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20
Jul 13

Chattahoochee Challenge

We woke up before the sun. We were at the race before the sun. We were mostly ready to race before the sun. This is a triathlon.

I do not know what is happening.

There aren’t really any pictures because The Yankee and I were both in the race and all of our friends are too sensible to be here. And it doesn’t seem as if there were any race photographers. Though I did see one guy on the river overlook taking pictures, so I cleaned up my form for him.

I do not recall if that was before or after I hit the bridge.

I hit a bridge.

But we’ll come to that. This was a time trial start. Apparently this means you don’t go off in waves with people of your gender and age group, but just whenever you get in the water.

We were here:

On the far side of the Chattahoochee River is Russell County in the great state of Alabama. We are standing in the great state of Georgia. There is a gate in that railing and through it we walked down some stairs, all in rubber swim caps and various amounts of spandex and lycra, straining to not hear the starting instructions.

We walked off the stairs and onto a floating pier. There a woman took your race number and you crossed the timing pad and leaped into the water.

This was only a 550-meter swim, and the current in the Chattahoochee was up so everyone’s times were quite good. Even mine, and I haven’t been swimming a lot because the repetitive motion of the freestyle stroke aggravates my shoulder. No matter, my poor and modified breaststroke, plus this current set a time I will likely never better.

So that’s the good news: I improved my time from the Ft. Benning reverse sprint tri earlier this year. The bad news is that I swam into a bridge.

See that bridge? Just to the left of the margin there is one more support column in the water. They told us to stay to the left shore so we all aimed at the buoys and raced. I was about 10 yards away from the column and still managed to swim into the support structure, cracking my right thigh on the thing, hard.

The only other bad part about the swim was exiting. You had to make a 180-degree turn to a boat ramp, meaning you are now fighting the previously helpful current. And the person in front of me at the time decided to do that on his back. Only he couldn’t, because this was some stiff water, and he was swimming on his back. Guy cut me off twice.

Anyway, out of the water, up the hill, a slow transition and then onto the bike.

We soft pedaled this course last night, and found it a nice mix of roads and bike trails and almost entirely flat. It looks like this:

The only problem being that between miles six and seven I flatted my front tire. After a slow change I realized my two CO2 cartridges didn’t work and I managed to ruin the valve for them, too. So I resigned myself to pushing my bike the rest of the way in. Everyone had passed me by now, which was a shame because I had been making some decent time.

Two locals, not in the race, came along after I’d already walked my bike about a mile and offered the use of their hand pump. They gave me some air and disappeared into the morning mist. I finished my route passing random casual cyclists and runners, dragging a complete and total angry attitude around the rest of the course.

I finally made it back to the transition area and set out for the run. I was the last person to join the course, a meandering thing that weaves through a streets perpendicular to the Chattahoochee in lovely downtown Columbus.

And I learned an important truth. Everyone in Columbus lies.

“Almost there!” doesn’t mean what you think it means.

I crossed paths with the last three runners on the route as they were in a double-back section of the course and the first guy said “The turnaround is at that fence!”

This was encouraging. Made it to that fence and the route continued. The last lady said “The turnaround is at that cop!”

Well. I can see him, so a little more then. I reached the officer and he says, “Around the corner is where you turn around!”

I round the corner and still have half a block to go. But I made the turn and retraced my steps, meaning I had finished half the run.

Now the helpful police officers, ready to go home after a busy morning of protecting us in intersections, are starting to cheer me on. “Almost there! Almost there!”

No, I’m not. I pointed out to one officer that everyone is saying that, and I’d like a number please. About one more mile, he said. That, I told him over my shoulder, is not almost there.

Then a motorcycle officer decided he’d ride his machine behind me and cheer me on. So I’m now a part of the slowest speed chase in the history of Columbus law enforcement. He’s telling me “Almost there! Almost there!” as I’m actively coming to disdain the concept of motorcycle police, and I grew up on CHiPs.

More officers, more cheering and this really is starting to feel like more than a 5K and my leg is going numb. I’d wondered if running blocks would have a positive or negative psychological effect since we’ve been running on a wooded path. Now I know.

“Home stretch. Almost there!”

I was at least thinking clearly enough — remember, I’ve been thoroughly and disproportionately angry since I had a flat tire, which was after I swam into a stupid bridge — that I chose to not say anything crass to an officer of the law.

The home stretch lasted forever, and I tracked down one of those last three runners. I was poised to close the gap, but they started singing to her at the finish line. It was her birthday, so I pulled up. The emcee announced me as the last runner, and I wanted to take the mic and ask the organizers where this supposed SAG wagon of theirs was. And then question the Army Corps of Engineers or whomever put that bridge up because, really. But I got my happy little finishers medal. I found the oranges and the electrolyte drinks.

So in about an hour I went from “This is the stupidest thing ever” to “Maybe I should make my evaluation about the merit of a healthy exercise on a day when things go as they are supposed to. That’d be fair. And why are you mad about something intended to be fun, anyway?”

I didn’t get to see the posted times at the race because I wisely chose a sports massage on my thigh. Later, as I peeled my tri-suit off, I found a red mark on my upper quad, about six or seven inches long and shaped like a hook. The sports therapist said she could feel precisely where it was. Ice and movement, she said.

Naturally we came home and I took a nap.

Later in the evening the race times were posted to the website. My pre-race goals were to survive and finish, to improve “somewhat” on my swim time and improve “significantly” on my run time, to not be last overall and to not be last in my age group,

I achieved the first goal, obviously. My swim time was impressive, thanks Chattahoochee. My run time from the Ft. Benning race was very slow as we’d “trained” exactly three times before that race. In reality there was no choice but to improve, and happily, I did, dropping 20 percent off that terrible time. As it was a time trial start my being the last person on the course didn’t necessarily mean I was last overall. Indeed, I was fourth from the last among the men. In my age bracket, a five-year span, I was third from last. So I’d like to thank the tube that went flat inside my kevlar tire for putting me in such a mood.

If I took The Yankee’s bike time — she had a fine race, of course, burning everyone up in the swim and all but the most serious cyclists on the road — then I would have moved up about 20 slots. But that means nothing. My “bad luck” was a flat. Big deal.

Now I have to set new goals. I’d like to stay close to this swim pace, purely wishful thinking on my part owing to the rapid current of the river. In my next race I’m also going to cut another four or five minutes off my run.

And not swim into a bridge.

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1
Jul 13

Back in the USA

Up and at ’em. Breakfast. One last pack, as we depart the business class airport where the airline stashed us after putting more important people on the previous day’s flight. We get out to the lobby to the shuttle to find … the shuttle is full.

So the hotel calls us a cab, which shows up right away. He takes us directly to the door we needed to enter, which was significantly closer than the shuttle drop off, so that worked out well.

Go through the ticket process, sadly find out they won’t be delaying us again for another handful of Delta dollars, discover every broken e-ticket kiosk for your convenience in Dublin. Deal with humans. Fine. Off and on we go. Airport security. American pre-clearance, whatever that means these days:

More security. It feels like we’re already back in the land of the free and we haven’t even left Ireland.

Down to the plane and on with a few minutes to spare, but not many. We’re on our way to JFK.

Update: A few hours later we landed uneventfully. It was a far better flight home than a flight out. Catch up on the latest news while waiting for forever to pick up our bags. Stand outside on the curb and watch the height of free civilization in the self-proclaimed greatest city in the world behaving stupidly toward one another.

We’d been back 20 minutes and already longed for the quiet of the Irish countryside.

Now we’re resting up at the in-laws, telling tales of our travels, slightly amazed at all we’ve done and seen these last few days. What an adventure.

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30
Jun 13

We’re staying in Ireland

Room service for breakfast, and then the last packing of our things, this time for airline inconvenience. Funny how that little detail means everything must change.

We settled up at the hotel — Adam and Jessica had their flowers preserved from their engagement, the local photographer he hired had already produced a DVD with all of their photographs, so they came home with everything. People here are so incredibly accommodating — and went down the hill into Enniskerry for lunch.

We finally settled on eating at the same little pub were we dined before starting our trek across the country. And as a last meal here I had the fish and chips. And it was the best fish I’ve had in all of our adventures in London and Ireland. So light and crispy:

The best mushy peas, though, were back in London.

So we ventured on out to the airport, dropped off our trusty rental car at the lot far removed from any airport activity. They shuttled us over to the terminal, which looks a lot different than I remember from the other day. Because we are in a different place.

We’re standing in line and a lady comes up and asks us if we’d like to catch a later flight. They incentivize that, you know. We bantered some numbers, checked our mental calendars and finally got to a deal that everyone liked. We were demoted to standby. And we might make this flight, or we might be taking a different plane tomorrow.

There was a long period of “will we or won’t we?” Adam and Jessica left because they had a tighter schedule than we did.

We did not make the flight The airline put us up in a business traveler’s hotel, shuttled us there and comped us some hotel meals. The hotel was fine for what it was, high ceilings, weird lights, post modern design. The food was reasonable. There was nothing around except light industry, so we stayed in the room all evening, watched television and calculated our Delta dollars.

So we have one last day in Ireland. In a hotel that offers not much to do. There are worse ways to make travel money.

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29
Jun 13

Back at Enniskerry

So we’re back at the Ritz-Carlton on the Powerscourt Estate in Enniskerry. You remember, a week ago we were here and we had a television in our bathroom mirror. We can’t afford a Ritz, and are clearly out of our element. We cashed in a lot of hotel points. The place is amazing.

There are two shower heads in the shower, one above you and one for the body. The shower is made of marble, and so is a perfectly echoed singing chamber. The television in the bathroom mirror, well, ours didn’t work at first, but they fixed it.

Also the wallpaper was peeling and there was a definitive wear pattern in the carpet. We want our money back.

Adam and Jessica though, of course, had the nicest suite in the joint. They’d just gotten engaged there nine days before, after all. And, despite there being a wedding going on at the hotel that very evening, despite their week long absence, they were still the talk of the entire hotel. We had a good time pointing out how inferior our amazing room was compared to their rooms. They had two entrances, and almost as many square feet as our house. The place is incredible.

Here is one of the lesser chandeliers:

Everyone is amazing. Gordon Ramsay has a restaurant in the basement. The pool was cut out of the earth with Swarovski crystals, and then lined with better Swarovski. The beds are all feather down. The window shades have remote controls. You can set the thermostat by the door or from the remote in the nightstand.

And here’s the mountain view that commands the surrounding area:

So the place is amazing. Down the hill in Enniskerry we had dinner at one of the three or four restaurants there. It is a small little village, all surrounding a square. The grocery store, which we also visited, is like a middling convenience store back home. But everything else has a dignified air of yuppiedom to it.

We saw a lot of cyclists shredding their legs on the hills. And, in sympathy, we spent most of the day at the pool, repacking bags and eating cookies. It was a good time for a day like this. After so many days of vacation we all realized we needed a little break.

Life. Is. So. Hard.

What a great trip though, and it is a terrible shame that it has to end tomorrow. We’ll get up, have breakfast here and lunch elsewhere and then be on our way to the airport in Dublin for the long flight back to the States. The trip will end, the memories and the scenery and the jokes and all of the wonderful adventure of will just play in our heads on a loop for a while. Two friends got engaged, we realized we should have counted how many times we said “Wow” at every incredible view these amazing landscapes offered and we had a nearly perfect trip, all planned by The Yankee.

I don’t think she’s willing to hire herself out to plan your itineraries, but if you offered her enough money she’d make you an awesome one. You’d see all the best places and come back with a lifetime of memories. She plans a great trip.

adventures / cycling / Friday / friends / history / Ireland / photo / video — Comments Off
28
Jun 13

On Inishmore, the Aran Islands

We took the ferry from Galway over to Inishmore, which was a trip not without its are-we-going-the-right-way-will-we-make-it-on-time-where-are-our-ferry-tickets drama. We did go the right way. We made it on time, but only barely. There was a situation with the tickets, but it wasn’t the end of the world. We made it onto the ferry, a different kind of vessel entirely, this time bouncing over the same types of waves. But not as big. And people still got sick.

Adam and Jessica did some shopping and relaxing. We wanted to see a bit more of the island and ride bikes. First we saw a horse:

And then I got to ride in this. People don’t believe me when I say how much I enjoy the weather, but this is the most fun kind of riding:

And since I didn’t bring any sunglasses — no sun! — I just rode in my glasses, which looked like this instantly and constantly:

My rental, an almost brand new Felt mountain bike. That’s the same company as my road bike. And while I have no desire, ever, to do mountain bike riding, this is a sweet little rig. Though it is heavy.

The other problem? I can’t see the cassette. I have no idea what gear I’m in back there!

But we got to ride on roads like this. How perfect is this?

And down here is a rock beach where the seals come in. We saw one down there, but he scurried off before we got close:

Some of the other brave road warriors that we met in the rain:

I mentioned the Burren region the other day, here’s an interesting example of the sheets of rock you see here. And, for whatever reason, the grass that grows through there is incredibly nutrient-rich for the livestock.

We rode up to one tail end of the island, until we could ride no more, and then we walked up to Dún Aengus, which has been called “the most magnificent barbaric monument in Europe.”

Three dry-stone ramparts and part of a fourth, with the outermost closing in 11 acres.

If you’ll look to the left of that picture above it just seems as if the fort is floating in the air. For good reason. It overlooks the Atlantic Ocean and dominates the surrounding landscape as the highest point on the island. No sneaking up on this place, so it was both offensive and defensive. And also possibly cultural. Or religious. And, if anything like the mainland forts, it might have also once marked a territorial boundary.

Frustrating historians and archeologists, this site was a multi-generational endeavor. The dry-stone technique doesn’t yield a lot of clues. Weathering erosion isn’t very helpful. So they looked at how the walls are related to one another, the ground plan and exposed cross sections in some areas of the walls.

That’s given them three major phases, the first was in the late Bronze Age, perhaps between 1100 and 500 BC. Around 800 BC Dún Aengus was thought to be a cultural center for several related groups. In the Iron Age, between 500 BC and 500 AD, there was a decline of activity at the site and little evidence of what may have been taking place there. There were some defensive additions made which suggests the site’s importance had diminished. People may have just moved on, for a variety of reasons. It was a busy 1,000 years in Ireland, after all.

In the early medieval period, between 500 and 1100 AD there is evidence of the final major remodeling of the fort. Quarry work made a vertical plateau. The walls were thickened. Terraces were added inside. Evidence suggests that people were living at Dún Aengus once again.

Also, you’re more than 300 feet above the water here:

I didn’t want to say anything at the time to worry The Yankee, but the thought occurred to me, at the moment I took this picture, that people could have very unfortunate “accidents” here. When I told her later in the evening she said “I had the same thought.”

We both made it back without pushing one another. So did these two ladies:

Even the lichen growing on the rocks is beautiful:

Here’s the view from Dún Aengus.

And here’s a bit of video, just to give some ambiance:

About the name of the fort. In Irish mythology, Aengus — Óengus (Old Irish) or Áengus (Middle Irish) — is a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann and probably a god of love, youth and poetic inspiration. The Tuatha Dé Danann a race of people in the invasions tradition of Irish mythology the fifth group to settle Ireland, conquering the island from the Fir Bolg, whom we also learned about at the Cliffs of Moher. It is all starting to come together now, right?

The name Aengus stems from a Proto-Celtic origin, and if you’re really brave, Wikipedia will get you started.

Nearby were more cattle:

And then more riding. The rain stopped when we weren’t on the bikes and continued again for awhile when we got back in the saddle, almost like magic. So I chased her around the island some more:

We saw other tourists and locals alike. The next few shots are just of people pedaling:

At the far other end of the island we found a field of rabbits. I took several pictures in this sequence and tried to put them together. It isn’t quite right, but it is interesting:

More to the middle of the island again we passed the Lucky Star Bar, which looked like it hadn’t been lucky in some time:

The most prominent cemetery we found on Inishmore:

More of those beautiful rock walls that dot the landscape:

And this path isn’t on the map, nor is the ridiculous ridge we rode across trying to get over to the other side to see the ocean:

But here is the route we took, minus some scary and fun off road portions:

By comparative standards, a contemporaneous church:

Sadly turned our rental bikes back in. I grew to enjoy this thing pretty quickly. It was heavy, but great on hills. You could really sling it around well, and the shocks were a big novel fun:

After we vainly tried to dry off we walked back passed the closed Lucky Star Bar and found there were new tenants:

And we headed to Joe Watty’s pub, one of the view options on an island of 870 people. (There was also an “American restaurant” in a hotel that apparently came off like the 1980s place in Back to the Future III, just a hodge-podge, and full of locals.) This place was packed too. Our host told us that there was a big local sports and youth festival this weekend and tonight they were crowning the island’s pageant queen. It was all going down in Joe Watty’s, which became shoulder-to-shoulder and chest-to-back packed.

The food was delicious though. We realized we’ve eaten incredibly well in Ireland, despite a few too many desserts. The food has been good and not processed and hearty and I want it every meal.

Tomorrow morning we’ll have breakfast with our B&B hosts and then catch a ferry back to the mainland. We’ll drive back to Powerscort in Enniskerry for one more night before this incredible vacation has to, inevitably, come to an end. We’re having a blast. And going to start looking for jobs here.

We’re only slightly kidding about that.