Back on the rocks

Hanging on the slopers

On April 2, 2020, I did three legitimate pushups.

That doesn’t seem like a feat that would confer bragging rights.

But they were cause for celebration for me because they were the first I had been able to do since I separated my shoulder and broke five ribs in a cycling accident on July 24.

That I was at long last able to perform these simple movements without pain or bone-on-bone grinding was particularly gratifying because my physical therapist and doctor had both advised me that I was unlikely to ever be able to climb rocks again.

I have thoroughly enjoyed rock-climbing for more than 20 years now and plan to continue.

A few weeks after those first pushups, I am able to perform several sets of 10, along with four pull-ups, and I now know that I will soon prove my medical team wrong.

I’m not suggesting that anybody else second-guess their physicians. However, I attribute my own recovery in part to not letting the negativity of my medical advisers discourage me.

One of my secrets has been to train slowly but surely, performing physical therapy exercises daily. Some of the exercises were recommended by the physical therapist, while others I came up with on my own.

To rebuild my grip for climbing, I have been doing short daily sessions hanging by my finger tips from my basement training boards.

Another secret to my recovery, I think, has been to be as active as possible in the wake of the accident, without pushing so hard that I risked re-injury. 

Within a week of the crash, I was gingerly walking around my neighborhood. By September 2, I was back doing short rides on my bikes. As of the time of this writing, I am regularly cycling 25 miles or more or hiking up to 10 miles most days.

The final test will be at one of the area climbing crags, when the COVID-19 quarantine guidelines allow. I’m sure I’ll pass, because I can’t imagine that I won’t.

Senior senders

Simon Carr, 64, leading Sinecure, 5.9, South Wales   Photo: John Eales

Rock climbing is not for everybody.

But don’t let your age discourage you from giving it a go, veteran climbers say.

“Being older doesn’t matter,” says Simon Carr, 64, a long-time climber from the Washington, D.C., area. “One great aspect of climbing is that you can have fun no matter what grade you climb.”

To minimize your risk exposure, start by learning to top rope, the safest form of climbing, the veterans say.

“Taking classes at an indoor climbing gym is a good way to learn the basics,” says Peter Parker, 62, Wintergreen, Va.

“Climbing gyms . . .  have introductory classes and meet-up type events for new climbers,” adds Lew Glasener, 72, a climber from the northern Virginia area.

Some senior climbers have been at it over the long haul. Carr, for example, first started climbing 46 years ago, during his university days in New Zealand.

Glasener first tied into a climbing rope 36 years ago, when he was 36. “I’ve been climbing half my life,” Glasener says.

Plenty of others don’t start climbing until they are older.

Carol Clayton, 66, another D.C.-area climber, didn't start until she was 60. Parker was already 56 when he first learned to buckle a climbing harness properly.

Many outdoor climbers say they were drawn to the sport by their attraction to the physical challenge, and their love for the outdoors.

Carr says that part of climbing’s appeal for him has been the opportunity it presents for camaraderie with his climbing partners.

“I tend to climb with friends, and that’s an important part of the activity,” Carr says. “My choice of partners is that you won’t kill me and you are fun to be with, nothing to do with how hard you climb.”

If you do try climbing, you’ll figure out quickly whether it’s for you or not.

But don’t make the mistake of thinking you are too old to try it, just because you may not be able to climb as hard as some of the world’s younger rock stars.

"Be competitive with your own fitness level, and don't compare with others, especially not younger people," Clayton says.

“There’s a lifetime of climbing available at lower grades,” says Carr.

“It’s so important as we age to have regular exercise,” adds Glasener. “I think the younger climbers think it's cool that I'm still at it.”

Clayton, topping out at Seneca Rocks, W.V.  Photo: Nancy Tran

Glasener, 72. getting his jams in, Joshua Tree

Glasener heading for the crag

Parker using his spider moves on schist

Carr at El Potrero Chico, Mexico

Trikes not just for kids

When I bought my fifth bicycle two years ago, I vowed never to buy another.

But I recently took a recumbent trike out for a test ride.

Now the only question is not whether I will buy a trike but when.

One of the sales pitches for recumbent trikes is that they are more comfortable than bicycles. They literally force you to recline on the job.

The fact that trikes come with three wheels instead of two makes them more stable than regular bicycles.

If you somehow manage to fall from a trike, you won’t travel far, and certainly not as far as you could fall from a standard bicycle.

Most trike owners I have visited with on my hometown bike paths in the Washington, D.C.-area are seniors. They have told me they opted for trikes because they were uncomfortable riding regular bikes, some due to various ailments. Even paraplegics can ride trikes, thanks to the availability of hand-propelled models.

Many recumbents are stout enough to carry a rack and all the gear required for a cross-country tour.

Some trikes also fold, making them easier to transport and store. But before you pay extra for a folding trike, make sure it will fit into your car.

One advantage bikes have over recumbents is that the former are generally faster up hills, at least shorter hills that aren’t particularly steep. Bike riders can stand up on their pedals on hills, adding their weight and the strength of their arms and core to their ascents.

There’s no way to stand up on the pedals of a trike. So if you invest in a trike, make sure it has low enough gears to let you pedal up any mountains you plan to climb with your legs.

I can see myself using a recumbent to cruise bike paths, and I would love to ride one on an extended tour, and maybe on the 4,211-mile TransAmerica Trail.

With a trike, you might  be able to do that, too.

If you like the idea of riding outdoors under your own power but aren’t comfortable on a bike, try a trike. It may open the door for you to start cycling.

On the road

 I’ve dreamed about owning an RV for years. But I am happy I resisted the temptation to buy a gas-guzzling behemoth.

Had I acquired a larger RV, I would have regretted it—been shell-shocked, actually—when I saw how big my first refueling bill was.

Along with their expense, additional downsides to larger RVs is that they are challenging to drive and maintain.

Just finding a parking spot for one while you are out on the road is a major headache.

At home, your neighborhood regulations may require you to store it offsite.

And unless you are living in it 24/7/365, it’s likely to just sit somewhere most of the time collecting dust. It’s hardly a vehicle you would want to use to do your grocery shopping or for other neighborhood errands.

If that’s not bad enough, many RV camping areas I’ve seen, which tend to be more expensive than tent-only sites, are grim, cheek-to-jowl parking lots that force you to get a little too close for comfort to your fellow RVers.

So when my girlfriend and I started seriously researching road-tripping-capable vehicles recently, we came up with a checklist of the key features we wanted, and built-in bathrooms, kitchens and wide-screen television sets were not on it.

Topping our list was that it be large enough to allow us to sleep inside, and to accommodate our bicycles and camping gear. But at the same time, we wanted it to be small enough to fit into less-expensive and more appealing tent-only sites at campgrounds, and into our home garage.

In addition, we wanted the vehicle to be economical and practical and reliable enough to use as a personal vehicle when we were not exploring distant regions on our birding, hiking, cycling and camping adventures.

The eventual vehicle of choice for us, the one that ticked off all of our boxes, was a Toyota Sienna minivan.

True, this soccer mom favorite, which is supposed to get 26 mpg on the highway, is not marketed or designed to be a camper. To get it into into road-tripping shape, some modifications are required.

Right out of the box, I added a U-Haul trailer hitch to accommodate a rack for our bikes. The particular rack model I bought swings out of the way to ease access to the vehicle’s rear cargo area.

In addition, I removed the van’s middle seats and made a folding plywood bed platform for the space. This spartan design allows us to use the van’s rear seats when the platform is folded forward. While folded, the platform serves as a table. The space underneath the platform is for storage.

We are planning to add a cargo case to the roof rack for additional storage.

In addition, we are planning to install rain protector/wind deflectors and homemade insect screens to the van’s rear windows. We will use the rear windows to ventilate the van while we are sleeping inside.

We’re  avid campers so already have all the gear we need to do extended car-camping trips. But one new the appliance I bought for the van is a 45-quart RTIC cooler. It cost $200. But it’s supposed to keep food cold for up to 10 days on a single load of ice.

We’re looking forward to heading out on the road for our first van-based birding-hiking-cycling-camping adventure soon. I’ll provide updates to let you know what worked and what didn’t, and I’m sure we’ll figure out ways to improve the system as we go.

Folding platform in table mode

Folding platform in bed mode

Platform with the folding mattress installed

Hiking with vigor

Cliff Noyes, 89, still getting it done

I used to think I was in pretty decent shape, at least for a guy in his 60s.

But then one day I tried to hike with the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area-based Tuesday Vigorous Hikers group and learned just how wrong I was.

The group of mostly senior adventurers—with regulars ranging in age of up to 81–left me in the dust by the time I had cleared the first rise out of the parking lot.

That was the last I saw of them that day, and no wonder. Their weekly workout consists of a 15 to 20-mile trek, with 3,000 to 5,000 feet of elevation gain, at a pace averaging up to 3.5 miles per hour, says Dave Green, 67, one of the group’s coordinators.

“Tuesday hikes are for hikers in good condition,” the group advises on its web site: https://sites.google.com/site/tuesdayvigoroushikers/. “Age does not matter, but you should understand what it means to hike 16 or so miles with 3,000 feet or more of climbing.”

To get to the requisite fitness level, wannabes should start on easier terrain, veteran group members say.

“The optimal way to train for hiking and backpacking is to hike and backpack, but modestly at first and gradually building up,” says Robert Livezey, 76, a coordinator for the group.

A regular hiking program is also important, particularly for older adventurers. “If I skip a week, I know the next one will be harder,” says Gene Whitaker, 81, another coordinator for the group. “The objective should be to get some exercise and enjoy the outdoors … not to try to keep up with the fastest hikers in our group,” Whitaker says.

Cliff Noyes, 89, who originally launched the weekday hiking group more than 20 years ago, says he still often participates. He has no plan to retire from the hiking group, though has been hiking at half the distance and pace as group regulars recently.

On his to-do list for 2020: a two-week hike through Tuscany on the Via Francigena, an ancient pilgrimage route from France to Rome, with his three sons. “Maybe celebrate my 90th birthday trailside,” Noyes says.

The good news for the mere mortals among us is that the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club, Tuesday Vigorous Hiker’s sponsor, also sponsors hiking groups with more moderate ambitions.

One of the groups, Midweek Hikers, often offers shorter and longer-mileage versions of each week’s hike, with one of seven miles, say, and another of 14.

Another group, the Easy Hikers, offers weekly walks of three to five miles, according to PATC’s website, www.patc.net.

“My motto is, use it or lose it,” says Carol Christensen, 71, a 14-year veteran of the Vigorous Hikers group.

Couldn’t agree more.

Meanwhile, I’m still in training in hopes of being able to keep up with Christensen and the other  hard-chargers in the Tuesday Vigorous Hikers some day.

Christensen

Whitaker, regular at the 41-mile Hike Across Maryland

Livezey

Green

Weapons on wheels

• 
  

  Doug Halonen

  November 6 at 10:56 AM

  This summer, another cyclist I met on the Great Divide route told me he was carrying a pistol for his personal protection. I hadn't heard of this before but am now wondering whether this is a relatively common practice? Do you carry some sort of weapon when you ride? If so, what, and have you ever used it? I was carrying a can of bear spray at the time. Never used it. Thanks!

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  Along with their tents and sleeping bags, some touring cyclists are packing pistols these days, to protect themselves from a variety of predators, including two-legged snakes.

  
  

  The guns, they say, provide them with peace of mind.

  
  

   “I carry a gun on every bike ride,” said one cyclist, in response to a question I posted on three Facebook cycling groups I follow. “It takes no effort to put a gun on, and if I ever need it, I’ll certainly be glad for that extra pound,” the cyclist continued.

  
  

  “I am a female who carries when riding solo or with a few other gals,” added another rider. “15 ounces loaded. Don’t even know it’s there. Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.”

  
  

  Judging from the online comments from cyclists in response to my question, carriage of guns by cyclists is controversial. Of the more than 200 commenters, 12 made clear that they regularly carry guns on their bikes.

  
  

  Some carriage foes are concerned that the guns, which they see as unnecessary, could cause unintended injury, due to itchy trigger fingers or accidental discharge.

  “The statistics are clear that firearms are much more likely to kill owner or innocent bystander than a predator,” said one cyclist.

  
  

  Said another, however: “There will be some who carry and you will never know it. It doesn’t make you more or less safe by the fact that they choose to do that. The ones who carry aren’t going to rob or shoot you.”

  
  

  Judging from the comments, the carriage issue appears to be especially sensitive to cyclists outside the US. “I’m from the UK where we have sensible gun laws,” said one cyclist from across the pond. “Carrying a pistol whilst cycling would get you prison time.”

  
  

  Said still another cyclist, however: “I carry what I want and don’t care what others think.”

  
  

  Many of the respondents who don’t carry guns on their bikes do carry bear spray when they are in bear country, according to the comments. “I live in NW Montana and carry bear spray while cycling, be it for bears, mountain lions, or people,” said one respondent.

  
  

  “I carry both bear spray and a pistol,” said another.

  
  

   “Only in America would this actually be a conversation,” said another cyclist. “I’m saddened to see that gun culture has permeated even the more progressive world of bike packing. If you were in Canada, people would just laugh at you for even considering it.”

  
  

   “Apparently you are ignorant of free speech, one of the rights Americans have, along with firearms,” said another, in response.

  
  

  
  

   And so forth and so forth…

  
  

No Sleep for the Cheap

During most of my bicycle touring of the 335-mile Great Allegheny Passage/C&O Canal path linkup, I have camped at night, mainly at free campsites along the trail, and those arrangements all worked fine for me.

But one afternoon during a solo tour of the GAP/C&O, I booked a berth at a $15-a-night Hancock, MD, bunkhouse. Had I not called ahead to pay for a spot and arrived at dusk after a long hot day on the bike, I would have heeded the pleas of my inner voice to flee.

As it was, I got nary a wink that night, and mostly because my intuition told me that my bunkmates, Jacob and Louie (not their real names), were up to no good. I was concerned that if I fell asleep, some of my gear would disappear.

The bunkhouse, basically a screened-off structure on the side of a chainlink-fenced lot behind a town bicycle shop, was funky and memorable on its own merits.

To the credit of the bunkhouse management, the showers, which were built into converted portapotties, and the portapotty potties themselves, were clean and functional, and came generously stocked with TP and hand sanitizer.

There also was an outdoor sink, which was not hooked up to the garden hose that apparently is used to supply it, when I arrived. The sink drained directly into the soil below. Since no facility manager was on site when I arrived, I wasn’t sure whether the hose water was potable so didn’t drink it. 

I found my bunk in the bunkhouse too narrow for my comfort. The 16 beds were stacked into eight wooden, bunkbed-style units. The individual platforms were covered with thin foam camping pads. I flipped the pad and whisked the dust bunnies and clumps of hair off my bunk before unrolling my own sleeping pad on top.

It was too warm to bother with a sleeping bag that night. But I covered myself with my lightweight bag liner and contemplated trying to get to sleep.

Unfortunately, I did not have ear plugs, which could have muffled the din of the passing trains and the staccato blasts of the semi-trailer truck airbrakes on I-70 nearby.

Along with the traffic tunes, some sort of small animals were skittering and peeping either within the walls or across the roof. I searched for the culprits with my headlamp, but never spotted them inside the structure.

It was really my concerns about Jacob and Louie that kept me awake, however.

They had bikes, and Jacob said they had been touring together for a week or so. But the chain-smoking, beer-drinking duo seemed to have no particular destinations in mind. They didn’t seem much like any other cyclists I have met on the road. For one thing, I have never met other serious cyclists who chain-smoked cigarettes.

Jacob was in his late 30s, and Louie appeared to be in his late 20s. Louie, who had long blond hair, told me he planned to ride around the country seeking out music festivals. He was hauling his belongings in a second-hand bike trailer, the kind that suburban dads use to tote their tots on the neighborhood bike path. Jacob, who had short, neatly-trimmed hair, said he had recently acquired a plastic shower curtain to make it more comfortable for him to sleep outside in the rain. He planned to head north. I didn’t ask how either was financing his vagabond adventure, but Jacob told me he was open to seeking employment.

Both expressed an uncomfortable amount of interest in my gear. Louie told a story about a guy who loaned a car to one of his friends, and somebody else had given him his bike, and wasn’t that cool and how the world should operate, with the haves sharing with the have-nots? 

It’s possible they were OK, maybe just down on their luck and trying too hard to be friendly and accommodating. If so, my apologies for doubting, and go in peace, brothers. But my inner voice was sounding an alarm, and I kept my wallet and iPhone in the pockets of the pants that I wore to bed. Much of my gear was stacked beside my bed on the bunkhouse’s wooden floor.

Every time I started nodding off, I heard them whispering to each other at the far end of the darkened bunkhouse. Insomniacs? High? Or waiting for me to fall asleep to pounce?

A lone bird started chirping, loudly and continually, at about 4:30 a.m., and I got out of bed and packed quietly. More whispering. “Doug’s leaving,” I heard one of them say.

I had a quick breakfast at the town Hardee’s when it opened at 6 a.m. Then, with a couple of back-to-back days of rain looming in the forecast, I got an early start on my 126-mile, Mountain Dew-fueled ride home.

Lessons relearned: Don’t buy a pig in a poke, and sometimes you get what you pay for.