Thoreau never mentioned the bugs. — Entry in an Appalachian Trail shelter register

The entry had been written several weeks before I read it, but the author’s sentiment definitely reflected my state of mind. It had been a perfect mid-summer day with wildflowers lining the trail, birds serenading me by the hour, temperature in the mid-70s, and an easy terrain. So what had driven me to negative thoughts as I sat around the shelter? Bugs, that’s what. Damn annoying, pesky, persistent, biting, stinging, skin-piercing, itch-producing, welt-making little bugs.

Mosquitoes can make an outing miserable if you’re not prepared.

I had forgotten to pack the repellent, so it was really myself that I was mad at more than the insects. With bugs buzzing me all night long, I thought about a buddy who told me he had worn a plastic bracelet impregnated with insect repellent that he had hoped to keep the mosquitoes at bay on his last hike. During my fitful night of sleep, I resolved to do research to find what kind of repellent truly works best, and I’m here to share that information with you.

Separate studies done by the Environmental Protection Agency, Center for Disease Control, Consumer Reports, and the New England Journal of Medicine show that products with DEET in them work the best at repelling mosquitoes and ticks. Products with 24-50% DEET worked for up to five hours. Most of the studies seem to show that there is no advantage in going above 50%, although one researcher claimed nine hours from a 100% DEET solution.

DEET may work best, but if you’re like me, you may have reservations about using such a heavy chemical on yourself and children. (I swore off it a few years ago when it melted a plastic pen I was using.) I have found that citronella-based repellents work as well as the lower concentration DEET repellents. It smells to high heaven, but studies confirm that plant-based repellents do work. They just don’t last as long. Studies showed that they were effective for one to two hours, while repellents with soybean oil were deemed effective for a full two hours.

Insect repelling wristbands like these just don’t work for very long.

Permethrin is made from certain chrysanthemum flower compounds. It’s not approved for skin use, but can be sprayed on clothes, or you can buy permethrin-impregnated clothing. The lowest cost shirt I located costs about $50 dollars—and the effectiveness is depleted after a number of washings. By the way, permethrin is harmful to fish and amphibians.

Picaridin is a somewhat newer ingredient that is endorsed by the World Health Organization as the best malaria prevention, and U.S. studies indicate it to be as effective as DEET. It is not a solvent to plastics and synthetic materials, is colorless and odorless, and does not have to be washed off when you’re done hiking.

All of the studies recommend not using a combination repellent/sunscreen because you have to apply the lotion liberally for the sunscreen to be effective, thereby slathering on way too much repellent.

So what did the studies conclude about those bracelets my buddy had been so enamored with? The best they did was to keep mosquitoes from biting for .2 of a minute, or about 12 seconds. Ditto with those electronic sound emitting devices.

There are a number of other things you can do besides using repellents to improve your odds of being left alone.

Get that woodsy smell as soon as possible. Bees and bugs are attracted to strong fragrances, so avoid using scented soaps, lotions, shampoos, and colognes. Forgo the deodorant before heading into the woods.

If you find yourself in this situation, you might need someone to crop dust you with DEET.

Be aware of the colors you wear. Mosquitoes are attracted to dark colors, especially blue. Pick beige or other neutral colors when shopping for hiking clothes and use it to cover as much of your skin as possible.

Learn to recognize places that are popular with bugs. Take a look before you sit down to make sure you’re not about to take a break on an ant hill. Ticks gather on tall grasses and overhanging bushes and brush, yellow jackets nest in the ground, flies hover around animals, and mosquitoes like cool, moist places. (Ladies, you will be gratified to know that studies have shown that mosquitoes prefer males over females. Bring along your boyfriend, husband, or other member of the opposite sex and watch the bugs go for him instead of you.)

Be aware of the times the bugs you are likely to encounter will be most active. Black flies are busiest in the morning, mosquitoes just after sunrise and before sunset, and deer flies during midday. (Of course, if you happen to be in a place where all of these are present, there is never going to be a time you will be bug-free. Slather on the repellent!)

The long days of summer are made for outings in the woods. Just be prepared, and don’t let the little buggers get to you.

A successful triathlon requires much preparation.

So you want to race a triathlon or maybe you want to race a triathlon better. There are more moving parts to think about while you compete than you have fingers and toes. Trying to keep on top of everything can seem like a daunting task, even to the seasoned veteran (or pro triathlete).

I’ve been racing for a few years now and am in my second season of racing as a professional triathlete. I have made my fair share of mistakes leading up to races and on the race course. I would like to share a few of my stories with you so that you can avoid my bone-head mistakes and enjoy a more stress-free race experience!

When you think about the most important gear you need for training and racing you might include goggles, a bike, running shoes, and a helmet. But how do you transport all of this essential gear with you? Maybe you’re driving and have a few duffel bags and you break down your bike so everything can fit in your car. Yeah, well, when you break down your bike you should think to include the front wheel when packing the car. Or you could drive 10 hours to your destination, begin the unpacking process only to have your heart sink to your toes once you’ve realized you have no front wheel and need a Plan B very fast!

In that same vein, you might have some electronics on your bike. Maybe you use a bike computer or power meter. How long has it been since you’ve charged those or replaced the battery? If one of those pieces of awesome technology goes dead on you the day before the race or even race morning, you’ve got real problems. Did you remember to bring extra batteries or the wall charger?

How well have you planned your transition area?

I’ve forgotten both. I’ve even found my electronic shifting system dead before a race, forgotten the charger, and had to scramble around town for hours trying to find someone to charge up my new-fangled bike!

Maybe remembering a wheel is easy enough, and you don’t use all the widgets and gadgets when you train and race. But, did you decide race morning it will be faster to transition with shoes on your bike because someone in the port-o-john line was talking about saving a few seconds? Or maybe you brought new nutrition to the race because you read online the week before about trying an all honey-and-water nutrition strategy will help you get the carbs in that you need. Yes, oh yes. I’ve done these both. I’ve tried flying mounts on my bike with no practice in a race and watched as my bike shoes flew off 20 feet off the road. I have tried an all-honey-and-water nutrition strategy without ever attempting it in training before. Neither situation worked out well for me.

Here is an easy one I’ve ignored on a dozen occasions… not checking my brakes before the race. Maybe something got moved around on the drive over? Nah, not my bike I thought. Then half way through the bike course everyone for a 10-mile radius could hear my super awesome race wheels screaming under the pressure of a shifted, and very stuck, brake pad.

Do you love your bike this much? You might need to.

Have I convinced you yet that I’ve made a few errors in judgment before? I’ve got an even better one. One time, the forecast called for 70 degrees and sunny, so I only packed my ‘hot’ gear. Never did I assume that the forecast would change over the next few days to become much colder, 40s and low 50s, with pouring rain and a water temperature in the same range.

Not only was I so cold that I was shaking, my fingers froze around my brakes and I was unable to let go of my bike for a few minutes, then I couldn’t use my fingers well enough to unbuckle my helmet. I had to start running with my helmet because I didn’t pack gloves and arm warmers just to be safe.

Through all of the mistakes I’ve made and continue to make while racing and training I have boiled everything down to two principles: patience and planning. You can figure everything out, in time. You will remember all of your gear if you plan ahead and make a checklist. You will know what nutrition will work when you plan for race day during your training. You will know your bike is ready to race when you plan ahead to check it over. It takes patience to plan but it’s worth it. I might mess it up a lot, but it’s learning from these mistakes that has gotten me this far.

The land, seas, and skies have been crossed time and time again, but there are still mountains we have yet to summit. Climbers will battle earth and ice for years to have their name forever attached to a line of rock. In our world, first ascents are one of the last forms of genuine exploration. It takes the creative and daring artist to look up at a rock face and go for it – the adventure is not found at the top, but in the fear and unknown route to get there.

As spring crept into the Blue Ridge this year, my girlfriend and I drove out to Dobie Mountain in George Washington National Forest next to the popular Humpback Rocks. The plan was to welcome the changing of the seasons and for me to take the opportunity to climb on something real. As we began the hike, the wind ripped through the neighboring peaks until we dipped down below the ridgeline, making a sharp u-turn onto the Appalachian Trail, “America’s Footpath.”  Many boots had passed along this white-blazed trail and I felt a sense of reverie every time I travelled on it. About a hundred yards into the A.T. a few small boulders hugged the trail. I threw on my climbing shoes and began working out sequences. I ticked a few little guys off and then went off-trail and up the mountainside. About fifty yards up was a classic Virginia bluestone boulder. The chossy rock broke in burly lines and most of the underside had snapped off creating an epic roof. I set my feet and with the first move my left hand ripped a brick-sized chunk out. I fell back hard on my wrist. Spiders and millipedes came crawling out from the empty spot and I brushed them off creating a new handhold. There could have been a hundred different routes on that boulder, ever-changing as it broke away over the years. I was determined to get one of them. After a few more attempts, the rocks held, my feet stuck, and I was able to pull up and over the lip of the boulder.

Back on the AT, we weaved through the barren forest and trounced over matted leaves.  The trail held a story at each of its 2,181 miles, and I thought about a time in the future when I could travel each one with her. About a mile further we came to Glass Hollow Overlook. Hundreds of pebbles, fallen from their former peaks, had leveled trees, revealing the patched valley floors stretching east.  Behind them, the rolling mountains blended from earth to sky.

I hiked down to the bottom of this outcrop and began looking for climbable routes on the twenty-foot face. Unfortunately I had forgotten to pack crashpads, ropes, or really a suitable spotter.

I found a vertical crack along the left side that ended on a small ledge about 12 feet up, leaving the last eight feet for some basic rock scrambling. I cleaned some crisp lichen off the crack and then started my ascent. A lay-back and small finger jams gave me enough to get off the ground and a couple reachy crimps allowed me to pull up onto the ledge. From here I had one more level of rock to climb before I was on easy street. I stretched, looking for anything to grab but only found sloping terrain and patches of moss. I looked down for any footholds. There was crumbling lichen all over the ledge but one thigh-high pocket to my right. I lifted my foot up and wedged my toes into the pocket but immediately put it back down – it was too high to trust. I doubted I could shift my weight onto it.

The panic hit immediately. I looked back down at my girlfriend taking pictures, and she knew something was wrong. I shuffled back and forth on the narrow ledge fearing my foot would slip on the brittle lichen. “Could I turn around, sit down, and jump off?  This didn’t look as high from the ground,” I thought. I kept stalling, chalking up my hands and searching for any decent handhold to pair with my shaky foot.  It was a typical climber reaction, as if more chalk would eventually turn a sloping hold into a jug.  My girlfriend shouted, “Should I be spotting you?” “That’s probably a good idea.” I said, “just try not to let my head hit first.”  She paced back and forth on the ground, arms high, trying to guess my landing zone.

Hesitation, uncertainty, the fear of falling. I had no other choice. I dug my right toe into that lone pocket and shifted all my weight onto it praying the sticky rubber would do its job. I stood up, leaned forward, and lunged for the top. An immediate rush coupled with relief. Another send. Maybe the first for this line, this rock? I would never know. I realized then the personal connection that was different in each climber: some climb for exercise, others to compete, some to achieve a higher grade, and a few climb to create.

Back in one piece on the A.T., we hiked towards the Paul C. Wolfe shelter. As we approached, we could see a granite bench out of place in the Virginia woods. The bench was a memorial for John Donovan. A member of the Old Dominion Appalachian Trail Club, he had disappeared attempting to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail back in 2005. Exactly one year to the day later his abandoned campsite saved two lost hikers. His self-centered trek ending in purpose.

Even farther on along the hike we came across an old plane crash site from 1964. In the darkening forest it was eerie standing over this wreckage. I’d like to think that the pilot bailed into the Blue Ridge and escaped to live the quiet life in the woods with only the streams and the birds and his mind.

After having my own scare, I contemplated John Donovan, that pilot, climbers, and pioneers. Those that spend their lives pursuing what they love and whose lives end in that pursuit. Pilots dream of flying faster, higher, farther, of seeking freedom in the skies.  Hikers are constantly traveling thousands of miles to embrace nature one step at a time. To climb is to explore vertically. Those that choose to stand on that ledge daily, hearts racing and palms sweating humble me. We all had our own reasons for the journey. I was still unsure of mine. All I knew, sitting at Blue Mountain Brewery that night having some suds with my girl… I knew I was a little bit luckier.

On a hot lazy day by the river you may find folks sunning themselves on the granite lounge of the Fall Line. Warm blooded bathers have the ability to thermoregulate without the aid of the sun. They are simply there to enjoy the day. Often though, they might share the rocks with organisms that do not have the internal faculty to keep their bodies at a constant temperature.

Cold blooded reptiles, such as snakes, are “thermoconforming” animals. They adopt the temperature of the surrounding environment. Because they don’t have a biological furnace to fuel, they generally require less food and are happy to lay about a good portion of the day. However, when they feel the need to adjust their body temperature, they will bask in the sun to get warm or find shade or water to get cool.

What is the point? When you see a snake somewhere, that usually means it needs to be there.

Way too often people feel the need to chase away or even worse, kill snakes when their presence threatens to temporarily spoil a picnic in the park or day in the backyard. Most snakes are harmless and are often mistaken for their venomous, look-alike cousins.  Most of the time, snakes will flee when a huge, clumsy and too-big-for-a-meal human comes bounding through its territory. They only strike when they are trying to eat or when they feel threatened. So don’t threaten them!

In an effort to advocate for the misunderstood animals and to aid in the identification of some common species, I have included photos and descriptions of certain snakes. Almost all the snakes in the Richmond area are harmless. There is only one venomous snake common in the river city – and it is not in the river!

Northern water snake – Non-venomous

The Northern water snake is non-venomous. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

This is not a Cottonmouth!  This is not a Copperhead! This is the common and non-venomous Northern Water Snake. They are a regular sight in places like Belle Isle and Pony Pasture. These are the ones you are likely to see basking on rocks. They eat small fish, frogs, crayfish, birds and small mammals. They can grow up to 4.5 feet. They can be brown, gray and be marked by darker stripes or blotches down their entire length. The Northern water snake is a beneficial species that controls the population of pests and invasive species. It will usually flee when it sees a larger animal (like a person) or feels its vibrations. When threatened however, large specimens can produce a strong bite.

Corn snake (red rat snake) – Non-venomous

The corn snake is non-venomous. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

Corn snakes are common in the southeast. They are among the most docile snakes in our area. They will be found in meadows and other grassy areas where their favorite snacks, rodents, are plentiful.  They are a welcome sight to farmers because they control pests like mice that are attracted to corn stored in sheds and cribs – hence the name “corn snake.” They are often mistaken for copperheads because of their reddish color and orange markings. Corn snakes are constrictors. They kill their prey by wrapping around and squeezing it.

Eastern hognose snake – Non-venomous

The Eastern hognose snake is non-venomous. Credit: FCPS.edu

Unfortunately this harmless fellow is often mistaken for a copperhead, not only for its similar markings but also for the shape of its snout. The upturned proboscis, with pig-like flares around the nostrils, has small cavities that look like the heat-sensing pits of the venomous copperhead.  Hognose snakes can make quite a scene when threatened. They will flatten their bodies, raise their heads and make repeated fake strikes to scare away predators. They will rarely bite when making this display. Instead they will bop would-be predators with their snouts! If that doesn’t work they might play dead, emit a foul odor and secret blood from their mouths until the predator loses its appetite. They are non-venomous but their saliva is toxic to their prey — mostly rodents. However, they are harmless to humans because they are rear fanged. This prevents their prey from wiggling loose but makes it difficult for them to inflict a defensive bite.

Copperhead – venomous

Note the copperhead’s triangular head, heat-sensing pits and vertical pupils. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

This is the only venomous snake common in Richmond. They are distinguished by their copper color and hour-glass shaped bands along the entire length of their bodies. Their most obvious identifying characteristic is the triangular shape of their heads. They are commonly found in dry grass areas, deciduous forests and rock outcroppings. They are pit vipers. Heat sensing pits between their nostrils and eyes help them find prey. Unlike all the previous snakes listed, the eyes of the copperhead have vertical or cat-like pupils. They usually will flee from any animal that is too big to eat. If they feel threatened however, they will strike. The bite may or may not contain venom – it’s the snake’s choice. Although their bites are rarely fatal, they can be very painful and cause severe nausea and tissue damage. If bitten by a copperhead, one must seek medical attention.

Cottonmouth – venomous

The venomous cottonmouth is extremely rare in Central Virginia. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

I included the Cottonmouth (a.k.a  “water moccasin”) only for completeness. They are very rare in our area. The only confirmed sightings are of an isolated population in southern Chesterfield County – where Swift Creek meets the Appomattox River.  In fact, that is the extreme northern reach of their range. They are far more common in southeastern Virginia, and they are a regular sight in the Great Dismal Swamp. Many specimens are almost totally black but some will have a tan or yellow pattern similar to copperheads. They are distinguished by the white interiors of their mouths – hence their name.  They also have vertical pupils. They are also pit vipers. They will eat most any animal they can get their mouths around, including small alligators!  Their venom is more powerful than the Copperhead’s and is potentially, but rarely, fatal. Medical attention is necessary if bitten.

The next time you head outside keep this in mind. You might bookmark this page and keep your smartphone handy if you want to identify snakes in the field. Be respectful and leave them alone!

The James on a “Mild Drunk” Near Pony Pasture. All photos credit: Scott Turner

The James River spills out from the Blue Ridge Mountains like a drunkard from a hillside bar after last call. Wandering, turning back on itself, tipping and swaying towards any and all degrees of the compass dial, the dizzy James makes a serpentine tumble through 145 miles of the Virginia piedmont between Lynchburg and Richmond, connecting the same two geographic points a sober crow would connect with a 100 mile flight.

Though wildly meandering, heavy gravity imposes a general inclination to the drift, and just as the stumbling drunkard eventually finds himself at the base of the hill, the always-descending James finally empties itself into a place where the sun rises from a level sea.

When Old James has been drinking heavily up there in the hills he rushes cloudy and brown into Richmond, carrying along small pieces of mountain and earth picked up along the way. With a roaring laugh, he hurdles Bosher’s Dam, limbos the Willey Bridge, and a half-mile later bends through a narrow turn north before rushing headlong towards the Huguenot Bridge. After speeding up to spit through the bending restriction, the water slows down and eddies along the northern bank.

Jumping from the northern beach of Long Island.

It is here, just west of the Huguenot Bridge, that the James drops some of its earthen luggage and writes a comma of soft sand into the flowing story of its journey from mountain to sea.  My daughter’s and I call the place “Long Island.”

But this island of sand would probably have been washed away or moved by changing river dynamics by now were it not for the pioneering efforts of a scrappy little river-loving family of trees known as the Willows.

In this part of the world, the willow is one of the first from the plant kingdom to inhabit a sandy island, and like those recently honored marines of the Normandy Invasion, a landing party of willows takes the open beach and does the desperate labor of holding it fast and making it inhabitable for those more celebrated species to follow.

Black willow guarding the beach.

Today Long Island is ruled by two mature sycamores towering above the high ground at the center and an Osage orange that litters the sand with tennis ball-sized green fruits in mid-summer. Surrounding these royals are river birch, sweetgum, and a host of other landed gentry, but it is where island confronts river at the western end that one finds the gnarled roots and mangled lower trunks of the tenacious willow trees that have fought hard to hold the beach and sometimes given all in the effort.

At first glance it would appear that the dark and drunken James always has the upper hand. Willow wood is soft and light. Twigs and stems are easily ripped and carried away during confrontations with high water, leaving the underdog willows looking battered and beaten. But like the many-headed hydra fought by the strongest Greek hero, Hercules, from each severed member of the willow there sprouts multiple new green-haired shoots. What’s more, in one of my favorite arboreal adaptations to the challenges of life, this river-loving modern hydra has learned not only to grow new heads from the stumps of the severed, but also to grow new stumps from the severed heads themselves. After a free ride downstream, a willow branch can be enlisted to join a new landing party where it will shove roots sprouted from the branch into the soft bank and become a whole new riverbank reinforcement.

Only a few hundred yards to the east the recently remodeled Huguenot Bridge crosses the river, shouldering the incessant motion and drone of car-mounted humans. Yet on the sandy north bank of Long Island one finds himself quite secluded.

Befriending the natives.

The small stream of water between island and mainland is guarded at either end by old black willow trees extending horizontal arms over the passage and dangling light green locks right down to the surface. Once just a small island of sand, thanks to these unsung heroes, Long Island is now a natural paradise of trees and wildlife. On a summer day, if the water level is right, you can sit your lawn chair in the ankle deep northern passage of water, watch and feel the sand crawling past your feet, listen to the faintly whispered response of fluffy willow to river breeze, and write a peaceful comma into your own fast flowing life story.

If you haven’t noticed, Richmond’s outdoor scene is getting a lot of national attention lately. In 2012 Richmond was named “Best River Town” by Outside Magazine. Dominion Riverrock has grown into the nation’s largest outdoor sports and music festival and just last week The Active Times featured Richmond’s recreation offerings in its travel section. But, it did not happen overnight. Countless outdoor enthusiasts have lovingly labored for decades to foster recreational opportunities among Richmond’s bounty of natural endowments. A particular group of dedicated recreation professionals south of the James have been at the forefront of this movement.

For more than thirty years, the Chesterfield County Parks and Recreation Department’s Outdoor Programs team has offered outdoor and adventure programming for residents of all localities and ability levels. Last week, I had the opportunity to spend the afternoon on the James River with Adventure Programmer Greg Velzy. He instructed me in basic whitewater kayaking techniques, while we chatted about Chesterfield’s varied offerings.

Hikers on a recent Chesterfield Parks excursion to the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Velzy, a certified instructor for more than twenty years, talked about the county’s programs as he guided me though riffles and some moderate class II rapids.

“We focus is on instruction, so people can enjoy the river safely,” he said.

I got a small sample of that instruction while on the river with Velzy. After a couple of attempts, I learned how to “ferry,” a maneuver used to get across an eddy line into the rapids. When done right, the move will take you in an upstream angle across the smooth water and turn you into the flow of the rapids. Chesterfield’s beginner whitewater kayaking class is a good way to learn the basics. The two-day class teaches safety and technique on calm water on the first day and running and reading rapids on the second.

In addition to kayaking, Chesterfield instructors offer sailing, rafting and stand up paddle boarding (SUP) classes, too.  The county also offers a swift-water rescue class – just in case.

Instruction is just one goal. Another is to instill a sense of stewardship. “When people enjoy the river, hopefully they will be motivated to take care of it,” said Velzy.

And instructional programs are just part of the county’s offerings. There are many nature and interpretive programs as well, and they are not all on the water. In fact, Chesterfield offers many hiking, backpacking, paddling and climbing programs all over Virginia. The Great Dismal Swamp, Shenandoah National Park, and the Chesapeake Bay are just a few of the destinations the country takes people who sign up for their programs.

Mark Battista, who has worked as a Naturalist for Chesterfield County for 25 years, summed it up well. When asked about what kind of programs the county offers, he replied, “A little bit of everything. We hike and paddle, explore swamps, vernal pools, the Blue Ridge Mountains, maritime forests, bottomlands and beaches. We are quite diverse in our program offerings. In one week, we can conduct an astronomy program, conduct a hike to the Dismal Swamp, lead a bird walk and conduct a campfire program.”

Students test the pH of the James River at a recent field trip at the Dutch Gap Conservation Area.

Some of the most popular programs are “Wonderful World of Bugs”, “Swamp Walk” and “Butterflies and Dragonflies.”

Group programs are available as well. The Challenge Course features a series of physical and social challenges for individuals and groups designed to foster confidence and team-building.  It has high and low elements, so it is well suited for adult and student groups. A variety of school field trips are offered including: Exploring Wetlands, Adaptations, Geology of Chesterfield Count, Watersheds, Reptiles and Wildlife Detective.

A big variety of programs are also available at the Rockwood Park Nature Center. Programs include:  geocaching, camps, beekeeping, wilderness survival, campfire programs and more.  Bob Smet, Director of the nature center for the last three years noted that visitors will be very impressed by the recent changes and program additions.  He says the archery classes are “one of the hottest new programs.” There are beginner and intermediate courses and classes for youth and adults.  Bob recommends signing up early because the classes fill fast and there is a waiting list.

More information about the Rockwood Nature Center can be found at rockwoodnaturecenter.com.

Chesterfield County offers hundreds of outdoor programs every year – way too many to list here.  Programs are open to everyone regardless of where you live and prices are kept low to encourage the whole community to participate. Information about Chesterfield Outdoor Programs can be found at chesterfieldoutdoorprograms.com. And you can click here to register for programs.

Richmond is quickly becoming a hotbed for endurance athletes. In addition to the upcoming 2015 UCI World Cycling Championships, Richmond also boasts an international-caliber off-road triathlon (XTERRA, happening June 15^th), one of the nation’s largest 10k races, a top-notch junior elite triathlon event, the immensely popular Dominion Riverrock, and countless other running, cycling, and multi-sport events.

Fortunately for this great community, the Richmond area also boasts some great spots to train for the above races. Below are a few of my favorite training spots, and how I use them to build fitness. Whether you’re a cyclist, runner, adventure racer, or triathlete, you’ll likely find that one or more of these venues provides you with some worthwhile (and fun) training options.

A group ride can be a good way to up the intensity of a workout. Credit: Endorphin Fitness

Belle Isle

What/Where: Most Richmonders have been out to Belle Isle for one reason or another. It sits in the middle of the James within sight of downtown, making it a quick and easy getaway for city dwellers. The footbridge on Tredegar Street (near Brown’s Island) provides access.

How I Use It: One time around the main loop on Belle Isle is almost exactly a mile and features forgiving packed gravel and a small climb on each loop. When I’m training for a half marathon, I do a workout called “Belle Isle Miles,” which I structure as a fartlek workout. Fartlek IS a real word, and usually refers to any workout where a runner is alternating between faster and slower running in some kind of structured manner. I do my fartlek on Belle Isle by alternating one loop of the island at half marathon race pace (“tempo” effort) with a loop at steady, everyday running pace. This workout allows me to pile up a good chunk of mileage and practice race effort in manageable pieces.

Old Gun Road West

What/Where: On the south side of the river, Cherokee Road eventually turns into Old Gun road if you head west. The west side of Old Gun provides cyclists with a 2-3 mile climb of varying steepness.

How I Use It: Working against gravity allows many riders to reach an effort level that is difficult to achieve on the flats. To that end, I like to do 5-6 minute repeats up this stretch of Old Gun at a relatively high intensity, then spin easy back downhill as recovery. Start with 2-3 trips up the road for the duration of your choice. As you build fitness, increase the number and length of the repeats. Old Gun is relatively narrow and has a couple of sharp bends near its bottom, so ride heads-up and be considerate of other riders and drivers.

Robious Landing Park

What/Where: Robious Landing Park is just off Robious Road, near James River High School. The park hosts the popular I Love the Tavern Triathlon late in June each year. The park has river access and a network of shaded gravel running trails.

Credit: Endorphin Fitness

How I Use It: The park is one of the area’s most popular spots for open water swimming because the river is relatively wide and the current is usually weak. Nevertheless, swimming a certain distance upriver usually takes twice as long as the same trip downriver. I make this work for me by turning this into another “fartlek” effort: I swim hard upriver for an interval of 5-10 minutes (choose a time with which you are comfortable), swim back to my starting point, and repeat. This workout replicates the conditions I face in open water swim races, where I am often forced to go between hard efforts and recovery efforts. ALWAYS be safe when swimming in the river. Never swim alone. Ideally, have a friend alongside you on a kayak or paddleboard. Wear a brightly colored swim cap so you are visible to boats and from the shore. Avoid swimming after heavy rains or when river levels are too high for your swim ability.

The James River Park Trail System

What/Where: We all know it’s there, most of us have been on it, and you can access the James River Park trail system from anywhere between downtown and the Nickel Bridge, on both sides of the river.

How I Use It: Every time I run Northbank Trail, I reach the spot where you can see the Richmond skyline, and think how lucky we are to have such a beautiful and extensive trail system in Richmond. I’ve literally never had a bad run on the trails. If you’re tired of plodding through your neighborhood, make a trip to the trails, enjoy the peace and quiet, and explore. You can run as long as you want to run without having to see the same thing twice. Alternately, pick a route, make it your own, revisit it often, and test yourself. When I’m feeling my oats, I hammer my favorite loop of Buttermilk/North Bank and see how fast I can cover it. The feeling of running fast on your favorite stretch of trail is like nothing else.

These are just a few ideas to try. Explore on your own and see what your neck of the woods has to offer. Always be safe, and always be courteous of your fellow athletes, other vehicles, and your environment.

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon, the robin egg-colored sky is dotted with just a few small, white, puffy clouds, and the temperature is hanging around the 70-degree mark. I can’t help thinking that it’s a perfect day for a walk, so I’m surprised that, when Laurie and I arrive around 1 p.m., there is only one car parked in the lot for the National Park Service’s Totopotomoy Creek Battlefield in Hanover County.

Shelton House at Totopotomy Creek Battlefield in Hanover Co. Credit: Leonard Adkins

The battlefield is the newest segment of the Richmond National Battlefield Park, having been donated to the park service in 2006 by the Rural Plains Foundation, which purchased the site with a combination of private and county funds. It opened to the public in 2011.

At the end of May, 1864, the Federal army took up a position high above Totopotomoy Creek at the Shelton House, home of Sarah Shelton and her family. The Confederates were on a bluff on the south side of the stream and the two forces fought for several days with no clear victory for either side. The park service has built a short trail through the battlefield’s 125 acres that has numbered stops keyed to a brochure available at the trailhead that helps visitors understand the history they are walking through.

We begin our exploration of the area by peering into the windows of the Shelton House, which is locked and open only on special occasions. Beyond, the level trail goes by fields that are planted in winter wheat, but come here some other time and there may be rows of corn or soybeans. The latter two crops are rotated to avoid wearing out the soil, as the soybeans return nutrients to the earth that the corn takes out. A couple of headstones in a small cemetery beside the trail show that, during the 1800s, many children did not live past their first year.

Leaving the fields, the pathway enters the woods and begins a fairly gentle descent to the creek. Although I have seen earthworks at other Civil War sites that we very obvious, it took some looking around for us to identify the indentations in the ground that indicated the places where the Union soldiers had hurriedly dug up the soil and mounded it in from of them as protection from flying bullets.

There are about 1.75 miles of trails at this Richmond Battlefield Park unit. Credit: Leonard Adkins

Totopotomoy Creek is really just a small stream and it is here that we encounter the only people we were to meet on the outing. A mother is watching her two small children slosh through the mud of the wetlands beside the creek as they work their way to the water in search for small fish, lizards, and other aquatics and amphibious creatures. A number of arrowhead plants are growing in the damp soil and, although I can’t identify which species they are, I do know that past generations ate the tubers of certain arrowheads as a starchy substitute for potatoes.

An impressively-constructed bridge takes us across the creek and out of park service lands, but the owners of the private property, a housing development situated on the lands once occupied by the Southern army, permit visitors to rise along the hillside to walk past the remains of the Confederate earthworks. The trail comes to an end at one of the development cul-de-sacs. We meet no one else on the return trip; I’m again amazed at how little this wonderful Richmond-area resource appears to be used. The park service says it’s a 1.25-mile outing, but I think with the bit of trail on the south side of the creek, you will walk closer to 1.75 miles.

Totopotomy Creek. Credit Leonard Adkins

While I enjoyed visiting here in relative solitude, I’m sure I’ll encounter crowds when I return on May 29-31, when the park service has a series of battle anniversary events planned, such as living-history demonstrations, ranger-guided interpretive tours of the site, special exhibits, and lectures. It will also be one of the rare chances to see the interior of the Shelton House.=

Getting There: Take I-295 Exit 41A onto Chamberlayne Road N., go 2.2 miles, turn right onto Shady Grove Road, go another .5 mile and bear left onto Studley Road, which is followed 2.2 miles to the battlefield on the right.

Willow oaks (left) holding hands with elms near Mary Munford Elem. Credit: Scott Turner

Something seems different today. The same old receiving line of trees along Cary Street Road measures my progress toward The Fan, but today this rank and file of Plant Kingdom “Who’s Who” are not retreating into the daily blur of images streaming past my truck windows. One by one the arboreal dignitaries lean in to greet and distract me, causing my eyes to climb their trunks and explore their canopies.

What a great elm tree there on the right near South Wilton Road! An old beauty with the slender arches of a cathedral. Arches designed to lift up the human chin and eye in lofty contemplations. Though on many other days I rush irreverently past, today the aspirational design is affective. I find myself admiring those arches even as they disappear over the top of my windshield, and then .  .  . . “Yikes!!!”

I bow sharply forward with the other passengers when my foot finds the brake pedal, the wheel rotors receive the tight ceramic squeeze, and the attached body of the truck stops faster than our own loosely belted upper bodies. I made that silly sound “Yikes!” to feign control and mask my “Oh Shit!” recognition of that other car stopped immediately in front of us.  No near collision here, girls. He, He, he. Just a funny little fast stop. Brooke groans “Daaady!” from the back seat while rummaging the floorboard for the Kindle that was separated from her lap. Anna rolls her eyes from the front passenger seat and changes the radio station. Woops.

An ancient cedar. Credit: Scott Turner

This driving the kids to school thing is not my regular gig. By 7:30 a.m. on a typical weekday I am knee-deep in the daily struggle for small-business survival. Already knee-deep but for a brief fully conscious a.m. moment holding fast to the daily small-business pipe dream that today will be the day that everything goes well. I deserve it. I’ve worked my ass off for it. Hell, today is my day!!!

Ha.

My eyes might just as well still be closed. The Tree Gods (It is with hard-learned respect that I capitalize “Tree” and “Gods”) have little appreciation for such man-made chimera, and ring the bell of my smart phone incessantly to alarm me awake to an appropriate if not a fair reality. No, once again it will not be easy today, not fair or justified. Those Gods we find in the Mount Olympus vicinity of our psyche, those making themselves known through chaotic natural forces or by modeling chaotic human nature, are rarely reasonable. A mere mortal must merely assume the abuse he receives at the hands of such Deities is normal, or to be expected, but not necessarily justified. And so with each ring of the smartphone bell the dream of entitlement collapses, and the hard, unjustified reality of tree-care business survival ensues. Praised be the Tree Gods!

Some days I hustle back and forth on Cary Street Rd., forth and back, as many as 10 or 12 times a day pacing the pavement from my driving seat while a blur of green, brown, and grey smears itself on my side windows. Eyes fixed forward, I am sucked through the tunnel of tree columns and the tapered opening in the green blur towards the next task or to put out the next fire. And no matter how quickly or often I pace, I am always a day late and at least a dollar short.

Tall sweet gum near Lock Lane. Credit: Scott Turner

No reality bells ringing this morning, though! I am unavailable to the phone while driving my children to school, so those meddling Gods must wait their turn. This huge change to my daily rhythm was self-imposed when I encouraged my wife against her better judgment onto a sled in the dark of a February winter night at Southampton Elementary.  After pitching down from the top of a long snow-covered slope, her sled became a perfect strike aimed for the backstop of a baseball diamond. To protect Brooke, who was folded up at the front of the sled, Amy stuck her foot out to brace the impact and crushed her heel in the effort. Crushed her heel, and pretty well crushed out and smoothed over any ruts the Turner’s may have been digging with their daily routine and repetitive life rhythms.

Over the years I have learned to value disruptions to highly repetitive life rhythms. With any such disruption there always comes a new view or a fresh perspective. Over the last 8 weeks, in addition to a very deep look into our kitchen sink, our dishwasher, and our clothes baskets, I have also enjoyed this wonderful opportunity to look deeper into a weekday sunrise and to share the start of a school day with my daughters, who I used to not even see until after work. And as is usually the case, when inspired by the youth of my daughters I find myself more interested in the natural world around me. Old paths become new and surprising again.

And so this morning I find myself allowed to share two fresh pairs of eyes. Freshly-dressed-and-ready-for-a-new-school-day eyes. Eyes that laugh when they see busy, important-looking dogs out for morning walks and intestinal relief. Eyes that admire the way the Homeric dawn lays its fingertips of rose so gently on buildings and cars as well as on humans and trees. With my borrowed 11 or 14 year old eyes the morning is open and inviting, and the fabulous blend of nature and architecture that is the near west end of Richmond becomes interesting and promising. It looks like a world in which I could do or become almost anything. A world in which I am happy to be living and raising two daughters.

And in this frame of mind, with these eyes, I notice a staccato row of evenly spaced old cedar trees leaning into my perspective from the right. I notice magnificent Tulip Poplar trees emerging from the green blur on the left. I pass under that wonderful Elm cathedral, screetch to a stop, and then a bit more carefully notice another row of very old Cedar trees who must have welcomed countless millions of humans entering Richmond from the west.  Tall, bright green Sweetgum trees enter my foreground, an impressive row of them on the right between Virginia Ave and Lock Lane, almost diving through my windshield as I glance up while passing under. I notice the spotted trunks and wrinkled foliage of Sycamore trees, and the bumpy and warted witch-like skin of Hackberrys. I play a game of London Bridges with Willow Oak trees that hold hands above the pavement with Elm trees beside Mary Munford School. Farther east there are some old Elms on the right alternating with newer generations of the more disease resistant Zelkova, and on the left a Cedar tree that has been growing in that spot since a time when the Cary Street Rd. speed limit was determined by the athleticism of horses.  When I finally emerge from the green tunnel at Carytown, I have been greeted by 220 to 250 trees along the roughly 1 mile long receiving line.  That’s the best count I could make without further sacrificing the safety of my family.

In the museum district I drop off Anna, who is becoming way too cool and tall to offer me public displays of affection, but still looks back before entering the building to smile and exchange with me a sideways peace sign. I run Brooke straight back out Patterson to her school near Gaskins Rd, and in the car alone we often talk about the Greek Gods and their role in the modern “Percy Jackson and the Olympians” books she adores (that’s “PJ&O” if your 6^th grade cool).  Those Gods are still just good entertainment for her, and havn’t started meddling too much either with her external earthly affairs or her internal sense of well-being. I still get a kiss from this one when I drop her off, an “I love you Daddy,” and to not be left out of any connection I may have with Anna she also throws me a mimicked sideways peace sign before disappearing inside.

An hour of life and the beautiful nature of Richmond re-discovered thanks to a crushed heel. When the transportation task ends I power up the phone and find it already ringing. The day falls apart. Same old same old.

The sound of fluttering tiny wings is common in Richmond during the spring and summer. Soon the air will be filled with the familiar buzz of flying fauna — some friendly, some offensive — fattening themselves with the nectar from flowers. For some insects, their entire life history is inextricably tied to plants. They are born in the tissues of a floral host, feeding on, and protected by, peculiar nurseries that resemble tumors erupting from the skin of the plant. These nurseries, called “galls,” take many forms depending on the kind of baby insect that lives in them and the kind of plant they grow on.

Common spangle gall on the underside of oak leaves. Several wasps of the genus Neuroterus make such galls. Credit: Lorne Field

Finding insect galls is common in the spring and early summer and the time for spotting them in Richmond is now. Most galls form year-round but they are largest in the spring before the adults come out.

Gall Wasps are the most common nursery makers.  They belong to the Cynipidae family which includes about 1,300 different species worldwide, more than 800 of which are common in North America. Their galls can look like woody warts, green globs and even fuzzy flowers. The shapes, colors and sizes of galls are as varied as the insects that create them. The common unifier is that they are all created by a female insect injecting her eggs into the plant. A mutation forms in the plant tissue, and inside it the developing larvae find nourishment and shelter from predators.

Oaks are the most common hosts for gall wasps, but the intrepid gall-gawker can sometimes find them on maples and roses as well. Before you hastily decide NOT to look for wasps, remember most wasps do not sting. The big stinging wasps (yellow jackets, paper wasps and hornets) make nests out of paper or in the ground. Most gall-builders are tiny and harmless.

Wool sower wasp gall on a white oak sapling. Credit: Lorne Field

One of the most common galls is the “oak apple”, so called because it resembles a round fruit that forms on the underside of stems and leaves. Oak Apple Wasps, Amphibolips confluenta, only lay their eggs in oaks and favor trees familiar to Virginians; black oaks, scarlet oaks and red oaks. The larvae live inside the gall for a year before they pupate (rest) and emerge from the gall as adults in June and July.  An empty oak apple gall will have a distinct hole that was drilled by escaping adults.

As one might expect, enterprising Europeans found a use for oak galls as early as the fifth century. By adding iron sulfate to tannic acid extracted from galls, they were able to produce an ink that was the most commonly used kind in writing and drawing until the early 1900s.  Early African and Asian cultures thought galls had medicinal properties as well.

One of the more curious phenomena associated with galls is the formation of “jumping oak galls”. They are little, round galls about the size of a BB. They fall to the ground and jump around as the wasp moves around inside – like a Mexican jumping bean. They occur in large numbers and can make the earth look like it is vibrating! 

Most oak apple galls are about one-half inch to two inches in diameter, but some can get larger. Note the drilled hole made by the exiting wasp. Credit: Lorne Field

Check out this video below about jumping oak galls.

The best place to find galls is in a mature wooded area with a lot of oaks. Lewis G. Larus Park on Huguenot Road boasts 106 acres of woods and trails which provide gall viewers plenty of opportunity to snap photos. Rockwood Park in Chesterfield and Bryan Park in Richmond are good gall grounds too.

Remember; take only pictures – galls and the insects they contain are an important part of the ecosystem. They are a food source for animals such as opossums, raccoons and birds.

Please share your gall photos! fieldl@chesterfield.gov