Ageing

[Above photo: Alewives in their annual migration from the sea into Webber Pond.]

4 June 2023

I have been busy and didn’t take time to write last week. Memorial Day weekend was 3 nights of camping, biking, eating, and laughing with 10 others in the serene beauty of the Schoodic Peninsula, a mainland extension of Acadia National Park. The weather was mid-70’s with lovely cooling breezes.  There were very few insects and none bothersome. However, I faced a terrible, for me, reality, cycling with people 20-30 years younger who have been on their bikes for the past two months. I’ve been on mine 5 times in the past 5 years, literally. And I’m pushing 83yo.

I’m pretty good on the level, fiercely competitive on the downslope, and hopeless on the steep ups. I had to walk part of one long hill. We stopped two miles before camp to get blueberry-espresso twist ice cream cones; a son of one of the cyclists, who was joining us for supper, met us there and I tossed my bike in his car, unable to tolerate the embarrassment of having to walk up yet another steep hill.

Is this conditioning or have my ageing mitochondria simply refused to refuel at a sufficient rate to allow me to keep up? I must note that although the above is all true, I also ride a Bridgestone MB3, one of the earliest mountain bikes.  It is a classic and bike mechanics light up when I mention it. However, it has a steel frame and weighs 37 pounds with rack and lights. The others were riding DaVincis and the like, which are aluminum and titanium and other exotic materials.   Perhaps Flemish linen.

After the first rugged day, I decided to take a shorter ride apart from the main group, retrieve Lindsey’s EV which was charging at park headquarters, and hike some coastal trails. The charger was malfunctioning so I switched to its twin and set off along the Seadew trail. I missed the return path and continued along the cliffs, exploring Schoodic Point. Then I struck out across a tidal bar and walked to the far tip of Little Moose Island. I wasn’t sure if a small moose had once been sighted there or if the name simply reflected the size of the island.

The coastal and island walking were on granite expanses, which I love. Solid, good traction, and reviving memories of hikes in the Sierras. My wife and I once backpacked to, and beyond, Huckleberry Lake—I’m not sure if we were on the trail or took a shortcut, but we were walking down a series of tilted granite shelves for a long time and it was glorious.

I met several of the cyclists in late February at the AMC hut where we were all cross country skiing. Our fireside talks at Schoodic were terrific and reached a depth common to those sharing foxholes in wartime. We discussed worries about kids, failed marriages, drug experiences, etc.  They are, also, all serious cyclists. One has circled Prince Edward Island on 3 occasions, Nova Scotia, Grand Manan Island, and all over Maine and New Hampshire. One ascended Mt. Ventoux, the tail end of the Alps in Provence, as did my son and I; however, he was 15yo and I was 55yo when we did it. He and I knocked out an average of 65 miles per day on that trip and it didn’t seem bad. Whew, the years accrue.

As we returned to Lindsey’s home in Vassalboro to retrieve my car, he stopped by the fish ladder at the outflow of Webber Pond. Alewives, more than one could count, were moving about, jockeying for position, awaiting their turn to rush up the ladder in a final push from the sea before gliding into the pond, relaxing, and spawning. The process is miraculous to behold and is happening in streams and rivers all over Maine. If there is an abundance at a given site, a lucky fisherman is chosen by lottery to harvest some to be sold as lobster bait.  

I retrieved my new kayak from my daughter’s barn and was pleased to be able to put it on and take it off the roof rack without damaging the car. However, going for a first spin on Lake St. George as I returned to Portland, I suffered mightily from sitting without sufficient back support. I realized that the issue is not a congenital absence of those muscles that let you sit comfortably with your back at a right angle to your thighs. That has been my compensatory fantasy and not a medical condition, I am certain. The issue is, I am stiff and inflexible; I cannot approach touching the floor with my fingers in a standing position.

Thus, I’ll put some hill miles on my bike and do stretching and strengthening exercises regularly and see what I might achieve. I’m not ready to trade an active life for a sedentary one, not yet. I also must work on my attitude: I’m no longer young. I’m old. Quite, if not very, old. I shrink from an acceptance of that fact. The idea of doing the same thing but a little less or a little slower is great in theory but difficult in practice for me. I suspect it derives from feeling that my life is incomplete, even though I have led quite a full one. Even now I am living a rich one.

I bought 5 ½ yards of white canvas and am sewing a cover for my kayak, which is impervious to water—Surprise!—but could use a little UV and heat protection as I leave it out in the summer. I bought orange outdoor thread to match the hull and have fashioned one end for the bow. I next will make straps to attach it and Velcro to secure them. I built two small kayak stands to get it off the dirt. I am determined.

Even as Joe was determined not to bow to the ridiculous demands of the extremists. My god, the deficit increased all 4 years that DT was in office. In total he added nearly $8 trillion to the national debt. In Biden’s first two years he has lowered the deficit by $1.7 trillion.  The current, and recent, GOP has been the opposite of fiscally conservative. Remember “Tax and spend Democrats”? Not so much.

One of my smoke alarms is chirping. What a nuisance they are! The batteries are new, the smoke alarms are all new, there are no insects in the house and there is no smoke. I’d best sleuth it out.