The Learning Curve

I've taken up hiking and scrambling again, just to see if I can still do it. I can, yet it takes longer. I had an acquaintance suggest that I hire a prostitute to get over any mid-life crisis. It would be easier and perhaps more fun and possibly less dangerous. Though idiot me will fall for a pretty face out in Las Vegas and that ain't going to end well. We'll see.

As you get older, you definitely know yourself. If you don't by 50, I don't know what to tell you. For me, taking on any new hobby/job/idea/whatever involves a learning curve and I know how those go for me after all these years. The one threat I know? I have to be very aware that the new whatever can involve me falling 30 feet, being electrocuted or some other ugly mishap, and it'll happen very early in the curve. The early part, for me anyway, can be lethal or maiming. I go reallll sllllow when I start something off that could possibly ruin my day.

Here's an example:

Years ago, I learned how to build my own stereo speakers. The electronic wiring is just a mind problem that just needs pencil and paper. The actual building of the box requires tools, some pretty nasty ones like a table saw. So, being all gung ho to have speakers that could rival the best out there, I headed up to Home Depot to get me a small table saw.

Cutting small or short pieces of MDF board wasn't so much of a problem. I made a push stick so my hands were clearly far enough away from that blade. I had learned to use the guard as well so I'd keep all my fingers. The problem occurs when you try to rip a large board.

There is a guide called a “fence” on the saw and it's supposed to keep your piece straight as you slowly move it into the blade. Any deviation from that might “bind” the blade. Bind the blade and the board will kick back at you.

So I was pushing my large piece through, trying to keep the saw lined up on the pencil line I had drawn and forgot about also keeping the piece snug to the fence. All of a sudden, the piece lurches back into my gut. I spin around, half bent over like someone had sucker punched me. right in the stomach. “Owwwwww! It was solid hit.

I kept all my fingers, both hands and arms and the only price I paid for this early learning was a sore stomach.

Live and learn they say. I prefer to “learn and still live.”

**

I had taken a small hike out in the woods of Seekonk and w/o a trail map because I was too lazy to print one off the computer. So out I go, romping around, getting my legs accustomed to this again when I begin to notice the trail markers had changed from red to blue. “Huh?” I thought, “perhaps they changed the color.” I kept going and noticed that I wasn't arriving at the 17^th century ice cutting pond I kinda knew was only a half mile away. So I kept plodding on. I did this till I arrived at a spot I had began with earlier. I was amazed. How the hell did that happen? Then, I had remembered from long ago that if you're lost and you keep walking, you tend to walk in giant circles w/o knowing it. I was surprised to have proven this to myself. Why does that happen? We all favor one leg over the other and if you take 4,043 steps, always leaning 1/5 of an inch to the right or left, you create a large circle eventually.

“Shit, they weren't kidding.” I realized.

In my head I scolded myself as I made my way back to the right trail “Get a DAMN map next time. Take the compass with you smart ass! Or you'll spend a night being eaten alive by bugs as you wait for the dawn to begin again.”

So today I go out, to woods I know well and sort of “get lost” and made my way back using the map and compass I was so sure I never needed. Yeah, good thing I didn't start on Buck Hill in Gloucester, or I could get to see Douglas MA by mistake, or Thomson CT, or God knows where.

“Never get out of the boat.” Martin Sheen said in Apocalypse Now. Well, true, but if you do go, start in the shallow end, at least you don't drown and learn to swim.

 

Wolf Hill

Hiking up Wolf Hill has taught me a few things:

1. I am out of shape from a winter of sitting down, napping and eating
2. I need better shoes. A sneaker's sole don't cut it when you're walking over roots and rock
3. I can pant pretty hard!
4. When there is an incline of 35 degrees, they mean 35 degrees! My calves were burning
5. I forgot what shin splints were.
6. I made it

I did surprise myself on the time I took, it was only an hour but I haven't done this stuff in years so it's a good start. The other surprise were the old memories that had nothing to do with hiking that came upon me when I crossed National Grid's land. Why I was having memories of being about four years old I don't know why. I do pay attention to that, when old memories pop up for some seeming odd reason. 

**

 

This is how it starts. It look sort of inviting as they put in railroad tie stairs for you to get up the very beginning of the trailhead. The problem is that this is the last time you see any engineering to help you out on the trail The rest is up to you. 

So far, so good, There were just some light rises and depressions to move along but the trail was open, clear and navigable 

Then as I made the turn I came upon this. Nothing but rock and all UP. This is where I find out Avia sneakers are useless on rocks like these. 

When I was coming down the path on the left, I got these weird memories from being a little kid. I wans't sure if it was the area, the sound of high voltage snapping and crackling above my head or what. But I felt as it were from some old vacation spot, trip or whatnot. I kept remembering the old Enchanted Forest kid's land that once was in operation a hundred years ago. Who knows? But the sense of deja vu was strong. 

I finally find it. This is a memorial to a WW2 crash site in the middle of nowhere. A Lockheed RB-34 lost it's engines. From the witness statements the pilot was trying like hell to restart them when the plane smacked the shit out of the top of the hill, into that boulder. When the rescuers arrived, the land was on fire, the fuselage was crumpled up against the boulder and other plane parts scattered around. A more grisly find were blackened, somewhat human being looking piles of goo thrown about the hill. There's absolutely nothing there now to suggest a plane had ground itself up there. Not even a tiny metal scrap. 

Here's the boulder and the memorial stone. I don't know how long it's been there but someone's been hiking out here putting up flags. Probably more than a few people because you can see all the memorial stones place upon that boulder as well.

The memorial itself. Again, I have no idea how old it is but another thought hit me. Who humped a 100lb gravestone and the cement to make a base all the way out here?

Coming back down the hill I came across this. A boat. Who the hell would tote a boat up a hill only to dump it in the middle of the woods? I've seen stolen cars left in the woods, that's pretty common, but this? Weird. 

I finally have a sit down to rest those legs. You can't smell it but my jeans, sneakers are covered with permethryn insecticide. The last thing I wanted to get out here are deer ticks. I don't want a months-long misdiagnosed Lyme's disease or babieosis. Bizarre blood borne pathogens are not my cup of tea so I'll stink of Union Carbide chemicals for a while.

Well that's it. My takeaway is that I can do it at 54 and probably a bit more if I got my legs a bit more worked out.