Mental preparation is underway. This week I received a map from the nice folks in New York State. A map! I have a map! All that remains is to find my toothbrush, dip the oars in the water, and go, right?
The map is revealing. For example, I'll be traversing through 34 locks over 340 miles on my way to Troy, then another dozen or so as I head about 60 miles north to Lake Champlain. The good news here is that the large majority of the locks heading east are "down," promising tranquil waters from level to level; "up" locks get a bit turbulent as they flood, so in this respect I am lucky.
The map suggests that one should allow 30 minutes to pass through a lock. I suspect this estimate presumes that the Lockmaster is ready to take you in; clearly, if one arrives out of phase with the system, 30 minutes could stretch to considerably more, and there's no guarantee that they will immediately start a cycle in the event that I - a lowly rowboat - am the only vessel in the queue. (Please note that I will henceforth capitalize "Lockmaster," as they will exert considerable control over my progress.)
The good news in this is that I'll most likely have some down-time between sprints (Sprints? Ha Ha!) to stretch, read, kibbutz with fellow sojourners, or explore. The bad news is that this lock "thang" will make it tough to predict a schedule. I mean, 34 locks, taken in perfect synchronicity, will add 17 hours to my time in the boat. The row from Troy to Baltimore took a bit more than 110 hours of seat time with nary a lock along the way, so this will definitely change the pace of (and my control over) my progress. Say la vee, nes pah?
Another fascinating aspect of the lock reality is their distribution over the length of the canal. 34 locks over 340 miles yields a neat theoretical 10 miles per stage. Yet after my second lock, I'll have clear rowing for 61 halcyon miles - almost all the way to Rochester, which promises to be a magical stretch. (Gentle Reader, most of my experience in Rochester has been during the winter months; I find it creatively challenging to place the word "magical" in the same sentence with Rochester and look forward to crushing my unfair stereotype.) At the other extreme, when I approach the Hudson, I traverse through 6 (six!) locks in the space of 1.5 (one point five!) miles. Go figure. But topography is what it is, and our forbears did their best.
This blogsite carries links to the locks - nice alliteration, kids - and you will find, as I know I will, a great deal about the colorful history of the ditch and its contemporary revival.
Today I was talking with a colleague, Bobby, about the row. Bobby is the kind of fascinating and enormously accomplished guy about whom books should - and perhaps will - be written. One of his many subtle strengths is his ability to turn any conversation around to you. It's a precious and all-too-rare art, and of course he employed it on me today during school, getting me to thinking about the nature of this row and how it will compare to "The Big Row" of 2006. That row was, as I think about it, a classic "man vs. nature" experience. While I never felt my natural surroundings to be contending against me (except, perhaps, on the frigging Delaware River), the sheer scope, distance, expanses of salt water, lurking aquatic predators, tides, and contrarian unobstructed prevailing winds certainly presented challenges. And yes, there was a bit of "man vs. himself" in the mix, too, as I struggled against the above at times to the point of exhaustion. But there was no "man vs. man " issue. I was totally and utterly alone during much of the trip, which in retrospect was much of its magic.
This trip promises to be a bit different. Man vs. nature? I will not face much open water (21 miles on Oneida Lake just east of Syracuse, maybe more if I side-trip to the Finger Lakes…but more on that option later). I'll be no more than 20 feet from shore for most of this adventure; "The Big Row took me 7-10 miles offshore at times. Winds should not be much of a factor, and unless the tsunami hits, nor should tides. I do expect to contend with mosquitoes the size of robins, and I don't plan to underestimate (or under prepare for) their devilish effect. But as far as "man vs. nature" goes, I think that may be it.
Man vs. himself? That's me again, and while I cannot expect a much-needed personal physical transformation between now and mid-June, The Big Row did teach me that distance rowing is as much a head game as anything else. I'll deal with me as best I can. It's all I can do. It won't be pretty.
But man vs. man? Ahhh…now that's worth contemplation. As Shylock says in The Merchant of Venice, "There be land rats and water rats - I mean pi-rats…sailors are but men, and ships are but boards…" This is just to say that I expect this row to be as populated as my last was bereft of people. I look forward to it; a cast of characters offers the prospect of great adventure. But let's face it…we don't head to the Jersey Turnpike to develop relationships. Well, some might, but those are folks I hope not to meet along the way.
1 comment:
I am posting this clarification with kindness, not criticism.
To quote from "The Joys of Yiddish" by Leo Rosten –
“Kibbutz – pronounced kib-BUTZ, with the u as in “puts,” not “cuts.” Definition: A cooperative settlement of farmers in Israel. (Do not confuse kibbutz with kibitz, even though every kibbutz probably has its kibitzers.)
“Kibitz (also spelled kibbitz) – pronounced KIB-its, to rhyme with “Tibbets.” (Here I will insert definition 2 of 4) Definition: To joke, fool around, wisecrack; to socialize aimlessly. “We were kibitzing around.”
I’m quite sure you meant the 2nd word, not the first. By the way, if they accept EZ-pass at the locks, I’ll be happy to lend you mine. No telling how much time could be saved!
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