Traveling with Sticks and Spokes-- a post in honor of Dolly and Don Craft

I decided to write this blog post after reading one from my cross country biking friend, Dolly Craft. She and her husband Don often tour by tandem bike.  Riding a tandem is a lot more difficult that it seems. Jim and I tried it once--on Mackinac Island, MI and we were glad to get back to the bike rental agency after circumnavigating the island. To successfully ride a tandem you have to be in perfect rhythm with your fellow cyclist. The bike weighs a lot too, so if one of you gets a little wobbly the other has to pick up the slack--or you will fall. 

So Dolly has a blog called "Dolly's Bike Blog,"  ( I was unable to post a link) in which she posts stories and pictures of her adventures, either solo, or with Don. On the cross country trip we teased her about "Dolly Gaggling" because she would stop at every road sign, every park, every interesting thing to see. Dolly rode the ride I had hoped to, but was never fast enough. 

Right now she and Don are biking in Holland. Their trip across the pond was filled with plenty of opportunities to practice meditation, or count backward from 100 in Dutch. Their tandem bike, partially disassembled and in its hardshell case weighs 80+ pounds, so first there was the adventure of paying for the extra weight and making sure the bike got put on the luggage conveyor belt. Then there was sitting on the tarmac at Dulles for about an hour and a half while thunderstorms cruised over the airport. In between was Don's need to unpack his carry on and submit to a thorough pat down because the TSA's dog didn't like him. All was well and they are now somewhere in Holland. But it got me to thinking about my own encounters with TSA agents. 

I have had metal implanted in my body since I tore a tendon in my left foot in 2000. That was followed by a bunionectomy  and more metal, in 2001 and a hip replacement in 2002. Then knee replacements in 2013, another hip replacement in 2015, and shoulders in 2014 and 2016. If that were not enough I then managed to fall off my bike this past February, breaking my right arm just below the replacement prosthesis. That gave me a metal plate and multiple screws so that on x-ray the interior of my right arm looks like an upside down saxophone! 

So, when I travel, usually 3 or 4 times a year, I always tell the TSA or security agent that I have multiple joint replacements and I will make their machine go off. I try to be nice. After all, theirs is a rather thankless job. I don't think they get paid enough for it either. 

I have told agents, mostly in Boston and Denmark, that I do not particularly care who pats me down. So I have had sweet women having bad days who were glad for someone with a smile on her face. And I've also had some agents who were not so nice in their pat downs--but they were thorough. I can only remember one or two agents so perfectly annoying I wondered if they had had a fight with their beloved earlier in the day--or were late to pick up a child, or called in to work on their day off. Or simply enjoyed being mean. 

It was hot and muggy this past August when Jim and I left for our annual trip to Denmark. Despite an air-conditioned bus and terminal I was sweaty when we got to the head of the TSA line. 

"I have multiple metal body parts," I told the agent, as usual. He pointed me to the line for the scanner. 

Of course I needed a pat down afterward. I claimed not to care about the gender of the person patting me down, which is true. But at Logan it must be a woman. While I waited for the person to come do her job I asked to see exactly what the scanner showed. Much to my surprise there was only one metal piece showing in a generic outline of a female person. It was not my right arm but my right hip and showed up like a metal wallet. 

When my friendly TSA agent--and she was friendly--came to pat me down she focused on my back. Because I was so sweaty I asked her if she would straighten out the back of my bra while she was back there. And she started to! "Whoa," I said. "That's not part of your job. I can do it." In reality I really can't reach back that far, but I was not about to get her in trouble. Jim fixed the errant bra back for me. 

But my favorite pat down was in Denmark five or six years ago. No scanner, I just made the metal detector go off.
"Do you want a man or woman for the pat down?"
"I don't care."
At the point they put me on a pedestal (where I always belong, of course) and a very cute young guy came over, prepared to do his job. 
"Knee?" He asked. 
"Knees, feet, and a hip." 
He gave me a funny look. 
"I guess I am bionic." 
He laughed, "No you are a transformer."

If there is a message to this it is a simple one. If you tell people in advance you have a special need they will usually accommodate you. If you truly have trouble walking let the airline know in advance.  There is no reason to be embarrassed because yesterday you ran 10 miles, and then you broke your toe. No one will care and you will go through security faster. I usually pack my hiking poles because I can walk just fine inside. The poles are in the checked bags. The one thing I have never found out, and am not about to try, is whether or not poles with removable rubber tips are considered a problem. I don't need a cane inside either. But I can tell you that most circular knitting needles regardless of the substance from which the point came are OK.  

 Last summer our chorus went to Stockholm on Icelandair. The Keflavik Airport, where we changed planes, went security, and thus were considered to be in Europe,  was mobbed. Eight or so Icelandair flights from eight or so different US and Canadian cities plus those of the start-up airline WOW and an airport under construction to meet this incredible increase of passengers ( that happened over a three year period) meant we all were funneled into a stairwell where we would stand in what seemed like an endless line to go through passport control in Iceland. Some of my fellow singers were worried we would miss our flight, but we were nearly 50 people on the same flight. I was pretty sure the plane would wait for us. Nevertheless I was in said line, trying hard not to push my way to the front.

And then my friend Peter Blanchard sailed by in a wheelchair. His wife, Sudie, was with him. He waved. Peter, whose orthopedic problems are quite possibly as bad as mine waved as he rolled past. If you do use a wheelchair, especially in the US, please make sure you tip the person who has gotten you where you need to go.  I have had interesting conversations with men and women pushing me. Often they have escaped hellacious conditions in their home countries including Yemen and Eritria. The stories they tell are heartbreaking. 

Yes, it is annoying, and sometimes time consuming to have to go through a miserable TSA line in a way we hadn't planned for. Leave early for the airport. Put a smile on your face, be thankful you live in the US, and remember:  None of us want a repeat of 9/11.  

The Other Kind of Sticks

In my last post I wrote a bit about some of the things that kept me from sticks and spokes the last nine months. Jim even gave me a set of new hiking poles for York Nordic: www.yorknordic.com. They are lightweight, fold easily and fit into a 25" suitcase without

Meanwhile, I spent a lot of time with the other kind of sticks, aka knitting needles. For Christmas I knit my daughters and daughter-in-law sweaters with my new favorite yarn, Ella Rae Lace Merino Chunky. Unfortunately Ella Rae has decided to discontinue this yarn. Luckily I got enough yarn to knit at least 2 more projects. But here are the sweaters:

I don't know if anyone
has actually worn the sweaters. One of the weird things about this pattern is the back of the neck is lower than one would expect. My guess is that this is because band and collar are both knit as part of the main sweater.

A Long, Cold, Frustrating Fall and Winter

My very best intentions for continuing this blog during the fall and then winter of 2017 did not work out that way. I had hardly gotten home from New Life Hiking Spa the end of September when two things happened. First, I got what I believe to have been true blue influenza rather than a simple cold. Second, my very dearest friend Grethe Petersen, my "adopted" Danish sister came for her first visit in many year. 

Thankfully Jim was able to take the long walks with Grethe I had envisioned. There is digging deep when you are sick and then there is how I felt. We did, however, make it back to Woodstock, VT. That was a fun trip! I had not gotten gas before we left York, believing we could get off the highway at the intersection of I-93 and I-89. But we didn't.

 We stopped at the State Park at Quechee Gorge, VT  to visit the Cabot Cheese Shop and have lunch in an old diner before walking the trails of the Gorge. Jim and Grethe could go a lot further than I could, even with my recent sojourn at New Life.The weather was lovely and I know they enjoyed going the entire way to the Gorge, while I got lost and wound up in an entirely different spot on the opposite side of the road from where we started! 

Then it was off to visit  Sugarbush Farm, specializing in making cheese and maple syrup. We were using a tourist map that showed the farm to be four or five miles from Quechee. It turned out to be more than 10 miles away. About half way there the "running out of gas" bell began to ring every minute or so.

So we turned around, went to Woodstock, found a gas station, and filled up. Grethe suggested we forget the farm, but by then Jim, who was driving, was on a mission. So back to Sugarbush we went! 

By the time we reached Sugarbush we were definitely in rural Vermont. With every sign pointing to Sugarbush the road got narrower--and bumpier. The trip was definitely worth it, though. Grethe and Jim followed the permanent tap connections from one maple syrup bush to the next for a nice walk.

And then it was on to the cheddar cheese. Sugarbush gathers milk from a variety of farms throughout Vermont to make cheddar that ranges in age from 2-8 years. There were also some flavored with horseradish or other substances. Lots of fun, and grilled cheese sandwiches for home.

My health, and thus my travels with sticks and spokes, did not improve after Grethe went home. My bout with infuenza improved, but not the cough. It lasted until February, and kept me from singing with my chorus, the church choir, and cut off singing at York's Lesson's and Carols" just before my favorite piece. Christmas Eve saw me leaving in the middle of the Gospel. 

And then I went to Florida to spend a couple of weeks with my good friend Liz--and bike and walk lots of steps. I got the rental bike on Friday and on my maiden voyage fell, landing on my right arm. I had asked my orthopedic surgeon what would happen if I fell off my bike and landed on that arm 13 months after having my right shoulder replaced. He predicted--and he was right--that I would fracture my humerus right below the prosthesis. Falling was a result of foolishness. I was turning back toward Liz's house so I could go to the bike shop and buy a rear view mirror. But I didn't want to get off the bike, and lost control while making a U turn. I spent my first week in Florida in the Ocala Regional Medical Center--a Level 1 trauma facility who had 3 surgeons on staff--if only they weren't so busy--who knew how to do the difficult repair required of this fracture. The staff was marvelous, and when I was allowed to eat the food was pretty good. 

 The medical cautions of my humerus repair kept me from walking much for the following six weeks.  It was a typically disgusting March in Maine, but worse than that, the precautions my doctor placed on me included no using hiking poles to walk. 

Jim and Karen, in particular, tried to convince me not to bike again--or at least until I do some serious time in the gym. I convinced that an electric assist adult trike would work, and my orthopedic surgeon agreed. 

NOT! On my first ride, the trike went into a ditch 50 feet from out house and threw me onto my left side. (This is the short version of the story.)  Road rash and a broken rib. I have finally agreed to stay off the bike, perhaps forever. It makes me sad. It is difficult to consider that I may never get back on a bike again. I have done lots of walking and hiking in my life, but much prefer biking. I know it is not unreasonable for me, at 71, to end my love affair with biking, especially since I have so many replaced joints, which have probably diminished my balance. But in my mind I am only 51. Maybe even younger. 

Our dear friend Don Lippoth, who passed away in April shortly before his 88th birthday, once told me he thought I was aging badly. I hope he was wrong.

In my downtime I've been doing a lot of reading and writing. I dislike the rude political arguments on Facebook. Instead I have decided to start a second blog I'm going to call "Tuesdays with Donald" in Don's memory. We had dinner together almost every Tuesday for six years. Don and I could really get into political discussions, especially since he was very good at baiting me, and I almost always responded--until Jim would start kicking me under the table while we were eating dinner. 😏

But I am still hoping for a few adventures with sticks, even if I should change the name of this blog.

A little bit more every day

Yesterday, I had an important  conversation with Jimmy LaSage, the owner of New Life. When I registered to come here to Vermont I was up-front about my orthopedic problems and inability to walk more than a mile or so. Knowing this, he invited me anyway. I tried, though not hard enough, to increase my endurance at home.

What now allows me to build up my endurance is the levels of hiking offered by New Life. There are, depending on the group of guests (you can stay for as little as two days or as long as a month or more,) 4 or 5 levels of hiking, each about 5 miles long: advanced, advanced intermediate, intermediate, nature walk, and what is euphemistically the "alternate morning program." 

In the alternate morning program walkers and guides agree to the length of a walk, and the kind of terrain we cover. Walking on the alternate morning program is how I could have a girl-friend talk with my guide Courtney on Friday. 

Sunday morning, it was back to walking (I hesitate to call it hiking  because we were on a gravel road.) Vermont is in the middle of a very unusual heat wave with temperatures forecast for around 90 F. So, I had company: three extraordinary and interesting women, ranging in age from 51-72. We were: a psychiatrist born in Russia, a lawyer born in Jamaica, and a business woman born in  Hong Kong! Our current residences are California, Maryland, and Minnesota, and Maine. The best part: these wonderful women  looked out for each other. "Do you have enough water?" "Do you want to walk down that hill because then you have to walk back up?" 

That I can do any distance without being felled with low back pain is based on two things, The first is stretching. Every morning begins with an optional 30 minute stretching class. The morning stretching class begins at 7 AM, which is too early for this old night owl. I've had mixed success with doing my own stretching in my hotel room. Ultimately, I have to be able to translate this into something I can do without too much difficulty when I get home.If there is one thing I will appreciate when I get home Thursday evening it will be not having to set an alarm for 0640!

Using hiking poles continues to be part of improving my ability to walk a little longer every day. I walked with them through-out most of the Seacoast Community Chorus's Scandinavia tour. Most of the time I go walking in our neighborhood I use my poles, even if my neighbors tease me. My poles come apart so I can pack them in my suitcase when I travel.

I don't know how many sets of poles I've gone through over the years. I do know it is more than one, because my son Brian permanently borrowed my hiking poles when his first pair wore out midway though his thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail in 2007. My current poles are from The Kittery Trading Post in nearby Kittery. If I remember correctly they cost about $75. But in the 10 years since I bought them the use of hiking poles has become more common;  the price has come down. You can buy a reasonably decent pair for $20 at Walmart. I know because I have at least one Walmart pole in the back of my car.

If you feel like you are losing your ability to walk long distance because of back, leg, or foot pain, get a pair of poles. If you happen to live near York, ME you can take lessons in Nordic walking from Lauren DeLong, a certified teacher of Nordic walking. (You can find her by googling her name or going to her website, www.nordicwalking.com.) It's great whole body exercise, burns a lot of calories, and Lauren sells some beautiful poles.

Before I end this post I must tell a story on myself. Two years ago Jim and I joined my sister Laura and her husband Larry for some hiking and biking in Acadia National Park (one of my favorite places in the world.) A few days after she went home Laura called me: had she left a pole in my car? I went and looked. Yep, there was a pretty flowered pole on the back seat. I boxed it up and sent it to her. A couple of days later Laura called me, laughing. "You sent me one of Mom's canes!"

Following is a picture from this morning'd hike, (I can't seem to upload all of them.)

STICKS

There are two types of sticks in my life: hiking poles and knitting needle. I’ve devoted most of this last week to the first kind because I am spending ten days in Killington, Vermont at New Life Hiking Spa. The owner, Jimmy LaSage calls it “Summer Camp for Grown-ups.” Having been to a well-respected (and more expensive) Spa as well as having been a camp nurse for eight summers, I would agree.

            New Life’s philosophy centers around a morning hike then activities like water aerobics, yoga, and stretching in the afternoon. The food is very good, with lots of veggies and salad. Last night was “steak night.” The portion wasn’t especially large, but enough for me. The corn in the corn on the cob last night was picked at just the right time.

            I found New Life when I was asked to rate another Spa where I stayed several years ago. I wanted to see what the competition was, found New Life and was so intrigued by its focus on outdoor activity I immediately decided to come for a 10 day stay. That I could drive here was a real bonus!

            Four years ago I bicycled 1500 miles or so on a cross-the-US biking trip. Then I came home and had my knees replaced. In the following two years I had joint replacement surgery on my left hip and both shoulders.

In the summer of 2012 I rode lots of miles over the back roads of Maine to get ready for my biking odyssey, then in the winter of 2012-2013 I spent a couple of hours a day in the gym riding a stationary bike and lifting weights. When the bike trip was over I had the hemoglobin and hematocrit of a man! My legs were that strong.

            But a not-so-funny thing happened on my way in and out of the O.R.: I lost my exercise “mojo.”

            I needed to be able to walk and stand for an hour or so when Seacoast Community Chorus went to Scandinavia this past summer, and I wanted to be able to go on a three mile hike.  I tried, but not hard enough, to strengthen my core (and that includes my back) so I could do so without difficulty. But I failed. Oh, I stood for most concerts, but the 45 minutes were often excruciating. I kept finding excuses not to walk as much as I should both before and after the trip. I reminded myself way too much of my mother, who hated to walk because she hurt so much.

           Motion is lotion and the number 1 cure for low back pain. I know from MRIs and CT scans that my back pain is not from a slipped disc, but wear and tear, and thus mostly from weak muscles. There are other concerts to sing and other trips to make before I am ready to be put out to pasture, so finding a way, any way, to improve my back pain is critical. Even so, I still could easily find excuses not to routinely walk at home. Being at a Spa where the focus is on walking has been terrific. I feel much better. But for now, some pictures of beautiful Vermont with the leaves in transition from late summer, to now, early autumn.

     

"Somebody ought to write a book..."

In January of this year I flew to Chicago to visit a friend from my days in Vietnam. I have created some "rules" for myself about flying. At the top of the list is to consider the length of the flight (from Boston.). If it is over three hours I ask for more legroom. Under three hours, to Washington, D.C. for example, I don't care. The flight is just over an hour. And, when possible, I travel to Europe, where I have family, I fly on Icelandair. Its business/first class is a mere thousand dollars more than an economy seat. That seems expensive until you start comparing the cost of a Saga class flight to a business or first class flight on a non-stop international carrier like Air France or Lufthanza.

I also prefer to fly non-stop if I can. Getting stuck at an unfamiliar airport can become a real challenge.

The flight time from Boston Logan Airport to O'Hare is just about three hours. Despite the fact I had had my right shoulder replaced six weeks earlier I opted to fly economy class, and requested an aisle seat. My seat was on the left side of the plane. What a mistake it was not to purchase the upgrade. And to choose the left side of the plane. I was squished. And there is a lot of me to squish. I was using a fanny pack instead of a purse because of the shoulder surgery. Between the fanny pack, which I chose not to take off, and my girth I had to ask for a seat belt extender:embarrassing. Oh well.

The real problem came with trying to get up to use the bathroom. There really wasn't enough room to stand between the seat in front of me and my seat. I had to push up with my newly replaced shoulder. I knew I would not dislocate it, but it did hurt. As I struggled to sit down and buckle myself back into the seat I thought, "Somebody ought to write about the pitfalls of traveling with replaced joints." Then I realized that with six replaced joints I was the perfect "somebody." And thus the catalyst for this blog.

THE LESSON LEARNED: Choose the seat with the larges pitch (the distance between your seat and the one in front of you) whenever you can.

Here is a website that describes the seat pitch for all major airlines in the US and abroad. The list is by the size and the type of plane (i.e. a Boeing versus and Airbus), the class (economy versus "upper classes"), and the airline. www.seatguru.com.