Liver Cancer
10.27.2015 – I had dinner with Dr. Alemayehu at Rodeo, a cowboy-themed open-air restaurant in Bole, Addis Ababa. It was lovely; wood fires burned ambitiously in large pits about the patio. I had steak and beer; Alemayehu, chicken and rice and mineral water. We coursed over many topics, from the deeply personal to operational matters for our charitable healthcare program, EHN. We spoke of the larger framework of governmental health programs, charity and NGO management, including work by the Gates Foundation. I said I understood that the government’s model is to provide a healthcare worker (a nurse) or two for every 100 households, and one clinic for every 1,000. I thought this was good, and hoped that it would put my small non-profit out of business.
Alemayehu lamented the quality of care at the large health centers, and said there are still large gaps that EHN and NGOs fill. In fact, today, he said, he saw a man [1] who had terrible stomach pain. He had been to multiple doctors and health centers. He paid 1,700 ET Birr (about $90 USD) for an invasive endoscopy. They had given him medicines and many tests. Nothing improved. Alemayehu touched the man, palpated his abdomen. He felt a mass on his liver. He conducted ultrasound. There was a large mass, a tumor. LeAlem’s lab analyzed the patient’s liver enzymes and function. The numbers were very high. The man had liver cancer, and was going to die. Alemayehu respectfully and kindly gave the accurate diagnosis and prognosis. The man was comforted, thankful, after months of stress and wrong diagnosis and treatment.
We discussed the patterns where the large health centers perform the function, but do not treat the patient, and as a result they miss things. I’ve seen this in the United States, for example, where my father was on needless chemotherapy (Neupogen) for months, and my mother’s amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, Lou Gehrig’s disease) went undiagnosed by esteemed practitioners. (Even the suggestion of ALS, by my father, was laughed at by our family physician, my wife’s doctor.) So nothing is perfect. But my base sense is the medical care provided by a patient-focused doctor, who seeks to understand the full context, is better. More, I think a community-based physician in a developing country like Ethiopia may be more skilled because he or she has to cope with a broader array of affliction, with less technical intervention and support. In the main, a third-world community doctor, like Alemayehu, is very closely connected to those he treats.
[1] The subject is a private patient, not an EHN beneficiary.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Those We Serve -- Kittens
Kittens
10.27.2015 – A few doors down our next beneficiary lived in a similar one-room hovel, a bed, a couple of boxes as chairs, and a box of kittens and mom-cat. She paid about 35 cents US (7.5 Birr) per month in subsidized rent. For the prior four years she had lived on the street under a plastic tarp. She was about 50 years old, clothed in bright colors and beautiful. I insisted she sit next to me, atop her bed, legs trailing down towards the room center. She had suffered so much, but was thankful for the medical care we gave. With the health care, she was now able to get out of bed and go to work, where she could make money to help support her daughter (who had lived under the plastic tarp with her). Her deferential sensitivity struck me. I wrapped my arm around her back. Her husband, her daughter’s father, had died several years ago, of AIDS. She and her daughter are HIV positive. I gave 200 Birr, about 2-year’s rent. Better, I hope, a good meal.
10.27.2015 – A few doors down our next beneficiary lived in a similar one-room hovel, a bed, a couple of boxes as chairs, and a box of kittens and mom-cat. She paid about 35 cents US (7.5 Birr) per month in subsidized rent. For the prior four years she had lived on the street under a plastic tarp. She was about 50 years old, clothed in bright colors and beautiful. I insisted she sit next to me, atop her bed, legs trailing down towards the room center. She had suffered so much, but was thankful for the medical care we gave. With the health care, she was now able to get out of bed and go to work, where she could make money to help support her daughter (who had lived under the plastic tarp with her). Her deferential sensitivity struck me. I wrapped my arm around her back. Her husband, her daughter’s father, had died several years ago, of AIDS. She and her daughter are HIV positive. I gave 200 Birr, about 2-year’s rent. Better, I hope, a good meal.
Those We Serve -- Maggot Head
Maggot Head
While Kneeling describes recognition and a compassionate response, other recognitions did not yield such kindness. There are many poor, begging on the streets of Addis. Some with grave deformity, young children pressing out before their mothers, old thin women pointing a finger into their mouths, ‘give me food.’ My one-kilometer daily walk from the Jupiter hotel to LeAlem Higher Clinic passed perhaps a dozen sad cases. I did not take pictures. In the first block, a higher sidewalk in front of construction sites, I’d walk past men sleeping on the cement, splayed like fish on a dock. One fellow’s head, face, and neck were crawled over by hundreds of white maggots. This was shocking. I knelt; I thought, should I bring him to the hotel room and have him bathe? Part of me considered buying a bottle of disinfectant alcohol and swabbing and cleaning his head, then bringing him to the clinic for de-lousing and medication. I did nothing but let him sleep. There are limits and one develops filters in such situations. When I was trained as an emergency medical technician (EMT), we learned ‘scene safety’ as a first, most important rule. You have to protect yourself. An ill or dead caregiver is a greater loss than one person’s suffering, than to go forward with an unsafe incident. With maggot head, I considered my own susceptibility (and that of the next person to sleep in my hotel room). Also, I thought about the general structure of the problem. A man without employment, sleeping on the street, covered with maggots. There are many contributing problems that need repair to make a durable solution. My conscience was also eased by the fact that I give so much already, to mothers and children in need, in Addis. Alas, though, it is an important question and urge. We wish we could fix many more things. There is no shortage of need, of the compelling and grotesque that may be improved. But we are mortal, and cannot cure all.
While Kneeling describes recognition and a compassionate response, other recognitions did not yield such kindness. There are many poor, begging on the streets of Addis. Some with grave deformity, young children pressing out before their mothers, old thin women pointing a finger into their mouths, ‘give me food.’ My one-kilometer daily walk from the Jupiter hotel to LeAlem Higher Clinic passed perhaps a dozen sad cases. I did not take pictures. In the first block, a higher sidewalk in front of construction sites, I’d walk past men sleeping on the cement, splayed like fish on a dock. One fellow’s head, face, and neck were crawled over by hundreds of white maggots. This was shocking. I knelt; I thought, should I bring him to the hotel room and have him bathe? Part of me considered buying a bottle of disinfectant alcohol and swabbing and cleaning his head, then bringing him to the clinic for de-lousing and medication. I did nothing but let him sleep. There are limits and one develops filters in such situations. When I was trained as an emergency medical technician (EMT), we learned ‘scene safety’ as a first, most important rule. You have to protect yourself. An ill or dead caregiver is a greater loss than one person’s suffering, than to go forward with an unsafe incident. With maggot head, I considered my own susceptibility (and that of the next person to sleep in my hotel room). Also, I thought about the general structure of the problem. A man without employment, sleeping on the street, covered with maggots. There are many contributing problems that need repair to make a durable solution. My conscience was also eased by the fact that I give so much already, to mothers and children in need, in Addis. Alas, though, it is an important question and urge. We wish we could fix many more things. There is no shortage of need, of the compelling and grotesque that may be improved. But we are mortal, and cannot cure all.
Those We Serve -- Kneeling
Kneeling
10.27.2015 – We were at Meseret Humanitarian Organization, a women-focused NGO in Addis Ababa, sub-city Kirkos, to see their tour of capabilities and accomplishment. After, we visited several beneficiaries. The first was a mud-walled, tin-roof home about 12 feet square, with a rear niche that was for cooking. A man, about 46 years old, sat rocking on an upturned bucket for his chair. He was crying gently, “Shee-shee-shee,” as he rocked back and forth. With the oncoming of three social workers and me, his niece, a beneficiary, turned and relocated him to another chair (an upturned box with a towel atop), more in the corner, out of the way. He complied. We learned he was mentally retarded, deaf, and blind in one eye. Assembled in the dark house, we talked our normal business with the beneficiary: How have you worked with Meseret, what has been your experience with healthcare provided by LeAlem? Do you have children? How are they? Are there areas we can improve? The woman answered steadfastly and appreciatively. She had had right leg pain and diffuse stomach pain, epigastric pain. She had been treated well at LeAlem, with respect and good results. (This wasn’t her prior experience at other centers, she said.) Her children had scalp fungus, which was treated with antifungal cream and antibiotics provided by EHN/LeAlem, and cured. We spoke for about 15 minutes. These things passed through. I took a couple pictures. Four healthcare workers. We’d ignored the man. I asked, “Can I touch him?” I kneeled on the mud floor, and reached my right hand to the man’s back, and stroked. I reached and held his left hand, and squeezed gently. I drew a bit closer, and held for a few minutes. His crying and rocking stopped. The man’s older sister, also disabled, had hidden herself behind a dingy curtain in the kitchen. She started to cry.
We stepped out of the house to the alley. I lingered. The sister came out and hugged me. “Thank-you-thank-you-God-Bless,” she said. I touched her face and said, “Thank you.”
10.27.2015 – We were at Meseret Humanitarian Organization, a women-focused NGO in Addis Ababa, sub-city Kirkos, to see their tour of capabilities and accomplishment. After, we visited several beneficiaries. The first was a mud-walled, tin-roof home about 12 feet square, with a rear niche that was for cooking. A man, about 46 years old, sat rocking on an upturned bucket for his chair. He was crying gently, “Shee-shee-shee,” as he rocked back and forth. With the oncoming of three social workers and me, his niece, a beneficiary, turned and relocated him to another chair (an upturned box with a towel atop), more in the corner, out of the way. He complied. We learned he was mentally retarded, deaf, and blind in one eye. Assembled in the dark house, we talked our normal business with the beneficiary: How have you worked with Meseret, what has been your experience with healthcare provided by LeAlem? Do you have children? How are they? Are there areas we can improve? The woman answered steadfastly and appreciatively. She had had right leg pain and diffuse stomach pain, epigastric pain. She had been treated well at LeAlem, with respect and good results. (This wasn’t her prior experience at other centers, she said.) Her children had scalp fungus, which was treated with antifungal cream and antibiotics provided by EHN/LeAlem, and cured. We spoke for about 15 minutes. These things passed through. I took a couple pictures. Four healthcare workers. We’d ignored the man. I asked, “Can I touch him?” I kneeled on the mud floor, and reached my right hand to the man’s back, and stroked. I reached and held his left hand, and squeezed gently. I drew a bit closer, and held for a few minutes. His crying and rocking stopped. The man’s older sister, also disabled, had hidden herself behind a dingy curtain in the kitchen. She started to cry.
We stepped out of the house to the alley. I lingered. The sister came out and hugged me. “Thank-you-thank-you-God-Bless,” she said. I touched her face and said, “Thank you.”
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Africa 10.17.2015
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Family Skiing
To the top we go, my sons and I, to the Vista Haus, for coffee, juice and muffins. At near 12,000 feet, we look over the high valley to peaks marking the Continental Divide. “Hey, Dad, this is great. It’s beautiful up here, I can see everywhere,” my son declares as he quaffs breakfast. The sun is brighter than ever, set amidst perfect blue. The air is thin, making me feel like an old man, struggling to keep up with my energy-filled boys.
We push off through the crunchy snow. “Whee!” and “Whoosh!” we go, slanting down a well-named run – Psychopath, High Anxiety, or Crescendo. My boys are shredders, bashing about on snow boards, while I carve and cut powder on 15 year-old skis, still serviceable, shrieking phosphorescent orange from days long gone by.
It’s a rush! I bend and fall forward, leaning onto the tips of my skis, tossing my back and pelvis up high, shoving my knees out over the toes of my boots. A subtle nudge right, coupled with a stronger push in the knees. I rise and press down and left, and repeat. Seven or eight times, and I stop and look up the hill. Behind me lies a gentle serpent cut in the snow. My boys follow, crisscrossing my tracks. One falls, and leaves a scattered, bright angel in the snow. He pops up and quickly rides down the rest. We three gather and look up at our art. “Awesome,” says my oldest. “Yahoo! That was great,” cries the younger, huffing to recapture his breath. I am inwardly jubilant, wondering at the temporary helix of family DNA carved in the snow.
-- From a lost journal, composed in June 2003, when my boys were in middle- and high-school. Breckenridge, Colorado.
We push off through the crunchy snow. “Whee!” and “Whoosh!” we go, slanting down a well-named run – Psychopath, High Anxiety, or Crescendo. My boys are shredders, bashing about on snow boards, while I carve and cut powder on 15 year-old skis, still serviceable, shrieking phosphorescent orange from days long gone by.
It’s a rush! I bend and fall forward, leaning onto the tips of my skis, tossing my back and pelvis up high, shoving my knees out over the toes of my boots. A subtle nudge right, coupled with a stronger push in the knees. I rise and press down and left, and repeat. Seven or eight times, and I stop and look up the hill. Behind me lies a gentle serpent cut in the snow. My boys follow, crisscrossing my tracks. One falls, and leaves a scattered, bright angel in the snow. He pops up and quickly rides down the rest. We three gather and look up at our art. “Awesome,” says my oldest. “Yahoo! That was great,” cries the younger, huffing to recapture his breath. I am inwardly jubilant, wondering at the temporary helix of family DNA carved in the snow.
-- From a lost journal, composed in June 2003, when my boys were in middle- and high-school. Breckenridge, Colorado.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Eulogy for George
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Thank you, so many, for sharing your love and memories of George.
Dad was an immense man, a man in full, who touched many people, and impacted the course of important human events – He helped end wars.
I am going to focus on one part of George that you may not know much about, because George was very private with his inner self.
George Cadman Wilson was the strongest man I ever knew.
He schlepped and lugged a rifle, armor, and backpack among Mud Soldiers in Vietnam. There he found great dignity, integrity, and selflessness – and, yes, humor.
At age 75, Dad enlisted as an embedded correspondent in the Iraq War drive to Baghdad. The young soldiers asked and thought, “Hey, how old are you? You must be at least 50.”
Dad had two major heart surgeries, in 1979 and about 1995. Dad was diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome in 2001; this is sometimes caused by Agent Orange used in Vietnam … MDS kills most people in 6-7 years … Dad sailed past that.
Last March 2013, George and I went to Los Cabos, Mexico. He met an attractive 40-something journalist from Canada, and joined her for a trip to a fishing camp up north … His parting words were, “Jim, I’ll meet you at the airport Saturday.” There was a raw strength and masculinity to George.
He also had the strength to be sensitive, to cry and feel other’s pain. He certainly did this for me as I struggled from deep coma and traumatic brain injury for 35 dark days in 1977, and for many years beyond. In January, when we had an important family matter, apart from Dad’s cancer, Dad wrapped me in his arms and fought to find reason with life’s events, and we sobbed together.
The comfort George has given others is greater than any I have known or seen.
On Tuesday, February 11, two days after visiting with dear friends here with us today, Dad could barely communicate as he battled raging fever and sepsis that poisoned his blood. Abeje and I were at his bedside continuously, anointing Dad, providing morphine and other care.
This Titanic strong man, this New Jersey and Pennsylvania track star, rose to his final hurdle. I held and kissed him, calling my, Kathy's, and all our love into his ear, as he fought with every last fiber the air hunger that in the end took him from us and upward to heaven. I kissed and spoke to George as his breathing ceased, and caressed his wrist and neck until his pulse was no more.
George was an immensely strong man. His strength is not lost. You see it in his family. Kathy who works a farm, teaches school, and raises a beautiful daughter with Jason. Jim, me, who lived when very few expected him to survive, and fought mightily to gain successful footing in academics, at work, and family. Nathan, his grandchild, who survived a horrific accident when a truck hit him while riding in Tucson; he went on to win and place high in major bike races in the US and abroad.
The Wilson family is a strong family, not just raw physicality, but a family of deep love and courage.
My father gives us all a lesson, an example of a life lived quite well, and the strength to be kind. Let us carry this forward. Thank you.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Awash and Afar
Things have gone well in Ethiopia, sorting through business/political matters for healthcare program, meeting partners, reviewing areas of performance. I'm so impressed by Dr. Alemayehu ... he designed, indirectly, a very nice and effective time for me. He is truly a gifted healer.
I had a great time this past weekend in Awash / Afar, very restful. Quite a primitive place. All driving in Ethiopia sucks -- sooty diesel trucks traveling 25 MPH on two lane highway, inexplicable traffic jams, all sorts of livestock and people (occasional naked tribespeople ...) ... the lot. That aside, after 6+ hour drives each way (and a fuel filter bypass breakdown on the way back, plus a flat tire an hour later..), Awash National Park was amazing. Think of a bunch of thatch-roof cabins spread around a waterfall canyon in an area roughly the shape of Yellowstone, but with lions and other African fauna. When we arrived after the long drive, we captured a lounge area on the second floor of a hut dining structure, ordered a beer or mineral water ... I fell asleep in the cool breeze to the sound of the waterfalls, was out like a baby for a couple hours.
When I woke, Alemayehu said "let's use our time" and we piled back into the big Toyota Land Cruiser and headed north into Afar, a tribal state made up predominantly of pastoralists. (One of our partners provides social and healthcare to the tribespeople, especially for women's enablement, e.g., microfinance, feminine hygiene.) We drove a 'short distance' (compared to the aforementioned welfare program) 30 Km off road, into the volcanic valley where there are hot springs. The springs and water catchment create a jungle-like biome, compared to the arid savannah predominant in Awash.
When we arrived latish (6 PM) at the hot springs end-of-road, we were chastised by the area ranger for not having hired a 'scout' at the national park to take us about. (A scout is a 20-something kid with an automatic rifle who for a fee escorts you about your hikes, etc. The idea of the rifle is to ward off lions, hyenas or such. I saw no such need, my sharp penknife secure in my pocket ... ). The ranger proved quite convivial, escorting us to the hot springs, an about 1 Km further hike through marshy/sketch paths (I fell in the mud twice, once going, once returning ...).
As we walked, we saw many animals -- warthogs, water bucks, gazelle, others, many birds -- on the edge of the tree lines, awaiting further darkness before venturing into the waters / marshes. The last couple hundred meters were through deep forest -- jungle, I'd say (picture above). When we arrived at the deep, clear hot spring pool, Alemayehu quickly stripped to his skivvies and jumped into the pool. He urged me to join him. I resisted, but after a couple minutes I joined him. The water was about 130 degrees F, and soft as can be given the decaying vegetation at bottom and such. Squishy mud in the toes. It was great, very great.
As noted, on the dusky return hike, I slipped into the mud once more (hard dirt crust covers mud holes). (Holy Tarzan, quick sand?) We piled into the truck and made the 30 Km/90 minute return drive to the highway. As we approached the tarmac, Alemayehu hollered, "Praise the Lord." We'd made it. Perhaps some had doubts. We turned left and headed east to Awash town and scurried up some roast chicken and beer for late dinner. (Late being relative, because I tend to think Africa doesn't really have much to do with time, as we've grown to obsess about it in America.)
I slept like a baby across the night, wind and cataracts roaring. Next morning, the others hiked about while I wrote notes and edited photographs on my Macbook, and slept some more on the outdoor porch. Long drive home with two breakdowns, as noted -- handled with aplomb by our extraordinary driver. He handled the large Land Cruiser with grace and, when the fuel pump proved clogged at the first breakdown, he implemented an engine-running fuel-pump bypass. (I did some lightweight EMT work, helping clean his eye which was splashed with diesel.)
Amazing. Tonight my hosts took me for a final dinner in Addis, hitting the western-style Lime Tree restaurant, which I last visited with US embassy staff and Abeje. Being so kind, Alemayehu bought me gifts of 5 Kg of Ethiopian honey and about the same amount of Harrar coffees. (I had brought second bag full of medical and technical equipment that I delivered to the LeAlem clinic ... they were intent that I return with the second bag still full ...)
So it goes. 16 hour flight leaves Addis at 10 PM Tuesday, stops in Rome to refuel, and arrives Washington Dulles at 8:30 AM Wednesday. Back at the office about noon.
Look forward to getting home, moving on to the next chapter.
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Thursday, March 28, 2013
Nate @ 22
Here's to Nate, age 22, racing in Europe, living the dream.
Our wonderful son who has risen above, ever stronger.
May the wind always be at your back.
Happy Birthday!
L, Mom and Dad
Our wonderful son who has risen above, ever stronger.
May the wind always be at your back.
Happy Birthday!
L, Mom and Dad
Nate Bontrager Kit, 3.2013 ... Nate training, 1.2011 ... Nate and Avery, Block Island, 8.2001 ... Care and Nate, Saint John, 10.1991 ... Day 1, Arlington Hospital, 3.29.1991.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Vacaciones ...
Vacations are difficult by criteria. We like to go new places ... it's unlikely we'll go back to the same place, certainly not temporally. So I dig planning and detailing it, sometimes only Walter Middy concepts, a lift from the daily grind. It's hard but important work -- work hard, play hard, get the details right. Capture deeply what you do, live for the experience, and enjoy. Embolden and empower your children, your passions.
We've done many different things, some gifts, some hard-earned. Gift: Flew Concorde to Paris, a week in Hotel du Crillon, Opera House w Rob and Nicolete, our honeymoon. Not gifts: Traipsed Cairo slums, refugee camps in Gaza ... bicycle ventures on Route Verte (Quebec), Bend, Olympic Peninsula, Mallorca, New Mexico, Sundance, Val d'Or, Valloire, Sonoma, Santa Barbara ... touring Prague, San Francisco, Tetons, Cozumel, Saint John, Nova Scotia, Granada, Chamonix, Berlin, Smokey Mountains, Block Island, La Jolla, Athens, Madrid, New York, London, Marbella, Ibiza ... others ... My favorite was two weeks in Ethiopia, quietly occupying a desk in a small office with three social workers, documenting patient care in a maternal and child health program ... HIV site visits ... I was never so engaged, content.
This vacation in Los Cabos has been pretty cool, tho' I'll be light on details. Root cause, my 80-something father has been pretty lonely, most contemporaries of his are gone, one way or another. So he proposed a 'bonding' experience, where I could get to know him better. First idea was a sailboat cruise in Greek isles, conceptually cool, but pretty pricey, and truthfully I wasn't terribly keen on spending 8 days in a 2 berth, 1 squatter no WiFi sailboat w Ol' George and a bunch of National Geographic types. Call me picky. Recollecting an impractical notion he had to take his wheel-chair bound high-school girl friend whale watching on the Sea of Cortez, I proposed that (w healthy me). My initial target was Loreto, a Jacques Cousteau-lauded place about mid-Baja, very uncomplicated, essentially eco-tourism. Great idea, but 'we' didn't get our act together, and all airline seats were booked (only Alaska Air flies there), so we settled on Los Cabos, specifically San Jose del Cabo (SJC), on the eastern tip of Baja California Sur, the Sea of Cortez.
I've loved SJC, a lot of wonderful art galleries, restaurants, a scenic preserve/estuary, lovely people, whale watching at Cabo San Lucas. I've read a couple books, swum, enjoyed fantastic Latin jazz, meshed with internationales of many distinctions, improved my Spanish ... hit the local brew pub, ate and drank liberally, enjoyed tremendously Hotel Tropicana and Latin jazz performances there by passionate chanteuse (and new friend) Rosalia de Cuba ... ¡Todos! George met a former journalist of sorts (Dad was pretty famous, in his day, at WaPo); she a divorced, wealthy 40-something (with two children, age 2 and 4, in tow) ... so they headed an hour north to Rancho Leonero, a fishing camp on the Sea of Cortez. Sounded wonderful, but I chose to stay put in the Tropicana, to enjoy more jazz, art, pool swimming, reading and relaxing.
Overall, a good trip. I think given the evanescent excitement for George, mission accomplished ... (I'm reminded of W's aircraft carrier banner 'post' Iraq ...) ... I certainly had some fun, enjoyed local culture and artistry, saw some whales, and took a few good pics (above and below). So it goes ... !
More: http://images.jamesrwilson.com/loscabos
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Artist as a Young Man
Avery drawing, 8.2000, Jackson Lake Lodge, WY.
1.2013, by Avery. High-res http://images.jamesrwilson.com/afghangirl.
Getty Museum, Avery (L), Nate, 8.2001.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Alps (and L'Avenir)
Had a wonderful trip to French Alps, August 26-September 6, 2012. I wanted to recount for fun and to share, so others can enjoy. My mission was tagged to watch Nathan compete in the Tour de L'Avenir, a prestigious race for under-23 cyclists, the 'baby' Tour de France. The race was great, and drove my exploration of places I wouldn't have seen. But my focus was to enjoy and relax, and that I did. This part of the world is among the most stunning I've seen.
Flew overnight from Washington Dulles to Geneva via Amsterdam on KLM. On arriving Monday, drove a back way to my lodging in Valloire. My path took me 26 Km up the Col de la Madeleine, a famous stretch for the Tour de France. On Monday, the hills were green, gold and granite. Several days later, on Friday, August 31, the pass was coated with snow (below), and the Tour de L'Avenir stage over the Col had to be re-routed. Nasty for August!
The bike race week was mostly rain (or snow), but for me it was mellow. I lodged at a ski hotel in the smallish village of Valloire (about 12 restaurants). Slept in a lot, ate breakfast at patisseries, hiked or biked 3 or more hours every day, soaked in incredible scenery, and caught-up with my son and his teammates as I could.
The mountains and hills in the Alps are gorgeous, special light, verdant, awesome ... many adjectives fit. I liked several hikes I took in or after light rains, like a 12 Km trek about Lac des Cerces, the Col, and other features (top pic, below). Or the crags above Col de la Colombiere, another TdF landmark (middle pic). It was all great and sublime, stretching the lungs and, for me, soothing the soul. After the hike or bike (bottom pic), I'd settle into a nap, a great meal, and wine or beer. Surprising thing, except for the airfare, it wasn't too expensive ... my lodging was usually under 100 Euros, and meals weren't too pricey ... particularly in the rural areas.
After the bike race first week, I saw my son and his teammates off to Belgium (with a shopping bag of homemade cookies and ice cream), shifted gears and headed to Chamonix for a few days. Chamonix is at the base of Mont Blanc, and a hiker's / extreme sport aficionado's paradise. Everyone is rightly decked out for an Eddie Bauer or Yves Sant Laurent ad, it seems. I enjoyed my time immensely. Comfortable hotel, off the main square, hiked 3 to 7 hours each day (did some major pain, 5,000' descending off the massif). Hiked main routes, bookended by cafes and cold drinks, high altitude sun (up to 12,500') ... astounding views. I could spend a month in Chamonix and be half finished.
That said, my favorite place was an extraordinarily comfortable and nicely appointed country chalet, in Les Plens, above Le Grand Bornand (which, itself, is a bit east of Annecy). I was only here two nights / three days, but this was so comfortable, I could have spent my entire trip here (and drove to the race locales, Mont Blanc, etc.). I slept 11-12 hours, took long baths, and mountain biked or hiked to great satisfaction ... ate big meals (pizza like you've never had, local beer, and Genepi digestif), tuned in bike race stages ... repeat ... repeat ... repeat ... When things move to stress back in good old DC, I look over pics of these mountains, and the chalet, and settle back to what is, what will be ... so nice.
Resources listed below. Allez!
- Hotel Valloire -- La Pulka
- Hotel Grand Bornand -- Chalet Les Fermes de Pierre et Anna
- Hotel Chamonix --- Chamonix Park Hotel Suisse
- Favorite resto -- Ferme du Pepe, Le Grand Bornand
- Munchie -- favorite resto in Chamonix, healthy
- Chamonix Mountain Adventures hiking guidebook
- Lac / Col des Cerces hike
- More Pics - Slideshow
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Elk River
Time to go off-grid, about literally. Earlier this week, drove down to Slatyfork, West Virginia, for a few days rest, mountain biking, reading, photography, the like. My job's been intense, with a few 24x7 pinches.
My wife and I are pretty active, support bike racing with our boys. Care will do one trip -- Nationals in Georgia ... Cascade in Oregon, -- and I'll do another -- Battenkill in New York ... New Mexico's Gila (and many more ...) ... We flip dog-sitting with soigneur duty ... sometimes we do joint ventures, like Vermont's Green Mountain, which is fun, the best ...
But, it can be haphazard and tiring. This brief getaway exceeds expectations. Lodging and dining at Elk River Inn is great. A comfy room, lounges, porches, farm fields, hot tub, in the midst of killer (road and mountain) bike rides, scenery and nature ... only $65 a night, private room and bath ... sumptuous dinner, fine wine extra ... $50 if you sleep in the farm house (shared bath, just fine ...) ... or your can camp along the Williams River or Tea Creek Campground, $5 or $10 / night ...
This sojourn I've bootstrapped some fitness work, bike riding each day 3+ hours. Since new job, I haven't been able to ride as much. I've thickened. I also delight in the opportunity to read freely, take pictures, and sleep. I found great beauty at the Cranberry Wilderness Botanical Area.
As to 'off-grid', this is real: because the area is near the National Radio Astronomy Observatory, we're in a 13,000 square mile National Radio Quiet Zone. To better hear the aliens, and catch the detail of distant exploding nebulae ... no cell phone towers in southeastern WV ... I carry my Spot emergency tracker, should the unforeseen root catapult my mountain bike towards infinity, deep in wilderness ...
Here are a few photo and resource links ... Gil and Mary Willis have a great program, only four hours from DC ... this is an easy, enjoyable escape.
Cranberry Wilderness, large arena of this adventure
Elk River 2012 photo gallery ... Wilson shots with pocket cam and a few SLR ...
Elk River Inn and Restaurant ... Gil and Mary Willis proprietors; also fly fishing, mountain biking, cross country skiing guides and support
West Virginia Mountain Bike Trails ... Trails marked Slatyfork, Richwood, Cranberry, Snowshoe ... are in the zone ... there are hundreds of rides in this area ... I only scratched the surface (using my mediocre riding skills ...) ...
There are many great road rides, also, which you can find using MapMyRide ...
While I only rode part of it, I like this beast ride from Elk River Inn, to the Scenic Byway (Rt 150), and back across Williams River Road through the fish hatchery to Edray ... lots of meaningful climbs, up to 4,500', down to 2,500' and back up again, all within 40 miles ... and great scenery ...
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Simple Photos
I like taking pictures because they capture things that are dramatic and meaningful in life. I've read a lot about photography -- I had my first darkroom when I was 10 in DC, about 42 years ago; a geeky high-school photo-clubber stinky with Dektol; went to the Nikon school with my father George when I was 12; and spent a lot of time thinking about F-stop, lens depth of field, bokeh, shutter speed, film granularity, camera/lens image quality, composition, background, and lighting. Sometimes this works nicely, as planned, other times it's just dumb luck. The shot above I saw and composed, kneeling in the mud in Addis Ababa. I got about 20 very good shots that day. The shot below I mostly hit it, applied a formula, and a guy rode into it.
Shooting bicycle criteriums for me is pretty formulaic. I don't use the pro-standard 70-200 F2.8L zoom sports lens, instead I use a high-end portrait lens, my 135 F2L (fixed focal length). It doesn't have the reach of the zoom, but it does a great job capturing faces and people's emotions. And it's a lot lighter. In a crit, you basically know the pattern and flow of the race, where the riders will be. I get as close as possible to the riders and then let them ride into the frame. (I sometimes get grazed by racers, but I haven't been hit or in a crash -- yet.)
I shoot at 1/1250 shutter speed for pros (and 1/800 or 1/1000 for slower categories and uphills), about F8 if the light will have it, and ISO 400 (sometimes 800 if it's darker). I use manual focus. Typically, I'll pick a mark on the pavement like a traffic stripe or a tar blob and focus on it very carefully. Then as a rider is about to ride through the mark, I'll hit the shutter and hopefully I'll capture a sharp image. While I have a good camera with lots of automated composition and focusing gizmos (e.g., sports mode), I generally don't use that.
That's the capture phase. Most of the work comes afterwards, post-processing on the computer. I spend a lot of time examining picture detail, sharpness, contrast and the like. I'll think about the shape of the picture (i.e., what rectangle) and work to crop the picture. For cycling, I like to have a sense of movement, so I often crop to 16x9 HDTV long-horizontal format, with action flowing one side to the other. Something along the lines of the rule of thirds for the center of attention.
There you have it.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Mad River
Enjoyed about two weeks in Vermont's Mad River valley, arriving on the heels of a devastating flood caused by Hurricane Irene. Many persons were displaced, long dumpster-sized piles of belongings and house-parts alongside road, in front of homes low and close to the river. Our travel was delayed because bridges and roads were washed out from the north, south, east and west. The four-day Green Mountain Stage Race (GMSR) was rerouted at the last minute and part-cancelled on day 4 due to more heavy rain. I was moved and impressed by Vermonters' resilience and appreciation for their government -- Hand-painted signs dotted the road with thank-yous to local authorities. (I wish this scaled to the national scene ...)
Son Avery rode intensely in his hardest race series of the year. No podiums, but we'll be back. It was pretty rainy, so we didn't get as much post-GMSR leisure riding as planned, but had lots of fun nonetheless. We visited Ben and Jerry's ice cream factory, scrambled nasty cuts on the Long Trail, rode the gondola and hiked Mount Mansfield at Stowe, mountain biked XC ski trails and single track, lunched at Trapp Family Lodge (Maria!), and more. A lot of quiet time playing games, talking, reading, dog walks, and meals with friends was a great refresher. Mad River helped to make us un-mad ...
More pics -- GMSR and Mad River, FB with notes.
Favorites:
Lareau Farm Inn / American Flatbread ... awesome ... Vermont local produce, organic, great beer ... classic !
Our wonderful cottage -- convenient to GMSR, biking, hiking, dining ... someone should grab it for next year (we'll probably be in Steamboat ...) ...
Trapp Family Lodge -- a great place to mountain bike, dine, pub, amble ...
Long Trail -- many great hikes, shelters ... legendary ...
Stowe ... great hiking, shopping about town, skiing in winter, biking ... full-on nature ....
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