Training and Rest Days

April 14 & April 15, 2017

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The campsite and park layout.

Very cool here, but the wind has at last stopped. We slept very well (and a long time) under our blanket with the ceiling vent going on low for “white noise.”

Fixed coffee and tea, and Jack grilled some sausage patties that we enjoyed on slider rolls for breakfast. By about 11, we were cycling toward the “start point” of the mapped route Jack had gotten off the internet, called the “Crustacean Trail.” It purportedly began in Crisfield’s municipal park, which wasn’t much of a park at all, and we were to take Chesapeake Ave. to begin, the internet map said, “and follow the signs.”

No signs were visible either on posts along the way nor painted on the pavement.

We rode all the way into town, and stopped by the Visitor Info Center along the way, to get some advice and maps and recommendations from the nice lady there. Armed with all we might need to carry on, we rode down to the dock at the terminus of Main St. but still never found Chesapeake. No matter. We carried on, retraced our inbound ride, checked various maps, and at last got onto the route.

 

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Reflection selfie in Crisfield

 

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At the end of one of the residential streets in Crisfield, we saw the humongous wind turbine along the coast of the town perfectly framed by the road’s trees.

The sky was slightly overcast, the humidity was negligible, the temps were cool, and the traffic was nearly non-existent. We had a very fine day of cycling, with our ultimate destination being Westover, which looked like a pretty big “dot” on the map. We thought it wouldn’t be too difficult to find a late lunch there.

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A couple of the sad but interesting derelicts we saw along the way.

At just past one and 23 miles logged, we found Westover, and nothing but a couple of fuel stations, one with a no-name (I’m guessing a “Sheetz style”) foodery, and one with a Subway. We opted for the Subway instead of a microwaved hot dog.

Had a decent Subway sandwich, re-filled our water bottles, and headed on the return trip, but without all the gee-ing and haw-ing in Crisfield. There had been a loop we’d missed on the outbound run, that we collected during the return. Basically, the “trail” crossed Rt. 413 back and forth, and the entire route was quiet backroads on the east and west sides of 413. We certainly could have ridden 413, as there was significant shoulder and sometimes even a designated bike  lane, but that is a moderate thoroughfare and we wanted (and found) more calm and serene routes.

And, of course, the wind found us on our return. Not nearly so strong and steady as what we’d experienced the night before as we set up camp, the wind was nevertheless a significant presence along the return route. We took turns “drafting” for one another.

There were several really lovely stretches along the ride, especially one length of road that had hardwoods on one side and a tree farm of tall pines on the other, creating a tunnel effect. Many interesting homes and some derelicts that were equally interesting. I always wonder what stories derelict houses could tell, could they speak (or could I understand).

Along one stretch with a particularly deep pine farm situated next to a green-green field full of a cover crop that was about a foot tall, we heard the distinctive “bob-white” of a quail. Amazing. It echoed through the forest, and we heard it calling several times in sequence. I haven’t heard the call of a bob-white quail in years and years.

We saw some ducks and geese on a couple of inlets, and I spotted one American kestrel on a power line over a stubble field, but other than that, the birdlife we saw consisted of vultures. Lots and lots of vultures. We even saw one sitting on the top of a chimney that was still standing among the ruins of a fallen-in house. Another of his kin rose from the rubble inside what used to be the house as we passed, disturbed by our noticing and talking about its comrade on the chimney.

We also saw some lovely purple wisteria, some beyond-their-prime camellias, and all-in-all some very respectful drivers, offering us lots of room on the roads. The day was punctuated by the aromas of wisteria growing near the roads alternating with the peculiar and distinctive scent of poultry farms. And the occasional dead thing on the road or in a nearby ditch.

Despite the rather unpleasant odors mingling with the scents of spring, we had a completely delightful ride. Cycling stats: 43.5 miles; 12.6 MPH average, ride time 3 hours, 25 minutes.

Back at camp, we rested for a bit, took showers, and re-heated that leftover chili and baked dinner rolls from a couple of days ago. The sunset was just lovely over the water. After dark, we watched another pass of the International Space Station next to Daugherty Creek with the gang of next door neighbor kids and their parents and grandparents, and went to bed.

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Tomorrow, we might take our bikes across (via ferry) to Smith Island, if the ferry runs and the weather holds. We’ll just have to see how it goes.

April 15

Did I mention the pollen? It collects inside, outside, all around the town. Kind of amazing stuff. Happy, we’re not suffering too badly from breathing yellow pine pollen all the time, although a bit of extra sinus stuffiness is evident.

Our plan to take the ferry today was quashed by the rather dismal forecast. We really didn’t want to be on a ferry nor stranded on a remote island when the predicted rains rolled in.

Instead, we decided to drive (not cycle) north along 413 and 13 (the main north/south drag along this stretch of Earth) to see what Princess Anne (small, historic but apparently atrophying town) might have to offer in terms of brunch or lunch.

There were some areas of the northern outskirts of the town that had some significant renovation of the historic homes going on. And the University of MD/Eastern Shore makes up a significant portion of the area.

Still, there were no eateries beyond franchises, even around the campus area. Lots and Lots and Lots of student housing, however.

So we moved on north to Salisbury, where it wasn’t long before we found a CRAFT BREWERY!

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Yay. So we spent some time and $ at Evolution Brewery and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Jack wasn’t into drinking beer, and I couldn’t decide, so we got a flight to sample.

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Really REALLY liked their No. 3 IPA, which was notable for holding its head. I thought of it as a cross between Get Bent and Fresh Squeezed, with more body than either. I saved that for last, and we worked our way through the others during our meal. Jack had a crab cake sandwich and I had a catch of the day (mahi-mahi) sandwich, both of which were totally yum. They had hand-cut fries to go with all their sandwiches, which were also perfect.

The Pilsner, I’d order again on a hotter day (it was quite cool, overcast, and blustery outside, and inside they must have turned on the AC because we were both chilly). The Red, neither of us cared for greatly, and the special 608 that the waitress said was her fave, was totally meh unless paired with food. Then it began to be toned by what you were eating and it was tolerable.

The No. 3 IPA, however, was truly good — in fact, we found some in a sixer at the Acme (used to be Giant) Grocery store, and along with some other necessaries, brought it home to chill at camp.

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We found a seafood distribution company along the road coming back to Janes Island SP, and stopped to see if they sold retail, and they did, so we picked up two pounds of large shrimp to cook on the barbie when we got home. Fresh asparagus, rice, and grilled shrimp. It just doesn’t get any better than this. And we took our lovely meal in what Jack has come to call our “tree house,” which I hope is the new name for our screened room, where Jack has been spending a lot of time lately.

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Forgot to take a photo before we ate, so here’s the remains of the day.

Good day — and it never rained, after all, except before we got up north (could see it on the roads). By the time we got back to camp, it was in the 70s and pretty hot. After dinner we watched another pass of the ISS, among a cloudy horizon, and saw a hint or two of a coming storm.

During our drive, we also saw our first two osprey flying around en route up north since we arrived in MD.

The storm hit with thunder and lightening after we’d hit the hay, and the rain came down hard for a nanosecond — not even enough to wash off the pollen from the car. Strange stuff, this ubiquitous pollen.

Camping in style, 2017. Life is good.

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We strolled over the the Nature Center and climbed the “lookout” but not much to see, except a couple of folks kayaking along Daugherty Creek.

Cooperstown’s Baseball Hall of Fame

The final day of September was overcast and, in the end, quite rainy here in Cooperstown, NY. Highs on the day were in the low-to-mid-60s, so it was a perfect day to spend at the Baseball Hall of Fame.

But before I get there I have to mention that on our travel day (Sept. 29) from Lakawanna to Glimmerglass State Park (NY) at the opposite end of Lake Otsego from Cooperstown proper, we stopped for lunch at Brewery Ommegang (as we had done last year). We were a bit too early to check into our campsites in any case, and JB & Martha had made additional stops along the way, so Ken & Diane, Kerry & Glo, and Jack & I stopped and had a delicious lunch and one of their nice beers. I thoroughly enjoyed their Nirvana IPA, a fine accompaniment to my beer-batter-baked chicken breast sandwich with “frites.” Yum.


We linked up with JB & Martha at Glimmerglass, and a fine camping adventure it is here. Here are a couple photos of our site, which is #006. 

There is no on-site water available so we all filled our tanks with the freshwater available at the dump station on our way in, and the electric has been happily running our heat pump for early morning and evening warmth since we arrived.

So. The main project of this trip has always been the Hall of Fame and JB, the baseball fan amongst us, and his dream to have his photo taken with one of his faves, Cal Ripken, inducted in 2007. But there is so much more than just a H o F with listings of names and dates here. I’m going to keep the reading part as small as possible and just post some of the many photos (some with captions) I took of what I consider the highlights of my time at the museum.

JB studying one of the displays.

Babe Ruth, 1984; Ted Williams, 1985: Basswood: These sculptures were each carved by Armand LaMontagne (b. 1939) of North Scituate, Rhode Island, from one piece of laminated basswood. Everything you see here is wood. There is no cloth, leather, or stone.

Cast bronzes by Stanley Bleifeld, 2008, Becoming a Hall of Famer takes more than just a great baseball career. Off-the-field challenges—and how those challenges are met—reveal an inner character that serves men and women throughout their lives. The life experiences of Lou Gehrig, Jackie Robinson, and Roberto Clemente stand out above all. Each faced personal and social obstacles with strength and dignity that set an example of character and courage for all others to follow.
“A Good Bat” is a lithograph that uses baseball terms to explain the political platforms of Abraham Lincoln and his three opponents in the presidential election of 1860, an early example of how th game was becoming a part of our common popular culture. —Currier and Ives, 1860 (Lincoln’s opponents were John C. Breckinridge, John Bell & Stephen Douglas).
 

As we entered the museum proper, we were met with the strange aspect of this:

The “Holy Cow” by Phil Rizzuto – Cows on Parade: New York, 2000 – Throughout the summer of 2000, 500+ painted and decorated cows graced New York City’s parks and plazas. The program was a collaborative effort by the city’s arts community along with government, corporate, and individual sponsors. The works were created by talented NY artists. Proceeds benefitted various NYC charities.




Inventing Abner Doubleday: In 1905, the US was taking its place on the world stage, eager to establish its distinct heritage. In that spirit, sporting goods magnate Albert Spaulding handpicked a special commission to prove the national game’s American roots. The eventual verdict? Civil War hero Abner Doubleday created baseball in Cooperstown in 1839.

In fact, baseball was played decades earlier, evolving from many similar bat-and-ball games. Doubleday didn’t “invent” baseball . . . Baseball invented Doubleday, a thriving legend that reflects Americans’ desire to make the game our own. (Doubleday Field backs Main Street in the middle of Cooperstown, with this “Sandlot Kid” sculpture just off Main St.)

The “Doubleday Baseball,” used to bolster the claim of baseball’s legendary 1839 “birth”in Cooperstown, NY.

In the section of the history called “Pride & Passion: The African American Baseball Experience” there were many photos and original documents detailing early players and the abuse they endured in the white establishment. 


The plaque introducing this section of baseball’s history read: Almost as soon as the game’s rules were codified, Americans played baseball so passionately that writers of the time called it a mania. African Americans were no different, but in baseball, as in much of American life, they played mostly in segregated settings, including southern plantations as early as the 1850s. On their own sandlots and diamonds, they too developed baseball to its fullest potential. Black communities took pride in these teams and their dynamic brand of the National Pastime. From the earliest times, black baseball was the seedbed for those talented players who paved the way to integrated baseball. The game itself became a testing ground for integrating American life.

Among the pieces of which I am most proud (please note dripping sarcasm here) is this letter from the Richmond, VA baseball team “leaders” in 1883, promising bloodshed if a OH team allows a black player to suit up for the games to be played in Richmond: “We the undersigned do hereby warn you not to put up Walker, the negro catcher, the evenings that you play in Richmond, as we could mention the names of 75 determined men who have sworn to mob Walker if he comes on the ground in a suit. We hope you will listen to our words of warning, so that there will be no trouble; but if you do not, there certainly will be. We only write this to prevent much bloodshed, as you alone can prevent.” —Letter from Richmond, VA team to the manager of Toledo team regarding Fleet Walker, 1883.

Currier and Ives, one of America’s most popular pictorial records, cruelly ridiculed the ability of African Americans to play baseball. A 1887 letter to the editor of Sporting Life magazine echoed such prejudice: “Good sherry has a fine, nutty flavor, and so perhaps would the remark that the colored club were dark horses and that they played nobly and all that sort of thing, but please, Mr. Editor, can’t we say that a brunette manager in search of colored players is on a grand coon-hunt? (Signed, T. T. T.)”

Of course, men and women of color made significant contributions to the game over time and as one proceeds through the museum, the evidence of this is clear.

My next favorite section was the one about women in the game and reporting about the game and fans of the game. This section of the Hall of Fame was called Diamond Dreams: “Take me out to the ball game,” sang Katie Casey in the famous baseball anthem. Katie was not alone. Women have always loved and played the game, and have worked hard to fulfill their baseball dreams. Stories of exceptions women and their achievements on the field, in the press box, and in the front office pepper baseball history.


Hank Aaron: The list of American heroes who transcend sport to become genuine cultural icons is short and distinguished. Gifted with exceptional physical ability, and unparalleled professional demeanor, mind-boggling consistency, and an internal drive for excellence in all his endeavors, Aaron set a standard nearly impossible to surpass.


His records speak for themselves. When Aaron retired in 1976, he had amassed record totals for home runs, runs batted in, extra base hits, and total bases. “The Hammer” accomplished all of this with a quiet grace and dignity, foregoing the brash pomp and circumstance associated with many other superstars of the sport. 

Perhaps his greatest achievement, however, has taken place beyond the diamond. Aaron has used his well-earned celebrity status on the field to transform the larger world off of it. His championing of civil rights, untiring support for numerous charities, and service as an influence ambassador for baseball has only increased his legacy.

One of the seminal eras in baseball history happened over 1973 & 4, as Aaron neared Babe Ruth’s “unbreakable” career home run record. Aaron faced tremendous adversity in pursuing the most hallowed mark in all of American sport, and is respected as much for his dignity during the chase as for the record he broke. 

Babe Ruth’s uniform displayed next to a photo of him in action.

The moment came on April 8, 1974, when he hit his 715th career home run off the Dodgers’ Al Downing to dethrone Ruth as the all-time home run King, a title the “Bambino” held for 53 years.  

Of course, records are of critical importance in baseball. Lots of them are displayed at the H o F.


“The way I see it, it’s a great thing to be the man who hit the most home runs, but it’s a greater thing to be the man who did the most with the home runs he hit.” —Hank Aaron

My favorite quote about Henry Aaron: “Trying to throw a fastball by Henry Aaron is like trying to sneak a sunrise past a rooster.” —Pitcher Curt Simmons, who played primarily for the Phillies and Cardinals during his 20-year career.

Hank Aaron’s impact on both baseball and the lives of others has only grown since his retirement in 1976. One of baseball’s first African American executives when he moved to the Braves front office in 1977, Aaron used his iconic status as a springboard to fight racial intolerance. 

Aaron’s philanthropic endeavors continue to help people all over the world, while his Chasing the Cream Foundation has provided millions of dollars to underprivileged kids. Honored with the United States’ two highest civilian awards (the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the Citizens Medal) Aaron has set an excample for generations and underscored the true meaning of the word “champion.”

Right toward the end of the primary exhibits was the famous “Who’s on First” routine by Abbot and Costello. It had been years since I’d seen it all the way through, and I laughed again, as if for the first time, until tears streamed down my face. A true classic. Bud Abbot and Lou Costello perfected the skit during the late 1930s. It was first performed on radio in 1938; and on film in 1940. But they staged the most famous version in the 1945 movie The Naughty Nineties. Over half a century later, Time magazine voted it the “Best Comedy Sketch of the 20th Century.”


The end of the museum included amazing photographs collected from all eras of the game. Here are a few I liked.

Kansas City monarchs pitcher Satchel Paige stands inside Detroit’s Briggs Stadium, where fans packed the park to watch him pitch a game against the Chicago American Giants in September of 1941 (photographer unknown). “My fastball looks like a change of pace along-side that little pistol bullet old Satchel shoots up to the plate . . . Satchel, with those long arms of his, is my idea of the pitcher with the greatest stuff I ever saw.” —Former pitcher Dizzy Dean, 1969
On the first floor is the Hall of Fame itself, which consists of bronze plaques like this one of JB’s hero, Cal Ripken, organized by the year each player was inducted. 


Also on the first floor (which visitors are encouraged to see last) is a gallery of artworks whose subject matter is baseball. I had no idea that Alexander Calder did an abstract involving baseball. 

Baseball, 1966 – Alexander Calder (1898 – 1976) – Gouache and ink on paper: Alexander Calder once said, “I paint in shapes.” While this famed American artist is best known for his mobiles, Calder’s two-dimensional works also show mastery of Abstraction and Surrealism. His concern with primary color, motion and playfulness shows in Baseball where he unifies players of different races with the same team color.

Norman Rockwell, of course, was represented, as was this Currier and Ives lithograph.

The American National Game of Base Ball, 1866 (artist unknown). The printmaking firm of Currier and Ives, sell-described “publishers of cheap and popular pictures,” produced numerous lithographs through the 19th century. First made available in the spring of 1866, this print depicts a game played at Hoboken’s Elysian Fields, an idyllic and favored site for baseball at the time.

Also, this nice watercolor by Elaine de Kooning (1918 – 1989)

The Baseball Catch c. 1960 – Elaine de Kooning was a pioneering artist, art critic, and teacher in the height of the Abstract Expressionist era and beyond, working alongside artists like Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, and her husband, Willem de Kooning. In this watercolor, she displays combinations of painting and drawing, surface and contour, stroke and line, and color and light – as she depicts the dynamic relationships among the players and umpire.

There was also a first floor section, off toward the HoF Library, about the famous folks who reported on and wrote about and called the games throughout history. Outside in the then-pouring rain was a small sculpture garden. In my photo I was able to get three of the four players displayed there, but had to miss out the catcher, who is “off camera” from the pitcher.


After the HoF, we went to Council Rock Brewery – not much to see there, but the food was delicious (better than Ommegang, IMHO) and I drank an excellent un-filtered IPA that was creamy and hoppy in all the correct proportions. Must of us tried a different beer each, and Jack had a Scotch Dubbel that he found quite good. Another excellent meal was had by all, and the rain had let up a little by the time we left.



A quick stop at the Cooperstown Distillery store front so JB could pick up replacements for the local spirit we got him in his absence last year; a jump into the grocery en route back to Glimmerglass and our day out was complete.

Back at camp, we holed up as the rain continued. Jack and I read our books, listened to music, and took Gloria up on her offer to share a Mexican-inspired casserole they were heating up, so we didn’t even have to cook. We slept to the near-constant patter of rain on the Roomba roof, and hoped for the forecast of little or no rain next day to come true.

Hoosier National Forest

Jack and I stayed two nights in the Charles C. Deam (yes, that’s supposed to be an “m” not an “n”) Wilderness area, 13,000 acres of the Hosier National Forest in Indiana. The campground we stayed in Sunday, July 31 and Monday, August 1—Hardin Ridge State Recreation Area—is one part of the Wilderness area that was designated as such in 1982. The entire area is managed to preserve a natural condition and provide opportunities for solitude.

The campsites are mostly level and actually better-maintained than the above description might lead one to believe. The really noticeable aspect of this being a wilderness area is there is quite a lot of greenery and un-tended space between each site. 

Hoping for a bike ride if the weather holds
Our set up and Jack’s home for the next week
Under the awning and in the outdoor kitchen

On Monday, it was raining, so we decided to head into Bloomington to do some shopping. A nice bridge or causeway spans the enormous recreational lake adjacent to the area, Lake Monroe. It was fun to drive through Bloomington, because one of our fave movies is Breaking Away, a cycling story set in that college town. We did our shopping but it was still rainy or threatening rain, and this was my “send off” dinner night (before I went to Indianapolis/Carmel for my business meeting). So we endeavored to build a campfire in the intermittent rain, and had some success. Grilled steaks with fresh corn on the cob and portobello mushroom caps (also grilled—Jack was the chef of the evening) were yummy.

Building a campfire in the rain takes patience and persistence
This gives a good idea of the space between campsites
When it really poured a couple of times, we took refuge in the screened porch

It finally cleared up enough for us to sit by the fire to finish up our wine and the day.

Skies clearing above

We took a bike ride Tuesday morning, before I had to head north. We rode all around the campground and rec area and logged 12 miles by following all the loops, and heading all the way down hill (a rather steep grade, at that, which was delightful heading down, but somewhat of a chug climbing back up) to the beach and public access area for Lake Monroe. 

Boat launch area for Lake Monroe
Lovely swiming beach and picnic area
At the top of the chug back up from the beach is a pretty overlook back to the Lake

Our observations, having seen the 4 or 5 loop areas where camping is permitted (plus one section where there are just a couple of cabins) indicated that the first two loops closest to the ranger station are the oldest. The shower/restroom structures in these two loops are the oldest. While they are certainly clean, the fixtures and structures themselves are showing quite a lot of wear.

The loops farther away from the ranger/check in area appear to be newer facilities. Not all—in fact, relatively few—of the sites have water hookups on site. There is a wide variety of electric, however, but also many areas where walk-in camping sites for tents are available, and even sites that have tiered levels for tents and RVs, and primitive RV sites with no hookups.

A person can find most anything in this camping area, and the managers and rangers are all quite nice and helpful, and (at least at this time of year) there is hardly anyone using the entire place. We might have seen a total of 12 users other than the camp hosts on each loop. Of course, it was Sunday/Monday, and one of the folks said that school starts hereabouts in a week or so. That might have something to do with it being relatively quiet.

There are lots of trails for all types of uses—hiking only, multi-use, equestrian. And among the materials about the area the Rangers hand out when you register is some interesting history about the Hickory Ridge Lookout Tower, which I’ll reproduce below, for those of you who like local lore as I do. If you don’t want to read about it, you can skip that part.

With the rain and humidity came the flowering of rather amazing fungi. I loved all the shapes and colors, so I took a few photos to share. These were all around our campsite and all totally amazing.

We left around 1PM for the ride to Carmel and my convention at the Renaissance North Hotel. Everything you never wanted to know about beer will be my life for the next 4-5 days, although Carmel Indiana is reported to have some very fine bicycling trails so I will also be exploring those if the weather cooperates.

Quite a passable IPA from a local brewery (whose name I cannot remember) kicked off my stay in the big city

Hickory Ridge Lookout Tower

This structure stands guard over the Charles C. Deam Wilderness area, the last lookout tower remaining in the Hoosier National Forest. Built in 1939 by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), it was manned and used for fire detection until the 1970s. It is 110 feet tall, made of steel, with a 7 share foot cab and 123 metal steps. 

Early lookouts were simple perches in the crowns of tall trees, or mere ladder steps nailed to a tall tree so someone could climb up to look around. By the 1930s, however, the design for lookout towers had become uniform. At their peak, there were 5,060 towers in the nation, eight of which were in the Hoosier National Forest.

Inside the cabin, entered through a hunger trapdoor in the cabin’s floor, was an alidade on a podium. The alidade was a circular map with the fire tower’s location in the center, and compass directions around the edge (it has been removed from this tower). Attached to the map was a swivel range finder with a sighting wire. When smoke was sighted, the tower man lined up the sighting wire with the smoke, and by plotting the intersection of the lines of sight from different towers, the precise location of the fire could be determined. A telephone or radio could be used to report the fire and dispatch crews. It was common for the towers to be the first site in a rural to get a telephone or radio, and they often served as the community’s link to the outside world.

Raymond Axsom manned the Hickory Ridge Lookout for 26 of the years it was in use. Axsom stayed in the tower during periods of high fire danger. When he wasn’t on duty in the tower, he helped survey land lines, marked timber, routed signs, and did maintenance work on the Forest.

Axsom had a farm 2 miles from the tower and was hired in 1936 as the first tower an. He was replaced in 1938 and 39 by young men from the CCC camp who were assigned to keep watch. Axsom noted the young men kept falling asleep in the tower: a few fires got unnecessarily large because they were not reported promptly. So in 1940, Axsom was called back to be the lookout.

While many of the towermen were local farmers recruited to man a tower during high fire danger, at least two of the towers were “manned” by women. These were the wives of the men originally hired to do the job. According to Clarisse Carroll, former lookout in one of the towers, her husband just gave her the job when other duties called him away. “The rules weren’t as strict as they are now,” she said. “I never told anyone I was taking over. I just did it.”

During periods of high fire danger, a small crew of fire fighters was stationed at the base of the tower. If smoke was spotted, the crew was immediately dispatched to put out the fire. Axsom recalls periods when there might have been 4-5 fires a day, so the fighters were kept busy.

He recalls the wors fire in the Hickory Ridge area was in 1952. A farmer was burning off his garden plot on a windy day, and the fire got away from him. Before it was put out, the fire burnt 2,000+ acres and spread over ~6 miles. It was stopped with on a half mile of the Hickory Ridge Tower.

As frightening as the fire was, Axsom said the time the tower was struck by lightening with him in the top was worse. Still, he said he was the most frightened when an unexpected storm hit with high winds. Since towers had been known to blow over, he had quickly started down toward the ground. But the wind blew so hard he said he had to sit down and wrap his legs around the stairway to keep from being blown off the top.

Over time, the open farmlands around the tower have reverted to forest. Raymond Axsom is now gone, and the house near the base of the tower has been torn down. Today, the tower serves visitors to the Charles C. Deam Wilderness by offering them a panoramic view of the forest and Lake Monroe.

Cycle NC Day 3 & Goodbye Edenton

With an early start on our 30-mile finish day, and with the temps in the 50s as we rolled, our final Cycle NC day was simply splendid. Jack saw a long-time friend before we left camp and had a nice chin-wag with Hal, and we still got on the road by about 9. 

We were surprised to be met with significant headwinds, similar to Day 1, but with no storm on the horizon as with Friday. But we maintained an excellent pace, stopped at one rest stop and skipped the second, and found ourselves back in town about 11, but with fewer than our hoped-for 30 miles. 

  
So we took the suggestion of another friend, who recommended heading to an island right off the Edenton waterfront and having a meander through what was undoubtedly once a plantation. Today, it is mostly agricultural and part of it has been developed into a small neighborhood of high-end homes on the waterfront. Very nicely landscaped and some modest and some more grand homes along winding pavement and lots and lots of birds and squirrels and other neighbors.

   
   
Tried to have lunch at the Dairy Freeze place where we had our first lunch in Edenton on Thursday, but they didn’t open until noon, so we headed to the local coffee house for a panini. They had changed their wifi pass word to honor the Cycle NC event, and had put a bicycle outside with some of their additional handmade offerings adorning every inch of it – mostly small knit birds, but other critters, etc.

   
 
So we returned to camp through a town emptying of the 800 or 1000 cyclists who’d arrived to temporarily wreak havoc on the little town, and I imagine everyone who worked so hard at the restaurants, inns, private homes, and at the hospitality points of the ride heaved a great sigh of relief. We were so very impressed with how friendly and welcoming and patient everyone was. It was a great event held in a great little town.

Packed and stowed and said goodbye to Edenton ourselves at around 2PM, and headed northward along Route 17 to Virginia, to meet up with our friends, Kerry & Gloria, at First Landing State Park in Virginia Beach. It was a long, nervous trip through the Dismal Swamp as our fuel gauge slowly dipped toward “E” but we finally found a station we could get into and out of easily, just before we got on Interstate 64 headed (with everyone else in the world it seemed) toward the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. We (very happily) got off the crowded and ever-changing Big Road to head down Rt. 13, also called Shore Drive, straight into VA Beach and our campground.

Gloria and Kerry were already there and set up, and about an hour and a half later, we all decided that dinner was in order, so we re-arranged our car to fit four and headed back into the northern part of VA Beach, where, as we’d come down Shore Drive, Jack and I had seen a cluster of seafood restaurants. 

We ended up at a place called Bubba’s Seafood, but could have gone to the Shellfish Restaurant, or one of the three others right in the neighborhood, right on the water. I took a photo of the restaurant next door to us, but I’m sure the folks eating on the deck at Bubba’s looked the same.

  
We chose to eat indoors because, believe it or not, it was quite chilly and breezy outside on the water.

Had a very nice meal of shrimp with all the expected go-withs, excellent cocktail sauce, a decent draft beer (called Laughing Crow, out of Pennsylvania – of course, I chose it on its name alone – and it was an IPA to boot), and overall a very good meal for taking a total “flier” on an unknown, obviously very tourist-y place to eat.

  
Back at First Landing, the four of us each enjoyed a night cap, Jack and I caught up on more of the goings-on back home, and hit the hay.