Could a return to Nepal compare with our technical climbing and mountaineering success there in 2000? Knowing that a real mountaineering route would be harder fourteen years later, could we instead enjoy the pros and cons of a trekking route in the Everest region? We would find out in 2014. We call it, “Laurel and Hardy do the Himalaya.”

Richmonder Harvey Lankford and Remi Sojka in the Himalayas in 2014. Credit: Harvey Lankford

Trekking means carrying 30 lbs in our packs, not 110 lbs like on Aconcagua in 1998 when we made double carries to get all that gear up the mountain. In 2014, we would be among the 5% who trek independently, meaning no guide and no porters. Only occasionally would our route be scary or icy, but not requiring ice axes, full-size crampons, ropes, and living in tents. At heights up to 18,500 ft where half the atmosphere is gone, the main risk is high-altitude sickness.

Trekking on mostly established trails from teahouse to teahouse is a matter of overcoming Mountaineer’s Foot – putting one in front of the other no matter the steep terrain, or hours. The biggest problem is acclimatization –the body’s slow adjustment to the demands of thin air. Teahouse rooms are unheated, but they offer better shelter than tents. Many have warm dining rooms with a pot bellied stove burning yak dung, and simple hot meals. Compared to 2000, most teahouses now have a solar-powered LED light for each room, battery recharging capability, and Wifi connection by satellite. We could communicate back home about such favorite subjects as historical mountaineering literature and high altitude medicine. This was a tremendous change, even if the primitive sanitation and frequency of GI illnesses were not. The camaraderie of meeting other hikers from around the world was still there, of course.

Our trip was punctuated by numerous medical incidents, not just for us, but for others. There were daily helicopter evacuations – for things like orthopedic injuries and high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). We achieved three of our five goals. A glaciated 17,800 ft pass named Cho La connects deep valleys leading to two minor peaks, 18,500 ft Kalapattar and 17,600 ft Gokyo Ri. Both summits were purposely reached about 4 p.m., then bundled up with five layers of clothing we waited. For 60 minutes the changing colors of the setting sun painted the western side of Everest with alpenglow. The descent in darkness was “interesting” but we could only think of tough early explorers like George Mallory or Eric Shipton who had walked 300 miles just to get started on some of these same places. At that time, they were just blank on the map.

The North Face of Mount Everest. Credit: Wikipedia

So why did we go? British physiologist Griffith Pugh showed during the six months-long Silver Hut Himalayan medical study in 1961 that the limit of long-term existence even with warmth, shelter, and food was 17,000 ft. Some people can go higher for a while, but not stay there permanently — oxygen is good stuff. Why did we once again put up with the work, cold, dirt, misery, hypoxia, and thirty-pound weight loss between us during those three weeks? All we needed to do was look up at the white giants towering to 29,000 feet in a 360 degree panorama all around us to have our answer. We felt privileged to witness the incredible powers of Creation and Destruction in these Greater Himalaya.

In 1921, George Mallory described Mountt Everest physically as, “a prodigious white fang excrescent from the jaw of the world.” The introspective view is even more important, as he explained, “concerned no less with the spiritual side of us than with the physical.” He was right. We came back richly rewarded.

Blue smoke rising from my chimney is snatched, hurled over the roof and down, by a strong gust from the north. The wisp of uncombusted wood eddies in air prison outside the den window before gentler breezes unlock it to follow them off into the Lowland. A blue tinge sifting through a congregation of dark tree skeletons to the southeast, and behind the naked forest a white-bright sun launches from the horizon in what aims to be a low-altitude leap across the Rattlesnake Creek.

Bright and cold this morning on the southern bank of the James in Richmond, and

That December northerly howls out a song.

No.  A northerly wind only blows.

 Wind blows the reed.

 The reed, the instrument of the wind, howls.

The leafless forest behind my house howls out a song.

Nature’s wind section plays a different song in winter than in other seasons. In summer, when trees are thick with soft green tissue paper, the lush reed sounds out a swishing song of river rapids or softly breaking waves. In fall, cool air blowing over dry, spent leaves scratches out the rougher sound of sandpaper on wood. In deep winter the naked trunks and branches sound out lower resonances. The bare reed of the winter forest creates lonely, faraway sounds. True howls. When the wind blows in December, the Richmond forest behind my house howls.

Out on the pavement where we humans rush relentlessly to and fro, one finds another distinctive feature of the Richmond forest in December — a visible one:  cars carrying trees.  In December almost any type of human transport does double duty as tree transport.

Young evergreen trees scalped from the surface of higher earth somewhere are piled up at makeshift mortuaries throughout the city. We exchange money for these condemned trees. We strap them to the tops of our cars, transport them to our houses, and put them on a type of life support that keeps them breathing for a few more weeks. Long enough for us to celebrate, oddly enough, a season of birth and renewal. Strange ritual. Certainly a true arborist would never participate, would he? But I do.

I have in my hand the ¾ inch thick cross-section disc I cut from the bottom of the trunk of this year’s family Christmas tree. With that fresh cut I was able to artificially resuscitate the 13 year-old evergreen in a small pond of water in my house. My family’s choice has always been Fraser fir. Ornaments hang well on the stiff, pipe-cleaner fingers of Fraser fir, but far more important to me is the special fragrance of mountain places it brings to our house. The Fraser fir grows naturally only near the peaks of the Appalachians in Tennessee, North Carolina, and Virginia.  This sky-loving species climbs to high, lonely places of thin air and thin earth, of bright sun and winter snow. Fraser fir thrives in extreme, nutrient poor places where most other trees would suffer.  Its fragrant canopy not only colors the high country but perfumes it as well. For the Turner family, the smell of Fraser fir, the sweet and rare smell of alpine forests, has become the smell of Christmas.

But what justification is there for the ritual?  I trade my money for the decapitated head of an arboreal mountain climber, and I force it to end its days with me in a climate controlled environment near sea level? How is it that an arborist like me becomes an earth scalper? A voluntary tree killer?

To understand my place within the fabric of life on earth, I often find myself trying to understand the difference between a “kill” and a “sacrifice.”  For instance, I am a quite lusty cow Killer. I eat steak and hamburger for sustenance, barely pausing long enough to enjoy the process, or to celebrate the earth’s offering. Almost never properly honoring the living system that was erased from earth to erase my hunger. Indirectly I am, as most of us are, prolific “killers.”  We kill and consume.

If other living systems annoy us, such as ants or roaches or mosquitoes, we kill them. If other living systems threaten us, such a viruses, poisonous insects or snakes, we kill them. If other living systems appease our hunger, such as cows and chickens, we kill them and eat them. And in the most horrid demonstrations of the human proclivity for fear and hatred, sometimes if other living systems merely have a different belief system or lifestyle than us, we kill them.

In the midst of this bloodbath we make arbitrary, logically inconsistent judgments about the value of the living things around us. The same human who fights with all his energy to keep the polar bear from extinction kills or eats other living systems indiscriminately. The same human who condemns the use of young evergreen trees to decorate habitations at Christmas removes an undesirable shrub, sapling, or weed from his own yard without a moment’s hesitation. Arbitrary, it seems. In instances very close to me, I find that the same human who shows tremendous sympathy towards an animal or tree has little or no sympathy for the struggling human living next door, or the impoverished one living just outside the castle gates of modern capitalism. Our human condition, the evidence has always shown, is characterized by an elaborate, cross-wired network of arbitrary sympathies and killings.

So what about that tree dying in my house? Does my Christmas tree tradition differ from an arbitrary killing?

I hope so. I like to believe so, to believe that the Turner family doesn’t merely kill this tree. I like to believe we sacrifice this one tree each year. For three or four weeks this Fraser fir becomes sacred to us, and becomes a symbol reminding us to hope and to love, and to long for peace. On its bows we drape lights, ornaments and pictures reminding us of the many other times we’ve renewed ourselves with this ritual. Once a year we deeply inhale the sweet perfume of high places, and perhaps think a little about that one being who supposedly came from the highest of places and would like to lead us back with him. The Fraser fir in our house is slowly sacrificed to ritualize our hope for a bright, evergreen future, and upon its death a fresh new year begins. If it helps us to hope, to yearn for higher soul places, and to long for peace and harmony on earth, this thirteen-year-old tree has more impact on the world by dying in my house than it would ever have living alone up there in the high country. Crowned with lights, pictures, and colorful shapes, visited and admired daily, this young fraser fir is sent off to the tree “hereafter” a decorated king among trees.

Ah, but if all that fancy justification is a bit too trial-lawyerish for you, you can still find some justification for your own ritual killing by thinking about how green and quiet are the places where Fraser firs are grown to be sacrificed. Sure, tree farms get frequent crew cuts, but at least the green hair is allowed to re-grow rather than being smothered beneath a concrete or asphalt helmet. Better a green, fragrant tree factory than a black-smoking plastic factory, right? In essence, your yearly ritual supports another green spot on earth.

So as I try to stay woven into the fabric of life on earth, a weave that often requires of me a value judgement about other life forms woven in with me, it seems most important not that I avoid killing, but that I learn to kill sacrificially rather than arbitrarily. Necessarily, or at least respectfully. Always with a sense of appreciation and wonder for the other living systems of planet earth. This special ability to be grateful for the gift of life and the gifts of life is the one that makes the human yarn such a colorful element in the weave.

Whether your holiday tree this year came from the high country or the plastic factory, I hope it helps you also to hope, to yearn for peace, and to experience your own winter renewal.

Happy Holidays!

As you begin thinking about closing out another year, it’s good to look back in reflection on how well you accomplished your goals in 2014. This will help you determine what worked well and what could have been better during training. At this point many of you have planned out what races you want to do in 2015 and the goals you have while competing in them.

One of the best things you can do to plan for your best season yet is to ask yourself three questions. Where is my fitness level now? Where do I want my fitness level to be? How am I going to get my fitness where I’d like it to be? Many times athletes make ambitious goals for their next season before they reflect on where their fitness level currently is. It can become easy to follow a training plan that may be more advanced than you should be following. This is how may people get injured and never accomplish the goals they’ve set for themselves. The key is to test your fitness in a way that allows you to notice where you currently are so that you can progress safely and efficiently to the fitness you desire. The other important thing to keep in mind is that the test needs to be repeatable and measurable. If you cannot complete the test again on similar terrain or in a similar environment, then the results will not be as accurate as you want them to be. We can look at this from the perspective of a triathlete, but the following test can also be used for single-sport athletes as well.

Swimming is certainly one of the most demanding and complex sports an endurance athlete can participate in. The more technique efficient and physically fit a swimmer is, then the faster they will be. While triathletes do many races in the open water, it is best to perform a bench mark test in the pool. One of the best tests a freestyle swimmer can do is a 200/800 test.

Test: 200/800

How to complete it: After a 1,000 meter easy warm up, swim a 200 from a dive start as hard as you can. After you complete the 200, rest for one minute and then swim an 800 from a push start as fast as you can.

Why this test: The reason this is a great benchmark test is because it allows the athlete to determine how efficient they are at anaerobic and aerobic efforts. In other words, is your speed better than your endurance, your endurance better than your speed, or are you fairly balanced? Knowing this can help determine what type of workouts you need to be doing in the pool to better your performance. This is also a great test to determine how your fitness is improving over time.

Benchmark testing for cycling can be different than you may think. A simple time trail is not the best way to measure fitness because of so many external factors, like the wind, for example, that will affect your speed. Technology has allowed us to have easy access to heart rate monitors and power meters to measure fitness while cycling. You can use one or the other but it is best to use both heart rate and power to truly tell if your fitness has improved over time. To tell the whole story you need an input vs output. Your heart rate is the input and the power you are generating is the output. If output is up while heart rate is down then this indicates that you are gaining fitness. If you do not have a power meter you can still test your fitness using heart rate to determine goals for the year.

Test: Heart rate/Power Threshold Test

How to complete it: Start with a 15 minute warm up. Record your heart rate and/or power for a five-minute effort at 95 percent effort. Rest for 10 minutes before you record your heart rate and/or power for 20 minutes at the hardest effort you can hold for that time. Cool down for 15 minutes after the test.

Why this test: This is what they call a functional threshold power test. You can use the data you receive from this to determine what your threshold heart rate and/or power is. You can use both of those numbers to determine training zones that you can use to structure your workouts in order to raise your threshold.

Benchmark testing for runners is fairly easy to measure. Many amateur and elite runners use heart rate monitors to better understand the effects of their training. Just like cycling we want to measure input versus output. Your heart rate is again the input but your pace is the output. The goal through training is to run at faster speeds with a lower heart rate. This indicates a higher level of fitness. We generally want at least 20 minutes of a solid effort to measure run fitness. Doing a time trial on a track is the best way to do this since change in terrain is not an issue.

Test: 5k time trial on a track

How to complete it: If you are on a standard 400-meter outdoor track, then you will run 12.5 laps on the inside lane. Be sure to be running in the inside lane, as running in the other lanes will increase the distance for 12.5 laps. Measure your time and heart rate if you have that available.

Why this test: A 5k is a good distance to measure run speed and endurance. It is also a good amount of time to determine what your threshold heart rate is. Knowing threshold is important if you want to train at the most efficient way possible.

Note: Look up Jack Daniels training zones for cycling and running. Plug in the number you get for your 20-minute effort on the bike and your average heart rate for your 5k run in Daniels’ formulas. This will give you the training zones you need to train smarter and perform faster.

Knowing where you currently are, where you want to go, and mapping out how you are going to get there is the best means of accomplishing any goals. Completing tests like the one’s mentioned above is a great way of doing this. Use these tests to find out where you currently are and then make a plan to accomplish your best season yet.

The holiday season is here, and relatives and friends are asking for ideas of what to give you as a gift. Often, just to be polite, you say, “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t really need anything.” Well come on, it’s the season when it’s OK to need stuff!

I bet you’re also trying to figure out what to stuff into the stockings of your tent partner and other outdoor buddies. Sure, fruitcake with it crumbly walnuts, food coloring-dyed candied cherries, and gooey dough provides some needed energy on a winter’s hike, but do you really want to be known as the person that gave such a thing? To provide you some ideas of what to give—or ask for—I’ll share a few pieces of equipment I used this past year that were well trail-tested and are worthy of accompanying you or your friends on that next outing.

Therm-A-Rest’s ProLite Small sleeping pad

What better gift than that which lightens the load and provides a good night’s sleep could you give a fellow backpacker? Those clever innovators at Therm-A-Rest keep finding ways to make their sleeping pads lighter and lighter. My first pad from them weighed about 2 pounds. By tapering the pad from top to bottom, and using die-cut foam and stretching it to form air pockets, the latest Prolite Small ($79.95) is a three-quarter length pad (20”X47”) and weighs only 11 ounces (my scales said 10.4 ounces.) If you really need a full length pad, the Regular ($99.95; 20”X72”) weighs in at 1 pound. They may be light, but they retain the brand’s well-known insulating properties and comfort. Can we expect a half-pound Prolite pad sometime in the future?

I foolishly carried two Lexan bottles for more than 10,000 miles of hiking. By switching to the soft-sided Platypuses (Playtypi?), I instantly lost a pound—and with the hydration system I can sip on the fly. The 1 liter Platypus bottle weighs all of 1.2 oz. (add 2 oz. for hydration system hose) and the liner is free of BPA and other nasty sounding chemicals. They’re also hardy; you can freeze the water in them before heading out, so you’ll have cool drinks throughout the day. They also stand up to having hot water put into them; think about a warm camp shower as night approaches. When empty, they pack down to nothing and when filled they make great pillows. The one-liter Soft Bottle is $8.95; the one-liter Hoser is $22.95.

It may seem the wrong time of year to be thinking about insect repellent, but, believe me, come warmer weather your gift recipient will be thanking you. Since I’m out in the woods on almost a daily basis, I have some concerns about putting DEET-based repellents on my skin so often. I started using Herbal Armor this past summer and was pleased with its performance. Most natural repellents use only one or two active ingredients. Herbal Armor contains six repelling oils: soybean, citronella, peppermint, cedar, lemongrass, and geranium. Yes, it is quite fragrant, staying that way long after you put it on — and so much so that Laurie makes me wash it off before we crawl into the tent at night. However, it is that fragrance that keeps those nasty biters and bloodsuckers at bay. Unlike one application of DEET that can work all day, I do find I have to reapply Herbal Armor every couple of hours, but I think that’s a small price to pay to keep a chemical that can melt plastic off of my body. A 4 oz. bottle of Herbal Armor is $8.99; a 3 oz. spray can is $9.99.

The Platypus Soft Bottle

Gore-Tex rain gear was a major innovation when it became an item for the outdoors market in the 1980s. No longer did you have to wear a heavy rain poncho whose coated nylon made you sweat so much that you might as well have just taken it off and walked in the rain. However, Gore-Tex has been losing market share to other manufacturers in recent years, and the breathable, waterproof Hellytech Performance technology employed in Helly Hansen’s Loke Jacket ($100; 9 oz.) and Pants ($80; 9 oz) is one reason why. Taking far fewer dollars out of your pocket and weighing significant ounces less than most Gore-Tex products, they performed well during frequent southern Appalachian Mountain rain storms on this summer’s hikes. The jacket, with pit zips, zippered pockets, factory-sealed seams, and a hood that is easy to adjust and the pants, with bottom leg zippers and an adjustable waist, take up little space in the pack.

Speaking about trying to stay dry, especially in a particular part of your anatomy, brings me to Squeaky Cheeks, a body powder made with corn starch, bentonite clay, slippery elm bark, and other natural ingredients. It was developed by Rock Toon — a fireman who certainly would know about sweating — to prevent chafing. I don’t know about you, but greasy lubricants never really worked for me, and medicated powders had to be reapplied numerous times during the day. On my hot weather hikes this summer all it took was one dousing of soothingly fragrant Squeaky Cheeks at the beginning of each day to keep the chafing blues at bay. It’s also worth putting in socks to prevent friction and is quite soothing to rub on your feet after a long day of tramping. As the company’s slogan says, “Funny Name, Serious Comfort.” Made in America. The single use packet is $1.00; the 5 oz. bottle is $13; and the big 20 oz. supply is $44.

Herbal Armor’s natural spray is stinky but effective.

E-Case produces items for something else that needs protection from moisture—those expensive, and quite fragile, tech gadgets that have become indispensible to some people during their outdoors excursions. With various sizes to fit just about everything, including smartphones, e-readers, tablets, cameras, and handheld game systems, the cases are submersible and you can use your device’s touchscreen and talk features while in the case. You can also take photos through the high-clarity windows and some models even have a waterproof headphone jack. I find the cases to be a bit more heavy than I would want to carry on a backpacking trip (I would use a ziplock bag for those outings), but you can be sure my cell phone will be in an E-case during any day trips I take on the water and that my e-reader will be in one during any overnight or longer kayak trips I take. Also made in America. Prices range from $24.95 to $49.95.

So if you find a big old beech tree in the woods, hacked by some love-struck boy with the outline of a heart and a girl’s initials in it, forgive him. He is but following a custom older than Shakespeare, who also records it:

O Rosalind!  These trees shall be my books,

And in their bark my thoughts I’ll character;

That every eye which in this forest looks

Shall see thy virtue witness’d everywhere.

–Donald Peattie

Usually, by the time I start thinking about a new story to relate about life in the Richmond outdoors, a new one just falls into my lap. This is what happens when you spend a lot of time hanging out, or when you hang out outside enough. New stories or interesting observations fall right into your lap. One needs only momentary reflection to know the quality of life these experiences afford. The beauty of the Richmond forest is astounding. The deep texture you discover in yourself and your surroundings while roaming the Richmond forest is revelational. The spiritual growth you see in your children as they play in the Richmond forest is mesmerizing. It all satisfies. The Richmond forest satisfies.

If you spend much time out there, then you also recognize one irrefutable fact: The depth of your experience in nature is something that will never be replaced by digital images or cyberspace reproductions. For the full encounter one must go to the real space of all those other living things, living things that have populated this planet much longer than we have. One must go to raw places where the green earth exudes a very special exhale, and proper inhale requires a full range of human senses and sensibilities.

But this month as my self-imposed writing deadline came and passed, I found my lap strangely empty. Eventually a book happened to be there, and in this book I read some amazing things about the American Beech tree. In my favorite tree identification book, author Donald Peattie does more than catalogue the features of a tree that identify its species. Peattie recounts the significance a tree species has had in the life and thoughts of Americans since we first arrived on this continent. He paints a verbal portrait of the American beech using the same vocabulary one would use to characterize members of the human species. And much as it is with the more animated species, Peattie finds trees most beautiful in the way they color, support, and orient themselves to embrace the great light of their experience — more beautiful in poise than in part, so to speak.

In his “A history of North American Trees,” Peattie rescues American beech, or Fagus grandifolia,  from the scientific dissection table and returns it to the place it was first encountered — in our thoughts and feelings. Only  then does he relate the species to our need to survive, our need to create, and finally the great need that follows those others — our need to build.  His is an unparalleled account of the full interaction between the two most elite delegates from the respective kingdoms of Plant and Animal.

But while admiring his portrait of the American beech tree, I stumbled upon a highlight that seemed conspicuously embellished.  It is said, Peattie writes, that in the year 1916 an old American beech in Washington County, Tenessee fell to the ground, and that in the flesh of this tree one could still read the remnants of a “hunter’s triumphant” inscription:

D Boone

Cilled A Bar

On Tree

In Year 1760

Could this be possible?  On a tree that grows ever larger by exfoliating and replacing  its outer layer, how could it be possible that an inscription made on the outer surface is still visible 156 years after it was first scratched?  We’ve all seen professions of love scratched on beech trees, or confirmations that a person “was here” at a certain date, but how long do these inscriptions remain readable?  The answer to this question would require some hanging out, so I planned a little Richmond hike the next day for me and my daughter.

Brooke brought along one of her best friends, and the three of us dropped onto the Buttermilk trail from the 42nd street parking pullout and headed west into the steep accordion folds of the southern bank just east of the Boulevard Bridge. I was only taking a stab in the dark with this location, but it wasn’t long before our little thrust into the woods found its target.  I’ll let Peattie describe what we saw:

“Far down the aisles of the forest the Beech is identifiable by the gleam of its wondrously smooth bark, not furrowed even by extreme old age. Here it will be free of branches for full half its height, the sturdy boughs then gracefully down-sweeping. The gray bole has a further beauty in the way it flutes out at the base into strong feet, to the shallow, wide-spreading roots. And the luxuriant growth of mosses on the north side of such a tree, together with the mottling of lichens, add to the look it wears of wisdom and serenity.”

Yep. That’s the tree we saw stretching its long arms above a thick stand of yellowing paw paws. And that’s pretty much the impression it made. And this beech tree we found just south of the trail was not alone. Climbing higher and away from the trail we discovered a high ridge populated by a mature stand of beech, and each of these serene old cliff dwellers was densely tattooed with human scratchings to the height of the average reach of a human hand. As expected, the girls and I found an abundance of human addition formulas. One set of initials added to another, with the sum total represented as a heart shaped outline pierced by an arrow. I was at first surprised when the density and quality of inscriptions increased with increasing distance from the well trodden Buttermilk. Then I decided this was natural. It is in these secluded places that intimacy blossoms, and it is on fresh new ground that a young buck of a man claims territory by scratching out proof of his passing.

We found some old dates. Maybe a 1928.  Definitely a 1930, and a 1964. But most of what we found seemed to discredit the idea that a Daniel Boone inscription lasted 150 years. The older inscriptions, as I expected, expanded and distorted until many of them became amorphous hieroglyphs. Over time words had become unreadable shapes. Still, I was surprised that any evidence at all of these old inscriptions remained.

This longevity is possible, perhaps, because the Beech tree wears its heart just beneath a very thin film of skin or bark. By “heart” I mean that place just under a tree’s protective outer layer that is responsible for cell division and differentiation. Decisions are made here about when to slow down or grow faster, where to build extra strength, where to build barriers against decay, when to give up on a damaged section of branch or stem. In short, it’s in this cambium layer that decisions about how to live and grow are made. Growing out of the heart, the fresh cells created by the cambium are responsible for all nutrient and water circulation. It’s as good a place as any to call the heart of a tree.

Humans protect their heart by tucking it inside lungs and a cage of ribs. Most trees protect their heart with a corky outer layer. In some species these outer layers are so thick they can protect the cambium even when the forest is ablaze with fire. In most trees the bark is at least thick enough to protect the tree from extreme heat or cold, or from mild impact or abuse by people and animals. Not so with the beech. With its heart just under a thin grey sleeve, it is one of the fleshiest of trees. I suspect that the longevity of a human etching on the bole of a beech tree is partly dependent on the extent to which the carver’s edge dug into the tree’s heart.  Light scratches distort and disappear more quickly, perhaps, while deeper carvings become long-term tattoos. Maybe, when it is cut deeply enough, a beech tree carries the memory of its heart damage with it even as it grows and expands many years beyond the initial wound.

In the case of the famous Daniel Boone tree, it could merely be that once this tree was known and revered, the original inscription was periodically enhanced by any who did not want this wonderful living tablet of American lore to loose its message. My best guess, after a first-hand study of the old beech trees along Buttermilk Trail, is that as the name “Daniel Boone” began to be inked onto the pages of history books, other human hands followed an irresistible double urge. First, those who encountered this tree followed the urge to preserve the inscription. Second, these passersby followed the even stronger urge to replicate the hand motions of an American legend. With pocket knife in hand, I suspect subsequent generations invoked the spirit of the original hand. In their head: Daniel Boone stood in this very spot, and his hand made this exact motion, using a knife like this one,  this killer of “bars” carved these exact words. Plausible. Now I think maybe this famous wound on the heart of an old beech tree was over the years re-opened by the romantic souls of those to follow.

Using our fingers rather than a scratching edge, the girls and I likewise invoked the spirits of the many lovers and youthful wanderers who had stopped long enough in this old stand of beech trees above the Buttermilk to character their thoughts, feelings, and accomplishments.  In the end, I found no clear correspondence between the age of an inscription and its legibility.

And so with this mystery pleasantly unsolved, we dropped down to the immense boulder field adjacent to Mitchell’s Gut rapids to watch a fall day fade over the river. The quiet beauty and tumbling melody at river level was astounding. The late-day playfulness of my daughter and her best friend was mesmerizing.

Entering the boardwalk at Appomattox River Regional Park. Credit: Leonard Adkins

According to the federal government, the greater Richmond area has a population of about 1.3 million. I cite this because, with this large number of people, I’m always surprised when I go somewhere for a walk and don’t encounter even one other person. It recently happened again, and more amazing to me, it was on a beautiful Saturday afternoon of a holiday weekend.

It was a little disconcerting when Laurie and turned off the main road and went by the Riverside Regional Jail to reach the parking lot for the Appomattox River Regional Park. However, once on the trail system, there were no more thoughts about those contained behind concrete walls and razor wire fences.

The park was established in 2003 with just 20 acres, but has grown to include about 80 acres with a trail system that has, if you were to walk every inch of it, maybe close to three miles of pathways. You can thank the volunteers of the Friends of the Lower Appomattox River for planning and helping to construct such a nice network of footpaths into the park’s varied environs.

From the parking lot, Laurie and I descended on the Red Trail, soon crossing over the Cameron Bridge (check out the rock work on this thing!), and turning right to follow the Yellow Trail which loops into a woods whose lush vegetation (mostly) blocked out the sounds of nearby I-295, as well as views of the Appomattox River a few yards below. Helping to make the forest appear to be so lush was a variety of vines, including coral honeysuckle, jasmine vine, grape vines, and, of course, copious amounts of poison ivy.

The park has a non-motorized boat put-in. Credit: Leonard Adkins

We returned to the Red Trail, leading us down to the river and an observation pier jutting quite a number of yards into the river. To the east, traffic moved across the I-295 bridge; directly across the river was the open green space of Point of Rocks Park. There may have been no one else in the Appomattox River Regional Park with us, but the river was being well used by pleasure boaters who sped by us, seemingly wanting to go as fast as possible, and anglers meandering along in their jon boats at the much slower pace of a trolling motor. A couple of raptors flew overhead, while several ducks floated lazily below us next to the pier.

A newer portion of the trail system uses a boardwalk to take visitors across a wetlands populated by moisture-loving plants such as arrow arum, which grew in a large, dense colony that covered acres of soggy soil. This portion of trail came to an end next to a canoe/kayak launch and a picnic pavilion that was so new that there was still sawdust on the ground from where workers had, evidently, just finished cutting the lumber for the roof and the picnic tables. How could it be that no one was here using these facilities—which can be easily reached by a dirt road—on such a gorgeous holiday weekend?

The Appomattox River. Credit: Leonard Adkins

It was an easy ascent that returned us to our car. Yes, it may be a bit of a drive from downtown Richmond, but you can be assured we’ll be returning often to savor the unvisited solitude of this park.

Getting There: Drive 1-95 southward to near Hopewell, take Exit 54 and merge onto Temple Avenue (VA 144) toward Fort Lee/Hopewell. Continue 3.2 miles, turn left onto River Road and, just after passing the regional jail in 3.5 miles, turn left onto the road marked as leading to the park.

Personal trainers are just as confused as you are. Every day it seems, there is a new blog post about “functional” something, or a Youtube video featuring that “insane workout.” Workshops spring up across the county featuring, “the ultimate kettlebell/battle rope/nunchuck/bowling ball/dumbell/box jump workout for your Boot Camp.” DVD’s sell for $75 espousing the promised way to fix your clients, and foam tubes sell for $50. The fitness industry, though full of well-intentioned, passionate individuals, is often muddled with marketing ploys desperately attempting to rise above the noise.

This is the proper place for “insane” workout videos.

It’s ok. We trainers with you. In this day and age, it’s difficult to sift through the junk and find the path. We chase the mysterious “Solution” only to find ourselves tumbling down the Rabbit Hole. At worst, we surrender to the noise, becoming our own Mad-Sanity Viking Sparta Training Camp, hoping that maybe one of you will hear us.

There is another way.

Coaches have begun to sweep away the chaos, nailing down a crisp, clean method that has proven true for athletes for centuries. The secret lies not in confusing muscles or pushing to the limits in every session. The secret lies in the steady, planned progressions of periodization.

You haven’t heard of periodization because it is a marketing snooze fest. Nothing says “unsexy” like incremental progressions over long periods of time. Given the choice between a poster conveying charts and graphs and a poster showing a sweaty hot-body throwing a sandbag, which would you want to see? However, if you look at some of the highest performing athletes in both endurance and strength events, you will see entire years of training planned through periodization.

Periodization is the method of systematically manipulating your intensity and volume over time in order to maximize performance for a given event or goal. By breaking apart your training — whether it be for weight loss, strength gain, or simple health — into cycles of progressive intensity, you can offer your body an opportunity to improve in a concise, sustainable way.

Kettlebells are great — as long as they’re part of a periodized workout regimen.

Take weight loss for example. The key to understanding weight loss is understanding that dropping pounds is not an actionable goal, but rather a result. The goal is to improve one’s nutritional habits as well as one’s ability to exercise, the outcome of which is almost inevitably change in body composition. What’s more, the actions taken need to be consistent and sustainable for a LONG time. Anything short of a year and you are likely going to see a quick fix followed by a yo-yo return to your old ways. For the exercise component, jumping into the deep end of high intensity intervals and heavy lifting is neither sustainable nor advisable. Instead, in the deeply un-exciting means of measured progressions, you begin at the beginning, find success, and constantly move forward. Forever.

Around here is when we, as coaches, begin to lose people. Telling someone about periodization is like discussing the finer points of tax law. You have to get through the mundane facts to get to the more interesting stuff (though I’m not sure that ever happens in tax law). You can still have a TON of fun while periodizing. No one ever said that you can’t use speed ladders, do box jumps, throw kettlebells, run through the woods, ride single track, or get muddy. Workouts can look like games and exercise can feel like play, the trick is in knowing when to play hard and when to play nice. The end result will not only be you at a higher level of performance, but also — ideally — at a much lower risk for injury.

Your body deserves respect, your goals deserve the opportunity to thrive. In a world of instant gratification, unlimited information, and the ceaseless opportunity to compare yourself to others, we all struggle to maintain a focused, systematic approach to our journeys. Allow yourself to enjoy the wildness of your adventures, but also give yourself permission to follow your own intentional path. Planning doesn’t need to be overwhelming or complex; start by knowing where you are now. What hurts? What is weak? Correct those issues, often with the help of a professional, then gradually progress your training, adding resistance, volume, and complexity. Every 3-5 weeks, give yourself an easy week (which more often than not falls perfectly with vacations and normal life interruptions). Always listen to your body and be ready to adjust your plan if your body needs it. This winter, instead of seeking crazier workouts, try periodization. More method, less madness.

Example goal: Spend the winter getting ready for next season’s trail races.

The Appomattox riverfront between Chesterfield and Petersburg was crowded with mills, canals and hundreds of laborers – many of them children. This photograph shows Chesterfield Avenue rising through the village of Ettrick in the background. Credit: Timothy H. O’Sullivan, 1865, Library of Congress

The Appomattox River, like the James, crashes quickly over the Fall Line and provides a frothy spectacle for visitors and a challenging obstacle for boaters. It drops 126 feet in the five miles above Petersburg. This plunge presented an opportunity for dozens of industries — mills and factories that sprang up in the 1800s and drew on the energy of the river, transporting their wares along the canal system that bypassed the rocks and rapids. Today, the river looks mostly natural – a beautiful, seemingly untouched ribbon of wilderness that winds between Chesterfield and Petersburg. A close look reveals the remains of the many mills that operated there.

The businesses that operated along the river thrived by capitalizing on cheap energy and cheap labor. The mill workers, mostly under-educated and illiterate, toiled long hours under dangerous conditions. Men, women and many children were huddled together among clanging machinery and spinning gears for upwards of twelve hours a day. Period photographs of cavernous buildings and the workers that occupied them are a stark contrast to the beautiful scenery along the Appomattox River today.

Children were often put to work in mills and textile factories throughout the United States in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Mill families were usually large, and the wage of one parent was not enough to support the household. It was not unusual for both parents and their children to be employed in the same vocation. The average wage for an adult was fifty cents per day, while children might earn ten cents per day. The low pay was barely enough for families to afford housing. Many rented cabins from the mill company and lived in crowded factory villages.

Lawrence Purdy (right) had been working in the Matoaca Mill spinning room for two years when this picture was taken. His brother standing next to him also “helped” in the mill. Credit: Lewis Hine, 1911, courtesy of makinghistorynews.com

Inside the mills children were given the task of changing spindles and bobbins and other jobs in which small hands were advantageous. Injuries to bare feet (many families could not afford shoes) and hands were common. So were amputations. One doctor in a southern mill town reported the he had personally performed amputations on more than one hundred children injured by mill machinery. The fate of many young women was especially tough. Many girls, after being injured or because their hands grew too large to fit inside the machinery, could no longer work in the mills. It was not unusual for teenage girls to work as prostitutes in mill villages.

Historian William Henderson wrote about the lives of mill workers in Virginia Cavalcade Magazine in 1981. His article, A Great Deal of Enterprise, vividly describes the experience of millers along the Appomattox River. “Often the children who worked the twelve hour shifts fell asleep while eating and the children who worked the night shift fell asleep on the floor of the mill.” He also describes the concerns of a spokesman for national child labor legislation when addressing the educational opportunities for mill children. “There is sometimes a night-school for the little workers but they often topple over with sleep at their desks, after the long grind of the day. Indeed they must not spend too many wakeful hours in the night-school, shortening their sleep time: for the ogre of the mill must have all their strength at full head in the early morning.”

Staked stone arches and a few walls hidden in the overgrowth are all that remain of the Battersea Mill. The ruins can be found on the Lower Appomattox River Heritage Trail starting on Fleet Street in Petersburg. Credit: Lorne Field

Their experience did not go undocumented. Photographer Lewis Hine worked for the National Child Labor Committee in the early twentieth century. He captured images of juvenile laborers across America. He made a few stops in Chesterfield in Petersburg. His emotional portraits of miners, mill workers and farmers helped fuel the push for reform and the abolition of child labor.

The villages of Ettrick and Matoaca in Chesterfield and the riverfront neighborhoods of Petersburg have many surviving examples of mill worker homes. Standing since the 1800s and early 1900s, most of the homes are still occupied, some by descendants of mill families. The banks of Appomattox River bear the foundations of innumerable mills – nearly obscured by dense vegetation. Some obvious remains demand attention. The stone arches of the Battersea Manufacturing Company in Petersburg are particularly impressive. The mill drew water from a canal to power its machinery. The water was discharged into the river through the arches.

The milling industry in Chesterfield and Petersburg began to decline after the Civil War. War-time damage to property and the local the economy were difficult to overcome. The industries saw brief periods of prosperity followed by tough economic times again and again in the second half of the nineteenth century. The milling industry along the Appomattox River finally ended when the last mill, the Battersea Mill, closed in 1918.

Worker homes in the mill village at Matoaca. By Lewis Hine, 1911, courtesy of makinghistorynews.com

The Friends of the Lower Appomattox River have worked for years to create trails and access points along the river. The Lower Appomattox River Heritage Trail links Appomattox Riverside Park in Dinwiddie County to a parking area at Campbell’s Bridge on Fleet Street in Petersburg. A number of dams, canals and foundations will remind a hiker of the river’s milling history. The most impressive feature of this part of the river however, is its striking beauty. The scenery masks its industrial past and the hard-bitten lives of the mill workers who labored along its banks.

A collection of more than five thousand Lewis Hine child labor photos can be viewed on the Library of Congress Website.

View of the river today on the Lower Appomattox River Heritage Trail. Credit: Lorne Field

A runner in the woods at the 2014 Belmead Trailfest. Credit: Charlottesvilleareatrailrunners.blogspot.com

A motley bunch of us milled around the stable waiting calmly for directions to go forth into battle. Tall and fit, short and portly, old and the wise, naïve and undertrained, some were dressed in fabrics from 1972 cotton, while others had state-of-the-art 2014 dri-fit. All were up for a two-footed adventure on hallowed ground. Before we knew it, the cracked neon trash cans were positioned in a makeshift starting line and the nuns bestowed the final blessings. No nerves, no last minutes strides, no care in the world of where we were going or how long it would take to get to the end. At that very moment – I knew this day would be something so much more special than a simple race.

This was the Belmead Trailfest, a first year ultra-running festival traversing the rural, historic, and absolutely stunning acreage of the Belmead on the James property in Powhatan County. Maintained by the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament when it was operational in the 1800s, the property now contains thousands of acres of singletrack trails, ornate old school buildings, and rolling cornfields. It is also the final resting place of so many who were called to live a religious vocation. The property is not usually open to the public, but today was different.

I chose the 50K race, but there was also a 50-miler. Both races were true no-frills affairs, with all sorts of characters, visual oddities, and comforts of home. This was no Rock ‘N’ Roll Marathon. It was like staying in a bed and breakfast in rural Ireland compared to checking in at a Marriott and hitting up IHOP. This race was so personal and inviting and you wanted to stay just a bit longer and fill up on conversation and homemade food.

Finisher’s coasters for the first-ever Belmead Trailfest in Powhatan Co. Credit: Charlottesvilleareatrailrunners.blogspot.com

Each of the ten mile loops was like running through a fairytale. The morning dew never quite burned off, captured in delicate little spider webs on the freshly cut running path. Every now and then, a horse jump would appear, sometimes with bright orange and yellow mums planted inside the posts with care. After the first loop, I still felt the playful urge to self-hurdle over the barriers, but I knew it was not a great idea with the increasing probability of a face plant with each additional mile.

The sun beat down intensely in the middle miles of each loop, but my gaze remained transfixed on the simple little graveyard of white, painted, and unmarked wooden crosses centerpiecing the massive cornfield, as this sight allowed any discomfort, angst, or dread about this long race to melt away. I floated through these middle miles, thinking it would be fine if I moved on to the next life right now and rested under that white cross raised on the grassy knoll. As I ambled around the corners of the field, I snatched bursts of the smoky, spicy smell of charred corn. It was a spiritual sensory overload — a wonderful fusion of all of the life reflection taken from my very best runs, talks with God, and walks in the woods.

The second half of each loop immersed runners in not-too-technical singletrack deep in the woods of the property. Little wooden bridges spanned trickling creeks and hand carved wooden plaques, indicating the crossing of such curious spots as “Sister Foolproof Bridge.”

Mustering a smile is not easy deep into a 50-mile or 50K race. Charlottesvilleareatrailrunners.blogspot.com

Oh, the rest stops! Every three miles, a blue pop-up tent was spotted through the clearing. As fatigue and thirst crept into my body, I questioned whether this was a mirage or the read deal. Water? Blue Gatorade? A swig of pickle juice? Friendly, chatty volunteers were ready to cut up a nutella quesadilla, hand you a fig bar, or shove some turkey sandwich squares in your pocket to-go. This was race hospitality at its finest.

As the last left hand turn came into sight, I could hear the small, but mighty band of spectators and volunteers beckon me to the finish chute. I mustered up my finest form to bound through the finish flags with a big smile on my face. I was immediately handed a hand-carved wooden coaster, so I can proudly display proof of my new longest-race-distance on my coffee table for years to come.

I was excited to try out the 50k (31-mile) distance at a low key, trail event at a location close to home, but the entire experience was more rewarding than I ever imagined. I felt like my race entry was helping to fund the outreach and the deteriorating historic buildings on this beautiful property, while simultaneously feeding my soul doing what I love. I am ready to tackle some other races, but I am not sure they will be as special to me as the Belmead 50k.

Preparation can help lessen the chances of this result when taking a kid mountain biking.

Richmonders can consider themselves lucky to be surrounded by some of the best mountain biking trails in Virginia. As cycling in RVA continues to grow in popularity, it’s the perfect time to round up the family, pull out the bikes, and start exploring the network of amazing trails in our regional backyard. The local parks offer opportunities for even the youngest cyclists to begin honing their single track skills. Mountain biking provides riders with many opportunities to improve their technical ability. Skills such as balancing, braking, shifting, climbing, descending, choosing the best line and getting over or through obstacles will all come into play on the trails. Not only will your young riding partners have a blast learning this adventurous sport, they will emerge from the trail with improved bike handling skills for any type of riding.

GETTING STARTED: To get started on trails with the kids, be sure they are on a geared mountain bike that suits their size and they are wearing a properly fitted helmet. Cyclists fresh off their training wheels will need to gain leg strength for trail riding.

WHERE TO GO: Trails such as the Flats section of Poor Farm Park in Hanover County provide a great area for building strength. As its unofficial name implies, this section is flat but rooty and offers the young novice great opportunities to practice sighting ahead, riding off seat with pedals parallel, and navigating curvy single track, all while building strength and endurance.

Deep Run Park in Henrico also offers a great area for beginners. Inn the front area of the park, you’ll find single-track descents, which, in the opposite direction, offer a nice challenge for climbing and the opportunity to master shifting. The park also boasts a set of V-ditches ranging from the most modest pitch to a steeper, more adventurous V-ditch. These offer an opportunity to practice the hips-back descending position and quick, back-to-front weight transfers needed to successfully navigate this type of terrain.  The V-ditches are a guaranteed kid pleaser! Other areas in the park offer opportunities for practicing creek crossings, log obstacles, rock gardens and tougher hill climbs.

Who knows, your kid might have the talent to do this. Credit: Va. Interscholastic Cycling Association

Belle Isle, in the heart of downtown Richmond, offers a fantastic skills park where young and old alike can practice a variety of techniques needed for tackling the downtown trail system. Here, you’ll find rock gardens; short, steep ascents and descents; log obstacles; rock obstacles; and the two pump tracks, which every kid (and kid at heart) will love. Outside of the skills park, along the eastern side of Belle Isle, you will find the Lost trail. This flat trail provides skill-building opportunities and off-road adventure for young riders. For more experienced kids, the top of Belle Isle provides a fun challenge and an opportunity to use the skills they’ve acquired down at the skills park. An ascent up the fire road in the middle of Belle Isle will definitely provide practice in the areas of shifting and climbing. Turning left at the top leads to single track that will include short, steep ascents, descents, root beds, and log obstacles. This short loop finishes with a long descent of twists and turns over cobblestones where descending and braking competence are crucial. A challenging exit requires braking, turning and balancing skills as you make a hard left turn and find yourself back down at the skills park. Once a young rider feels comfortable on this trail, they will be ready for the main attraction…the adventures that Buttermilk, Forest Hill and North Bank trails have to offer.

The skills park on Belle Isle is a great place for kids to learn basic MTB skills. Credit: Greg Rollins

Pocohontas State Park in Chesterfield County is a mountain biking treasure you should place on your “MTB to do” list. Offering miles and miles of trails, Pocohontas Park was recently awarded a grant to help it become part of the official Richmond Regional Ride Center, approved by the International Mountain Biking Association (IMBA). Currently there are only eleven IMBA Ride Centers in the world. The grant will improve existing trails and help build many more miles of trails with the goal being to provide something for riders of all skill levels. The mountain bike trails at Pocohontas currently are rated Green, Blue and Red. The Green trail is the easiest and is great for building strength and endurance for the young kiddos. The Blue Trail requires moderate technical skills, as riders will encounter climbs, drops, log crossings or rocky areas. Red trails are designated for experienced riders, offering obstacles such as skinnies, jumps, and other technical riding. The miles of double track fire roads at Pocohontas are great for enjoying ride time together and building strength and endurance for all skill levels.

Mountain biking is an exciting sport that can bond a family through mud and adventure! By starting with the proper equipment and the appropriate trail level, young riders will gain experience and confidence that will allow them to enjoy the multitude of trails that help make RVA the great cycling town we love!