for 2013.  I concluded that there are a seemingly endless number of races to attempt. However, there are definitely a few I’d like to knock out in the next year or two. I’m throwing my name in the hat for the Hardrock 100, and I’m planning on going to Iceland in August for another 150-mile stage race. There are some others, but we’ll leave that for the next column. I just know that I’m drawing new lines, crossing them, and enjoying the journey along the way.

The person that named Three Lakes Park was certainly well-versed in the ways of public relations. When I moved to Richmond a number of years of ago, I heard the name and that the park had a system of pathways encircling the lakes. When I finally went there last week, I found that the three lakes, which I had envisioned to be long, wide, and far-reaching with clear rippling water, are actually small, flooded borrow pits (another public relations phrase—will anyone ever replace the dirt that was borrowed?) just a few acres in size.

I hope you have continued to read beyond that first unenthusiastic paragraph because I’m going to suggest you visit the park despite the small size of the lakes. For one thing, it has a 6,500 square-foot first-rate nature center (free admission!) where, after having obtained a trail map, I watched multitudes of visiting children, some not much older that toddlers, become fully engaged in the hands-on exhibits and “ooh” and “ahh” over the snakes housed within glass enclosures.

The second most popular park attraction appeared to be the chance to fish two of the ponds for the stocked carp, bass, bluegill, and catfish. It was quite entertaining, once again, to watch the antics of the kids. In contrast to the older man sitting peacefully on the pier and pulling out one fish after another, the youngsters would cast a line first in one place and then another, running about and hollering to each other about never catching a fish.

The nature center at Three Lakes Park.

Of course, I was here to hike and, based on the number of people I had already encountered, I expected to have many fellow amblers. Yet, other than a star-crossed couple that were groping each other in places that most people would have been taken aback to see happening in a public place, I only saw one other person on the 1.3-mile, level trail network. That meant that I had no distractions when watching a great blue heron take off from the shallow water, using its impressive 70-inch wing span, or when I stopped to examine the impressively red and pink berries and pods of the aptly-named hearts-a-bustin’. (The plant is easily overlooked at other times, as its unassuming five-petal flower is a green that blends in with other foliage.) I’m sorry that I didn’t pay much attention to the low-growing ground cover, for when I mentioned that I had been to the park to Catharine Tucker, president of the Pocahontas Chapter of the Virginia Native Plant Society, she said that the park’s flora was amazingly diverse for such a disturbed area and included three species of ground pine. These plants may creep along the ground today but, in ancient times, their ancestors stood as tall as trees.

Three Lakes Park—it may have a somewhat misleading name, but its attractions more than make up for the misnomer.

 Getting There: Take I-295 Exit 41B north of Richmond, turn onto VA 2 South, go 1.9 miles, turn left onto Wilkinson Road, continue another .9 mile, and turn right into the park.