This gallery contains 7 photos.
Last summer my husband, Rich, and I spent five days on the Isle of Jersey, one of the Channel Islands in the English Channel. Although they belong to Britain, they are much closer to the coast of France and are … Continue reading
It started with my husband. During his senior year of college, he spent a week in Antigua with his parents. Not with his brothers, just him and his parents. It made a big impression on him, and he felt it was a special time shared with his parents before he left school and started his first job. At his suggestion we decided to replicate it.
Even when they were young, we told our children about this plan. When they graduated from college, we would take them – not their siblings – on a trip, to a destination of their choosing. Over the years, it became my favorite dinner time probe. Where do you think you will go for your graduation trip?
Our first trip was to Jamaica. Our daughter, Karen, wanted a beach vacation, and a place to relax and soak up the sun after a hectic senior year. We found a wonderful small resort, Catcha Falling Star, perched 
on the cliffs south of Negril. We loved our round air-cooled cottage, jumping into the deep blue waters off the rocks, reading by the waterside, and sampling the local fare for dinner. It was a week of pure relaxation and slow pace. It was on that trip that Karen shared with us the depth of her love for her now-husband. Truly a special time!
The next trip took us to Alaska. Our son, Carl, was looking for adventure and wilderness. Traveling around the southern portion of the state our favorite venue was Bowman’s Bear Creek Lodge on the Kenai Peninsula. From there we experienced sea kayaking in Resurrection Bay, fishing for salmon, 
hiking on glaciers, and enjoyed the best weather of the trip. The rustic log cabins at Bowman’s and delicious dinner savored on the porch were the perfect complement to our outdoor experience. We especially relished that week with Carl, as soon afterwards he left for a year’s study abroad as part of his master’s degree program in International Relations.
And now the third and final trip. Erik will graduate this spring and has selected Banff and Jasper in the Canadian Rockies for his trip. Hiking and mountains were the key ingredients for him. The tickets are purchased, lodging reservations in the making, and anticipation is growing. Now all he has to do is get his diploma.
That will be the end for this generation. Will they continue the tradition?
It was our last day in the French countryside. Staying in a 200-year-old farmhouse in a village of 100 people, my husband, Rich, and I had spent the week in our preferred style of travel – visiting small, out of the way places and savoring the local flavor.
Our destination for that afternoon was Lucon, chosen for its nice Cathedral and formal gardens. When we arrived, it was clear that we’d stumbled upon an event of some kind. It turned out to be the start of a running race. As runners ourselves, it was with a pang of envy that we watched the racers pass. Being spectators has never been our strong point. Returning our attention to the “sights” of the town, we found a sign listing the afternoon’s events. We had just witnessed the start of the 5500m race, and the 10k was yet to come in an hour. An instantaneous moment of insanity gripped us, as we considered entering the race. But our running gear was an hour’s drive away, too far to make it back in time. Practicality ruled, and we continued our way through the town center. Browsing in shop windows and taking in the town’s architecture consumed 45 minutes, but not our minds…they were still back on that race. So with 15 minutes to the start, we entered in our own race against time – getting outfitted and into that race!
Our first destination was a shoe store, where we rushed in and tried to explain in our best high school French (now decades past) that we needed shoes to run in that race! We managed to find two pair that would do, but did not want to commit to buying them unless we could complete the outfit with shorts. Struggling to get our point across, we acquired directions to the sporting goods store, where we found and changed into new running shorts. While I completed the transaction for the shoes, Rich made a dash for the starting line. When I joined him there, he was explaining our plight to the officials – we wanted to race, but alas were not registered. All this with moments to go before the starting time. The response, “C’est ne pas grave!” (that’s not serious) and an invitation to join the race was all it took. Soon we were off with the starting gun!
Somehow we managed to understand that the race would be three loops through town. We both ran on adrenaline, not being in our best racing condition, and were cheered on by the officials at the starting line each time we passed. A couple of times we were spotted for running without racing numbers, but a quick shout “Je suis le Americaine!” was all it took – the return look was understanding and forgiveness. We were steered away from the official chutes at the finish, but the words “Etats Unis” ringing out over the loud speakers recognized our finish in a unique way.
Our friend from the starting line soon sought us out, along with a woman who turned out to be a local reporter covering the race. Learning the tale of how we entered the race, she entreated us to stay for the awards ceremony. In the meantime, we took a quick loop through town to return to the shops where we had made our purchases. Miming our success, we joyfully thanked the merchants amidst exchanges of congratulations and laughter. We returned to find an Olympic-style podium where local dignitaries presented trophies and large bouquets of flowers to the winners of the various races. The next thing we knew, we heard them announcing our names!
The journalist woman ushered us up to the front, where they asked us to take our places on the #1 and #2 stands! Our French served us well enough to understand the Consular General’s description for the 
audience of how we had come to visit their town, patronized their local shops and joined in the race. He then turned to us and thanked us in his best English. Thinking we were done, we were about to depart when he presented us each with a trophy cup, accompanied by a kiss on each cheek for me, 1-2-3 times, as is the custom in Lucon! We felt quite the celebrities!
We never did see that Cathedral, nor the formal gardens. But there is no doubt we took in the local flavor.
This is it, the cause of my sudden attachment to my bicycle, the reason for my forays out into the wind and weather for training, the shift from running to cycling. It’s the Trans-Superior Tour!
Never heard of it? Probably because it 
was my husband Rich’s brainchild. The route, the idea of spending 9 days cycling together, the challenge, and the custom cycling jersey. It’s not his first such adventure, but it is mine. I’m a cycling novice, remember? But I’m up for it!
I have to admit, his route is rather ingenious. We wanted to focus on Lake Superior, and many of the best views from the road are on the Western end. So how to contain the trip to that portion of the lake? No problem – we’ll just ferry across using Isle Royale as a stop-over! Not a bad way to get a rest mid-trip and perhaps a few hours of hiking in the wilderness.
So here is the official route. 
We start in Duluth, work our way along the South Shore and up the Keweenaw Peninsula, right up to the top at Copper Harbor. That takes five days and is the most challenging part of the route, with the longest cycling days and the most hills. From there we ferry across the lake and return along the North Shore to Duluth.
I suspect that whittling down my travel essentials to one set of panniers is going to be one of the trickier aspects of the trip. However, Rich’s mode of travel involves staying at inns and little motels along the way, so I am spared the need to schlep real gear on this venture. And I admit I like the idea of reliable shelter, hot showers and real beds.
I have between now and mid-August to be ready for this cycling tour. I will periodically update my training progress and the finer details of our trip plans during that time. And if you want the male point of view on this journey, visit Rich’s blog, NorthStarNerd.org.
Oh, and did you read the fine print on the jerseys? That last line reads “500 Miles of Love.” It has to be, or we wouldn’t be doing this!
I spent my junior year of college studying in the beautiful cathedral city of Durham, England, in one of the finest old universities in the country. That year gave me an appreciation for living in another country and absorbing its culture through every day life. I felt strongly that it was important to experience and live with the differences rather than trying to impose our American ways on a foreign environment. Otherwise, why bother leaving the USA?
It was during that year that I met Mary and we became close friends. In the pre-internet world, we managed to stay in touch over the years through letters, and treating ourselves to one holiday phone call at Christmas time. Each time we connected, it was as though we’d just been together days before. That is the hallmark of true friendship.
One of my parting comments to Mary at the end of that year abroad was to convey a wish. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if years hence, our children could become pen pals and we could send them across the ocean to stay with each other and experience living in a different country?” Sure enough, we each married, and had a family. Our oldest were both girls, just one year apart, and at age six, they began writing to each other. Their diligence mirrored ours, and their friendship grew. And at the tender age of 12 (what were we thinking?), we put our daughter, Karen, alone on a non-stop flight to London to visit her pen pal, Ruth. Several years later, their brothers followed suit. While their correspondence was more sparse and they found less to talk about on our holiday calls, they still formed a bond. More trips followed in both directions.
Fast forward through the years, and on to our daughters’ weddings. Ruth came all the way over with her parents for Karen’s wedding, and last summer we were all present at the quintessential Oxford wedding for Ruth. It felt so right to be there, like being part of the family.
I had no idea what my wish would spawn. I do believe my children have acquired the same appreciation for other cultures and an interest in seeing more than tourist sites while traveling. My own friendship with Mary is stronger than ever, having seen each other through numerous life changing events. And the distance between us has dwindled dramatically with the help of email, Facebook and Skype.
Now that grandchildren are on the scene, perhaps they will carry on the tradition for yet another generation. My wish lives on.
What kind of memories do you take away from an experience? Do you remember the sights, the sounds and the smells of the places you visit? I think I retain visual snapshots of certain scenes, probably reinforced by the real photographs I take with my camera. But none of this compares to my friend who has “food memories!”
Name any trip, and she can tell you her favorite restaurants and what she ordered. Name any gathering of friends, and she can remember what was served. We’ve been going on annual cross-country ski trips for the last 20 winters, and she can recall the specialty dish from each bed and breakfast where we have stayed!
I will admit to a certain degree of food-centricity in my life, so I rather enjoy these food memories of hers. We entertained ourselves for a good portion of the long drive home from the North Shore on one of our recent winter trips, recounting all those breakfasts together. In fact, on the strength of that exercise, we added a new category to our trip journal to go with our notes on kilometers skied, weather, equipment failures and B&B ratings – you guessed it, food memories!
What will you remember from your next adventure?
Superior Footprints 