A winter kayak excursion

Today the halfway point was along the sandy stretch of Sampsons Island that faces Nantucket sound. I beached the kayak and scrambled out of the cockpit, placing my neoprene bootie into the freezing water.

The cold salt water immediately rushed into my right boot, which is designed to protect in late spring / early fall temperatures. Ouch! I sacrificed hypothermia in one set of toes, instead of a full body splash into the frigid ocean water. A prudent decision.

My trip today would take me from Cotuit Landing, out past the east cut of the bay, into the unprotected waters of Nantucket Sound. A strong north wind accompanied the clear blue skies, and it made a sail out of my back while I paddled through the ebb tide. I appreciated the wind assist as my shoulder muscles became reacquainted with my Werner paddle. The neoprene dry suit I was wearing underneath my Kokatat dry suit chaffed my skin with each stroke. No doubt my multi-layer protection of neoprene and waterproof nylon was robbing me off efficiency. But should I capsize (something I had NO intention of doing) this bulky clothing would give me my only chance for survival.

Before I make this sound like an episode of Bear Grylls, let me stress that I do not stray far from shore. I have a very safe layer of insulated clothing to to give me options if wind, current, or my own misdirection pushes me where I had not intended to go. These are simply uncertainties that I prepare for. In 99% of my cold water trips, I could probably go out in any warm winter gear and have a safe, comfortable paddle - as long as I stay upright! But the reality of dangerous wilderness travel is that you need to dress for that 1% of time, 100% of the time.

I moved smoothly through the cut and out into the sound. The wind that had pushed me across the bay now followed me as I paralleled the beach shore. While I appreciated the cooperation, I know I would have payback once I shifted the bow into the north at the other end of the island. But why fret? Just enjoy the ride. I expected a solitary trip, but I found myself surrounded by a variety of sea ducks. Common Eiders, Long Tailed ducks and Scoters bobbed on the surface, then dipped beneath the waves to search for some tidbit to eat.

The blue sky and brilliant sun belied the fact that his was indeed a frigid place to be. But the ducks seemed completely nonplussed as they paddled with me on the choppy ocean. I marveled at how well adapted they are for this world. Everything they need to survive goes with them whenever they take flight, and that's just the feathers on their back.

It makes our *need* for a 42" HDTV seem rather obscene.

Just as predicted, as I turned into the west cut and nosed into the channel between Grand Island and Sampson's, the wind hit me full bore. Ouch! (again). The extra thick neoprene paddling gloves I was wearing did the best they could, but water had managed to seep in and wet my fingers. Now with each stroke, I repeatedly raised one hand high into the wind for maximum cooling, while the other dipped into the water. I could start not feeling my fingers. This might impact my ability to type this afternoon (is that a bad thing?).

Paddling into the wind is a meditative experience. I shake off the frustration of having to work that much harder with each stroke, and settle into a steady rhythm. Each dig of the paddle blade elicits a grunt of effort. How slowly I move now, but I do move.

It seemed a metaphor for life: be in the present; feel the rhythm in nature; paddle steadily and thoughtfully.

I will move forward.

A painting is finished, a form is filled

Argh .... today I am devoting my precious weekend time to working on my promotion application. This entails a maze of forms that need to be creatively filled out in an effort to promote my contribution at work. I get extremely anxious filling out these forms. First, the workflow is confusing and not user friendly. Secondly, the language to complete these forms rewards those who have a firm grasp of 'biz speak'.

I do not.

So I tried to numb the pain by finishing up an art project. I can comfortably say that I am done with this piece. Instead of a canvas, I am using a scrap 1/4" plywood square, about 16x16". I like the way the light plays with the rough texture of the wood surface when painted. It is also a more economic way to experiment with thick coats of paint. Store bought stretch canvas is expensive, and paper can't handle the thick layers of paint I play with.

Winter rides

The roads are clean and dry today, however reports are that some weather is heading this way. With the threatening of a couple of inches of snow coming, noontime today might be the only chance to get out for a ride this weekend. Jan had a couple of noon appointments today, so I didn't feel guilty rushing down to the basement to suit up. I always look forward to sharing lunch with Jan, traditionally followed by a trip to Mashpee Commons for a coffee and/or a beach walk with the pups. But I miss the open road, and suffice to say that training on the rollers in front of the tv just isn't the same.

Dressing for ride at freezing temps takes up valuable time when trying to squeeze training into a lunch hour. Once all the proper gear has been located and piled together, clothing is then layered on to provide the best protection against the wind. With an avg of 20 mph, and max of 30 mph, the wind chill can cut through the layers of synthetic fibers. At the same time, a balance needs to be achieved so moisture can escape lest I become a sopping bag of sweat.

So, on goes the wool socks, cycling shorts, fleecy tights, thick polypro undershirt, my new Black Dog winter jersey, windproof jacket, lobster mitts, skull cap, ear band, helmet, and finally booties. I grunt while pulling the tight first layer over my skin, then another layer over that. I groan while twisting to reach zippers and velcro tabs to close and block wind holes. I'm exhausted just getting dressed.

Finally, bike at my side, I exit the garage only to encounter the icy obstacle that is the driveway. Following our Cape Xmas snow storm, repeated trips up and down the driveway in the car has left a layer of compressed ice. Tip-toeing over his mini glacier, I finally place the thin bike tire on the road and press off.

Today would be the usual Sandwich 22 mile training ride. I head right up the hill, past the Cotuit post office, Kettle Ho, then make a quick 90° left on to Main St. Settling into ride tempo, I pass by Richard's place (I notice his car), swing right onto Santuit-Newtown Rd, then head toward Hwy 28.

Approaching the intersection, I slow and survey the traffic. This is always the most treacherous moment of the ride. With no traffic light to stop traffic and marshal me across, I can't afford to dismount. If a hole doesn't open to dart across, I execute tight circles and wait. Most motorists are courteous and will slow to give me an opportunity to cross. I need to maintain the highest possible alertness at this juncture and I vow never to become complacent, or allow myself to forget what happened at the Osterville intersection. Although every moment of a ride can suddenly tilt to disaster, there are moments requiring extra caution - this being that moment.

I cross safely and power on to Farmersville Rd. The road is relatively flat, but there are enough undulations to force attention to cadence. The clothing makes me feel fat and slow, and I think back to the summer rides where I relished the flow of air over my skin. Slowing at the Ridge Club, I cross Farmersville and drop swiftly down Great Hill Rd to Lawrence Pond. Just as my downhill momentum ebbs, I feel the long climb up the mid-Cape ridge start to tug at my back wheel. This is the beginning of a long 250 ft vertical that starts where Great Hill Rd becomes Chase Rd. I usually challenge myself to a strong climbing pace on this hill. but today I watch the numbers on speedometer creep down as I pedal. I don't mind. It's soothing to feel the bike moving with the rhythm of my body.

Up and over the crest of the ridge, I drop down over the Mid Cape Hwy (#6) along Chase until I come up to Old Country Lane. This is my favourite left hand turn and if conditions are right - no traffic and good grip - I can dive into the turn with only a momentary touch of the brakes. This is the point in the ride where I can feel the engineering excellence of the Madone frame as the bumpy road twists toward Cranberry Hwy (6a). I love this part of the ride any season. It is pure Cape Cod with cranberry bogs, cedar shake homes, a serene glacial pond, and majestic rows of oak trees. As my wheels stutter over the Cape tourist train railway, I see the East Sandwich Post Office just ahead. This is the half-way point and I slow to sweep around and point my wheel back up the road.

Running the trip in reverse, each previous bob sled ride down now becomes an upward trudge. But the opposite is also true. The return trip seems to be a completely different road when viewed from the mirror side. I absorb the winter views: ice on the ponds, crusty snow at the side of the road, statuesque oak branches devoid of leaves. Everything melts together in my eyes with the rush of the cold winter air. It is a winter ride.

One person, two shadows

This morning I was able to enjoy a rare solitary walk along the length of Ropes Beach. Jan had an early appointment, otherwise she and the pups would have joined me.

I had been a cold night last night. We have been having a string of clear, star filled evenings that left the beach ice-cube hard. My running shoes left a slight dusting of a footprint as I walked in brilliant morning sunlight. Approaching a dock that had been disassembled for the winter, I noticed a odd shaped bump on the railing. Stepping closer it revealed itself to be large bird - a heron of some sort - evidenced by the long gangling yellowish legs and dagger of a bill. I was reluctant to disturb the bird, hunched upon its post, imagining it was trying to gather each strand of warming sun. If only the bird understood my motives. I wished merely to quietly pass and take in the details of this feather statue . But crossing some imaginary line, I suddenly became a threat, and the heron spread its massive wingspan, and launched across the bay. It was a Great Blue Heron, and in flight it seemed thrice the size of the mound that had hunched on the railing. Arcing back toward the shore, the heron settled up the beach on the path I was walking. "Shit, we are doing this dance again" , I thought. And we did. I crossed that imaginary line, and again the heron took flight, landing just up the beach. This time it landed on a the railing of a steep set of stairs leading down the embankment. This appeared a precarious perch for a creature more accustomed to wading through low tide mud. Approaching that line once again, the heron stutter stepped and flapped its wings awkwardly in an attempt to either regain balance or take flight. Flight won out, and unbeknown to me, another heron suddenly launched from the same location. Untethered from earth, the two herons gracefully winged across the bay, to be disturbed by me no longer.

The beach ended at the mouth of the tiny Santuit River. Here the black stained water of the stream mixed with the water of Cotuit Bay. I turned and back tracked feeling the increasingly warming sun. As I walked I noticed that I had two shadows. The first shadow emerged predictably from my feet and followed each step. Nothing unusual. The second was a ghostly, more diffuse shadow that was projected twenty feet above me on the embankment. I deduced that this shadow was coming from the strong sunlight reflecting from the water at some obtuse angle before striking me. I felt a companionship as the three of us - specter, shadow and I -continued to the termination of our morning walk before resuming a day hidden from the sun, writing code in the dark sanctuary of my office.

Happy Birthday Kelly!

Living down in the States, it has been hard to keep in touch with my brothers and sisters back home. And I confess, I should be doing a better job of connecting with them.

This being my sisters birthday, I sent off an email with a bit more than the usual one line 'Happy Birthday'. I talked more about the holidays and the time I spent with my Mom.

It was nice to get back a thoughtful and introspective response back from Kelly. I will definitely make more of an effort to connect this year. It seems sometimes that I have been too focused on trying to 'right this ship', where the 'ship' in this case is my life. I seem to be leaning a bit too far to the port side all the time.

Fiber in your diet

I am using Flash Builder 4.0 Premium and I kept getting the following error when I sync'd up to the project we are working on saying the the IValueObject cannot be found. This is apparently related to the com.adobe.fiber class that cannot be found.

1045: Interface IValueObject was not found.

Ack!

I believe the source of the problem is the another developer generated the AS3 classes for the wsdl using 4.0.1, while I am using 4.0.0

I tried to update my version of FlashBuilder using the AdobePatchInstaller, but all it would tell me was: 'Update is not applicable'

Crap I hate chasing around after my tail like a Labrador Retriever.

A quick look at the line causing the offending error points to the com.adobe.fiber package. What kind of name is 'fiber' for a package?

Google the error and it is apparent that a couple of swc's need to be added.

Go to:

project properties > Flex Build Path [tab] Libary Path

and click 'Add SWC Folder'.

Browse to your location of these FlashBuilder swc's, in my case:

C:/Program Files/Adobe/Adobe Flash Builder 4 Plug-in/eclipse/plugins/com.adobe.flexbuilder.dcrad_4.0.0.272416/dcradSwcs/4.0/

and add folders: locale and libs

I can now compile with no errors. All good.

Found Money

Today is a holiday from work! I have been on vacation for a lot of December, so I lost track of our company holiday calendar. Waking up and thinking it a work day, then to discover a sunny day off, is like putting on those old jeans and finding a $5 bill in the front pocket.

That should give me time to do a spit and polish on the bikes, and clean up my work room. It looks a bit disastrous after doing double duty as a carpentry shop, painting studio, and Xmas present wrapping center.

But not before enjoying the most serene of all Cape Cod experiences: the winter beach walk. Cape Cod is, of course, world renowned for its beaches. That part of the world who has visited Cape beaches has probably done so in the summer. And who would blame them? Summer on Cape Cod is a sublime experience, but just make sure you plan on sharing that experience with a lot of other people.

Rags and Myrtle (our Norwich Terriers), Jan and I walked along Ropes Beach this winter afternoon. We were completely alone under the clear blue sky that felt especially crisp in contrast to the humid weather we experienced over New Years. The beach sand was tinged with ocher shadows cast by the early afternoon sun. The different beach strata were revealed by the low tide: an amorphous mud at the water edge, a soft muddy sand mixture, crystalline sand beach, then the final swath of beach detritus at the high water mark.

Of interest were all the jellyfish blobs washed up on the muddy sand. They look like dollops of semi-transparent goop ranging in diameter from a scallop to a dime. Looking at them, I would be challenged to ascribe any animal qualities to these blobs. I picked one up and let the bright sun illuminate whatever features are contained within. Inside the gel were four diaphanous filaments, probably immature tentacles. Jan was mildly interested and probably suspected some gooey prank was afoot. But it was all in the name of scientific curiosity and once satisfied, I tossed it back into the ocean