Tag Archives: Duluth Minnesota

Following the dogs

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Now that we are Duluthians, it seemed only right that we take in the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon.  With family in town, it was a natural to head over to the IMG_3276starting area ahead of time for Meet the Mushers.  In a parking lot filled with dog kennels, sleds, equipment and people, it took on the aura of a festival.  Dogs and mushers were easily accessible, and more than willing to be petted and talk about the race and their experiences.  We could feel the excitement build as we perused the starting chute, and it was hard to tear our granddaughter away from meeting the “puppies.”

Once the race was in progress, Rich and I headed out to more remote spots to try our hand at photographing the action.  Our first stop was at the top of Seven IMG_3285 croppedBridges Road.  While only the half-marathon teams took that route, we had great fun watching them navigate the downhill that ended in a hairpin curve.  Not all dogs understood that they needed to turn, which was comedic.  And I quite enjoyed this team’s lead dog, who seemed more intent on checking me out than leading the team!

Still early in the race, the mushers eagerly wavedIMG_3324 trimmed and appreciated our cheers as they passed by.  One in particular seemed to be having a great time – and it was a woman to boot!  What spirit she showed.

When the action slowed there, we moved to a post further out of town, which proved to be a beautiful viewing point.  Without warning, mushers came around the bend and traveled down a gently undulating and curving path heavily lined with thick and snowy pine trees.  There we had ample opportunity to let our cameras shoot continuously, catching them all the way down the trail.

IMG_3382 trimmedIt was there that we saw our first full-marathon teams, with up to 14 dogs pulling the sleds as opposed to only 8 for the shorter distance racers.  The teams seemed to stretch forever, and were amazing in their ability to coordinate their movements in a compressed space without getting hopelessly tangled.  And they proved to be a challenge to fit into the viewfinder of the camera!  We particularly enjoyed those with brilliantly colored booties – a necessity for the dogs’ feet out on the icy trail.

We quickly learned that photographing the race required more waiting than it did clicking the shutter.  We never knew how long it would be between teams, and keeping warm was a high priority.  Fortunately, we were decked out in our warmest gear, and found that talking to other spectators was entertaining and helped pass the time.  Once a lead dog appeared, then it was a scramble for the camera, getting it lined up properly and shooting either with clumsy mittens or frigid exposed fingers.  When using continuous mode, I felt like I was shooting blind, and came out with some headless mushers in the process.  And while the photos taken from far away were not great, I enjoyed replaying them later in rapid order, seeing the dogs advance down the trail in stilted stop-action form.

We were relieved to return to the car at the end of each stop, to feel its warmth and let the seat warmers work their magic on our chilled bodies.  The mushers weren’t nearly so lucky.  It was hard to imagine them continuing on mile after cold and windy mile, and on into the night through the dark.  They are heartier souls than we, still out there, following their dogs.

 

 

 

Why do we do this?

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Toe and hand warmers have become my best friends.  That little warm glow next to my sensitive digits is so comforting as once again I head out into the COLD.

The thermometer is hovering justDSCN0030 below zero – a veritable heat wave in this cold snap.  I pull on my long underwear, add several thermal layers, don my head wrap and head out the door with my skis.  For my first circuit around the trails I take in the sun’s golden glow on the trees and long shadows across the snow.  Despite its lack of warmth, I enjoy the ambiance and even the crisp air.  It makes me glad I made the effort to get out and ski.  During my second lap, the cold begins to infringe on my body.  First the thumbs go, followed by my fingers.  By the time I’m gliding rapidly down the final hills, my knees complain of the chill, and I have no desire to go for a third lap.  I can’t wait to reach the warmth of the house.

The Northern Lights indicators are all pointing to a high likelihood of activity.  My husband’s phone buzzes with multiple alerts informing him of the fact.  He’s intent on going out to see and photograph the display late at night, and I hesitate but decide to join him.  The temperature is already -11 and heading out of town and away from Lake Superior it continues to plummet.  Fortunately, Rich has been busy scoping out viewing points that allow us to stay in the car and watch for the northern glow.  We are happy to occupy our seats with their “bun warmers” and wait.  And wait.  Scuttled again with a lack of aurora, we decide to salvage the trip with some photo shots of stars.  It’s clear and cold, and Rich IMG_3190 trimmedcatches me doing a “warming dance” alongside my camera as it takes its long exposure on the tripod.  My photos weren’t very good, but we do get in some valuable practice, and a few good laughs, mostly at ourselves.  And I get a decent shot of the dashboard…

The temperature has finally risen into the teens, but snow is falling and the wind is fierce.  We watch the snow swirl outside our windows, note how blustery it is and think how cozy we are inside.  But we don’t stay there.  Instead, we pile into our down jackets and jump into a 4-wheel drive truck with friends to go to a UMD hockey game.  Hockey?  Me?  Okay, so I’m not really a hockey (or spectator sports) fan, but hey – it’s a social outing.  And after all, it’s indoors.

We’re Minnesotans – better yet, Duluthians.  And proud of it.  Life doesn’t stop just because it’s cold outside.  That’s why we keep the warm clothing industry in business and continue to pursue our outdoor activities.  Otherwise it would be a long, dull winter.

Ah, Sunshine!

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I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.  After three days of constant snowfall and heavy cloud cover, the reappearance of the sun lent a welcome glow to the new fallen snow and rays of visual warmth to my world.

IMG_0607I started snowshoeing in the woods early this morning just past daybreak.  The temperature had dropped during the night, and the trees that were doubled over with the weight of the wet snow were now frozen in their curved poses.  Occasional trees and branches had snapped and fallen under the strain.  Following the trail was like doing an obstacle course.

The snow under my feet started out hard and crunchy.  While it easily bore my weight, progress was noisy. Further inland, the depth increased and the snow softened.  That’s snowshoeing at its best in my mind.  Silent and deep.

IMG_0609The prettiest trails were those that followed the Lester River.  The ground rose high above the water and my path was narrow and secluded.  The trees must have been more open to the wind, as they all stood tall and proud.

It was at that point that I saw it.  The sun had just risen above the clouds at the horizon and illuminated the trees all around me.  Their long thin shadows lay across the trail, adding a new dimension to the snow.  Re-energized by the sun’s appearance, I prolonged my snowshoe trek to absorb my new surroundings.

IMG_3131The longer the sun was up, the bluer the sky.  It made a beautiful backdrop for the snow covered tree limbs.  And it lifted my spirits.  After days of isolation and greyness, we had color again.

Ah, sunshine is a wonderful thing.

Braving the Storm

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Day 2 of Duluth’s big snowstorm.  From our house, about 1/2 mile in from Lake Superior, it seemed a mild event. The main feature was the slow but constant and significant accumulation of snow.  Sure, it was windy, as evidenced by the broken branches in the yard and slightly swaying trees, but for the most part just a pretty winter wonderland.

Similar to yesterday, by late morning I made my way out into the snowy accumulation.  This time I donned snowshoes and headed toward the lake.  We had at least 8″ of heavy new snow in our yard, but the closer I got to the shore, the wetter, sloppier and skimpier the snow.  And when I emerged from the new lakewalk tunnel, I was surprised to look down and discover that my jacket was covered in droplets and soaking wet.  I had entered an entirely different micro-climate.

IMG_0575 trimmedBut that wasn’t all.  I was suddenly in the throes of a real storm.  I could hear the wind as I approached, but that was nothing compared to the fury with which it whipped past me.  Sticking to the shelter of trees at the shore, I watched as the brown water churned and huge waves crashed over the rocks.  It was all I could do to hold my little camera steady to see if I could catch the action.

Not content with one view, I soldiered on toward Brighton Beach.  The wind coming down the lake was so fierce, I couldn’t see a thing as I fought my way forward through the windy wetness.  There was no way I was going to survive on the open rocky beach, so I sought another grove of IMG_0584trees for my viewing point.  There I could see the rainy snow driven sideways in sheets across the water.  It wasn’t a place I wanted to dawdle, and as soon as I did an about face the wind fairly blew me back to the tunnel.  On the way, I had to smile at the snow encrusted North Shore sign, perfect proof of the horizontal snowfall.

My return trip was the same transition in reverse, and I reached home in the quiet snowfall I’d left.  It was a short but intense excursion, from one world to another and back again.  I guess we really are in the throes of a major storm after all.

Fall Farmers’ Market Fun

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I figured it was nearing the end of the Farmers’ Market season.  But having been gone for the height of the growing season, I was drawn to the 100-year old institution to make up for lost time.  I figured it would be quiet, with a few vendors and fewer customers at this time of year.  Boy was I wrong!

IMG_2742I arrived to discover that the parking lot was crammed full of cars, and quickly exited the melee to vie for the elusive street parking spots.  Returning to the long red wooden building, I found cider making in process outside the center door.  It was apple cider production at its very basic best.  A load of apple chunks were dumped into a wooden press, and as they were compressed apple juice streamed out the bottom into buckets.  After the initial turns of the circular crank on the press, a long wooden bar was fitted to the top and several eager young boys were recruited to turn it.  Round and round they IMG_2745walked, pushing the bar and enjoying the work, much like young Tom Sawyers.  Adults and children alike gathered to watch the process and line up for the freshest cider in town.

Inside, the booths were filled with vendors and their was an air of festivity to the fall showing.  Tunes from a dulcimer player situated in the center aisle mingled with the murmurings of customers as they moved among the colorful produce.  Only a few summer vegetables lingered among the offerings, with the preponderance of space dedicated to pumpkins, gourds and squash.  Their hues reflected the brilliance of the fall leaves outside.  The baked goods were tempting, from whole grain breads to gooey rolls, sweet breads and giant cookies.  And a variety of jams and canned goods were on hand to sample and purchase.  It was truly a feast for the senses.

IMG_2747  IMG_2748IMG_2749I made the full circuit of the prolific booths before making my selections.  Filling my bag with peppers, baby potatoes, squash and tomatoes, I felt good about supporting our local farmers and looked forward to cooking with my fresh produce.  I resisted the baked goods, knowing I’d enjoy making them myself at home, and brought home fresh inspiration for baking projects.

I’m so glad I didn’t ignore the calling.  The season appears to be far from over.  I can’t wait to go back next week.

Chasing the Tall Ships

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History does not always repeat itself.  Last time the Tall Ships came to Duluth, they mustered out along the North ShoreSunrise straightened then sailed down toward the canal for the Parade of Ships.  It seemed reasonable enough to us that they would follow the same pattern this year.  We were so convinced, in fact, that we got up at 5am to see if we could catch them against the shore in the early morning glow of the sunrise.  Well, we saw a nice sunrise at any rate.  Just no ships.

Undeterred, we mounted our bicycles and headed up the shore once again around mid-day.  This time we stopped at McQuade Harbor to wait for the ships to appear.  We could see two of them in the distance – indistinct forms but unmistakably sailing ships.  It was a beautiful day and we didn’t mind hanging around waiting for the others to appear.  Only they didn’t.  A quick phone call to our daughter, who was down at Canal Park with her family, revealed that the remaining seven ships were plying the waters in front of them, awaiting their grand entrance.  Missed again!

We hustled down to Canal Park as fast as we could pedal, thankful that we were on two wheels not four as we slid past the heavy traffic.  We still arrived in plenty of time for the show.  In fact, we beat the two ships we’d been monitoring out on the lake.  The area was crowded with people, creating an air of festivity and the excitement was building as the time approached for the ships to sail through the canal.

The pier on the far side of the bridge proved to be the best spot for taking pictures – both for the position of the sun and for the smaller crowds lending easier access to the edge of the canal.  It was the perfect day to be outside and no one minded waiting between the waves of ships that passed under the bridge.  Conversation flowed easily between groups of strangers, brought together for the fun of watching big sailing ships.  We finally settled in to watch the Parade of Ships and photograph the beautiful vessels.  This time we were not disappointed.  And our chase was over. IMG_1594 IMG_1601IMG_1619 IMG_1622

And the other gold

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Make new friends, but keep the old,
One is silver and the other gold.

It was years ago that we learned that little song, which we sang as a round in Girl Scouts. But it’s never been more true. And in this summer filled with reunions with family and friends, I have had ample opportunity to appreciate its message.

It was over a year ago that I contacted Zohreh about our reunion. She was the AFS student from Iran during my senior year in high school, and when presented with the idea of coming for our reunion, she jumped right on board. And having committed, even way back then, I knew she’d come. Even after 40 years.

Over that time we had not only kept in touch but we visited Zohreh and her family in Paris, where she now makes her home. And she welcomed our son during his backpacking tour of Europe so that he could see the Tour de France finish on the Champs-Élysées. In between were the annual Christmas letters and occasional emails. But as soon as she stepped into our house in Duluth, it was as if we’d been together yesterday.

We had a magical three days, revisiting the places she’d known so well during her AFS year here and sharing her memories and experiences with her family. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I loved reliving it all through her eyes. Duluth provided beautiful weather, showing off the renewed lakefront and sparkling off the ubiquitous Lake Superior.

The best part of all was reconnecting with our close group of friends from high school. A small brunch turned into a half-day affair when we all gathered to talk and share our past and the intervening years. Laughing over year book pictures, recalling stories of adventures in high school, and updating one another on our own families easily filled the hours. The luxury of talking in small groups, and having one-on-one conversations kept everyone riveted and ultimately spilled over into a lengthy breakfast together again the following day.

IMG_9707 trimmedRecapturing those friendships became the heart of the reunion weekend. It’s what made it worth coming together, to renew the connections we made so long ago and still value. It will be the core of my memories of that 40th high school reunion. Spending time with golden friends.

Springtime Revisited

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It wasn’t intentional, but it has been very enjoyable.  We have managed to experience spring flowers several times over this year!  Clearly our recent passion for photography has peaked our interest in wildflowers, and our antennae go up each time we spot color on the roadside.

Our first taste was on our Upper Mississippi River Cycling Tour.  Snow had barely receded from the roadsides in Duluth when Driveway flowerswe set off for our trip in mid-May.  Cycling south along the Mississippi River, we jumped into spring weather that we only dreamed of up north.  Sprays of wildflowers grew up along the train tracks that bordered the river.  The Root River bicycle trail provided a tunnel of blooming apple trees. Colorful carpets of lavender flowers carpeted the banks of a driveway, and we glimpsed our first lilacs in bloom.

picstitchFourth of July week was spent at the cabin.  By then spring had advanced to northern Minnesota, and the warm sunny days brought out new blossoms every day.  I had just learned “macro photography” in my photography class, so I practiced taking close-ups of wildflowers on our bike rides.  They made for rewarding subjects, with their bright colors and intricate patterns.  As long as the wind wasn’t blowing.

Pink flowers

 

Lake Superior exerted her usual chilling influence on the North Shore.  This week the same flowers we saw at the cabin finally repeated themselves along the shoreline, as well as some new varieties.  And the lilacs bloomed on our street, with their intoxicating scent.  It’s mid-July and spring has finally made its way to Duluth.  Round three and we’re still enjoying it.

The Second Century

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After the cold and wet weekend, it was hard to believe the forecast for a beautiful sunny day on Monday.  Crossing our fingers, my friend Myra and I planned our second annual Century Ride, and were pleased when the weatherman was right for once.

Brimson Century Ride MapOur inaugural 100-mile bike ride last summer was a flat out and back ride on a smooth bike trail.  A good start for novices.  This year we took on a more ambitious route.  We wanted a circle tour with nice scenery, good roads and little traffic.  We quickly settled on the little town of Brimson for our destination, and by manipulating the course with a few detours to add mileage, we finally came up with a good route.  My husband Rich warned that it was too hilly for such a long ride, but that only solidified our determination to stick with the plan.

The good news was that we did most of our hill work at the outset.  Before the sun had an IMG_0114opportunity to heat up the day, we had the bulk of our climbing behind us.  Once inland, we only had rolling hills, and those created more interest than nuisance.  It was a very green route, lined by trees and with little other variation besides the wildflowers blooming on the wayside.  We had hoped to see the numerous lakes that line Pequaywn Lake Road, but they were hidden by those same trees.  However, we did enjoy the unique mailbox that confirmed there must be a lake nearby!

Lunchtime brought us to Brimson, which conveniently happened to be our half-way point.  We didn’t find much evidence of a town, but Hugo’s Bar and General Store provided shade for our picnic as we refueled for the next leg our of ride.

Having attained a nice altitude, our Brimson Century Ride elevationspayback came on our descent into Two Harbors.  It was a straight shot down toward Lake Superior, but it wasn’t as smooth sailing as expected.  We found ourselves pedaling straight into a stiff wind which checked our pace.  I didn’t mind.  It saved wear and tear on my brakes.  On the intermittent uphills Myra admitted to drafting behind me, but somehow I doubt I was much of a windbreak.

We were surprised how quickly the miles mounted up behind us.  Without any major sights to distract us, we took just a few breaks for food and to replenish our water supplies.  Our final rest was a requisite DQ stop in Two Harbors.  After all, what’s the purpose of cycling if we don’t have ice cream?  Heading down the Scenic Highway back to Duluth, we welcomed the slightly cooler breezes delivered by Lake Superior.  By that time we were counting down the miles – not that we were tired or anything…

It felt good to finish, with a great sense of accomplishment.  And we were still smiling!  IMG_0117

Myra, as well as our son Carl, will be joining Rich and me for the first week of our Grand Gaspé Cycling tour later in the summer.  On that trip we will need to push on, day after day, regardless of what the weatherman delivers.  No matter how relentless the hills.  Whatever the road conditions.  I think we can handle it.

Full or Half Marathon?

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There’s a big difference.  After a couple of half marathons back in the early 90s, I went for my first marathon – Grandma’s Marathon.  Once you move up, it’s hard to go back.  Or is it?

IMG_0104There’s no denying that being a marathon runner carries a certain prestige.  It’s a badge of honor we runners love to wear, and after running 15 of them, I feel I’ve earned that right.  It’s such a thrill to walk into the Expo before the race, surrounded by other marathoners, going up to collect my bib.  The energy exuded by the crowd of runners is palpable, and it’s easy to IMG_0109get pumped up about the race.  At that moment, everything seems possible.  I just know I can do it, and it’s going to be a good race.  Bring it on!

Arriving for a half marathon, surrounded by marathoners, it’s hard not to feel like a second class citizen.  I can’t help but experience a tug of envy, wishing I were one of them.  It’s not as if running 13.1 miles is something to sneeze at.  It’s just not a marathon.

But it does have its advantages.  Tomorrow I’m running the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon, not Grandma’s Marathon.  Were I running the full marathon, I know I’d have had a case of nerves all week.  I’m not conscious of worrying, but more often than not I haven’t felt well leading up to the race.  This week?  No problem.  I barely knew the race was coming up.  If I were running the full marathon, I wouldn’t be blogging right now, I’d be obsessing about what clothes to wear, what the weather will be, and how early to get to the starting line.  Tonight  I’m not too concerned – after all, I will only be out there for a couple of hours at most.  I think I’ll bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies instead of fussing.  To run the full marathon, I would have had to devote hours and hours to training, and would have followed my own tried and true training plan to the letter.  My half marathon training was rather haphazard.  How could it be otherwise, when I took a 500 mile bike trip in the middle of it?  No matter.  I know I’ll finish.  It’s just a matter of how fast.  Or how slow I will be.

I expect to just go out and enjoy myself tomorrow.  It will be fun, and I’ll catch the enthusiasm of the runners and spectators.  Going back is a lot easier.  But I won’t kid myself.  I’ll be thinking about returning to the full marathon as soon as I cross the finish line.