Big Wheel Keeps on Turnin'

The fire chapter of the OSKA story finally comes to a close thanks to the efforts of Kathy Whalen!The Osprey Crew sends a huge thanks to Kathy for finding C&C Plastics in Woonsocket to recycle all the fire damaged kayaks that have been sitting in our garden for the last two years. At first we thought it would be easy to recycle the boats. After all, they are just high density polyethylene #2 which is recycled everyday. Unfortunately, every plastic company we contacted wanted to charge us a significant chunk of change to turn our melted boats into garden furniture, soda bottles, or other unimaginable plastic objects. So those old melties lay in the garden creating housing for mice, birds, and every bug you could think of. We were starting to get desperate and are ashamed to say we started to consider chopping them up and sending them to the landfill. Thank goodness that we met Kathy just in time. She got on the phone and relentlessly pursued the recycling mission and her efforts paid out big time when she spoke with Roger at C&C Plastics in Woonsocket. We are happy to report that over 30 kayaks were sent off to be turned into something shiny and new! As usual we turned a dirty job into a Tom Sawyer Party and had lots of laughs cutting up and loading boats onto Rogers trailer. 

Sam & Carl Ladd   

Conceptus Obscurus

My mind wanders and I start recalling Friday's drive. Heading into Crow Agency to find a thick fog in the valleys with the hills looking like islands on a gray ocean. The sun pushing enough light through occasional gaps in the thick clouds to cast odd shadows and help blur the line between earth and sky. I thought the Beartooths had topped my scale of beautiful but there was this one last sight.

By Kearney (Nebraska) I had been so thoroughly educated on the definitions of plane/plain that I decide exploring the upper register of my speedometer might be a good idea. I find several other vehicles to play a multi-hundred mile game of "Magnet". By Lincoln...the red, white and blue strobes in my mirrors indicate that I might just have won so I pull over to see what prize the official has for me.

I hit the Mass border around 10 am several days later. The Berkshires welcome me with green, forested mountains and humidity like you read about. The storms to hit later are following me from New York. Grey drizzle welcomes me into Boston.

Over the course of the trip it was stunning to learn that I had been mistaken that left lanes were for passing. They are an opportunity for people to be able to thoroughly investigate their surroundings as they travel and have those following them do the same. I also found out that service area parking lots aren't for parking but are places for children to learn to walk, play tag and ensure drivers experience roller coaster like thrills at 5 miles per hour.

More importantly, I confirmed that I love road trips.

Anthro-something

She was looking haggard as she walked up the side of the highway towards me. Normally I wouldn't have thought of picking up hitchhikers but she looked at me as if to say "Please help, this isn't fun.". 2 young ones followed her doggedly.

After briefly looking around to see who was about her head dipped as she started tucking into a lush clump of grass. A proud young cowboy on his likewise proud looking horse had seen what she was up to and moved in to shoe her on. She glared at them in irritation and turned back to eating.

The horse looked at her as if she should have known better. For her part, the cow glared back and stood fast until the cowboy's boot swung out and gave her a kick in the side. She moved on with the rest of the cattle drive.


A big thanks should go to Montana Whitewater for not calling me back. As much as I would have loved to have had a whitewater lesson, their lack of interest allowed me the immense pleasure in driving the Beartooth Pass towards Cooke City and then swinging around through Wyoming desert. I loved my time on the road today more than you can imagine. Enjoy the brief video of the top of the pass.

Badlands

It's not kayaking...but a good runner up...

Ancient

The drum spoke to my soul. If it hadn't, the compression from the speakers in my truck would have forced my body into compliance. It was the beating of a heart and mine sped up to match it.

The singer's howl of primal rage and pain set me on fire with fight response. Every ancestor, back to those who added it to the pool, would have reacted as I did. Adrenalin dumped into my body. Muscles tightened, hands gripped the wheel tightly and I scanned for the threat. I was able to stop a return bellow but am fairly sure my teeth bared in a snarl before I could stop them.

This was an ageless, mammalian thing.

Kayaks on the roofs of cars reminded me that the land I was driving over was an ancient sea floor mussed up a bit by glaciers. The critters that swam that sea would have thought us a tasty little bite (including kayaks) if they thought of us at all. They and their ocean were far older than my reaction or even the existence of mammals.

I watched the land pass outside my truck and was glad the sea bed was now corn fields and the critters part of the plastic in the kayaks.

When there is no tide

Wednesday...I'll have a whole day to kill...there will be white water out there...hmmm...cross-training...stories....gotta do it, a half day of river instruction. I look and find a place that appears to have quality staff so I send an email...nice folks but a week is a little short notice so they can't do it...bummer...I was looking forward to checking out Missoula...try the second place.

They seem to be a high volume rafting company with a side gig of kayak instruction from one of their guides but hey, Bozeman will be closer and the Gallatin looks to be a lovely river and I know nothing about river running except what I have seen in the videos and horror stories from friends...they call to set the reservation but seconds into the conversation they realize they may not have an instructor or water levels may not be right, they'll call back.

I start to pack for my trip, do I bring my gear? I call and ask about the instruction...they say the water level is too high call back a couple days before, maybe the water levels will drop...hmmm...do I cart my gear out west on the hope of getting on a river?

You betcha!