Bird Trouble

Forgive me if I sound like I’m boasting, but you need to know that last week I made it into a rare fraternity, which few others have ever reached. I’m among the special ones who have been verbally scolded by the Audubon Society.  In front of my own co-workers, no less.  I was given the verbal smack-down on the trail...well, now I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s what happened.

After an all-day meeting in a single conference room, some of my co-workers and I headed outdoors to enjoy a much-needed hike together in the late afternoon. It was the quintessential Oregon outing: a cool, crisp, invigorating walk among the old growth Doug Firs, alders, and cedars. Huge yellow maple leaves carpeted our path. The sounds from the nearby creek and the sweet smell of the forest soothed us. The exercise and clear air put us all in a good mood. A perfect way to end the long day. 

The only real complaint was that this was supposed to be a birdwatching excursion, and it was being led by an honest-to-goodness Audubon Society guide, who I’ll call “Dave.” Well into our hike, we had still not seen or heard from a single, solitary bird. Nada. Dave didn’t seem too concerned, but I started to wonder if he was getting more nervous that our “birdwatching” tour might be birdless.

Dave would stop occasionally so we could all listen for bird noises.  We’d hear cars, dogs, and people off in the distance, but alas, no birdies. Not one.  We’d look up, high into the old-growth canopy where you might see Kinglets moving about way up there. Nope. Nothin.’

Now, imagine Dave’s great elation when after forty-five minutes we finally came to a spot on the trail where he’d seen some rustling in the nearby brush.  Knowing the area well, he knew what birds tended to be in each spot along the trail.  This was probably going to be a Pacific Wren.  Dave started to make the little sounds with his mouth, sounding like the Pacific Wren. Maybe that would coax the little birdie out into the open where we could see it.  He directed our attention to a mound of leaves at the base of a vine maple where he thought it was.

He started with the Wren’s “chk-chk...chk-chk” sound. I can tell you that I was quite impressed with how Wren-ish Dave’s sound was. Definitely Audubon-quality stuff. However, the birdie was apparently not impressed at all.

So then Dave began to whistle...that’s the other sound a Wren likes to make.  It was a long, sing-songy tune that went high and low and for over fifteen seconds.  That’s like three weeks, in bird years. Still, the Wren would have none of it.  Dave tried to act like he wasn’t too concerned. Nonchalantly, he headed on down the trail as if it didn’t bother him that he couldn’t summon the bird.  But still, I wondered if he was troubled about that...so I thought of a way I could help.

And this, dear friends, is where I spun myself off into Audubon Purgatory, the place from which I can never fully return.

I pulled out my iPhone, and played the Wren’s sound on my wild bird app.

My iPhone Wren was really good if I might say. It was so real-sounding, so irresistable, that of course the real Wren in the brush had to respond. The real Wren popped out into view, and seemed delighted to offer its own sing-songy response. First my iPhone Wren would call out, then the real Wren, back and forth, and back and forth.

I wish I could have preserved that fleeting moment of happiness we shared on the trail. Those fifteen seconds of satisfaction, seeing my co-workers’ delight while the real Wren and the iPhone Wren interacted. Happy that we could all just finally see a bird, any bird. Happy that we seemed to help make the real Wren happy, too.  Happy that in these fifteen seconds, we were all finally able to have sweet communion and harmony in nature. There we all were, partaking in that sweet moment together with a bird. All thanks to my iPhone.  It was blissful.  Until...

...Dave. 

He sauntered back up the trail, still appearing cool and calm, almost zen-like. 

“So, no harm done...” he said in that way that you know, some harm’s been done. 

I wondered who’d done it now...oh geez, he was looking right at me! With my iPhone in my hand, I was clearly the culprit.  Defenseless now, I realized I was in the middle of a scolding.

“We in the Audubon Society don’t believe that people should be introducing electronic sounds out in the field. It presents an unneeded stress for the birds.”

Oh no. Unneeded stress! Now I’ve gone and done it to a tweety bird. I had no response.  This was my own idea to use my iPhone.  There was nobody else to blame but me, the Stress Guy. I stood there, tried and convicted by the court of Audubon before a jury of my peers. That iPhone suddenly weighed five pounds.

A colleague tried to step up with the obvious question.  “So Dave, why’s it any different using an iPhone than what you did by making the sound with your mouth?”

“Good point.”  He seemed to be stalling, but he recovered quickly. 

“We just feel like it’s unnecessary to introduce electronic sounds out in the wild. It’s not really a bird, or even a person. It’s a waste of the birds’ time.”

And there it was. I had wasted the real Wren’s time. Curse the day I ever embraced technology. We all know it’s a time waster and now here’s the proof.

It was at this point that my colleague Jay (yes, ironically that is really his name) turned away from Dave’s view and shot a look of twisted delight in my misfortune. One eyebrow raised, and a grin to match.  That’s when I made my second mistake.

Keeping a straight face was no longer possible. I completely lost it. Up came one of those laughs that you think you can suppress but you can’t, all the way up into my throat and then vocalized, louder than I thought it would be. It was an odd sounding noise, sort of primitive, and not really sounding like a laugh at all. This only added to my embarassment and there was no taking it back. Awkward....

Dave paused and looked at each of us, silently punctuating his message. Even the real Wren, whose time I had wasted, turned quiet and just stared at me. Everyone stood there with nothing to say while I tried to wipe the uncontrolled, goofy smile off of my face. I couldn’t; I was really trying to regain my composure which was of course only making things worse.  It felt like I was back in the seventh grade.

The rest of the hike was a series of futile attempts to stop laughing. Occasional chuckles and chortles just blurted out uncontrollably. I really wanted Dave to know it was nothing personal, but c’mon. Wasting the birds’ time? Really? I wondered if he’d ever visited the Audubon website himself. I kind of doubt it.  Did you know that they sell a variety of bird apps there?  

I don’t think Dave knows that.

Riding The Harvest Century With A Friend

I could say some things about today’s Harvest Century bike ride in the Washington and Yamhill counties, and why you should put it on the list for next year.  I could try to describe the almost mystical feeling, riding past fields and forests in the muted light from a heavy cloud cover, and the cool smoky-sweet air we associate with this time of year. The real story of the day, however, is today’s riding companion.

Toe-knee is one of those rare, remarkable people who live their lives with intention, grace, and humor. You just want to be around people like her and hope that somehow, maybe by osmosis, you’ll get some of that mojo for yourself. Every member of her family is like that. For more than twenty years our family has looked up to each of them, and wanted to emulate them. That’s the real gift from riding today: the chance to re-connect with a dear friend and maybe get some more inspiration from her.

Forty-five miles into our ride together is when that inspiration came.  She said, “Sometimes I wonder why I choose to keep doing this (cycling). Then I remember that Bethany didn’t have a choice, and that keeps me going.”  

I framed that moment, and savored the meaning of it.  What she had just said was heavy, important, and special. 

Her daughter Bethany died of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia four years ago, just before her 22nd birthday.  I let my own memories of Bethany flood back into my mind. Up came that familiar ache again, especially now listening to her mother who carries her memory with every ride. This was hard. Then again, nobody said that inspiration is easy.

Bethany. I remembered playing with her on Sunday mornings when she was in high school. She was an outstanding oboist. I’d write parts for her and her siblings to play on their respective instruments for church. I just remember being so proud of their sound. Not every church enjoys a chamber ensemble sound on Sunday mornings. That was cool.

I remembered her influence on our kids, especially our oldest son, G.  Part of who he is now is Bethany’s doing, and I’ll always be grateful for that.

And I remembered playing for her memorial service, one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. We lost a great treasure with her passing.

Toe-knee continues to work through her grief from that loss. Over time that work has moved into the realm of active advocacy. In her mid-fifties she has suddenly become a serious cyclist.  And she’s good at it. Purpose can do that. 

She now honors Bethany with a new-found commitment to riding, raising awareness, and gathering donations for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. She has joined Team In Training to help her with logging the road miles, and gathering pledges from friends for her rides.  It’s her way of doing something constructive in the wake of a profound loss.

That moment was framed by an otherwise upbeat, laughter-filled ride. Toe-knee is a master punster and she let a few fly during our time on the road. Just having time to re-connect now that we're no longer in the same town was priceless. 

The thing I am grateful to have learned today, in an entirely new way, is that you never stop parenting your kids.

Sometimes An Easy Pace Is Better

The Buena Vista Ferry--cyclists now pay $1 to ride, cash only.

After being sidelined by a nasty virus the last several days, it was nice to wake up and feel a little bit of energy come back. Today's 80-degree weather was perfect for a much-needed spin on the bike, even if I wasn't back to 100%.

The Flower Shop in Buena Vista

But did you know, there's an unspoken rule in cycling that if you've been sick, you can use your car to take your bike  to a flat area for riding? True! Just thought you might want to know that in case you need an excu--umm, have a good reason not to ride a big hill.  Oh, and there's no limitation on how long ago you might have been sick. Yes, you can quote this blog anytime you need. I got your back.

So, I brought the necessary $1 cash fare to ride the Buena Vista Ferry across the Willamette. This loop, Ankeny-Buena Vista-Independence, is almost all flat, and allows a slow pace with lots of enjoyable scenery. Going slow allows you to notice more things, so that was my goal for today. The ferry ride is fun and sort of a novelty, although it's an extremely short ride.  Just off the ferry, the first thing that greets you is a great little flower shop.  Seeing it again reminded me that I need to take Mrs. C there...

A couple of minutes later on Buena Vista Road, a great blue heron took flight right next to me, its vast blue wings dwarfing me and my bike as it rose and turned away. Watching that little sequence happen was the reward for getting out on the bike today.

As I predicted, I didn't have the gas to climb.  I couldn't even make it up a modest little slope. It was a reminder that I’m just a day or two this side of a virus. I rose off the saddle, geared all the way down, huffed and puffed, and still couldn’t do it. I barely clicked out of the pedals in time before falling over...that would have been the icing on the cake. 

Now, here's another cycling tip you must know: the trick to stopping on an uphill is to make it look like you’re not stopping because it's an uphill. Absolutely not.  You’re stopping because you need a drink of water, or making a phone call, whatever. Of course everybody can see right through your motivation because your chest is heaving as you try to get some air, but you do get extra style points if you make the sham look somewhat believable. Like when soccer players fall to the ground writhing in pain when they get bumped, only to make miraculous recoveries as the ball goes back into play. Of course it’s all for show, but it's part of the game. So today, I did the “stop-for-a-drink-of-water-and-take-a-picture” combo. I don’t think the nearby cow who watched it all cared much one way or the other.

The summer weather got off to such a late start that all the timetables are sort of jumbled. I don’t ever recall seeing such an abundance of blackberries still ripening on roadside vines this late into September. They sure smell good as you ride by. Grapes had a rough start too with the cold and rain in June, but the long stretches of warm sun in August and September may have come to the rescue, just in time.  Fall harvests have begun: roadside stands are offering up apples and pumpkins. Sweet corn is plentiful right now. My favorite time of year.

The forests and fields are showing the first hints of the turning to autumn. For the next several weeks the harvests will all come in, the colors will change, the grass and the leaves will fade and fall, and nature will begin to turn inward for a time.

Payette Forward

Maybe it was just the time of year we were traveling, but Eastern Oregon was more spectactular than I’d anticipated.  The sweeping views of valleys and mountains, the people, the obvious care for keeping yards tidy and streets clean.  I could live there.

Oh that’s right, I already did.

Anyway, heading farther east to McCall, Idaho, we enjoyed a few days of play and fun with relatives on the shores of Payette Lake.

Two words to you about McCall, dear readers: get there.

McCall is probably mostly known as a winter resort town, so maybe the summertime is its best kept secret.  A brand-spankin’ new city beach park, a network of bike paths, great vacation homes (it's not hard to find dirt cheap rent prices), this place was a wonderful surprise. In many ways, this place reminds me of how lake resort towns were before being overrun by tourism and expansion.

So, yes, it may seem ironic that I’m encouraging you to go there and add to the tourism and expansion.  Oh well.  I’m stickin’ with my message: get there.

I rode the blue beast on a spin around the perimeter of the lake. Great highway shoulders for riders, and some gravelly roads up on the north end for when you want something other than pavement under your tires.

Payette Lake is gorgeous.  Boating and hiking, kayaking and rock climbing are popular summer pastimes here. So much to do if you like the outdoors. Lots of critters, too. In fact, while riding my bike at a pretty good clip, I almost inadvertently T-boned a deer that jumped right out in front of me! 

It’s also bear country there. We did indeed see bear poop in the woods (um--think noun and not verb, please). 

So, hikers, remember the two main rules: make lots of noise, and always have somebody slower than you along on the hike :)

But oh my goodness, this place needs to be on your next year's summer bucket list.

Like I said, get there.

Can You Ever Really Go Back?

Have you ever gone back to any of your childhood homes?  I just did last month. Well, let's say I tried. We were in LaGrande, the town where I was born.  It's a beautiful place in Eastern Oregon, and I'm glad I got to visit on our way through to Idaho.

Our family lived in a simple but nice home, out on the edge of town, on a large lot with beautiful fruit trees and views of the mountains. I remember my parents would play Johnny Cash and Ray Conniff records on the hi-fi. We had the most amazing family dog, a German Shepherd named Prince. And even though I was sick a lot with asthma, I really think I had a golden life. So I thought it would be nice to go back and see my old house on Willow,  the place of my earliest childhood memories.

It turns out, a short visit was all I needed.  The house is still there, but it's no longer on the edge of town. And people don't live there anymore.


Now, it's the "Hair Shack."




"Shack?" Really?!





But wait, there's more.  My old bedroom is now the part of the "shack" where you go for a pedicure.



Adjoining the house...er, shack, is a pizza parlor.




Oh brother.




But, as I turned around to see where our fruit trees once stood, there it was....

....Cup O' Joe!




With a cyclist at the drive thru!





Yes, this is home after all!

A Sweet Evening Ride

With the long week finally winding down,  Mrs. C suggested we get outdoors for a little recreation together. She and I spent our Friday evening on our bicycles, out south of Salem along the farms, where we had the quiet roads completely to ourselves. For much of the ride we rode side by side, able to converse without competing with the noise from as much as a single car.

This valley is special. The sweet, dense evening air is intoxicating this time of year. We rode past fields where the smell of cut hay lingers after being cut, baled, and carted away.  This summer’s bumper crop of blackberries are hanging ripe on the vines, their scent a treat for the senses.

All sorts of birds and critters are showing up again at the refuge; in the brief time we stopped at the marsh, we saw egrets, heron, geese, and ducks. A pair of beaver were swimming and sunning on the shore just across the water. Time to bring the big camera back there, I suppose.

A short ride, a slow pace, and a delightful way to usher in the weekend.

Providence Bridge Pedal 2011

A view from the Fremont Bridge

Root Beer and funky music on the top deck of the Marquam

Mrs. C and I joined the throngs at today’s Providence Bridge Pedal 2011 in Portland.  With over 18,000 other riders, let’s just say this was not one of those rides you take out in the countryside to find a little solitude.

This was a big PARTY on Portland’s bridges!

This year’s ride felt much more crowded; it was slow going much of the time.  I think it had something to do with the route we had to take. There were times when we were stuck in crowds at a standstill waiting for our turn to proceed. It was more than a minor annoyance. Still, I’m reluctant to be critical of the route planners because they have to work around a constantly changing set of factors. It’s no small thing to put on an event that actually closes down interstates, city streets, and most of the bridges in town for an entire morning. Better to think of this as a leisurely bike ride with 18,000 friends.

People who wanted to ride above 15 mph were frustrated and created their own impromptu “lanes” outside of the established cones and markers. That’s really aggravating to those of us who are trying to be respectful to motorists and pedestrians. And it’s disrespectful to the ride organizers, I think.  They’re the ones who made the agreements with city officials to make this ride possible. We all own our reputation together. Sharing the road is--pun intended--a “two-way street.” Besides, this is a community event, not a race.

Mrs. C and some close friends of ours were doing the Bridge Pedal for the first time today. Riding on them for the first time, especially the Marquam and Fremont, they were amazed at the scale of these massive structures. We don’t fully get that appreciation while inside a car going 50 or 60 mph.

Toward the end of the ride, I connected with my longtime friend and colleague, Scott W.  That’s another great thing about the slow, friendly pace of this ride. You actually have time to find some familiar faces and strike up a conversation.

On a bridge.  

With no cars.