Ralph White…

In that brief, wordless pause your mind perhaps conjured up an image or formed some other association. If you work or play much in the Richmond outdoors you probably know not only the name but can picture the man. The short, twinkle-eyed park ranger walking a riverside trail in his mauve button-down shirt, shorts, hiking boots and socks to his knees.

If you are younger than 15, your “Ralph White” is probably a snake charmer and a storyteller. He comes to you as translator – as though he has learned to speak “rock” or speak “reptile,” and would very much like for you to receive the message of those quiet, almost forgotten languages. If you are a city of Richmond administrator, your “Ralph White” may be a troublesome rule breaker who once made you work harder and think harder about the often ridiculous nature of your own rules.

If you owe your association to reporters of the Richmond Times-Dispatch, your “Ralph White” is a complex character wearing either halo and wings or horns and a tail, alternating in accordance with the schizophrenic weather of public opinion. In fact, if you are a well-read Richmonder, you may even have mental associations in which your “Ralph White” wears a green peace halo and the red horns of civic malpractice all in the same instance. Such is the inevitable characterization of a nature lover living and working in a modern, progressive city.        

The Ralph White I met for the first time in 2004 was a bright-eyed and earnest man whose life story is very much dominated by the intimate bond he has formed with the river James. A healthy, sustaining relationship that has before, and will forever, instruct his behavior and politics.

Fortunately for us, this special relationship between Ralph and James is not an exclusive one. He wants other Richmonders to know and appreciate the age and wisdom that flows through our little town each day.  He thinks maintaining our own healthy relationship and bond with this pre-historic flow of water will enrich our lives. Crazy, right? Hell no. Pure, quiet truth.

I hadn’t known him long before the flesh and blood Ralph White, always more interesting than anything you could read or hear about him, interrupted one of his own animated nature translations to proclaim “Scott, here’s what I recommend you do.”  I have never found Ralph’s voice to be overexcited or melodramatic, and yet he still seems intensely interested in his subject and communicates his thoughts with precise enunciation. A classic NPR voice (I can’t believe they haven’t snatched him out of retirement yet!).  It was in his best Americanized Elizabethan voice that Ralph pronounced, “It would serve you well, my friend, to float the river beneath the uncommon light of a harvest moon.”

Aaaah! Nice idea, me thinks. Floating gently in a canoe as the soft blue rebound of yesterday’s light silvers the James. Should be great! I’ll grab some beer, pack a cooler, push the kids and the wife out of the house…we’ll all have a sweet nighttime boat ride.

“No. no.  Here is the best way.” Ralph advised, a bit more earnestly.  “I recommend that you don a life jacket and float your body limply at the thin interface of air and water. Immerse yourself in both mediums simultaneously.”  

“In early September,” he continued,  “the air and water are so mutual in temperature and feel that floating on the surface and watching the stars and harvest moon rise above the river is the nearest you can come to space walking without leaving earth’s atmosphere. As you float along in quiet suspension, earth, James, and cosmos meld into one.” With eyes now shining above smile-inflated cheeks Ralph White added, “It’s a marvelous experience, this floating.”

Ok. Ok. Wow! I was in. The Press Secretary of the James River had passed me privileged information on how to access the inner chambers. How to go on a special trip with Richmond’s Great Flow! Yes, I was in! Or so I thought.

I got busy. Every September I was haunted by the notion, the remembered conviction in Ralph’s voice, and the tempting description of a transcendent experience, and every September the harvest moon came and went as I worked and lived my way under and past.  10 times. Kindergarden thru 10^th  grade for one, toddler thru 7^th grade for the other, puppy thru senior citizen for another, parties, recessions, recedings, deaths, births — 120 moons of that stuff.

The haunting would finally end on September 9^th, 2014.     

Only with the help of Ralph’s wonderful description did I encourage my wife and one of my daughters, as well as our friends and their two young children, to try a space float with me. According to Ralph, for the best trip you should float through the celestial changing of the guard, watching the sun disappear in the west only moments before the harvest moon rises in the east.  This year, the clouds that had obscured the sunset and threatened to cancel the whole trip disbanded just enough for the moon to shine through.  That’s when we rushed to the river’s edge with our friends and pushed away from the southern bank a quarter mile or so west of the Huguenot Bridge.

The world was black in its wooded places, but purple and blue in open air or field. The grey clouds of daytime were breaking up into sorcerous white puffs, electrified and illuminate somehow by the sun’s strange afterthought. We started our trip by paddling to the opposite bank where the moon was more visible. The water received the canoe with only the quietest ripple. My daughter was giddy. I stirred the shiny soup with my paddle, heard the light chuckle of water on plastic, and I too grew giddy. Shrinking down, my wife Amy grabbed the sides of the canoe with each awkward tilt. She was sure, I think, that this was the big one. This was the time when one of my crazy ideas was finally gonna do us in.

Straight away I knew Ralph was right about leaving the beer at home. Beer, or any other mental laxative I might use to release the tension and stress of my day. On the river under a full moon, the proper frame of mind was awakened by the strangeness of the experience, and the quality of the light. After paddling through the rock garden separating us from the northern bank we gathered on the sand with our friends at the eastern tip of Long Island. The kids were the first to try the water, laughing and splashing near the edge. Then we all leaped in. We leaped away from earth and into the gentle space connecting water and sky. With our canoes drifting alongside, we floated. The kids were noisy and boisterous at first, but we encouraged them to quiet down. To look at the moon, and the stars, and to float.

I shined like the Silver Surfer when I lifted my arm or leg from the water, as though I had been dipped in molten steel. Under the harvest moon the surface of James had the creamy look of liquid metal, and the ripples from our motions made the reflected light dance and quiver around us.

As we neared the Huguenot Bridge, I complained that the noise and light were separating us from a more peaceful experience.  Floating a few yards away my friend Susan, always wise but perhaps wiser still after the recent loss of a precious life companion, reminded me to let those noisy speeding flashlights on the concrete above have their own place in it all. To let nothing we were experiencing seem alien, disruptive, or deficient. Susan reminded me to float.

Our bodies were widely dispersed on the surface, but 30 or 40 minutes into the dark drift, Brooke pushed through the liquid silver and attached herself to my chest. My 12 year old made a fetal curl against my left side, and a few minutes later said she didn’t want to go home. Me either. We became a strange, metallic sculpture noticed and shined by the harvest moon of 2014. We floated.

What was the point?  How does it end?

My wife says that when she tells the story of our little space float to a friend, the listener seems prepared for some dramatic ending or punchline. “And then, on our way back, the canoe tipped over and we all nearly drowned,” for instance, or “That’s when the moon spoke to us as the reflected face of God.” 

No. Nothing like that. Then what was the point?

It’s impossible to know for sure. Some kind of communion occurred, and as with any communion, the value of the experience is, strangely enough, difficult to commune-icate.  I find it difficult to package the experience into some bag or box labeled “Moral” or “Meaning.”

I do know that as I float limply on the moonlit surface of the James River with one of my spiritual piggyback riders curled close against me, I begin to lose my shape or outline. I begin to lose that often most painful element of my humanity – my identity. When my daughter, my wife and I are reduced to two hydrogens and an oxygen immersed in nature, responding only to universal instructions, and shined like liquid silver by the harvest moon, we transcend the human experience. I don’t so much leave my body as I dissolve into outer space. The space outer from “me.” And as my modern physics teaches me, once I dissolve my “self” into atoms, and then further into subatomic entities, I enter the realm where matter and energy are interchangeable. I become a more pure being, and feel welcomed into a universal experience that has no end, and for all I can tell, no “moral” or “meaning.” A place where stories are forever starting but never ending. My little human packaging efforts become nonsensical.

Yes, yes. Sure. But then we climb back into our shells of flesh, and back into the larger shell of fiberglass. We paddle back to our car, and then drive the rolling shell back to our house. And that’s when the strangest of all things happens. That’s when I pick up a pen and paper and scribble these small symbols, hoping to share with you something about the floating. I try to tell you about that special place of dissolution where it seems “OK” for it all to mean nothing at all. I try to tell you about a place where you stop wanting, flailing, treading, and exerting – a silvery, moonlit place where you only float.

Ralph knows all about these little spiritual bathplaces. About scrubbing between the atoms and getting refreshed for another difficult day in the life of an identified and named compilation of spirit and matter. Ralph knows how cleansing it is to explore places where identity fades and “meaning” is meaningless. To float in outer space.      

Ralph White…Spacewalker and Experiential Guide.

Thank you, my good Sir. Well Recommended.

Good results in the water, on the bike and the road require the right preparation. Credit: Endorphin Fitness

Part of the appeal of outdoor recreation is the presence of risk. Whether you’re dropping onto single track or hucking over a ledge, you may be embracing the presence of nature, but you are also tickling the edge of danger. (Ok, some of you give it a full-on noogie.)  However, even at your most dangerous level, perhaps exactly because of the elevated risk, you take extra steps to ensure that you still come home at the end of the day. Helmets, ropes, and scouting all keep you in the green. Just as you approach your sport with a pleasant rush of adrenaline sidled up to a healthy dose of caution, consider offering your body the same respect. While you cannot guarantee that you will never experience an injury, you can certainly do everything in your power to reduce your risk.

Scout ahead

Before you head into your next big adventure, get to know your body. Stepping back and surveying can save you time, pain, and money (unless you have killer insurance; in that case, go ape). Qualified professionals use objective assessments such as the Functional Movement Screen (disclosure: this is one of my preferred methods), the Overhead Squat Assessment, muscle testing, and various forms of postural assessments. These tests examine how you move through a given range of motion in order to determine where you are weak, tight, unstable, and strong. If you haven’t been through a movement assessment, I highly recommend the experience, especially if you are prone to overuse injuries.

In the meantime, at home you can do a quick survey. Standing on two feet, can you bend forward and touch your toes (mobility and hip mechanics)? Can you hold a good plank for 15 seconds (core, shoulder stability)? Can you stand on one foot, with control, for 10 seconds (stability)? Anywhere that you display significant dysfunction or asymmetry opens you up to an increased risk for damage, whether it is on a training run or while mulching your flowers. Over time, particularly any time you increase intensity, the vicious cycle of compensation, damage, pain, compensation winds tighter and tighter until you are shut down. Scout ahead and make a plan. Avoid the rocks.

Check your gear

Bikes and shoes will either give you freedom or extreme discomfort. Finding the right fit is the key factor. I frequently meet with athletes who have met with various doctors, only to learn that their shoes posed the major problem. Bike fit is no less crucial. If you have never been fitted, allow me to address a few things: 1) The saddle doesn’t have to hurt.  2) Low back pain is not normal. 3) Hand numbness is not acceptable. A little bit of time and money on the front end will pay dividends in the long run. Once we have ruled out gear as the compounding factor, looking into other problem sources (see #1) becomes more reliable.

Do the maintenance

You wax your surfboard, pump your tires, and lay out your rope. These chores are tedious, yet hardly time consuming and always worth the increased performance that results. Of course, as your equipment gets older you have to increase the amount of maintenance work, but I think you get the metaphor now.

Cycling is a popular cross training choice for runners.

You should maintain yourself the way you do your bike.

Finding balance between mobility and stability contributes to keeping your body in its best condition. Strength comes into play, but without the foundation of optimal joint movement (a product of stability and mobility), strength results may become compromised. Based on your self-testing (or, ahem, visit to a qualified professional), you would be well served by dedicating five minutes each day to focused drills. To improve hip mobility, squeeze your glute while you stretch your hip flexor and quad. To work on balance, stand on one foot while playing catch with your kid. To improve your plank, start with kneeling planks performed in short sets of 10 seconds on, five seconds off (view our perfect plank video). Continue to progress until you can hold a plank on your toes. I like to work on short sets that force you to find good form multiple times rather than trying to force one long hold where all you practice is suffering. Whatever it is, make it a consistent part of your day. Rather than it being a further demand on your time, think of it as a way of extending the life of, well, YOU.

Can you spit?

Many years ago, in my whitewater days, I was given a sage piece of advice: “When you scout a rapid that scares you, spit. If you can’t spit, don’t run the rapid.”  The day came that I looked at Hollywood Rapid, raging at some unearthly flood stage and, barely able to get around my parched lips, I muttered “See ya.”  In truth, I’m pretty sure I could have run the rapid; but the cost of failure was decidedly final. I didn’t trust myself to be able to do what I needed to do, so I walked away. Being pushed to expand your capabilities is the glory of being active, but with that should come respect for your limits.

Beyond picking appropriate levels at which to participate (if you are 5k ready, you probably shouldn’t come out for the marathon); you should be cognizant of what level you are at from day to day and week to week. Race on race day, train on training day, rest on rest day. Never vice versa. (A co-worker and pro triathlete has it tattooed on his wrists: “Hard Days Hard.” “Easy Days Easy”.) Guaranteed, the most common explanation that I hear for “My calf hurts” is something within the general theme of “I did something I don’t normally do at a speed/intensity/gradient that I’m not used to.”  It’s ok, we all do it.  Sometimes a little push can do wonders for our fitness and motivation; however, when it comes to laying your body on the line, know when it is okay to walk away. Then go train until you CAN meet the challenge.

There are 23 other hours in the day

A standing desk is a good idea, but good posture is key whether you sit or stand.

The time that you spend active usually represents such a small percentage of your daily living that discussing injury prevention solely on that sport is like talking about the tree instead of the forest. We all know of the dangers of sitting at desks all day so I will spare you. Set an alarm for every 50 minutes to remind you to stand up and walk around. If you have a standing desk, you are not off of the hook. The most important thing that I have ever learned with regard to effective physical therapy is that, without good posture, nothing else will hold. Ears aligned over shoulders, shoulders aligned over hips, hips over knees, knees over ankles. Feet evenly balanced on the ground. Avoid sucking in just as much as slouching. Ideally, as you stand, you are at relative ease without having to brace or squeeze anything. With a small degree of attention throughout the day, you will enter your adventure already better prepared, thus set up for reducing your risk for injury.

To make it through an entire season without an issue is a gift, but it is a gift that often takes a little prep work and a touch of luck.  The luck will run its own course, but the work, the work will have to come from you.

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”- Benjamin Franklin

Atlantic Ocean sunrise. Credit: Scott Turner

After a week-long vacation to the Outer Banks of the North Carolina coastline, the proper appreciation of this forest sunrise requires not only an ocular adjustment but a mental one as well.  The image of the Albemarle Sound reflecting and softly dispersing the first light of early August dawn was somewhat burned or etched into my retinas, and now as I look into the pre-dawn darkness behind my own house in the Richmond forest, that lavender-pink eye tattoo persists. What a light show it was!

Water and sky mirrored one another as the grey outer fringe of dawn disturbed the earth’s nightly glance into universal darkness. Each morning I woke early, poured myself a cup of mud, and gazed eastward across the shallow water of the sound or the broad expanse of the Atlantic. And each morning, in advance of its full, undistorted shine, the sun’s groping grey fingers revealed more similarity than contrast between the thick fluid below and the lighter fluid of air above. Sky was grey.  Water was grey. All was grey.

But for an understanding of how closely grey relates to lavender, to pink, to orange and to rose, the edge of Atlantic at sunrise is the place to be. By some mystery of refraction, perhaps, there is a point just before dawn when the atmosphere seems to slowly pulse color, and with each pulse grey gives itself over to those warmer, more motherly shades. Long before that great ball of energy looks over the edge of our sphere and directly into my eyes, I have a pretty good idea what Its intentions are. It plans to warm this place up, and to color it, too. It plans to color a contrast between the water below and the air above. Just before It looks directly over with a squint-inducing brightness, I see and feel Its warm pulse in the atmosphere and on the surface of water. It is the Sun!  Burning, creative alternative to darkness! Bright, beautiful giver of life!

Grey becomes lavender. Credit: Scott Turner

It’s darker just before dawn here in the Richmond forest. Beneath the chair my bare feet mate firmly with solid earth rather than digging and sifting through the powdery remnants of crushed-up mountains. An eastward glance into the woods registers a meager distinction between earth and heaven, evidenced by the dark solemnity of the former, a hint of motion or fluidity in the later, and some texture or fuzziness in the transition zone between.  With increasing light I discern clouds floating west to east over the tall stalks of loblolly pine trees. Gradually, out of the darkness below, an animated work of art emerges. A creation. Each species of animal and tree is painted by sunlight not only in unique color, but in unique texture, shape, and finish as well.  Each element of the emerging creation is a different idea, a different brushstroke. Each makes unique motions, and produces unique sounds.

My eyes and mind continue to adjust, until finally I decide that this forest sunrise is every bit as grand as that watery one I experienced over the last seven days. The Atlantic Ocean or Albermarle Sound sunrise tends to glorify the Sun itself and the surrounding sky, and my attention becomes focused on the magnitude and intensity of light, its soft, warm-colored effect on the heavens, and its quivering reflection on the surface of water. A quite beautiful, but also a quite solitary sunrise. Other than passing gulls, who seem to hear and deride my self-indulgent thoughts with their long, sarcastic laughs, the bulk of any nearby wildlife passes unnoticed beneath the blue, watery veil. At places where these great bodies of water lick their outer boundaries, the primary features of a new day are the Sun, its light, and the methodical white noise of water meeting earth. 

Richmond forest sunrise. Credit: Scott Turner

Here in the woods that retina tattoo is not so much removed as it is colored over. This forest sunrise glorifies the wondrous living things that are eager this and every morning to greet the Great Provider. Purple-robed columns of loblolly pine spire 110 feet into the sky, where their upper needles are the first of the forest greenery to blush pink under the sun’s direct gaze. Lower in the canopy the leaves of many different Virginia natives each respond to the sun and morning air with their own unique luster and flutter.  Waves of moving air create the same swishing and whispering in forest trees as water waves create at the beach. Birds greet the morning with a diversity of song, cicadas with choral squeals of waxing and waning intensity, and a mourning dove tries to steal the heart of a lover with the depth of his wooing lament. Chasing squirrels turn the cylindrical pine trunks into grey-spiraled barber poles as they test each other’s fitness and agility, routinely making death defying leaps from tree to tree.

The more it glows bright green with sunlight, the busier the forest becomes. The get-to-work bell rings in an infinitude of tiny photosynthesis factories as the trees and shrubs begin to pile up and store the sun’s offerings again after a night of repose. There are many characters, and much drama amongst them.  The star of this forest sunrise is not the earths own great star, but the immense array of living things it shines upon. I watch this Richmond sunrise not in solitude, but in congregation with a multitude of earth’s living things. Like them, I try to absorb, enjoy, and grow in the morning shine.

Sunlight on leaves. Credit: Scott Turner

And from my small pew in the forest, each morning at sunrise, I have this wonderful chance to relive the creation story – the genesis of the book of Genesis.  Oh, sure, there are other versions than that story, and even many different interpretations of that story. There are different ideas about who the Creator is, and what It wants from me. Even so, I accept certain elements of the story as self-evident. After a long, dark night, and out of the chaos of darkness, the first thing the Creator says is “Let there be light!” From the darkness earth is separated from sky, and on earth there emerges a green, fruitful garden. Living, toiling, and loving in the garden paradise unconsciously are birds and animals. Sitting and thinking in the garden is me, partially separated from that paradise by self-consciousness (ate a bad apple?), and forever reaching and trying to understand my relationship to the Great Light of the Creator.

Every day.  Any day.  During any given sunrise, the natural and written history of life on earth begins and continues. 

Richmond’s trails are not for the faint of heart. Credit: Trey Garman

I’m riding along Buttermilk Trail, a stone’s throw from a beer-brown James River, inhaling air thick with the aroma of slow moving water. The sun, prevented all morning by the thick summer foliage from acquiring a clear shot, has finally found its perch directly above me. My brain, so far, has had the day off, as every decision has come from instinct alone; acquiring coffee, driving to Reedy Creek, picking which lines to ride amidst the roots, ruts, and bumps, attacking the zany topography of Forest Hill Park with both energy and strategy, and leaning into every curve of the trail with such commitment I could reach down and cut a second tire track through the dirt with my finger. I feel as indigenous to these parks as a squirrel to a tree.

Up ahead is a section that is infamously rider-hostile; full of abrupt, steep climbs, dark, inconveniently placed creek water, and rock gardens so jarring they make you feel like you’re reentering earth’s atmosphere. I’ve seen American Ninja Warrior courses more welcoming. Usually I skip it by cutting up to Riverside Drive, or by throwing my bike on my shoulder and taking the foot-detour, treading carefully up the hills and around the obstacles as if fearful of awakening some sleeping giant, but this morning has been one of those rare rides that creates more energy than it burns. I’m in no mood for detours today.

Reaching a small clearing, I rotate my pedals to a sturdy 9 and 3, stand, and turn a few quick circles to reset myself. I know I can’t ride it. Unlike the trail behind me, the one ahead can’t be conquered with mere focus or grit. It requires more than the ability to get yourself psyched up. It requires experience, more skill, more talent, a higher level of overall physical fitness than I currently have – and possibly some sort of jet pack. It’s a strip of earth traversable only by the serious full-timers – those riders for whom you happily get out of their way, whose bodies are as skeletal and strong as the bikes beneath them. I’d have a better chance of playing left tackle for the Washington Redskins (and possibly safer) than remaining above the saddle throughout this section of trail.

Buttermilk Trail: You might not find a more technical MTB challenge in any American city. Credit: Phil Riggan

But I am getting psyched up. I am beginning to focus. Isn’t riding in places you didn’t think you could ride the whole point of mountain biking? I chew some water out of my Camelback’s mouthpiece. Each handle grip feels like the hilt of a sword, and with that thought… I charge.

A few short minutes later, much dirtier and smelling of creek water, I’m heading back the way I came, back to Reedy Creek and the comfort of my truck. The sound of my tires spinning across the ruler-flat single track is a soothing white noise, like a radio that’s lost its signal. I didn’t make it, but I’m happy I tried. My soul is wide awake, and so is the giant.

Riders prep their bikes for the Sports Backers’ Anthem Moonlight Ride. Credit: Richard Chittick

There was just one little problem with the Anthem Moonlight Ride this past weekend: Where was the moon? Seems an event called the Anthem Moonlight Ride should have a decent show of the moon. Wasn’t it just a few days prior that everyone was talking about the supermoon and how the moon would be a dazzling display of mooniness? Well, turns out the moon had moved on. Six days after the supermoon of August 2014, the moon rose at nearly midnight, hours after the 5th annual nighttime bike ride sponsored by Sportsbackers had ended. When it did finally rise, it was a waning gibbous, about 60% of full, according to www.timeanddate.com. 

But that was probably the only glitch facing nearly 3,000 people who showed up on Saturday night to check this event out, which is getting bigger each and every year. That many people, that many bikes, and twice as many lights, with at least one light on the front and back of each bike. It’s a spectacle, to be sure, what with all the sparkly red tail flashers mixing in with the steady beam of the headlights.

Here’s a few other things I observed about Saturday night’s ride:

– It’s not just the people that come in all shapes and sizes at an event like the Anthem Moonlight Ride, it’s the bikes, too. Road bikes, mountain bikes, cross bikes, kids bikes and tandems of various designs all made appearances. Then I saw the coup de gras right at the start line: a 3-person tandem with a middle seat custom-designed for a 5-year-old. It had a special crank mounted above but linked to the original one with special crank arm attachments all to cater to the little girl’s small legs. She was a genuine part of the operation of the bike, steadily pedaling away with her parents as they made their way through the course.

Bikers had police escorts throughout the Anthem Moonlight Ride. Credit: Richard Chittick

– The event featured two courses, the 17-mile Full Moon, and the 8-mile Half Moon. The Full Moon featured an out-and-back of Lakeside Avenue via Hermitage Avenue with a quick side-trip into Bryan Park, along with an out-and-back of Monument Avenue via Westwood and Malvern avenues. The Half Moon course featured the same course as the first 8 miles of the Full Moon before heading back into Sportsbackers Stadium along Hermitage Avenue. The courses used roads in both Richmond and Henrico County.

– According to the announcer at the start of the event, this year marked the first year that the course was completely closed to traffic. Though I don’t remember traffic being a problem when I rode this event in 2012, the course certainly felt safe on Saturday, with a police officer stationed at every intersection along the way.

– And of course, there was the Blue Moon Costume and Tacky Light Contest. I saw someone riding a bike wearing a blow up sumo wrestling costume, and an entire family wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jerseys – to say nothing of the elaborate lighting systems used to illuminate entire bikes and wheelsets. At times, some of them looked like oddly shaped Christmas trees rolling down the road.

My wide, Laurie, and I moved to the Richmond area more than five years ago primarily to be closer to her father, who will be 87 this year and lives near Kilmarnock. That means a large percentage of our weekends are spent on the Northern Neck, and one of our favorite places to take a walk is the Hickory Hollow Natural Area Preserve.

Hickory Hollow is 254 acres of woodlands and swamp near Kilmarnock. Credit: Leonard Adkins

With this being summer, and Richmondoutside.com featuring some road trips, now is the perfect time for you to consider taking the less-than-two-hour drive eastward to the preserve. It has a Tidewater landscape and plant life worth exploring, yet receives a only few visitors a day, so you may be the only one walking through the 254 acres.

The existence of a marked trail system in the Hickory Hollow area of Lancaster County is proof that the efforts of one person can enhance the lives of many. Although a number of state, civic, and environmental organizations contributed donations and volunteer efforts, county forester Henry Bashore is generally acknowledged as the person who made an idea into a reality. Not only did he help coordinate the groups’ efforts and persuade the county bureaucracy to open Hickory Hollow to the public, but he spent his own time and funds developing, building, and maintaining the trail system. This is surely a lesson to those of us who feel that one person alone cannot make a difference.

From 1780, the first year of recorded ownership, to 1877, the land changed hands several times and was used for a variety of purposes, notably for timber or farming. In 1877, Lancaster County purchased the property and maintained a farm on it until 1905. The process of reforestation has allowed the timber to be harvested numerous times, the last in 1962.

You’ll rarely encounter other hikers at Hickory Hollow Natural Area Preserve. Credit: Leonard Adkins

Most of the nearly six miles of trails is on old logging roads, making the walking moderately easy. The large holes in the ground next to the roads are known as borrow pits. Soil, rock, and clay were “borrowed” from these spots to aid in building a level roadbed. Flying squirrels begin their acrobatics in the early evening; ovenbirds, with their familiar “teacher, teacher, teacher” call, are more often heard than seen; and wildflowers are plentiful throughout. Among them are trout lily, crane-fly orchids, violets, pygmy pipe, and horsetail.

Pink lady’s slippers usually begin lining the roadsides sometime in April. Although their numbers may appear to be more than adequate here, this plant is becoming rarer every year in Virginia. Watch your step and, please, don’t dig one up to replant at home. Like other orchids, the lady’s slipper will grow only when certain fungi are present in soil around its roots. If soil and weather conditions aren’t conducive to the fungi, the lady’s slipper will not survive.

The Ann Messick Trail descends to Cabin Swamp, which is so intensely green and lush during the warm months that it may make other parts of the forest seem sparse and dull in comparison. Skunk cabbage, jack-in-the-pulpit, spring beauty, wild ginger, marsh marigold, and false hellebore grow among dozens of other wildflowers. Freshwater clams have been seen next to the pennywort in the small streams and the call of great horned owls often echoes through the woods.

The route along the western edge of the preserve is a narrow footpath, giving the area a more rustic feel as you walk through an open beech forest next to a creek, passing in and out of laurel tunnels. Heartleaf, running cedar, and partridgeberry make up the groundcover. The loblolly pines have dropped so many needles onto the understory that it looks to be festooned by thousands of thin brown icicles.

You should be aware that in the late 1990s, many residents of Lancaster County (rallied by local citizens Henry Bashore and Ann B. Messick) opposed county plans to develop an industrial park on Hickory Hollow lands. The residents’ nearly tireless efforts were fruitful. Grants and donations, including $150,000 from the Virginia Land Conservation Foundation, were raised to purchase and protect the land. Hickory Hollow is now administered by the Northern Neck Audubon Society with assistance from the Virginia Department of Conservation and Recreation’s Natural Heritage Program. If you enjoy your hike here, be sure to let county officials know that Hickory Hollow was one of the primary reasons you traveled to their county (and probably spent some money there, too).

Driving Directions: From Richmond, take US 360 east to Warsaw. There turn right and head south on VA 3. Just after you go through the town of Lancaster turn right onto VA 604. The preserve is on your left.

Research makes clear the benefits of cross training, and many runners have learned to incorporate it into their training. Some people argue that to run fast you simply need to run more. However, there is a point where one more run could drastically increase your chance for over training or a specific overuse injury. Cross training allows athletes to increase fitness and strength while reducing the risk of injury. Below are several cross training methods that have proven to increase running performance, as well as the best places in Richmond to do these activities.

CYCLING

Cycling is one of the more popular cross training activities. It can increase your ability to have a more powerful run by strengthening key muscles groups and improving your cardiovascular system. Simply put, by getting stronger on the bike you can become a stronger runner.

Cycling is a popular cross training choice for runners.

Key Workout: To gauge progress on the bike, do this test: Warm up for 20 minutes and then do 5 minutes at 95% effort. Take 10 minutes rest and then do 20 minutes at the hardest effort you can sustain for that time. After this, start your cool down. Do this test at the same location each time and record your distance and heart rate if possible to compare progress.

Best Place in Richmond to Cycle: West Creek Parkway is a safe location that many cyclists in the area take advantage of. Just be sure to follow the rules of the road, and watch out for the geese!

SWIMMING

Swimming can be used as a great post-run exercise. It can help loosen up tight areas from your run as well as provide muscular balance. Swimming also increases your lung capacity allowing your fitness reach a higher level.

Key Workout: Do a 500-meter warm up, and then do the following test set: Perform 10 x 100 meters (or yards depending on the pool you are in) with 30 seconds of rest between each interval. These should be done at maximum intensity. Your average pace will allow you to get your threshold swim pace and see if you’re lacking speed over endurance or not.

Pool running is good for injury rehab.

Best Place in Richmond to Swim: The Collegiate School Aquatic Center is located off the Ironbridge exit in Chesterfield. This state of the art swimming facility includes a 50-meter competition pool and a 25 meter instruction pool.

WATER RUNNING

Runners undergoing injury rehab commonly use water running. The exercise allows you to train the running pattern and strengthen key muscles groups without pounding on your body. The key is to do this in deep water and mimic your running form as best you can. Use a flotation belt to get accustom to the technique. Once you get the form down you can remove the belt for a better overall workout.

Key Workout: Do a 15-minute warm up and then 3 x 8 minutes at 80% effort while going as hard as possible for the last minute of each interval. Take 2 minutes easy between intervals and then do a 15-minute cool down.

Best Place in Richmond to Water Run: Any deep-water pool is great for water running.

ANTI-GRAVITY TREADMILL RUNNING

Anti-gravity treadmills are pretty crazy looking, but useful.

Running on an anti-gravity treadmill is a great way to get additional mileage while reducing your chance for injury. This is a specially designed treadmill that allows you to adjust the amount of body weight you run with. You can reduce your body weight by any percentage you would like in order to run at a faster pace or simply run longer with less pounding. This is a great tool to use when rehabbing an injury or simply wanting to increase running fitness by using a running-specific technique.

Key Workout: This is perfect for allowing your body to feel the speed of goal race pace. For example, if training for a 5k you could do a 3.1 mile run at goal race pace and adjust the body weight percentage closer to your actual body weight each time you preform the workout until you run the distance at the pace you desire to run with 100% of your body weight.  Make sure to get a good warm up and cool down during this workout.

Best Place in Richmond to Use an Anti-Gravity Treadmill: Advance Orthopedic has an anti-gravity treadmill that is available for public use. You must call and set up an appointment for someone to show you how the treadmill is operated and then you can schedule the times you would like to use it.

YOGA

It is no secret that runners tend to have very tight muscles, and most running injuries are due to lack of flexibility. Yoga is a great way to improve flexibility while also increasing core control.

Yoga can lead to better results on the trail and road.

Key Workout: Attend a yoga class at a yoga studio for the best instruction.

Best Place in Richmond to Do Yoga: There are many yoga studios in Richmond that are popular for runners. Hot House Yoga is one of the most popular in the area and has classes all day long to accommodate your schedule.

STRENGTH TRAINING

This is an essential component to reaching your running potential. Doing proper strength training exercises allows you to develop muscular balance while strengthening key muscle groups for running. By increasing muscular strength you can become a much stronger runner to a degree. This can also be an essential component to injury prevention.

Key Workout: Do 10 minutes of dynamic warm up exercises like running, jump rope, cycling, etc. You can do body weight exercise anywhere. For example, push-ups, body-weight squats, walking lunges, single leg box squats, split squat, lateral lunges, are all great options. It is best to receive professional instruction before performing these exercises to insure that you have the correct form.

Don’t forget the strength training.

Best Place in Richmond to Strength Train: Endorphin Fitness specializes in strength training for the endurance athlete. Taking one of their eFIT strength training classes is a great way to receive expert instruction and learn key strength exercise to increase running performance.

Recently at a restaurant I overheard a couple discussing their options for the weekend. They didn’t want to “just sit at home” or “just go to the pool.”  They wanted somewhere new to take the kids. I don’t think they were from Richmond, since they talked about nearby theme parks in phrases like, “What about this Kings Dominion place?” and “I think it’s called Water Country.”  I could tell by their defeated tone their hearts weren’t really into any of their suggestions, and each was hoping to hitch a ride on the other’s enthusiasm.

The quarry pond at Belle Isle.

The couple moved on, but I was left thinking…I wonder if they know about Belle Isle?

I’m a Richmond native, but I was almost eighteen before I visited Belle Isle. I was a West End kid, and most of my friends and relatives lived even further west of the city than I did. My parents took my brothers and me on our yearly trips to the Coliseum for the circus and Disney on Ice, and school field trips brought me to the Science Museum and Maymont, but that was pretty much it. My life revolved around Regency Square, Deep Run Park, and all the creeks, woods and playgrounds I could find in between. The world beyond Boulevard (Willow Lawn, really) was a whole other country.

I’d always loved mountain biking as a kid, and one day in high school a friend told me he’d heard about a place (an island, actually), in the city that was supposedly full of mountain biking trails. I knew practically nothing about the James River. The little bit of knowledge I did have came from a few cursory trips to Pony Pasture and whatever could be seen on the occasional excursion across the Willey Bridge. Still, I was skeptical. My friend had to be confused. The notion that, not only was the James River large enough to contain an island, but an island so large that we could ride our bikes on it, sounded crazy. I took a little convincing.

“So you’re telling me there’s an island in the river?”

“Yes.”

“The James River?”

Sunbathers on the Belle Isle rocks. Credit: Wikipedia

“Yes.”

“And it’s in the city?”

“Yes.”

“And on this ‘island’ you can go mountain biking?.”

“Yes!”

I didn’t get out much back then.

We drove downtown, parked (nervously eying the elevated railroad tracks above), and there it was! An actual island! An ‘isle’, to be more exact (the difference being that an isle is a small island and typically has no inhabitants – I looked it up later). But to me it looked huge and, like my friend said, more than capable of holding any number of mountain biking trails.

Since I was only eighteen, I’m sure I made some kind of attempt at acting cool, but inwardly I gawked. It was a picture-worthy sight (at a time when the bar for pictures was a little higher), but back then we couldn’t whip out a camera phone to snare every memorable moment the way we do now; if you wanted a photo you had to plan ahead (which I never did). But I’ll always remember the first time I biked across the suspended foot bridge, the way it evoked a sense of flight, making me feel like I was approaching the island by plane, the rumble of the bridge traffic above an evaded thunderstorm.

The first thing I saw, tucked away just left of the bridge, like a stranger hiding behind a door, was a creepy, rusted-out structure that looked like a bandstand for the undead. Placards reached up from the ground telling the grim history of the island. Canoes and kayaks slalomed through white water that looked to be more boulder than river.

The view across the James River from Belle Isle. Credit: Wikipedia

All afternoon we scrambled up hiking trails steep enough to warrant the use of a grappling hook. There was an abandoned hydroelectric power plant that, when approached, made you feel as if you were discovering an ancient ruin (and made visitors respect, if not always appreciate, the daredevil graffiti artists who’d tagged it). Sheer stone cliffs, as grand as those anchoring curves along Skyline Drive, rose out of a peculiar green lagoon that would send even the least ambitious archaeologists and treasure hunters running for a snorkel. And, as promised, the hilltop forest was a maze of single track trails perfect for mountain biking.

It was one ticking crocodile away from being Never Never Land.

I hope the couple knew about Belle Isle, and if not, that they discover it soon. It’s an amusement park without an admission fee, and, like an amusement park, it can’t be fully appreciated in a single day. After nearly two decades and countless miles of hiking and biking, climbing and running, rock-hopping and dog walking, I’ve learned it will probably take a lifetime.

Pedestrians enjoy the Roanoke River Greenway, which is over 5 miles long. Credit: Max Hepp-Buchanan

It’s amazing what a 10-foot-wide ribbon of asphalt can do to transform a region. Paved multi-use trails have completely altered the transportation and recreation landscape in cities like Boulder, Minneapolis, and Washington, D.C. For me, those are the first places that come to mind when thinking about great cities for bicycling on paved trails, but what about Virginia Beach? Or Roanoke?

Or Chesterfield County?

Maybe Chesterfield County is not quite there yet, but they are thinking ahead. A team of county staff are now in the process of developing the county’s new Bikeways & Trails Plan, which will map the future of paved trails and on-street bikeways in the Chesterfield. And they are looking to local leaders like Virginia Beach and the Roanoke region for guidance by touring those locations and meeting with their planners.

I have been fortunate enough to join the Chesterfield County team on their study trips this spring and summer, and I’ve learned a lot about how a well-placed trail, built at the right kind of roadway or property development can make all the difference in how people get around by walking or biking.

Our most recent trip was to the Roanoke area just last week. Roanoke Valley Greenways started planning for multi-use trails back in the mid-1990s, so they are already 20 years ahead of Chesterfield County. Regionally, they boast about 25 miles of greenways and over 80 miles of bike lanes and signed routes. And like many jurisdictions, they started with the low-hanging fruit: the first seven years of trail construction in the Roanoke Valley was focused within parks, along sewer lines, and other existing public rights of way. Then they had to start acquiring new land, which makes things more difficult and expensive.

The Roanoke region has been building greenways for over 20 years. Credit: Max Hepp-Buchanan

But they’ve come a long way in a relatively short amount of time and take a lot of pride in their centerpieces, such as the Lick Run Greenway, which runs from Valley View Mall past an elementary school, through a park, and right into downtown Roanoke. It’s only 3.5 miles long right now, but it does a great job connecting major destinations in an urban environment.

The Roanoke Valley-Alleghany Regional Commission has produced a very useful Bike, Hike, & Bus Map that incorporates bus timetables, the dirt trail network and trailheads, and paved and on- and off-street bikeways. This all-in-one alternative transportation map does wonders to maximize the walking and biking enthusiast’s outdoor experience in the Roanoke Valley region (order yours for free here).

While Greater Richmond doesn’t yet have a map-worthy regional network – with all the work that the City of Richmond and Chesterfield County are doing to become more walking- and biking-friendly – one but can’t help think the future of new greenways in our region is bright.

The author (second from left) at 17 at his laborious summer job.

In a lot of ways it was a pretty crappy summer job. I dragged branches, picked up and loaded heavy pieces of tree trunk, hustled and sweated, and dragged myself home dog tired. And that was on a routine day. On more noteworthy days I was wounded to the flesh, attacked by beast, reptile, or stinging insect, or poisoned by ivy. “It’s good for you,” my boss would say when the going got tough. And then, smiling knowingly as though he were repeating some inside joke, he would add “It builds character.”

I didn’t understand the smile, and his audible language struggled to leap the chasm separating 55-year earth veteran from 17-year earth punk.  Even so, there was something special in this old man that attracted me.  I liked the stiffness of his stance, I suppose, and the way his animation increased in proportion with the severity of a frontal assault. I liked the way he talked to his tough-as-nails old buddies we either worked with or encountered in the old dives he would take us to for lunch. Places like the “Cozy Corner” on the south side, and “Rose Maries Inn” on the north. I would eat plates of meat, bread, and vegetable straight from my grandmother’s kitchen while my boss chatted loosely with every cook, waitress and patron as though he had known them all forever.

This Korean War veteran didn’t smoke. He didn’t drink. He didn’t even cuss.  He worked, he went to church, he worked some more, and he hunted. I think what I liked most about my teenage summer job was the way it felt to be standing beside this human-shaped force of nature after an episode of tree work perseverance. Whether we had been assaulted by weather, work condition, flora, or fauna, when I was still standing with him afterword I was always tougher. Always stronger. Physical fatigue walked hand in hand with quiet pride in that special, age-old marriage of satiated body with satiated spirit. No, I suppose it wasn’t really a bad summer job. I worked, after all, for a man of character.

Black cherry the forest nymph in Richmond.

Just as this man’s character was being built each time his spirit and will to succeed interacted with a challenging environment, so too the character of any given tree is built according to the weather and micro-environment of its own experience. Two trees of the same species will develop different character if one lives in the sheltered urban forest of Richmond, while the others grows, let’s say, at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.

That’s where I found myself trying to identify a tree over the July 4^th weekend. The compound leaves looked very familiar to me, and the orange tinge of the fissured bark suggested that I was meeting a Prunus serotina, or a wild black cherry. But the trees of this species I know in Richmond, including the one in my front yard, grow long and slender. This tree in the back yard of our vacation lodging was short, squat, gnarly, and almost looked to be imitating the shape of the live oak trees that are very common in the neighborhoods along the Virginia Beach strip.

In certain cases, the best way to get to know the tree you’re with is to move beyond visual inspection to a more intimate, and sometimes even a more canine introduction. I broke a twig and inhaled the acrid hydrocyanic smell that singles out the wild black cherry — also known as the whiskey cherry — from any other tree I have ever sniffed. Yes, wider than it is tall, this crusty old salt of a wild cherry with its roots in the sand has the same genetic makeup as that prissy, tall flower girl standing in the rich, black earth of my front yard.

Using the same building materials, Nature builds them differently. The oceanside tree sticks its face into the wind much more often than does the forest tree, and the sandy beach offers far less in the way of foothold than does the rocky soil where my tree lives.  Even while my elegant wild cherry was enjoying a peaceful, gently swaying 4^th of July weekend, the Va. Beach swashbuckler was squatting and bracing to fend off the fierce attack of Hurricane Arthur blowing in from the south.  When the storm had passed, the tree was still there. Tougher. Stronger. Tired and proud. Now an even more interesting earth character.

Black cherry the old salt in Va. Beach.

Summers can be tough on young girls, too. There are bee stings, hard practices, hard chores, bumps and scratches, mean moms and dads. Today 12-year earth novitiate Brooke is upset by the heat. “Its good for you,” says the 46 year earth veteran, and then we both smile at the inside joke as Brooke finishes the sentence she has been hearing from me since her earliest earth hardships — “It builds character.”