Science Friday

May 24, 2013 - Harvard Research Forest, Petersham, Ma

Today I am in the Harvard forest with scientist-extraordinaire Colin, studying the effects of microbes on carbon and nitrogen cycles in hemlock and ash soil. He's also going to teach me to taste the difference between organic horizon and mineral layer soils. Eating dirt in layman's terms. 

Normal Friday stuff.

Update: We found this little fella in the leaves: an eastern spotted newt. I haven't seen one since I was a little kid. Good find!

Reflections on Summer Showers

May 20, 2013 - Brighton, Ma

It's raining right now outside; the sky's had fists for the last few hours and the clouds finally opened up. I'd just finished working on the garden when the pops of falling raindrops began its quick crescendo. It's been a humid day, so the accompanying thunder was not surprising. I can hear the storm's surges by the rain's clatter on nearby gutters and the shwooshing of wet tires driving by; between that and the thunder, it's been quite a relaxing evening.

I've always liked these summer storms (I know it's not summer yet, but it feels like it -- I've already been barbecuing). When I was a kid, my childhood home sat upon a hill. There was a large window that faced the northeast and during the summer, when the air grew thick and the sky blackened, my sister Chloe and I would construct a fort of blankets and chairs near the big window, watching the storms roll in. We'd scream and jump at the crack of thunder and count how many lightning bolts we could see. Whenever a thunderstorm is on its way now, I try to find a place to watch it, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lightning.

*     *     *     *

August 20, 2011 - Sebago Lake, Me

Sebago Lake

It was two summers ago now, Eric and I needed a way to fill our weekend. We had grown tired of Lake Winthrop, we didn't care to drive all the way to the mountains of New Hampshire or Vermont, and traveling to the Cape seemed like a chore. A funny idea struck us: what about the lakes of southern Maine?  The closest lake to Boston with an available campground was Sebago Lake. It is both the second largest and second deepest body of freshwater in the state (Moosehead Lake being the first). And, as I vaguely recalled from my childhood, it's quite a great place to spend a weekend. 

The storm's brewin' across the lake.

We arrived at the lake by mid afternoon. The sun was out and the campground's private beach was brimming with families, boaters, loons and mallards. The lake was surrounded by fir, pine and oak trees, and large rocks rested along the shoreline. We swam in the crisp water and peered down at the smooth rocks on the lake bed, clearly visible some twenty feet below. As the sun cast the last bit of heat on the lake, Eric and I laid on a raft, taking a break from the cool water, warming ourselves in the solar rays.

As the families left, Eric and I grabbed our canoe and set out on the lake to watch the sun set. Across the water, we could see clouds growing over the mountains to the north. The air was humid but still, so Eric and I sat and watched the tempest grow and erupt. The sky over the land across the lake grew black and distorted from the rain. Slivers of electricity shot to the ground, striking trees. Moments later a low boom would echo out across the lake. It was a fierce storm, but our side of Sebago was unaffected. The sky above us was bright and sunny, cloudless but for a few, stray cumulus clouds, painted sherbet by the setting sun. 

Soon, the sun vanished and the sky grew dark, revealing a few bright stars. The storm lingered across the lake, stagnating over one area for a long while. With its last bits of strength, the squall fired down a few more lightning bolts, illuminating the surface of Sebago. Rumbling to a slow death, the storm dissipated into the evening, slinking off in the inky black of the Maine night.

The best part of these summer storms is they often leave the sky cool and cloudless. The sun had barely set before the sky was alight with countless stars; a wondrous, unobstructed view of the cosmos. The low hum of motor boats piloted by inebriated lake men began to grow, so Eric and I headed to shore to avoid being struck by one of these lake cruisers while in our peasant's boat.

*     *     *     *

Enjoy the night; it'll be cool and clear.

Here's to summer storms.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

May 1 - 7, 2011 - Austin, TX

writer's note: this is not the usual adventure I write about here. but hey, I can have an urban adventure just like everybody else.

The sky was deep blue, spotted with cumulus clouds that shaded the distant farms of Hill Country when we landed. Steph and I adjusted our sunglasses as we waited in the pleasant Austin heat for Colin and Sarah to pick us up. Their SUV pulled up and Colin exited, giving us energetic hugs and his characteristic, enthusiastic "heeeeeey!" He was wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses, a short sleeve button up and black cut-off jean shorts that he'd owned as long as I could remember. I'd known Colin since I was in high school. He played trumpet in the The Flamingos with my sister's then-boyfriend and, upon meeting me, quickly took me into his group of wonderful friends. It is hard not to like Colin upon meeting him, and the folks he surrounds himself with are, and have always been, wonderful, kind and patient with me throughout the years. Colin's mantra of "stay positive" has had a profound effect on me and I strive to be "posi" as much as I can. We hopped in the car and were greeted by Sarah  -- a lovely gal who's ever smart, witty, and easy to be around, no matter what the occasion -- and their new dog, Mandy, a brown and white creature who fades between fits of energy and slightly sullen shyness. Driving out of the quiet airport, I spotted a cluster of longhorn cattle grazing under the shade of a live oak alongside the on-ramp. "Welcome to Texas," I thought.

Steph and I were enjoying our now-annual vacation. The previous two years had taken us to Arizona. This year, however, we were thinking about our post-Boston future (I am doubtful it involves moving to Arizona). Steph is a big fan of urban areas and I, well you might guess where I prefer to spend my time. Austin seemed like a good in-between: you can bike or drive to many beautiful natural areas and be home in time to meet up with friends on 6th Street. Everybody wins. Furthermore, we know a fair number of friends in Austin, so we wouldn't be stranded in a strange land, expected to find our own friends amidst strangers -- new people are terrible.

(Side note: when I tell Texans about my love of King of the Hill, they often tell me to move to Austin. So there's that.)

After a quick tour of 6th Street, where we stopped in a bar called the Jackalope and met a bartender from Boston, we arrived at Colin and Sarah's house, hidden behind tall hedgerows about a block from the Texas State Cemetery. The air smelt of fresh, hot asphalt, as there was ongoing road construction in front of their place. We'd picked up some Lone Star Beer (about the only thing other than water I'd drink on the trip) as well as queso and Texas-shaped tortilla chips (one can literally find anything desired in the shape of Texas: waffle irons, clocks, tomb stones...) and spent most of the afternoon hanging out in the backyard. Texas was experiencing one of the worst droughts in its history at the time, and the dried, brittle grass showed it. We threw toys for the excitable Mandy to chase while taking occasional breaks from the sun beneath the pecan tree that draped over their back yard, quenching our thirst with cold Lone Star.

As the sun set and the night cooled down, the third roommate, a wonderful young woman named Danielle, joined us on the front porch before we all ventured off to a vegan potluck/hootenanny up the street. It was a pleasant walk; the night was calm and warm. Walking up a steep hill, we came to a small one-story house with a large prickly pear cactus and century plant flanking the entrance way, giving it a very southwestern vibe. Once inside, I could have sworn I was in Allston again. The house was filled with a scrambled assortment of used furniture, nicknacks, kitsch art, show fliers and band posters. Attendees -- sporting angular-cut hairdos, plaid shirts and band patch-covered cutoff jeans -- wandered around with plates of faux-cheese covered nachos, veggie hot dogs, vegan chili and other treats while listening to acoustic folk punk songs. It was like I never left home.

At some point during the night -- a few more Lone Stars in -- I received a text message from a friend from home, Mike, informing me that Osama Bin Laden had been killed. Rudely, I shouted "Holy shit!" during someone's heart-filled song and decided it might be time to head out. When we arrived back at the house, we turned on the radio and listened to Obama's speech detailing the raid in Pakistan. Outside, one could make out the cheers emanating from UT Austin. It all felt very far away. While reporters frantically tried to gush out every detail they could, I slumped over and fell into a deep sleep.

*     *     *     *

We woke the next day to find the sky grayed by clouds and a fine mist. It was a bit chilled outside as Steph and I made our way to the center of the Capitol. Mohawk'ed punks, dingy hippies and bearded hipsters shared the same streets with leather-clad bikers and good ol' Texan cowboys, and everyone shared the space, equally, without obvious judgement. It was strange to see people walk past one another, without sneering, coming to unfounded conclusions. Odd, I thought.

We walked past empty bars on 6th and arrived at Congress Street. To the left was the Colorado River (no, not that Colorado River) and Ladybird Lake. To the right was the capitol building, a grand, adobe-brown structure adorned with statues of Lady Liberty and heroes of the Civil War (or should I say the War Between the States?). Seeing monuments of Confederate soldiers was certainly a first for me, and we took our time investigating the plaques whilst a memorial for police officers killed in the line of duty carried on behind us. 

Leaving the capitol building, we crossed over the Congress Street Bridge. Beneath us, over one million bats chattered lightly and the scent of guano percolated up to the street level. I'd never smelt bat guano before, but instantly knew what the aroma was. As we arrived at the other side, the sun began to peer out through the clouds and the day slowly warmed. We window shopped, laughed at a "Gun Store" sign that still hung above the American Apparel store, and wound up venturing in to Uncommon Objects, a boutique full of all the cool things people look for while visiting thrift stores. It is my favorite store on the planet. We must have spent over two hours in the place, admiring all of the unique items they had for sale, wishing we could purchase every one of them (though Steph seemed apprehensive about my purposed acquisition of a lamp made out of a cow leg with a shade build from thin leather adorned with classic western scenes). We left the shop and made our way back to the house, stopping by Tears of Joy, a hot sauce store where our eyes cringed as the chefs brewed homemade habenero pepper sauce. To be fair, the store owner was crying too.

We relaxed on the front porch for a few hours before heading to a bar called the Grackle with Colin, Sarah, Danielle and their friend Eric. The evening humidity was rising and we cooled down with a beverage on the Grackle's caged-in porch (I think it's supposed to resemble a bird cage?). After a drink, we walked out to one of the food trucks in the parking lot -- a Mexican establishment -- where I ordered a lengua burrito, now brave from beer. The truck's employee handed us a numbered card and told us to place it on our table. We followed his orders and headed back to our spot in the bar. Within a few minutes, a man came to our table carrying out food. What great service! And what delicious cow tongue! We carried on with our Mexican food and beverages for some time, discussing events we'd undertake during our trip, talking about Eric's exceptional art work -- which included a crucifix made of phalluses as well as the notorious "Party Cat" -- and enjoying the warm, humid air, which was welcome after the unseasonably chilled day.  We paid our tab (well someone did at least) and made our way back to the house, where Mandy waited, ready to play.

*     *     *     *

In the morning, Colin and Sarah took us to a local Mexican food stand, called El Chilito, for some breakfast tacos. Huevos rancheros in a puffy taco shell? Count me in. While we waited for the feast to be prepared, Colin and I enjoyed a ride on a mustache-shaped seesaw that had been attached to the restaurant's sign, laughing like lunatics all the while. After our decadent breakfast, we hopped in the car and made our way to UT Austin while listening to Cut Copy on endless repeat (they had just seen the group a few weeks prior at South by Southwest and listened to this album almost exclusively during out visit). We passed by the university's infamous bell tower and sat next to a small pond that was brimming with algae-covered sliders and other turtles. 

After Colin went to his UT lab -- he's some sort of scientist -- Sarah, Steph and I went to the Austin Botanical Gardens. Flowers were in bloom and the park smelt of fresh spring and plant sex. Small anoles darted in front of us and through palm fronds that lined the trail. Small fish sulked under lily pads, hiding from a hunting heron. Streams of sun peered down between leaves of pecan trees, willows and live oak as we passed by historic buildings and small springs. While we stood in front of a waterfall and let the mist cool our bodies on this hot day, a group of young kids on a field trip walked by. One of them shouted "hey hipsters!" as he passed and stuck his tongue out. "What hipsters?" I pondered, looking around to see if there was anyone else nearby. There was not.

Defeated by the third grader's taunt -- he was some bully, I tell you what -- we grabbed Colin and headed back to the house, where we built a small fire in the backyard and cooked hot dogs, applying sauerkraut, Russian dressing and Swiss cheese for effect. With the sun waning in the sky, Colin and Sarah told us they had a surprise and took us on a short walk to the Congress Street Bridge. Dusk was setting in and there was a large group of people on the bridge facing east. Below, eager tourists riding river boats circled in the water, illuminated by the occasional camera flash. I'm sure those photos came out great. With a bit of light left in the sky, fluttering black specks began to emerge from the hollows beneath the bridge: bats. Within moments, the small stream of bats turned into a black flood, whipping and spinning, flying into the night sky, spreading out as far as could be seen to decimate the bugs of Hill Country. Darkness grew, and the boats below turned on flood lights, pointing them up into the sky to spot the flying mammals, like search lights spotting German bombers over Britain during World War II. We watched as long as we could; when the sun finally set and our eyes could no longer discern the river of bats, we could still hear the flutter of their legion of wings.

*     *     *     *

Everyone at the house was busy on our fourth day, so Steph and I schemed to take out a couple bikes and explore the city. The temperature would reach nearly 100°, so our game was to find a place to swim. Colin and Sarah lined up their collection of bikes for Steph, but she was too short to fit on any of them. There was only one other option: the tandem bike. We took the bike out of the shed and took a few moments to tune it up. It was a classic model, sturdy and heavy. The problem was that Steph, even on a normal bike, is not much of a cyclist; her upbringing in Arizona had not prepared her for such activities. And I had only been on a tandem bike once, where the pilot of the bike had jumped off, leaving me to slowly crash into a telephone pole, as I was unable to stop the behemoth. 

To say it was a rocky start would be polite. After about an hour of riding around the quiet neighborhood, undertaking a few spills but no scrapes -- which I'm sure would have killed the whole endeavor -- we took the vessel out onto the busy streets. Sadly, we did not manage to get any photographic proof of us on the tandem bike; I'm sure it would have made a lovely Christmas card. It was stressful at the beginning: cars whizzed by us uncaring, Steph had trouble keeping balance, and we were undergoing some slight communication issues. Luckily, after a few blocks of riding, we found a bike lane that was separated from the road. It was safe and took the stress level way down. Gliding across wood bike bridges, we spotted some of the biggest sliders I'd ever seen, basking on rocks in the gully below. Passing over Lady Bird Lake, we admired the azure water below, translucent in the afternoon sun with visible plants and fish kissing the surface. Kayaks glided over it, appearing to hover over the lake bottom.

After crossing, we passed through a cool glade of palo verde, willow, mesquite and live oak, with yucca in the underbrush. The area soon opened up and we came to a building: the entrance to Barton Springs. We paid our cheap entrance fee and walked down to the pool. Barton Springs is one of many natural springs that occur around this part of Texas. No matter what time of year it is, the water's temperature is always in the high 60s. When the temperatures reach 110° in August? The water's still 68°. 45° in February? 68° The water is crystal clear, giving one the ability to see straight to the bottom. It is a very strange place, unlike anywhere I've ever been. The spring is surrounded by a rock reef, giving it a natural appeal. However, circling the spring is a concrete walkway and even a diving board at one end, making it feel like a man-made pool. At the far end is a dam, where the water exits the pool and pours over a rocky spring on its way to the Colorado; many people take their dogs to swim at this section (which is also free) while they smoke pot and drink on the shore. Barton Springs is instantly appealing, and I was eager to jump right in. We placed our blankets and supplies on the knoll that overlooks the pool and jumped in. The water was quite cold, starkly contrasting with the hot air above. I jumped right out, chattering. We repeated this routine, jumping in only to hop out quickly, for much of the afternoon. Eventually, I acclimated to the water and could not be bothered to leave. 

 

Now well pruned, I climbed out to relax in the sun. Steph and I were chatting and I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was one of those moments where your brain knows something you are seeing is off, but you haven't figured out what it is (I am finely tuned to this feeling, after years of "spot the difference" games in Highlights for Kids). Then I saw that there was a young woman walking around topless. I pointed it out to Steph and we both stared bewildered. There were children about, by gosh! No one seemed to take any notice of this anomaly. She disappeared into the crowd and we hopped back in the water for a while longer before returning home. Upon our arrival at the house, we told Colin and Sarah about our encounter with the topless woman. They informed us that in the city of Austin, there is no law barring women from walking around public places without a top on. It gets hot in the summer and if men can walk around without shirts, why can't women? Go longhorns.

We changed out of our sweaty clothes and made our way to a fancy hotel bar in downtown Austin called the Driskill. It is a wondrous Romanesque-style building, built in the 1880s, that acted as a fine place to stay for those heading westward in the 19th and early 20th century. It still holds its olde-tyme appeal, with posh marble colonnades, ornate floors and wall-mounted lamps made out of six shooters and boot spurs. We ordered fancy whiskey drinks and some appetizers. When we walked home, we passed a colony of junkies under a bridge. One lit a crack pipe and exhaled his hit just in time to ask us for spare change. Scenic Austin!

At night, we made our way back to 6th with Colin and watched a $1 midnight matinee at the Alamo Draft House. While watching The Love Butcher (I highly recommend it), the ADH staff ferried out food and beer to the patrons. Every 15 minutes or so, they would come through and take order cards placed on the table in front of you. Soon after, they'd bring out nachos, burgers, fries and beer. It's essentially heaven. It was late when we left, but as we walked on to the street, it was flooded with a horde of drunks that would put a weekend in Allston to shame. It was Wednesday. Everything's bigger in Texas.

*     *     *     *

The end of our trip was closing in, and the days raced by. Sarah took Steph and me to the Austin Zoo, a wonderful establishment that adopts exotic animals from unfit homes and zoos across the state. We saw lions that had been used as junkyard dogs, wolves that didn't make good pets, and tigers that used to live in small concrete enclosures. We learned about how one of the big cats had sprayed a fourth grader the day before -- marking his territory -- as well as how the tigers had adopted a bullfrog that had made its home in their swimming pool. Pets get pets too. The cycle continues.

At night, we enjoyed a delectable meal at the Graj Mahal, a BYOB Indian food truck that operated nearby. We had hoped to spot Eric working there, but we had no such luck. Afterwards, we went to the Double Down Bar, where Danielle was working, and enjoyed a few drinks. Some patrons had brought their dogs in -- one, and old lab, was wearing a t-shirt that read "the contents of this shirt love to party" -- and the canines quarreled in the middle of the floor without anyone taking notice. A few punks sat down next to me and elbowed me continuously throughout the night. At one point, one turned to me and burped in my face. We took that as our cue to leave.

It was after 10 and we headed down to 6th, where the streets were clogged with rowdy drunks -- more than I'd seen in a lifetime. Cops lined the intersections of the street, barring cars from driving across, allowing the entirety of 6th to become a pedestrian walkway. We managed to make our way to a place called Shakespeare's. Inside, we scrambled to one of the establishment's numerous bars and each ordered a mini pitcher of mixed drinks for the cost of $5. Classic pop songs blared over the speakers -- everything from Sweet Fantasy to the Space Jam theme song -- while skating videos were projected on the wall. I'd never been in a bar this big and I was becoming disoriented from all the people, so we took our drinks to the roof deck and watched all of the inebriated folk pass by on the street below. We enjoyed another drink before making our way back to the house.

*     *     *     *

The next day found us driving out of the city, through the Hill Country on our way to Hamilton Pool. It was our last full day in Texas and we wanted to get one adventure in. We drove past the gun club where Sarah attended the weekly "Ladies Night." Ladies shoot for free! As we headed west, the area became more sparsely populated. The hills, browned by drought, were dotted with live oak and alligator juniper and extended off out of sight. The sun was bright and the sky was cloudless. No hope of rain.

We pulled off down a dirt road, passing a ranger station adorned with the skulls of  longhorn, coyote, deer and other local fauna. The parking lot was in an open field, surrounded by tall grass, prickly pear and the occasional yucca.  Down the way, we spotter a road runner dart across the road.

Exiting the car, I followed Colin, Sarah, Steph and Danielle down a windy, shaded path through the woods. The trail meandered down a hill and eventually opened up at a small, sandy beach. Before us, a cool, circular pond rested beneath a large rock awning. Ivory stalactites hung from the roof and large moss-covered boulders lined the far shore. A small stream trickled from above, creating a pitter-patter echo in the cave as the water splashed into the pool. A long time ago, this pool had been an underground aquifer. A few thousand years ago, the roof collapsed and exposed the pool, for the enjoyment of all today. A path circled the spring and we walked around, admiring the unique geological forms, spotting tiny frogs and turtles, and passing a forest ranger who had what appeared to be shin guards on his legs. It took me a few moments to realize that the leg wear is designed to protect the lower legs from venomous snake bites. Venomous snakes: noted.

We swam in the pool for a while, chasing turtles and floating around while admiring the cave. Like Barton Springs, the water here was quite cool. After some time, we made our way further into the park. Entering a cypress grove, we walked along a stream that was about seven-feet wide and 10-feet deep. The water was beautiful and you could see to the bottom clearly. A snapping turtle swam down the river, appearing as though it was flying (how often can you say a snapping turtle is a thing of beauty?). A large fish snuck up on another and swallowed it whole. Turkey vultures sat on a branch and watched us as we passed. Quite the nature walk.

Through the trees, we could see that there was a clearing ahead. The trail stopped abruptly as the land dropped before us, eroded by the now shallow Pedernales River. We slid down the sandy bank, laid our towels on the beach, and ran around in the warm turquoise water. We jumped off a rock monadnock in the center of the river and watched small fish dart around our feet. I went up the stream in an attempt to take some scenic photos. Standing on an island/dried bank in the river, I saw something small dart past my feet. I followed its route and discovered a young cottonmouth poised to strike beneath a log. I backed away slowly, figuring it wise to leave this critter be (it's the young venomous snakes that are more deadly). On my way back to the group, I was walking from rock to rock when I felt something staring at me. Looking ahead, I saw that there was another cottonmouth perched on the rock I was about to jump on. Pausing, I requested that the asp head somewhere else. It obliged me and slithered off the rock, revealing its five-foot body length. Having dodged reptilian trouble twice in such a short time, it seemed prudent to head back to the City, where we would enjoy happy hour margaritas and an endless queso bar.

*     *     *     *

Our last day in Austin, we walked through a street fair, where people sold handmade crafts, fair food and cheap beer along the street (did I mention you can drink in public down there?). We were on our way to a cluster of food trucks at the other end of Congress Street. My mother (hi mom!) had told us we should go to a place called the Mighty Cone, and we obliged her, much to our benefit. Their signature item -- of their namesake -- is a tortilla served in a paper cone. At the bottom is homemade coleslaw topped with your choice of fried chicken, fried shrimp, fried avocado (seriously, fried avocado) or any combination of two, all topped with a chipotle mayo. If you're ever in Austin, dear reader, I highly recommend stopping by this food cart.When I heard my name called, I eagerly jumped up and walked at my normal Yankee pace to the pick-up window. The owner of the cart took my haste with some surprise. "Slow down, pardner," she said, "It ain't goin' anywhere." But I was going somewhere, sadly: home. And I had to get my mighty cone NOW.

We were cutting it close to our boarding time, so Colin rushed us to the airport. We boarded our plane by the skin of our teeth and flew over the dried fields of East Texas, crossing the flooded plains of the South, eventually landing at Logan.

Leaving Texas, I was anticipating some feeling of ecstasy, overcome with all the Lone Star state had to offer. But I wasn't, and this lack of emotion caught me off guard. More than anything I felt rested, comfortable. Certainly it was not that I didn't enjoy myself (else wise I wouldn't have spent all this time writing about it). What was it then? It took me some weeks to put it all together, and eventually I filtered it down.  Austin offered something that I hadn't known, a place I could feel comfortable, a place where folks didn't unjustly label one another, where you had to constantly struggle against the rip tide of "cool." It was a city where I could easily find excitement, but also where I could just sit on the porch and think; a place I could rest. It felt like a town I could wind up in and feel just fine. Like the song says, "anywhere I'm gonna lay my head, boys, I will call my home."

Some day, maybe.



Photos: Police Memorial at the Texas Capitol Building; UT Austin Bell Tower; Austin skyline at sunset; Barton Springs; Driskill Hotel lobby; Hamilton Pool (photo credit: Steph); Path through cypress grove along stream; Pedernales River; Our order from Mighty Cone.

The Other Things I Do...

Hello dear readers,

I'm also in this band called Interrobang!?. We released our fist full-length album this week called Forge On. If you want to listen to it or download it, it's up for free/donation. It'll be up on iTunes and Spotify in a few weeks.

http://interrobangmusic.bandcamp.com/


Thanks!

Some Thoughts on Xeriscaping

April 23, 2013

I'm back from a wondrous adventure through the Mojave with my dear friends Tomek, K.A. and D.K. and am here in the safety of the post-Police State (-Commonwealth?) of Boston. Between the dramatic bits of "news" I was able to receive while out in the back country, I did my best to unwind from a harsh week in my hometown, losing myself in the silence and stillness that I've only ever found in the Southwest. Forest, lakes and rivers all offer their own sanctuary from the bustle of everyday life, but even there, still, there is motion, sound, activity. This isn't to say the desert is void of life, but rather that in the vast expanse of untainted wilderness, sound and life seem to disappear into the back drop and one is left with only the sound of blood flowing past your ear drums. There is no breeze through the trees, no trickle of water over smooth stones; you are free to look out and experience everything and nothing all at the same time. It is a foreign planet, void of skyscrapers, tweets, news feeds or people. It is lovely.

I'm no desert rat myself, but I have a love for those peculiar folk and an affinity for the places they relish. Driving through Ballarat and Panamint Springs, you find a queer mix of folk who are there to enjoy or exploit the vast surroundings. They all see a reward of sorts in the desert. Congregate enough of these people around strategically-placed desert springs, and you come into the major fallacy of the Southwest: its cities. The vast, sprawling urban areas of the region are like nothing I know from my East Coast upbringing; standing on a mountain and looking down on these cities boggles the mind. While surrounded by the modest -- and sometimes almost nonexistent -- life of the desert, these cities spread farther than what seems reasonable or logical. The sweeping suburbs of Las Vegas. The domineering borders of Phoenix. The water-draining dwellings of SoCal. How can the land sustain itself?

Odds are, it can't. Sooner or later, the springs, aquifers and lakes of the Southwest will dry up and large urban areas will either have to start stealing water from other nearby municipalities or abandon their cities for fairer land. (Or, I suppose, they could truck it in? And if you thought gas prices were high...) Their lawns, their trees, their beloved golf courses will all perish, withered and disfigured by the fiery desert heat.

An example of this is Pahrump, Nevada. An unassuming city, to say the most, Pahrump lies on a large underground aquifer and is but a few measly mountain ranges from Las Vegas. The area around the city is stunning and mostly untouched. Pahrump itself shows the folly of the desert's endangered species: desertus urbanus. Driving past empty lots of desert holly and sage so dry that a strong enough breeze might render them dust in the wind, one can spot towering stands evergreens, palms and other green-leafed trees. Surrounding the city is a mostly barren, red, mountainous landscape that is as foreboding and unforgiving as it is beautiful. It is a strange sight to behold grassy lawns and tall trees amidst such an inhospitable environment. Yet here they stand, sucking up water that may have better purposes than feeding the neighborhood's ill-advised ash trees. When it comes down to it, Pahrump only has so much water. What's worse for the city, its neighbor Las Vegas uses more water than it has. Soon will come a time when Las Vegas either buys water from Pahrump or simply steals it through some geological trickery. All to feed golf courses and landscaping, as well as the tourists attracted to them.

You can see this play out across the Southwest. Folks love the desert, but for some reason try their darndest to make their yard look like it's somewhere else, in a more fertile land. Palm trees and other tropical plants can be seen in on every corner in Scottsdale. Even in Death Valley's Furnace Creek, one can spot a plethora of unnatural botanical specimens that are nothing but towering -- albeit beautiful -- sponges. The process of rendering desert oases where they don't belong.

If you love the desert, why must you develop the land in such a way that would destroy it? The practice of Xeriscaping -- gardening your land in such a way that uses little water -- is widely used throughout America's desert lands. Filling your yard with all sorts of cacti and desert trees is a wonderful way to make your land beautiful and fitting while lowering your water footprint on the desert. While all of the places I've mentioned follow this practice, they also employ the aesthetics of tropical plants. But why? I understand the beauty of them and how every city wants to be LA or some Mediterranean port, but you've built a city in a hot, hostile environment where only the strongest survive. Drive through any of these areas, and it will be easy to find dead stands of palm trees, towering tombstones decaying in the fierce sun. Uncared for, all of these artificially introduced plants with either die or kill everything around them by stealing all of the water. 

Why do that to your land?

Listen, I get that every part of the country grows plants that aren't meant for their region. Heck, I planted a Japanese maple last spring. Yet there are plenty of plants that not only look wonderful, but can survive in a desert without causing great damage to the land, and likely exist naturally in your area. Artfully placed cacti and succulents look great, do less damage, and fit into the landscape better. Plus, you can grow plants that can be useful: Mormon tea for a natural energy beverage, mesquite trees for a barbequing spice, prickly pear cactus to cook with, etc. So cut down that pine tree, that palm, that maple, oak or elm in your yard. Save the water, save the desert.

After all, you're in an arid climate. Every state has places with trees, but very few have areas that boast the kind of plant and animal life one finds in the Southwest. The people who live in the desert are those who love it (or those who can't get out of it). Enjoy it for what it is!


Trees are wonderful, but they weren't made for the Mojave or the Sonoran. Tuxedos are fantastic things to wear to parties, unless that party is in Allston.

If the desert is your party, it's time to start dressing it like it.


Photos: Beaver Tail Cactus in Bloom at Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, NV; Cool Cacti at the Desert Botanical Gardens in Phoenix, AZ; Area behind Steph's house in Scottsdale, AZ

Goin' Out West

Hey gang,

I'm heading out west to visit friends in Death Valley National Park. When I come back, I'll pick up another story.

Stay safe while I'm gone, dear friends.

Rory Thomas

Bikes Not Bombs

April 11, 2013 - Brighton, MA

On Monday night, my dear friends and I went to witness an adventure 65 million years in the making: Jurassic Park 3D. It was an exceptional experience, but this isn't a movie blog. For that matter, it's not a bike blog either, but whatever. It's my blog so I do what I want.

All day long, my bike's brake cable felt like it was slipping from my front break. On my way to work and on my way home, I could feel the tension grow increasingly slack. Traveling to the movies, I asked my friend Josh to remind me to fix this issue before our trek home; needless to say, we forgot.

It was dark, around 9:30 at night. Brighton Ave was lit by street lamps, shop signs, traffic lights and the red glow of brake lights. Josh and I were approaching the Brighton Ave/Harvard Ave intersection at a hurried pace when the light turned red. I clutched my hand brake, but instead of the bike slowing to a stop, I felt a snap and the hand brake went slack. I proceeded to plow through the intersection at an incredibly high rate of speed, quite certain my last words would be the expletive I was screaming as I careened through the red light. It was just my luck that I didn't hit a pedestrian or get struck by a car that had jumped the light. Unable to stop, I coasted some two blocks before coming to a halt. My brake cable had snapped, but I was luckily unscathed.

It then struck me that all across the city of Boston -- all across the country for that matter -- countless individuals do this willingly everyday, at great risk to themselves and others. And I don't mean just cyclists. Pedestrians, cars and public transportation vehicles are all guilty of blowing through red lights, driving through pedestrian walk signs, and violating all other sorts of road rules; it's dangerous and can lead to injury or death. Anyone who's ever been hit by a car can attest to the fact that it is not a fun experience. And in the city of Boston, with our attitudes the way they are (read: aggressive), the contention of our roadway relationships tends to put everyone in a "fuck everyone who isn't me" disposition.

But hey, y'all! It doesn't need to be this way! If we all work together to be courteous, give each other space, and all try to lead "positive fucking lifestyles," we can make this city a better place to travel.

First thing's first. We all need to acknowledge one simple thing: none of our means of transit are going anywhere. Cars, buses and trains have been around for more than a century; bicycles predate all of those means of transit; and we've been walking on the ground since we stopped climbing in trees. So let's all just realize that no matter how aggressive we are with bikes, cars and pedestrians, they're not going anywhere.
(Full disclosure: I ride a bike, walk everywhere, and drive a car from time to time. Occasionally, I use public transit.)

Now let's break this down*:

Pedestrians

We are obviously the most vulnerable of any of these groups. We can't move fast, we have no protection from outside forces (odds are you don't wear a helmet or have a metal exoskeleton when you're out and about), and we're usually listening to music on headphones and texting while crossing the street. We're not impervious to outside forces, so it's time to start acting like it.

Remember when we were all kids, older folks and Sesame Street would tell us to look both ways before crossing the street? The smartphone didn't make this rule any less important. Look up, pay attention to your surroundings. We live in a city now, and we've got to keep our heads in the game.

Now, briefly, let's discuss pedestrian walk ways. If there is a walkway without a walk light, we have the right of way. Anyone who blows by you is an a-hole. If there is a walk light, wait for it. The red hand is not beckoning us, it's telling us to wait. And just because Suzy Sweatpants walks into the road, doesn't mean that we and the twenty people next to us should follow suit (I'm looking at you, BU). We may think that once the cars have passed it's safe to cross, but remember to watch for cyclists. We walk out in front of a bike, the biker may not be able to stop in time. They hit us, it's going to suck hard for us, but it will be much, much worse for them. The bike will stop when it hits you, but the cyclist will not; it's Newtonian. So please wait, for our safety and the convenience and safety of those who have the right of way.

Also, let's avoid walking/running in the road or bike lane. I know it's usually less congested than the sidewalks and we got places to be! But when we're in the road, cars and bikes have to get out of our way and swerve into other lanes of traffic. This can be dangerous, so let's all just get back on the sidewalk. (Different story if you're getting into the driver's side door.)

Automobiles

Yes, automobiles. The harbingers of death. Doom on four wheels. The asshole enhancer. In the city of Boston, "cars" is indeed a four letter word (well I guess "cars" has four letters everywhere, but you get what I mean). We Massholes are well known nationwide for our crazed driving habits. And, for some reason, we can be proud of this? Take a knee and let's talk, gang.

You don't need to be an asshole. We're New Englanders, we are in a rush. We see traffic on a Sunday afternoon and instantly think, "where are all these people going on a Sunday afternoon?" Well, where are we going? Somewhere! We're all going somewhere and we're all stuck in traffic together. So let's take it down a notch. We're not special in this inconvenience. There's no need to get so flabbergasted about it. Plus, it could be worse. We could live in LA.

As for our interactions with the two lesser groups -- pedestrians and bikes -- let's pump the brakes. We can shout and swear at every person who inconveniences us from the safety of our car, but the second our anger transfers to our driving, that can be harmful and even lethal to others. So first off, calm down. Secondly, it'd be super helpful if we could use our directionals better. If people know we're turning, then they won't run/ride out in front of us suddenly. And then we can keep our blood pressure down (side note: eat less red meat for this as well).

Now for pedestrian crosswalks. If there's a walkway, stop for the pedestrians. It will take a few seconds off of our day and it's the right/legal thing to do. If they have the walk light, don't make that right on red. I don't know if that's the law or something, but it makes us look like jerks.

And for bikes, there are a lot of rules we tend not to follow. Bikes can take up a full lane if there is more than one lane present. Cyclists can ride two abreast. If we're making a right or left turn and we hit a cyclist that's going straight, it's our fault, so please pay attention to that. Don't squeeze a cyclist off the road, that's a bad thing to do. Also, when we're getting out of our car and we're parked on the street, be sure to check for bikes, cause we're not allowed to "door" them (it is very, very painful for them and will mess up our whip). Also if we're unloading/loading groceries or small children, just do it on the sidewalk, away from other drivers and cyclists. All in all, we're much bigger, faster, heavier and harder than someone on a bike, so just be careful around them. (If you don't believe these are the rules with cars bikes, check out this site.)

Bicycles

When I tell people that I ride in the city, they often ask, "Isn't it terrifying? Aren't you scared?" No, I'm not scared. The feeling is less fearful and more pissed off. No one gives a damn about us when we're on a bike, even fellow bikers (ever been t-boned by another cyclist?). Here are a few rules we can follow and then maybe everyone won't hate us. 

First off, get off the gat-danged sidewalk. There are puppies and children on those sidewalks! We are not allowed to ride on them, so get off. In fact, if you see someone riding on the sidewalk, tell them to get onto the street. Street's too scary to ride on? Then walk. If we had all of the sidewalk bikers on the street, it would actually make it safer for the rest of us cyclists (safety in numbers).

Next, let's stop blowing through red lights at busy intersections. If it's late at night and there's a red light for no reason and there are no cars or pedestrians, sure, treat it like a stop sign. But please, please, let's STOP before we go. One, blowing through a busy intersection is the most super unsafe thing we can do on a bike. Not only are we putting ourselves at risk, we're also putting everyone around us in danger. Cars have to swerve to miss us. CRASH! Pedestrians think they have the right of way and are crossing. WOMP! A fellow cyclist might be going through and BANG! We just t-boned them! So let's stop that to keep everyone safe. Also, it gives law-abiding cyclists a bad name. Drivers see bikers and think that we're all like that. We aren't! If we all follow the rules together, we keep each other safer.

Now, we don't have to use hand signals, but it's helpful to everyone around us. Just try to remember from our driver's ed days: left arm, right angle up means right turn; left arm straight out means left turn; left arm, right angle down means stop. Easy!

It's not victim blaming to tell our friends to wear a helmet -- we do it because we want them to be okay if something bad happens. We do it because we love them. There aren't helmet laws for people over the age of 16 in the Commonwealth, but it's still a good idea to wear one. And anyone who's been hit hard by a car knows how scary it is to smash your head on the pavement. It happened to me and I was lucky to be okay. And you better believe I went out and bought a helmet the very next day. They're not a cure all, but anything you can do to keep yourself safe out there should be adopted.

This isn't a law, but it's a pet peeve of mine. If we come to an intersection and there is a cyclist(s) already there, waiting for the green light, don't pull in front of them. If they're faster than you, then they're gonna have to go around you, into traffic, to get ahead of you. I call it "leap frogging" and it's never fun. Even if we're going to be faster than they, they still got there first, so wait your gat dang turn. Also, when passing another cyclist, pass them on the left, like when you're driving on the highway. Most bike lanes in Boston are on the right side of the road, so passing on the right happens in a narrow space and can expose you to getting doored, which, as stated above, stinks. 

Anyway, you should check out this great site and definitely pick up some of those accident cards. Let's ride together and ride safe, y'all!

*     *     *     *

Remember, we're all in this together. Cars, bikes, feet. These are merely means of transit, not divisive groups at war with one another. We all walk, we all drive, and we all bike (well, mostly). Be kind and respectful to those around you and we might just get through another day.


*I didn't include taxis or the MBTA, cause they don't give a damn about anybody.

Photos: My friends and me biking to a wedding. Me with my fancy new bike. See guys! I'm just like you!