Tag Archives: Humor

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All Hail the Bathtub Trail

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Years ago when I first started to run the trails in the fall with our fearless leader, Jack McArdle, we were always treated to a description of the route at our local park.  If we complained, we were assigned “penalty hills” and as we groaned with a smile on our face, we dutifully ran the hills until the next assignment by the trail boss.  Invariably, each trail run always included a run up or down the “Bathtub Trail”.  At first I was confused as to what Jack was talking about until I came upon the ancient bathtub placed to collect spring water at the base of the trail.  It was always a curious placement and I always wondered who put it there and when was it placed?  It was always a topic of discussion and I was always way more curious than my fellow runners with my inspections of the clear spring water and the curiosity as to why on earth someone would take the time to put a bathtub there?

As time went on, the Bathtub Trail was a common route for runners and eventually mountain bikers in the park.  But the trail itself was a challenge to any newcomer on two wheels with its off camber construction and loose soil which if ridden with reckless abandon, would extract a flesh wounding penalty to the disrespectful or ignorant rider.  It was almost as if the bathtub itself was a sentinel which demanded respect and if the proper homage was not paid, the penalty for a rider down the trail could be severe.  The opposite could be true as well in that the unprepared rider or runner might not make it up the trail without dismounting and humbly walking up to the summit.  photo

I can remember vividly Pat” the nurse” which was his moniker by the trail runners, attempting to ride down the Bathtub Trail with his newly purchased hybrid bike.  Despite my warnings about hybrid rims and tires not holding up to the demands of the trails, Pat rode down the trail without respecting what was before him. As his rims both “pretzeled” under the rigors of the terrain, the nurse went careening into the trees and came up a dazed and bloody mess.  He agonized over his destroyed wheels and remarked  ” I just bought this bike and now it is trash.”  I warned him.  I thought to myself,” another example of not respecting the trail and paying homage to the reputation of ……..the bathtub.  It was almost as if positive execution required some sort of homage to this graven image or perhaps we should light yak butter candles or install prayer flags like the climbers who dare climb in the Himalaya?  I laugh at these fleeting, ridiculous ,thoughts but maybe there is something to it?  Just kidding……………maybe?  photo

Currently, the Bathtub Trail has some competition surrounding it as other trails have been constructed offering alternate routes for the trail runners, equestrians, and mountain bikers.  But for me, the familiarity with the trail ridden hundreds and hundreds of times in all weather is comforting.  Familiarity with any trail can make things a lot easier and riding them without much thought can be comforting or lead to disaster if you take for granted that the descent is still a little sketchy.  I was riding the other day with some guys and they inquired why I was riding down the Bathtub and ignoring some of the newer single track.  I remarked that you had to pay homage to the Bathtub Trail every once in a while to keep the “karma” positive.  We all had a good laugh at that one but as I passed the tub, I looked into the glass like water and gave it a nod of respect.  Not much different than I would have received a blessing from one of those Tibetan monks before attempting a daunting climb.  That bathtub has seen much carnage over the years and has extracted some serious penalties from some unsuspecting riders and runners.  But not me.  All hail……………..the Bathtub Trail.  Thanks for laughing but don’t do it near the trail.  🙂

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Baggies versus Lycra- a mature perspective to the debate.

photoOTB at the North Park Boathouse

Ok, so I am headed out of the Giant Eagle with my groceries and I see this guy getting out of his Corvette. He seems to be a little older than me and he has his wrap around shades, gold chains, lycra running shirt, lycra cycling shorts, and running shoes. He is headed in to the grocery store and I am thinking that he is the typical guy trying to hold off the inevitable by exercising and having all the toys along with the chest toupe’, chains and all that. But why would you want to show your produce neatly wrapped in lycra cycling shorts in the produce section of the Giant Eagle? There is a time and a place for everything and lycra is for riding and running – not shopping. At my age, I would not be caught dead walking around in lycra cycling shorts in a venue that was other than my local park or outside of my house ready to ride my road bike.

So let’s jump into the fray and the long standing debate among mountain bikers and talk about the advantages and disadvantages of lycra versus baggie shorts. Lycra has its advantages and although I have been riding my road bike in lycra shorts for years, I am starting to get to that point where I am looking for an alternative. Yes, lycra is standard and with the new compression technology, it is still appealing from a functional point of view. But for us “getting to be older riders”, the change in attitude is similar to the desire to ride the triple crank on a road bike instead of a straight block like the old days. I know that it is sleek to have the nice lycra road kit and I would not have been caught in anything else back in the day, but I am starting to get a little more comfortable with outfits that may be more touring than racing. The “club fit” is beginning to take over for the ” race fit” and you know what……that’s ok.

Enter the baggie of the mountain bike set. When I was mountain bike racing, I still utilized the lycra kits and it was standard and still is in most instances although baggies have been seen in Enduros and some cross country races not only locally but on the national circuit. Why? Because they are comfortable – that’s why? Mountain bikers tend to be more laid back than road folks and baggies seem to fit the culture like some of the new jersies that can be worn post ride without embarrassment. I like the pockets to keep your stuff- like George Carlin used to say. ” You gadda have a place for your stuff.” Baggies also have a little give and take in the right places and although many of these shorts have lycra liners, they are comfortable, functional and can be worn into a grocery store without anyone taking notice of you. Baggies can also be worn in the winter with knee warmers and most of the time you can ride in inclement weather and have he feeling of freedom rather than being trapped in tights or other winter wear.

So as a chronologically advancing rider, I am starting to see the advantages of comfort on a ride versus trying to portray the image of the over the hill racer trying to hang on. I like keeping my keys, cell phone, goodies, and other various and sundry items stuffed into my pockets of my baggies rather than stuffing them into a lycra jersey or my pack. I take my pack on mountain bike rides only if it is going to be a longer ride or if is colder and I need a place to stash my rain jacket. Other than that, pockets in baggies are just fine. Things change as you age and sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror I say,” do you really want to go out in that tight fitting outfit today?” Then I defer to the baggie and the comfortable shirt or jersey and am much happier knowing that function has finally taken over for form. The real test will be when I break down and wear baggies on a road ride. You never know, the next thing that may happen is fenders, side view mirrors on my helmet, maybe a fluorescent orange flag attached to my road bike? Maybe I will be like the tourons that I know that gain weight on rides by stopping at every coffee shop or lunch place? Tough to do in the woods on a mountain bike but there are still some appealing stops that may cater to a more casual rider. I am happy to report that I am not there yet and please slap me if you see me putting a flag or a reflector on any of my bikes. But the culture of the baggie has replaced the function of lycra and for the general public shopping for their tomatoes and cucumbers, their visual world is a lot safer than the other day when Corvette man disrupted their experience.

So, although the baggie versus lycra debate will rage longer that I will ride someday, it is good to recognize that there is a perspective that lies outside of the functional debates between the two forms of exercise clothing. Respect the comfort but more importantly, respect your fellow shoppers. That chest toupe’ with the chains was a little over the top. Thanks for reading.

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I was a Crash Test Dummy ( and lived to tell the tale)

From The Best of http://www.chroniclesofmccloskey.com

IMG-20130111-00083IIHS_crash_test_dummy_in_Hyundai_Tucsonalpine-slideDSC_0314_350_420Alpine slide - Wikipedia, the free encyclopediaIngrid_Hirschhofer_Grass_Skiing_World_Championships_2009_Grass_skis There has been a lot of talk about global warming lately and the ski areas are concerned about shorter ski seasons and the revenue concerns that are a result of this weather phenomena. A lot of areas have been promoting summer activities like golf, conventions, hiking, lift served mountain biking, bike parks and other ways of bringing the public to the mountains in the summer to boost bottom lines at resorts.

Back in the day, my buddy Mike Smith, who I have referenced in this blog as my ski buddy from Lake George, NY, was the mountain manager at Seven Springs Resort in Pennsylvania’s Laurel Highlands. Mike was instrumental in designing and installing one of the first Alpine Slides in the country and Anni Dupre Santry and I were his crash test dummies during the installation. The slide basically was a concrete slide which made its way down the mountain and the rider would utilize a cart with wheels and a brake lever for speed control. By leaning left or right, one could ride the slide and control the cart at a speed that was dictated by the bravado and the skill of the rider. During installation, Mike would ask Anni and I to try different sections and see how fast we could go without flipping out of the concrete track. Based on our success or failure, he would adjust the bends and reduce the amount of straightaways. Anni and I ended up with some amazing crash rash on our elbows, thighs and various other body parts due to this experimentation and Mike would laugh hysterically at our failures which resulted in some colossal crashes on the adjacent ski slope. ” You better put a bend in there Mike”, I would yell out as I tended to my wounds while riding the chairlift up the mountain for another run at it. Mike would make an adjustment and tell Anni and I to go for it again with “no brakes”. Like the dummies that we were, we would comply and either make it or fly out of the track rolling in the grass down the hill with another failed attempt. Mike would put another bend in the track until we all could ride it successfully at high speed. I was never sure whether this type of testing was in the installation manual but it worked for Mike, and Anni and I had a blast doing it weathering the bleeding, scrapes, and blunt force trauma of it all.

Another form of summer carnage was the sport of grass skiing. These tank treads which had ski bindings mounted to them were an accident waiting to happen at picnics, and other weekend afternoons on grassy ski slopes. I had some of the first ones and many a friend at a picnic nearly killed themselves trying to maneuver these grass skis by physically making baby steps in the direction of the turn. Even with ski poles, the turns were not pretty and if you hit a rock or a stump, you went flying into the pucker brush with crash rash galore. You could get your bell rung real well with grass skiing. At Ski Liberty in Pennsylvania, they even had giant slalom courses set up in the summer for grass skiing and at the top of the mountain was a large pan of soapy water to lube the grass skis for your attempt at the course. As the competitiveness of summer skiers heated up, the crashes were spectacular with many an ending in the local clinic tending to rashes and broken wrists and arms. I was fortunate enough to only secure cuts and bruises but the thrill of downhill skiing in the summer was intoxicating enough to bring us back for more and more at our local areas and parks as well as the mountain resorts. The grass skis were eventually given to some poor unsuspecting younger friend as I got older and wiser, but I sure got good use out of those ungodly machines of destruction.

Mountain bike crashes, road bike crashes in criteriums and road races and behind leaky garbage trucks have come and gone. In the winter, there have been many an edge caught with a resulting crash of spectacular form. But nothing like the raw egg beaters of working the Alpine Slide or racing on the grass skis. As I get older, some of those old egg beaters have begun to take their toll in stiffness upon waking. But I always look back and laugh at the bravado and the sheer insanity of utilizing the slide and the grass skis. No wonder I got clots and have to take a blood thinner. When you have no respect for your body and hurl yourself into the abyss, things happen and they aren’t always pretty. But you have to have some fun in your life right? Nowadays, I take it a little easier. Not sure about Anni. Thanks for reading.

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The Reluctant Angler

downsized_0715091352 I told my wife Janet that this year I was not going to bring my fishing rods and tackle to the beach because I have not had much luck fishing at the South Jersey shore in recent years. I don’t have the patience that my friend Dean Denmead has who is an experienced fisherman and has learned to wait for the catch. Most years I buy at least four different types of bait from old man Moran at Moran’s Dockside in Avalon and when I ask him why I am not catching anything, he always says that this is not a good time of the year to catch fish. So why sell me the bait? I guess a sucker is born every minute. I brought the rods and tackle again this year. I should have known that the same luck would happen when ten minutes into our first beach day, a seagull zeroed in on me at 60 MPH and launched a fecal torpedo at me which blew through the mesh in my hat, splattered my hair, my shirt and dislodged itself on my beach chair. Bad omen for the trip and a definite “Welcome to New Jersey” from the real fishermen- the gulls.

I have had more successful outings with my grandfather and his buddies in my early years who were all real good anglers. I drove them to Oregon Inlet in North Carolina, fished with them in the Everglades, and at a fishing camp several times in northern Canada above North Bay. There is nothing like being with experienced fishermen and eating a fresh fish dinner on the shores of a crystal clear lake or landing a state record snub nosed dolphin in the Carolinas. The alligators floating in the canals in Florida provided adventure for the young guy and the veterans. I still use my grandfather’s tackle and rods and although I have been marginally successful expecially when I have taken my son Jack, I am sure that he has a smile on his face in that great fishing hole in the sky.

A couple of years ago, I took matters a little more seriously and went on line to find a fishing service in South Carolina off the coast of Hilton Head. I found a site by Captain Dave Fleming http://www.mightymako.com When we booked the morning and arrived at the dock, Dave told me that the fishing was really not that good. Imagine that? But, he added, if we wanted to catch shark, we could do that. I jumped at the chance and my wife and son reluctantly boarded the Mighty Mako with wide eyed wonder as to how this was going to go. Dave used mackerel heads and instantly Janet’s line tugged ferociously as she hooked a shark and Captain Dave helped her bring it ot the side of the boat. Janet was not at all thrilled at the prospect of touching the sand shark and Dave brought it up for her to see and then cut it loose. The next snap of the line was Jack’s and the same protocol was observed by bringing the beast in view and then cutting it loose. My grandfather spoke in my ear when my line snapped and he wanted me to land it myself. After all those years with Judge Miller, Bill Marcus and George Beran, and my grandpap, I better net and land the shark myself. Dave sensed that I had some experience and let me net the small shark and instructed me to grab it firmly by the back of the head and he would take a picture. I had never held a shark before and was amazed at the sandpaper feel of sharkskin. After the picture, I cut it loose and we continued to land shark after shark until a bull shark snapped Janet’s steel leader and Dave smiled and said, ” That was one we would not have wanted to be in the vicinity of the boat.” As I gazed off into the sound, I remarked to my son that we were only about 800 yards from where he and I were sitting on a sandbar the previous day. Little did we know that we were surrounded by sharks curiously looking at us from the depths of the sound. Needless to say, my fifteen year old at the time never went back in the water.

An interesting sidebar to fishing is that you can have the opportunity to have some good family time and conversations that will be remembered for a lifetime. Even when I fish with my friend Dean, we laugh about our time at the beach and the friendship of dropping a line in the water to see what happens is intoxicating. Captain Dave told us aboard the Mighty Mako that he was born and raised in the Hilton Head area and that his father is a successful attorney. His siblings were all successful stockbrokers and professional people working in New York and he was the only “black sheep” of the family who chose fishing as a career. He was a little sheepish in his description of himself and his very tightly wound family, but I assured him that in my mind, he was the smart one. People come to a beautiful place and pay him money to take them fishing. He makes a living at what he loves and lives in Paradise. The stressful lives that most people live trying to take that one vacation to where he lives all the time is a testament to Dave’s good judgement. Personally I believe he is the most successful one in his family. What really is important in life? I may not be the most successful fisherman in the world, but the quiet time on the water either by myself or with my family is worth its weight in gold. I need to be more patient. I need to get better at being a fisherman and the sport will teach me what Dave already knows. Slow down and enjoy what life has to offer. Whether you catch a fish or not. Wish me luck. Probably buying some more bait from old man Moran tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

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The Culture of Bumper Stickers

photophotophotophotophotophotophoto Previously, I wrote about T-Shirts. Check it out in my archive section- you will laugh. I outlined the “Americana” of T-Shirts and the rules and codes that apply to this iconic piece of American clothing. Today, I would like to poke some fun at another mainstay of “Americana” – the bumper sticker. There are many reasons that folks these days plaster their vehicles with stickers so lets look at them categorically shall we?

The Political Activist- these are the people who proudly display their stickers on their bumpers or windows telling the world who they voted for or for whom that they did vote. I still see Obama 2008 “Change” stickers on vehicles. Hey? We get it. You voted for the winner, maybe twice, and your old Volvo reflects your political agenda and we respect that.

The Folks for a Cause- we all tend to see the same types of cars( old Volvos, vans, Euro-Vans, classic sports cars) adorned with those stickers promoting a cause. “Buy Locally” – nothing wrong with sustainability and if you are going to plaster something on your car, this is ok. Some tend to be a little out there but neat on the cool factor- ” Free Tibet”. Now it would be nice to see the Dalai Lama make a return and perhaps the Chinese government would be ousted, but it probably won’t happen. But this guy is glad that you know that he is in touch with international issues as he chugs down the road advocating a cause and wanting you to buy organically raised chickens from his granola crunching uncle’s farm.

The Vacationers- these are the proud folks who want you to know that they have visited or visit regularly the Keys or Hilton Head. Like the rules of the T-shirt, the farther away from home that the destination sticker reads, the cooler. You don’t want to waste good vehicle space with a local vacation spot, you want the world to know that you have made the effort to visit someplace exotic or expensive. These vacationers are careful with their placement of the sticker. They want that nice round beach sticker or the well recognized Harbor Towne( with an e) Lighthouse strategically placed on their left rear window of their expensive SUV.

The Athlete- this guy wants you to know that he has completed a marathon with a subtle round sticker that reads 26.2 K. Or the new guy or gal that has just completed his or her first half with the sticker that reads- 13.1. The Ultra guys and gals have that 50K sticker or the well placed Ironman Finisher sticker on their SUV with the bike rack and canoe rack visible at all times-even in the winter. There is the cyclist who plasters every sticker he can find on his roof rack front panel. These folks put every swag sticker from every cycling manufacturer on that front panel along with their favorite radio station sticker placed alongside of their “Dog’s Breath Ale” marker prominently placed front and center. Fill in stickers are placed on the panel as the years go on but they tend to be smaller and more insignificant and just a space filler. Bottom line- they are proud of their accomplishments and when they park in that church lot, they want the other parkers to silently admire them with a nod of approval that says, “wow- he did the Ironman!!!” With a smile, the athlete swaggers into church sitting like a proud Pharasee knowing that his accomplishments are out there through the iconic sticker.

The Skier- this guy always has an SUV with the roof caddy that houses his equipment safely to the slopes. The caddy has every ski area that has been visited on display carefully placing the resort that is farthest away in plain view. Maybe he has heli-skied and has the coveted CMH or Mike Wiegle sticker in view? Maybe he is affiliated with the National Ski Patrol or the Professional Ski Instructors of America? He or she want to display that so that their dedication is appreciated. Maybe that is part of their rap in the parking lot as they say,” ski here often?”

The Shameless Self promoter- the clown who displays his blog site on his bumper fishing for followers for his blog riddled with drivel?

How about the dog lovers? Look at the example above of the person who loves his Italian Greyhound. Does the dog bark with an accent? Maybe he cooks a mean pasta? Not sure, but the owner wants us to know that they appreciate the ethnicity of their canine friend. How about ” My dog is smarter than your honor student?” Really?

Finally- lets talk about putting stickers on at all shall we? There are lots of people who value their vehicles because they make a statement about how they have arrived. They buy or lease an expensive vehicle and would never think of lowering their pride to put a sticker on their car- reducing the perceived financial worth. How crass to place a bumper sticker on a car. “Wow- Muffy- we need another wax on the Beemer dear!!!” Then there are guys like me. I am all of the above except a dog person. Dogs like me- I taste like chicken. I don’t have any dog stickers on my Jeep. But I do have ski area stickers, publication stickers, blog stickers, in short- I have always been a sticker guy. I may age chronologically but I will never mature. If there is a space on the rear window or the bumper, I will use it. I have a rust spot rearing its ugly self and it may be covered with a micro brew sticker shortly. I have stickers in waiting to replace old or faded ones. You see, I am the kind of guy who loads mulch up to the roof in my Jeep. I put firewood up to the roof in my Jeep. My wife says that I kill our vehicles but I see them as a means to an end. I have no problem plastering stickers on my vehicle. So when you me driving down the road, smile when you see the rust and the advertisements. The Jeep might look different the next time and I will for sure be wearing a T-Shirt from a far away destination to keep with the rules. Wear a cool T-shirt and plaster something funky on your car- will ya? Thanks for reading.

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” The Coach”

photophotophotophotophoto I was passing the soccer fields the other day and daydreamed back to the days when Eden Christian Academy was looking for coaches for the youth soccer program. My son Jack was involved and I volunteered because they were desperate for bodies. I didn’t know a thing about soccer but at that age, if I could get some kind of organization among the kids, get them some exercise, and keep them from just huddling around a moving ball, I was ahead of the game. We organized practices and the games were usually Saturday morning which was always an anticipated time around our house. Jack was a big kid for his age and he was able to handle the ball and score goals at will. It was co-ed soccer, so sometimes the smaller female players ran into Jack and became somewhat of a pinball as they bounced off him and onto the ground with tears ensuing. But all was well until he grew a little older and my usefullness as a coach was outlived. He became part of the school program and youth soccer was in the rear view mirror. My last season as coach, I had them line up in a wall when the other team had the ball and when our team got possession, I told them to shoot it no matter where they were. “You can’t score if you don’t shoot. Pretend Bin Laden is in the goal.” That didn’t go well with the academy faculty and it was time for me to move on and let the school coaches take over.

Baseball was another experience. My friend Dave Blahnik called me and asked if Jack was interested in playing baseball. Would I be interested in coaching with him? Dave wanted to know if I had any experience with baseball because he knew I was kind of an outdoors guy. I told him proudly that I played minor league, little league, and pony league all as a catcher. I was a little chunky as a youngster and it was good for me to put on the “tools of ignorance” as my dad would say and get behind the plate where all the action was. So, I had experience being knocked into the chain link fences by the bigger kids trying to steal home, getting foul tips in the face, throwing kids out at second base, and being the receiver of some pretty fast adolescent pitches. So there I was coaching third base as the games for the McCandless Athletic Association began. I had this habit of waving runners through third base only to be thrown out at home. Dave would look at me with dismay and ask why I would ever wave them on when there was no chance that they would be safe? I said, ” Dave- the fun is to see if maybe they could make it and the thrill on their faces was worth the chance that maybe, just maybe, they would score a run.” In most instances, they were thrown out and I was surely the turnip to the parents in the stands. But, I loved the moment of wildly waving them on with my smiling face and their smiling face as they raced for home only to be defeated at the tag at home plate. Dave replaced me at third and I ended up at first base where I did the same thing with the kids trying to steal second base. Thrown out again and again, my timing was off in my coaching and Dave finally said for me to be the dugout manager and make sure the kids got their turn at bat. An inauspicious ending to my baseball coaching career but nonetheless rewarding.

Chuck Noll, the Super Bowl winning coach for the Pittsburgh Steelers, had many famous quotes, but the one that struck home to me was when he referred to the process of the game. He said that,” the thrill isn’t the winning, its the doing.” This was my mantra for youth sports. I wanted the kids to have fun. I was not really interested in the score as much as the process of learning the fundamentals of the game, improving from week to week, and having some success in the process. The kids would have plenty of chances to be competitive in the years to come as was the case with my Jack. But at the youth level, I made it known that although I had limited experience in team sports, I had a passion to work with the kids and make sure that they had fun- first and foremost.

Right before my mom passed away, I was talking to her about coaching baseball and she asked me,” What do you know about baseball? Did you ever play?” It dawned on me that she never saw me play because she only had interest in watching my swimming meets as a kid because she was at the pool anyhow. Baseball games were not her gig and when I showed her my old pictures, she was amazed. The field was right across the street from where I lived but mom never made the trek to see her fat little Patrick behind the plate. We all had a good laugh but those days honed my interest in coaching at the youth level. As the kids got older, I was out of my league and faded to the stands as a spectator. But the memories of the smiling faces, the lessons learned, and the skill improvement, will always bring a smile to my face. ” What was the score,Pat?” ” I don’t know, I am just the coach.” Thanks for reading.

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The Great Adventure

photophoto My friend called me the other day and remarked how my life was boring. Always blogging about things in the past, riding the same trails, skiing the same areas, and working. He was trying to get me to come out to the west and do an epic mountain bike trip with him. He has the good fortune of being retired, kids raised and doing well, and has time to be adventurous in a most excellent environment. He means well and we like to get together but at the moment, my structured life is ok until further notice. I will still get together with him and my other friends but there are pressing things now that preclude spur of the moment adventure trips.

But what is adventure anyhow? Like beauty, it is in the eye of the beholder. In many ways I was and still am adventurous compared to most people but then again, I do not take motorcycle trips to the Arctic Circle or climb Mt. Everest. The real purpose of my blog is to tell people the funny stories about my past adventures and share some thoughts of encouragement to those who might want to give the outdoors a try. From the couch to a 5K? Maybe pitch a tent with their son or daughter in the back yard and look at the stars. Or perhaps, take up a winter sport and enjoy another season. Adventure and excitement is relative. Most people have to take advantage of their own local environment and if they plan, they can take that adventurous trip of a lifetime.

So in that spirit of perceived adventure, I will recount a tale with which many of you can surely relate, including my friend from out west. It is perhaps the most rewarding, perplexing, mystifying, aggravating, worrysome and loving adventure that I have ever experienced. I have had a lot of adventures but none as interesting as nurturing the most narcissistic of the homo sapien clan………….the teenager. It all begins with the driving lesson. The wide eyed nervous but thrilled demeanor is on stage with the first step on the gas pedal, the first hard braking, and oversteering. Through it all, dad is patiently in the passenger seat calmly giving directions in the pool parking lot. After a series of turns and three point turns, the route expands on the park roads until that unexpected remark,” Can I drive to see my friend Jackie?” Imagine the bravado on the first day? But, the 59 year old kid, seeing confidence and some ability allows the adventure to continue to see the girl so that the brand new driver can impress. The teenage fascination with the opposite sex is on display with the window down and the cool look to the girl with the big smile.

Fast forward to inner city, AAU basketball and the land of hip hop( see picture above). Dad and his Rolling Stones and Byrds can’t quite relate but neither did his parents at the sight of long hair and Elton John glasses back in the day. The 59 year old kid and his spirit of adventure is amazed at learning about Wiz Khalifa, Dr. Dre and the world of social media. Nobody talks- they text. Communication is reduced to the I-Phone and the infernal X Box live. Life expands for the teenager in the man cave of the house where video games reign supreme. Remember from past blogs that Janet and I taught the teenager how to ski, swim, hit a baseball, throw a football, shoot a basketball, and now it is all put aside for the fair sex and shooting aliens in the virtual world. When the teenager comes up out of his cave, he is hungry. He eats, doesn’t say much and back to the virtual world and texting his friends. Fortunately this creature has a job at the local beer distributor thanks to some dear friends and has learned the value of making a buck.

Moving on, the high school adventure is at an end and graduation, college orientation, and eventually the college experience awaits this being who mom and dad hope can make it on its own. Tonight, I stop to see the number one son and he tells me he is hungry. I say,” How about a pizza or a hoagie to hold you over until after work?” He says,” Great” in a very teen like vernacular which I will not expose. He says,” I only have a one hundred dollar bill so you will have to pay for it.” I pull out my last 20 and buy the food and am down to 10 bucks. What is wrong with this picture? I laugh and say to myself,” he has a 100 and I have 10 bucks and am out a pizza and a root beer.” That is life with the being we all know and love……….the teenager. Oh he is polite and shakes hands, and charms his teachers, and the ladies, and enjoys his life. But we see the beast waking up in the morning, grumpy, until he is fed and comes alive in the living room. We see the teenager at his best and at his worst, but the unconditional love of this being is always present even in the most heated battles of mom and dad versus sonny boy. A boring existence? I think not. It is always adventurous to stay one step ahead of the cunning beast until the day when we release him to mid America and the campus of Ohio U in Athens. We then will see the real growth, education, and maturity that awaits us when he returns and we say……” what happened to that young boy, who turned into the teenager, and is now…… a man?” Life moves on and the adventure continues. My friend from out west always told me,” Pat- it gets better and better every day.” His son is now married, with his own son and another child on the way. ” It only gets better.” The teen years were a challenge but again, adventure is in the eye of the beholder. Most of you had that adventure and those who have not, your time is coming with the texting, burping,flattulating, “I got this covered” species we know and love as…………the teenager. Hey Jack- clean up that room and put those clothes away will ya?” Thanks for reading.

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The Local Loop

photophotophoto Every town in America has its iconic running and cycling loop. The Central Park track around the reservoir in New York City comes to mind along with the roads there that are closed to traffic on the weekends to facilitate bicycling. You can run the route along the Charles River in Boston or Lakeshore Drive in Chicago which all have the history of being where most people start to walk, run or ride a bike close to where they live. We have our own iconic loop here in Pittsburgh at North Park Lake.

The Lake Loop is 5 miles around and has traditionally been a benchmark for beginner runners and walkers. If you can make the 5 miles, you have definitely accomplished something. When I first started running out there with Ralph Schmitt and Les Brodie, 5 miles was a daunting task but eventually it became routine and variations of the route became the norm along with escaping the antics of Les and Ralph. Snowball battles, tipping Port a Johns, and other distractions along the runs became stuff of legend. Eventually, time became a factor for me and I began my quest for the all encompassing PR(personal records) not only around the loop and the variations, but in 10K races with our crew, pictured above. We had fun times back then but like Brenda and Eddy, you can never go back to the green. Different crowd, different atmosphere but………….still same old lake loop. Crowded on January 1st with all the New Years Day resolutionists, crowded on the first, nice spring day, and most of the summer. Isolated in the harsh days of winter but still observers can see the presence of the hard core Lake Loopers grinding out the miles in the snow.

If that loop could talk, you would have the most interesting book in print today. New mothers relating stories about their children,ER docs relating their care of gunshot wounds, couples discussing life together and life’s troubles, hard core runners not thinking about anything but heart rate and time, and cyclists battling the crowded bike path and surrounding roads with cars always to their left. Heck, Mick Jagger used to run the loop when he was in town. Imagine some of those conversations. I am sure Keith was not with him but the Pittsburgh Marathon staff certainly were entertained by Mick who was a faithful 7 mile runner. I have had some interesting experiences around that lake. Once time returning from a road ride out north, I was rounding the loop back to the parking lot at Stone Field when I felt a “WHAK” on the back of my neck. It was a chipped ham sandwich with mayo( the classic Pittsburgh Teddy Bear sandwich) along with a scathing, yelling commentary from the passing guy in the passenger seat of a car telling me to ” get the f@#$ off the road, a@@#$%^. Not really what you want to hear at the end of a pleasant road ride in the country, but I kept my head down and kept peddling none the less. I don’t mess with angry drivers- they carry guns.

It is interesting that things have changed a bit around the Lake Loop. Lots more people, and now with separate running and cycling lanes, the coveted real estate is guarded by some aggressive types. Our group comments all the time about people running and cycling around the lake who hold their ground and you better get out of the way or you risk getting run over- literally. There are road riders who fly around that lake. I call them the North Park specials because they ride in a pack and are really fast around the flat lake loop but never seem to venture out of the park to ride a hill. Some folks are clueless when they walk or run 4 abreast forcing those going in the opposite direction to seek refuge in the road along the loop. This can be a little dangerous and many crashes and falls have occurred. Courtesy sometimes plays second fiddle to the dedicated lake loopers who get their ride or run in come hell or high water. Get out of the way or prepare to die. Not the way it used to be but things seem to mellow as the season moves on and the enthusiasm of the rank and file seems to wane with the changing seasons. The hard core are still there but the newcomers and less dedicated seem to vanish as the temperatures and weather change. But the loop- remains constant. 5 miles. No getting around it.

I remember the days of 30 minutes around that lake. I look at the fast guys now and wonder what happened to the time. I generally run trails in the winter so the loop has been ignored by me with the exception of returning from a ride or walking with my wife. I wonder what I will look like in the years ahead running or walking around that lake? I am sure I will return at a much slower pace and continue the walks. I will age and get slower but one thing remains constant- the lake loop will always be 5 miles- winter, summer, spring, and fall. Thanks for reading and give some love to your local loop.

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Know the Rules!

From the Best of http://www.chroniclesofmccloskey.com

AP570722027_t62014d7c856-bf4a-4b95-ada5-4359dd6b415cGOClogo-shannopin-country-club Its funny, people come up to me and ask if I play golf? I respond,” only if I have to.” I am a little too nervous and jerky for golf and I always remark that if they could pitch the golf ball to me, I might do better. In any event, outside of the occasional 9 holes for fun with Janet(my wife), I really don’t play much golf. However, I do have a history of sorts with the sport. I rented clubs at Ballybunion, the famous course on the west coast of Ireland, and promptly lost 6 balls on the first 6 holes because the rough was so high. I ended up returning the clubs because the shop was closed and walked the rest of the course just to see it. Very scenic but not a place for me to play golf.

When I was a kid, my dad played golf at Shannopin Country Club in Pittsburgh and being a child of the depression, he was father enough to say that,” I play golf here- you can work here.” Which is what I did, parking cars, working in the kitchen, and most of all caddying. Being a caddy was an enlightening endeavor in that you met the most interesting people and see how they react under competitive circumstances. Take the good guys- Gene Sutherland, Don McClelland, Bill McClelland, and whatever victim they could find as their fourth. My friend Tom Herder and I would park in the lot at about 3:00 AM so we could be the first on the list to assure two rounds of doubles on any given Saturday. If we were given these guys, we were assured of balls right down the middle and hilarious comments in the midst of a very competitive and financially lucrative competition. These guys would try to beat each other each weekend, get a shot and a beer at the turn, press the bets, and then continue the competition at the card table playing gin late into the night. If I was on the winning side, I got a nice tip. If not, they were still generous but not happy.

The other caddying experiences were not as fun with the hackers spewing drives and errant iron shots into the woods. If I found one close to the out of bounds marker, I would kick it back in bounds to keep the round going and also assure a nice tip because of the pleasant experience of finding a surely out of bounds ball miraculously in bounds. Smiles abounding and a nice financial reward at the end of the day. The ladies days were another story. There were the good ones like Carol Semple who was a national amateur champion but most of the ladies who participated were, shall we say, challenged. I was always polite but when they asked me what to hit on their 19th shot on the hole, did it really matter? Oh well.

All of the time spent at Shannopin yielded me a nice benefit one year. John Conley, who was the golf professional, asked me if I wanted to work in his place as a marshal on one of the holes at the US Open at Oakmont in 1973. That was the year Johnny Miller set the course record with 63 on the final round. I marveled at his focus as he seemed to float through my hole just staring into the distance and visually acknowledging no one. He was in the “zone” and the 63 was remarkable. As a marshal, I was representing the local chapter of the PGA and had a PGA hat on my head along with an official Oakmont US Open 1973 shirt and slacks. I sure looked official even though I was 18 and didn’t look anything like a golf professional. The moment of truth came about when Lionel Hebert, a veteran tour professional, hit his ball into the sand trap right in front of me. As he approached, my blood pressure started to escalate as he asked me if he could get some relief seeing that there was water in the trap. I looked for the USGA guy who was not in sight and fortunately I remembered the Rule Number 25 in the USGA Rules that addressed casual water. I remember from my caddy days that if you could bring up water by pushing your foot near the ball, it was considered “casual water” and the golfer would be granted a club length relief. I stated this and Lionel Hebert stepped near the ball, brought up water, and looked at me. Fortunately the blue jacket and the gray pants of the USGA Official came into sight as I gave my opinion, he nodded that this was the right call and granted Hebert a club length relief. Lionel placed the ball in a dry spot, took out an iron and sent the ball flying and thanked me for the ruling. I was relieved and the USGA guy nodded his approval and moved on. I couldn’t get off that course fast enough but what an experience for an 18 year old caddy and car parker from Shannopin. Whew!!!

Good thing my dad made me work as much as he did. It built character and understanding of life that I took with me to the box factory where I worked summers in my college years. It honed a work ethic that I have tried to pass on to my son Jack who is carrying the McCloskey torch with employment. It all seems so long ago but Shannopin and the US Open at Oakmont are etched in my brain forever. Thanks for reading.  Back to the trail and woodsy stuff next week. Fore!!!!!

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Some Blog Maintenance

70019150-SLD-001-0028 First of all, I wanted to thank all of you who have been gracious enough to indulge my 2013 New Years resolution by following my blog. It has been a great experience for me and has given me the opportunity to chronicle some of my past adventures and humorous times with friends and my family. It is all in the spirit of encouraging people to get outdoors and enjoy what nature has to offer. It also gives me a chance to put my sense of humor out there for you to enjoy and have some laughs, many at my expense. I hope that so far, it has given you some funny times as you enjoy your coffee or take a short break from work.

A couple of things:
1.) If you follow on an I-Pad, I-Phone or other device that is not your home or office computer, you may get the story but not the pictures. If that is the case, simply click on the title and you can see the photos that I put at the beginning of all of my posts.
2.) Many of you follow on Facebook and that is fine seeing that Facebook is connected to my blog. However, I would like to encourage you to follow my blog on Word Press. I pay for the premium service that Word Press has to offer which among other things, respects my privacy and the privacy of those who follow my blog. The more followers I have on Word Press, the more love I get from them, plain and simple. So if you would not mind getting one E-Mail a week from Word Press alerting you to the fact that I posted another zany story, I would appreciate it. If you don’t want to do that and you are comfortable with just following on Facebook, I understand and thank you for following on that medium. But if you would follow on Word Press, all you have to do is hit the box to the left of my home page and enter your e-mail. That will automatically make you a follower and you will get only that weekly e-mail. Please feel free to pass my blog on to your other friends. The more followers, the merrier.
3.) As you may know from looking at the archives, I have a lot of posts from January of 2013 until now. It has been suggested by friends that I take some time to re-blog some of the best posts by way of popularity. Kind of like a ” Best of Chronicles of McCloskey.” In the transition time now between seasons, I will post two per week for the next two weeks and then I will get started with a weekly post on spring and summer activites. I hope this would be ok and that you might enjoy some of my blasts from the past.

Again, I thank you for indulging me and I hope that my weekly posts can be a short break for your day and that you can have a smile on your face as you read them. Thanks for reading, thanks for being a friend to the Chronicles of McCloskey, and finally thanks for being my friend. I am not sure where this blog will go in the future but with your help and encouragement, you never know what will happen. Spring is coming.