Monthly Archives: April 2013

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Cycling the Fietspads(people paths)

home02 As I was winging my way accross the Atlantic on another cycling adventure to the Netherlands on KLM Dutch Airlines, I found myself traveling with a group of Hasidic Jewish gentlemen who seemed to be all together on a trip. Being the inquisitive(nosy) person that I am, I inquired with the gentlemen sitting next to me who informed me that they all were on their way to the Diamond Market in Amsterdam. I quickly was treated to a discertation on diamond clarity, cut and other factors that are key when selecting a diamond. A lot of information for my mind to process but nonetheless I was amazed at what you can learn on an airplane if you are a little forward and a little inquisitive.

As we made our way to the hotel, I assembled my bike and began exploring one of the world’s most facinating cities. I cycled along the famous canals and watched the houseboats float lazily along and was amazed at the brilliant colors of the tulips and the other flora that decorated the homes along the canal. I made my way to the Rijksmuseum where the famous paintings of Rembrandt and others reside. As I gazed at the painting of the Dutch Masters, my childish mind went back to the sultry Edie Adams singing “Cigars, Cigarettes, Tiparillos?” . Because I was such a rube when it came to art, I could only relate to the painting because I saw it on the cover of the famous cigar boxes. I wished that I had taken an art appreciation class when I was in college as I exited the famous museum and made my way to the Van Gogh museum where I was equally baffled. As is the custom in galleries I gazed at the paintings again not knowing what I was looking at and caught the gaze of another patron next to me. I could tell that he thought I was the ugly American who didn’t appreciate art and uncomfortably I made my exit into the streets to treat myself to the famous cafes. In Amsterdam, I quickly discovered that the rules are …….there are no rules, as people smoked their hooka pipes, and other herbs shamelessly along with drinking free flowing Amstel and Groelsch brews. Chuckling at the freedom that the Dutch have in their signature city, I peddled to another section of town where I purchased a pair of clogs. I thought I was pretty hep as I exited the shop and slung the bag over my shoulder. I heard some voices from above yelling,” Hey college boy- hey college boy.” Now I hadn’t been called a college boy for some time and I realized that I had peddled into the Red Light district. Feeling sheepish I exited rather quickly as the calls turned to jeers. Amsterdam- what an amazing city.

I rode along the Zuyder Zee which is the famous barrier built by the Dutch to keep the Atlantic from flooding their below sea level country. It is kind of eerie when you peddle along thinking how catastrophic a leak would be. I cycled the roads of the famous Amstel Gold Race and as I made my way along the famous cobbles, I thought of how tough the Euro cyclists were as my fillings almost rattled out of my head from the pounding of the rough cobblestone roads. However, there is a more gentile way to cycle along in the Netherlands. In the post war era, the government had to do a lot of rebuilding of the infrastructure due to the incessant bombing raids during the war. The economy in post war Europe started to flourish again and the resurgence of the construction led to an improved economy and a love for the automobile. However, as the roads became clogged with traffic, the Dutch were looking for an alternative especially as the 70s created a world wide oil crisis. The need for alternative transportation was at the forefront and the government created a system of paths called Fietspads(people paths) that became very popular not only with commuters but with folks who wanted to travel auto free in the Dutch cities and countryside. I utilized a lot of these paths during my visit and made my way through towns and villages that were named for the cheese that they produced. Villages like Edam and Markam were names which I related to cheese and I had my fill along the way washing the samples down with the famous Dutch brews. Another way to make your way besides the people paths were the smaller ferries where you could load your bike and take a pleasant ride along the canals and rivers. The ferries were always commanded by these tall Dutch girls who looked like they could throw you out of the boat if you messed with them. It is humbling to feel like you have stepped into a hole when you are standing next to them, but they definitely commanded your respect and admiration. I was definitely polite to them as I made my way.

If you go to You Tube and look up How the Dutch Got Their Cycle Paths, you will see an interesting history of the paths as well as transportaion in Holland. I was amazed at how the Dutch ride their 3 speed Raleighs with the fenders to commmute to work. Wearing suits and dresses does not impede them as they travel by the thousands to work. With the cost of petrol in Europe, this type of transportation is a must. We are learning in America and even here in my home town of Pittsburgh. We now have a network of bike paths and bicycle sharing programs in the city. Lessons are being learned about the health advantage of cycling and the economy of using two wheels to travel to work and to enjoy the scenery of Western Pa. Taken right out of the Dutch playbook. Thanks for reading.

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Riding in the Old Sod

photo I was in a road race a number of years ago up in Ithaca,New York and I lost contact with my group that I had raced with for 70 miles. It is tough when you bonk and get dropped and you have to finish by yourself, in the wind, out of gas, and between groups. You could wait for a group behind but sometimes you just grind it out and try to get to the finish. As I crossed the finish line, my friend Eric Durfee greeted me because he finished with the real fast guys ahead of me and he handed me some fig newtons which I cheerfully stuffed into my bonking system. It was at that point that I thought maybe I would take a break from road training and racing and just………….ride.

Fast forward and I was on an Aer Lingus flight to Ireland with Gerhard Meng and his folks from Gerhard’s Bicycle Odysseys. Gerhard is an affable character who has a lot of contacts in Europe and sponsors these really nice bicycle touring trips. His staff is very professional and Gerhard has been doing this since 1974. So we land in Shannon Airport and for me, it was a dream come true to finally arrive in Ireland the home of my ancestors. As I collected my things, we made our way to the hotel and I put my bike together and went outside to check things out when I came upon the first paddy that I met who said,” Ya need a chain and a lock for that bike there laddy. I will take you to the place to get it because I am a proud member of Alcoholics Anonymous and I know the folks who will not give you a hooking.” I was liking the characters of Ireland already.

Every day, we had a fabulous Irish breakfast in which the highlight was the soda bread and orange marmalade. I ate baskets of the stuff along with the great Irish breakfast. Gerhard and his staff were very well organized and gave us a map every day. All we had to do was pack our things, throw them in the van, and get to the town at the end of the map for dinner. The first night we stayed in Dromoland Castle- really cool and went into Blarney to the woolen mills to shop. Also the famous Blarney Stone is there which supposedly gives the gift of eloquence when you hang upside down and kiss the stone. I didn’t do it because our van driver said,” Pat – you don’t want to be kissing the stone………the locals relieve themselves on it.” That was enough for me and I moved on.

You ride on the left hand side of the road in the British Isles and it took some getting used to as I wound my way in the roundabouts in Cork. I almost killed myself a few times because I don’t like roundabouts anyhow but as I ventured south to the old Head of Kinsale, I got used to the drill. The roads are narrow and as you come around bends or down hills, you have to watch yourself. I hit the brakes one time as I came upon a shepherd and his flock but the good natured gentleman said,” Ah- twould have been a soft landin there sonny.” I spent days by myself on the country roads and as I made my way from night to night, the staff and the other folks on the trip would ask me about my daily adventures. I would be out from breakfast until just about the time when dinner was served. People trash the Irish cuisine but between the fabulous breakfasts every day and the different types of salmon and vegetables and potatoes you can eat, I have a wonderful respect for the Irish cuisine. It doesn’t hurt to wash it all down with perhaps the best source of soluble iron on the planet- Guiness Stoudt.

The west coast of Ireland is nothing short of spectacular and as you climb the hills and the mountains, you see the 40 shades of green contrasted against the blue waters of the Atlantic. It was perhaps the most dramatic scenery I would ever see and I have experienced the Rockies, the Alps, the Sierras and other dramatic landscapes but I don’t believe you can ever be ready for what lies before you as you cycle around every bend on the Ring of Kerry. The smell of the salt air, the fragrance of the blooming wild flowers coupled with the aroma of cow manure, will always be with me. In fact, when I returned to the US, they wanted to impound my bike because of all the bovine material on the bottom tube. But I talked U.S Customs out of it. See I didn’t have to kiss that stone.

The lakes of Killarney, the mountains, the Cliffs of Moher, are visual smorgasboards but the best part of Ireland besides the scenery are the people. As I rode along through the little towns and villages, people were more than anxious to talk to ” the Yank.” I was in a pub one night, sipping my Guiness when an older gentleman came up to me and said,” So where are you from Yank?” I said,” How do you know I am a Yank?” ” He said,” Not too many fellows in these parts wear shorts and running shoes.” We laughed and I bought him a pint- probably part of his strategy anyhow. Another lady kept me in her parlor after I asked her for some water. She served me scones and tea and brought out all her old pictures of when John Kennedy was visiting. We chatted until it was getting pretty dark and I had to make my way back.

I saw the Tour of Ireland in Bantry Bay which featured all the best amateur and professional cyclists from the continent and the strange thing was that the Russians all peed on the front wheel of their van. Apparently it was good luck for them in the race but I thought that would not be a good tradition to start up back in Pittsburgh. Bantry was interesting in that I got slightly overserved in a pub and walked home to the hotel in the dark past some pretty creepy Irish graveyards. I started to jog and then run thinking about all the wild stories my grandparents had told me about the Banshees. That is another story but I was happy to be back in the light of the hotel. Guiness is good for you- sometimes too good for you.

As I rode through the Dingle Peninsula on the west coast, I knew that my time had come to an end and as I got on the plane, I thought that I was leaving my home. I saw so many people that reminded me of all of my relatives and I could hear my mother’s voice in some of the expressions in my conversations with the Irish. They are a warm, funny, caring tribe and I am proud to have Irish blood in my very American veins. The rough roads, the castles, the lakes, the ocean, can all be seen at 15 miles an hour just like Gerhard advertises. Check him out at Gerhard’s Bicycle Oddysses P.O. Box 757 Portland,Oregon 97207-0757 503-223-2402. Go glide by a castle at 15 miles per hour. You will love it Thanks for reading. Sla’nte.

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Whoa Nellie!!!

09toswinner ” Man is it hot!” ” Ok Pat- two laps to go. Stay on that wheel. Hold your line. Here come the A’s” I feel a hand on my left hip as the National Road Champion, Matt Eaton is telling me that they are coming on the inside. Mac Martin chuckles as he says,” take it out of park,McCloskey.” Dave Eaton is making his move on the outside. ” Move up Pat- there goes Frank, George and Art behind Dave. Get on their wheel-man!!” 2 laps to go. All of a sudden I hear a loud “BANG” . Hess has rolled another tire and I hear metal scraping the pavement, swearing, and bodies hitting the deck. ” Stay upright,Pat” I hear the bell for the final lap. My legs are screaming, I am trying to hang on. ” Hold your line Pat. Come on hang on, hang on, here is the sprint.” Dave Eaton is leading the charge- hang on, hang on………….finish!!!!” Another Wednesday Night ACA Criterium Race in the books. I have no sprint but I got a good workout and a decent result in the books.

My friend Larry Cohen got me into road cycling a number of years ago and being that I am competitive in nature, I got involved with the Allegheny Cycling Association. http://www.acaracing.com ACA is our local club which sponsors time trials, road races, and criteriums which are the most popular form of road racing in the U.S. Back in the day when our band of weekend warriors were competing in the wednesday night criteriums at the Pittsburgh Zoo parking lot, we had a lot of excellent instruction from a number of national class riders who were members of our club. People like Matt Eaton, the National Road Race Champion and Britain’s Milk Race champion. We had Mac Martin and Tom Chew- two U.S. Road Cycling Team members who didn’t get to go the 1980 Olympics in Moscow because of the Carter boycott. Danny Chew is Tom’s brother and was Race Accross America Champion in 1996-1999. http://www.dannychew.com Criterium races are usually held on a 1 mile course with a specified number of laps. The racing can be fast and furious where you are 6 inches from the wheel in front of you, guys on either side and behind you and the last thing you want to do is hit the brakes in the corners or stray out of your line. Criteriums can either be a concert of cycling fluidity or a crash fest depending on factors such as skill of the riders, aggression in the race and weather. I remember where it was so hot in a crit in Erie that if you didn’t glue your tubular tires securely enough to your rims, they would roll off and you could take the whole field down. The pavement was scorching hot and it was imperative that you properly affixed your tires to the rims. In another race in Parkersburg, West Virginia, I remember getting pushed out of a corner, hitting a hay bale and ejecting out of my pedals and flipping over the bale into the K-Mart parking lot. A harrowing experience to say the least. Another time I was in a criterium in New Jersey when it began to rain and the pavement got real slick in a real hurry. A bunch of guys went down in the corner and I managed to stay upright and wound up in the lead pack. I said to myself,” You don’t belong here Pat- just stay upright and out of the way.” I finished without a scratch. My buddy George Sagan went down and slid right under the announcers stand in the Vet Nationals in New Jersey. I saw the whole thing right in front of me and on the next lap, poor George was hauling his bike out from under the stand. He looked shocked but these things happen quickly in criterium racing. Some yahoo took him out in a corner because he didn’t hold his line. I have a lot of scars on my legs that testify to the “whoa Nellie” factor of criterium racing and when several tri-athletes started to show up for the races and were not used to riding in a pack, they would take guys out in the corners and run them into the chain link fences. It was at that time that I decided to retire from crit racing. Good experience, years of fun, but I knew that I didn’t want any more carnage.

When you see the national class riders in a criterium, it is a vision of speed and grace. They are skilled riders and it is amzing to see the speed and fluidity in those races. I learned a lot in those days of crit racing and my bicycle handling to this day has been honed by those experiences. I am confortable on the road and riding in a pack with other riders. Although I am a lot slower these days, those experiences with the ACA will be forever in my memory. Also, when tellng the tales to the younnger set these days, I always say…………the older I get………..the better I was. Thanks for reading.

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Boston Marathon- Part II

photo I was sitting in my hotel room ironically in Oklahoma City on Monday when I saw the news of the devastating bombing at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I thought of the horrible tragedy that happened several years before in Oklahoma City and how that event rocked this city of which I was a guest. I thought of all the people in Boston on Monday who were injured and especially the Richard family who lost their little boy, and the debilitating injuries to his mother and sister. It makes you appreciate your loved ones and how quickly life can change in the blink of an eye. Hug your mom, your wife, your husband, your family members. Life is so fragile that it can never be taken for granted.

This post is dedicated to those who were injured and lost their lives. But it is also dedicated to the people of Boston and the runners whose spirit of comraderie and common goal can never be taken away by a senseless act of violence. I think about the girls from Wellesley College whom you can hear from several miles away cheering on the runners as they pass through the campus. It is a tradition there and they spend hours waving and cheering at the top of their lungs. When you leave Wellesley, you feel like you have wings. But Sad Bill slowed me down as we continued to pursue the goal. As you run through the little towns along the way and through the Newton Hills and eventually Heartbreak Hill, you are buoyed by the gracious spectators who volunteer their time at the aid stations only too glad to help all the runners along the way. Folks line the course and take pride in their marathon. They are the soul and spirit of the day just as much as the competitors.

As you make way over Heartbreak Hill, you hear the P.A. system announcing the finish of the wheelchair competitors and eventually the world class men and women. If you want to be inspired, watch the wheelchair competitors who are athletes in every sense of the word and train and work to achieve their goals just like anyone else. They have overcome great odds to get here and are an inspiration to all along the routes of any marathon. The world class runners are indeed impressive as they seem to float along in their sub 5 minute miles. The Kenyans, the Ethiopians, the Americans, runners from all over the world compete in this event. But the backbone of the event are the people who train all year and make personal sacrifices to run and to travel to Boston. They are husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, sons, daughters, all running together with a common bond not to compete against each other, but to collectively achieve a common goal.

Finally you make your way towards the Citgo sign at Fenway Park and you have 1 mile to go. Usually the first 20 miles are physical but the last 10K is mental. You press on towards the goal. The faithful Bostonians who are celebrating the marathon, line Commonwealth Avenue and their energy blows you towards the finish line where you are greeted by the wonderful volunteers and presented your finishers medal and a mylar blanket to keep you warm as you make your way to friends and family. Forget that the power was out at the hotel and the elevators were not working. Forget that there was no hot water to take a shower. Forget that I had to walk backwards down stairs because my quads hurt too much from the pounding after Heartbreak Hill. Today as I look back, I think of all those Bostonians who ran, volunteered, cheered on the competitors along the way. Patriots Day is their day and the Boston Marathon is their race.

As we learn more each day of the tragic events of the bombings at the finish line, we also see stories of the resiliency of the victim’s families, the injured spectators and runners, and the Bostonians. The same blood that ran through the patriots at Concord and Lexington runs through their descendents today. They are proud, they are tough, and they will prevail against all odds. Thomas Grilk, the Executive Director of the Boston Marathon said it best this week when he stated that,” Boston is strong, Boston is resilient, and Boston is our home. And Boston has made us enormously proud.” The runners will continue to train, and those who were robbed of their opportunity this year will be back with even greater resolve. No terrorists or deranged individuals can defeat the spirit that is the Boston Marathon. The 118th running of the 2014 Boston Marathon will be held with pride. The Richards would want it that way. Thanks for reading and God Bless America!

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The Boston Marathon- part 1.

images On the third Monday in April, the citizens of Boston have a day off for Patriot’s Day. There is usually a home game for the Red Sox at Fenway, the ballpark is packed and the streets are starting to fill with spectators for one of the most storied events in all of sport- The Boston Marathon. Now my connection to the event starts with telling you a little more about Hot Harry Kirsch. Harry is an ex Marine who started to run in his 50s. Today Harry is 89 years old and has run over 50+ marathons in his life. He is most proud of his association with the Marine Corps Marathon for obvious reasons and always had several buses from North Park filled with marathoners competing in the event. Harry always told me about the Marine who stands at attention on top of one of the hills citing the phrase,” pain is fleeting, pride is forever.” Tradition in marathoning is embodied in Harry’s life and I am proud to know him.

In years past I have cut into my ski time a little bit to run. I found myself training for the Boston Marathon and actually did my required 20 miler on a day that I should have been skiing. It was snowing heavily as I ran four times around North Park Lake. I felt good and made arrangements to travel with Hot Harry, Les Brodie, and Carl Trimbur. Les is a few years older than me and Harry and Carl were the senior citizens of the group. They were amazing athletes for their age and we all crammed into a hotel room together. Now with the excitement of the race and the chainsaw snoring that drove Les into the closet to sleep, I didn’t get much rest the night before the event, but I was ready. Harry was ready too. He traveled to the event on the plane with his running singlet and running shorts and shoes. He had a little giveaway bag from the Great Race that had another singlet, another pair of shorts,……..and a toothbrush! These Marines travel light.

One of the cool things about the marathon was the expo. Here you get to see all the running gear booths along with the superstars of the sport. You can also buy all the Boston Marathon paraphanelia. I was presumptious enough that I was going to finish the event that I bought a sweatshirt, a jacket, a hat and if they would have had Boston Marathon boxer shorts, I probably would have bought those too. In typical 7 degrees of separation for Pat McCloskey instead of Kevin Bacon, I had a soulmate in the Nike booth. Joan Benoit Samuelson was the innaugural Women’s Olympic Marathon Champion from the 1984 Games in Los Angeles. She was in the Nike booth and she was a goddess at this event. But you would never meet a more unassuming individual in your life as I came to meet her at the autograph table. I couldn’t wait to tell her hello from her old ski coach from the University of New Hampshire, Jace Pasquale. Jace is my friend who runs the ski race program at Seven Springs Resort here in Westen Pa. Joan was thrilled to talk and inquire about Jace and our whole conversation was catching her up with news of her old coach. Nothing about Joan Benoit Samuelson the Olympic champion, but the humble and happy conversation of someone who was reconnecting with an old friend through me. The people in line were getting antsy so I bid the Olympic Champion goodbye and moved on to talk to Frank Shorter, another Olympic champion. We had a 7 degrees of separation moment too in that I had met him several years earlier in Taos, New Mexico where he was living and training at altitude. The resort at the time was pretty empty and Ernie Blake, the owner of Taos, ate breakfast with our ski group every morning as was his custom with weekly guests. Frank Shorter would join us and we would have many conversations about training and the Olympics during the trip. Now as expected, at the booth, he didn’t know me from a cake of soap, but I told the story and we talked about his years in Taos. I was so pumped after my visit to the Nike booth with all of my purchased schwagg. I felt like I could run right out the door and start the Marathon.

I met Sad Bill Schillinger at the bus stop in downtown Boston and loaded a school bus for the 26.2 mile trip to the startline in Hopkinton Green, Mass. As I sat on the bus, I heard a little knawing voice in my head that said,” I hope you make it man.” The distance of the marathon dictates that anything can happen and you always hope that your training was enough and that nothing happened with your health on race day. Sad Bill was a dedicated marathoner from North Park and was kind enough to give me some pointers about the course seeing that this was my maiden voyage for Boston. Why Harry calls him Sad Bill is a mystery. He is a serious fellow but anything but sad and a wonderful running partner as it turned out. As we approached the start line and found our place, the adrenaline and excitement shot through me like a loaded howitzer as the gun went off. The wheelchair racers were on the course and the crowd noise was deafening. The hair stood up on my arms as we were underway. It took Bill and I three minutes to get to the start line because of the depth of the field and I started my watch as soon as we crossed the start line. I eased into a relaxed shuffle as we made our way through the crowd finally settling into a nice pace that we shared with several other runners. I was running in the storied Boston Marathon and the history of the event filled my senses as I made my way through little towns like Framingham and Natick. Bill kept telling me to run within myself as Boston can be demanding in the end. I listened and we conversed and ran comfortably until we started to hear a roar in the distance that sounded like a Penn State Football Game after a touchdown for the Nittany Lions. I had heard of the girls from Wellesley College but had never thought that the noise could be heard from miles away. What happened next as we approached Wellesley will have to wait until the next post. Stay tuned and thanks for reading. The story has only just begun.

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North Park- The Outdoor Gym

photo My friend Jack McArdle says that North Park is the only place where you have to apologize for running 5 miles. “Hey Jack- how many did you run today?” “Only 5 miles.” The looks of pity come out and you feel like you have just gained 10 pounds. North Park is our little gem of a park where we have a 5 mile running path around a lake filled with trout, 42 miles of trails, a beautiful golf course, and a new zip line course. North Park is truly our outdoor gym. The runners in the park are serious and it is kind of funny in a way seeing that most people couldn’t run to the mailbox.

I used to play a lot of tennis in the park. I played a lot in college and when I was home, I played as much as I could. Truth is that I only was a decent “B” class player with my self taught ground strokes and serve that resembled an overcaffeinated orchestra conductor performing “The Flight of the Valkyries.” I soon tired of tennis and saw a guy running by the courts every day at the same time. They called him “Ten Mile” Bill. You could set your watch by him. Another group came by with a guy I knew in high school and Eileen Petrone the original Great Race Womens champ and the first Pittsburgh Marathon women’s champion. I decided I would be a runner and join the running boom. I bought myself some shoes and started to go to Stone Field the assembly point for Hot Harry’s North Park Runners. Harry was an affable guy who I will talk about in a later post. Harry is the Pied Piper of the park and everyone is welcome to join his club with no meetings, no dues, just run at the park and get a drink out of Harry’s trunk at the end of your run. Harry introduced himself and introduced me to Les Brodie and Ralph Schmidt who taught me the finer points of running as well as the finer points of practical jokes. If you ran with their posse, and had to answer natures call in the woods, they would pelt you with snowballs and laugh like hyenas. Ralph and Les were not the perpetrators but some of the comedians in their group delighted in this practice. If you dared use the port- a- john, you risked being tipped over with the same joyful derision coming your way. I had a lot of laughs and got in pretty good shape. Harry had a lot of names for people in the park. Big Nosed Bill, Ten Mile Bill, Water Bottle Bob,Sad Bill and “Bushy” Debbie. Never could quite figure that one out but we all knew eventually who Harry was talking about. By the way, Ralph’s daughter Allison was just a pup when we ran together. She was the Olympic Gold Medalist in swimming at the London Games this summer. Time flies and little girls grow up.

I started to run 10 K races with the group. We ran in every one we could find. The Butler 10K, The Great Race, The East Bum 10K,the no-name classic, you name it – we ran it. My goal was to break 40 minutes and eventually my PR was 36 minutes. I never got faster than that but the carrot out there was enough to inspire me. I made a lot of friends at the park like the group you see in the picture above. This was taken at the Monticello in Charlottesville where our friends the Habay’s moved. We all went to visit and we are still good friends to this day.(Nice retro Oakley sunglasses George). Our group ran together, ate together, went to movies together, and basically forged a great friendship through running at the park. Times changed, folks got married, had kids, and now a lot of them that left are migrating back to the park with their grown children and grand children. Most of them kept up the regime to one degree or another because they were serious about their fitness. Hot Harry and the Outdoor Gym have kept us all in the game and no gym can give you fresh air, fitness and friends like North Park. I got into cycling and run now in the winter on the trails. My road running days are over because of the pounding on the knees, but my winter running on the trails reminds me of the early days of pelting snowballs, laughs, and blue water from the tipping port a johns. I don’t apologize for running only 5 miles. That is actually a pretty good run for me these days. But the attitude and accountability has been taken up by the younger generation. But the rest of us delight in reminding them of the old days. Remember -the older we get, the better we were. Thanks for reading and stay active.

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The DeJuan Blair All Stars

photo For those of you who know me and those of you who know me through the blog, you know that I am an outdoors guy. I ski, hike, ride mountain and road bikes, showshoe, all things outdoors- all the time. I had my son Jack up on a pair of skis at 2&1/2 and on a bike by age 4. I had visions of Jack, Janet and me spending our lives together as an active, outdoors family. Imagine my surprise when in the 5th grade, he started shooting basketballs at my in-laws carport with lessons from my ex-hoopster father in law and my mother in law who was the consumate cheerleader. He came to me and said that he wanted to play basketball. I said,” Basketball? Basketball?” ” We don’t do basketball, we are an outdoors family- we ski in the winter.” My lovely wife gave me a look that said all too clearly that,” its not about you big guy, it is about him and what he wants to do with his friends.

Well, being the obsessive compulsive person that I am, I got him involved with the Eden Christian Academy grade school team.In addition, I talked to Ernie Kuysner, the Adidas Rep, that we met at the Y who got us involved in AAU Basketball and Daryn Freedman- Basketball Stars of America http://www.basketballstarsofamerica.com. We were on our way and Janet and I never missed a practice or a game. Fast forward, and now we are involved with North Allegheny High School freshman and JV ball and still with BSA which has proven to be a great experience. There is a bit of a riff I have discovered between high school coaches and AAU coaches. High School coaches believe that AAU is unstructured and emphasises the individual instead of regimented team play. But all the college coaches come to AAU tournaments to view top college prospects so you can come to your own conclusion. Suffice to say that the tournanments were a lot of fun with interesting parents and well coached teams. The travel as a family was really the best for me. People asked me if I trained Jack and I always say,” I can’t even dribble. I am an outdoors guy – remember.”

Well at the beginnning of last season after JV ball was over, we were playing our first tournament with a BSA team when Jack drained 11 three point shots in a row against a Maryland team. There was a team on the sidelines who were watching him and from that moment on, they kept texting him and asking him to play for their team- the DeJuan Blair All Stars. This team is an inner-city team named after the former Pitt player and current San Antonio Spurs star. As it turned out, one of the coaches is Darelle Porter who played for Pitt and coached DeJuan as a young boy. His son DJ is on the team and is a legitimate D-I college prospect. Maurice Montgomery is the head coach and called Jack and asked him to play. Well circumstances played out and the next thing we know, Jack is wearing the black and silver of the DB squad at the King James Tournament in Cleveland.

This was a whole different experience for us but the family of DB was very welcoming and easy going. Honestly, I didn’t have much reference with city kids and parents and this came as a welcome surprise to me with their friendly and welcoming demeanor. As it turned out, we had a great season which culminated in the Nationals in Orlando,Fl. The boys finished 10th out of 114 teams in AAU Division II. Division I is the tournament where all the kids going to Duke,NC, Pitt, etc. play and D-II is all the rest which is pretty competitive seeing that teams qualify from all over the country for both tournaments. But this is not the story I want to tell.

Jack had some great coaching along the way and learned life lessons from guys like Pete Strobl http://www.thescoringfactory.com and Steve Brodzinski http://www.pittsburghbasketballreport.com. Along with Daryn Freedman, these guys taught Jack the importance of commitment to a sport and to a team. That is what impressed me as I learned more about basketball. I still don’t know jack about most of basketball, but I am learing and listening to these guys. I learned a lot about many aspects of team sports and sportsmanship. When we met up with Maurice and Darelle, they continued on this path and got the boys involved in community service like Ronald McDonald House Charities. The boys serve meals and interact with the children who are waiting on life saving operations from UPMC-Children’s Hospital. Their stories touched the hearts of our coaches and their commitment to RMHC as “their team” has been commendable and has taught the boys that service is most important in this world.

The DB family is not all about fun and basketball games. These folks work very hard to give their kids the opportunity to play basketball at a high level with great personal sacrifice. There have been tough experiences,for example, with kids who have lost their fathers to manslaughter and have been raised by hard working single moms. Others who have had a myriad of personal and financial difficulties but manage to keep a smile on their face as they see their sons compete and succeed. You learn a lot about people when you see them under stress but the thing about the DB family is that they are loving and helpful even under dire personal struggles. When Janet and I found out about the Nationals last year, we learned that 26 people would be staying in one house. We wondered how all of that was going to work but with kids all over the floors at night, constant trips to the grocery store, running back and forth between games, cooking, cleaning, it was one of the best weeks that we have ever spent in our lives. We can’t wait to go back and do it again for the last time seeing that U-17 is the last age group for AAU.

Perhaps the best lessons learned through DB and basketball in general were learned by me. You can’t live vicariously through your children and you have to let them grow without interference. Jack will be 18 soon and the days of me really telling him what to do are over. I have to let him experience life as a man and if he asks for advice I will give it in the best loving way that I can but not until he asks. We have had our ups and downs with basketball but for the most part what I have experienced is 30 percent basketball and 70 percent life lessons and relationships created. When that last basket is made at the Nationals this July(swish- nothing but net), this outdoors guy will shed a tear or two. I am not sure what lies ahead for Jack and basketball but if the DB experience is the end of the trail, he has had a great run and he, his mother and I will move on to the next adventures in life. As usual, we will be watching from the bleachers, but we will see a young man mature and grow into the man that God created him to be. The game of life is next and we can’t wait to see the score. Thanks for reading.

by

The “not so proficient” Angler

IMG00178photophoto Well, I have just sharpened and waxed all the skis to put away at the end of the season. It is April here in Pa. and although there is still snow in other areas, we are moving on here and I don’t have any ski trips left. Our local hill is closing this week and it is time to think spring. It is also time for a little self deprecation here as I tell some more stories of the 58 year old kid. When I think April, a number of thoughts come to my head but fishing seems to be the opener for the new round of posts. Now if you look at the picture above, my proficiency in the fishing world will be revealed by my question of ” where is the fast fishing area?” As I ponder this sign, I often wonder why people fish slowly versus quickly? Oh well, that will haunt me for a while as I begin my saga of my fishing experiences.

My earliest memories were in the Florida Everglades with my grandfather,John Reynolds, and his two cronies Judge Miller and Mr. Bill Marcus. The three of these guys introduced me to fishing by taking me in airboats and small skiffs in the canals of the Everglades. My grandpap thought it was funny to sneak up on a floating alligator and poke him with his fishing pole. I almost soiled myself as I saw the mouth open and look at us with a menacing smile. The three cronies would laugh and then turn over the outboard to me so I could practice canal navigation. Almost tipped it a few times much to their concern, but they insisted that I was the captain of the skiff. Didn’t catch a thing but had fun watching the gators.

Fast forward and now I had a drivers license and grandpap and my mother thought that was great as now I was able to drive the boys to North Carolina and the Oregon Inlet Fishing Center(info@oregon-inlet.com). It was here that finally after all those years we actually caught a fish and much to my surprise the best catch was a snub nosed dolphin( Pompano) that was just shy of the North Carolina record. We had to filet it because we wanted to have a fish fry back at the place where we stayed. We also took some home and as memory serves me, most of the road trip was talking to myself while the old guys slept in the back seat.

Mirror Lake in Canada was another venue for the guys which was north of North Bay. We got there by pontoon airplane and stayed in a little cabin on the lake. The only folks there were the cook and our crew. The boys go to bed at 8:00 PM and rise at 4:00. Not a teenagers schedule but I learned to play the famous Canadian game “Trivial Pursuit” with the cook every night. I was amazed at how fresh the fish tasted each night and how still the night air is in Canada in late summer. Great memories and perhaps the last time with the guys who were in their 80s at the time. I still have my grandpap’s fishing tackle which leads me to the next little ditty.

When my son Jack was little, I took him fishing at the pond behind our church. We used minnows and caught a couple of small mouthed bass( pure dumb luck) but he was thrilled and that is the last time I ever got anything but weeds out of that pond. We went back and were skunked many times. Jack looked at me as if I had lost my touch but I vowed to make it up to him and show him that I was a great angler. Like when we were with good friends down in the Outer Banks and I had my ocean rods. Jack would come out in the morning when he woke up and see how I was doing. Again I was having bad luck as I had tried every bait that the shop recommended. Nothing. I saw the disappointment on his face and I decided to try something drastic. The next morning I rose early and drove to he Piggly Wiggly Grocery Store and went straight to the fish department. I purchased a nice Red Snapper and brought it back with me. As I deftly attached the cold, dead Snapper to my line, I cast it out in the ocean hoping that nothing would enjoy it until Jack came out. As I saw him come on to the beach with my friend Tom, I began a ritual of fightning a big catch. I reeled and pulled and reeled and pulled and said to them, ” I finally hooked a big one!” When at last I reeled it in, it was covered in the most ghastly seaweed imaginable and they both looked puzzled. Jack noticed that the snapper was not moving and asked if it was dead. Tom suspected that something wasn’t right and I whispered to him…..”Piggly Wiggly.” I thought he was going to have a heart attack laughing but the humor was lost on Jack.

Finally a few years ago we went to Hilton Head and I booked a small fishing charter with Captain Dave Fleming of “The Mighty Mako” http://www.mightymako.com Dave was an affable guy and was wonderful with Janet and Jack as he said that the fishing was not too good but we could catch………..sharks!!! Now not far from where Jack and I swam in the bay the day before, we were reeling in baby shark after baby shark until Janets steel leader was bitten off by what Captain Dave described as a bull shark that we would not have wanted to bring in anyhow. Jack was thrilled and scared at the shark catch and Janet was amazed at how deftly Dave handled the sharks. Captain Dave suspected that I was a half assed fisherman so he let me bring in the smaller sharks and he took my picture as I held the first shark I had ever touched in a death grip on the back of his head. That was a good day fishing and we have not had much luck since.

So as proficient as I like to think of myself in the ski world, I am really not so proficient in the angler world. I have had dumb luck, assisted success, and dreadful experiences like when I went back to the pond with Jack and didn’t notice that my reel was not tightly attached to my rod. As I wound up for a collossal cast, I ended up casting the whole reel into the middle of the lake. So much for my fishing for that day. Jack and I headed to breakfast. The memories of the old guys, the fun with Jack and Janet, and the sheer buffoonery of my angling prowess gives me many smiles as the opening day of fishing closes in on us in Pa. There is nothing like the smile of a young boy when he catches a fish and nothing like the smile of a proud dad as he sees him bring in the big one. Go fish with your children and your wife. No matter how good or bad you are, you will have a good family time and have lasting memories. Thanks for reading.