Cyclists Venturing Abroad

Posted on April 22, 2016 by Molly

It was only a matter of time. Our love of travel abroad was bound to leak into the allure of cycle touring. It only required matching up our cycling criteria – following water, avoiding population centers and seeking out countryside beauty – with a destination. And thus the Scotland Tartan Cycling Tour was born.

While snow still blanked the ground and the bicycles were still in winter storage, Rich’s thoughts turned to spring. Learning that May was the driest month in Scotland was the deal clincher. What he neglected to mention was that it was far from the warmest. If indeed, Scotland ever gets very warm. While fully on board with this adventure yet a bit concerned, I began to lay in provisions. Windproof gloves, protective booties and a thermal cycling jacket made their way to our door courtesy of Amazon Prime. Subsequent test cycles up the North Shore into frigid NE winds have convinced me I’ll be fine. And if I had to shed my new layers, so much the better.

We know enough about cultural differences to understand that the cheap roadside motels we frequently use don’t exist overseas. So instead, we hope to substitute hostels for less expensive accommodations. Unlike the youth hostels of our, well youth, these establishments often offer private rooms with shared bath. That’s good enough for us. Have sleeping bag will travel.

What we haven’t done is plan a route. Nor do we intend to. Unlike all previous trips, we are going to wing it this time. We expect to travel north. We hope to follow the coast. We will avoid extreme hills. And make it up as we go along. Even so, I did a little sleuthing, checked out the National Cycle Network routes, and concocted some idea of what we might do. The only part that is for certain is that we will begin and end in Aberdeen. And we will cycle for three weeks in between.

To my extreme surprise, Rich has ordered detailed paper maps for cycling in Scotland. Although he has always successfully relied on downloading Google Maps in the past, the realities of cycling in remote areas must have prompted this shift in approach. I heartily support this practical step!

Our trusty bicycles will travel with us. Despite the risk and the expense, we prefer to ride our own bikes that have served us so well on all previous trips. We just have to trust the airlines to treat them with care…

We are getting down to the final details. It’s now a routine we know well. Our custom jerseys are on order. We’ve started to create small piles of gear. I’m ticking things off my comprehensive list. And soon we will be venturing abroad. Aye, to bonnie Scotland.

Good Morning, Lakewalk

Posted on April 21, 2016 by Molly

It’s early but all the regulars are out there. My morning running ritual takes me down the Lakewalk day after day. There I enter my world of the familiar. I know I should vary my routine, and I do work in some hills or head up the shore periodically. But my feet just naturally lead me to the Lakewalk.

The route is always the same, but the experience never is. On the grim, cloudy and windy days, I nod to my fellow runners as we pass. We exchange knowing glances, acknowledging the brutal headwind, the chill of the air. We share the same rugged determination. We are out there, no matter what.

When the sun shines and the lake sparkles, our faces reflect the joy of our surroundings. Our “good morning” exchanges ring out merrily. Those are the days when the Aerial Bridge beckons irresistibly, drawing me further down the Lakewalk to its terminus in Canal Park. Ten miles turn into 13. But it’s worth it.

My trusty companions on the Lakewalk punctuate the miles yet loosen my brain from focusing on the rigors of my run. Cyclists pass on their way to work, warning me with the sound of their tires or a cheery ring of a bell. Dog walkers are always good for a “hello” and seem to have only beautiful and well mannered pooches on the end of their leashes. Fellow runners whiz by in both directions, but usually with a wave of encouragement.

And then there’s Arley. A fixture on the Lakewalk, his presence brightens anyone’s journey. I first see him walking, coffee cup in hand striding purposefully at an early hour. Next, he passes me on his bike, destined for the end of Park Point and back. White hair flying out from under his cap, always with a chipper greeting for me. At times he accompanies me on his bike, spinning away the miles with conversation as I run. When the snow flies, I can count on his having cleared the portion of the Lakewalk adjacent to his house.

It was the Lakewalk that introduced me to a kindred spirit and running friend, Arlene. Perched on opposite sides of an ice encrusted street, we traded encouragement as we approached. Our steps slowed to a walk, one greeting led to another and soon we were trading phone numbers to meet up for our next run. Where else might I meet another passionate running enthusiast and heart-felt friend? Barely a day goes by that does not find one or the other or both of us treading the Lakewalk.

Admittedly not all Lakewalk encounters are friendly. Passing through the wooded area just past East High recently, a dark form materialized just ahead. A tall figure wedged between the fence and a tree turned out to be an upright bear, attempting to scale the fence with his hind claws. I’m guessing it was the inhabitant of the 36th Avenue culvert, having wandered away from his den. Passing in a hurry, a quick glace back led me to believe he was perched atop the fence. I wished I had a camera with me, but perhaps it was better that I didn’t linger.

It was very thoughtful of the City to extend the Lakewalk to our neighborhood just as we moved in. And the subsequent addition of the tunnel under the highway was equally welcome. Every morning is a good morning on the Lakewalk.

Northland Mud Season

Posted on March 29, 2016 by Molly

Few would claim that the Northland is at its best in the spring. While temperatures are nearing the comfort zone in the Twin Cities, we are still hovering around freezing. Although spring flowers may be poking up in warmer climes, here the vegetation is still brown. The ground is muddy and still icy in spots. In short, it’s pretty bleak.

And yet, when the sun comes out it is hard to resist heading outdoors. Never mind that cold wind off the lake, spring calls. That’s exactly how I found myself in Gooseberry Falls State Park this morning.

The woman in the Visitor Center warned that the trails were wet and slippery. But the draw was irresistible. I hadn’t come to the park to walk on the road. From the abundance of muddy footprints I followed, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Others too were enjoying the squish and slide of mud season. There is something innately satisfying about setting foot squarely in the midst of that soft wet earth and the squidgy suctiony noise that accompanies its exit from the quagmire. Big kids that we are.

If the lack of vegetation deprives us of color, it also grants vistas. En route to the lake shore, I was able to take in the falls from a distance, and enjoy the twisty, windy path of the river. It’s fascinating how it transitions from roaring falls to lazy stream in just a short distance. The dogwoods added a welcome touch of red to the scene. Not all scenic views were a product of nature. I particularly enjoyed the symmetry and design of the steps that took me high above the river to the cliffs above. Workers more recent than the original CCC crews that created the park’s magnificent log and stone buildings back in the 1930s were responsible for this ascending sculpture.Hiking between the shoreline and the falls, I decided it was a dual sound track park. Next to Lake Superior, the rush of the wind and the pounding of the waves filled my ears. It was a familiar noise I could feel as well as hear. Both sensations retreated as I moved away from the lake, soon to be replaced by the roar of the falls. The thunderous din grew as I drew closer to the source, and witnessed the power of the water as it crashed over the rocks. Still swollen by the spring run-off.My circuit complete, I tracked globs of mud back to the car on my boots, fresh air tingling on my face, and fingers feeling a slight chill despite my warm gloves. All so very satisfying. Spring in the Northland, mud season at its very best.

Living by the Numbers

Posted on March 24, 2016 by Molly

Two huge numerical digits came to inhabit our backyard yesterday. I planted them there, surreptitiously. And when night fell, the timer clicked on and they proclaimed in giant illumination my husband’s new age. 60. The big 6-0. A turning point I have already passed.Wrangling those numbers into place drove home the numerical realities of life. Of growing older (I refuse to say old). Of how I have come to measure life by different standards. Of the milestones I have reached. Of the impact on my active lifestyle. Admitting to my mathematical background, I can’t help but ponder my new life status from a numerical perspective.

My passion for endurance sports has not waned with my age. But its key indicators are clearly suffering. I’m embarrassed to find I am pleased to complete a long run squeaking in just under 10 minute miles. Admittedly 7s are ancient history, but whatever happened to 8 or 9? I’m learning to let go of the single digits when it comes to pace, as long as I can still rack up the mileage numbers. Thankfully marathons are still within my reach, they just take longer. PRs have fallen by the wayside. And forget finishing under 4 hours. Just crossing the finish line is rewarding enough.

If I’m getting slower, so is my competition. And here’s a case where the numbers are declining. As I move up the age categories, the field keeps narrowing. Moving into a new classification is exciting, as it signals yet another drop in participation. I actually placed 3rd in my age group in a marathon ski race this winter, and won a coveted Dala horse prize. I just choose to ignore the fact that I was 3rd out of 3.

Having taken up distance cycling just 4 years ago, I don’t have the same competitive baggage. And rather than focus on speed and racing, Rich and I have taken up cycle touring. Our mantra is “You see a lot more of the world when traveling at only 12 miles an hour.” Here it’s more about the distance figures. Our annual tours have typically taken us over 1,400 miles. And to date our longest trip has covered 2,350 miles. It took us nearly two months to get there, yet by the end we still wanted to keep going. That’s a measure of success. I’d still love to top that number.

Not all cycle rides have to be that long. 100 has a nice ring to it. A friend talked me into a Century Ride a few years ago, and it has now become an annual tradition. Time is not a consideration, as long as we finish cycling before dark. Thanks to the long summer days here Up North, we have yet to fail. We may just need to start earlier each year.

Anniversaries are another good life measure. For 24 straight years I have shared a cross-country ski weekend with a fellow mom/career woman/friend. We do a lot of skiing and yes, I track the kilometers. Our range may have narrowed over the years, but our support for one another and ability to come home recharged have been a constant. All the more reason to look forward to our 25th trip. And to hope that number will continue to grow.

No matter how I look at it, I count myself very fortunate. A little slippage here, a bit of stagnation there isn’t bad. I’m still out there plying the pavement, spinning my wheels and gliding over the snow. Good health and energy are gifts whose value can’t be calculated. Not even for those of us who live by the numbers.

Winter Resurgence

Posted on March 17, 2016 by Molly

It seems a strange scene. I stand in my bare feet and swim suit, peering out into the darkness at 6:15am. The outside floodlights are on, and they illuminate a world blanketed in white. I expected the snow. In fact, it’s the reason for my one-piece lycra apparel. Assuming it would be too deep for running, I had decided on an alternate workout this morning. But I hadn’t counted on the landscape now in my field of vision.

Every branch is outlined in white. The thin boughs are magnified by a fluffy coating of snow much thicker than their own sinewy skeletons. The woods surrounding our house are no longer a transparent winter veil but a lacy wall enclosing our abode. I can already picture the Lakewalk rimmed by more ghostly shapes. It is much too good to miss.

Despite the dim predawn light, many have preceded me down the trail. Footsteps are plentiful, crisscrossed by bicycle tracks and the wide treads of fat tire bikes. The snow is not as deep as I feared, but the wet fluff lies over a layer of slush. Messy but not slippery, it makes for slow and arduous progress but poses little danger of falling.

The world is silenced by the snowfall. Footfalls and tire rotations are muted, but faces are glowing. “Isn’t this beautiful?” seems to be on the lips of all I pass.

I don’t normally take the small bypass in front of the town homes at The Ledges. But the chance to get closer to the lake draws me down the indistinct path. My impulse is rewarded, seeing the dry stalks of fall flocked with snow silhouetted against the gray-blue of Lake Superior, and framing the iconic Aerial Bridge.

While just yesterday the Lakewalk was perfectly clear for easy running, I have no complaints about this resurgence of winter. It taught me to seize the moment, change my plans, stop and take pictures. And best of all, enjoy my surroundings.

Spring Fling

Posted on March 13, 2016 by Molly

I seriously doubt anyone stayed at home today. How could they, with brilliant sunshine and temperatures in the 60s even right next to Lake Superior? I certainly didn’t.

My day started out on the Lakewalk with good running friends. We were a pack of four, but we met much larger groups of runners thundering down the path. It was as if anyone who owned a pair of running shoes was out there. For good reason. Skirting the harbor, the view was unsurpassed. Little iceberglets floated in the calm water, and the bridge reflected perfectly on the glassy surface. The water’s blue was even deeper than that of the sky. The gray days of winter faded from our memories as we embraced this sudden spring moment.

Exchanging my running clothes for cycling gear, Rich and I headed up the shore for an afternoon bike ride. Our starting point was Gooseberry Falls – along with the rest of the world. We were lucky to find a parking place, and had to pick our way through the crowds to get to the falls. There we found water rushing over and through the ice that still covered much of the river. Quite a unique sight.Riding along the shore, water was flowing everywhere. The rocky cliffs that line the road were oozing with water, dripping over the edges and down the craggy formations. Rivulets ran at the base of the rocks and through the brush. There was one waterfall in particular that we hoped to see, and were not disappointed. Only in the spring, does water shoot out from the rocks into Lake Superior like this.

At Beaver Bay the Beaver River came shooting out of its own icy formations. Clearly the rivers were unprepared for this sudden spring.

I was unprepared as well. Expecting it to be “cooler by the lake” I had overdressed, and sweltered in the sunny 60-degree heat of the day. But I wasn’t about to complain. The only misfortune was the fact that the ice cream shop in Beaver Bay was not open. We had both independently secreted cash in our pockets, intent on stopping to indulge.

I know it’s only March 12. And that even the calendar shows it isn’t spring yet. I’m too well versed in the ways of the Northland to think that this will last. One look at the weather forecast tells me tomorrow will be very different. All the more reason I so enjoyed today’s Spring Fling.

Not all Auroras are Equal

Posted on March 10, 2016 by Molly

We are fortunate to live in northern Minnesota where we can see the Northern Lights when the conditions are right. Over the years, I’ve seen my share of Auroras. The very best was up at our cabin. Late at night, sitting around the campfire, someone looked up and noticed the green glow. We all trooped down to the dock where we had a view of the whole sky. There were rays shooting up from all directions, reaching the apex and waving. Lying on our backs to watch the performance was awesome.

More commonly, the lights have been a green glow in the North. Sometimes they create spikes that stretch up into the sky. Others form curtains that hang above the landscape like the display I saw in the Boundary Waters with my son Carl. Each is mesmerizing and special.

With that as my frame of reference, I was unprepared for the Northern Lights in Norway. Sure, I’d seen photographs and tourism posters, but those are unabashedly sensationalized. I knew the chance of seeing the lights was better there. Pure geography means even weaker displays are visible. I just hadn’t realized how different they would be.

Our first night we got really lucky. In the vernacular of the serious Aurora Hunters, there was a “G2 storm” – which means an extraordinary amount of solar magnetic activity. That translates to a high likelihood of seeing the Northern Lights.

Not only did the lights blanket the sky, but they were exceptionally brilliant and intense. We didn’t have to look for a green glow. The whole sky was glowing. Against that backdrop bright rays shot across the sky, arcing over our heads and extending from horizon to horizon. It was as if we were witnessing huge electric currents, pulsating and giving off waves of color. Everything was perfectly aligned to bring us this fine display – location, clear skies, no moon and solar power in the atmosphere. And boy, was that obvious.The following night, we knew that the solar activity was weaker, so we adjusted our expectations accordingly. I think we were still harboring a Minnesota frame of reference, because once again we were amazed at what we saw. This time the lights may not have been as intense, but the sharp streaks were replaced by patterns and movement and the performance lasted much longer. For about an hour and a half we watched as the lights danced overhead. They were constantly in motion, creating shapes then morphing into something else. First active on one side of the ski, then picking up momentum on the other. My favorite was the circular curtain of lights, waving its folds and draping its colors as it curved. It was hard to know which way to look, because to view in one direction meant missing something behind me.I have Rich to thank for the photographs of these displays, as that is his specialty. Often times I feel that the camera overstates what I was able to see with my own eyes. But on this occasion, I think that the opposite is true. His photos are quite true to what we saw, yet cannot do justice to the whole experience. Not even his wide angle lens could capture the full image of what was happening up in the sky. You had to be there to see it. I can now fully appreciate the vast beauty of just what the Northern Lights can do. And it is abundantly clear that not all Auroras are equal. I’m convinced that we saw some of the best.

True Nordic Skiing

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Molly

Skis, check. Poles, check. Boots, ski clothes and wax, check. For two avid skiers to visit the home of Nordic skiing in winter, the allure of plying the trails is irresistible. Never mind all the extra baggage required, we're going cross-country skiing in Norway!

There are plenty of trails to choose from around Tromso, and I select a loop based on the grooming reports – this one has fresh tracks laid just hours ago. Despite the old, dirty snow on the streets of Tromso, just a few kilometers away we find fresh powder. The lane where we park is pure ice – something we have learned is typical here, and we are thankful for the studded tires on our rental car. The sun tries to break through the clouds as Rich waxes our skis, and I feel the excitement build. We are really here, about to ski alongside a fjord.

I hadn't given it much thought, but if you ski away from the water, you're going to go up. Those mountains in the distance are beautiful, but they start right here. So we climb. And climb. The bonus is that we instantly have a wonderful view. The snow gets deeper and the grooming is excellent. At times it is wide enough for skate skiing, in other areas it narrows to a more modest woodland trail. But the firm tracks are a constant. They certainly know their skiing here.

This isn't a workout, it's an “experiencial ski” Rich keeps reminding me. I don't need to be told, I have no inclination to hurry. No desire to push. I want to take it all in.

The trail skirts a lake with cabins alongside. We suspect we are skiing on a small road used to access the cabins in summer. However, it is clear that they are used in winter as well – perhaps reached by skis. That becomes my favorite part of the trail, winding through the trees. Scattered modest cabins on one side, lake on the other. Oddly enough, it feels very like Minnesota if I ignore the magnificent mountains.

Off trail the snow is deep and pristine. I am surprised to see numerous deep ski tracks criss-cross its surface, carving out their own back-country ski trails. It looks inviting and adventuresome, but I have no desire to leave the groomer's domain.

Here I can appreciate the silence of this sport. Swishing along the smooth tracks, we see only a couple of other skiers and a few walkers. At first I cringe to see those on foot, but clearly it is accepted here. They know enough to stay off the tracks and their boots barely break the firm surface of the snow.

The temperature is close to freezing, colder as we move inland. It is mild enough to get hot when we climb, cool enough to be chilly on our rapid descent. Our return trip is completed in a fraction of the time it took on the outbound leg. We now have a true Nordic ski experience in the bag. I can't wait to do it again tomorrow.

Arctic Aurora Brilliance

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Molly

When chasing the Northern Lights, there are no guarantees. Conditions can change in an instant. A promising forecast can evaporate. The atmosphere can refuse to cooperate. And even when there is a fantastic display, clouds can completely scuttle the view. How well we know this.

After four nights on our cruise along the coast of Norway dedicated to this pursuit, we have seen only a faint glow. While the trip's daytime scenery has been stunning, the unspoken disappointment over the lack of a nighttime performance is a minor undercurrent. But we still have three more nights on shore in Tromso to score an Aurora.

When I enter the visitor center, it is packed with people all anxious to see the Northern Lights. The number of tour operators promising to mine their expertise, drive to different locations all night long, and deliver a memorable experience is astounding. These visitors are prepared to fork over a small fortune, and they anxiously deliberate the selection of a tour operator and the night they will take their chance. I, on the other hand, am here merely to purchase a parking pass. My tour guide is en route with a rental car, already armed with weather forecasts, Aurora apps, alerts, Kp index and solar activity ratings. Rich may be as qualified as any expert out there.

With Tromso still socked in with clouds, we layer ourselves in warm clothes, collect cameras and tripods and begin our chase after dinner. Rich is buoyed by the recent reports, revealing that “the numbers” are suddenly escalating. The key will be to find open skies. Rich's research convinces him we should drive away from the coast, and he has selected an area 73 kilometers to the southeast for this target. Distance is of little concern in this pursuit.

Traveling down the fjord, I keep my eyes trained on the sky. It's hard to see with the reflections of the dash and outdoor lights on the windows. Peering into the darkness, I suddenly find stars. First just in one spot, soon all over the sky! We are still too near the lights of civilization, but we are on target. Constantly searching, I detect faint green rays in the sky over the water. Surely I am not just willing them into existence. They are there from every angle I try. Wispy and ephemeral they fade, but I'm certain I saw them.

30k short of our destination, the stars disappear. Rich chooses to turn around, hoping to return to the earlier opening. We are amazed at the constant lights along the road – who knew there were so many people living this far north?

Still panning the sky, I spy an unmistakable brilliant green pattern right above us! This time it is the real thing. It moves and changes shape before my very eyes. We have ourselves an Aurora.

We are on the top of a mountain pass between two fjords, and amazingly a pull-out appears next to the road. We park and are out of the car in a flash. Despite the lights in the house across the road and the glare of the passing automobiles, the display is so bright that nothing seems to dim its radiance.

Ribbons of green cross the sky. Stretching from one side to the other, we can't even tell which way is North. They twist and twirl overhead. They form and reform then subside. New shapes appear, like curtains with folds that wave in the breeze. Moving and dancing with varying hues of intensity, sometimes with a tinge of gold. The sky is aglow. Its green illuminates the big grins on our faces.

Rich is in his element, repositioning his camera every few minutes. So much is happening overhead and in every direction, there are endless opportunities to photograph the show. I abandoned all thoughts of trying my hand at photography the moment I exited the car. Riveted by the action in the sky, I prefer to see it all live than to risk frustration trying to capture it. My neck hurts from continually looking straight up – a sweet pain I happily endure. Even Rich shoots fewer pictures than usual as the display is so enthralling.

As quickly as it began, the performance fades. The striking shapes ebb into vagueness then dim into obscurity. The clouds have caught up with us.

In all, the glory lasted 45 minutes. But we continue to glow in its wake for the duration of the drive back to Tromso. It is a night for the memory books. My personal Aurora Hunter nailed it. He found a sliver of open sky during one of the brightest of Auroras. Both Rich and the Aurora performed brillliantly.

The Final Arctic Approach

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Molly

Nobody likes to see a good thing end. But it's always nice to finish on a high note. Such was our last day cruising up the coast of Norway.

This ship's full itinerary takes it up over the top of Norway, almost to Russia. Indeed some passengers cruise all the way up from Bergen and back again. But we chose to stop at Tromso for a few days on land instead. So it was time to savor our final hours sailing through the islands and fjords.

We rose before dawn, hoping for a good sunrise. Crisp and cold out on deck, we were rewarded with dramatic color. At this high latitude the sun never gains much height in the sky, but it continued to grace us from its low angle through the day.

The mountains still lined our passageway, now entirely snow covered. On some, we could see the clear delineation between forest and pure white above the tree line. The rocks receded into deep, gleaming white depths. Craggy peaks alternated with smooth rounded high expanses. The water was calm in the protected waters we plied, the only wind that of the moving ship. Mesmerizing, relaxing, soothing.

Despite our remote location, communities still abounded on the shoreline. As did individual homesteads. There is no limit to the draw that water has on people. No matter the location, they are still attracted to reside adjacent to its glistening surface.

Our bags packed and stashed under the stairway, we schlepped our shoulder bags with us around the ship. The impending finale hung over us. It was time to say goodbye to this portion of our adventure and move on to the next. We migrated onto land, but not away from the water. We're now in port, but the view from our hotel room is much the same as from on deck. We haven't left Norway's coast, just made our final Arctic approach.

Superior Footprints

Life and the Outdoors in the Northland

Author Archives: Molly

Cyclists Venturing Abroad

Good Morning, Lakewalk

Northland Mud Season

Living by the Numbers

Winter Resurgence

Spring Fling

Not all Auroras are Equal

True Nordic Skiing

Arctic Aurora Brilliance

The Final Arctic Approach

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